Читать книгу Abby and the Playboy Prince - Raye Morgan - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

ABBY PICKED up the baby and cuddled her against her shoulder, turning to look defiantly at the prince.

“Her name is Brianna,” she said, her eyes daring him to say anything negative about the child. “She’s two months old.”

Prince Mychale made no attempt to come into the room. He stood in the doorway, his handsome face a picture of puzzlement, as though the underpinnings of his world had just given way and he was floating in a world he wasn’t ready for.

“Why would you bring a baby to a place like this?” he asked as though he really couldn’t understand it.

She blinked at him. “What’s wrong with bringing a baby here? You were probably here as a baby.”

“Right. With a full cadre of servants and nannies. With electricity and all the other accoutrements of modern life.” He shook his head, looking disgruntled as he stared at her. “You bring a baby here in the middle of a huge storm. I don’t even know how you got here. There’s no car outside, except for mine.” He frowned, shrugged and said, like a man at the end of his rope, “Abby, what the hell are you doing here?”

Any hopes that a baby would charm him flew right out the window. Abby bit her lip. How was she going to explain what she was doing here without letting on what she was really doing here?

Brianna had quieted, but only for a moment. Now she gave a shuddering sob and began to fuss a little. Abby pulled her out to where the prince could see her pretty little face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she cooed to the child. “He’s just a big, bad old prince. I know he’s scary looking, but he won’t hurt you.” She glanced at him from under her brows. “Try smiling,” she advised. “That might help.”

Smiling. Right.

He didn’t feel like smiling. He was, in fact, beginning to feel more trapped than happy. He’d come out here to his childhood refuge to find some peace and quiet in order to think through a very important step he was about to take. And all he’d had since he got here was one distracting jolt after another. Including the shrill wail of the kettle now boiling away noisily in the distant kitchen.

Okay, this was just too much. He could hardly think straight, much less deeply. And now he was supposed to smile at the baby? No chance.

She kissed the baby’s little round cheek. “You don’t know much about babies, do you?” she said.

Babies? Since when did princes know anything about babies? It wasn’t in his job description. “Sorry, we didn’t cover child care in my classes at university,” he said with just a hint of sarcasm.

“That’s obvious,” she said, and her flashing glance his way told him without words to watch his tone. She smirked at him. “They know when people hate them.”

He shook his head in disbelief. How could she say such a thing? “I don’t hate children,” he protested.

“Really?” She looked intently into Brianna’s face. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem to think you like her.”

“That’s not true.” What was not to like? She was a baby. Who didn’t like babies? As long as they stayed in their own little rooms and in their own little play-yards where they belonged and didn’t get in the way of adults. “I like her just fine.”

“Really?” She looked up and held his gaze with her own, looking solidly accusatory.

He took a step into the room in his determination to prove it to her. “Abby, I like babies. Babies make the world go ’round. Every baby is a link in God’s great daisy chain.”

Oops. He probably hadn’t done himself any favors with that last quip. The way her beautiful eyes were flashing, he could tell she didn’t think it was especially amusing. Still, that didn’t stop her.

She did have a moment of hesitation, remembering he wasn’t feeling well. But he looked OK now. “Good,” she said, moving fast. “Then you can hold her while I go fix your tea.”

“What?”

By the time he realized what was happening and tried to back away, it was too late. He had a baby in his arms. And he was all alone. Abby was off toward the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “Take care to protect her head. Don’t let it bobble.”

“Bobble?” He repeated the word because he didn’t know what else to do. “Bobble?” Here he was holding this sodden mass of baby flesh, fuzzy things draped all around it, staring down at two midnight-blue eyes that stared up at him as though he’d just landed on the nearest alien launch pad and might be contemplating a quick meal. If babies could fly, this one would be on its way.

“Uh, hi,” he said hopefully. Hadn’t Abby said to smile? He tried it and actually seemed to have a little success. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

The lower lip was trembling and the round eyes were filling with tears. A flash of pure panic rocketed through his soul. Smiles weren’t working. Maybe a song.

“‘That’s why the lady is a tramp,’” he crooned.

The little girl drew in a shuddering breath and her shoulders began to shake.

“No, no, don’t cry,” he begged. “Look, funny faces.” He tried one, then another. Things were only getting worse. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth twisted in agony as she let out an earth-shattering wail.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, drawing her close in against his shoulder the way he’d seen Abby do it. “It’s all right. Really it is. No one is going to hurt you.” He gave the tiny back a few awkward pats and began to walk around the room. He cast a longing glance at the dresser drawer made up like a bed, but he didn’t dare put her down there without consulting Abby first. He didn’t have a doubt in the world that he would surely do something wrong if he tried it.

She was crying softly now, a baby in despair. He would have thought it would annoy him, but for some reason, it broke his heart instead. Poor little thing. She wanted her mom. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he found himself singing a song.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop.”

Funny. He didn’t even remember that he knew that song. It must have bubbled up from his subconscious. Either that, or it was in the ether, part of the zeitgeist, or whatever. He went on and on. He knew every damn word! And he found himself rocking back and forth to the rhythm the song created. What was going on here? Was he channeling another life? Or another level of his own existence? Maybe the experiences he’d had as a baby were stuck in his brain somewhere, just waiting to pop out at the right moment. In any case, it seemed to do the trick. The squirming little mass in his arms began to relax. The crying began to fade. He walked faster and sang harder.

“I think you’ve put her to sleep.”

He looked up in surprise to find Abby back, smiling in the doorway. “I have?” It was true there was no more crying. And the little bundle he carried had gone from creating a painful burden to feeling like something rather wonderful. Funny.

Abby nodded, finger to her lips. “Here,” she whispered. “Let me have her. I’ll put her down.” She took the baby from him and nodded toward the front of the house. “I put your tea on the table. Why don’t you go on out? I’ll join you in a minute.”

He left gratefully. There was a certain amount of triumph in having put the baby to sleep, but that was all the celebration he needed right now. He’d prefer keeping out of the baby-sitting business. It was a comfort just to know that Abby and her baby wouldn’t be here much longer.

Back in the living area, he returned to the window and stood staring out, feeling moody and a bit strange. He probably hadn’t caught up on his sleep yet. Maybe that was why he felt like he couldn’t quite get his balance at times.

But sleep wasn’t what he’d come here for. Thinking. Planning. Finding a way to break his engagement to Stephanie Hollenbeck without getting disowned by his family and expelled by his country. That was the puzzle he’d come here to unravel. And he knew damn well he would need some peace and quiet to do it in. He’d come all the way out here to think about what he was going to do about Stephanie, and instead, he’d spent every waking moment so far dealing with a runaway girl and her baby. This was no good. No good at all.