Читать книгу Crowns And A Cradle - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 10

Sarah McInnes bounced the grumbling baby on her hip. “Not much longer now, little one.” She nudged her suitcase forward with her foot, frowning at the slow-moving line ahead of her. The Carramer people might be “the world’s most delightful hosts” according to the brochures, but their customs officials had scant regard for a baby’s needs. Christophe was tired after the long flight and she could see him getting ready to give his small lungs a workout.

She was being ungrateful, she knew. She was about to visit one of the most beautiful countries in the world, thanks to a radio station’s computer that had dialed her phone number at random in a competition. Given the odds against winning such a wonderful prize, how could she feel unhappy about anything? She put her mood down to exhaustion. Although the flight attendants had been wonderful, taking turns to distract him, Christophe had fretted most of the way from America. As a result Sarah had slept little herself.

Suddenly her attention was captured by a flurry of activity at the station ahead of her. A handsome man strode up to the officials and spoke quietly to them. Their response, instant and unmistakably deferential, made her wonder who the man was and why everyone jumped to attention when he appeared on the scene.

She had sworn off men, even ones with hair the color of midnight and the build of an athlete straining his designer suit. He would never be able to buy clothes off the rack, she thought, not with those wide shoulders and narrow waist. From where she stood she couldn’t see his legs, but as he had crossed the customs hall, the men with him had struggled to keep up.

The man’s intense gaze swung to the people in her line. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest longer on her than on the people around her? There was no reason for her to be singled out. She was only an ordinary tourist visiting the country. A different line catered for people traveling on business visas, so none of the people around her could be tycoons planning to pour millions of dollars into the island kingdom’s economy, especially not Sarah herself.

For someone who had no interest in men other than the adorable one-year-old in her arms, Sarah found herself paying a foolish amount of heed to the way everyone danced attendance on this one man. He stabbed a finger at the computer screen alongside him and began to talk in a lowered voice.

Only another customs official, she concluded. Maybe he was simply one of those men who commanded attention no matter what their position in life.

Since she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, she amused herself by continuing to study him covertly. She put his age at about thirty, although it was hard to pin down when he moved with such athletic grace. When he finally strode away, she felt something very like disappointment.

She was startled when a uniformed man approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kindly come this way, madame.”

His tone carried a hint of command, and her stomach lurched. Had she made a mistake when she completed the entry formalities for herself and Christophe? Sarah had never been in trouble of any kind, and had never been to Carramer before. While studying the brochures, she’d felt drawn to the place, but put the feeling down to her lifelong fascination with the South Pacific. So what could be the matter?

She decided she wasn’t giving up her place in line without some explanation. “I’m sure you mean to help,” she said firmly. “But I’m almost at the head of the line and if I lose my place now, it will be hard on my baby. He’s already tired and fractious.”

As if to confirm her assertion, Christophe gave vent to a series of escalating wails that had the soldier wincing in sympathy.

“The child is the reason we wish to expedite your entry,” he said over Christophe’s cries. “Please come with me.”

Since she was the only person in line carrying a baby, the officials must have felt sorry for her. Who was she to argue with anything that speeded this up? Aware of the curious glances of the people remaining in line, she allowed the soldier to pick up her suitcase, and followed him across the customs hall to a pair of wood-paneled doors. He swung one of them open, put her case down inside, and held the door wide so she could enter.

The activity had diverted Christophe, she was relieved to see. His tears had dried to distressed hiccups, and he was looking around curiously. The peace wouldn’t last but she was grateful for the respite.

Before the door closed, she saw the soldier take up a post outside—to keep her in, or others out? Then the heavy door swung completely shut and the sounds of the reception hall melted into silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing. Plush carpeting masked the tentative steps she took into the room.

“Please come in and take a seat.”

She hadn’t been imagining things, the intriguing man from the customs hall had paid her special attention. He was doing it now, she saw as she approached the massive antique desk he was seated behind. A leather folder lay open in front of him and she was alarmed to see that her photo lay on top of a thick sheaf of papers. Not her passport photo, either. This one showed her with Christophe in the park opposite their apartment. What was it doing here, and how did this intriguing stranger come to have it in his possession?

She perched on the edge of a leather sofa in front of the desk, settling Christophe on her knee where he began to play with the amber beads around her neck. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“First I need to confirm a few details. May I see your passport, please? The baby’s, too.”

She handed them to him. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I assure you. This will only take a moment.”

In spite of his assurance, her apprehension grew as he studied the documents. She told herself that his manner was pleasant enough. Surely if there was a problem, he wouldn’t keep glancing from the passports to her, as if she intrigued him for some reason.

Her peace of mind wasn’t eased by the awareness that he was more startlingly good looking up close than he had seemed from a distance. His eyes were the gold-flecked blue of a stormy sea, and his skin was lightly tanned, emphasizing her first impression of him as the athletic type. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on the bridge of a yacht, fighting the helm for mastery of the waves. His commanding presence suggested he would win.

Since she was studying him she could hardly feel insulted at finding herself on the receiving end of an equally thorough inspection. If she didn’t feel so uncertain as to why he had singled her out, she would have been flattered.

“Your full name is Sarah Maureen McInnes, and your baby is Christophe Charles…McInnes?” he said.

Hearing the slight upward inflection in his voice, she frowned. “I’m a single mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“I’m merely checking facts. No judgment is implied,” he said.

She immediately regretted reacting so defensively. Just because other people had drawn unflattering if inaccurate conclusions about why she was single with a baby, didn’t mean everyone was the same. “I’m tired. Christophe is tired. We’ve had a long flight,” she said by way of mitigation. “I’d like to know what’s going on, Mr.—” she read the brass nameplate at the front of the desk “—Mr. Sancerre.”

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me for not introducing myself right away. My name is Josquin de Marigny. The airport director, Leon Sancerre, kindly permitted me the use of his office for this meeting.”

Iced water skittered along her spine, as she recalled a fragment of information from the tourist brochures. “De Marigny? Isn’t that…aren’t they…”

“The royal house of Carramer,” he supplied.

She was glad she was already seated. Her knees felt as if they would buckle if she tried to stand. No wonder everyone had deferred to him. What on earth was going on here? “Are you the king?” she asked in a strangled voice.

He shook his head. “By tradition, Carramer has no king. Our present ruler is Prince Lorne de Marigny, my cousin,” he added before she could frame the question. “I serve as an adviser to Prince Henry de Valmont, ruler of Valmont Province. According to these documents, Valmont is your destination.”

She was too busy dealing with her confusion, to absorb the details. “Look, Mr….that is, Your Highness, I won this vacation in a contest, and the destination was Valmont Province. I had no say in it, although from all accounts it’s one of the most beautiful parts of Carramer. But I’d still like to know what you want with me.”

“Ah yes, the contest. Did it not occur to you to wonder how you came to be so fortunate?”

“When you haven’t had a vacation in two years, and a radio station calls to say a computer has awarded you a trip to a fairy-tale South Pacific kingdom, and all the documentation arrives in your mailbox as promised, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

She felt her heart sink as the obvious thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to say I didn’t win a contest? Was it some kind of hoax? Is that why you had me removed from the line?”

He shook his head. “You’re right, there was no contest. I arranged for the call to be made as a way to bring you to Carramer.”

Clutching Christophe tightly to her, she struggled upright, so disappointed that she hadn’t won a trip after all that she didn’t care whom she offended. Prince or not, he had no right to play with her life. “I don’t know what’s going and I don’t care anymore, but I’m calling the police. I’m sure this is against some law or other even in Carramer.”

With all the grace and speed of a leopard, the prince moved to her side, urging her to sit down again. This time, he took a seat beside her, keeping his hand on her arm. “Hear me out first, then you may do whatever you feel you must, although the American police won’t be much help now you’re on Carramer soil.”

“Am I a prisoner here?”

“The opposite in fact. You belong here as much as I do.”

She felt the floor drop away beneath her feet and was glad of his touch to anchor her in reality. She had dreamed of this moment for nearly two years, yet suddenly she felt afraid. “Do you know who I am?”

He paused long enough for her heart to begin a frantic tattoo. “I believe so.”

She could hardly breathe for the tension coiling through her. She tightened her hold on Christophe. “Tell me,” she implored in a voice barely above a whisper.

The prince’s firm grip on her other arm sent a silent message of support. “My searches suggest that you are a citizen of Carramer.”

“You mean I was born here?”

“No, you were born in America.”

“Then how can I…”

“There are a few minor details to be confirmed, but I’m already sure I have the right woman.”

“The right woman for what?” She may not be who she had grown up thinking she was, the child of James McInnes, the well-known Californian property developer, and his artist wife, Rose, but she didn’t think she was from anywhere like Carramer, either.

“You do know you were adopted soon after your birth?” the prince prompted.

Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I found out when I had a blood test for a persistent virus two years ago. The hospital said I couldn’t possibly be my father’s child. At first I thought my mother might have had an affair, but then I discovered that I didn’t belong to her, either.”

“Surely a birth certificate was required when you obtained your passport?”

“That was an excellent forgery, too, although I didn’t know it.” She had obtained her passport for a vacation in Europe to celebrate her graduation. She hadn’t known the truth about herself then, and had never doubted that her documents were authentic. Her adoptive parents’ wealth had its uses, she had concluded. If it could buy them a child, obtaining false documentation for her was a minor detail.

“You were never told the circumstances of your birth?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t want me to know I was adopted. When I found out, and wanted to look for my birth parents, James refused to help me. He said I would have to choose between them and him.” Her voice cracked. “He reminded me of all they had done for me, and told me I should let the past lie. Do you know what that past might be?”

The prince nodded. “What I have to tell you may take some time, and I would prefer a more appropriate setting.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It would be better if you weren’t glancing at your watch every few minutes.”

She had been unaware she was doing it. “Christophe needs to be fed and changed and put down for a nap,” she said. Not to mention that she needed rest herself. His suggestion that he could tell her about her background had temporarily banished her own tiredness, but it would catch up with her later, she knew.

“Then I will escort you to your accommodation,” he said as indecision gripped her. “We can continue our discussion after you attend to your child.”

She thought of the contrast between his life as a prince, and hers as a single mother. “I hope you’re prepared for a culture shock,” she said shakily.

He looked amused. “Prince Lorne has two young children, as does his brother Michel and their sister, Princess Adrienne. I’ve had ample practice at taking care of my cousins’ babies.”

“Don’t princes have servants to take care of the less pleasant chores?”

He hesitated before saying, “Some do.”

But not him, she heard the implication. Why not? Was he a modern royal who preferred to do things himself? Given his personal intervention in her affairs, it seemed so. She curbed her impatience. “Why can’t you just tell me what you know?”

“There is every chance that you will refuse to believe me. I need time to convince you to trust me.”

Oddly enough she was inclined to do so already, she realized, wondering at the same time why she did. It wasn’t because he was a prince. She’d read enough about royalty to know they suffered from the same human weaknesses as everyone else. Something about Prince Josquin himself inspired her trust.

As he used the phone to summon a car for them, she watched him in fascination. He was obviously accustomed to being in a position of power. She saw it in the relaxed way he gave orders, as if he expected them to be obeyed. Without question.

Her gaze was riveted by the way he rested a muscular thigh on the edge of the desk, letting one leg swing free. He looked like a man who was comfortable with his position in life, she thought. Since she had no idea what her position in life was, having had all her assumptions turned on their heads by the discovery that she was adopted, she couldn’t help envying the prince his air of self-assurance.

His eyes were half closed, veiling their unusual color under a sweep of lashes that matched the blue-black of his hair. His lean, aristocratic features had probably taken generations of breeding to achieve such a prepossessing result. Her heart picked up speed again. What kind of breeding had produced her?

The prince knew the answer but she sensed he wouldn’t tell her until he judged the time was right. She saw intrigue in the gaze he turned on her as he dealt with the call. Intrigue and something far more disquieting, a fire she had last seen in a man’s eyes the night Christophe had been conceived. Recalling the life-changing impact of that experience, she felt her internal temperature soar. She fussed with Christophe’s clothes, not wanting Josquin to see how badly his gaze had unsettled her.

He barely knew her. Then she thought of the thick file in the prince’s possession. He must know a lot more about her than she did about him. More than she knew about herself, come to that.

Her first clear memory was of her third birthday party at the McInnes home in Southern California. Brendan, the boy next door, had taken her red balloon and burst it in her face when she asked for it back. She was wary of balloons to this day. She had been an above-average student and model daughter, bowing to her father’s wish that she attend a local college so she could continue to live at home.

She was twenty-seven and a Libran, celebrating her birthday on September 29, as far as she knew. Now she wondered if she could trust anything she had been told about herself all her life.

She still felt like the same person inside. Still the same stubborn, opinionated, deliver-on-your-promises woman she’d always been. Three-year-old Brendan had found out to his cost when she threatened to punch his nose if he didn’t return her balloon. He had burst it so she had punched his nose. She had spent time standing in the corner afterward, but the pattern had been set. She still did what she said she would do, no matter what it cost her.

A shiver took her. She felt more adrift now than when she had learned of her adoption. The prince had no right to make her wait for information that concerned her so intimately. But as a grown woman, she could hardly threaten to punch him in the nose, so she schooled herself to patience. She had a feeling he wasn’t a man she could hurry into anything.

“How did you know I was arriving today?” she asked as Josquin opened the door to escort her to the car. Stupid question, she thought. He had obviously arranged everything. She was still shaken to discover that the vacation she thought she’d won was nothing more than a hoax, but she wasn’t as furious with him as she thought she should be.

“I was waiting for you,” he confirmed. At his slight gesture, a porter sprang to their side. At the prince’s quiet instruction, the man retrieved her suitcase and carried it away. She watched him go with some trepidation, realizing that she had placed herself and her child entirely in the prince’s hands.

Christophe had dozed off at last, not waking as they left the airport building. He slept with his head on her shoulder, one thumb anchored in his mouth and the other clutching a fistful of her shirt. With any luck he wouldn’t stir until they reached their hotel, if that’s where the prince was taking her.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. I must be somebody important,” she said, striving for lightness and failing. “Why did you have to lure me to Carramer to speak to me?”

“Because we are running out of time.”

“You know you’re driving me crazy?”

His stern mouth softened into a slight curve. “I can’t say I mind having that effect on such a beautiful woman.”

She resisted the urge to feel complimented. “I’ll bet you say that to lots of women.”

“Would it surprise you if I deny it?”

She nodded. “I’d have trouble believing it.”

“I shall take that as a compliment. Here’s our car.”

She stopped in her tracks, astonished to find a chauffeur opening the door of a black stretch limousine for her. What she took to be the royal standard fluttered from the hood. This would raise a few eyebrows if it were to pull up outside her apartment block in North Hollywood, she thought.

She had been the recipient of enough barbed comments when her neighbors discovered she was a single mother with a baby and no sign of a father. It was a pity they wouldn’t get the chance to see this. She smiled.

The prince looked at her curiously. “What do you find so amusing?”

“I was picturing the reaction back home if I rolled up in this. You’re used to it, I suppose.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “Not so used to it that I can’t enjoy it through your eyes.”

She made herself comfortable on leather upholstery that felt like riding on a cloud. One seat held a baby capsule with a pristine lambswool lining. Without waking him, she secured Christophe in the seat, unnerved at this evidence of how thoroughly the prince had prepared for their arrival.

The compartment was fitted with a television screen and a well-stocked bar. As the car glided out of the airport, the prince deftly opened a bottle of French champagne, and poured the golden liquid into flutes. He handed one to her. “To your safe arrival.”

She drank to quiet her screaming nerves, feeling anything but safe. It dawned on her that she had allowed herself to be talked into riding in a car with a complete stranger, just the situation her parents—that Rose and James, she amended mentally—had warned her against when she was growing up.

They had wanted her to be perfect. Perfection had always been paramount to James McInnes, whether in his business or his private life. If he could have adopted a boy so easily, he probably would have done so. As it was, Sarah felt sure he hadn’t told her she was adopted so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what he saw as a shortcoming. He had probably regarded her wish to search for her birth parents as a criticism of himself as a father. He refused to accept that this wasn’t about him or Rose, but about Sarah and her needs. Rose McInnes had been more understanding, but as always, followed her husband’s lead.

Getting pregnant hadn’t been Sarah’s intention, but she had felt so cut adrift by their lack of support, that she had turned to her childhood friend, Jon Harrington, for comfort. Neither of them had counted on compassion turning into passion and then into something beyond their control, but it had.

What a combination. She hadn’t been sure which of them had been the least experienced, little Miss Perfect or Jon, the would-be priest. Inexperience hadn’t stopped them from creating a child between them. Her breath caught as she looked at the baby sleeping, lulled by the limousine’s smooth motion. Christophe was the most precious thing in her life, the only person to whom she truly belonged. She regretted her lack of self-control with Jon, but she could never bring herself to regret the child they had created.

Jon never knew he had fathered a child and he never would, if she had anything to do with it. If he knew, he would insist on taking responsibility, even marrying her if she wanted him to. But he had dreamed of becoming a priest for as long as she could recall, and she was determined not to take his dream away from him. She felt badly enough having her own life in ruins thanks to James McInnes. She wasn’t about to ruin Jon’s life as well.

Soon after she discovered she was pregnant, Jon had entered the seminary, and their contact had been limited to letters every few weeks. In his last letter, he’d told her he was being sent to his order’s mission in South America. She missed his friendship, but the loss was a small price to pay to let him hold on to his dream. When Christophe was old enough, she would tell him about his father, making sure her son understood what a special man Jon was.

She had found herself an apartment, supporting herself through her pregnancy and afterward with money from a trust fund left to her by her maternal grandmother. She and her grandmother had loved one another dearly, and she was glad her grandmother had died without knowing that they weren’t related by blood after all. Sarah hadn’t been in touch with her adoptive parents since she left, and she wondered with some bitterness, if they preferred it that way.

She took a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles tease her throat. She felt foolish worrying about what Rose and James would think of her behavior now, when she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy. In any case, the man at her side wasn’t a complete stranger. The soldier at the customs hall had called him Your Highness, and she’d bet that this car wasn’t made available to just anyone. “It occurs to me that I should have asked to see some identification,” she said.

The prince’s deeply carved features relaxed into a look of amusement. “Perhaps my driver’s license will do?”

“I didn’t know princes had them.”

He sighed, suggesting that he had had this conversation more than once before. “We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else.”

Don’t even go there, she warned herself, as images of the prince getting dressed in the morning sprang to her mind. He was a means to an end, finding out who she was. Once he told her what he knew about her background, their paths might never cross again.

Strange how disappointing the notion felt, although she told herself it was to be expected. He was a member of the Carramer royal family, for goodness’ sake. Once he had fulfilled whatever duty he had toward her, he wouldn’t involve himself with the personal concerns of an ordinary citizen, assuming she was one. She couldn’t suppress a feeling of anticipation at the prospect. For nearly two years after finding out that she was adopted, she had wondered where she fitted in. She had never considered that she might belong somewhere other than in America.

“Why are you taking such an interest in me?” she asked, giving voice to the thought she had suppressed since he singled her out for attention. “I’m not some royal love child, am I?”

“Are you always so persistent?” he asked, an edge in his voice.

Her throat dried. She had asked out of a perverse wish to provoke him, not because she thought that it could be true. Now she felt the ground shift under her again. What was so terrible about her background that he evaded her questions?

She twisted sideways, fixing him with her most imperious glare. He might be royal but she had been brought up as the daughter of wealthy parents. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and it was time he knew it. “I insist that you tell me what you know about my background.”

He seemed unmoved by her anger. “You’ll have your answers very soon. We have arrived at your accommodation.”

The car swung past a sentry box, a uniformed guard saluting as they drove between black wrought iron gates bearing enameled crests. The car continued along an avenue of ancient trees, through which she glimpsed palatial houses, suggesting that they had entered an exclusive enclave.

Before she could ask Prince Josquin, the car came to a halt beneath a sandstone portico. The building behind it was enormous, at least four stories high and spreading out in two wings for the length of a city block. By craning her neck she could make out a blue and jade flag fluttering from a mast atop a crenellated tower. Suspicion gripped her. “This doesn’t look like a hotel. It looks more like…”

“Château de Valmont,” the prince cut in smoothly. “Welcome home.”