A Royal Wager. Kristi Gold
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life he could call his own. A life that had no room for courting women, stealing kisses and touches or forbidden fantasies.
Seeming not to notice his discomfort, Kate glanced out the window at the simple two-story building. “It’s a very nice hospital.”
Marc detected a hint of disappointment in her tone, aiding somewhat in his body’s return to decency. “It’s very small and admittedly somewhat lacking in modern equipment. But I’m determined to remedy that soon.”
Health care was of the utmost importance, not only to Marc but also to his people. Doriana needed better facilities, more doctors. Had the hospital been modernized, Philippe might still be alive, and Marc would still be feeding his wanderlust instead of attempting to prove himself.
Kate offered an understanding smile. “These things take time.”
Marc couldn’t agree more, but he felt as if he were running out of time.
When Nicholas opened the door, Marc took Kate’s hand and helped her from the car. Her slender fingers cradled in his palm spurred another random fantasy that involved another pleasurable touch. How could he continue to be around her and still maintain control?
On sheer willpower alone.
But after Kate slid from the limo and his hand came to rest on her lower back, contacting the delicate dip of her spine encased in silk, Marc’s willpower went the way of the wind, replaced by an instantaneous shock to his senses—one that he had to disregard in order to save face.
He focused on the substantial crowd that had gathered, held at bay by a contingent of bodyguards. As always, he was forced to play the royal role with a regal facade and an official smile. Kate paused at his side when he stopped to shake the hands of a few subjects. The crowd voiced their pleasure with applause and several women pointed, but not at him. They were pointing at Kate, whispering behind their hands.
Marc realized all too late that they mistakenly believed Kate to be his current paramour, understandable since he again had his palm firmly planted on her back.
Marc took a much-needed step away from Kate, but not before he was joined by Dr. Jonathan Renault—resident hospital irritant—who had worked his way through the chaos.
“Good day, Your Majesty,” Renault said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Marc did not trust the man, and even less so when Renault blatantly assessed Kate from forehead to toes. “Good day, Dr. Renault,” he said with strained civility.
When Marc tried to usher Kate away, Renault stopped him cold by saying, “Je voudrais faire la connaissance de votre nouvelle petite amie.”
Petite amie. A direct intimation that Kate was Marc’s mistress. And to add to his total lack of propriety, he’d had the nerve to request an introduction.
In another time, in another place, Marc would have gladly punished the bastard with a slam of a fist into Renault’s prominent jaw. But Marc’s title prevented what would be considered a crude, common act. Crude, yes. Common, yes. Unjustified? Not in Marc’s opinion.
“For your information, Dr. Renault,” Marc began, an intentional trace of venom in his tone, “this is Dr. Katherine Milner. She is a very skilled physician, and quite capable of managing the entire clinic by herself.”
Although Kate looked somewhat confused, Renault didn’t appear at all affected by the pointed comment. Instead, he sent Kate a seamy smile and took her hand. “Enchanté, Dr. Milner. I would be happy to have you join my staff.”
Kate quickly pulled out of his grasp, giving Marc great satisfaction. Obviously she recognized the lecher beneath the lab coat. “Nice to meet you, Doctor,” she said with little enthusiasm.
Renault winked. “And I will look forward to seeing you again.”
With that, he strode away with a self-important lift of his pointy chin and a swaggering gait.
Kate leaned over until her lips were practically resting on Marc’s ear. “What did he say to you?”
“Keep walking.” Marc took her by the elbow and continued on to the hospital entry. Once they were on the steps, he lowered his voice and said, “He suggested we are lovers. A totally absurd assumption, but then Renault is somewhat lacking in restraint.”
Yet Marc wondered if something in his own demeanor, the way he had looked at Kate, the way he’d touched her so casually, had encouraged the speculation, not only in Renault but also in the minds of his people.
If that were the case, he would have to be more careful from this point forward. He could not allow anyone to believe that he had taken Kate Milner as his lover, even if he longed to do that very thing.
An absurd assumption…
Up to that point, Kate had allowed herself to imagine she was a real, live, honest-to-goodness princess greeting royal subjects with her prince, who’d kept touching her as if he wanted everyone to know she was his.
King, she reminded herself. A man who was obviously the object of desire to women of all shapes and sizes. A man who could have his pick among any woman in this village, probably in the world. She would never be among them. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and this particular monarch wasn’t interested in common Kate Milner.
But Dr. Renault had certainly seemed interested, and that consideration made Kate cringe. The guy gave her the creeps.
None of that mattered. She was here on business, not to worry about some dubious doctor with “I want you” written all over his face. Not to get caught up in some overblown for-ever-after fantasy involving a king who thought the idea of being her lover was absurd.
Forcing herself into professional mode, Kate followed behind Marc as they made their way to the hospital’s entrance where two guards remained posted. When they entered the building, she was pleasantly surprised by the modern interior. The practically deserted waiting room, filled with contemporary chairs and tables as well as a television suspended from a stand in the corner near the ceiling, was much larger than she’d expected.
A sign positioned near the elevator written in French and Spanish indicated the location to various units. She knew some Latin, a few basic words in Spanish and only enough French to inquire about restaurants and rest rooms. She had brought along some books and tapes to study. But when treating patients, communication was a must. Maybe she would be making a mistake if she accepted the position, something she would definitely have to consider.
Kate followed Marc to the reception desk, where he presented a polite smile to the pleasant-looking older woman seated behind a computer.
A few moments later, an elderly, distinguished man with thinning gray hair pushed through the double doors to the right of the waiting area. He approached them with a wide smile. “Ah, Doctor Milner, I presume. I am Dr. Louis Martine, chief of medicine. We spoke briefly on the phone when you inquired about the position.”
Kate extended her hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Martine.”
He inclined his head and looked at her quizzically. “You truly have a unique accent.”
Obviously her Deep South roots were still firmly wrapped around her tongue. “It’s southern United States.”
Dr. Martine smiled. “Très charmant to suit a belle femme.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Kate said.
“Very charming to suit a beautiful woman,” Marc supplied, followed by an appreciative look that made Kate shiver.
She felt another blush spreading from her throat to her forehead and tried to will it away. Contacts instead of glasses, a new wardrobe and a good beautician might have changed her outward appearance,