A Prince At Last!

But Armand hadn’t really loved her at all. He’d simply been using her in order to get close to the king. Juliet had heard him and his father discussing the plan. She’d been devastated and humiliated, as well as angry with herself for being so stupid as to fall for Armand’s slick ways in the first place.

“Did you read the letter yet?” Luc asked, disrupting her thoughts and once again catching her unprepared. He must have gotten the fresh air he’d said he needed by taking a brief walk in the garden, out of her line of vision.

“No.” She paused to remove the pencil from her hair and let the dark strands tumble where they may. She’d learned long ago there was no fighting her hair, it always won. If it didn’t want to stay up, it wouldn’t. Turning to face Luc, she said, “I did not read it. And I’m not going to until you do.”

“Then you’ll be waiting a very long time,” he retorted, “since I have no intention of ever reading it.”

“Luc.” She reached out to cover his hand with hers. “You’re upset right now. Don’t make any decisions just yet.”

“Don’t make any decisions?” His voice was harsh, making him sound like a man pushed to his limits as he pulled his hand away. “I have to. I have to tell the prime minister and the dowager queen what I’ve discovered. I have an appointment with them both in less than half an hour.”

Juliet tried not to be hurt by his physical withdrawal from her, reminding herself that he had a lot to deal with. A good friend wouldn’t get all sensitive, wouldn’t show her pain. She’d be supportive and reassuring. “As I said before, I’m sure they will be pleased with the news.”

“And as I said before, I know nothing about being a king.”

“There is a silver lining in all this you know. At least you won’t have to worry about getting along with the new king.”

“Trust you to find a silver lining.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You make me sound like a naive Pollyanna who still believes in happy endings.”

“You don’t believe in happy endings?”

“My mother never found her happy ending,” Juliet noted somberly. “She married Philippe out of a sense of duty, hoping to provide for her children, Georges and I. I don’t think she ever truly loved the king the way she loved my father. Which was perhaps a good thing given the fact that the king only wanted one thing from my mother—an heir. In the end she died trying to provide him a son.”

“Are you bitter about that?”

His question surprised her. “I try not to let myself be, but it is difficult at times,” she admitted. “After the first baby was stillborn, the doctors warned that another pregnancy might be risky. But the king wouldn’t listen and my mother went along with his wishes. Jacqueline was born a year later. I think the fact that the pregnancy went so well lulled the king and my mother into a false sense of security. Two years later my mother was pregnant again. This time things did not go as well.” Juliet’s throat tightened as it always did when she thought of those dark days. “I miss her still. That’s why I feel so strongly about you reading this letter from your mother, Luc. Because I know the influence a mother can have, and how that loss leaves a void in you.”

“My situation is entirely different. My mother died when I was six. I don’t remember much about her.”

“Perhaps reading her letter will bring back some memories.”

“I don’t want to remember,” Luc stated bluntly, returning to his earlier pacing. “I’ve got enough trouble dealing with the present without dredging up the past any more than I absolutely have to. As it is, I’ll have to rehash the entire story for the prime minister and dowager queen.”

“The dowager queen has always had a soft spot in her heart for you.”

“She just has an eye for younger men.”

“Luc!” Juliet gave him a startled look before laughing somewhat guiltily. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“See, I told you I’m not cut out to be king. Already I’m saying the wrong thing.” His words sounded serious but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, the dowager queen is your grandmother so I suppose one could say something slightly outrageous about one’s own grandmother.”

“My grandmother?” Now Luc was the one who looked startled. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“And with Marie-Claire, Ariane, Lise and Jacqueline, you’ve got four sisters.”

“Half sisters,” he corrected her. “Three of whom have all married in the past few months. There must be something in the palace water that’s responsible for all these weddings.”

“Your half sisters would disagree with you, I’m sure. They all married for love.”

“A romantic idea to be sure,” he scoffed.

“You don’t believe in marrying for love?”

“It isn’t something kings are supposed to do, is it?” Luc replied, pausing in front of her desk to bestow a brooding look down at the letter still resting there. “Supposedly King Philippe and my mother were in love, and look where it got them. It seems to have messed up the rest of their lives.”

“It doesn’t have to happen that way.”

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on royal love, hmm?” He turned to face her, propping his hip on the corner of the oak table as she had earlier. “I thought your thesis was on the role royal women played in St. Michel’s history.”

“And that role sometimes included falling in love.”

“What about you? Have you ever fallen in love?” Luc asked her.

“I thought so at the time.” Then Luc had come to the palace and things had changed. Her feelings for Armand had dimmed in comparison to her awareness of Luc. “What about you?”

“Love makes you vulnerable and I try not to be vulnerable.”

No surprise there. “If you’re so invulnerable,” she teased him, “then you shouldn’t be nervous about this upcoming meeting with the prime minister. You should be cool and calm, as you always are. A man in control.”

“Is that how you see me?”

She nodded. It was easier than adding that it was one of the ways she saw him, that she also sensed something deeper within him.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment then. Doesn’t stop me from being uneasy about this meeting, however.”

“Do you want me to help…” Juliet began, before stopping as she remembered that it was the king, not merely Luc, she was offering assistance to. As if a king would need a bookworm’s help. “Never mind.” She took a step away from him.

“No, go ahead. You were going to offer help with what?”

“Your meeting. By coming with you. A stupid idea.”

“Not stupid at all. You’ve got a quiet way of getting people on your side. But this is one battle I’ve got to fight on my own.”

“Of course,” she said formally, taking another step back. “I understand and I agree.”

“Why are you doing that?” Luc demanded, noting the change in her voice immediately.

“Doing what?”

“Going all proper and starchy on me, pulling away from me.”

“This office isn’t large enough for me to move very far away,” she pointed out in an attempt to add a little levity.

But Luc wasn’t buying her act for one second. Giving her a dark look, he said, “Don’t you dare start acting differently now that you know about me being…” He paused and sliced the air with his hand instead of continuing.

“King,” Juliet said. “The word you are searching for is king. And you can’t expect me to act as if nothing has happened.”

“I expect you to continue to be my friend as you’ve been since I arrived at the palace three years ago.”

“I will always be your friend, Luc, but this is bound to change things between us.”

“Not if we don’t let it. And I refuse to let it,” he stated. “You must promise to do the same.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can promise that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you being the king changes everything. Some things we have no control over.”

“The one thing I plan on doing with this situation is maintaining control,” Luc stated firmly.

“Some things are beyond our control,” she repeated with soft sadness.

Some things…like falling in love with a man who would be king.

“So Luc, I hope the fact that you called this special meeting means you have some good news to report to us,” Prime Minister René Davoine said with his customary dignity. Slim and blessed with plenty of pewter-gray hair and a mustache to match, he was the picture of a distinguished statesman. Dressed in a two-piece dark suit as always, he appeared more somber than he actually was.

“I have news, but I’m not certain how good it is,” Luc replied.

“Don’t mutter, Luc,” Dowager Queen Simone instructed him tartly.

Standing before the two of them made him feel like a bug under a microscope. As for the dowager queen, he’d never met anyone quite like her.

Thin and regal, she possessed a presence that filled the room—and considering they were in the huge Throne Room, that was no small feat. At age seventy-five, she had her short dark hair meticulously maintained so that not one hint of gray or white showed.

Aside from her attitude, her eyes were the most memorable thing about her. They were a piercing blue, not as dark as his own, more the color of a light sabre. They certainly had a way of slicing right through a person who irritated her, which he’d apparently just done.

Queen Celeste had tried to convince anyone who would listen that Dowager Queen Simone was “dotty.” And, while the older monarch had forgotten some details of the events that surrounded her son’s early marriage, there was no denying that in most cases the dowager queen was still as sharp as a tack.

She was eyeing him with honed intensity. “Those English schools taught you how to enunciate properly.”

“I could speak in French or German or Italian, if you prefer, ma’am,” Luc retorted.

She waved his words away with an imperious wave of her wrinkled but still elegant hand. On her left hand was the elaborate diamond ring that her husband, King Antoine, had given her upon their engagement over fifty years ago. She’d outlived both her husband and her only son due not only to her strong constitution but also to her iron will. “English will suffice.”

“Please be seated, Luc,” the prime minister said with a much more inviting wave of his hand.

Luc sat on the Louis XIV chair as if it might collapse beneath him. This sudden attack of nerves was so unlike him. He’d been dealing with the prime minister and the dowager queen for months without any problem. But that had been when he’d been an employee, when he’d been head of the country’s Security Force. It was a job he enjoyed, a job he knew how to do, a job he was very good at.

Damn. He should have asked Juliet to come with him when she’d offered. She’d know what to say. While she was shy around large groups of strangers, she had a way of disarming people with her quiet smile and sincere empathy.

“Well, Luc?” The prime minister looked at him encouragingly. “Have you found the missing heir?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“You believe so?” Simone said. “You mean there is some room for doubt?”

“No. I found the birth certificate for Katie Graham’s child, a son.”

“A son.” The prime minister almost applauded with delight. “Have you located him?”

“Yes.”

“I told you Luc would succeed,” the prime minister said.

“What is this son like? Is he someone suitable? He’s not living in some American trailer park, is he?” Dowager Queen Simone demanded. “Someone who would be a disgrace to the throne and the de Bergeron name?”

“I don’t believe he’d be a disgrace, no,” Luc replied. “Naturally he’s somewhat stunned with the news.”

The dowager queen leaned forward eagerly, her thin hands resting on her gold-filigree-topped cane. “Where is he?”

“You’re looking at him.”

She blinked her laser eyes at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Katie Graham was my mother.”

Luc could relate to the look of astonishment on the prime minister’s face. He’d felt that way himself when he’d first heard the news. He still felt that way.

The dowager queen’s expression was harder to read.

“If you knew Katie Graham was your mother, then why on earth did you spend the past few months searching for her son?” the prime minister asked.

“I knew my mother as Katherine Dumont,” Luc replied. “I had no idea about her…colorful past. It was only as I began the investigation that I started putting the pieces together. Even then, I didn’t believe it could really be true. When I went to my father—the man I believed to be my father—and confronted him, he gave me the key to a safe deposit box that my mother had requested I open should I ever question my heritage. It’s all here.” He opened the manilla envelope he’d brought with him. “The entire paper trail—wedding certificate, my real birth certificate, not the one my mother had Albert Dumont falsify.”

“Falsified birth certificates seem to have reached epidemic proportions around here lately,” Simone noted tartly.

Luc flinched.

“Not that we’re accusing you of any such behavior,” the prime minister hurriedly assured him.

“I can understand your skepticism,” Luc said. “I considered not sharing this information with you at all, just pretending I never found it.”

“Why would you do something like that?” the prime minister asked.

“Because I’m not any happier about this…situation than you are,” Luc said in a clipped voice.

“You misunderstand me.” Simone put her thin hand on his arm. He was surprised to feel it trembling slightly. “Is it really possible? Could you be…my grandson?”

“According to those papers I am. Even so, I’d still like to get corroborating evidence from an independent source before we proceed any further.”

“You sound as if you’re not happy with this news, Luc,” the prime minister said. “I can tell you that I, for one, cannot think of a more honorable man to take the throne.”

Simone was looking almost gleeful. “You know what this means? It means that awful Celeste won’t get her grasping hands on the throne. Her baby is due any minute now, and if it’s a boy, well, then our ship would have been sunk.”

“I don’t think Queen Celeste will take the news about Luc very well,” the prime minister noted.

“As I said,” Luc interrupted them. “No one but the three of us and Juliet is to know about this news just yet.”

“Juliet?” Simone raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “So you told Juliet. Before you told us?”

Luc refused to squirm in his seat. He was a former Interpol agent, he was not a schoolboy being reprimanded by his headmaster.

“Yes, I told Juliet before I told you.” The set of his jaw communicated his aggravation. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I fear it would do me no good if I did,” Simone replied. “I’ve always liked Juliet. She’s a wise little thing. So what did she advise you to do?”

“She didn’t advise, she listened.” Luc’s pointed look indicated it was something that the older woman could learn to do better.

Simone smiled and leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. “Yes, you will do well as the king. Quite well indeed.”

“I want you both to swear you won’t tell anyone about this information until we can get it confirmed,” Luc said. “And the situation with Rhineland also has to be addressed.”

The prime minister paused in his close inspection of the material Luc had handed him. “The birth certificate is registered, and the rest of the documents appear legitimate.”

“I know someone from Interpol, someone very discreet, who will do some follow-up work,” Luc said.

“I understand you were born in Texas,” Simone said with a slight shudder. “Thank goodness Katie had the foresight to bring you back to Europe and civilization. Imagine if we’d had to track you down in Texas, as some kind of roving cowboy.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Luc said. “Not everyone in Texas is a cowboy.” He knew, he’d traveled to Texas during the course of his investigation.

“Some are ruthless businessmen like J. R. Ewing,” the dowager queen continued, “on that television show…what was it called? ‘Houston’?”

“‘Dallas’,” Luc corrected her.

“There’s no point in worrying over what might have been,” the prime minister said. “We should focus on what our next course of action should be. I will need to notify the Privy Council.”

“I’m still trying to get information from the French customs agency about Katie Graham’s arrival and departure from France. Those records from over thirty years ago are in some warehouse waiting to be transferred onto the computer system.”

“What do you hope to gain from those records?” the prime minister asked.

“The date Katie arrived in France to marry King Philippe and the date she left for the United States,” Luc said.

“But you already have so much information from earlier in your investigation,” the prime minister noted, opening his own file on the subject. “The marriage certificate between Katie and Philippe, the birth certificate of her son Lucas Johnson, the marriage certificate of Katie Graham and Ellsworth Johnson, the divorce certificate of Katie Graham and said Mr. Johnson and lastly her marriage certificate to Albert Dumont.”

“I could still be Albert’s son, just trying to pass myself off as the king’s.”

“DNA testing would resolve that.” The prime minister gazed over the top edge of his reading glasses before removing them entirely to solemnly ask Luc, “Would you be willing to subject yourself to that?”

Luc paused before nodding.

“Ah,” Simone murmured. “I understand now. It is not that you want us to be sure you are the real heir, it is that you yourself are not sure that you want to be the king. Isn’t that correct, Luc?”

Yes, Luc silently noted, the elderly dowager queen was still sharp as a tack, all right. She’d certainly summed up his emotions in no time at all.

“Your Majesty?” the footman whispered to Celeste as he delivered her lunch to her suite on the second floor of the palace. “I have some information for you.”

Shortly after her marriage Celeste had completely redecorated the suite in shades of ivory and gold. She thought the colors complemented her own coloring—the ivory of her flawless skin, the gold of her perfectly cut hair.

“Information? It had better be something good,” she warned him. “The baby has been kicking me all day and I’m not in the best of moods, Henri.”

“I overheard a conversation…”

“Overheard?”

“I was clearing the dowager queen’s tea tray from the Ruby Salon, which is right beside the Throne Room.”

“I am aware of the location of the rooms in this palace,” Celeste said. “Get on with it.”

“I happened to be standing next to the closed doorway leading into the Throne Room and happened to overhear the conversation between the prime minister, the dowager queen and Luc Dumont.”

“Luc is back from France?”

“He arrived this very afternoon.”

“With news I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am. Outrageous news.”

“Well hurry and tell me, I haven’t got all day. I believe I’ve gone into labor.” Celeste gripped the front of the footman’s ornate jacket. “Tell me…and quickly!”

“Luc is claiming that he is the rightful heir.”

Celeste’s grip on the footman tightened until she was almost choking the small man.

“Of course, I do not believe it,” the footman wheezed, struggling for air. “You are our most beloved and beautiful queen.”

“And I’m about to give birth to a boy,” she said, panting slightly. “A boy who will be the king. Go now. Fetch Dr. Mellion. Get him and no one else. You understand?”

Henri nodded so fast his footman’s cap almost fell off.

“And tell no one what you have heard about Luc,” Celeste continued. “It is all a lie, a conspiracy by that dotty old woman and her crazy prime minister. Remember, Henri—” she released her grip on him and patted his arm as she smiled her famously charming smile “—I will reward those who are loyal to me. Reward them greatly.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. My only aim is to serve you.”

Her smile slipped as another contraction hit. “Then go get Dr. Mellion and be quick about it!”

Chapter Three

“Have you heard the news?” Juliet asked Luc the next morning. She’d come to his office first thing. They were alone, and with the office door closed, assured of some privacy.

Unlike her own working space, his was spacious and possessed every modern convenience—computer, fax machine, a bank of telephones. His desk held a blotter, a penholder and a lamp. No mess, no pile of papers. Everything was neatly in its place, under control. Even the chairs in his office possessed a firm practicality that didn’t make them particularly nice to sit in, but she plopped into the nearest one anyway.

“What news?” Luc barely looked up from the file he was studying.

“Celeste had a baby boy at four this morning.”

“Oh, that news,” he said absently. “Yes, I heard.”

He’d reverted back to his usual working attire of a perfectly-fitted black suit and light blue shirt with a burgundy tie. He looked very classy…and very much like a “hottie” to quote her sister Jacqueline’s favorite terminology.

Wishing she could just sit here and admire the view—him—Juliet realized she should try to keep her mind on court business and not funny business, like making out with Luc on his smooth desktop. “Did you hear she’s proclaiming he’s the next King of St. Michel?”

“Celeste has proclaimed a number of things over the past few months. It doesn’t mean any of them are true.”

Too jumpy to sit still for long, Juliet abandoned the chair for the corner of his desk, where she perched. Luc clearly hadn’t noticed the flowing floral skirt she was wearing, nor the gauzy pink camisole top that had required all her nerve to put on. After all, she was visiting the future king. She’d almost put on the nunnish gray dress she wore to chapel. But some spark of rebellion had prompted her to stick to her present attire. “Did you tell her that you’re the real heir to the throne?”

“No.” Luc closed the file he’d been studying. “She was rather busy last night.”

“When do you plan on telling her?”

Getting up to come around his desk and join her on the front edge of the desk, Luc replied, “As late as possible.”

Juliet nodded understandingly. “She’s not going to be pleased.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” he noted dryly.

“When is the announcement going to be made about you being the true heir? How did the dowager queen and prime minister take the news? And…”

“One question at a time.” Luc placed a teasing finger over her lips, effectively silencing her questions while sending her heart into overdrive. His skin was warm against hers. She was suddenly assailed with the urge to draw his finger into her mouth, to taste his skin.

She leapt away as if burned, almost falling from the desk. What kind of wanton was she to have such thoughts? Especially about the future king! She should never have worn this camisole top. It gave a girl ideas, ideas that she was far sexier than she really was, far more confident.

“Something wrong?” Luc asked.

She frantically shook her head, her dark hair tumbling down into her eyes. A pencil wasn’t the best hairclip, but it’s what she usually used to wrap her hair up into a knot on top of her head, and she’d somehow misplaced all of hers, which wasn’t surprising. She often got so engrossed with her research that she lost track of things like pencils. So she’d had to leave her hair loose this morning.

“No, nothing.” She wanted to sit down, but now felt awkward doing so while he still stood. All of a sudden the realization that he was the king was overshadowing everything else. “Go on with what you were saying, please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I don’t care if you interrupt.”

“It isn’t polite.”

“Which brings me to my next topic.”

He still hadn’t answered her previous questions, but she wasn’t about to point that out now. Instead she tried to look properly attentive and respectful and not as if she secretly longed to kiss him.