Читать книгу The Prince's Secret Bride - Raye Morgan - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

“ALL I can say is, it’s about time you brought a woman home.”

Nico turned to throw a stern glance at his lively, dark-haired sister as she entered the parlor where he’d taken Marisa just after she’d fainted in his arms. But his next words were directed at the silent-as-a-ghost butler standing near the door.

“Chauncy, has Dr. Zavier been contacted?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man responded with a slight bow. “He is on his way here now.”

“Good.”

He turned back to Marisa, looking down at her, where she lay on the velveteen couch, with a frown of concern. She hadn’t stirred since he’d carried her in. Did that have any connection to the bump on the head she’d taken earlier on the bridge? He took her hand in his again and felt her pulse. She was lying very still with her eyes closed, but he couldn’t see any other evidence of injury. Her breathing was normal.

What the hell—maybe she was asleep.

“She’s very pretty,” Carla noted, leaning on his shoulder to look at the exceptionally pretty blond woman. “Though I thought brunettes were more your type.”

He had to bite back the sharp retort that rose in his throat. Maybe Carla had forgotten about Andrea.

Andrea. Just thinking her name slashed another jagged tear into his heart. A vision of wild, lustrous auburn curls filled his mind’s eye. Memories of her dancing green eyes, her soft skin, her rolling laughter swept over him in a wave that threatened to choke him. He pulled away from his sister and began to pace the Persian carpet, fighting back the crippling anger that always came when he thought of his loss.

Marisa was a very different type. Slender and light, her blond hair curling into an impenetrable mass that didn’t quite reach her shoulders, she was nothing like the woman he had loved. But just seeing Marisa lying there on the couch brought back his most painful memories.

Andrea had been on the cold, hard ground that awful night, over a year ago now. They’d been pinned down by a sniper and his rounds were still biting in around them as he’d worked frantically on her wounds. Ripping apart his shirt to use to bind her torn flesh, he tried desperately to stop the bleeding. He cried out encouragement, prayed aloud, promised things and begged. But the blood kept coming, slowly draining her life away. And finally, there was nothing to do but to cradle her lifeless body in his arms and curse and sob out his anguish and promise revenge.

But that was then. This was now. And the woman on the couch wasn’t in danger of dying. Still, she was alone and vulnerable and she carried a child, just like Andrea. He couldn’t ignore the parallels.

“This is hardly a date, Carla,” he rebuked her curtly, just because he had to funnel his anguish into anger in order to keep it under control.

“Well, brother dear, it’s as close as you’ve come lately,” she said cheerfully, pushing back her thick black hair and bending over Marisa.

He glanced over, regretting that he’d snapped at her, though not quite enough actually to apologize. He knew it hadn’t been easy for Carla, growing up during a war with three older brothers always taking precedence. He should cut her some slack.

Carla had lived a strange, schizoid existence, sometimes thrust into the midst of bloody battles as the family fled attack, at other times treated as though she were the proverbial pampered princess to be kept away from ordinary life as long as possible. Their mother had died two years ago and their father, the king, very recently. When she’d been alive their mother had always acted as though Carla’s primary role in life was to wait for the right eligible swain to present his credentials and get permission to sweep her off her feet. So Carla had waited. But the war and other things had cluttered the time up and now, in her early twenties, he knew she was beginning to fear she had waited too long.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Carla knew he was thinking about her situation. She appreciated his compassion, but a little action on her behalf would be more useful. Princesses were usually betrothed by now. And no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

When she’d taken her fears to their aunt Kitty, the older woman had reassured her.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she’d said, patting her hand lovingly. “I’m sure your brothers will always need looking after. If you don’t get married, there will always be a place for you at the palace.”

It had been a shock to realize her aunt didn’t think much of her chances either. If only she’d been born beautiful, the way her brothers were handsome, things would have been so much easier. She wasn’t bitter, but it did seem unfair.

“You seem beautiful to me,” her father had always said, but that, obviously, didn’t help at all.

She’d decided, if it came down to it, she would run away to another country, change her identity and join a dressage team training for the Olympics. Why not? She was good at working with horses. Better that than feeling like a piece of furniture half of the time.

The woman Nico had settled onto the couch was beautiful. Carla smiled as she looked her over. She was as happy to admire beauty as the next person. But as she looked, she noticed the woman’s rounded stomach.

“Uh-oh. It looks like she’s got a little traveler along for the ride.” She shook her head, frowning. “Darn. Does that mean she’s already married?”

The prince moved away restlessly. “I’m not really sure about that.”

“Oh?” She straightened and gazed at him questioningly.

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his slacks. “She’s…well, it’s a bit complicated, but she got mugged tonight and now it seems she’s not sure who she is.”

“Amnesia?” Carla’s silver-blue eyes, so like Nico’s, glittered with interest.

“Maybe.”

Carla turned back to look at her. “No traditional rings.” She tilted her head, considering the silent woman. “I’d say she’s unattached.”

“Carla…” he said warningly.

“But then, I’m an optimist.” She allowed herself a quick look of concern before she went back to needling her brother. “Of course, you’ve as good a chance as anyone at turning her head.”

He groaned.

“But that doesn’t explain why she fainted.” Turning, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve obviously terrified the poor dear. What on earth did you do to her?”

“Nothing at all,” he said defensively. “She just…well, when she realized who I was…”

Carla laughed and threw up her hands. “Of course. That would be enough to scare any girl into a stupor.”

He turned away with a snort. “Where’s that damn doctor?”

“He was probably sound asleep when Chauncy called him,” Carla said, getting a confirming nod from the butler. The doctor’s house, where he lived with his wife and the two nieces they’d taken in when they had been orphaned, was at the far edge of the compound. “It is after midnight. Don’t worry, he’ll get here.” She smiled as she watched her brother go back to pacing the floor.

Marisa was lying very still, her eyes closed, her mind drifting. If she stayed very quiet, maybe she could pretend she was asleep and dreaming and she could put off the reality of her situation. The murmured voices of the others in the room were muted, washing around her. Still, try as she might, she couldn’t help but hear what they were saying.

It was all a little too much right now. Somehow she had walked out of her own everyday reality and stepped into a fantasy—she’d just been carried into a palace in the arms of a prince, for heaven’s sake! And she couldn’t even remember how or why she got here.

Carefully, she tried to reconstruct her day, but she couldn’t remember anything that had happened before she found herself on the cold bridge walkway with a lump on her head. She’d tried to shake off the dizziness and she was aware of a man throwing her suitcase and purse over the side of the bridge. What had happened to him? By the time she’d regained her feet, she’d noticed Nico coming toward her and the man who’d attacked her was nowhere to be seen.

The rest was a muddle of clearing her head and walking along with the man she now knew was Prince Nico. There was a stop for something to eat in a café, but what had happened there was blurry. And then the prince had brought her here.

He and his sister were talking as though they didn’t think she could hear a thing they were saying. She knew she ought to open her eyes and sit up and join in, but she still needed a moment or two to regroup. Just a moment or two.

“Be serious for a minute,” the prince was saying, reacting in exasperation to something his sister had said. “And tell me what we’re going to do with her.”

“Don’t think twice, Nico. I’ve already got the second-floor maids up, running a bath, preparing the peach room, laying out nightclothes.”

His tone turned reluctantly admiring. “I have to admit, you’re nothing if not efficient.”

“I do my best. Just trying to make sure that your little treasure has a place to lay her head.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness.”

Marisa frowned slightly at the new voice that was practically a whisper, then realized it was the butler.

“Yes, Chauncy?”

“I hesitate to intrude, but I thought it might be wise to point out another factor that might have upset the young lady.”

“And what is that?” Nico sounded just a bit impatient and she could see why. The man sounded conniving to her, too.

“We live in perilous times, Your Highness. I don’t think you can afford to rule out the possibility that she might be… affiliated with the opposition in some way and was shocked to find herself ensconced with the enemy, so to speak.”

“Nonsense. Chauncy, you see enemies behind every bush.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I beg your pardon for speaking so candidly.”

Marisa lay very still and wondered if she was part of the opposition. She didn’t know the answer to that question, but she did know she had to get out of here. Carla had called her a treasure. What on earth had she meant by that? Unbidden, an old Carnethian folk song trailed its way into her mind. The refrain repeated, “Oh what a lucky girl, to be the prince’s plaything.” The phrase was said with bitter irony and added a bad feeling to this crazy mix. Royalty played exotic games in a rarified atmosphere she wasn’t used to. She didn’t belong here.

And something was tugging at her—some responsibility she hadn’t met, or some errand she hadn’t completed. She had to go, even if she didn’t know where.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, just as the doctor arrived, but it was the prince’s gaze she met first. The connection that sparked between them made her gasp softly. She hadn’t realized before just how blue those eyes were, or how provocative. She saw something there that set off alarms inside her and sent her heart into a thumping frenzy. But maybe she was imagining things, because a moment later his look was cool and impassive and he was speaking to the doctor as though she were a homeless person he’d found in the street. Which she was, wasn’t she?

The only time he revealed a flash of emotion was when the doctor turned to him almost accusingly.

“This woman is pregnant,” he said, looking sternly at the prince.

Nico’s face hardened and he stared at the man. “I just met her tonight,” he said icily.

It was obvious the two men didn’t care much for each other, but Marisa didn’t have time to dwell on that fact. Dr. Zavier examined her quickly and dispassionately, then declared her well enough for now. He found nothing physically wrong, other than a bump on the head, and prescribed lots of rest and plenty of fluids and promised to look in on her in the morning.

Marisa agreed with that diagnosis. She was fine, really. Just tired and a bit confused. She sat up as the doctor left, then looked hesitantly into the prince’s eyes, wary of seeing whatever that was she’d seen a few moments before, but his gaze was bland, revealing nothing more than vaguely impatient interest, and she relaxed. She was probably being a ninny and she hated that. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be stronger from now on. Just as soon as that was possible.

Nico introduced her to Carla, his sister, who immediately took over and ushered her down the hall and up the stairs and into a warm bath, chattering in a friendly manner all the while. Two chambermaids helped and Marisa didn’t have to do a thing. Before she knew it, she was clean and smelling delicious with her dirt-stained clothes exchanged for a silky nightdress that felt like heaven. And finally, Carla led her to a luxuriously plush canopied bed in a beautiful room decorated in peach and gold. By the time Marisa had caught her breath, she knew it was all too much.

“I should go,” she protested weakly, knowing she was in danger of letting herself be seduced by all this cosseting.

“Nonsense,” Carla told her cheerfully, turning back the bed and providing a step-stool. “It’s late. You need to sleep. You can go in the morning.”

“But, my clothes…”

“They’re being cleaned for you. In the meantime, look here.” Carla threw open a tall wardrobe set against the inner wall. “You see all these?” she said, sweeping her hand along the length of the display inside. Bright cloth hung from every hanger. “They belong to my cousin Nadia. She’s just about your age and size. Minus the pregnancy, of course, but you’re barely showing. Feel free to use anything here that you like.”

Marisa shivered. This was beginning to remind her of a fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t always have happy endings. She could think of a few where the young innocent visitor was lulled into a false sense of security by all the riches laid before her, only to come to a bad end when she finally realized what the evil captors actually wanted from her.

“Uh, where is Nadia?” she asked.

Carla shrugged and pretty much evaded a straight answer. “Good question. That’s something we’d all like to know.”

She drew the heavy drapes closed over the lacy liners at the window and Marisa turned slowly, following her movements. She was hesitant to seem to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, but still….

“I… I don’t really know why you’re being so nice to me,” she said carefully. “I mean, you don’t know anything about me or where I came from or…”

Carla’s good-natured laugh rang out. “Well, neither do you, from what I hear. We’re all playing this by ear, aren’t we?”

Marisa couldn’t help but return her smile. “I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly.

“You get into that bed and get some sleep,” Carla said, turning to go. “There’s a bell rope if you need anything.”

“Carla,” Marisa said quickly, “thank you.”

Carla stopped at the doorway and looked back. She hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll be honest, Marisa. It’s lovely having you here, but the bottom line is that Nico is in charge when our oldest brother, Crown Prince Dane, is out of town. I’m sure you know—but then, maybe you’ve forgotten—that our father, King Nevander, died last month after a long illness. So now we’re preparing for a coronation. The Crown Prince is in Paris making international alliances. Nico is the de facto ruler here at home for the time being. And Nico gets what he wants. If he thinks you’re welcome here, you’re welcome here. So relax and enjoy it.”

With a wave she was gone. Marisa stared after her. Somehow her last words had not been comforting. The more she heard the prince wanted her here, the more she began to think she didn’t want to be here. Instead of heading for the bed, she turned and hurried toward the wardrobe, reaching in to grab something to wear for a quick escape. She’d barely taken down a beautiful pink sweater when a soft rapping on her door told her this wasn’t going to be quite so easy.

“Come in,” she said, tensed in uneasy anticipation.

Prince Nico entered the room, just as she’d been afraid he would. Funny, but he looked more handsome, taller, harder and just a bit scarier than he had when she hadn’t known he was royal. Biting her lip hard, she tried to hold back any evidence of being swept away. She absolutely refused to seem awestruck. She’d been impressed with him before, but once she realized he was royalty—like it or not, that had its effect. The royals were stars. How could it be any other way?

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gazing curiously at the pink sweater.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” She pressed the sweater to her chest. “I…listen, I’m sorry to be such a bother to everyone.” She gazed up at him earnestly. “Really. I think I should go. You know…”

His handsome face was impassive but his blue eyes shimmered silver in the lamplight. “You can’t go.”

“Oh.” That startled her for a moment. Why couldn’t she go? It didn’t make any sense. Was he just throwing his royal weight around? Or did he have some ulterior motive? She wasn’t sure why she was so suspicious of everyone. But then again, maybe she did have a hint or two as to why that might be. After all, she’d been assaulted tonight. Time to guard herself a bit more carefully, perhaps.

“Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than to look after me. I mean…here you are, a prince and all.” She shook her head and tried to convince him. “If I’d realized that from the beginning, I would never have gotten…” The word involved was the one she was going for, but the connotations scared her off. “…tangled up with you,” she said instead, then frowned, wondering if maybe that was worse.

The faintest of smiles quirked the corners of his mouth. “Too late. I’m entangled.” Reaching out, he took the hanger with the pink sweater from her hands and walked it back to the wardrobe.

She gazed at him, nonplussed. “But why?”

He hung up the sweater, then closed the door and turned back. “That doesn’t matter.”

Her warning system was setting off tiny alarms again. “Sure it does. I don’t understand why you think you have any responsibility for me and my child.”

He gazed at her for a long moment before answering that one—long enough that she began to feel self-conscious. She was standing there in a filmy nightdress, after all. Hardly the way one would want to appear in an audience with a prince. Unless, of course, one had seduction in mind. That sent blood rushing to her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had the sweater back to hide behind.

“We care about all our subjects, Marisa,” he said at last.

Right. She almost laughed aloud at that one. Especially when she considered the hint of mockery she heard in his tone.

“Maybe so, but you don’t invite them all to come and stay in the palace, do you?”

His blue eyes seemed to smile. “No. You’ve got me there. I’ll have to admit it. You’re special.”

That gave her the shivers. “Why?” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

He glanced down. She knew her pregnancy was pretty well hidden by the folds of the gown, but it almost felt as though he had X-ray eyes. He was very obviously referring to her child as the reason he was taking extra care to protect her. Her hands went involuntarily to her belly once again and she bit her lip, wondering if she could trust him—or if this was just a way to lower her defenses.

“Are you married?” he asked bluntly.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. The usual order of things would require a husband somewhere in the mix.”

She looked down. Funny, she couldn’t remember who the father was right now—but despite the fact that there had been a moment there, when she’d still been groggy from the mugging and this amnesia or whatever it might be was still new to her, that she’d been startled to find she was with child, she was now well aware that she was carrying a baby close to her heart. She would never lose sight of that for a moment.

“I’m not married,” she said firmly.

He cocked his head to the side. “Can you remember…?”

“No.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. She knew instinctively that she had never voluntarily submitted to the authority of a husband. And she was beginning to feel very similarly about the authority of a prince. “But I know I’m not married. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “Perhaps your husband was killed in the war.”

She shook her head, chin high. “No.”

His eyes darkened. “You seem very sure.”

“I am. Look.” She held up both hands. The simple rings she wore left no room for the traditional Carnethian doubles all married women wore in this country. “I would remember. I just can’t believe I would forget a thing like that. Or if there were anyone in my life that I was in love with.”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe the answer will be in your luggage. I’ll send out men to search for your suitcase first thing in the morning.”

Her suitcase! That sense of urgency came over her again. She looked toward the door. “I really should go,” she began.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he cut in, sounding like a man whose patience was still holding, but not for much longer. “The doctor said you needed rest.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to get it here. Look, I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt of that. But what about your baby?”

“What about my baby?” she said defensively. “It really has nothing to do with you.”

For just a moment, she thought she saw him wince, as though her feisty words had hurt him somehow. Despite everything, she regretted it. And that was a real problem. Her impulse was to do anything she could to make him happy. And that made her want to scream.

“Your Highness,” she said, purposefully using his rank as a way to distance herself from him. “I may not remember my name at the moment. And I may not be too clear on where I came from.”

She paused for a moment as a picture swam into her mind, a hazy, misty picture that wouldn’t quite come into focus. She blinked, thinking the clouds would clear in a second or two and she would see it perfectly.

“Are you remembering something?” he asked, stepping closer.

She drew in a quick breath as the picture evaporated before her eyes. Looking at him, she twisted her mouth slightly. “Not anymore,” she said coolly.

He nodded. “Let me know if you do,” he said, searching her face as though he thought the answers might appear there.

She sighed. Here was the problem. He saw her as a victim, someone who needed to be taken care of. She’d been through a lot today and taken some hard knocks, but she knew one thing for sure—she was no victim. She could take care of herself. She was going to have to pull herself together enough to show him that inner toughness before it was too late.

“Get some sleep,” he told her, starting to turn away. “We’ll discuss your situation tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first,” she muttered to herself as she listened to the sharp sound of his boots on the tiled floor of the hallway.