Читать книгу The Expectant Princess - Stella Bagwell - Страница 13

The side of the cliff Dominique and Marcus were climbing was mostly grassy slopes broken up by rocky crevices and huge jagged boulders. At the point where the car had left the highway, it had traveled for several yards on smooth grass. The deep ruts from the tire tracks were still evident in the soggy turf.

The two of them noted the tracks were strangely straight, as though the driver hadn’t tried to cut the wheel to the right or the left in an attempt to halt the car’s destructive downward path.

At the end of the ruts, they reached a ledge of rock. Peering over the edge, they found a vertical drop of at least twenty feet to a bed of more jagged rocks. Black stains marred several of the boulders and from the plowed-up condition of the ground around them, Dominique knew this was where the car had made its final plunge before it crashed and burned.

The idea of her father and his driver perishing on the wild sea cliff was almost too much for Dominique. With a cry of anguish, she turned to Marcus and buried her face against his chest.

“Oh, Marcus, I can’t believe my father died down there.”

His arms came around her and pressed her against the warming comfort of his body. Her slender shoulders were trembling and her fingers clutched at his shirtfront. Never before had Marcus wanted to take away someone’s pain so badly. Dominique was too soft, too precious to ever hurt this much.

Pressing his cheek against the top of her head, he whispered, “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Seeing this place is only causing you more grief.”

Dominique wanted to burst into sobs, but she bit them back and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. He believed she was distraught over her father. And she was. Yet she couldn’t confide the whole truth of the matter to him. She couldn’t tell him that losing her father was only a part of the worries weighing down on her shoulders.

Marcus was a gentleman. A man of honor and integrity. He was going to be shocked and disappointed that she’d not behaved in a manner of her breeding. His opinion of her, which had always meant so much, was going to nose-dive. Once he found out about her condition, he would probably shun her. And she wasn’t quite ready for that. She needed his strength. More than he could ever know.

Shaking her head, she gulped down a sob. Then with another determined swallow, she leaned her head back far enough to allow her a view of his face. The wind had whipped his black hair across his forehead and ruddied his dark complexion. Compassion and regret clouded his golden-brown eyes, making her feel even more ashamed of herself.

“No,” she said hoarsely. “Please don’t feel badly about bringing me here. I’m glad you did.”

He frowned. “Glad? You’re trembling like a leaf, Dominique. You’re upset.”

“Yes. But I’m also a little relieved.”

His expression somber, he studied her face for long moments. “Because now you can accept that your father is really dead?”

“No. Because now I’m more certain than ever that he didn’t perish in this accident.”

His hand lifted to tenderly stroke her windblown hair. “Dominique,” he began doubtfully, “I know that you—”

Before he could finish, she twisted around in the circle of his arms and motioned toward the sight farther below them to where the ocean crashed upon the rock-strewn shoreline. Some distance out, several Coast Guard vessels bobbed on the cold, frothy waters of the North Sea.

“For the past seven days, special divers have been searching for a sign of King Michael’s body or a part of the remains,” she said. “So far they have found nothing. And I don’t believe they will.”

Marcus was trying to concentrate on her words, but it was a very hard thing to do when the warmth of her slender curves was radiating into his. Her hair carried the scent of wildflowers and tangy sea air and he found himself wanting to put his hands on her shoulders and draw her back against him. He wanted to dip his face into her hair, press his cheek against the regal line of her throat and draw in the womanly smell of her skin.

Dear Lord, he was losing all common sense, he thought. He wasn’t some sort of Romeo that chased after women years younger than himself. He didn’t chase after women period. In fact, since Liza had divorced him, he’d vowed never to let his head be turned by another one.

Allowing himself to think such physical thoughts about Dominique scared him like nothing had in ages. It was indecent and improper and downright crazy on his part. He had to get a grip on himself and fast.

Gruffly, he cleared his throat, then purposely set her aside from him. Staring out at the rough seas, he forced himself to remember his dead king and the allegiance he owed him even now.

“What makes you think they won’t find King Michael’s body? Do you know something all these investigators don’t?” he asked her.

She flushed at his question, but refused to relent. “I know it probably sounds absurd to you, Marcus. I’m just a naive young woman who doesn’t know anything about accident scenes or investigations. But King Michael is my father. And I know I would feel something more if he were truly dead. Something inside would tell me to let him go and say goodbye. Besides,” she added more firmly, “just take a look down there where the car finally landed. The whole area is surrounded by high boulders. It would be highly improbable that his body continued to roll down to the sea. The rocks would have prevented such a thing.”

Trying to keep an open mind about all points of view was one of the reasons Marcus had risen to the lofty position of king’s high counsel. Not that his quick intelligence hadn’t helped. It had. But smartness wasn’t the final thing that had propelled him into the prestigious job. It had been his ability to look at things from all angles that had singled him out and set him above the others serving on the king’s administrative staff.