Pregnant!. Charlotte Hughes
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hadn’t been as careful as he should have been—as he always had been before. Yes, he would confess it, though only to himself: It was just possible that he’d been slightly swept away.
But the chance that there’d be the predictable price to pay for such a foolish oversight had to be slight. It had, after all, only been one night.
There was surely no need to worry. No need to give it another thought.
With a grin, he snapped his fingers. There. It was gone from his mind.
Her Highness’s underlisse, however, were still in his hand. He smiled a little wider. A swatch of blue satin, some sweet, hot memories.
It could have been worse.
Soon, he knew, the time would come for him to make a good marriage. The patriarch of more than one important family had approached him. All of those doting fathers kept their young virgin daughters well away from him, of course. They wouldn’t want the notorious Prince Finn plying his famed powers of seduction on their precious daughters until after the marriage swords had been exchanged.
He’d been…what? Accepting of the situation, he supposed. Willing to do what was expected of him. A man couldn’t hop from bed to bed forever. At some point, he had to find his comfort with one woman, plant his seed, raise his sons and pamper his daughters.
So it would be with him.
And last night?
Finn smiled up at the clear morning sky. When he was old and stooped and slow, when death was near and the frost giants hounded him through haunted dreams, he could remember his glorious, wild night with the princess from America. It would help him to hold back the encroaching cold.
Finn slid the panties into a pocket and turned for the silver-slate palace gleaming above the last of the mist.
Chapter Two
Liv woke to a muffled clicking sound—someone tapping on computer keys.
Brit. Liv’s sister had opened the ornate Victorian-style secretary at the foot of Liv’s bed and set up her laptop on the desk within. She was typing away, her pale hair anchored in a messy knot at the back of her head, shoulders slightly hunched, strong chin jutting toward the screen in fierce concentration. Next to the keyboard sat an open bag of peanut M&M’s. Brit loved her M&M’s.
Liv watched her for a while. The sight was soothing, somehow: her baby sister working on her novel—which novel, Liv hadn’t a clue. Brit had started writing novels before she even reached her teens—and started was the operative word. Brit had begun ten or fifteen of them, at least. When she got bored with one, she’d drag out another and type away at it for a while. To Liv’s knowledge, Brit had yet to actually finish any one of them.
With a sigh, Liv turned to the travel clock she’d set on the marble-topped nightstand. Past two in the afternoon. My how time did fly when you were passed out drunk.
Brit must have heard the sigh. She turned in her chair. ‘‘Sleeping Beauty awakes.’’
Liv dragged herself to a sitting position. ‘‘Ugh.’’
‘‘Coffee? Toast?’’
Liv pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. ‘‘I suppose I’d better.’’
The skinny, sneaky chambermaid was summoned and returned a short while later with a tray.
Brit played nurse, plumping Liv’s pillows, getting Liv’s tray arranged just so. Then she dropped into the claw-footed velvet wing chair next to the bed. ‘‘Want to talk about it?’’
Liv shot Brit a look over the rim of her eggshell-thin china cup. In spite of their differences, the sisters loved each other and trusted each other implicitly. There was no one, outside of their third sister, Elli, in whom Liv would rather confide.
And she needed to confide, after what she’d done. The more levelheaded Elli, leaving that day on her wedding trip, wasn’t available to lend an ear.
So Liv told Brit. Everything. Brit, who was wearing a pair of short-short cutoffs and a tight semi-tube knit top that tied on one shoulder, dragged her long bare legs up, rested her chin on her knees and listened patiently to the whole story.
‘‘Oh, I am so disappointed in myself,’’ Liv cried once she had told it all.
Brit swiped at a swatch of hair that had fallen into her eyes. ‘‘Oh, come on. I think it’s great.’’
Liv sat up straighter, deeply offended. ‘‘Great?’’
‘‘That’s what I said. G-r-e-a-t.’’
‘‘What, may I ask, is great about what I did?’’
‘‘Well, just that you busted out a little, Livvy.’’ Brit shifted in the chair, letting go of her legs, stretching them out and studying the polish on her toes. ‘‘That you had yourself a wild, hot, monkey-sex night.’’
‘‘Monkey sex?’’
‘‘Is there an echo in here?’’
‘‘Is that really what it’s called?’’
Brit dropped her feet to the floor and lifted a shoulder—the bare one—in an elaborate, oh-so-cool shrug. ‘‘Monkey sex. Jungle sex. Crawl-all-over-each-other sex. Am I making myself clear?’’
‘‘Unfortunately, yes.’’
‘‘Admit it. You loved it.’’
‘‘Oh, puh-leese. You’re practically salivating. I don’t need this.’’
‘‘Slurp, slurp. And, IMO, you do need it. Why beat yourself up? Why not just accept that you did it and admit it was great?’’
Liv slumped back to the pillows. ‘‘I can’t. I hate myself for it. And I have to say it would be more appropriate if you could just…well, sympathy is all right. But don’t tell me it’s great. It’s not great. It’s awful.’’
Brit shook her head. ‘‘Livvy, give it up. I know you want to run the world, but you’ll never run me. I get to have my own opinions and I also get to express them.’’
Liv made a growling sound and picked up her nearly empty cup. She gestured with it, frustrated. ‘‘And what about poor Simon?’’ She sipped, swallowed, set the cup down. ‘‘He’ll be crushed when he hears about this.’’
‘‘Don’t tell him. Simon doesn’t own you.’’
‘‘Well, of course he doesn’t. But still, it’s only right that I tell him.’’
‘‘You have some agreement with him that you won’t see other people?’’
‘‘No. But we are very…close.’’
Brit lifted one eyebrow but kept her mouth shut.
Liv glared at her. She knew what Brit thought of Simon—and if she hadn’t known, she could have figured it out just by looking at her face right then. ‘‘You never liked Simon,’’ she muttered accusingly.
‘‘That’s so not true. I think Simon’s a fine man. He’s just…not the man for you.’’
‘‘And why not?’’
‘‘Oh, Liv. Because he doesn’t thrill you, that’s why.’’
‘‘Thrills aren’t everything.’’
Brit looked thoroughly put-upon. ‘‘Haven’t we been through this before?’’
‘‘Simon,’’ Liv couldn’t stop herself from insisting, ‘‘is a good man.’’
‘‘He certainly is.’’ Brit sat up straighter and offered with nerve-flaying