A Royal Mission

“I was adopted?”

“No.”

Victoria stared at him in silence for a long moment, then said stiffly, “For as long as I can remember, I have always known that I was born sooner than nine months after my parents were married. My mother said I was premature, but my birth weight was nearly the same as my sister’s and she was full-term. I always suspected that my mother was pregnant when she married Malcolm Rockford, but I assumed he was my father.”

“Your mother was pregnant when she married, but Rockford wasn’t the father.” Lance took another step closer, her paleness increasing his worry that she might faint.

Victoria drew in a deep breath. Leaning back in the swing, she lifted her legs upward and wrapped her arms around them. Sitting with her chin resting on her knees, she stared out at the ocean.

Recognizing her need for silence, Lance eased himself into a nearby chair. The lost look on her face tore at him. For her sake, he wished the worst of her shock was over, but he knew it wasn’t. Knowing that once she absorbed what he’d told her there would be more questions, he sat tensely, like a man waiting for the second shoe to fall and wishing he could make this easier for her.

Hell, if she’d had my parents for a mother and father, she’d be rejoicing right now, Lance mused bitterly. Immediately, he scowled at himself. He thought he’d put his anger behind him. It served no purpose.

Victoria’s childhood played through her mind. Memories so hurtful she’d tried to erase them came flooding back. “I used to think there was something terribly wrong with me because my own father couldn’t love me. I remember when I was in third grade. I got the lead part in this little production the teachers decided to put on. I worked so hard to be perfect. The audience was effusive. Of course, I know now that we could have all stumbled over our feet and forgotten all our lines and they would have cheered. That’s what parents do.

“Anyway, I was basking in the glow of success. But on the way home, Father…Malcolm started telling me all the things I’d done wrong. I was crying by the time we reached the house. My mother admonished him, saying I was just a child and she thought I’d done very well. Malcolm gave her one of his superior looks and said that people should tell the truth, no matter how unsavory.”

This was one of those images that had remained sharp, no matter how hard she’d tried to erase the memory. Now, in her mind’s eye, she saw her mother’s and Malcolm’s faces. Her mother had looked stricken and clamped her mouth shut, saying no more. Malcolm had looked pleased with himself. As the full impact of that exchange hit her, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “He was chiding my mother for lying to him. He must have known or, at least, suspected all along that I was not his.”

“It is my duty to see that he causes you no further harm.”

His words only half sank in as more memories of her youth continued to flow. She could not count the number of times her mother had told her not to pay any heed to Malcolm’s criticisms. Maribelle Rockford had explained that her husband was a perfectionist and no one could live up to his standards. But Victoria had noticed that, her sister, Rachel, had garnered Malcolm’s praise. And he had been jealously possessive of Maribelle. Only Victoria had been made to feel like an unwanted intruder in his household.

Refusing to allow the hurtful memories to overwhelm her, she rested her forehead on her knees and forcefully shoved the images from her mind.

“Would you like some coffee?” Lance offered, feeling the need to provide what comfort he could. Anger toward the cruelty she’d suffered under Malcolm’s rule raged through him. Like him, she’d had no choice regarding the circumstances of her birth, and yet she’d been the one to pay the price.

Lifting her head, Victoria again stared at the sea. A shiver shook her. She was not certain if she was really cold or if it was shock that chilled her. Her mother’s death and now the discovery that she wasn’t who she thought she was made rational thinking difficult. Unable to even speak, she simply nodded her acceptance of his offer.

Lance regarded her with concern as he rose. Seeing her shiver, he retrieved his jacket from a peg on the wall. “Cream or sugar or both?” he asked as he wrapped the jacket around her shoulders.

His fingers brushing against her sent jolts of heat coursing through Victoria. It was as if his touch fed strength into her. Her gaze traveled upward over his broad chest to his face. In spite of the cold, stern set of his jaw, he made her feel safe and secure. “Neither, thank you.”

Lance saw the lingering pain in her eyes and the desire to take her in his arms and kiss her sadness away became strong. In the next instant, that desire was erased by self-directed anger. Years ago, he’d banished those kind of tender emotions forever. And yet, from the moment he’d first seen her picture he’d sensed those emotions trying to find new life. That was something he would never allow. In the future, remember to keep your distance, he ordered himself, quickly stepping back. “I’ll get that coffee.”

As he disappeared into the house, Victoria found herself missing his company. That was not like her. She prided herself on her ability to stand alone, needing no one. Even more surprising was that she should feel so drawn to this man she barely knew. Normally, she was very hesitant when it came to forming alliances.

Taking in a deep breath of the fresh ocean breeze, she suddenly froze, locking the air in her lungs. Captain Grayson said her father had come up with the ransom. If Malcolm wasn’t her father, who was? Releasing the breath, she rose and went inside. She met the captain in the living room on his way to the porch, coffee mugs in hand. “Who is my father?”

For a moment he hesitated, then said, “Victor Thorton, Grand Duke of Thortonburg.”

She didn’t care how many photographs the man had with himself and various dignitaries. He was obviously a nutcase. “That’s ridiculous. My mother and the Grand Duke? No way.” Realizing his hands were occupied with the coffee cups, Victoria made a grab for the gun. Lance cursed under his breath as she snapped the holster open and extracted the weapon.

Stepping back, holding the gun on him, Victoria frowned. “That was way too easy. Are there really bullets in this thing?”

“Yes, there are bullets,” he replied, setting aside the coffee cups. “I didn’t want you to get burned with the coffee. I gave your father my word, I would protect you from harm.”

His voice carried the ring of truth, but Victoria refused to be swayed. She was well aware that some sick minds could even fool lie detector machines. “You were just worried that if you tried to stop me, I would accidentally shoot you. Now get your hands up.”

“Women,” Lance muttered. Reaching across the space between them, his hand closed over the gun. “Give me back my weapon.”

Victoria ordered herself to pull the trigger. She couldn’t. Where his fingers touched hers a heat radiated through her, paralyzing her into inaction. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she released her hold.

Lance couldn’t believe he’d allowed her to get his gun. Normally he was much more alert. She was having a very disconcerting effect on him. That body, that face, those blue eyes, that long dark hair…she’d have a disconcerting effect on any man, he reasoned. What shocked him was that he wasn’t angry with her. In fact, he again found himself admiring her spunk. Seeing the tears in her eyes, he attempted to soothe her as he reholstered the gun. “You couldn’t have fired anyway. The safety was on.”

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