The Pregnant Princess

by Anne Marie Winston

  “No thanks, this will hold me for the moment.”

  A faint smile crossed her face. “As you wish.” She studied him curiously. “You’re very American, aren’t you?”

  He supposed she meant the slang expression, because he knew his voice still carried the clipped accents of his homeland. “This is my home now,” was all he said.

  “This country appeals to you so much more than Thortonburg?” she asked softly.

  “When I was younger, anyplace that didn’t have my father in it was appealing,” he said with grim self-mockery. “Now…yes, I like it here. It’s warm, it’s sunny almost all the time—you certainly can’t say that for the North Atlantic.” Only a short distance off the coast of the United Kingdom, the country of his birth was frequently rainy, cloudy and chilly. On its good days.

  “No.” Again, a small smile played around her lips. “You certainly can’t.”

  He watched her lips curve, aware of the flare of sexual attraction deep in his gut. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, and every bit as seductive. His good humor faded.

  “Why did you seduce me?” he asked bluntly.

  Her green eyes widened and her head snapped up as if he’d struck her. Her face went white, then vivid color filled every centimeter of her fair complexion. “I didn’t seduce you!”

  He considered that. “Okay. I’ll give you that. It was definitely a two-sided deal, as I recall.”

  For a moment, she simply stared at him silently and he watched, fascinated, as a deep rosy hue flushed her cheeks. Finally, in the same neutral voice she’d used a minute ago, she said, “Why ever would I want to seduce you?”

  “Does the word betrothal ring any bells?”

  She had a bewildered look on her face as she shook her head. “But I’m not betrothed to anyone.”

  He snorted. “Do we have to continue this little game of make-believe? Okay, so it didn’t have to be you. My father isn’t particular as long as the union occurs. You know full well one of you will marry the future Grand Duke one day. You were trying to get a jump on your sisters, weren’t you? After all, if you can’t have a king, a grand duke is the next best thing.”

  “You think I’d marry for a title?” She gaped at him for a moment, ignoring the rest of his heavy-handed sarcasm. “My father never arranged a marriage in his life. I don’t know why you believe he would do something like that.”

  “Maybe because my father’s been telling me since I was four years old that I would marry one of the princesses one day?”

  “We’ll marry whomever we want, your father’s wishes aside.”

  “Umm-hmm.” It was a skeptical sound.

  “There was no arrangement of any kind!” she insisted. “Anyway, my eldest sister is already married. She married a rancher from right here in Arizona. They’re expecting their first child—”

  “I don’t give a bloody damn if they’re expecting ten children,” he said through his teeth.

  Her eyes widened again and though she didn’t actually move, he had the impression she’d reared back out of his reach.

  “You’re…what? Second eldest?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Third, actually. My brother was—is—the eldest. Katherine and Serena are younger than I am.”

  Why had Elizabeth been steered his way instead of one of her sisters? It was a puzzle that he couldn’t find the right pieces for, and he didn’t like unfinished puzzles. But for now, he set it aside. “My father and your father must have gotten their heads together since I left the country,” he said. “And you were the sacrificial lamb. I wonder how the King decided which daughter to send. A roll of dice? A flipped coin?”

  “I told you my father would never arrange a marriage for me,” she insisted, and her voice was agitated. “There is no scheme.”

  “Not anymore there isn’t,” he said, not caring how cold and implacable he sounded. “You might have been a virgin, and you might even have been the hottest sex I’ve ever had, but I’m still not falling for it. Go home and tell your daddy I’m not marrying you.”

  The color that had infused her cheeks drained away. For a minute, he thought she was going to cry. Then she drew a deep breath. “I’ll tell my father nothing of the sort.” She leaped to her feet and stomped across the room, yanking open the door of the suite. “He didn’t plot for us to meet or marry, and if you think I’m trying to trap you into matrimony you couldn’t be more wrong. You may leave, sir, and don’t come back. I plan to forget we ever met.” Grandly, she flung her arm wide to encourage him to leave.

  About to take her up on the invitation, Rafe rose from the chair—and stopped in his tracks, all thoughts of leaving forgotten. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  She was pregnant.

  Shock ripped through him as the silhouette of the princess was outlined through her thin dress against the light flowing in from the hall…the light that clearly showed the bulge of pregnancy beneath the flowing style he’d assumed was merely fashionable. Her outflung arm pulled the garment tight across her midsection, making it impossible to miss her condition.

  Temporarily struck dumb, Rafe stalked across the room toward her.

  Elizabeth must have recognized the bone-deep rage tearing through him, because she backed up until the wall beside the door stopped her retreat.

  He didn’t hesitate until he was practically standing on her toes, the protrusion of her belly only inches from his body and her wide, fear-filled eyes gazing up at him defensively.

  “You…little…bitch,” he ground out. “So that’s what this surprise reunion is all about. You’ve got a bun in the oven and let me guess…” He paused and allowed a mocking grin to slide across his face. “I’m supposed to believe it’s mine.”

  She gasped. When her hands came up and shoved hard at his stomach, he was surprised enough that he let her push him back a step or two. Again, she was flushing that bright red that only a redhead could manage, her whole body shaking. Her face looked shattered, and he thought she was going to cry, but when she spoke, her voice trembled with rage. “It is your child,” she said. “My sister Serena thought it was only fair that you know.”

  Her words rocked him to the core, but he managed to cover his reaction with a sneer. “And you expect me to believe that? Do I really look like that big a sucker?” He crossed his arms and his own rising anger made his voice rough. “That could be anybody’s baby.”

  Her eyes darkened, dulled, and she swayed. Alarmed, he reached out to steady her, but she backed away from him so quickly that she nearly fell over a chair. She slapped his hand away.

  “As you so kindly reminded me, I was a virgin.” Her voice was low and unsteady, and her body shook from head to toe. He had a moment’s instinctive concern for her condition, but before he could think of anything to say that might calm her a little, she whipped around and ran across the suite to a far door, entering it and slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

  Considering she’d caught him by surprise, he reacted quickly, sprinting after her. But she’d had just enough of a start that by the time he reached for the doorknob, he heard the distinct metallic click of a lock and then the final hammering sound of a deadbolt being thrown into place.

  “Elizabeth!” he roared, rattling the knob. “Come out here!”

  There was no answer, but through the door he could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom. And then another sound. Weeping. He rested his fists against the door, fighting the urge to batter it down. Frustration and fury mounted as the feeling of being trapped rose within him. Any sympathy that her crying had aroused died as echoes of his childhood swamped him. He’d sworn he would never have a child, would never do to a child what had been done to him. Never.

  He gave the door a hefty kick with the flat of his foot. “Nobody makes my life plans for me!” he shouted through the door before he spun on his heel. “Not my father, and not you!”

  His mood was only marginally better at nine the next morning. He had tossed
and turned half the bloody night. This morning, his eyes felt gritty and he was drinking industrial-strength coffee in an effort to revive the brain cells that were comatose from lack of sleep.

  But there were a few brain cells that were alive and well. With no effort at all, he could recall the look on Elizabeth’s face when he’d told her that the baby she carried could belong to anyone.

  She’d been shattered.

  He felt like pond scum. He might not have any intention of marrying the girl, but he wasn’t a total jerk. He knew, as sure as he knew his own name, that she’d never had another lover. Before him, impossible. After him… If she’d been a bedhopper, she wouldn’t still have been a virgin when he had met her. He wasn’t sure how old she was, but he knew she had to be in her mid-twenties. Definitely not promiscuous.

  And her baby was his.

  My sister Serena thought it was only fair that you know.

  What in bloody hell did that mean? That Elizabeth wouldn’t have told him otherwise?

  He might not want it, might be furious about this whole bloody mess, but he wasn’t a man who walked away from his responsibilities. He’d fathered a child, and he’d support it. She’d waited, damn her, far too long for abortion to be an option. He’d counted in his head during the endless nighttime hours, and he figured she was about five months along now.

  Abortion. In his heart, he knew he couldn’t let her do that, anyway. It certainly would have been the easy way out, but the solution gave him a sick feeling. Together, he and Elizabeth Wyndham had created a life, and he didn’t believe either of them had the right to end it.

  No. Biologically, he was going to be a father, though he had no intention of getting involved in this child’s life. He wondered if Elizabeth had considered adoption. As far as he was concerned, that would be the best thing all around, but somehow, he doubted his redheaded lover would see it that way. Nor would the royal family, come to think of it.

  Oh, well. If she wanted to raise the kid, he couldn’t stop her. And he certainly wouldn’t have any trouble supporting it financially. Even though he’d refused to use any of his family’s money, except that from his grandmother’s trust, he’d managed to build quite a respectable business for himself here in the States. Regardless of the hidebound, ambitious schemer he had the misfortune to call his father.

  Hell. He wasn’t going to get any more sleep, and he knew he couldn’t work until he’d straightened things out with Elizabeth. Dumping the coffee in the sink, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the garage.

  Twenty-five minutes later, he stood in the suite where he’d been only last night, clinging to his temper by a thin thread while the personal assistant provided to Elizabeth during her hotel stay spread her hands helplessly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thorton, but the princess insisted. I didn’t think it was wise for her to rent a car for herself, but there was simply no stopping her.”

  “How many were in her party?”

  “Her party? Oh, no one else, sir. She was alone.”

  She hadn’t even taken a driver or a bodyguard? The vague tingle of apprehension that had hovered since he’d learned the princess had left the hotel that morning became a full-fledged itch. “What about her bodyguard?”

  “She didn’t bring one, sir.”

  Rafe swore, a string of curses that clearly shocked the young woman before him. “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know, sir. She was meeting a man, I believe. All she told me was that she planned to be back by the dinner hour.”

  Dinner hour. In Wynborough, that could easily mean eight or nine in the evening. No way was he waiting that long to be sure she was all right. With the hotel employee to vouch for him, it was an easy task to get the concierge to supply him with Elizabeth’s intended destination and to get a description of the vehicle she was driving.

  Driving! As sheltered as her life had been, he would bet she’d rarely, if ever, driven herself anywhere in her whole life.

  Not to mention the little fact that Americans drove on the other side of the road from what she was accustomed at home.

  As he waited impatiently for the facts he’d requested, the assistant’s other words sank in. Meeting a man. A man! Who the hell would Elizabeth know in Phoenix other than him? She was pregnant with his baby, damn it!

  Five minutes later, he was climbing back into his truck and heading for the highway.

  He drove south out of Phoenix on Interstate 10, heading toward Casa Grande. The concierge had told him that Elizabeth had asked for directions to Catalina, a little town nestled between the Tortolita mountain range and the Coronado National Forest just north of Tucson. She had maybe an hour’s start on him—how the hell was he going to find her?

  Especially if she was meeting some other man.

  It was only with the greatest restraint that he could keep himself from snarling at the woman’s naïveté. She didn’t know the first thing about men. Elizabeth had no business haring off to meet another man, and when he found her he was going to let her know in no uncertain terms that as the father of her baby, he wouldn’t tolerate another man hanging around his…

  His what?

  Nothing, he told himself. Nothing. She doesn’t belong to you. You need this princess in your life like you need heat rash.

  It was hot.

  She didn’t think she’d ever experienced this kind of heat before. She’d vacationed on islands in warm climates, but nothing she could recall resembled this dry, draining heat that leached every ounce of energy from her. Of course, she’d never been on a tropical island when she was pregnant, either, and she’d nearly always had a pool or a beautiful ocean in which to cool off.

  Elizabeth bent over the motor of the rental car again. This was dreadful. She had no idea what she might be looking for among all the black, greasy parts and metal pipes. All she knew was that a white, billowing cloud of smoke had begun to leak from beneath the bonnet of the automobile about thirty minutes ago, and that when she’d pulled off the road to investigate the sedan wouldn’t start again.

  Fear coiled and her fingers shook as she tentatively reached forward and lightly tapped a piece of metal. It was easy to call herself a dunce. An hour ago, a jaunt down an American highway to find the man who might be her brother had sounded like a grand lark. Now it sounded like the height of folly.

  No chauffeur. No bodyguard. No car phone. Off the main road on a little side highway with not a building in sight. Her parents would be terribly distressed if they knew. It hadn’t seemed so foolish to her when she’d had the idea. She was so awfully weary of being followed, escorted, fussed over everywhere she went. This had seemed like the perfect time to see how it felt to be normal.

  Now all she could think was that if someone would rescue her, she’d offer him a title in his own right. Peering into the engine one more time, she picked up the black umbrella she’d brought along and held it open above her head, providing a bit of shade from the sun if not from the heat.

  The thought of what Rafe would say if he were here only served to lower her spirits even more. He thought she was a silly, helpless girl who’d been sheltered from the real world her entire life. She could see his disdain in his eyes when he looked at her.

  Was he right? She thought of the organ donor campaign with which she’d consented to work, of the hospital visits she’d made in the name of her other charity, a hospice in Wynborough’s capital city. She’d seen suffering. She’d seen death. She wasn’t a hothouse flower who had fluff for brains.

  Oh? Then why are you standing here in the heat beside a crippled auto?

  She was going to pray to God Rafe never found out about this. Then again, why should he? When he’d slammed out of her suite last night, she’d known she would never see him again.

  Far down the road, something distracted her from her morose thoughts. A car! A car on the highway coming toward her. It was moving quite fast over the straight, flat terrain, and as it drew closer she could see it was a truck. Not that it mattered as l
ong as the driver would be willing to take her to Catalina. In Catalina she could accomplish her goal, which was to locate Samuel Flynn, the man who once was an orphan in The Sunshine Home for Children, the home she and her sisters were sure their kidnapped brother had been brought thirty years ago.

  Her stomach quivered, and she hoped it was at the thought of locating her brother, presumed dead for so long. What a coronation anniversary gift that would make for her father!

  Her stomach quivered again, and she wiped a drop of sweat from her temple before it could trickle down her cheek. The truck was drawing to a halt behind her car now, and she squinted as the driver stepped out, forcing her dry lips into a welcoming smile. Until she recognized the big broad-shouldered figure of the Prince of Thortonburg walking toward her.

  Curses. The day was rapidly assuming the proportions of a major disaster. She closed her eyes, hoping he was a mirage, but she was forced to open them quickly by a wave of vertigo. He was still there.

  His expression was forbidding as he strode toward her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  “It’s lovely to see you again, too, Mr. Thorton. How coincidental that you should be traveling the same road as I.” She tilted her chin, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.

  “You know perfectly well it’s not coincidence. I was coming after you. You have no business traipsing around an American desert without an escort.”

  “Thank you for your opinion. Where I traipse and with whom is not your concern, sir.” She would have stuck her nose even higher in the air, but she was forced to close her eyes as another round of dizziness seized her.

  “Elizabeth!” She felt his big hands catch her elbows.

  “You may address me as ‘Your Royal Highness’—oh!” She squeaked in alarm as Rafe scooped her up in his arms and swung her around, and she clutched at his shoulders as the world spun crazily around her. “Put me down!”