Читать книгу Capturing the Crown Bundle - Nina Bruhns, Caridad Piñeiro - Страница 31

Once the examination was complete, Sydney waited, her heartbeat booming in her ears. Dr. Kallan had confirmed Sydney’s suspicion that only an ultrasound examination and a complete blood workup would tell if her baby was all right. The equipment to do this test was, of course, only available at a hospital. The nearest facility was in the next town inland, a good thirty-minute drive on winding roads. Dr. Kallan had gone to tell Chase and the others.

A moment later, the doctor returned. He smiled reassuringly as he patted Sydney’s hand. “They’ve agreed to take you into town. The car is being brought around now. I’ll meet you at the emergency room there.”

A grim-faced Chase and his three stooges waited for her in the great room.

“Ready?” His cool gaze gave away nothing.

Schooling her own expression to match his, Sydney nodded.

Though they left by unmarked car, someone must have tipped off the reporters. When their black Mercedes pulled up to the emergency-room entrance, a cluster of photographers eagerly awaited their arrival.

“Keep driving,” Chase instructed the driver. “This isn’t an emergency. Go around to the back.”

“They’ve probably got people stationed there, as well.” Sydney kept her tone calm. “If so, take me back to the emergency room. Dr. Kallan said he’d be waiting for me there.”

“It doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to avoid the reporters.” William sounded energized.

“I’ll be fine.” Sydney sighed. “I’ve been dealing with them off and on for most of my life.”

“Don’t speak to the press.” Chase met her gaze. “Let us handle them.”

“Don’t worry. I have nothing to say to them.”

Scowling, he glared at her. “They think you married the prince.”

“I know.”

“Wishing it was true?”

She only shrugged off his sharp-edged question. At least if she had, her baby would be acknowledged. Legitimate.

On the other hand, her child would be heir to the throne. He or she would never have a normal life. Thinking of her half-brothers and-sisters and the rarefied air they lived in, she’d already decided she didn’t want that for her own child, not if she could help it. She’d planned to discuss alternatives with Reginald.

But since he’d refused even to speak to her, that talk had never happened. Now it was all up to her to take care of her baby.

Chase eyed her, his sharp gaze missing nothing. “I’ve got people setting up an official press conference for you this afternoon, so you can set the record straight. Once it’s known you’re not carrying the next official heir, maybe the death threats will cease.”

She sighed. “I was hoping hiding out here would take care of that.”

“Until we know more about that car that tried to run us off the road, I’m taking no chances. Plus, with all the reporters here,” he gestured at the waiting crowd, “whoever is after you will know exactly where you are.”

She peered through the tinted glass, eyeing the eager faces, the microphones and cameras. Somehow, without intending to, she’d managed to achieve what her mother had always craved. She was in the spotlight.

All Sydney wanted to do was return home to Naessa and her life of relative anonymity. She wanted to lick her wounds in private and prepare for the upcoming birth of her child.

“Coming here might have been a big mistake.” William leaned forward. “They’ll make the connection between this town and the royal lodge. Before long they’ll be camped outside the gates.”

“I needed to have tests run.” Sydney kept her tone firm. “So I had to come here whether you like it or not. Plus, you can’t keep me hidden forever.” Unbidden, thoughts of Chawder Island intruded. She couldn’t help but speculate on what would have happened if they’d stayed longer. She’d never experienced anything quite like the explosiveness of nearly making love with Chase. She wondered what the real thing would be like.

The heat in Chase’s gaze told her he shared her thoughts.

Embarrassed, she looked away, back out her window to where the vultures circled with their flashbulbs and their video cameras.

The car slowly circled the building. Clusters of reporters were gathered around each entrance.

“They’re unbelievable.” Sydney had gotten her first experience with paparazzi early. As a young girl, her mother had enjoyed taking her out in public dressed in outlandishly expensive outfits. Someone had always been around to snap a picture of the illegitimate princess and her lovely mother for the tabloids.

Her mother had considered it amusing. She’d preened for the cameras, thriving on the notoriety. Sydney had always been the opposite. As she’d grown, she’d begun to see the press as stalkers and her mother as a panderer.

Once grown, she’d done her best to live in a way designed not to draw attention. The more quietly she lived her life, the less the press hounded her. Lack of flash and bling made for boring pictures. Soon, the press all but ignored her. A cello-playing, illegitimate princess who never partied wasn’t considered newsworthy.

Until the Crown Prince of Silvershire had taken a shine to her. Dating Reginald had changed all that. She grimaced at the thought. Like her mother, the prince had seemed to enjoy the attention. Sydney had been content to leave him the limelight. She’d preferred to remain in the shadows.

Damned if she was going to let them hound her baby.

“Take us back to the emergency room,” Chase ordered the driver. “Pull up as close to the door as possible. I’ll take her in there.”

The instant she and Chase stepped from the car, they were surrounded. Flashbulbs popped and microphones were thrust in her face while the reporters shouted questions. Stone-faced, Chase shouldered his way through while Sydney clung to his back.

Each time someone shoved a mike in front of him, he repeated four words. “Press conference later today.”

Once inside, they found the brazen press had followed.

“There.” Chase pointed. A nurse held a door open for them, letting them bypass the check-in desk. One of the perks of being attached to royalty, Sydney supposed.

“Wait here.” Her shoes squeaking on the linoleum, the nurse indicated two hard plastic chairs. “Dr. Kallan is on his way.”

Sydney sat. Chase remained standing, his hands crammed in his pockets.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

Instead of answering, he responded with a question. “You really don’t like the spotlight, do you?”

So that was it. Of course. He was head of public relations. Dealing with reporters was his job and, she suspected, his life.

“I told you I didn’t. Why? Was there something wrong with the way I avoided them?”

Though she’d meant the question as sort of a joke, he regarded her with a serious expression. “Do you really want the picture they splash all over the newspapers to be one of you with your face burrowed into my chest?”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really care. All I was thinking about at the time was getting through the crowd, not how I’d look in the news.”

“But—”

“Miss Conner?” The nurse was back. “If you’ll follow me.”

Chase started to rise, too, but Sydney stopped him with a look. “You can wait here.”

The muscle that worked in his jaw was the only sign he gave of how he felt about her request. But he did as she’d asked. As the automatic doors closed behind her, Sydney felt a stab of regret, which she automatically suppressed. Her baby’s welfare had nothing to do with Chase and wanting his support was only more foolishness on her part. Plus, all the water she’d had to drink in preparation made her uncomfortable.

The sonogram was done with quiet efficiency, the warmed gel and the gentle motions of the technician soothing. After they’d finished and cleaned her up, she was taken to another room where a different nurse drew blood.

Barely forty-five minutes had passed before Sydney rejoined Chase in the private waiting room.

“All done?” Chase’s hooded gaze spoke of a simmering anger. Since he had no reason to be angry, Sydney pretended not to notice.

“It’ll be a little while until I get the results.” Despite her best efforts to sound cool, calm and collected, her voice caught.

“Don’t worry.” He touched her arm. “Everything will be all right.” He held her gaze for the space of a heartbeat before he looked away.

Because she hoped he was right, she said nothing. Instead, she studied his chiseled profile. Perversely, she wished he wasn’t so damn beautiful. If he weren’t, she might find it easier to hate him, if it came to that when all this ended.

She could deal with that, she told herself, as long as she didn’t lose her heart. And God knew, she would never be that foolish again.

The nurse emerged, causing them both to look up. “If you’ll follow me?”

This time, when Chase followed, Sydney let him.

They were led down a long hall to a small office. Two high-backed leather chairs faced a mahogany desk.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse said.

Sydney stared at the chair, her rapid heartbeat feeling as though it were in her throat.

“Sit.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

His smile was a flash of white. “Of course you can. What else are you going to do? You can’t pace in such a tiny room.”

He had a point. Sydney sat.

When he lowered himself into the chair next to her and then took her hand, she froze. He squeezed her fingers and she decided to take the comfort he offered.

A moment later, Dr. Kallan bustled into the room, smiling broadly. “I have good news. You’re absolutely fine and your baby is developing normally.”

Sydney released her breath. Clutching Chase’s hand, she turned to him, her eyes filling. “Thank God.”

Chase’s hard expression softened. “Congratulations.”

Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him before jumping to her feet and hugging the doctor. “You don’t know what a relief it is to hear that.”

The gray-haired doctor smiled back. “You’re about eight weeks along. Everything looks good.”

“Could you tell the baby’s sex from this sonogram?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s too early. We can usually determine the sex of the fetus accurately by sixteen to eighteen weeks using ultrasound or fifteen to sixteen weeks with an amniocentesis. Or, if you’d like to come back in two weeks, we can do a CVS, chorionic villus sampling. That’s usually reliable at ten or eleven weeks.”

“I won’t be here then.”

At her words, Chase stiffened.

The doctor smiled. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to guess a bit longer.” He stood and held out his hand.

After she shook it, he inclined his head. “If you need anything else, have your people give me a call.”

Once in the hallway, Sydney headed for the doors under the sign marked Exit. Chase stopped her.

“We need to discuss a strategy.”

“A strategy for what?”

“Dealing with the press.”

She sighed. “What’s to discuss? We’ll just do the same thing we did before. Breeze through them with a bunch of ‘No comments.’”

“We can’t. We can get away with ignoring them once. If we do it twice, they’ll speculate.”

“So? Let them.” She tried to pull away, but his hand on her shoulder prevented her. “Let me go.”

“Do you want to read a story in the morning about how you got rid of your baby?”

Shocked, she stared up at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know how some of them can be, especially the tabloids. Lacking truth to report, they’ll simply make something up.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“They don’t know that. The general public doesn’t either.”

“You can tell you’re in public relations.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice.

Stoically, he watched her.

“Fine. We’ll make a statement. What do you want me to say?” Despite her anger, her emotions were perilously close to the surface. The back of her throat stung, and she blinked away tears.

“Sydney—” With a curse, he crushed her to him, covering her mouth with his in a hard, possessive kiss.

Neither heard the doors silently swing open.

A flashbulb popped. Then another. Suddenly, reporters with camcorders and cameras surrounded them.

Jaw clenched tightly, Chase released her.

She turned in time to see the cameraman flash a thumbs-up sign. She recognized the reporter standing next to him as Chris Endov, one of the beat reporters for the Daily Press, Silvershire’s main paper.

“What do you want, Endov?” Chase asked. Though he sounded pleasant enough, Sydney recognized the thread of steel underlying his tone.

“I have a few questions.” Endov came closer. “For you, Miss Conner. First you’re hot and heavy with the prince, and now that he’s dead, you’re with his royal publicist? Any particular reason for that?”

Chase answered before Sydney could even open her mouth. “No comment.” Arm around her waist, he began shepherding her away.

The reporters followed, shouting questions.

“Are you still pregnant?”

Sydney tensed. Without even looking at them, Chase tossed off a quick, “No comment.”

“No, wait.” Sydney stopped, turning to face the restless throng. “I want to answer that. Yes, I definitely am still pregnant. I came here to have a routine checkup.”

More flashbulbs. Several of the camcorders were rolling. Sydney tried to look a dignified as possible, memories of her mother’s simpering pandering haunting her.

“Do you know your baby’s sex?” someone shouted.

She forced a smile. “No, it’s too early for that.”

“Were you and Prince Reginald secretly married?”

Without waiting for her answer, another reporter followed up. “Now that the prince is dead, are you planning to step forward and proclaim your unborn child heir to the throne?”

She stood straight and tall, the afternoon breeze lifting her hair. “Absolutely not.”

“Then,” someone else called out, “you’re saying your baby will be born unwanted and illegitimate, like you?”

Someone gasped. The rowdy reporters fell silent, one by one. Chase cursed.

For Sydney, time seemed to stand still. She blanched, turning her face away from the crowd, toward Chase, longing for the comfort of his broad chest.

He took a step toward her and stopped, his expression dark. When she raised her gaze to him, she knew she wasn’t strong enough or quick enough to hide her stark pain.

“Old wound,” she said, striving for lightness but sounding instead as though she’d taken a blow to the solar plexus. She kept her eyes fixed on Chase while she spoke, using him as an anchor.

Something dark, something haunted, crossed his face. She noticed how he fisted his hands, though he kept them at his sides while he searched the crowd to try and find out who’d spoken.

She didn’t want to know.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Who asked that?” Voice deadly calm, Chase searched their faces. No one stepped forward.

“Then we’re done here,” he said, taking Sydney’s arm to lead her off.

“I have one more question.” A woman wearing too much makeup and an overloud orange dress raised her hand.

Chase sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Miss Conner, you never answered the question.” Her broad face had the determination of a bulldog. “Is there any truth to the rumor that you and Prince Reginald were married before his death?”

His expression furious, Chase shook his head.

“She’s engaged to me,” he said.

Several in the crowd gasped audibly, but none louder than Sydney.

Once said, Chase wanted to call those words back. He had no idea what had come over him. The declaration had just popped out. From nowhere. He knew better. What he’d said was not only foolish, but improbable, implausible and highly suspect. Yet now, having said them, he realized he’d have to make them work—somehow, until something could be done to rectify his mistake.

Sydney gazed up at him, her eyes wide and impossibly blue. “Engaged? We are so not—”

“Talking about this now,” Chase put in smoothly. Then, partly because she had a mutinous set to her chin, and partly because her open mouth just looked so damn inviting, he kissed her again.

As before, the moment his mouth covered hers, he was lost in a tidal wave of desire and need. Standing stiffly, she sighed into his mouth. Then, as lust all but consumed him, she brought her arms up around his neck, tangled her free hand in his hair, and held him in place. Her tongue stroked and tempted and teased and either she was the best damn actress he’d ever met, or she craved him as badly as he wanted her.

He almost forgot they were standing in a hospital surrounded by reporters. His desire for Sydney filled him, and any other time, any other place, they would have made hot, urgent love.

Out of the question. He lifted his head, breathing raggedly, and fought to regain his shattered control.

Now though, the ultimate PR professional had a pressing problem. With her wild kisses and her body melded so close to his, she’d aroused the hell out of him. They had a crowd of spectators. If he turned to face the reporters now, they’d know exactly how much he wanted Sydney, his brand new fiancée.

Her breathing as ragged as his, she hid her face against his chest, her color high.

The reporters all shouted questions—and ribald comments—at once. Dimly he became aware of flashbulbs popping. Damn. He had to hand it to her. Sydney had succeeded in making him do what he’d never done in his entire career in public relations—lose control in front of the press. Hell, he thought ruefully, hanging on to the last shreds of his tattered restraint as he eyed the news cameras, in this case, in front of the entire world.

Still, he couldn’t help longing to finish what he’d inadvertently started. Another time, another place…

Regretfully, he took a deep breath and, keeping Sydney tight against him, turned partially to face them. Ignoring the upraised hands, the videocams, the shouts, he forced his expression into an indulgent smile. “Ladies, gentlemen. May we have a little privacy, please?” A foolish request. He knew it, they knew it, but by simply asking, he’d guaranteed himself a bit more time to get his unruly hormones under control.

As he’d expected, this caused a good-natured uproar. Most laughed and shouted ribald jokes. A few loudly protested. While they argued among themselves, Chase tried to think of playing golf, which was the most calming, un-sexy thing he could think of.

He had to give Sydney credit. Though one look at her dilated pupils and unsteady breathing told him she was just as affected as he, she smoothed her hair with one hand, her shirt with the other, and straightened. When she did look toward the crowd, her serene expression gave nothing away.

She wore, he thought with grudging respect, the face of someone used to dealing with the press. In his line of work, he had to admire that. Royals like her made his job that much easier.

Together they ignored the reporters. Thirty seconds later, feeling almost normal, he removed his arm from Sydney’s shoulders.

“So are you aiming to move up in the palace hierarchy, Mr. Savage?”

He answered smoothly, though he knew what they meant. “Not possible. I don’t have royal blood. You should know better than that.”

“But she does.” A woman with short dark hair, dressed casually in faded jeans and hiking boots, pointed at Sydney. “She’s a princess of Naessa. What does this bode for the two countries’ continued relations?”

Political implications. Not good. Carrington hadn’t briefed him on the official palace response.

While he searched for a suitable nonanswer, Sydney straightened and lifted her chin. With his hand still on her shoulder, he could feel her tension—she all but vibrated with it.

Her blue eyes were cool as she measured the other woman. “No, as someone else so succinctly pointed out earlier, I’m illegitimate. I have no real title. I’m certain there are quite a few of Prince Kerwin’s by-blows running around Naessa. My actions carry neither political clout nor connotations.”

This brought another round of shouted queries.

Sydney held up her hand. “You know and I know that I have no real claim to fame. I live a quiet life, not bothering anyone. And no one, including the press, bothers me. Most importantly, I don’t think any of this makes me particularly newsworthy.”

“You were seen quite frequently with Prince Reginald, before he died.”

She sighed. “He was a great fan of the symphony.”

The dryness of her tone made a few of them chuckle.

“Were you two lovers while she was sleeping with the Prince?” Paul Seacrist, of Silvershire Inquisitor fame, stepped forward. The tabloid, known as The Quiz, bore the logo of a large, all-seeing eye. Which often felt particularly appropriate, since their cameramen seemed to be everywhere.

Sydney gasped. Chase squeezed her shoulder, letting her know he intended to handle this one himself.

At the smug knowing leer on the man’s pinched face, a stab of anger went through Chase, sharp as a knife. If he gave in to impulse and punched the guy out, there’d be hell to pay. What a field day they’d have with that!

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t gotten to his position as head of PR by losing control.

Quieting, all the reporters watched them, waiting for a reaction, cameras ready.

Suddenly, Chase realized he recognized the voice. It had been Seacrist who earlier had hurt Sydney by calling her illegitimate and unwanted. He took a step forward.

Seacrist continued to wait expectantly. Something in his expression told Chase he knew if Chase touched him, not only would he have the story of the year, but a million-dollar lawsuit, as well.

Damn it!

It took all of his training and skill, but Chase kept his head. “You’ve just insulted me, Miss Conner and the deceased prince. I expect an apology. Now.”

“Apology?” The other man looked disappointed. “I was only asking a simple question. I meant no insult.”

Chase inclined his head, accepting the reporter’s words, since he could do little else.

There were more questions, all routine. Chase fielded two or three about the baby, answering in such generalities that he told them absolutely nothing. He’d developed a knack for this sort of thing, appearing to be utterly forthright while revealing little of the truth.

Doing what he was paid to do, he should be in his element. But he was not. For the first time in his career, Chase felt as if he were watching the reporters who vied for his attention from a distance. Instead of feeling energized, he felt annoyed and irritated.

Through all this, Sydney held herself regally, gazing at the reporters defiantly. Her cinnamon hair glowed, even in the harsh, artificial light, and her eyes stood out starkly in her pale, pale face. While trying to hide her hurt, she was absolutely beautiful. Watching her, he felt a clenching low in his stomach.

God help him, he still longed for her. Even now, he wanted to kiss the side of her long, creamy throat, tangle his hands in her lustrous hair. Instead, he leaned closer, inhaling her scent, and whispered in her ear. “Are you ready?”

“For what?” she mouthed.

“To make a run for it. After all we’ve given them, we should be home free.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’ll let us go?”

“That’s why we’re going to make a run for it. We’ll leave them no choice.”

She nodded. “Then let’s go. But this time, I’m going first.” Taking a deep breath, she plunged through the crowd for the doorway. Amused, he followed.

Like sharks moving in for the kill, the press surrounded her, blocking her path, still calling out questions.

Undeterred, she continued to push forward.

Following behind her, Chase gave them all a rueful smile. “What, no privacy?”

The ones closest to him laughed.

Finally, they reached the exit and squeezed through the doors, heading for the car. Once he’d seen Sydney safely inside he turned to face the reporters, one hand on the door handle.

“Come on, people. Settle down.” He heaved a loud, mock sigh, and waited. Once they’d quieted, he gave them an impersonal smile. “I’d planned to hold a press conference later, but now I see no need. You have had more information than I ever intended you to have.”

There were several collective groans. Finally, he held up his hand, and they quieted. “I think that’s all, folks. We just gave you all a fantastic story, announcing our engagement. So it seems to me you’d take that and run with it and allow us some small measure of privacy. We’d like to celebrate—just not in front of a crowd.”

This time, he spoke a partial truth. He wanted to be alone with Sydney, to explain why he’d said what he had.

One last, diehard newshound stepped forward. “What about the baby? How does it make you feel, Mr. Savage, knowing your wife-to-be is pregnant with another man’s child? Not just any other man, but Prince Reginald, your boss?”

Even the casual mention of Reginald in the same context as Sydney grated on Chase’s nerves. And the reminder she was pregnant by another man was much-needed. It served to remind him why he couldn’t allow his desire for her to cloud his judgment any further. Put that way, his sudden urge to help Sydney seemed stupid—something he already knew.

Not since he’d been left at the altar by Kayla, then publicly humiliated by her announcement that the baby he’d thought was his belonged to another man, had he allowed his emotions to rule him. His attempt to take some of the heat off her had just guaranteed that the press would continue to speculate. And to hound them.