Читать книгу The Expectant Princess - Stella Bagwell - Страница 12

A few steps away from the cathedral’s grassy courtyard, Dominique laid her cheek against a column of cool marble and tried to calm her roiling stomach.

Dear God, don’t let me be sick now, she silently prayed. Her mother, her family were going to need her strength. They couldn’t be burdened with the secret she carried. At least, not now.

Even though she desperately tried to hold them back, tears poured from her eyes. She was a princess, bred and tutored to be strong under the very worst of circumstances. If her father knew she was displaying such emotion in a public place he would be horrified and angry.

The sobering thought braced her somewhat and she forced herself to dig a tiny embroidered kerchief from her handbag. With trembling hands, she carefully dabbed at the moisture beneath her eyes.

“Dominique? Are you all right?”

Dominique’s heart went still, then lurched into a hard, anxious thud. Nearly four years had passed since she’d seen him, but the male voice behind her was as familiar as yesterday’s sunset.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped away from the marble column and turned to face the man she’d tried her best to forget.

Even before Marcus Kent had become her father’s top adviser, he’d been an impressive figure of a man both intellectually and physically. At two inches over six feet, he was all lean muscle and broad shoulders. Short, raven-black hair waved slightly back from a wide forehead and strong, roughly chiseled features. Thick black eyebrows and lashes framed a pair of eyes that were nothing less than striking. Their smoky-topaz color was as unique as the man himself.

At thirty-three he was twelve years Dominique’s senior. Yet as she gazed at him now, she knew she had never met a man who stirred her more.

“It wasn’t necessary for you to check on me, Marcus. But thank you just the same.”

Three strides carried him to within inches of her and she felt herself quivering with renewed awareness as his solemn gaze searched her upturned face. The years she’d been away at university in the States had been kind to him. He looked just as virile and potently masculine as he had that day she’d said goodbye.

“You were very white when you fled your family a moment ago. I wanted to make certain you hadn’t fainted.”

“I’m sure a guard followed me.” She wouldn’t know of life any other way. Being a member of a royal family made her a target. She’d long ago had to counsel herself to the fact that her movements in public, no matter how trivial, were almost always watched and her behavior scrutinized. Especially here in the city of Old Stanbury.

“I expect at this moment you need more than a guard’s presence.”

His gentle suggestion caused pricks of fresh tears to burn the backs of her eyes. Determined to do her father proud, she blinked and sniffed and swallowed them down. But the idea that King Michael might really be gone from their lives drained the very strength from her legs and she grabbed for Marcus’s hand almost at the same moment he reached out to steady her.

“Oh, Marcus,” she said hoarsely. “This has to be a nightmare. Please tell me Father can’t be dead.”

From the moment Marcus had spotted Dominique entering the cathedral this morning, his insides had gathered into hard knots and remained that way. In the past few days, he’d learned from the king himself that she was home from university to attend this morning’s christening. But he’d deliberately avoided going by her suite of rooms in the family’s palace to say hello.

Years ago Marcus had made a point to quell her schoolgirl adulation for him and, in doing so, he suspected he’d crushed her young pride. At the time he’d not set out to deliberately hurt or embarrass her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d always been genuinely fond of Dominique and he’d wanted to send her off to university with a clear mind. Not cluttered with romantic notions for an older man.

Four years had passed since then, and he figured somewhere in between she’d forgiven him for forcing her to take off her rose-colored glasses where he was concerned. As for himself, the years Dominique had been away had seen him married with high hopes, then divorced with bitter regret.

Now he wished he had made a point of seeing Dominique before this morning. Maybe then he would have been prepared for the drastic change in her appearance. She’d grown into a woman whose beauty knocked the very breath from his lungs.

Her tall, slender body now moved with grace and poise. The golden-brown cap of curls he remembered framing her face had grown into long waves that very nearly touched the back of her waist. Today the thick tresses were pulled back from her temples with diamond-studded combs that matched the loops of diamonds dangling from her earlobes. He recalled her eyes being the same pale green he was looking into, only now their open innocence was gone, replaced by a provocative slant and a touch of shadowy mystery that was utterly feminine. A perfectly straight nose led down to an equally perfect set of lips. Plump and moist; the top lip dipped deeply in the middle, the bottom curved to an enticing pout.

No doubt she had been properly kissed since he’d last seen her, Marcus thought. In fact, for all he knew, she might have already given her heart to some young man.

The gentle pressure of her fingers tightening around his brought Marcus out of his wandering thoughts—thoughts that were both foolish and improper on his part. It didn’t matter that her cream-colored dress did more than hint at the luscious curves of a woman. To him she could be nothing more than the king’s young daughter. A king who, it appeared, was most likely dead.

“I’m sorry, Dominique. I can’t give you hope when there seems to be none.”

Her head dropped, then swung from side to side in disbelief. The sudden urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her shocked Marcus. Although he didn’t know why his feelings should be a surprise to him. Where Dominique was concerned, he’d always harbored a protective streak. Six years ago, when he’d joined the king’s administrative staff, she’d been a shy, gangly fifteen-year-old. Uncertain of her place in the royal family and at the same time hungry for reassurance and affection. His own rough childhood had helped to create an affinity for the young princess. One that obviously hadn’t dissolved, in spite of the past years she’d been away.

“What about LeAnn’s christening?” she murmured. “Are they still going through with the ceremony?”

“No,” he answered, his thoughts softening his voice. “The accident has taken precedence now. Your family is making preparations to return to the castle.”

Her head came up swiftly. “Oh. Then I must get back inside.”

With her free hand she pressed the kerchief against both cheeks, then snapped the dainty cloth away in the small gold velvet bag hanging from her shoulder.

Marcus released her hand, then cupped his palm around her bent elbow. As he guided her through a back entry of the cathedral, he wished above anything that she didn’t have to face the sorrow of her father’s accident. He wished it was in his power to shield her now and always from life’s harsh realities.

But he was just a man. A commoner, despite his lofty position as the king’s high counsel. She deserved and needed more than he could ever give her and he suspected she’d learned that while she’d been away, growing into a woman.

Three days later Dominique was still struggling to shake the notion that her father’s horrific accident was all just a nightmare. Each morning she expected to wake and join her family in the dining hall for breakfast. Somehow she knew she would find King Michael seated at the head of the long table, a cup of tea in one hand, a newspaper in the other. But each morning she’d discovered the dining hall empty, her mother choosing to breakfast in privacy, while her brother, Nicholas, was already at work, trying to deal with the upheaval their father’s disappearance had caused with the media and the political world.

This morning Dominique had chosen to breakfast on the balcony off her bedroom. If she were going to eat alone, at least she could do it in total solitude without a bevy of servants hovering over her.

Being away at university had spoiled her, she supposed. While living on campus and attending classes, she’d not been smothered by a royal entourage to carry out even her smallest bidding. Over time, she’d grown to love the freedom, the feeling that basically she was no different than any other young woman working toward a degree. Even if she was Princess Dominique Stanbury of Edenbourg.

The slight sound of a footstep on flagstone alerted her that she was no longer alone. Glancing up from a plate of fruit, she saw that Prudence, her lady-in-waiting, had joined her on the balcony.

Only two years older than herself, Prudence had been with Dominique since their early childhood. When the time had come for Dominique to go to college, Prudence had begged to go along with her princess, but the king and queen had separated the two, believing it would help their daughter develop more independence. Now that Dominique was back, Prudence was delighted and had practically been smothering her with attention.

At the moment, the young woman with dark brown hair twisted into an elaborate coil at the back of her head gave her princess a rueful smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Dominique. But someone has asked to see you. Are you feeling up to a visitor this morning?”

“Who is it, Pru?”

The other woman’s smile deepened. “Marcus Kent. I thought you might not want me to send him away.”

Other than a faint lift of her eyebrows, Dominique made no reply to her lady’s subtle hint. Instead, she glanced down at her blue velour robe. She wasn’t properly dressed, but she was decently covered. And Marcus might have received some sort of news about her father that he wanted to deliver personally.

“I’ll see him here on the balcony. Oh, and Pru,” she added as her personal attendant turned to hurry away. “Please send a servant up with a pot of fresh decaffeinated coffee and a thermos of cold fruit juice. Mr. Kent might want refreshments.”

“Of course,” she said with a wide smile. “I’ll be in the study if you need me for anything else.”

Prudence disappeared back into the palace and Dominique quickly finger-combed her loose hair. Thankfully, she had taken the time to thoroughly brush the long strands before breakfast. But without combs or headbands to confine it, the waves slipped and slid to their choosing rather than hers.

Oh, what did it matter anyway, she thought dismally. Most likely Marcus still thought of her as a young schoolgirl. No doubt he probably believed the crush she’d had on him for a while had died since her time away at university. It didn’t matter that she looked less than her best.

The thought was hardly out of her head when a tall shadow appeared across the glass tabletop. Looking up, she squinted against the bright morning sun streaming around his silhouette.

“Prudence didn’t tell me you were still having breakfast,” he said in that deep voice she remembered so well. “I should have waited until a later hour to see you.”

Shaking her head, Dominique motioned for him to take the chair opposite her.

“You’re not interrupting anything. I think I’ve forced down three bites in the past half hour.”

He frowned with disapproval. “That’s hardly the way to start your day.”

The sight of his dark handsome face had already fed her more than the food on her plate, she realized with sudden shock. Then quickly pushing the unbidden thought away, she said, “I’m not sure when my days start and end now, Marcus. Since the morning of the accident, everything has seemed surreal.”

Settling back in the wrought-iron chair, he propped his ankle against his knee. Dominique’s gaze slid discreetly over the light gray suit that was perfectly cut to fit his broad shoulders, then on to the strip of pale pink shirt against his tanned neck and the burgundy striped tie lying against his chest. From what she knew of Marcus, his looks or clothing were not that important to him. Seeing to the needs of his king and his country were always first and foremost. Yet he was a man who could throw on an old rugby shirt and a pair of jeans and still manage to look impressive.

Watch it, Dominique, she silently scolded herself. As a teenager, she’d allowed the image of Marcus Kent to put stars in her eyes. But she was a grown woman now and he was a man who would never see her as anything more than a friend or princess. He’d made that clear years ago. And besides, she’d already made a fool out of herself over one man. There was no way she was going to make a second mistake.

“I’ve been meaning to stop by and—offer my condolences before now,” he said. “But as you might guess, things have been hectic with the ongoing investigation of the accident and getting Nicholas settled in as the new acting king.”

Dominique latched on to one word and quickly tossed it back at him. “Condolences? Does that mean—” She swallowed as her throat threatened to close around the words. “Has Father’s body been found?”

Shaking his head he started to speak, then stopped abruptly as a maid, dressed in a gray-and-white uniform and carrying a loaded ornate silver tray, appeared on the balcony.

After depositing the tray on the table, the plump older woman stood waiting to serve them. Dominique quickly dismissed her, saying, “Thank you, I’ll do it.”

With a quick curtsy she left them, and Dominique looked at Marcus. “Would you like coffee or juice?”

“Coffee. With a dollop of cream. No sugar.”

She reached for a cup and saucer. The thin, gold-encrusted china rattled loudly in her shaking hands.

Quickly, Marcus leaned forward and took the dishes from her. “Here, let me,” he said gently. “You’re in no shape to be handling hot liquid.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus,” she apologized as she watched him pour the coffee. “I guess my nerves are a little frayed.”

His smile was indulgent. “I would hate to think of you not being upset at a time like this.”

She was a mess. A total mess. And Marcus was the one person she’d always wanted to impress with inner strength and dignity. Instead, she seemed to break down with emotion at the very sight of him. Her behavior toward him made no sense at all.

He lifted a second cup in question and she nodded for answer. After he’d filled it and passed it to her, she said, “Getting back to the accident, just what have you discovered? Anything new?”

Carefully, he sipped the hot coffee, then lowered the wafer-thin cup to its saucer. An odd mixture of apprehension and attraction shot through Dominique as his golden-brown eyes settled on her face.

“You are aware that the police have been combing the cliffs where the accident took place and also searching the sea below?” he asked.

She nodded stiffly. “The television news and all the newspapers have been full of pictures and theories as to what might have occurred the day of the crash. But none of it means much. Nothing will—until my father and his driver are found.”

He studied her for a moment longer and Dominique got the impression he was trying to decide whether she was strong enough for any sort of revelation. The idea knotted her already queasy stomach.

“A call from the police came in less than an hour ago. They’re still trying to extricate the driver’s body from the car. Apparently the metal—at least what was left after the fire—was a mangled mess. And I’m sure they’re going slowly so as not to destroy any clues. Apparent or otherwise.”

Dominique sucked in a fearful breath. “What about my father? If the driver—”

Marcus lifted one hand to halt her tortured thoughts. “King Michael’s body has still not been found. The chief investigator believes he must have been tossed from the car, and from that point his body rolled down the cliff and into the sea. The next step is to bring in divers and search the waters just off the island.”

Dominique shuddered with imagined horror. “But wouldn’t the body have already washed up to the shoreline? The prevailing winds over the North Sea would push the tide toward us, not away.”

“That’s true, however—”

She darted a questioning frown at him. “But what? What are you not telling me?”

His gaze dropped to her slender fingers and the cup lightly clutched in their grasp. She was so soft and vulnerable. He wanted to shield her from the awful truth and the pain it was bound to bring her.

“Drink your coffee,” he suggested quietly.

Her frown deepened, drawing her delicate eyebrows together to create one thin slash above her eyes. “Don’t stall, Marcus. Tell me what else you’re thinking.”

His lips formed a grim line, then he sighed. “You don’t really want to think of all the hazards out in the sea.”

The stiffness went out of her shoulders and her whole upper body sagged forward with reluctant defeat.

“You mean sharks,” she said in a low, raw voice. “Well, you are right. A body wouldn’t last long once a scavenger found it. But Father might not have been dead. He might have been dazed and hurt.” Her tone suddenly took on a fresh burst of hope. “It’s possible he could have wandered off before anyone came upon the wreckage!”

Thoughtfully, Marcus rubbed a thumb along the slight cleft in his chin. “Possible. But not likely. Eventually he would have had to stagger onto someone. There isn’t a soul in this city who wouldn’t recognize King Michael and carry him to the hospital.”

Although the weather was sunny with only a gentle breeze to ruffle the earliest spring leaves, Dominique felt suddenly cold. Clutching the lapels of her robe tightly together, she said, “Unless he happened to stumble onto an enemy.”

Marcus stared at her in disbelief.

She asked, “Why are you looking at me like that? I realize Father was a beloved king, but one never knows about people anymore. There are some strange ones out there.”

Actually the same sort of thread had run through his own thoughts these past three days. But he’d not voiced it to anyone. Even the police. Not that they would have put any credence into his theory. He was a political adviser, not a detective. And anyway, it was a farfetched notion. Anyone who looked at the scene of the accident would think it incredible for anyone to survive.

“I’m sorry if I was staring, Dominique. Your thoughts just took me by surprise. I didn’t expect you to be thinking in such—sinister terms.”

With a shake of her head, she placed her cup back on its saucer. Her fingers trembled as she passed them over her forehead. “I’m not sure I’m thinking at all right now, Marcus. I keep telling myself I have to accept that my father is dead. But my heart refuses. I can’t let go of the hope that he still might be alive and out there somewhere—someplace where he can’t get back to us.”

Before Marcus realized what he was doing, he reached over and gathered her hand in his.

“You need to put this out of your mind as best you can, Dominique. Fretting about it won’t accomplish anything. And you’ve only just now come back home to the palace. Why don’t you see old friends and try to enjoy being with your family.”

The warm strength of his hand felt far too good. It was all she could do to keep from turning her palm upward and sliding her fingers intimately between his.

Oh my, you are a little fool, Dominique. You were supposed to have forgotten all about Marcus Kent. You were certain you had. But you come home and he gives you one kind look and you melt like sweet chocolate between warm lips.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m not going back to my studies anytime soon, Marcus. At least not until this thing with my father is cleared up.”

She couldn’t tell him that her father’s accident was only part of the reason she was delaying her return to university. He’d want a full explanation and she couldn’t give him one. The reason would come out all too soon anyway. And then he’d be looking at her with disgust. As no doubt her family would be, too.