Marion Lennox - Her Royal Baby

‘Damn, you’re exhausted. I shouldn’t have hectored you like this tonight.’

‘No, I…’

‘It’s because I don’t have time to take this slowly,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Take what slowly? The kiss?

Arrangements. He meant arrangements to leave the country. The kiss had nothing to do with it.

Did it?

The touch of his fingers on her face unnerved her even more. Tenderness was an unknown quality to Tammy Dexter, and for good reason. She didn’t let people close to her. Ever. She blinked back her tears, pushed herself away from this strange, enigmatic man and gave her face an angry swipe.

‘There’s no need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.’

‘No, but…’

‘I need to go to bed.’ She was so confused she was past thinking. She might not want to go to bed, but she needed to be alone. Desperately. Otherwise she might sink into Marc’s arms and stay, never to move again. The temptation was almost irresistible.

And the temptation was crazy. Her sister had fallen for one of these men-these princes-and where had that got her? Dead, that was where.

The thought of that was enough to steady her, to make her take another step backward and to fix her features into a semblance of resolution.

‘Leave,’ she said.

‘You’ll be okay?’

‘Yes. Just leave. And Marc…Your Highness…whatever I call you…’

‘Marc,’ he said, and he smiled-which sent her resolution into a tailspin, heading for oblivion.

‘Marc, then. Just…don’t kiss me again.’

His smile deepened. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t want you to.’

‘Are you sure?’

She glared at him. Arrogant creep. Where was the tenderness now? He was a prince, for heaven’s sake. Royalty. And she was a tree surgeon with bare feet and faded jeans and the worries of the world pressing on her shoulders. So finally she tilted her chin and did what had to be done. ‘Yes,’ she snapped, then stalked to the door and threw it open. ‘Yes, I am. Now, will you leave or am I going to have to call my friends the security guards?’

His smile was still in place. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘Good.’

‘Goodnight.’ He walked past her. She was still holding the door wide, and as he passed he paused and tilted her chin. Then very lightly, before she could begin to prevent it, he touched her face again, tracking the path of one of those errant tears.

‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to break this to you,’ he said softly. ‘So sorry.’ He smiled, a tender magnetic smile of such sympathy that she felt her heart falter within her breast. ‘Sleep well, Tammy Dexter,’ he whispered. ‘Tomorrow our future begins.’

His finger reached her lips and pressed lightly down-a kiss, but not a kiss.

And then he left her.

What had he said? Tomorrow our future begins.

Her future.

Until today Tammy’s future had been so carefully planned, but now… She was leaving Australia to travel to a future filled with castles and princes and…she didn’t know what.

Like it or not, Prince Marc of Broitenburg had given her a future she had no control over. She closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it for a long time, as if by doing so she could lock out his presence. The memory of him. The taste of his kiss.

‘Be careful,’ she whispered into the night. ‘Oh, Tammy, be careful.’

Maybe she shouldn’t go.

Maybe she didn’t have a choice. And maybe she was glad of it.

The memory of his kiss had changed more than her future. It had changed her confidence in her own control.

Help?

The next two days were crazy.

Luckily she had her passport, and a visa was no problem. ‘I do have a man at the embassy,’ Marc told her. ‘Charles has to be useful for something, besides spending my country’s money.’

Tammy’s boss was notified, and the sound of Doug’s dismay overwhelmed her. ‘You’ve got a job with me whenever you want it,’ he told her. ‘I’ll even hold the baby myself if it means I can get you back working for me again.’

It warmed her. Tammy had worked for Doug for three years, and his workforce wasn’t a standard forestry team. Doug actively encouraged women to work with him, figuring rightly that in this very male world the only women who reached Tammy’s stage had to be good. Mia and Lucy and Tammy were an odd sisterhood, but along with the men they were the only real family Tammy had ever known. Tammy had held herself aloof, but the thought that Doug and the team would actually miss her-someone would actually miss her-was inexplicably comforting.

No one else would miss her. They wouldn’t even realise she’d gone.

There was one really unpleasant call to her mother.

‘Well, of course I didn’t bother telling you of darling Lara’s death,’ Isobelle told her, and Tammy could hear the sneer in her voice. ‘Why would I? It’s not as if you cared for your sister.’

How little you know, Tammy thought, but she managed to hold her tongue.

‘I’m taking Henry back to Broitenburg,’ she said, and there was silence at the other end of the line. She could hear Isobelle’s mind shifting from defence to speculation.

‘You mean…with that prince who’s ruling the place now? What’s his name?’

‘Marc.’

‘Well, well.’ The sneer in Isobelle’s voice grew even more marked, and Tammy wondered for what must have been the millionth time in her life just why was it that her mother hated her so much. ‘You’ll never get him.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘He might be a catch, but you don’t seriously think you can succeed?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But she did. Of course she did. Her mother had a one-track mind. Men were a means to an end.

‘You’re not pretty enough.’

‘I don’t…’

‘And he has women. I’ve heard all about your precious Prince Marc. He’s a womaniser. He’ll eat you up and spit you out.’

Tammy thought about the metaphor and found it wanting. ‘He can’t do both.’

But Isobelle wasn’t listening to her pathetic attempts at humour. ‘The man’s rich as Croesus,’ she snapped. ‘You seriously think someone like that would look at the likes of you?’

Okay. She’d had enough, Tammy thought bleakly. She’d let her mother know where her grandson was and that was the only thing she needed to do. She thought of all the things she’d intended to say, and replaced the receiver on the handset without saying another word.

She had too much else to worry about.

There was the small issue of clothes. She had jeans, T-shirts, sweaters and a rain jacket. It was hardly a wardrobe fit for living in a palace.

It was Marc who raised the subject. She hadn’t even thought of it.

‘Do you have a permanent residence somewhere?’ he asked. ‘Here in Sydney? Can I send someone to pack for you? Maybe we could ship a container?’

She stared. ‘What are you talking about? A container of what?’

‘Your possessions. If you intend to stay long-term…’

‘You could ship my possessions in the bow of a very small rowboat,’ she told him. ‘My “permanent residence” is a room in a boarding house, and there’s hardly anything there. I’ll take a cab over this afternoon and close the place down-grab the few things I need. But it is a few. I figure I might buy a couple of new pairs of jeans when we get there. That is…if they have jeans in Broitenburg?’

‘Yes, but…’

He was frowning, but Tammy was bouncing her nephew and didn’t notice. She’d had Henry chuckle twice this morning, and she was working on a third.

‘But what?’

‘We have formal dinners at the palace.’

‘You have formal dinners at the palace,’ she corrected him. ‘Not me. I’ve never been to a formal dinner in my life. If I have a microwave in my room and there’s a supermarket nearby then I’m happy.’

His frown deepened. ‘I intend you to be part of the royal family. Not a servant.’

‘I’m not intending to be a part of any royal family, thank you very much.’

‘Henry will be brought up as heir.’

She jiggled her nephew up and down and gave him a hug. ‘You know, somehow I imagine Henry’s not really interested in formal dinner parties quite yet.’

But Marc’s displeasure remained. ‘I want some things clear,’ he told her. ‘You’re coming over as a family member. As such there will be formalities you’ll have to face.’

She thought about it, and was prepared to concede a point. ‘You mean I need to do something about my shoes?’ She stared down at her bare toes and then glanced at the door, where she’d kicked off her boots. Okay, she would have to replace those awful boots. ‘I’ll buy some trainers.’

‘That’s some concession.’

She grinned. ‘Why, thank you-Your Highness.’

His scowl deepened. ‘It won’t work.’

‘You’re telling me I should go out and buy a tiara or two and the odd pair of stilettos before I get to Broitenburg?’

‘It might be best. Maybe not tiaras, but…something a little more formal than you have on now.’

She shook her head. ‘Nope,’ she told him flatly. ‘There’s no point. Broitenburg’s had Lara. It’s had its fairy princess. Now it’s stuck with me.’

He couldn’t budge her, and in the end Charles drove them to the airport with a huge leather suitcase containing Marc’s belongings, another containing Henry’s baby gear-and a small battered backpack containing all that Tammy possessed in the world.

IT GREW stranger.

For a start they sat in the pointy end of the aeroplane. First class. Tammy had never sat in anything other than economy in her life.

Marc had booked three seats. There was a baby crib in front of them so Henry could be put down when he needed to sleep. There was room on the floor for Henry to crawl, and the stewards were on hand to cater for every whim.

But from the time Tammy entered the aircraft she felt as if she’d wandered onto the wrong movie set.