SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS

by Carla Cassidy

  "Gretchen is a midwife and, like me, she's hungry for more than life has given her." Ursula got up and poured herself some more champagne, then returned to the bed next to Desmond.

  "I had a little savings put away and I promised it to her if she saw to it that baby Luke was born healthy and Jessica didn't survive the birth."

  She'd arranged her own sister's death. Amazement washed over Desmond as he recognized the extent of Ursula's ambition. The only other person he'd ever known in his life to possess such ambition and drive was himself.

  "Jessica died, and Gretchen had Gerald dispose of the body. With the money I gave her, she intends to institutionalize Gerald so she can finally have a life of her own."

  Desmond didn't give a damn about some midwife and her simpleton relative. "Where is the baby now? How soon can we get him here?"

  "Gretchen is just awaiting my phone call and for arrangements to be made for her to travel with baby Luke."

  Desmond picked up the telephone and placed it between them on the mattress. "Then call her now and I'll see to it that plane tickets are awaiting her first thing in the morning."

  Ursula smiled, the self-satisfied smile of a cat who'd just dined on a canary. "This is it, isn't it, Desmond? What we need to get what we want."

  He picked up the phone receiver and handed it to her. "Make the call, Ursula. This is definitely the break we've been waiting for."

  When the call had been made and the arrangements confirmed, Desmond drew Ursula into his arms. The irritation that had burned inside him for the past two weeks was gone, usurped by the rush of the anticipation of success.

  "Do you have any idea what that little baby is worth?" he asked as he pulled his robe from her. "Prince Lucas's son … King Marcus and Queen Gwendolyn's second grandson. The son of the king's heir."

  "And I'm his auntie … the only relative from the Chambers side of the family. I foresee myself in an intimate position of favor with the royal family." She stretched languidly against him, her eyes glowing like a feline's.

  He raked a finger across her lower lip, watching as the glow in her eyes grew brighter. "And it was right of you to come to me with this information. When the child arrives here in Montebello, I will see to it that you have a private audience with the royal family to deliver the good news."

  She drew his finger into her mouth, then released it. "And to celebrate, I think we should go out tonight, eat dinner at the Glass Swan."

  "All right," he agreed. Why not? It seemed fitting that he take her out for one last good meal, because once he had that baby he wouldn't need her anymore.

  Poor Ursula. She had no idea that she wouldn't be alive to see a king's ransom.

  He wasn't about to share the glory of reuniting Prince Lucas with his infant son with a two-bit actress and a midwife. There was a part of him that admired Ursula's ruthlessness, but her ruthlessness didn't begin to compare to his own.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  «^»

  "I'm glad we decided to come here for dinner," Samira said to Farid, who sat across the table from her in the Glass Swan Restaurant.

  They were seated next to the large windows that offered a view of the harbor, and they had just placed their dinner orders with the waitress.

  "At least we're here early enough to beat the dinner rush," he said.

  She smiled at him. "Yes, heaven forbid we should have to wait for a table." In the two weeks that they'd been married, she'd discovered that Farid had little patience with standing in line when it came to his meals.

  He returned her smile. "At least it doesn't take me ten minutes to decide on what I want to order."

  "I can't help it if it takes me a while to make up my mind."

  "And I suppose you also can't help it that you're a bedhog." His eyes teased with her and she felt heat leap into her cheeks.

  He was right. She was a bed hog. Every morning she awakened on his side of the bed, wrapped in his big strong arms. And every morning she'd wished he would kiss her … stroke his hands down the length of her, make love to her again, but he didn't

  "We won't talk about your snoring," she returned.

  "I don't snore," he protested with a grin.

  "Then we need to lock up better at night because if it isn't you, then somebody is sneaking into our room and cutting Z's."

  He laughed and once again she felt warmth, only this time it didn't heat her cheeks, but rather warmed her heart. They sounded like a real married couple, and she was beginning to feel like one.

  The past week had brought a new intimacy to their relationship even though they had not made love again. She knew he liked his toast unbuttered and his socks one-hundred percent cotton. She knew he shaved twice a day, morning and before bed, and didn't like to talk before he had his first cup of coffee in the morning.

  But, more than that, she'd learned that any mention of his mother brought a mysterious, profound darkness to his eyes, that he seemed to revel in talking about the baby she carried and that there was a part of himself she sensed that he kept guarded.

  "We need to be at the airport by around nine this evening. The jet will be ready to leave immediately," he said. His expression was one of concern. "Will you be all right to travel that late?"

  "Yes, although I'll probably nap on the plane." She tried to ignore the apprehension that tightened her stomach as she thought of returning to Tamir and breaking the news of her marriage and her pregnancy to her parents. She looked at her watch. It was just a little after four. "At least that will give us lots of time to shower and pack before we have to leave. I've already thanked Queen Gwendolyn and King Marcus for their hospitality when I spoke to them this afternoon and told them we were going home this evening."

  He nodded and took a drink of his water. He set the glass down and looked at her. "Samira, when you make a promise to somebody do you keep it no matter what?"

  His voice was suddenly solemn and she looked at him in surprise. "Of course. I take my promises quite seriously. Why?"

  "I want you to make a promise to me."

  "What?" Something about his expression caused the anxiety to renew itself in her chest.

  "I want you to promise me that no matter what you won't tell your father the truth about your pregnancy, that you will let him think the child is mine until we agree to say differently."

  His gaze was dark, unfathomable, and Samira wished their intimacy was such that she could guess at his inner thoughts. But she couldn't. "Why do you want me to promise that?" she asked.

  "My reasons aren't important … just promise me that you won't say anything until we talk about it."

  "All right," she agreed. "I promise."

  He visibly relaxed and she wondered what had prompted him to request such a thing. Again worry fluttered through her as she anticipated their return to Tamir.

  He reached out across the table and lightly touched the back of her hand. "It's going to be all right. I promise you that everything is going to be fine."

  She smiled, strangely comforted by his words and the fact that although it was rare that she could guess at his thoughts, he seemed to be growing more adept at guessing hers.

  "And you always keep your promises?" she asked.

  "Always," he replied.

  At that moment the waitress arrived with their meal and Samira found herself relaxing once again as Farid entertained her with stories of his early days working palace security.

  She wasn't sure if the stories he told her were true, but he made her laugh and took her mind off the return home later that night.

  There were moments when she gazed at him across the table and couldn't believe that he was her husband. She wondered if she would ever tire of looking at him. Somehow she didn't think so.

  Each time she studied his face she saw something new and fascinating there. A mole just beneath his chin, a faint scar at the edge of his right eyebrow … each and every new discovery was like a gift, and she reveled in each one.

&n
bsp; They finished their meal but lingered over dessert as if reluctant to bring to an end their last evening together in Montebello.

  As she ate a spoonful of chocolate mousse, she was struck with a longing so intense it stunned her.

  It was a longing to be held by Farid, to have him kiss her again as passionately as he had that night a week before. A sweet, aching desire fluttered through her.

  She wanted him again. She wanted to make love with him, but she didn't know how to show him, how to tell him of her desire for him.

  What was worse was the fear that he would abide by her wishes and make love to her, not because he particularly wanted to, but because it was his duty.

  She dabbed her napkin to her lips, feeling overly warm with the heat of her thoughts. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to the ladies' room," she said.

  He rose as she did and she waved her hands dismissively. "Farid, the restrooms are within sight of this table. It isn't necessary for you to accompany me."

  He frowned and remained standing as she left the table. She was aware of his gaze on her as she made her way to the restrooms in the back.

  Once inside the ladies' room, she wet a towel and slid it over her cheeks. It was refreshingly cool, but did little to douse the fire that had ignited in the pit of her stomach,

  She had been able to excuse their lovemaking before. They had momentarily lost control. It had been a natural curiosity that needed to be satisfied.

  So why did she want it again? Why was she so eager to change the rules of their marriage? Maybe she wasn't the good and dutiful daughter she'd always believed herself to be. Maybe there was a streak of wicked wantonness in her.

  Once again she drew the cool towel over her fevered cheeks and brow. Was it wanton and wicked to want the man you were married to?

  You don't love one another, a little voice whispered in her head. She eyed her reflection in the mirror, irritated with her desire and her doubts.

  She tossed the towel into the trash receptacle, then left the restroom – and bumped directly into Desmond Caruso.

  She froze, for a moment unable to move as they stood face-to-face with one another.

  "Samira!" He took her by the shoulders, his face radiating his shock. "My dear, what a surprise! I've been trying for the past several weeks to get in touch with you. Why didn't you tell me you were coming here to Montebello?"

  "Let me go, Desmond," she said stiffly.

  "Let you go? Darling, I don't want to let you go. I've missed you so much."

  How could she have ever believed herself in love with this man? she wondered. She'd once thought him so handsome, but now she realized his smile was too smooth, the cleft in his chin too pronounced, and his eyes radiated nothing resembling warmth.

  "Yes, I'm sure you've just been locked in your room, pining away for me since the last time we were together," she said dryly.

  She tried to twist away from beneath his hands, but he tightened his grip. "You're angry with me." He shot a quick glance to a nearby table where a blond-haired woman was seated with her back to them. Samira suspected it was the same blonde she'd seen through his living-room window the night she'd come to surprise him with her news.

  "Just let go of me," she repeated angrily.

  "Not until you tell me where you're staying. I'll come to you later and we'll talk."

  "I believe the lady asked you to let her go." Farid's deep voice boomed from behind Samira.

  "Go away and mind your own business," Desmond snapped, not taking his eyes off Samira.

  Farid pulled her from Desmond's grip and placed an arm around her shoulder. "You don't understand. Samira is my business."

  Farid's voice was taut, filled with a simmering anger that portended danger, but Desmond seemed utterly oblivious to the threat.

  He grinned, an ugly grin that transformed his features from handsome to unattractive as his gaze went from Samira to Farid, then back again. "Ah, I see … so that's the way it is. The little princess has taken on a new lover." He laughed, an offensive sound that sickened Samira.

  He directed his gaze to Farid. "You should thank me, hero. I broke her in for you, although I must confess, she was a lousy lay."

  Samira gasped as Farid exploded from her side. He slammed Desmond up against the wall, his big hand wrapped around Desmond's throat.

  Somebody from a table nearby yelled out and a woman screamed. Samira watched in horror as Desmond reached up in an unsuccessful attempt to pull Farid's hand from his neck. "Let me go," he choked.

  "If you ever touch her again … if you ever talk about her like that again … I'll kill you." Farid's voice seethed with rage. "Do you hear me, Caruso? I will not tolerate you disrespecting her. If you do it again, I'll hunt you down and kill you."

  Abruptly he released his hold on Desmond, who stumbled and knocked into a nearby table, overturning glasses as the diners at that particular table jumped up in horror.

  Farid grabbed Samira's arm and together they walked toward the restaurant door. They were followed to the door by a hand-wringing Louis Montague. Montague was the owner of the restaurant and obviously disturbed by the fracas that had just occurred.

  "I apologize for the disturbance," Farid said to Louis when they reached the front of the restaurant. He pulled out several bills and offered them to Louis. "For any damage that might have occurred."

  Louis waved the money away, then tugged on his dark goatee. "I apologize that one of my guests showed an incredible lack of breeding in saying such things to a lady."

  Samira wanted to die as she realized the dapper man had overhead what Desmond had said about her. Tears of humiliation filled her eyes and she clung to Farid's arm, just wanting to leave, to escape from this place.

  The walk back to their guest house was accomplished in silence. She could feel Farid's anger still radiating from him, a palpable force like a companion walking with them.

  Desmond's vile, ugly words swirled around and around in her head, echoing painfully in her heart. There was no way she could even pretend now that Desmond might have liked her just a little bit.

  His words had been demeaning and contemptuous, and she felt like such a fool for ever allowing him to touch her in any way.

  When they reached the guest house, Samira went right into the bathroom, telling Farid she wanted to shower. What she really wanted to do was to wash off the feel of Desmond's hands on her shoulders. She felt slimy and dirty from his touch.

  As she stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, she wondered how it was possible that she could be so smart in matters of the heart for other people, but so incredibly stupid when it came to her own life.

  Others often came to her for advice about their romances. She'd even been instrumental in helping her brother Hassan understand what he needed to do to win over the woman he loved. So, why was she so incredibly naïve? Why had she been so vulnerable to a man like Desmond?

  A lousy lay. The words had been low-class and meant to hurt. But now, Samira wondered if perhaps that's why Farid hadn't tried to make love to her again after the first time. She'd been so bad at it, he hadn't been able to force himself to touch her again.

  A wave of deep despair swept through her and she wept, knowing the sounds of her sobs would be swallowed by the sound of the shower.

  * * *

  He'd wanted to kill him. Rage still ripped through Farid as his mind filled with a vision of Samira's stricken face. He'd never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as he'd wanted to hurt Desmond Caruso.

  Even now his fists ached with the need to smash Caruso's pretty-boy face. He wanted to make it impossible for Samira's name to ever again fall out of Desmond's mouth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such rage. Certainly he'd never felt this kind of anger over a woman.

  With the sound of Samira taking a shower in the next room, Farid walked over to the bar and poured himself a shot of whisky.

  It had been bad enough that Caruso had placed his hands on her, but the foul words that had
left his mouth had made Farid see red.

  He downed the jigger of whisky, then poured himself another one and sank down on the sofa. Slowly the raging adrenaline that had filled him dissipated, leaving behind an ache in his heart for Samira.

  When Desmond had said those ugly things, the look on her face had been devastating. She'd lost all color in her cheeks and her hands had flown to her stomach as if she would shield her unborn child from the man who was the father.

  He'd wanted to shield not only the baby, but Samira herself from Desmond. But he knew that while he'd been able to remove Samira from Desmond's presence tonight, he wouldn't always be able to do so.

  For at least the next eighteen years, Desmond Caruso would always have a place in Samira's life because of the child they shared.

  And while Farid wished it wasn't so, there was no way he could change the fact that Desmond Caruso was the biological father of Samira's child and as such he would have to be afforded certain rights.

  The sound of the shower ceased. He frowned and sipped his drink, relishing the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He worried about what was going through Samira's pretty little head. He knew how much she hated confrontation, and he'd certainly been a party to causing a huge showdown.

  The entire congregation in the restaurant had been witness not only to her humiliation, but also to the violent scene Farid had caused.

  He turned as the bedroom door opened and she came out. Clad in a short, pale-pink terry robe, she looked small and achingly vulnerable.

  He motioned her to sit next to him on the sofa and when she did, his senses were filled with the clean, sweet scent of her. Her hair was damp and clung to her neck, and without any makeup on she looked younger than her years.

  Her eyes were reddened and he realized she'd been crying. Although she was seated next to him, she refused to meet his gaze. Her fingers worried with the fringe at the ends of the belt that cinched the robe at her waist

  Was she angry with him for losing control and making a small scene into a bigger scene? He finished his drink and set his empty glass on the coffee table before them.