Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter One

      The princess is pregnant! The princess is pregnant!

      Princess Megan Penelope Penwyck felt everyone in the palace was thinking those very words as she walked up the polished marble steps and crossed the reception chamber where guards, maids, diplomats and dignitaries watched, dusted or conferred in small clusters, each intent on his or her own task and paying absolutely no heed to anyone else.

      Except she knew the latter wasn’t true.

      Everything that went on in the island kingdom of Penwyck, located in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Britain, was noted and commented upon by the denizens of the country, by the press and by heads of state of other countries.

      She recalled a saying appropriate to the moment: These are the times that try men’s souls. Women’s souls were vulnerable, too. In her own mind, she’d been tried, convicted and sentenced to the firing squad.

      Don’t be melodramatic, she chided her quivering spirits. When the news did get out, as it invariably must, everyone in the kingdom would be shocked that Megan, the quiet princess, the introspective one, was expecting a child…out of wedlock.

      A wry, uncertain smile curved her lips as Megan approached the door to the king’s official chambers.

      Her father, King Morgan, had been pleased with her written report on the world trade conference. Her appointment with him was to discuss the results of the talks and decide the tiny island kingdom’s next course of action.

      She tried to ignore the tremor that ran through every nerve in her body as she recalled the conference held in Monaco eight weeks ago. The second week of April, to be exact. It was now Monday of the second week in June.

      And she was two months pregnant. Two pregnancy tests, bought and used in great secrecy on her part, had confirmed the shocking news.

      She’d had no word from Jean-Paul Augustuve—Earl of Silvershire, heir to a dukedom in the neighboring island country of Drogheda and father of her child—in answer to the note she’d dispatched to him two weeks ago.

      Another tremor rushed through her as she paused outside the door leading to the king’s busy public quarters. The doorman smiled and bowed her into the Royal Secretary’s office. The room was empty.

      “Your Royal Highness,” a familiar voice greeted her.

      Sir Selywyn Estabon, the royal secretary, entered from the king’s audience chamber and bowed graciously, his dark eyes mesmerizing, his skin pale from long hours spent inside each day. At thirty-five, six feet tall and muscular looking, Selywyn was a handsome, intriguing man, seemingly devoted to his job.

      As teenagers, she and her sisters had spun endless daydreams about him and had speculated on his eligibility as a royal spouse. He’d paid absolutely no heed to their girlish flirting, thus their fantasies had withered and died a natural death as the three girls matured.

      Selywyn was intensely loyal to their father and protective of the royal family. Megan knew him to be totally trustworthy with secrets of state or of the heart. All the royal offspring had confided in him over the years.

      She swallowed with difficulty. She’d shared her latest secret with no one yet. “Good morning, Sir Selywyn,” she responded. “I have an appointment, I believe?” she added when the secretary made no move to usher her into the king’s presence. Her father wasn’t one to be kept waiting.

      “The king sends his regrets, but he will be unable to meet with you this morning.”

      Selywyn could have no idea how relieved Megan felt. She nearly flung herself into his arms and showered him with kisses of gratitude. The imaginary firing squad lowered their guns and she was able to breathe deeply once more.

      “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” the man added.

      She managed a nod. “Shall I reschedule?”

      In the pause that followed, she detected uncertainty in his eyes, then it was gone. Apprehensive again, she studied the king’s secretary, knowing that he was privy to all that went on in the kingdom, and expected bad news, but nothing more was forthcoming.

      “I will call you if the king has further questions.” The secretary smiled slightly. “Your report was very comprehensive. King Morgan was pleased.”

      At twenty-seven, Megan had long ago learned to contain her emotions, but she felt a tiny glow at the secondhand praise. The royal siblings had always vied for their father’s limited time, and it was a special reward to receive recognition for one’s work on behalf of the kingdom.

      “Please convey my thanks,” she said modestly, and left the office as Selywyn held the door. She was clearly but kindly dismissed.

      Which was fine by her. The king would not be pleased at her personal news. Unless it aided the affairs of state, she added, frowning. She would not be used as a treaty between two nations the way royal family members had been used in days of old. Even her parents’ marriage had been arranged.

      Thinking of the coming months, she trembled like a leaf caught in