The Royal Wager: Persuading the Playboy King / Unmasking the Maverick Prince / Daring the Dynamic Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD
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golden glow. “Marcel’s father was my friend and my confidant. My lover. The love of my life, even though it was ordained that we marry.”
“You mean some sort of arrangement?”
Mary smiled. “I know that must sound archaic to a modern young woman such as yourself. But I tend to believe that fate had a hand in our union. If only fate had not been so cruel as to take him from me much too soon.”
The sorrow in Mary’s voice, the mist of unshed tears in her eyes, caused a lump to lodge in Kate’s throat. After fighting back her own tears, Kate said, “You’re still young, Mary. You could find someone else.”
“There is no one else for me, my dear. I’ve loved only one man in my life, a wonderful man, and he has no equal.” She drew Kate into an unexpected embrace. “I wish for you that kind of rare and precious love, my dear Kate.”
Kate desperately wanted to believe in its existence, but with Marc? Only if he was willing to return that love.
Once they parted, she told Mary, “Thank you. Your story inspires me.”
Mary squeezed Kate’s hands. “And your presence here is very welcome, which leads me to a request.”
“Anything.”
“I would like you to move into the palace, or I should say onto the palace grounds.” She gestured beyond the path to a break in the hedge. “Over there, you will see a small cottage. Philippe used it as his own private retreat. We’ve removed his possessions, but it’s still nicely furnished. It would afford you some seclusion.”
Being so close to Marc both thrilled and concerned Kate. If he decided not pursue a relationship, then she would have to face him on a daily basis, and that could be very detrimental to her heart. “I’ll think about it,” she promised Mary, and she would think about it, probably most of the night. “In the meantime, I’ll be happy to remain here for the next few days to help take care of Cecile.”
“That’s not necessary, Kate. Beatrice will serve as her nanny. Besides, you will have enough on your plate when you begin your work tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind missing some sleep where Cecile is involved,” Kate insisted. Or where Marc was concerned. “She’s such a joy to be around.”
Mary stood and stared down at Kate with a knowing look, as if she could read Kate’s thoughts. “She is very fond of you, too, Kate. And whether he cares to admit it or not, so is my son.”
Six
Marc did not care to admit to himself that what he was feeling for Kate Milner went far beyond simple lust. He admired her conviction, reveled in her strength of will, her insight. Yet he couldn’t deny that he longed to make love to her. He also couldn’t deny that she was effectively breaking through the armor he had erected to protect his emotions. And he had no idea how he had allowed that to happen.
Yes, he did know. When he was with her, he didn’t feel so alone.
But he was alone in his office now, trying to concentrate on work, yet he could only ponder his situation with Kate, memories of their earlier interlude in this very place battering his mind. He could not fall into that trap. Not now. Not with so much riding on his country’s expectations of him as a leader. In less than six weeks, he would appear before the governing council to state his case. Doriana needed to move into the twenty-first century, and providing premium health care was of the utmost importance. He had to prove to the ruling body that he had his country’s best interests at heart and he needed the funds to see his plans come to fruition.
Now nearing midnight, he tossed aside the proposals he’d been composing for some time and opted to retire to bed. On his way to his suite, he stopped at the nursery to look in on Cecile, hoping to find Kate so he could issue another apology since he had not joined her for dinner. But he only found Cecile, sleeping soundly in the dimly lit, deserted room.
Quietly he approached the crib and stared down at the infant lying on her belly, her knees tucked beneath her and her face turned toward him in profile. Marc watched her for several moments, trying to find something in her features that reminded him of Philippe. She could belong to either one of them based on looks alone. But Marc was very certain she was not his child, even though in many ways he felt responsible for her. After all, Philippe was gone, and she was all that remained of him—if, in fact, Cecile was his child. Deep down, Marc believed that to be the truth. If only he could prove it.
When Cecile released a soft whimper, Marc feared he had inadvertently roused her by his presence alone. He laid his palm on her tiny back and patted her a few moments, praying she would settle back into slumber before she roused Beatrice. Instead, she let go a cry, prompting Marc to pick her up. He walked her around the nursery, soothing her with soft whispers in order not to wake the household.
“You and I will be in a great deal of trouble if you make too much of a fuss,” he told her as he retrieved the pacifier from the crib then placed it in her mouth. “Now be a good girl and go back to sleep.”
She rubbed her eyes, reared her head back, poked her finger in his mouth then grinned as if to say, “Silly king, I have no intention of sleeping.”
How could he resist such a captivating child? He couldn’t, and she knew it. This particular female was determined to wrap his heart around her finger and she was succeeding. So was Kate.
He brushed a kiss across her warm, downy-soft cheek. “Your mother must have held you often, if only we knew who she was.”
Cecile yawned, then palmed his jaw as if fascinated by the feel of his whiskers. Without warning, she settled her head on his shoulder.
Marc experienced an unexpected swell of emotion and a fierce protectiveness as he relished her warmth against his heart. She was an innocent, and she deserved the best in life. Even if they never confirmed her parentage, Marc vowed to make certain she was safe, secure and well loved by the family. She would never know the misery of not being accepted.
When he felt she had sufficiently calmed, Marc laid her back in the crib and held his breath. Her eyes opened briefly and she raised her head and leveled her unfocused gaze on him. Then she turned her face away, laid her head back down and her respiration once more became steady and deep.
Marc was greatly satisfied that he had been able to calm her with little effort. If only something so simple could ease him into sleep. If only he had someone to comfort him, to reassure him at times that he wasn’t totally floundering as a leader. If only he had Kate to talk to.
But Kate obviously had returned to the hotel, and he would have to face the night alone.
After retiring to his suite, Marc took a quick shower then slipped beneath the cool sheets without bothering to dress. He punched the pillows several times, but couldn’t seem to settle down despite his exhaustion.
Turning onto his back, he stared at the ceiling and considered going for a drive. But even that held no real appeal. What he wanted most—what he needed most—was Kate. Odd that he’d spent years without needing anything or anyone, and now in two days’ time, he missed her more than he’d missed any human being aside from his father and brother.
Yet he couldn’t have a casual affair with Kate; it would have to be all or nothing. And he couldn’t consider a serious relationship because, in all honesty, he’d never really had one before. Solid relationships took time to evolve, and at present he did not have an abundance of spare hours. Even though he was expected to marry one day—as Philippe had been expected to—Marc wasn’t certain when he’d be ready for that day.
He recalled the wager he had made all those years ago and the reunion with Dharr and Mitch that would take place next spring. The bet had once been a reason to avoid marriage, but now he viewed it as ridiculous ramblings of youth. His reasons to avoid marriage now were much more compelling and complex. And he couldn’t let his attraction to Kate sway him, for both her sake and his.
But he did have a yearning for the beautiful doctor that knew no true logic. The remembrance of her