Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns
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shook her head. “That I haven’t found out yet. I haven’t been able to trace the source of the e-mails—yet,” she emphasized the word. “But I’ve only been at this for less than a day,” she reminded him with the confidence of one who had had eventually met every single technological challenge she’d encountered.
By the expression on her face, Russell surmised that Lazlo’s operative was not in the habit of making excuses or feeling that she needed to.
“Anything else?” he asked before leaving her to her work. He really didn’t expect her to answer in the affirmative.
“Yes.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “Possibly there’s a little Reginald out there somewhere.”
Russell stiffened. “What?”
The depth of Reginald’s stupidity never ceased to amaze him. Or maybe it was just the prince’s incredible ego that had allowed him to think that he could leave traces of his indiscretion right there, in his computer. This after he had gone through all the trouble, at Reginald’s behest, of tracking the woman down to pay her off.
He did his best to appear surprised.
Strange how things turned out. Reginald’s vanity could very well prove to be his saving grace. Reginald’s unborn child was the natural heir to the throne. That could easily take him off the hook. With any luck, Weston could act as regent on behalf of the child until such time as the child was of an age to rule on his own. Anything was preferable to his having to be crowned, Russell thought.
And probably preferable to Reginald having taken the crown, he added as an afterthought. He had no doubts that, barring some miracle, Reginald would have made a terrible monarch.
Feigning surprise, he asked, “Who’s the child’s mother?”
“Strictly speaking, there is no child yet,” Lucia informed him. “But the woman is pregnant. From all indications, by several months.”
“And she claims that Reginald is the father.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but a statement that begged for a response.
“From what I saw in the e-mail, she’s certain. Her name’s Sydney Connor.” She hit several keys on the laptop, then turned it around so that Russell could see the screen. “I was able to trace her e-mails to a computer back in Naessa.”
“Naessa,” he echoed.
Things were beginning to fall into place. Relations between the two countries were less than amicable. If he were to draw up a list of potential suspects who would have wanted to cause chaos within Silvershire by eliminating Reginald, the rival kingdom would be near the top. There were factions within Naessa, dangerous factions, that had aligned themselves with terrorist groups which had struck at Silvershire before and undoubtedly would again.
Was this woman working in conjunction with one of the terrorist groups? he wondered. “Do you know anything about this Sydney Connor?”
“Not yet,” Lucia freely admitted. “But the day is still young. Give me a little time.” She grinned. “A little bit of sugar wouldn’t be out of line, either.” Her grin broadened. “I run on sugar and coffee, in case you’re interested.”
“I’ll have some coffee and pastries sent in immediately,” he promised. “Would you prefer doughnuts, coffee cake or French pastries?”
“Yes,” was her only response. Lucia turned her attention back to the laptop.
With a diet like that, he wondered how the woman managed to remain in the shape she was in. “I’ll have them bring you a selection,” he told her as he let himself out.
An heir. Reginald’s “mistake” might now very well prove to be his own salvation. An heir meant that he wouldn’t have to go through with the coronation.
He felt like a man who had just crawled out from beneath the crushing weight of a boulder. The relief was immeasurable.
Russell began to whistle while he walked.
Chapter 13
Russell stopped whistling.
He had realized, as he headed back to his quarters, that if there were an heir to the throne, if this woman, Sydney Connor, really was pregnant with Reginald’s baby and if she could be found, then his coronation need not take place.
But, it suddenly occurred to him, if it didn’t, what then would become of his union with Amelia? Would it be terminated, annulled, rescinded, as if it had never happened?
It was obvious that the only reason their wedding had gone off on the preset schedule, without missing so much as a beat, was because King Roman was anxious to have the treaty between their two countries go forward.
In that light, things had not changed all that much since ancient times. Countries still needed to forge alliances in order to survive. The strong protected the weak, not of out any sense of altruism, but because of the stakes involved. Two countries together were stronger than either country was on its own.
If an heir suddenly surfaced, and the line was restored to King Weston’s house, then how would he, Russell, figure into all this? What would his role be? Would he even have a role, beyond that of political advisor? Since he would not be king, would Amelia’s father call for an annulment and have her—what, pledged to a child? he wondered cynically.
Or would King Roman place pressure on his old friend and have Weston take Amelia as his wife? That was a possibility he hadn’t even thought of until this moment. Weston had been without a queen these thirty years. The thought of having a beautiful young bride might be very appealing. It would go a long way to healing the wounds he now felt.
And where would Amelia weigh in on all this? Would she dutifully go along with whatever her father decided to do, for the “good of the kingdom?” Or would she ask her father to change his mind? To withdraw his negotiations? Would she demand not to be the pawn that she’d told him she felt herself to be in all of this?
He’d like to believe that she would, but he couldn’t in all honesty be sure.
They had spent a wonderful night together that had seemed even better, if that were possible, than their first night had been. But that had to do with attraction, with chemistry, with emotions, none of which mattered when it came to the ultimate matters of state.
Russell shook his head. There were too many possibilities, too many uncertain elements. Too many “ifs” crowding his brain.
His good mood faded.
He held off saying anything to anyone about Lucia’s findings for two days. And two nights. Two nights in which time and life were suspended as he found a perfect haven in the bed that had once been intended for Prince Reginald and his bride. The bed that was now his and Amelia’s. He made love with her as if he was savoring a very precious, very fragile gift, never once telling Amelia that all this might be fleeting.
And then, on the morning of the third day, he couldn’t put it off any longer. Slipping out of bed quietly in order not to wake Amelia, he quickly got dressed and left to see about business.
After first checking with Lucia to see if she had come up with anything further—she hadn’t—he went to see the king. It was time Weston was apprised of the situation. Once Weston knew, the situation would be, more or less, taken out of Russell’s hands.
His first loyalty had to be with the crown, Russell told himself, not with any feelings he might have. His was not to pick and choose, but to serve. If, after everything, it turned out that it was his destiny to be king, then so be it. But that eventuality might not ever take place.
And if that wound up costing him the woman that he had come to love with all his heart, that, too, was a matter of destiny.
Bracing himself for whatever the future had in store for him, Russell knocked on the door to the king’s private quarters.
“They