Marion Lennox - Her Royal Baby

Help. The more she thought about it the more she didn’t like it. Not one bit. ‘So Henry needs to go back?’

‘Henry needs to go back.’

She glanced again across at the cot, where the baby was still fast asleep. He was so little. He was so…needful. ‘You’d put the country’s welfare above Henry’s?’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ he said gently. ‘I swear he’ll be looked after.’

‘He doesn’t need looking after,’ she blurted out. ‘He needs love.’

‘I’ll…care for him.’

She stared up at him, trying to read his face. Once again she read sincerity. This was a man doing what he thought was best.

What was there in it for him?

The Regency. Twenty-five years of playing ruler of the country, she thought, and the idea hardened her heart. If Henry didn’t return, this man would be nothing.

‘I’ve told you-I don’t want this,’ he told her, and she stared.

‘What…?’

‘You’re thinking I want Henry’s return to ensure my own power base, but it’s not true. I never wanted power. I don’t want it now. If leaving Henry here meant Broitenburg could move into a progressive democracy then I’d leave him. You must believe that.’

‘I-’

‘But it won’t happen,’ he told her, overriding her interruption as he tried to give her a sense of his own urgency. ‘The officials are ruining the country. We’re a great little country, but whole industries are moving away because of government corruption. Good people-skilled people-are leaving Broitenburg because their skills go unrewarded.’

He leaned towards her then, his voice still urgent and his eyes not wavering from hers. ‘As Prince Regent I can change things,’ he told her. ‘The crown has power-too much power-but in the short term that can be used for good. I can curtail government corruption. I can even rewrite the constitution so that the monarchy becomes more in line with the British tradition-where the monarch exists to lead the people as an inspirational role, not controlling day to day living. Tammy, you must give me this chance. I want my country to be the wonderful place it once was.’

There was passion in his voice. Fire. Tammy looked across the table at Marc and saw a man who believed absolutely in what he was doing.

This man wasn’t corrupt, she thought. He was honest and he was strong and he cared. There was a part of her that recognised something in him that was almost a part of her. Like twin souls…

For the first time she wondered about him. Really wondered. What had he been doing before Jean-Paul’s death? Where had he been?

Was there a woman in his life?

Where had that thought come from? She gave herself a mental slap, hauling her thoughts sharply into line. This was hardly the time for wondering such things. He was pleading for her to hand over her nephew.

She couldn’t do it.

‘Maybe when he’s older…’

‘Tammy, he needs to come home now. His claim to the throne lapses forty days after his father’s death. I have until Friday.’

Using her name unnerved her still more. Once more she attempted to focus on what he was saying. Friday. ‘That’s in four days?’

‘Yes.’

‘But…’ She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Why did you leave it this long to collect him?’

‘I thought he was safe.’ Marc’s hands clenched on the table before him. ‘At the funeral your mother told me he was being safely cared for in Sydney. She was so…’

‘I know. I know what my mother can be.’

‘I assumed she was going back to him. Heaven knows whether she said it, but that was the impression she gave. She acted distraught at the thought of her grandchild being orphaned. So I thought…I thought that he’d be best staying with his grandmother. I had to take urgent steps to ensure that I took control until Henry came of age so I put Henry’s arrival down as something that could wait until the last minute. I had no worries about him-until I got the call from your country’s Social Services.’

Passion gave way to anger, just like that. Isobelle had made herself an enemy of this man, and the tone of his voice made Tammy shudder.

‘What the hell was she thinking of?’ he demanded.

The answer to that was easy. ‘Herself.’

Marc’s eyes flew to hers again. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’

‘Isobelle suits herself. She always has. Sitting around waiting for Henry to grow up so she can be a loving grandmother to a twenty-five-year-old prince is hardly her style. She’ll be off with her next millionaire now.’

‘You’re not in contact with her?’

‘I’ll speak to her about this.’ Tammy glanced down at the letter and Marc’s anger was reflected in hers. ‘Oh, yes. I’ll speak to her.’

‘But meanwhile…’

‘Meanwhile you still need to take him?’

He nodded, anger fading to be replaced by determination. ‘I’m sorry, but, yes.’

‘And I’m sorry, but, no. I can’t let you.’

‘You must.’

‘It’s a dilemma, isn’t it?’ she told him. ‘Broitenburg needs Henry, but Henry doesn’t need Broitenburg. You might be prepared to sacrifice one little boy for the greater good, but I can’t.’ She bit her lip. ‘Marc, I don’t need to be a psychologist to see that he’s damaged already. It’s so hard to make him react. Lara knew what was happening. In her letter she’s frightened; not for herself but for Henry. She asks me to help. She commits him to my care.’

‘But…’

‘But now I’m all he’s got,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t give him a crown or a country, and I can’t save your political ideals. All I can do is care for one little boy, and that’s what I’ll do.’ Her voice softened into compassion and she rose, pushing her chair back from the table. Decision made. ‘I’m sorry, Marc. I’d like to help you but I can’t. Unless I know he’ll be loved, I just…can’t.’

He rose, too. He stood staring down at her for a long, long moment, reading the resolution in her face. She wouldn’t relent. Her face was grim and set. Implacable.

He’d never met a woman like this, he thought. She stood barefoot and bereft of any make-up. Her shirt and jeans were worn and faded. They were clean, but that was all that could be said for them. Her still-damp curls were trailing across her shoulders and he had the most impossible urge to reach out and touch one. Just one.

Impossible.

The whole set-up was impossible.

‘I think we’ve come to an impasse,’ she was saying. ‘I think…maybe you have to leave.’

‘There’s one way out of this mess.’

‘Yes?’ She raised her eyebrows in polite disbelief.

He thought about it for a long minute, and the more he thought about it the more it seemed the only solution possible.

‘You could come to Broitenburg with Henry.’

IT WAS just as well she’d finished her fries. Tammy might well have choked. She stared at the man across the table as if he was out of his mind.

‘Why would I want to come to Broitenburg?’ she said at last.

He smiled.

There it was again. Just as she had herself under control-almost-that smile flashed out and it was enough to sidetrack her completely. But she had to concentrate. What he was saying was stupid.

‘Why shouldn’t you come to Broitenburg?’

‘Because I don’t want to.’

‘Have you ever been?’

‘No. How can I have been? I’m not even sure where it is. And…’

‘There you are, then. It’s the most wonderful country. Mountains. Lakes. Castles. It’s like the Dordogne region of France, only better. Fairytale country. Tourists love us. You’ll love us.’

She was still staring at him. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t tried?’

‘I live in Australia,’ she said carefully. ‘My career is in Australia.’

‘When I first met you,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘you thought I was offering you a job.’

‘I would never have taken it.’

‘You’d had other overseas job offers?’

‘I’m a tree surgeon,’ she told him, not without a hint of pride. ‘I’m highly qualified.’

‘Despite leaving school at fifteen?’ He was watching her across the table, his eyes thoughtful. ‘I had a phone call this evening from the man I employed to find you. He’s come up with a lot more detail. I know more about you now.’

She flushed, unnerved. ‘S…so?’

‘So you’re probably the most knowledgeable tree surgeon in this country. You’ve done university courses by correspondence so you have book-learning and practical experience. You’ve even worked in Europe.’

‘I…’

‘In the famous gardens of France and England. You worked with the best man available. Lance Hilliard’s reputation is second to none. You talked him into taking you on for three years and at the end of it you could name your price as an international expert. Yet you came back here.’ His calm eyes were probing, questioning. ‘But why?’

This was so none of his business. ‘I love it.’

‘I can see that you do. But why bury yourself…?’

‘I’m not a people person.’

‘I can see that, too.’ He nodded, taking her objection for granted. ‘But I can offer you as much isolation as you want. And as much work. If you’re prepared to use your skills at the castle…’

‘The castle?’

‘The Broitenburg palace sits in hundreds of acres of cultivated woodland,’ he said softly. ‘It’s very beautiful. The head groundsman would be delighted to have you work with him.’

She shook her head in disbelief. The situation was absurd. It was as absurd as this man was unsettling. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Why is it ridiculous?’

‘Because I’m staying here.’ She flashed a look at the sleeping baby and then glared back at Marc. ‘I’m staying with Henry.’

‘You can hardly take Henry back with you into the wilderness,’ he said in a voice that was oh so reasonable. Oh so persuasive… ‘Set him up in a tent at the foot of the tree you’re working on? I hardly think so.’