Royally Pregnant. Barbara McCauley
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amusement in her eyes as she shook her head.
“Irma? Sibyl? Chloe? Cornelia—”
“How about Emily?”
Dylan turned at the sound of a voice as Dr. Waltham entered the room. He stood at the open doorway, a file folder in one hand and a stern-looking Mavis Weidermeyer behind him. The white-haired doctor moved toward his patient, then held up something small between his thumb and index finger. The ruby ring she’d been wearing earlier, Dylan realized.
“We took it off when we cleaned up the scrapes on your hand,” Dr. Waltham said. “There’s an inscription inside the band, though we needed a magnifying glass to read it.”
Her breath held, the woman stared at the ring, then looked back up at the doctor and whispered, “An inscription?”
“‘To my dearest Emily.”’ Dr. Waltham pressed the ring into her hand. “Though it doesn’t mean for certain that’s your name, I’m afraid until we find out more about you, Emily it is. Unless you have an objection, of course.”
“No. I—” Her eyes moistened as she stared at the ring, then she slipped it on her finger. “Emily is fine.”
“The bad news is you’ve lost your memory, but amnesia following a trauma and blow of the sort you’ve had isn’t out of the realm of normality. More than likely you’ll slowly regain all the bits and pieces you’ve forgotten over the next few days or weeks.” Dr. Waltham smiled. “The good news is that nothing is broken and I see no signs of serious injuries. You may have a mild concussion, though, and your shoulder has a nasty pull. I’m going to keep you overnight in the infirmary so we can monitor you, then a couple of days’ rest should heal up your body well enough.”
“A few days?” Emily put a hand to her temple. “But I can’t stay here, I don’t even—”
She started to sway and Dylan rushed toward her, held firmly on to her shoulders so she wouldn’t fall off the table. She’d reached out instinctively and held on to his arms. Gently he eased her onto her back. She blinked several times, then her gaze steadied and met his. Her cheeks had paled even more, making the bruise on her face bloom brighter.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” Her hands tightened, then slid from his arms. “I’m sorry. I just got dizzy for a moment. I’ll be fine.”
Dr. Waltham stepped beside Dylan. “I’m sure it’s the pain pills, but let me have a look, anyway.”
Reluctantly, Dylan moved away while the doctor examined his patient. Mavis pulled a blanket from a corner cabinet and draped it over the younger woman, then lifted Emily’s wrist and took her pulse.
Dylan stood by, helpless, watching as the doctor shone a tiny flashlight in Emily’s eyes, then asked her to follow his finger without moving her head.
The doctor patted Emily’s hand, then turned back to Dylan. “She just needs to rest now. We’ll move her to a bed and you can—”
“I’ll have the guest chamber next to my suite prepared for her.”
“Your Royal Highness.” Dr. Waltham furrowed his brow. “That’s really not nec—”
In a tone Dylan rarely used with anyone, a tone that brooked no argument and no discussion, he said, “She’ll be more comfortable in a real bed. You can send someone to monitor her there if it’s necessary. Whatever you need, whatever she needs, take care of it.”
Without looking back, he strode toward the door and walked out of the office.
Emily, if that was her name, was his responsibility now. And in spite of what people thought, in spite of what people said, Dylan Penwyck had never turned his back on an obligation or duty.
She woke to the smell of gardenias and the soft haze of early-morning light. Emily buried her face deeper into the marshmallow-soft pillow, not quite ready to give up the comfort of sleep. A dream, she thought, please let all this be a dream.
And please don’t let me wake up.
But the distant rumble of thunder and the steady drip of rain off the eaves outside the bedroom window reminded her that it was not a dream at all. She truly was inside Penwyck Palace, snuggled under a thick down comforter that covered a four-poster canopied bed which was in and of itself fit for a king.
She barely remembered being brought here yesterday. The pain medication had not only eased her aches and pains, but had made her fall into a deep sleep for the night. Obviously the medication had worn off, she thought when she rolled to her back and her shoulder twanged in protest. Wincing, she lifted a hand to her forehead and pressed her fingers to the insistent, dull ache in her skull.
When the pain eased, she drew in a slow breath, then rose on one elbow and glanced around the spacious room. Elegant was her first thought, Victorian romantic was her second as she took in the canopied bed, lace curtains, floral wallpaper and a French country armoire.
And flowers. Beautiful long-stemmed pink roses, white carnations, purple delphiniums, all in a huge, cut-crystal vase on a round corner table. Beside the bed, pale-yellow Old English roses spilled from the sides of a clear glass bowl. Next to the roses, in a shallow porcelain dish, were two pure-white gardenias.
Tears burned Emily’s eyes as she stared at the fragrant flowers. Everyone had been so nice to her since yesterday. Liam, Dr. Waltham, even Nurse Weidermeyer, though Emily had to admit the woman did frighten her a bit.
And Dylan. In the back of the limo he’d been so incredibly gentle, then at the infirmary those piercing blue eyes of his had shown such concern. When he’d touched her chin so tenderly, her heart had skipped a beat. The texture of his callused hands on her skin had been electric. She’d almost forgotten she was sit ting before him practically naked under the infirmary gown, had nearly forgotten where she was and why.
She hated that he’d blamed himself, even though she’d been the one to cause the accident. If only there was some way to undo what had been done, she thought as she stared at the sheer white canopy over her head, some way to turn back the clock and make things right.
But there wasn’t, of course. She couldn’t change a thing now. It was too late. She couldn’t look back, knew she had no choice but to move forward.
At the sound of a soft knock at the door, Emily attempted to sit, but the effort sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder. With a gasp, she lay back against the pillows and struggled to find her voice.
“Come in.”
The door opened slowly, and a rail-thin brunette wearing a gray-and-white maid’s uniform wheeled a food cart into the room. The smell of peppermint tea and bacon reminded Emily that she hadn’t eaten since the day before.
“Mornin’ Miss Emily,” the maid said cheerfully and pushed the cart beside the bed. “My name is Sally. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No.” Emily bit her lip and slowly, carefully, attempted to sit. “I was already awake.”
“Let me help you.” Sally quickly moved beside the bed and reached for another pillow, then slipped it behind Emily’s back. “Your nurse went off to get your medication, and the doctor will be here in a little while to see how you’re doing. Do you need to use the bathroom?”
“Not just yet.” Emily let the worst of the pain pass, then forced a smile. “Please don’t fuss over me. It’s really not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is, Miss Emily.” Sally drew her brows together in a serious frown, then she turned and lifted the silver dome on a plate. Steam rose from a fluffy mound of scrambled eggs and several slices of bacon. “Not that I wouldn’t want to fuss over you anyway, of course, but Prince Dylan was quite firm in his instructions.”
Sally lifted a blue linen napkin covering a silver basket. Emily’s mouth watered at the pile of pastries inside. “Instructions?”
“He