The Pregnant Princess. Anne Marie Winston
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his own royal status. Granted, they were all several years younger than he, and he’d been away at school most of his life before he’d escaped Thortonburg, but rumor had it that King Phillip employed the tightest security to keep his remaining family safe.
Rafe supposed that if his infant son had been kidnapped and presumably killed, he’d be overprotective with his other children, too. Yes, given all those factors, he’d been nearly positive that his lady fair had been one of King Phillip’s four beautiful daughters.
“Could I offer you a drink?” She had moved across the room behind him and now stood behind the small breakfast bar.
“Please.” He walked to the bar and hooked one foot around a stool, drawing it to him and propping himself on the edge of the seat with his feet splayed. “Nice place.”
“Yes. It’s very comfortable.”
“I guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like to live somewhere that wasn’t.”
Her eyes flickered to his for an instant. “I’ve never had the opportunity to find out,” she said in a neutral tone. Busying herself for a moment, she laid a napkin on the bar and set a highball glass in front of him.
He stared at the drink for a minute. “How do you know what I drink?”
The color that had begun to subside began to climb her neck again. “If you’d prefer another drink, that’s fine. This is what you were drinking…the last time.”
“This is fine.” Abruptly, he picked up the drink and took a quick gulp. When she’d first seen him yesterday in the restaurant, there had been warm, intimate welcome in the depths of her green eyes until he’d scared it away. Today, the same wide eyes held only wariness. Her hair was a beautiful copper, shiny as a new American penny. Tonight she wore it down, curling softly around her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face.
He recognized that face. Now that he knew who she was, he felt like an idiot for doubting his instincts before. It could almost have been her mother’s face at a younger age, except for a slight dimple in her chin, courtesy of her father, the king.
The king.
Anger began to rise again and he ruthlessly pushed it back and shut the door on it. He intended to have his questions answered this evening.
Elizabeth continued to hover behind the bar. She had made herself a drink as well, though he’d seen her put nothing in it but cranberry juice. She gestured to the center of the room, where a coffee table surrounded by several chairs and love seats held a silver tray full of canapés. “Shall we sit down?”
He rose from the stool and gestured for her to precede him. “Certainly.”
Her gaze flew to his, then whisked away again, and he saw her swallow. Then she stepped from behind the bar and quickly walked to one of the chairs, sinking down and demurely crossing her legs at the ankle while she fussed with the loose folds of her oversize dress.
Rafe followed her, taking a seat at an angle to hers and accepting the plate she offered him. He’d worked all day and had only gotten home in time to shower and change before heading over to the hotel, and he was starving. As he filled his plate with a selection of the hors d’ouevres, he glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
She gave a single nervous shake of her head. “I’m not particularly hungry. You go ahead.”
“If you’re sure.” This rigid courtesy was getting to him already. One more of the reasons he didn’t intend to return to Thortonburg.
She only nodded.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Judging from the way she fidgeted, it bothered her a lot more than it did him. He applied himself to his food until his plate was empty, but he held up a hand in refusal when she offered him a second helping.
“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