Читать книгу The Unlawfully Wedded Princess - Kara Lennox - Страница 10

“I keep telling you, he’s not really my husband.” Princess Amelia Carradigne, granddaughter to the king of Korosol, didn’t even glance up from where she sat on the window seat in her bedroom, filing her nails. She was trying to look calm, act calm, in the face of impending disaster, but her older sister, Cecelia, wasn’t making it easy.

CeCe ceased her pacing and leaned down until she was eye to eye with Amelia. “You said he was your husband, when he called to say he was on his way to New York.”

“I’ve since consulted our lawyer. The marriage wasn’t legal—no way, no how.”

“He obviously means something to you.” CeCe went to the walk-in closet and threw open the door. “Don’t you want to at least put on a dress, maybe some lipstick?”

“Nick has seen me without lipstick. It won’t kill him.” Actually, Nicholas Standish had seen her looking a lot worse than she did now. Almost a year ago, in the former Soviet state of Palemeir, he’d seen her covered with dirt and bug bites, which was how she tended to get when she became deeply involved with a relief effort for the International Children’s Foundation. She’d been busy feeding hungry children, doling out medicine and helping them find a safe place to sleep at night. Her own fastidiousness was low on her priority list, even in the presence of the handsomest, most charismatic man she’d ever met.

Amelia abandoned her nail file and turned to look out the window of the penthouse, which offered a magnificent view of Central Park. The city was in the middle of a dreary late-winter rain, but the park still looked inviting even though still wrapped in winter’s browns. Amelia wished she could go for a run in that park, just lose herself. She’d rather be anywhere than here, about to face the man she’d lied to, then abandoned.

When Amelia turned back to see what her sister was up to, she was met by a bombardment of clothes. CeCe was pulling dresses out of the closet and tossing them at Amelia.

“Put one of those on. Any of them will do.”

Amelia hid a smile as she stripped down to her bra and panties. CeCe, with her sleek, chin-length hair, which she recently dyed reddish-blonde, and her peach silk suit, looked every inch the princess she was—much more so than Amelia, whose curly blond hair was always out of control, and whose wardrobe leaned toward jeans, T-shirts and simple dresses. CeCe’s nervous energy made her a whiz in the corporate boardrooms of DeLacey Shipping, where she was second in command to their mother, Lady Charlotte. In Amelia’s mind, that was just one step away from running a small country like Korosol.

But Amelia was the princess destined to inherit the throne of the tiny principality nestled between Spain and France. Though CeCe at twenty-nine was older than Amelia by two years, their grandfather, King Easton, had chosen Amelia after CeCe had politely declined the throne. Amelia was both honored and terrified by the prospect, amazed she would be trusted with such an awesome responsibility, and worried she wouldn’t live up to the king’s lofty expectations.

But she intended to do her best, to earn the trust her grandfather had in her—if this recent scandal didn’t cause him to disown her. CeCe’s unplanned pregnancy had made tabloid headlines around the world a few scant weeks ago, causing the king a lot of sleepless nights. Fortunately, CeCe had worked things out with the baby’s father, Shane O’Connell, and they were now happily married.

Amelia wasn’t sure her own scandal would have such a satisfying conclusion. It was entirely possible King Easton would change his mind about his latest choice of heir to the throne. He still had one more Carradigne sister available, twenty-six-year-old Lucia. Though Amelia’s younger sister was a free spirit, at least she hadn’t stirred up any scandals.

“So why didn’t you tell us about Nicholas Standish?” CeCe wanted to know, tugging a dress over Amelia’s head as if she were a doll and pulling up the zipper. “I’d have thought you would at least mention it to Ellie.”

Eleanor Standish was Nick’s younger sister and, proving it was a small world, a member of the king’s personal staff who had traveled with him to New York to find an heir among his three granddaughters here. Amelia hadn’t even realized Nick and Ellie were related until recently.

“I thought I’d never see Nick again,” Amelia said, finally ending her self-imposed silence about her matrimonial misadventure. “We were desperate. Marrying him was the only way he could get those two kids out of—”

“Oh, yes. Ellie told us about her brother adopting two orphans.” CeCe automatically put a protective hand to her tummy bulge, which even her expertly tailored suits could no longer disguise. Pregnancy had softened CeCe around the edges. Once known as “the barracuda,” she now melted at the mention of children.

Amelia sighed. “We—Nick and I—ended up responsible for the children after their father died in a foreign embassy blast in Palemeir. Their mother was very sick at the time, and Nick promised her before she died, too, that he would personally care for the kids. But the only way for him to do that was to adopt them. And the only way the Palemeir government would push through the paperwork was if Nick was married. So we got married.”

“That’s extraordinary,” CeCe said, pawing through Amelia’s drawers for a half slip and stockings. “I mean, didn’t you say he’s a mercenary? Such a selfless act doesn’t sound like the act of a guy who makes war for money. He must be something.”

“He is,” Amelia agreed. When she realized how dreamy she sounded, she straightened her spine and frowned. “I’m not wearing stockings.”

“So why is he coming here?” CeCe asked, tossing the underthings at Amelia as if she hadn’t heard her.

“I have no idea.” They’d said their goodbyes at the airport in Palemeir after she’d surprised him by announcing she had to leave right away. The ICF was pulling out, and so was she. But tempted though she’d been, there was no way she could live as a mercenary’s wife in a small town, even if it was in the country of her heritage. She was destined for bigger things—like inheriting a throne. Maybe being queen wasn’t her first choice, but it was her duty.

“I’m fascinated by the whole thing,” CeCe pronounced. “Not just the secret marriage, but the physical risks you took. I knew you were traveling to dangerous areas, but I didn’t picture you right there on the front lines.”

“There were no front lines in Palemeir,” Amelia said. “War was all around us. That’s why I was using the pseudonym, Melanie Lacey, so I could move around without people gawking or the press interfering with my work.”

CeCe brushed an errant curl from Amelia’s cheek. “I know you’re not happy the king put a stop to your activities. But he couldn’t allow the future queen of Korosol to risk her life in war zones.”

Amelia understood. But she missed her adventurous life.

Still, she recognized that with the privilege of her birth came responsibilities, and she was not turning her back on them.

“What are you going to do with this guy when he gets here?” CeCe asked, digging through Amelia’s jumble of shoes in the closet. She selected a pair of white espadrilles, and probably would have shoved them onto Amelia’s feet if Amelia hadn’t willingly stepped into them.

“I don’t know that, either.” But she’d better figure it out fast, because the door chimes were ringing impatiently.

CeCe dragged Amelia toward the bedroom door. “Come on. I’m dying to meet your Nick.”

“Don’t call him ‘my Nick.’ And don’t leave me alone with him,” Amelia implored.

“No, never,” CeCe replied with rippling laughter.

Hester Vanderling, the Carradignes’ housekeeper, met Amelia and CeCe at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, Amelia, there’s a gentleman here to see you. I’m not sure how he got past the downstairs security—”

“It’s all right. I told the guards to let him in,” Amelia said, soothing Hester with a pat on the shoulder. The spry, gray-haired woman was more than a servant. She’d been a part of the family for twenty-five years, serving as nanny to the three Carradigne princesses.

“Is this, um, the one?” Hester asked in a whisper. “The not-quite husband?” Hester’s feelings had been a bit injured when she learned of Amelia’s pseudo-marriage, splashed all over page seven in the Manhattan Chronicle by notorious gossip columnist Krissy Katwell. The princesses had always confided all their secrets in Hester, trusting her with things they never would have told even their mother.

Amelia wished now she could get Hester’s advice on how to handle the situation. But there was no more time for wishful thinking, because there he was, standing in the foyer, looking even more large and masculine than Amelia remembered, especially with the Carradignes’ delicate antiques and pastel silk wall coverings as a backdrop.

“Hello, Nick.” Her voice came out a squeak.

“Amelia.”

In a heartbeat time melted, taking Amelia back to a year ago, when this man had been her lifeline, her protector, her hero. Her skin prickled with awareness just at the sight of him, and he’d only said her name.

Once her tunnel vision returned to normal, Amelia realized Nick had the children with him, clinging to him like burrs. What were they doing here? Oh, how she’d hated saying goodbye to them a year ago, almost as much as she’d hated leaving Nick.

Amelia opened her arms. “Josie! Jakob! No kisses for your auntie Mellie?” Jakob, who had to be three now, squirmed away from Nick and ran to her like a friendly puppy. But Josie held back, her blue eyes full of caution.

Amelia gave Jakob a bear hug, smiling warmly at Josie over his head. Josie didn’t smile back, her expression carefully neutral.

The expression on Nick’s face was anything but neutral. His blue eyes seemed to devour Amelia inch by inch. She could tell he was angry—perhaps dangerously so. She’d seen those veiled blue eyes looking just like that whenever anyone got in his way.

His gaze shifted to CeCe just as CeCe nudged Amelia.

“Oh, excuse me. Nicholas Standish, this is my sister, Cecelia O’Connell. And Hester Vanderling, who practically raised us.”

Nick gave CeCe a suitably pleased-looking nod. “Princess Cecelia. Congratulations on your recent marriage.”

“Thank you.”

“And Mrs. Vanderling.” He shook Hester’s hand, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Amelia was amazed Nick had the capacity to be so…so civilized, but she supposed their situation in Palemeir hadn’t called for much in the way of manners.

“Who are these cute little munchkins?” CeCe asked, her adoring gaze focused on the children.

“I’m Jakob,” the little boy said proudly. “Jakob Standish!”

The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted at the mention of his own surname tacked onto Jakob’s. The last time Amelia had seen them, Jakob had not been at all sure he wanted to go anywhere with large, gruff Nick, much less accept him as his father. Things must have improved a great deal since then, and all without her assistance. Certainly the children looked better. Jakob’s light brown hair had been cropped close, much like Nick’s, and his blue eyes sparkled with health. He’d gotten some color, too, and a few more freckles on his nose from being out in the sunshine. Josie’s hair, which had been dull and matted in Palemeir, was now a halo of shiny, golden curls.

Amelia felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t been part of this almost miraculous transformation and that she hadn’t helped the children settle into their new home.

Nick nudged the little girl’s shoulder, urging her forward. “This is Josie.”

Josie, who would be seven now, held out her hand, which still looked far too thin and delicate for Amelia’s peace of mind. “Pleased to meet you,” Josie said to CeCe and Hester with perfect manners, then added in a whisper to CeCe, “Are you really a princess, like Cinderella?”

CeCe laughed. “Well, I don’t have any glass slippers, and I ride to work in a limo rather than a pumpkin, but I did manage to catch myself a pretty good prince.”

Yeah, rub it in, Amelia thought. CeCe would be living out her own private fairy tale here in America while Amelia was whooshed off to a country she hadn’t visited since she was Josie’s age, where she didn’t even speak the native language.

Life wasn’t fair. But then, her work with the ICF had taught her that.

“Josie, you’ve gotten taller. I think you’ve grown a foot since I last saw you,” Amelia said, trying to get the little girl to warm up to her.

“But they both could use some fattening up,” said Hester. “I’ll bet Bernice has some fresh cookies in the kitchen.”

“Splendid idea,” CeCe said.

The children looked up hopefully at Nick.

“One cookie apiece,” Nick said.

Looking delighted, CeCe gave a hand to each. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Traitor,” Amelia muttered. But she would have to speak privately to Nick at some point. He had yet to tell her why he’d come here, and the sooner he did that, the sooner he would leave. And the sooner he left, the less chance she would make a fool of herself by begging him to smile at her again, to stop making her feel she’d done something criminal.

Even if she had.

Nick put his hands on his lean hips. “Are you going to ask me all the way into the royal penthouse, Your Highness?”

“Please don’t call me that,” Amelia said.

“What am I supposed to call you, then? Not Melanie.”

“You and the kids all called me Mellie. That could be short for Amelia, as well.”

“Nicknames are a show of fondness. I use them for friends. Doesn’t apply in this case.”

Well, he certainly had sharpened his tiger’s claws during their separation. But she’d be damned if she showed him how much he could hurt her.

NICK REFUSED to be impressed by the Carradignes’ terrace, where Melanie—Amelia—had led him. Apparently there was a spy in or near the household, someone providing tidbits to the gossip columnist, Krissy Katwell, and Amelia thought there would be less chance of someone overhearing their discussion if they went outside.

He hadn’t read any New York papers, but the Korosol press had gone to town with the story of the princess’s illicit marriage. They’d probably picked up the item from this Krissy person.

Nick had almost fainted when he’d discovered Melanie Lacey was actually Princess Amelia, granddaughter to the king of Korosol. She must have been slumming in Palemeir. Her way of dabbling in charity work. Her little deception had thrown his life into chaos.

Fortunately the rain had stopped. Nick and Amelia sat on opposite ends of a bench in the center of an oasis of trees and shrubs that rivaled Central Park. The greenery sheltered them somewhat from the damp March breeze.

He enjoyed the discomfort reflected on Amelia’s face, her stiff, too-regal posture. He wanted to needle her. He wanted to do more than that, after the hell she’d put him through. Unfortunately, he also wanted to bed her. A year’s separation hadn’t taken the edge off his desire.

A year ago, he’d naively thought a marriage license might afford him that privilege. But once the adoption papers had been filed immediately after their hasty wedding, she’d deserted him.

He wouldn’t trust her again. He’d ask for her help, but this time he’d make sure there were no loopholes.

She looked fantastic, he conceded. He’d been half-afraid she would look different in her princess environment, with her hair tortured into some silly style, maybe wearing a tiara and two pounds of makeup. But she was still just Mellie, a natural beauty who required no enhancement. That tumble of gold curls was as unruly as ever, inviting a man’s fingers to bury themselves in them. Her green eyes still flashed emerald bright, even out of the intense Palemeiran sun. And her body was just as curvy and luscious as he remembered, more tempting in a casual, flower-sprigged dress.

“So what’s going on? Why are you here?” Amelia asked point-blank.

“It’s those do-gooders at the Ministry of Family,” Nick said. “News of our marriage—and that it wasn’t legal—has been picked up in Korosol. The fact you dumped me on our wedding day has brought social workers down on me like a ton of bricks. They say it’s obvious the marriage was a fraud, and so was the adoption. Thanks.”

Amelia gasped. “They want to take the children from you? They can’t!”

“Apparently they can. Korosol isn’t America. There’s not any legal recourse. The Ministry of Family will investigate, and their decision is final.”

“But surely they’ll find you’re a good father. You’re very devoted to those children.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been around for the past year—a fact that hasn’t escaped the social workers’ notice. They say we got married with fraudulent intent, adopting children without ever meaning to live as a family. They’re old-fashioned in Korosol.”

Amelia looked away. “That’s my fault, I suppose. But I couldn’t stay in Palemeir. The ICF wanted me out of there, and I had to do what they said.”

“So you just abandoned your new husband and the children who needed you. Do you have any idea how badly you disappointed Josie?” And him, although he’d shoot himself before he’d admit that to Amelia.

His barb hit its mark. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she ruthlessly blinked them back. “We both knew the marriage was strictly so you could get the children out of the country,” she said. “Even if it had been legal, it was a sham.”

He intentionally softened his voice. “That kiss at the airport didn’t feel like a sham.”

Amelia’s face turned a flattering shade of pink. She had no ready comeback, and all she could do was look away. He was glad to know that kiss had affected her as it had him. There they’d been, arguing at the Palemeir airport—if one dirt airstrip and a cinder-block terminal could be called that—and suddenly they’d been in each other’s arms. They’d never kissed before, not even at their wedding.

That kiss, long and slow and hot, had been everything Nick had fantasized about, and more. He thought he’d won, that he’d convinced her to stay with him. Then he’d realized it was a kiss goodbye.

“I wanted to at least see you and the children to Korosol,” she finally said. “But the children were already getting attached to me. It was better that I left when I did. Surely you can see that.”

All right, maybe she had a point. There had never been any question that the marriage was one of convenience. He and Mellie had been friends—good, close friends, bonding quickly the way people do in adversity—but nothing more, not that he hadn’t wished for more.

They had never discussed a future together, and in fact, what could he have offered her? He was not husband material, and never would be—never again. For that matter, he wasn’t really great father material, either. He was no longer capable of fully opening his heart to a child. But in the last year he’d grown so fiercely protective of those kids that he would die for them. Mellie was right about that. Maybe he didn’t always say the right thing. Maybe he was too strict. But he refused to let anything bad happen to them—including another major disruption in their home life. He would fight the Ministry of Family with every weapon in his arsenal to prevent them from ripping the kids away from him and thrusting them into foster care.

After a few moments, Amelia was more composed. She sat up straighter, and in a brisk tone, said, “I’d like to help with your situation. What can I do?”

“I would think that would be obvious. You’re a princess. Your grandfather is my king, and he’s here. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know he is still here, that he didn’t return to Korosol after CeCe’s wedding. My sister could never keep secrets from me.” Nick had tracked Eleanor down in New York, and had figured out that if she was here, so was the king.

“So you want me to intercede on your behalf.”

“You get an A.”

She looked uneasy, which he didn’t understand. The request he’d made of her was simple—far simpler than falsifying marriage licenses and adoption papers.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I’ll do what I can, of course. But it’s not as simple as you make it sound. First, I’m not exactly on intimate terms with my grandfather. I barely know him. And second, I’m certainly not among King Easton’s favorites right now.”

“Ah. He doesn’t like it when his princesses make the gossip columns?”

“Exactly. And third, he’s a stickler for following the letter of the law. He doesn’t micromanage his country. Interfering with the Ministry of Family’s normal course of business isn’t his style.”

“You’re saying you won’t even try?”

“No, I’ll give it my best shot. But I think we should see him together, present a united front. It’s the best chance we have.”

Exactly what Eleanor had suggested.

“We should probably bring the children with us, too,” Amelia continued. “It couldn’t hurt for Easton to see you all together, as a family.”

“Let’s do it, then.” He stood up, anxious to get his audience with the king over with. The sooner he got this mess straightened out, the sooner he could get his kids back home to the peace and quiet of Montavi, the little mountain town where he was building a new life for himself and the children. And the sooner he could get away from this woman who’d lied to him but still made him tingle in uncomfortable ways.

Amelia laughed. “We can’t just walk in on him. We’ll have to make an appointment. Fortunately, your sister is the one who can set it up.”

“I’ll talk to her, then.” Hell, he’d pulled Josie out of school for this trip, thinking it wouldn’t hurt her to miss a couple of days of first grade. But now it looked as if she might miss a week or more, and she was already a year behind because of the language problem.

“I’ll show myself out.” He turned and headed toward the terrace doors, wondering where he might find his children in this monstrous penthouse.

“Nick?”

He stopped, turned.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I really was. But not even the ICF knew my true identity back then. If the truth had gotten out, it could have created a security nightmare. Keeping my identity secret is second nature to me. But you’re right, I should have explained before I…before I married you. I didn’t think through the possible repercussions, and I’m truly sorry.”

He was surprised by her candor and seeming sincerity. He’d expected her to be different than he remembered her. A year ago, she’d just been a dedicated volunteer who never complained about physical hardships. He’d even seen her give away her own dinner more than once.

He’d had a hard time reconciling that selfless, friendly woman with a Korosolian princess. But now that he’d seen her again, she seemed much the same as before—a fact that was dangerous to his peace of mind. Saying goodbye to her the first time had been torture. And unless he wanted to go through it all again, he’d better harden his heart.