The Prince's Royal Dilemma. Brenda Harlen
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stoic and accepting, seemed to miss the nanny. And then there was his conversation with Marcus—two days after he’d fired her—wherein his brother explained the circumstances behind the picture of Lara on the beach.
He’d made a mistake—he’d reacted emotionally instead of rationally, and without having all of the facts. But the picture had done something to him, churned up desires he hadn’t even been aware of possessing. It was one thing to want a woman—he hadn’t lived well into his thirty-fourth year without experiencing the pull of desire and the pleasures of making love. But Lara was the children’s nanny, and he was appalled by the weakness within himself that he could want a woman who was so clearly off-limits, and want her desperately.
He’d thrown the paper in the trash, but somehow that tempting image of her was burned into his brain. He couldn’t sleep at night without dreaming about her, fantasizing about that slim, sexy body wrapped around him. And when he woke in the morning, hard and aching with wanting her, he could only be grateful that she was gone—far out of the reach of temptation. But after the initial wave of relief passed, the guilt settled in—guilt that, while he might have made the decision that was right for him, he’d made it for all the wrong reasons.
Of course, the decision had been made, so there could be no going back. Damon would cease throwing temper tantrums when he realized they had no effect; Alexandria would regain her appetite; and Christian would smile again. He had to remain firm in his conviction and trust that their rebellious behavior would pass. They just needed a period of adjustment. The new nanny had only been in residence for a week, and Rowan was confident that it wouldn’t be too much longer before life settled into a normal routine again—and Damon would, hopefully, settle down.
He hadn’t hired Edna Harris because of her gray hair or long skirts or thick clunky shoes, but he considered those to be definite bonuses. She’d been in the business of caring for other people’s children longer than he’d been alive, and she wasn’t a woman he’d need to worry about going clubbing on her night off or sneaking out of the palace for a midnight rendezvous with a lover. And he definitely wouldn’t be distracted by the image of her laughing eyes, smiling lips or shapely curves.
Yes, Edna Harris was the best thing for all of them, especially now that he was facing a deadline to marry. He had to focus his attention on the future and trust that his erotic dreams about Lara would fade and he’d be able to sleep again at night.
His hopes in that regard were dashed by the sharp poke of a finger in his side.
He shook off the fog of his restless slumber and pushed himself up, trying to focus through the darkness on the child standing beside his bed. “What’s the matter, Alexandria?”
“Damon’s throwing up again.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Where’s Mrs. Harris?”
“In the nursery.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because you can fix him.”
Rowan frowned at the note of certainty in her voice. “What do you think I can do that Mrs. Harris can’t?”
“Bring Lara back.”
Mierda. “You have a new nanny now,” he reminded her gently.
“She doesn’t know the song,” Alexandria told him.
He was wide-awake now, but still not able to make sense of the conversation. “What song?”
“The one…” Her voice faltered and even in the pale moonlight, he saw the shimmer of tears that filled her eyes. But she blinked fiercely to hold them in check and tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “The one Mommy used to sing to us. The one that Lara sings when we have bad dreams.”
Rowan squinted at the clock beside the bed. It was three o’clock in the morning and he had a 7:00 a.m. meeting with the minister of state, but he somehow knew that his handling of this crisis could have more immediate and long-lasting repercussions than anything he discussed with Lorenzo over breakfast.
“Damon’s been throwing up every night since Lara went away,” she told him.
He frowned. “What do you mean—every night?”
“Mrs. Harris didn’t tell you?”
“No,” he admitted.
She sighed dramatically. “Damon’s been having nightmares since Mommy and Daddy died. Lara used to sing to him, but now she’s gone and he just screams and cries until he makes himself sick.”
Rowan pulled his robe out of the closet. “Miss Brennan has been gone for ten days.”
Alexandria nodded.
“Are you telling me that your brother has been waking up every night for the past week and a half?”
“Every night since Mommy and Daddy died,” she said again. “But he’s only been throwing up since Lara went away.”
The realization that no one had bothered to tell him about this was making him feel ill. “Let’s go see your brother, then I’ll call Dr. Marotta.”
Despite Mrs. Harris’s entreaties, Alexandria refused to leave her brother’s side, and Rowan didn’t have the heart to force her. Instead, he encouraged the nanny to turn in, promising that he would wait for the doctor, then see to his niece himself. The woman pursed her thin lips in obvious disapproval but acceded to his wishes.
Dr. Marotta arrived within thirty minutes of Rowan’s call. Unfortunately, he had no magical cure for the little boy, though he did give the child a mild sedative to help him settle. When Damon was asleep again, Rowan took Alexandria to her own room.
It was rare for him to be home without guests or other obligations when it was time for the children to go to bed, so he wasn’t accustomed to sharing in the nighttime ritual. But as he helped the young princess into her bed and pulled the covers up under her chin, he found comfort in the routine—and sorrow in the knowledge that it should have been his brother tucking her in. He would give anything to bring Julian and Catherine back for their children, but not even a prince had that kind of power.
“Good night, little princess.”
Her eyes were already closing. “G’night.”
On impulse he touched his lips to her forehead and saw her lips curve in response to the gesture.
He was at the door when she spoke again.
“You’ll get Lara to come back, won’t you, Uncle Rowan?”
His fingers tightened on the knob. “I’ll talk to her.”
It was the most he could promise, but it was enough for his niece, who smiled again as she drifted into sleep.
Dr. Marotta was waiting for Rowan when he exited her room.
“Thanks for coming out tonight, Doctor.”
The old man inclined his head. “It’s an honor and a privilege to serve the royal family, Your Highness.”
He managed a weary smile as he moved down the hall. “Even when you get called away from your bed at four o’clock in the morning?”
“Always.”
He led the way to the library and dropped gratefully into a butter-soft leather chair. “What can you tell me about Damon?”
“Probably nothing that you don’t already know,” the doctor said. “He’s had a lot of upheaval in his life over the past few weeks. He’s confused and upset and he’s grieving.”
“What can I do?”
“Just be there for him.” But he frowned, as another thought occurred to him. “I spoke to Miss Brennan about this a couple of weeks ago, and she gave me the impression that these incidents were decreasing in both frequency and intensity. Maybe I should speak with her again, to inquire if something may