The Blacksheep Prince's Bride. Martha Shields
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Which means I must think, deep down, that…”
“That my uncle is dead.”
She nodded fearfully.
Jake was touched by the tears in her eyes. Her emotion was sincere. He’d bet his next consulting fee on it. She really loved his uncle.
He wanted to lean forward and place a comforting hand on the arm wrapped around his son, but didn’t. “It’s frustrating to everyone, not knowing. I never met my uncle, but from what I’ve heard, he’s a good man.”
She searched his eyes, then asked, “You think he’s alive?”
Jake didn’t look away. “I don’t know. If he wasn’t, I think they would’ve found…some evidence.”
“You mean his—” Her gaze dropped to Sammy, then she sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“He’s okay,” Jake said. “I know you’re worried. I’m worried, too. Everyone’s worried.”
Their gazes met again, and held. Hers asked questions her lips wouldn’t.
Had he kidnapped…and killed…King Michael?
It was the first intimation that she might think so, and once again the possibility flitted across his mind that Rowena had been placed in his house to spy.
Jake wasn’t the only suspect, of course. His cousin, Nicholas, Jake’s father, Edward, and his older brother, Luke, were also considered to have motivation since they were first, second and third in line for the throne, respectively.
Jake was fourth in line, but because he’d been the first to see the smashed railing where the King’s car had skidded off a cliff and plummeted to the rocky beach below, he was at the top of the list of suspects. He’d called the police, which made him the first on the scene, and automatically made the odds on him rise considerably. At least in the eyes of the authorities.
He supposed he should be flattered that they considered him capable of such a momentous crime—which required significant finesse and forethought—all with a two-year-old in tow after barely having stepped off the plane.
But somehow, he wasn’t.
He believed the fabled Chamber of Riches—reputed to hold a king’s ransom in royal jewels—was just that…a fable. Obtaining the key to the Chamber was supposedly his motive.
Living here, Rowena would have ample opportunity to find any evidence linking him to his uncle’s disappearance, which had happened on the day Jake had landed in Edenbourg.
There wasn’t any evidence to find, of course, but they didn’t know that…yet.
The thought of Rowena going through his things while he was away made him want to open the front door and toss her straight out into the royal rose bushes.
Then he realized that wasn’t what he wanted to do at all. What he really wanted to do was convince her of his innocence. He wanted her to believe in him, to believe he wasn’t capable of killing anyone, much less his uncle. Even one he’d never met.
Damn. This definitely was not starting out well.
Rowena was the first to look away. “What time would you like dinner?”
Her question startled him. “You’re going to cook?”
She nodded. “Mrs. Hanson left as soon as I arrived this afternoon. I think she was a bit miffed that you left Sammy with her.”
A spy who cooked? That was unique…unless she was planning to poison him. But he didn’t think she was here to do away with him, just to see what he knew about the king’s disappearance.
“I know she was upset with me, but I didn’t arrange for yet another baby-sitter because I thought you’d be moved in by noon.”
“I’m sorry. Something came up with Isabel.”
“I understand.”
Jake pressed a thumb into his temple. The strain really was getting to him. Rowena was no spy. She was a lady-in-waiting, a glorified maid who happened to be very good with children. She was here as a nanny, not a spy.
That was why they had him up at the palace the best part of every day. So the ones who were qualified could watch him in the comfort of their own home.
“You don’t have to cook. Why don’t you go get yours and Sammy’s things and we’ll go to a restaurant. Know a good one?”
She stared at him as if he’d turned blue. “You want me to come with you?”
“You don’t want to?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…Why?”
Her amazement surprised him. Surely she’d gone to fancy restaurants on all her high-powered dates. “I don’t know. Because you’re hungry?”
She cocked her face and peered at him sideways. “I’d rather cook, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Fine. I just wanted to save you the trouble. You’ve been with Sammy all afternoon, and I know how exhausting that can be.” He butted Sammy’s knee with a fist. “No offense, little guy.”
Sammy giggled.
“I’m fine,” Rowena insisted. “And don’t worry. I won’t poison you. I cooked all my father’s meals after my mother died when I was twelve. I’m quite a good cook.”
“I didn’t think…” He glanced away guilty. The thought had occurred to him. “Never mind.”
Her words relieved the last vestiges of suspicion, and Jake’s stomach chose that moment to grumble about not eating since breakfast.
Rowena chuckled, and finally relaxed. “It’s not your mind that’s complaining.”
“You really don’t have to cook, you know.”
“Tell that to your stomach.” With a hand on Sammy’s bottom, she pushed him to his feet. “Sammy and I laid out everything in the kitchen. It will only take half an hour.”
Since she was determined, Jake rose and held out a hand.
She paused with both hands on the floor, glanced at his hand, then up at him.
“It won’t poison you,” he said softly.
She didn’t retort, or even smile. After a noticeable hesitation, she gingerly placed her hand in his.
Jake wrapped his long fingers around her slender hand and pulled her to her feet. Her weight was so slight and he was feeling so unnerved, he miscalculated and pulled with enough force to yank her against him.
“Oh,” they said in unison.
She lifted her head, then they both went still.
Her startled golden gaze mesmerized him, narrowing his awareness to the space around them. Her lips could be featured in an ad for collagen injections. They were lusciously moist and slightly parted in surprise. Her breathing was shallow and rapid.
She trembled ever so slightly in his arms. With fear? Desire? Both?
Jake could feel her left fist digging into his chest. Her right hand was still captured in his left. Her slight weight leaned into him, one leg braced between his.
He wanted to do far more than kiss her, and the feeling jarred him back to reality.
He couldn’t touch her. She was too much like Annette.
She stepped back a second before he let her go.
Without glancing up, she murmured, “Sorry. I’ll…I’ll…Oh yes. I’ll go prepare dinner.”
He watched as she fled the room.
Her discomfiture told him two things. She was attracted to him as well, and she was fighting