Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride. Raye Morgan
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raised an eyebrow. “What else didn’t you want me to hear?”
She threw her hands up.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “The wedding-dress-design discussion and your talk with Leonardo were about it.”
They both turned to look at the beautiful gown hanging against a tall, mahogany wardrobe. “Is this the gown you’re wearing to the ball tonight?”
“Yes.”
It was stunning. Black velvet swirled against deep green satin. It hung before him looking as though it was already filled with a warm, womanly body. Reaching out, he spanned the waist of it with his hands and imagined dancing with her.
“The DeAngelis tiara will look spectacular with this,” he told her.
“Do you remember what it looks like?” she asked in surprise.
“Not in great detail. But I’ve seen pictures.” He gave her a sideways look of irony. “My mother’s tiara.”
She shivered, pulling her arms in close about her. “It hasn’t been your mother’s tiara for a long, long time,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.
He nodded slowly. “My mother’s and that of every other queen of Ambria going back at least three centuries,” he added softly, almost to himself.
She shivered again. “I’m sure you’re right.”
His smile was humorless. “To the victor go the spoils.”
“I didn’t make the rules.” Inside, she groaned. Still defensive. But she did feel the guilt of the past. How could she not?
“And yet, it will take more than twenty-five years to erase the memories that are centuries old. Memories of what my family accomplished here.”
She bit her lip, then looked at him, looked at the sense of tragedy in his beautiful blue eyes, and felt the tug on her heart.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, reaching for him and putting a hand on his upper arm. “I’m sorry that I have to wear your mother’s tiara. They’ve asked me to do it and I said yes.”
He covered her hand with his own and turned toward her. She recognized the light in his eyes and knew he wanted to kiss her. Her pulse raced, but she couldn’t let it happen. Quickly, she pulled away.
He sighed, shaking his head in regret, but his mind was still on something else.
“Where is it?” he asked, looking around the wardrobe. “Where do you keep it?”
“The tiara?” She searched his eyes. What was he thinking? “It’s in its case in the museum room, where it always is. Didn’t you hear Sergeant Fromer? The guards will bring it to me just before I leave for the ball. And they will accompany me to the ballroom. The tiara is under guard at all times.”
He nodded, eyeing her speculatively. “And so shall you be, once you put it on.”
“I imagine so.”
He nodded again, looking thoughtful. “I was just reading an article about it the other day,” he said, half musing. “Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, all huge and of superior quality. Not to mention the wonderful craftsmanship of the tiara itself. It’s estimated to be worth more than some small countries are.”
Suddenly she drew her breath in. She hadn’t known him long, but she was pretty sure she knew a certain side of him all too well.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she cried, all outrage.
He looked at her in surprise. “What?”
She glared at him. “You’re thinking about grabbing it, aren’t you?”
“The tiara?” He stared at her for a moment and then he threw his head back and laughed. That was actually a fabulous idea. He liked the way she thought.
“Pellea,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “You are perfection itself. You can’t marry Leonardo.”
She shivered. She couldn’t help it. His touch was like agony and ecstasy, all rolled into one. But she kept her head about her.
“Who shall I marry then?” she responded quickly. “Are you ready to give me an offer?”
He stared at her, not responding. How could he say anything? He couldn’t make her an offer. He couldn’t marry her. And anyway, he might be dead by the end of the summer.
Besides, there was another factor. If he was going to be ruler of Ambria, could he marry the daughter of his family’s biggest betrayer? Not likely.
“I think kidnapping will work out better,” he told her, and he wasn’t joking.
She’d known he would say that, or something similar. She knew he was attracted to her. That, he couldn’t hide. But she was a realist and she also knew he hated her father and the current regime with which she was allied. How could it be any other way? He could talk about taking her with him all he wanted, she knew there was no future for her there.
“I’ll fight you all the way,” she said flatly.
He smiled down into her fierce eyes. “There’s always the best option, of course.”
“And what is that?”
“That you come with me willingly.”
She snorted. “Right. Before or after I marry Leonardo?”
He looked pained. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”
She raised her chin and glared at him. “I am marrying Leonardo in four days. I hope.”
He brushed the stray hairs back off her cheek and his fingers lingered, caressing her silken skin. “But why?” he asked softly.
“Because I want to,” she responded stoutly. “I’ve promised I will do it and I mean to keep that promise.”
Resolutely, she turned away from him and began searching through a clothes rack, looking for the clothes she meant to change into.
He came up behind her. “Is it because of your father?”
She whirled and stared at him. “Leave my father out of this.”
“Ah-hah. So it is your father.”
She turned back to searching through the hangers. He watched her for a moment, thinking that he’d never known a woman whose movements were so fluid. Every move she made was almost a part of a dance. And watching her turned him on in ways that were bound to cripple his ability to think clearly. He shook his head. He couldn’t let that happen, not if he wanted to succeed here.
“Leonardo,” he scoffed. “Please. Why Leonardo?”
Unconsciously, she cupped her hand over her belly. There was a tiny baby growing inside. He must never know that. He was the last person she could tell—ever. “It’s my father’s fondest wish.”
“Because he might become ruler of Ambria?”
“Yes.” How could she deny it? “And because he asked.”
That set him back a moment. “What if I asked?” he ventured.
She turned to him, but his eyes showed nothing that could give her any hope. “Ah, but you won’t, will you?”
He looked away. “Probably not.”
“There’s your answer.”
“Where is Georges?” he asked, naming the Granvilli who had killed his parents. “What does he say about all this?”
She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The General seems to be unwell right now. I’m not sure what the specific problem is, but he’s resting in the seaside villa at Grapevine Bay. Leonardo