Plain-Jane Princess. Karen Templeton
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He had no idea who this woman was, where she was from, why she was here or when she was leaving.
For all he knew she was married. Or had a boyfriend. Or was on the lam.
Besides, if his heart were a neon sign, it would be flashing No Vacancy. He had kids to raise. Crises to avert.
Lisa was holding out her hand, and, not wanting to be rude, Steve took it, grateful that electricity didn’t shoot up his arm from her touch. That happened only in those books his sister used to hide in her sweater drawer, anyway. But it had been a long time since he’d held a woman’s hand in his, and he had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.
And boy, did he like that smile.
And boy, did he have to get the hell out of there.
Dear Reader,
As always, Intimate Moments offers you six terrific books to fill your reading time, starting with Terese Ramin’s Her Guardian Agent. For FBI agent Hazel Youvella, the case that took her back to revisit her Native American roots was a very personal one. For not only did she find the hero of her heart in Native American tracker Guy Levoie, she discovered the truth about the missing child she was seeking. This wasn’t just any child—this was her child.
If you enjoyed last month’s introduction to our FIRSTBORN SONS in-line continuity, you won’t want to miss the second installment. Carla Cassidy’s Born of Passion will grip you from the first page and leave you longing for the rest of these wonderful linked books. Valerie Parv takes a side trip from Silhouette Romance to debut in Intimate Moments with a stunner of a reunion romance called Interrupted Lullaby. Karen Templeton begins a new miniseries called HOW TO MARRY A MONARCH with Plain-Jane Princess, and Linda Winstead Jones returns with Hot on His Trail, a book you should be hot on the trail of yourself. Finally, welcome Sharon Mignerey back and take a look at her newest, Too Close for Comfort.
And don’t forget to look in the back of this book to see how Silhouette can make you a star.
Enjoy them all, and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Plain-Jane Princess
Karen Templeton
KAREN TEMPLETON’s
background in the theater and the arts, and a lifelong affinity for love stories, led inevitably to her writing romances. Growing up, she studied art, ballet and drama, and wanted to someday strut her stuff on Broadway. She was accepted into North Carolina School of the Arts as a drama major, but switched to costume design.
Twelve years in New York City provided a variety of work experiences, including assisting costume designers at a large costume house, employment in the bridal department buyer’s offices of several department stores, grunt work for a sportswear designer and answering phones for a sports uniform manufacturer. New York also provided her with her husband, Jack, and the first two of her five sons.
The family then moved to New Mexico, where Karen established an in-home mail-order crafts business that she gave up the instant the family bought their first computer. Now writing romances full-time, she says she’s finally found an outlet for all that theatrical training—she gets to write, produce, design, cast and play all the parts!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Please, Princess Sophie—just one more?”
“Oh, yes! Please…please…please…?” went up a chorus of soft voices from a sea of wide, eager, predominantly dark eyes.
“Oh, darlings, I’m so sorry…” Princess Sophie hugged the tiny chestnut-haired girl who’d sat on her lap while she’d read to the children, then set her gently on the playroom’s carpeted floor, laughing when the mite knocked her glasses askew. Since it was early evening, some of the younger ones were already in their pajamas, ready for bed. “I’d love to stay, I truly would. But my Baba would scold if I got home late tonight.”
She stood, only to immediately bend down, arms held wide, her heart both swelling and breaking as most of the children swarmed into her embrace.
“I have to use the toilet,” a tiny blond girl announced, holding out her hand expectantly, and Sophie laughed.
“Well, come on, then, Tiana—”
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” one of the staff intervened, snatching the child’s hand from Sophie’s. “You needn’t bother yourself with that.”
“It’s no bother, really….”
But off child and caregiver went, the little girl waving shyly to Sophie over her shoulder.
Ah, well…her grandmother would scold, indeed. Sophie said her goodbyes to a staff she’d more or less handpicked ever since the palace had set up the Children’s Home ten years ago. No one country—and certainly not one as tiny as Carpathia—could possibly see to the needs of the hundreds of children in the area orphaned each year due to the seemingly impossible-to-heal friction between various ethnic groups that regularly tangled just beyond Carpathia’s borders, but one did what one could. And she was proud, she thought as she mounted her bicycle for the ten-minute ride through the village’s narrow winding streets, then up the hill to the palace, of how many adoptions, both local and abroad, she’d been able to arrange as a result of her work on the children’s behalf.
And for those children not fortunate enough to find temporary refuge here, she spearheaded a half-dozen worldwide campaigns, through an equal number of charities, to secure their safety and happiness.
A never-ending and often thankless task, to be sure. And one, she now feared, that was finally taking its toll on her personal life.
Such as it was.
Dusk had a firm grip on the countryside when Sophie let the bicycle drop by the gate to the kitchen garden, then ran around to the side entrance, bounding up the granite steps two at a time, much as she’d done as a child. Servants curtsied or bowed as she raced through a succession of sparkling, lavishly appointed rooms, until, panting, her chignon disintegrating into a tangled, thumping loop against her back, she tore into her ivory-and-gold bedroom. Ripping off her jacket and blouse, she dived into her room-size closet.
“Sophie!”
“I know, I know,” she called out to her grandmother, Princess Ivana, Carpathia’s ruling monarch for the last forty-odd years. “I’m sorry!” Ignoring the array of glittering gowns in their plastic shrouds behind her, Sophie chose instead a simple, long-sleeved, dove-gray silk. Now overheated, she dashed across the Aubusson carpet, tossing the dress onto the bed’s ivory satin comforter. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie took