Читать книгу Crowns And A Cradle - Valerie Parv - Страница 12

She stared at him, feeling her jaw drop. “Home? You can’t be serious?”

“Do I look as if I am joking?”

He looked…he looked amazing, she thought, aware that his bombshell didn’t stop her from thinking about him in those terms. She had a feeling His Highness could dominate any woman’s thoughts without really trying.

But she couldn’t accept his suggestion that she had any claim to this astonishing place. Whoever her birth parents were, if they had belonged here, they wouldn’t have borne a child in America and given her up for adoption. The château and the vast estate around it looked as if they had sheltered generations of one family. Such tradition wasn’t easily set aside.

Before she could voice the questions crowding her mind, the car door was opened by a uniformed servant who bowed to her. “May I assist you with the infant, madame?”

Until she knew more about why she was here, she wasn’t trusting her son to anyone’s care but her own. “Thank you, I’ll take him myself.”

“As you wish, madame. I will have someone attend to your bags.”

While the servants bustled about, she lifted Christophe out of the capsule. He stirred and gave her a heart-stopping smile, showing off his solitary front tooth. “You had a good rest, didn’t you?” she said, smiling back at him. Not for Christophe, the worry about what this was all about. As long as he was warm, dry and fed, and she was within his line of sight, he was content.

As she held him against her cheek, he gurgled happily and thrust his fingers into her mouth. She kissed them, feeling almost overwhelmed by love for him. As long as they had each other, everything would be all right, she told herself, as she had so often since he was born.

She became aware of Prince Josquin’s thoughtful gaze on her. She turned to him. “Christophe still needs feeding and changing.”

“Everything you and the baby might need has been anticipated,” he assured her.

“By whom? For what purpose?” She sighed impatiently. “I know, you’ll give me the answers soon.”

Josquin took her free arm, his gesture indicating the hovering servants. “There’s no need to make a scene. No harm will come to you or your child.”

She jerked her arm free. “You think this is a scene? Wait until you see what a real scene looks like.” She tightened her hold on Christophe and faced the prince, tigress with cub bracing herself to take on full-grown male tiger. Her stance made it clear that, at need, she would take on the world to protect her child. “We’re not going any further until you give me a good reason why we should.”

A scowl marred his even features, suggesting that no wasn’t a word he was accustomed to hearing. After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Because your son is the heir to everything you see around you.”

She felt the color drain from her face. “He’s what?”

“He is Prince Henry’s sole male heir.”

“If it’s true, it would make my baby…he would be…” She couldn’t bring herself to force the word out.

Josquin did it for her. “He is Prince Christophe de Valmont.”

Josquin saw the moment when her knees threatened to buckle. His strong arm came around her, supporting her and Christophe. She shook her head slightly to dispel the mist tugging at the edge of her thoughts. “There must be some mistake. We’re American citizens. How can my son be the heir to anything in Carramer, far less a prince?”

“I understand this is a lot to take in. That’s why I wanted to break it to you in a more appropriate fashion.”

“Would any way make a difference when you have such news? Are you sure?”

Josquin inclined his head. “Too much is at stake for my inquiries to have been anything but meticulous.”

They would have been anyway, she assumed. Josquin didn’t strike her as a man who did anything by halves. She was far from convinced that the château was her son’s birthright, but for his sake, she had to find out. “We’ll come inside, for now at least,” she said, keeping a tremor out of her voice with an effort.

The prince looked relieved. He indicated a pretty dark-haired woman of about Sarah’s age, who had come to stand beside them. “This is Marie. She will serve as your personal attendant while you’re here.”

Which wouldn’t be very long if Sarah had any say in it, she thought as she greeted Marie. The longer she stood in the shadow of the breathtaking château, the more she believed that Josquin must be mistaken. The prince’s research might have been thorough, but he would have to depend on advisers and investigators. Their information could have been wrong. It would be sorted out soon, then she and Christophe could go home.

There was no holiday. Belatedly she realized that the check she had received as spending money was as much a sham as the prize she had supposedly won. She would have to return the money to Josquin, although she had no idea how she was going to manage it.

“What if this turns out to be a mistake?” she asked.

He made a gracious gesture. “Then I will be the one who made it. You are welcome to remain at Valmont as a guest of the royal family for as long as you choose. It is the least I can do to make amends, if a mistake has been made.” His tone said he doubted it.

Relief swept through her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she had counted on this vacation to give her the chance to regroup. Although it had been her choice and she wouldn’t change it for anything, bearing Christophe alone hadn’t been easy. Her grandmother’s legacy wouldn’t last much longer. Soon she would have to return to work.

Her former job as assistant manager of an art gallery had been kept open while she was on maternity leave. With a baby to consider, she couldn’t work the long, sometimes unpredictable hours she’d done previously, so she had been forced to hand in her resignation. She had intended to use her vacation time to plan her future.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone betraying her relief.

The prince inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Shall we go in now?”

A butler held one of the carved double doors open for her and gestured deferentially for Sarah to precede him.

Sarah found herself standing on a floor made of Italian travertine inlaid with granite. A coffered ceiling stretched twenty or more feet above her head. At one end of the cavernous hall was a wide, curving staircase.

Sarah had been surrounded by beautiful possessions all her life, but had seen nothing like Château de Valmont. “This is amazing.”

“This is one of the finest houses in Carramer.”

“I can believe it. Now I’m convinced you have the wrong person.” Her son couldn’t possibly be the heir to all this.

“Then I shall have to convince you otherwise.”

“If it means living in such a magnificent place, I don’t mind you trying.”

At the excitement in her voice, he smiled. “The château stands at the center of a very large estate which is home to several members of the royal family. Substantial as the estate is, there are other royal homes that are even more impressive, such as the palace at the capital, Solano, home of the monarch, Prince Lorne.”

“I can’t believe it could be grander than this. Do you live here?”

“When my work requires it.” He gestured for her to accompany him up the grand staircase.

The heavily carpeted treads made her feel uncertain—or was it the presence of the enigmatic man at her side? Either way, she was glad of the ornate balustrade to steady herself. Soon she would discover who she really was, and how her baby came to be a prince of Carramer, if that’s who he really was.

Marie must have taken a route reserved for the servants, because she was already fussing over Sarah’s suitcase when Josquin opened the door onto a lavish suite of rooms. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said.

Sarah had never seen anything like the suite spread out before her. Two bedrooms opened off a circular sitting area. Beyond it was a covered patio with a panoramic view all the way to the sea. The sun sparkled off an expanse of white sand that begged to be explored. Sarah hugged Christophe, making a silent promise to show him the beach. She couldn’t wait to build his very first sand castle.

Marie carried some of Sarah’s clothes into what turned out to be a walk-in closet, also with an ocean view.

“Comfortable? We may move in here for good,” she said.

Josquin’s mouth twitched. “Be careful what you wish for, Sarina.”

She eyed him curiously. “What did you call me?”

“A local variation of your name,” he said easily. “Does it trouble you?”

“I suppose not.” More troubling was her feeling that his use of the name hadn’t been entirely fortuitous. She wished he would tell her what he knew of her background and get this over with, but she sensed that Prince Josquin would do things in his own way and time.

She turned to the maid. “Marie, which is the baby’s room?”

“It’s all right, Marie. I’ll take care of this.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy, and Josquin opened a connecting door onto a spacious bedroom equipped with everything a baby could possibly need. Sarah settled Christophe onto a changing table beside an exquisitely decorated antique crib. Above it was a mobile of horses. She set them twirling. This was a far cry from the tiny bedroom she had turned into a nursery in her apartment back home, and she found herself wishing that her friends from the art gallery were here to see this.

Josquin angled his lithe body against the door frame and watched. Christophe reached for the mobile, kicking his legs in delight. “Horee, horee,” he chortled.

“They sure are, sweetheart,” she said, dodging flying feet as she set about changing him. “What a clever boy you are.” So far his vocabulary had been restricted to bowie, his word for the bottle he had recently started to use, and her favorite word, Mama.

She buried her face against his tummy, blowing a raspberry against his velvet skin. “I love every one of your words, don’t I? One day we’ll have long talks and you’ll tell me I don’t know anything because I’m only your mother, so I’d better enjoy horee while I can.”

Josquin looked intrigued. “He’s already starting to speak?”

She looked up. “First words at one, sentences at two.”

“So my cousins tell me.”

“You don’t have children of your own?”

“I’m not married.”

She wasn’t sure why, but the information lifted her spirits. “As a de Marigny, don’t you have to take care of the succession or something?”

“Prince Lorne and Prince Michel both have sons, so the succession isn’t something I need worry about.”

She felt her eyebrows lift. “No daughters?”

“Women do succeed to the throne under some circumstances, but it is more usual in Carramer for titles to pass down through the male line.”

She looked at Christophe. “Like the Valmont one?” He nodded, and she added, “How can you be sure you have the right child?”

Josquin shifted slightly. “You took a DNA test once.”

“That’s right. It’s how I discovered I was adopted.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You gained access to my medical records? How could you?”

“It was necessary.”

“You had no right.”

“I had a duty,” the prince cut across her. “I may not approve of the investigator’s methods, but I needed answers quickly.”

She lifted Christophe off the table and sat down with him on a rocker placed beside the crib. The baby pawed at her breast but she hesitated. She had fed him discreetly in public before without feeling self-conscious about it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it in front of Prince Josquin.

He solved the problem by pacing to the window and looking out, keeping his back to her. She unbuttoned her blouse and Christophe began to feed eagerly. She felt the tug as an emotional pull deep inside her. But the contentment that usually accompanied it eluded her today.

She kept her voice low as she said, “You mentioned a time problem before. What did you mean?”

The prince kept his back to her. “Prince Henry has a serious heart condition with an unpredictable prognosis. He wishes to see his heir securely settled in Carramer in case the worst should happen.”

Settled. How long had it been since she’d felt settled anywhere? She shifted Christophe to her other side. “I’m sorry about Prince Henry’s ill health,” she said, “But your plan has a rather permanent sound to it. What if I decide not to stay?”

“Then you are free to leave.”

She heard the tension in the prince’s voice and wondered what he wasn’t telling her. “You still haven’t told me what you know about my parents,” she said.

He swung back and froze, apparently riveted by the sight of her feeding Christophe. His voice sounded husky as he said, “Your father was Henry’s only son, Philippe de Valmont.”

She heard only one word. “Was?”

“He died in a waterskiing mishap soon after you were born. He never knew he had a daughter.”

“And my mother?”

“Her name is Juliet Coghlan.”

Sarah drew a sharp breath. “My father’s secretary?” Sarah had known the woman through her childhood, without suspecting that they could be mother and daughter. Suddenly she understood why Juliet had been so affectionate toward her, giving her small gifts and treats, and making time for her, no matter how busy she had been.

Sarah remembered visiting her father’s office to find him and his secretary in the midst of a blazing argument. Uncharacteristic tears had streamed down Juliet’s face as she stormed out of the inner office. She had come up short at the sight of the distressed seven-year-old, but had refused to tell her what was wrong. Now Sarah wondered if she had been the focus of the disagreement.

Juliet had left the next day. There had been no calls or letters since, and James McInnes had told Sarah he didn’t know where his former secretary had gone.

“Prince Philippe met Juliet when she was holidaying in Carramer. They fell in love and sought Prince Henry’s permission to marry,” Josquin said.

Christophe had drifted off to sleep and didn’t stir when Sarah tucked him into one arm. Feeling unusually self-conscious, she adjusted her clothing with the other. “I gather Prince Henry refused to give them his blessing.”

“He wanted his son to marry a Carramer woman of his choosing.”

“What happened?”

“Philippe told his father that he intended to renounce his title and follow Juliet to America. The love affair continued until she discovered what he meant to do. Evidently she didn’t want him giving up everything on her account, so she pretended that the affair was over. She expected Philippe to return to Carramer and resume his royal duties.”

This was her father, her real father. A man who had so loved her mother that he had been willing to give up everything for her. “Did he come back to Carramer?”

“For a time. He and Henry were barely on speaking terms, but Philippe did his duty to the letter, although everyone who knew him could see that his heart belonged elsewhere.”

“How did you know he’d fathered a child, if he didn’t?”

The prince reached into his pocket and withdrew a slim leather wallet. From it, he extracted a photograph that he handed to her. “Through this.”

The air fled from her lungs as she looked at the photograph. “It’s a picture of me.” A similar one had stood atop the piano of her adoptive home for as long as she could remember.

“Read what’s written on the back.”

Sarah turned the picture over. The handwriting was Juliet’s. “‘My darling, I thought I could do this alone, but I need you. Our daughter needs you. Tell me what I should do.’” It was signed, “‘Jay.’”

Sarah looked up at Josquin, feeling tears stain her cheeks. How could her real father have turned his back on such an appeal? “I thought you said Philippe didn’t know about me.”

Josquin took the photograph from her and returned it to his wallet. “He didn’t. The photograph was delivered to his office an hour after he left to go waterskiing with friends. After returning from America, he was frequently preoccupied, and that day his mind wasn’t on what he was doing. Another vessel ran him down. Philippe died on the way to the hospital. He never saw the photograph.”

“Surely someone contacted Juliet to tell her what had happened?”

“Philippe’s staff didn’t know who Jay was, and Prince Henry was unapproachable for months after the accident. I think he blamed himself for Philippe’s state of mind.”

“He was to blame,” she said hotly. “If he hadn’t hounded the lovers, they’d have married and lived happily together.” With her, she thought. Henry was responsible for destroying three lives including hers.

“Try not to think too harshly of your grandfather,” Josquin urged. “He’s from the old school, and believed he was doing what was best for the province.”

“Don’t call that horrible man my grandfather. From the sound of him, Christophe and I are better off not having anything to do with him.”

Josquin gave a tight smile. “From what I’ve heard about him, you sound a lot like Philippe.”

“I should probably take that as a compliment.”

She stood up and lifted Christophe against her shoulder. He gave a most unregal burp, then settled back to sleep again. He didn’t waken when she placed him in the beautiful antique crib and tucked a soft blanket around him. Her heart swelled with love as she looked down at him. She couldn’t imagine treating her son as heartlessly as Henry had treated Philippe.

“You still haven’t explained how I came to be adopted,” she said, turning back to Josquin.

“As far as we know, it was arranged privately through Juliet’s association with your father.”

Sarah couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Illegally, you mean?”

“Probably. There is no official record of the adoption. We assume that when she didn’t hear from Philippe, Juliet decided that he didn’t want to acknowledge their child. She already had an invalid mother depending on her and couldn’t cope with more. Your father and mother wanted a baby but they were unable to have children of their own. When James McInnes found out what a struggle Juliet was having, he persuaded her that it would be kinder to you if she let him adopt you. As his employee, she was able to see you on an almost weekly basis.”

Sarah thought about the argument between Juliet and her father. “All would have been well as long as my mother hadn’t insisted that I be told who I was. She had a blazing row with my adoptive father. I’d say that was the reason. She left soon afterward. When I asked where she’d gone, I was told nobody knew.”

“We were not able to establish her whereabouts, either,” Josquin said. “I’m sorry.”

Bleakness gripped Sarah as she faced the possibility that her mother might have died. Now she would never know that Philippe hadn’t abandoned her, or Sarah herself. Her only consolation came from knowing that her real mother had tried to do her best for her daughter.

“You do realize what this means?” Josquin said. “Your son is not the only one of royal blood. You are in fact, Her Royal Highness, Princess Sarina de Valmont.”

Her knees jellied. “Every adopted child wonders if she’s really a princess.” Before he could respond, she added, “Does that make us cousins?”

He shook his head. “I’m from the de Marigny line.”

“Then how can Prince Henry of Valmont be your uncle?”

“It’s a courtesy title. He took over my education in my midteens when my parents proved less than adept at it.”

She didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice, and sensed that there was more to his admission, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

“Are you disappointed that we’re not related?” he asked.

She would have been more disappointed if they had been. She wasn’t sure why, because she had no romantic interest in him. If anything, she should despise him because of his loyalty to Prince Henry, the man who had destroyed her real family. “Why should I care either way?” she asked carefully.

A shadow darkened Josquin’s handsome features. “When we met, I sensed a connection between us.”

She wasn’t about to admit that she had felt it, too. “You’ve just said we’re not related by blood.”

“There are other kinds of connection between a man and a woman.”

She threaded her fingers through the bars of Christophe’s crib as an anchor. “I’m not looking for a connection, as you put it. I want to take my child and go home.”

“You would deny your son his birthright because yours was denied to you?”

“I’m not doing any such thing.” At least she hoped that wasn’t her motivation. She made a sweeping gesture around the lavishly furnished suite. “None of this has anything to do with us. I’m half-American, remember? If what you tell me is true, Christophe has less Carramer blood in his veins than I do.”

“Are you running away from his heritage, or from me?”

The prince’s question stopped her in her tracks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His dark gaze caught and held her. “Don’t you? You deny feeling any connection between us, but it is there. I think you’re afraid if you acknowledge it, you’ll lose your head the way your mother did.”

Sarah could hardly breathe for the emotions swirling through her. “It didn’t work out all that well for her.”

His hand came up and touched the side of her face. “Then consider this your chance to rewrite history.”

She had to fight to resist the urge to turn her face into his hand. “You’re assuming I want to.”

“Oh, you want to.”

How did he know, when she could barely explain her feelings to herself? Was such arrogant assurance a part of his royal heritage? If so, why didn’t she feel as sure of herself? “Are you sure I’m a real princess?” she asked.

He looked mystified. “I guarantee it.”

“Then let me issue my first decree. Take your royal hand off me now.”