Читать книгу A Royal Wager - Кристи Голд - Страница 10
ОглавлениеAn absurd assumption…
Up to that point, Kate had allowed herself to imagine she was a real, live, honest-to-goodness princess greeting royal subjects with her prince, who’d kept touching her as if he wanted everyone to know she was his.
King, she reminded herself. A man who was obviously the object of desire to women of all shapes and sizes. A man who could have his pick among any woman in this village, probably in the world. She would never be among them. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and this particular monarch wasn’t interested in common Kate Milner.
But Dr. Renault had certainly seemed interested, and that consideration made Kate cringe. The guy gave her the creeps.
None of that mattered. She was here on business, not to worry about some dubious doctor with “I want you” written all over his face. Not to get caught up in some overblown for-ever-after fantasy involving a king who thought the idea of being her lover was absurd.
Forcing herself into professional mode, Kate followed behind Marc as they made their way to the hospital’s entrance where two guards remained posted. When they entered the building, she was pleasantly surprised by the modern interior. The practically deserted waiting room, filled with contemporary chairs and tables as well as a television suspended from a stand in the corner near the ceiling, was much larger than she’d expected.
A sign positioned near the elevator written in French and Spanish indicated the location to various units. She knew some Latin, a few basic words in Spanish and only enough French to inquire about restaurants and rest rooms. She had brought along some books and tapes to study. But when treating patients, communication was a must. Maybe she would be making a mistake if she accepted the position, something she would definitely have to consider.
Kate followed Marc to the reception desk, where he presented a polite smile to the pleasant-looking older woman seated behind a computer.
A few moments later, an elderly, distinguished man with thinning gray hair pushed through the double doors to the right of the waiting area. He approached them with a wide smile. “Ah, Doctor Milner, I presume. I am Dr. Louis Martine, chief of medicine. We spoke briefly on the phone when you inquired about the position.”
Kate extended her hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Martine.”
He inclined his head and looked at her quizzically. “You truly have a unique accent.”
Obviously her Deep South roots were still firmly wrapped around her tongue. “It’s southern United States.”
Dr. Martine smiled. “Très charmant to suit a belle femme.”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Kate said.
“Very charming to suit a beautiful woman,” Marc supplied, followed by an appreciative look that made Kate shiver.
She felt another blush spreading from her throat to her forehead and tried to will it away. Contacts instead of glasses, a new wardrobe and a good beautician might have changed her outward appearance, but it couldn’t mask the plain, unassuming girl that lived inside. At times she still saw herself as too skinny, too short, too awkward, too lacking in social skills. So what was she doing here, in the presence of royalty?
Ludicrous. She was a doctor, and she’d worked too darned long to let insecurities derail her hard-earned self-confidence.
Marc made a sweeping gesture toward the double doors. “Shall we take the tour now?”
Kate followed Marc and Dr. Martine through a maze of hallways into a place resembling a clinic. This particular waiting room was full of mothers and fathers and children. When she detected the familiar sterile scents, she felt somewhat back in her element and relaxed.
They strode through another door where an attractive brunette nurse with huge blue eyes and large breasts eyed Marc as if he were today’s special at Bennie’s Diner. Marc ignored her furtive glances and guided Kate inside a small office.
“This would be your station should you decide to accept the position,” Marc said.
Kate did a quick visual search and noticed the desk was cluttered with charts and coffee cups. “Whose office is this now?”
“Jonathan Renault, our current family practitioner,” Dr. Martine said. “I’m afraid you will have to share the space with him until we can set up another office for you.”
Oh, joy. Kate was not looking forward to that.
“And I assume you will be seeing to a private office for Dr. Milner immediately, Louis?” Marc stated in a firm tone.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Martine replied. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two should she decide to join our staff.”
That remained to be seen. Kate had already come upon two very important challenges—the language barrier and the beast named Renault. Three if she considered her attraction to Marc.
Dr. Martine studied the stethoscope dangling from his neck. “Dr. Renault is a good médecin, but I am afraid he is not as interested in his practice and the patients as we would wish him to be.”
Marc frowned. “I would say that is a grave understatement, Louis.” He gave Kate a cynical look. “Renault is much more interested in the female staff. I have put him on notice that if I receive one more complaint, he will have to return to Paris.”
“Oh,” Kate said. “What hours does he work?” If luck prevailed, she could avoid him—if she decided to stay.
“Since the clinic is only open during the day, you would be working together,” Martine said.
No luck there, Kate thought.
“If he becomes unmanageable, inform me,” Marc added. “I will take care of him.”
“I’m sure I can take care of myself,” Kate insisted, mildly insulted that men tended to see women as the weaker sex. She might be small, but she knew where to thrust a knee on a strategic part of the male anatomy.
A rap came at the door and Nurse Lustful entered. She exchanged a few words with Dr. Martine, who then turned to Marc. “You have a call from the palace, Your Majesty. Line one.”
After he uncovered the debris from the desk phone, Marc picked up the receiver. He again spoke words Kate couldn’t begin to understand, but his distress was very apparent in his expression. Once he hung up, he turned to her and said, “We must return to the palace immediately. There’s been an incident.”
A serious incident, Kate presumed. “Should I stay here? Dr. Martine could show me around.”
“I could possibly need your medical expertise.”
Kate’s concern increased. “Has someone been hurt?”
“Not exactly. But it does involve a child.”
With Kate trailing behind him, Marc strode into the palace’s formal parlor to find his mother seated on the settee, holding what appeared to be the reason for his urgent summons.
She nodded at the sleeping infant in her arms and said, “I do hope you can explain this to me, Marcel.”
Explain? “It appears to be a child, Mother.”
She rose with typical grace and laid the baby in Marc’s arms, much to his dismay. “It appears to be your daughter, my son.”
He heard the sound of Kate’s sharp, indrawn breath from behind him. Unfortunately, Marc’s respiration had halted altogether.
Once he’d recovered his voice, he said, “This is not my child.”
The baby chose that moment to lift her head, turn an alarming shade of red and wail at the top of her lungs. Marc had no idea such a small creature could create such a furor. He also had no idea what to do when she began to writhe, except to hold on tightly lest he drop her. The tighter he held her, the more she wrestled and squirmed, arching her back against her confinement.
“Here, let me.” Kate took the baby from him and positioned the child on her shoulder, patting her back. The infant immediately quieted, her sobs turning to sniffs.
Kate had rescued him once again, at least for now. He met his mother’s disapproving expression. “Mother, I have no idea why you would believe this is my child.”
She turned to her attendant, who stood in the corner looking as if she would greatly like to flee. “Beatrice, bring me the note.”
The young woman hurried over and handed her a plain piece of white paper. In turn, his mother handed it to him. “The baby was left at the gate in a pram with a bag full of clothing and bottles. We found this note inside.”
Marc read it silently. The words were English, brief, but to the point.
“Her name is Cecile. She is a DeLoria.”
Shoving the paper into his pocket, he said, “This does not prove a thing. It’s obviously a ruse.”
“Look at her, Marcel.”
Marc turned to the baby now propped on Kate’s hip, occupying herself with the button on Kate’s jacket. True, she had his hair color and blue eyes, but that did not mean she was his. He had been careful to the extreme. He had not been involved with anyone since Elsa Sidleberg—an international supermodel who still graced renowned runways—and that had ended over a year ago. This made no sense whatsoever.
“Again, her appearance proves nothing,” he insisted.
“Nor does it disprove anything,” his mother replied.
Kate stepped forward. “Maybe I can help.”
Marc realized that his mother and Kate had yet to be formally introduced. He supposed his lack of manners was understandable considering the circumstance. “Kate, I present to you the Queen Mother, Mary Elizabeth Darcy DeLoria. Mother, Dr. Kate Milner.”
Kate smiled and held out her free hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry, but how do I address you?”
She took Kate’s hand for a brief shake. “I would prefer you call me Mary.” She sent a sardonic glance at Marc. “Obviously, you now know the family secrets, so I believe first names are appropriate.”
Marc clung to his last thin thread of control. “I have no secrets, Mother. And this is not my child.”
Mary smoothed a hand over the baby’s hair. “Then why would anyone claim this precious girl is a DeLoria? What other possibilities are there?”
Marc knew of one, and he was taking great risk by mentioning it. But he felt he must. “Perhaps she is Philippe’s child.”
His mother sent him a startled look, as if he’d proclaimed that a deity had committed a mortal sin. “That would be impossible. Philippe has been gone for almost a year.”
Marc turned to Kate. “How old do you think she is?”
Kate regarded the baby for a moment. “At least six months old, maybe a bit older if she’s small for her age.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” Marc said. “She could have been born before or shortly after Philippe’s death. Definitely conceived while he was still alive.”
“Philippe was engaged to marry Countess Jacqueline Trudeau for two years.”
“Perhaps she is the mother, then.”
“Nonsense. She married another man not long after Philippe’s death.”
Ah, true love, Marc thought cynically. “Then perhaps Philippe fathered a child with another woman.”
“Philippe never would have denied his child,” Mary said.
Anger welled inside Marc. “And I would?”
“As his mother, I would have known if he had been hiding something. He was never good at telling untruths. He lacked the cunning you have.”
The woman who had always been Marc’s champion had called him a practiced deceiver in front of Kate, a woman whose respect he greatly desired. “Are you saying I am prone to telling falsehoods?”
“I am saying you’ve always been more clever and not as easy to read.”
“Of course. And Philippe was destined for sainthood.” Marc could not keep the sarcasm and bitterness from his tone even though he, too, had admired his brother. But he had also lived in his shadow. He was still living in it.
His mother’s expression softened. “My dear Marcel, we barely saw you over the past ten years, let alone knew with whom you were involved aside from what we read in the papers.”
“And you knew of Philippe’s comings and goings all the time, Mother? Might I remind you that no one knew where he was going or where he had been the night he died.”
“I am deeply wounded by your suggestion that your brother was carrying on with someone I knew nothing about, much less had a child with that someone without my knowledge.”
Kate watched the verbal volley as she continued to hold the baby on her hip, feeling totally like an outsider. The tension in the room was as thick as buttermilk and although she had no business getting involved, she had to do something. “There are ways to prove parentage,” she offered.
Both Marc and his mother unlocked their gazes from each other and turned them to her.
“Perhaps a birthmark?” the queen mother asked in a hopeful voice. “Marc does have a very unusual one on his—”
“Mother, I believe Dr. Milner is referring to something more scientific.”
Kate was, but she had to admit she was curious about Marc’s royal birthmark and where it might be residing. “I’m referring to DNA, which is complicated if the testing can’t be done here.” Not to mention they would have to obtain some from the deceased brother, a fact she didn’t dare bring up now.
Marc streaked a hand over his nape. “We are not up to speed with that yet. We would have to involve Paris.”
“We cannot do that,” the queen mother said, looking alarmed. “We must keep this concealed until we decide how to handle such a sensitive issue. The media would tear Marcel to shreds if they even suspected he had fathered a child out of wedlock. He would lose all respect in the eyes of our people.”
Kate could understand that, and she was more than a bit concerned herself. “I could draw and type her blood but without knowing the mother’s type, it might not tell us anything.”
“My blood type is rare,” Marc said. “Would that make a difference?”
“It could if she has it. That could prove she’s a member of the family, but it still might not rule anyone out.” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “What about Philippe’s type?”
“His was the same as Marc’s,” Mary said. “The night he died…” Mary’s voice trailed off along with her gaze.
Marc released a gruff sigh. “My mother was about to say that the night he died, I was in Germany on a diplomatic mission. He suffered severe internal injuries in the car crash. He lost too much blood and I didn’t arrive in time to give him some of my own.”
Kate’s heart went out to Marc in that moment. She couldn’t think of anything to say to ease his guilt, so she said nothing.
“Dr. Martine can provide all the medical records since he’s the royal physician,” Mary said. “We can trust him to be discreet.” She paused before adding, “And I assume we can trust you as well, Dr. Milner?”
Marc moved closer to Kate, a purely defensive gesture. “Mother, Kate is a physician. She is accustomed to confidentiality.”
Mary arched a thin brow. “Kate? How well do you know each other?”
Oh, heavens. If she didn’t set the record straight, the queen mother might assume she was Marc’s lover. Worse, she might believe Kate had parental ties to the child considering the timing. “Actually—”
“Kate, forgive my mother. She might be descended from genteel British aristocracy, but she has the bluntness of a barrister pleading a monumental case.”
The queen mother patted his cheek, a true display of fondness that took Kate by surprise in light of their recent confrontation. “And so do you, mon fiston.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Mother, I am no longer your little boy.”
“Yes, you are a man now and clearly responsible for your actions.”
“Kate and I knew each other at the university,” Marc continued, obviously not willing to react to the innuendo, much to Kate’s relief. “I assure you that we have not seen each other in years.”
“We were college lab partners,” Kate interjected. “Only friends.”
Finally, Marc smiled. “And she’s come to Doriana to join our hospital staff.”
The baby wriggled and gave a whine of protest. Kate wanted to do the same since she hadn’t exactly agreed to take the job. “I think we should wait until morning to do the tests. She’s been through enough today.” And so have I, Kate thought.
The queen mother patted her neat silver chignon, her features mellowing when she smiled at Kate. “Welcome, my dear. We are very pleased to have you.”
Kate considered insisting that she hadn’t made her final decision, but with the queen mother and king looking at her expectantly, she felt as if she had no choice.
She would agree to take the position—for the time being. If it got too hot in the castle kitchen, if it turned out the baby was Marc’s and he’d left some woman high and dry, alone and pregnant, she would have to reconsider. She couldn’t respect a man who would do that, even if she did crave his company.
“Thank you. I’m very glad to be here.”
For now.
Marc spent the remainder of the afternoon making numerous queries, only to learn that no one seemed to know who had delivered the baby at the gates. He called Louis Martine and explained the situation, then arranged to meet him early in the morning at the hospital for Kate to run the tests. Louis had assured him that he would practice prudence when it came to gathering records and assisting in trying to determine the baby’s parentage. Marc had no choice but to trust him. He could not say the same for the rest of the hospital staff, Renault particularly, so they would have to proceed with caution.
Frustrated and exhausted, Marc set off to locate his mother and Kate, who had insisted on staying to care for the baby. Beatrice directed him up the stairs to what was once his and Philippe’s nursery, but which had long ago been transformed into a guestroom. He entered to find Kate sitting in a rocker, holding the sleeping child against her shoulder. She put a fingertip to her lips as she rose and laid the little girl in the nearby crib. The baby stirred a bit and Kate remained there for a while, patting the child’s back and cooing like a dove. After a time, she turned away and signaled him to join her in the hall.
Once there, she shut the door behind them and sighed. “I think she’s finally down for the count. It took a while. Apparently she’s used to someone rocking her to sleep.”
Marc rubbed his neck, trying to work away the tension coiled there, to no avail. “I suspect her mother had that duty, whoever she might be.”
“I’m sure you’re right. And obviously Cecile’s been well cared for. She looks very healthy. I’ll do a full exam tomorrow, just to be sure.”
Marc glanced at the closed door. “I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve made the room into a nursery again.”
Kate shrugged. “I didn’t do anything but play with Cecile while the staff moved in the furniture.”
“My mother must have called in all her favors to have a crib delivered so quickly.”
“The crib was yours.”
“I had no idea my mother kept it.”
“She obviously cares a great deal for you,” Kate said softly.
Marc acknowledged that his mother had always cared about him, but after the events of the day, he questioned whether she respected him. “By the way, where is she?”
“She had a terrible headache so I insisted she go to bed. I’m sure it’s stress.”
No doubt due to the situation, and him. “I hope we clear this up soon. She’s been through quite a lot over the past year with Philippe’s death. And now this.”
He saw true sympathy in Kate’s emerald eyes. “Yes, she has been through a lot, and so have you.”
How unselfish for her to consider his feelings, Marc thought. A rare occurrence in the household. “I’ve adjusted.” He’d been forced to adjust. No time to consider anything but duty. No time to really grieve.
“Are you sure you’ve adjusted?” she asked.
No, he wasn’t, yet the time to assess his situation would probably continue to elude him. “Of course.”
Kate hid a yawn behind her hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Marc felt like a selfish fool. “No apology necessary. You must be exhausted from your trip.”
Her ensuing smile tripped Marc’s pulse into a frenzy. “Yes, I am tired. Beatrice has agreed to sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery in case Cecile wakes during the night. Do you think Mr. Nicholas could drive me back to the hotel?”
Marc wasn’t ready for her to leave. He wanted to spend more time with her even knowing it was selfish on his part, and totally ill-advised. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to stay here considering the lateness of the hour?”
“My clothes are at the hotel and I really need a bath.”
Marc did not need to imagine her in the bath, but he did—in great detail, right down to the curve of her hip, the shading between her thighs, the roundness of her breasts where his gaze now came to rest.
Kate pointed to a dark smudge above her right breast. “Strained peas. Little Cecile is a healthy eater but she loves to toss food. Her aim is pretty darned good.”
Marc reached for a lock of Kate’s dark hair. “Yes, I do believe I see a few remnants here.”
As he twined the soft strands in his fingers, their gazes remained fixed as Kate said, “I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”
Marc needed something from her now—although he couldn’t act on that need. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I will personally see to your return. I’ll drive you myself.”
Her expression reflected wariness. “Are you sure? You look pretty beat.”
“I promise I will stay awake long enough to make certain you are delivered safely to your room.”
And he promised himself that he would leave her at the door because if he did not, he would find it very difficult to leave her at all tonight.
