The Prince's Secret Bride

She hesitated. What she really wanted to do was get back to looking for her suitcase. She needed that bag with an urgency she wasn’t really clear on—but she needed it badly. She wanted to comb both sides of the river until it turned up. But something told her he wasn’t going to go for that.

“I know where I’m going,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got…uh…someplace to stay.”

He cocked one dark eyebrow, and it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen a man do. She gaped at him, astonished at her own reaction. He was masculine magic—a gangster right out of a thirties film, a movie star dining at the Copa in the forties, a military commander from the fifties, a rock star from the sixties, Italian royalty from any decade at all. He had the presence common to all those icons, a sort of magnificent sense of command that took her breath away.

And he didn’t believe a word she’d said, making her shiver with the sort of expectant chill she only got from a really good thriller.

“Fine,” he was saying as she was pulling herself back down to earth. “I’ll go with you to make sure you get to your destination without any more bridge diversions.”

She felt that under ordinary circumstances, she would have talked back and insisted on going her own way, but she was still getting over the shock his insolent eyebrow had given her, so she nodded and began to make her way along the riverfront sidewalk, her companion beside her, and not an idea in her head as to where she would go.

She had to make up her mind soon. They couldn’t just wander around the city. She bit her lip and tried to think of some way to get into a doorway that would pass muster as her final objective.

Meanwhile, they walked.

It was late and the streets were deserted, but there was a man in the block ahead, leaning against the wall of a building, playing his guitar. As they got closer, she could see that he was standing near the entrance to a sort of nightclub. Music and laughter floated out, but the man was playing to his own muse, standing under a light. He wore dark glasses and there was a cup on the ground near his feet. Maybe he was blind.

Maybe. But she shivered. Something about him…

Maybe it was just the night. As her mother used to say, nothing good happens out there after midnight.

Her mother? She tried to grab hold of that concept, tried to see a face, but it slipped away before she could focus. A feeling of loss filled her, but she tamped it down. Never mind, she would think of it soon enough.

Turning to her companion as they reached the crosswalk, she put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go this way,” she said, nodding down a direction that would avoid the guitar player. “I think this is quicker.”

He came along without comment and in a moment or two, she was breathing evenly again. Funny. She didn’t know why, but the man playing his guitar on the previous block had reminded her of something…something she didn’t want to remember.

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, she supposed wryly. After all, she wasn’t remembering much. Was this going to be a long-term problem? Possibly. But right now it was mostly annoying. And her mind was full of so many things, she didn’t have time to worry about it.

The first order of business was to get rid of this man so she could go back and find her suitcase. Something told her that was the key to getting herself back to normal. As they came to another corner, she stopped and smiled at him quickly.

“There it is,” she said, gesturing down the block. “I can handle the rest of this on my own,” she added breezily. “Thanks again.”

She turned to hurry off, but his hand stopped that, his long fingers curling around her upper arm.

“Marisa,” he said, a smile teasing the corners of his wide mouth as he looked down into her wide eyes, “this is Embassy Row.”

She turned and looked. Sure enough, the street was lined with stately mansions, and even in the dark, she could see the placards identifying the countries.

“So?” she said, trying to remain nonchalant. “I…I’m staying with the Hungarians for now.” She looked up to see if he was buying it.

He laughed shortly. “Liar,” he said calmly. “The Hungarian embassy has been closed down for years and they haven’t sent a new delegation yet.” He shrugged. “Want to try again?”

She glared at him. He was becoming insufferable.

“Look, I don’t want to argue about this. I appreciate your concern, but you have no hold over me.” Very deliberately, she peeled away his fingers, making a graphic statement to back up her words. “And I’d like to be on my own.”

“You can’t be.”

She wrinkled her nose, frowning up at him. “What are you talking about?”

That wonderful eyebrow rose again. “You’re carrying a baby with you, no matter what you do,” he said flatly. “And that means you need to take a little extra care, don’t you think?”

Looking down, she bit her lip. He was right. She could see the slight bulge of her tummy. She was pregnant! It startled her every time she remembered. How had this happened?

Well, she supposed it was in the usual way. Still, you’d think she would remember something like that. At least, she should remember the man involved.

She wished her mind would clear. She was so confused. She knew it would be crazy to go with this man she didn’t even know. Of course, in some ways it was even crazier to go roaming the streets when she didn’t know where to go or what to ask for. What was she going to do, sleep under a bridge or in a doorway like a homeless person?

But that seemed to be what she was right now. Until she figured out who she was and where she was going, she was homeless.

“I’ll be honest with you, Marisa,” he went on. “You’re a grown woman. If you want to wander the streets of this city at all hours, ordinarily you could be my guest. But right now, things are different. You’ve got to think about that baby you’re carrying.”

She blinked at him, not sure where he was going with this.

He considered her levelly. “I think you’d better come home with me.”

That shocked her. She gasped softly, wondering if he really meant it—and how he eant it. What kind of a home was he talking about? What sort of situation?

She looked up with a wry smile. “What will your wife think?” she tried, fishing for information.

A cold shadow passed through his gaze. “I’m not married.”

She shivered, then tried to make light of the circumstances with a quip. “That’s what they all say. Right after they claim to read Playboy for the articles.”

His mouth twisted. Despite himself, he almost grinned. “Okay,” he admitted, “I’ll plead guilty to being male.”

She wondered if that meant he was acknowledging a certain attraction. She thought maybe it did, and that made her want to smile, too. Better to make a smart-aleck crack instead, she decided hurriedly.

“Wise move,” she retorted with a nod. “Next you might as well throw yourself on the mercy of the court. That’ll get you a lighter sentence.”

“If you’re the court, I’d think twice,” he shot back. “But either way, here’s the truth. I’m not married.”

He wasn’t married. Was she? No, she didn’t think so. Despite the fact that she was pregnant, she couldn’t picture herself married. It just didn’t feel like it.

She studied him with her head to the side, considering. “Do you have any children?” She only asked because he seemed so concerned about the baby she was carrying.

“No. But I care a lot about children. And I think it’s only fair to give a baby the best first nine months you possibly can.”

She nodded. Of course she agreed. Who wouldn’t? But what did that mean, exactly? If she couldn’t even remember why she was pregnant….

“Come on,” he said, starting off across the street. “You’re dead on your feet. We’ve got to have a doctor look at you before you pass out.”

“Doctor?” She found herself going along with him again. What had happened to her determined effort to peel off? It seemed to have melted into the mist. “Where are you going to find a doctor at this time of night?”

“I’ve got one where I live.”

That made her do a double take. “Really?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her sideways, a half grin just for her. “I’ve also got a sister who will take care of you. So you don’t have to worry about my intentions.”

She wanted to protest, to say she hadn’t been a bit worried, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Once we get there, I probably won’t even see you again. Carla will handle everything.”

“Will she?” He was walking quickly now and she was hurrying just to keep up.

“Yes. She’s capable of handling just about anything. The entire country, even.”

“Well, if she can handle you, I’m sold.”

They stopped at the crosswalk on a major road. Two cars sped past. Looking back, she thought she saw someone duck between two buildings. That gave her a start, then she relaxed. She was imagining things. This night was taking a toll on her sanity, wasn’t it? She felt an overwhelming need to bring things to rights as much as she could.

Nico took her arm. “We’re almost there,” he told her.

Instead of starting off across the street, she hung back, putting her own hand on his.

“Okay, listen,” she said seriously. “Before we get there, I’ve got a confession to make.”

His eyes darkened as he looked down into hers. “Really.”

“Yes.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her own eyes for a moment, then opened them and blurted out, “I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.”

He almost smiled. “That’s been obvious from the first moment I saw you.”

She pressed her hand on his and gazed earnestly up into his eyes. “No, I’m serious. I really don’t know who I am.”

He blinked and the smile faded. “That’s why you made up that name, Marisa Fleur?”

She gasped. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “I saw the sign in the café and figured it out pretty quickly.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wish I was a better liar,” she muttered.

“What was the point of lying?” he said sensibly. “You got hit on the head and you’re a little confused. That’s why you need to see a doctor.”

She looked at him in surprise, then realized what he saw when he looked at her. He saw a woman under suspicion of wanting to commit suicide. Maybe he thought she’d wanted to jump because she was pregnant and had no husband. And why wouldn’t he think that? She had no wedding ring on her finger. That made her bite her lip. She probably wasn’t married, but she really didn’t know. And why was her impulse to lie about it all? Was she trying to hide something?

But all that was crazy. She wasn’t suicidal. She was confused, but not ready to end it all. Was she?

No, of course not. Why couldn’t she keep things straight? She’d climbed up on the bridge to try to see where the man had tossed her suitcase. She had hoped to see where it had landed, or where the river might have taken it, so that she could get it back and find her things and clear everything up. That was all. Nothing earthshaking. She hoped.

“Come on,” he said. “I live right across the street.”

She looked at where he was pointing and gasped.

“Wait a minute. Isn’t this Altamere? The royal palace?”

“Yes. Come along.” He started across the street and she came along willingly, gaping at the huge Gothic building they were headed for.

“Oh my,” she said softly.

He glanced down at her. “Have you been here before?”

“What? No. I don’t think so. But…” She looked at him questioningly as he used a remote to open the huge iron gates. “Do you work here or something?”

“No, Marisa,” he said, closing the gates behind them and nodding to a security guard. “I live here.”

“Wait.” Grabbing his arm, she stopped and stared up at him, her eyes huge with wonder. “Ohmigod. You’re one of the princes, aren’t you?”

He smiled, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Guilty as charged.”

That did it. The world started to swirl and if Nico hadn’t caught her, she would have hit the ground for the second time that night.

CHAPTER THREE

“ALL I can say is, it’s about time you brought a woman home.”

Nico turned to throw a stern glance at his lively, dark-haired sister as she entered the parlor where he’d taken Marisa just after she’d fainted in his arms. But his next words were directed at the silent-as-a-ghost butler standing near the door.

“Chauncy, has Dr. Zavier been contacted?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man responded with a slight bow. “He is on his way here now.”

“Good.”

He turned back to Marisa, looking down at her, where she lay on the velveteen couch, with a frown of concern. She hadn’t stirred since he’d carried her in. Did that have any connection to the bump on the head she’d taken earlier on the bridge? He took her hand in his again and felt her pulse. She was lying very still with her eyes closed, but he couldn’t see any other evidence of injury. Her breathing was normal.

What the hell—maybe she was asleep.

“She’s very pretty,” Carla noted, leaning on his shoulder to look at the exceptionally pretty blond woman. “Though I thought brunettes were more your type.”

He had to bite back the sharp retort that rose in his throat. Maybe Carla had forgotten about Andrea.

Andrea. Just thinking her name slashed another jagged tear into his heart. A vision of wild, lustrous auburn curls filled his mind’s eye. Memories of her dancing green eyes, her soft skin, her rolling laughter swept over him in a wave that threatened to choke him. He pulled away from his sister and began to pace the Persian carpet, fighting back the crippling anger that always came when he thought of his loss.

Marisa was a very different type. Slender and light, her blond hair curling into an impenetrable mass that didn’t quite reach her shoulders, she was nothing like the woman he had loved. But just seeing Marisa lying there on the couch brought back his most painful memories.

Andrea had been on the cold, hard ground that awful night, over a year ago now. They’d been pinned down by a sniper and his rounds were still biting in around them as he’d worked frantically on her wounds. Ripping apart his shirt to use to bind her torn flesh, he tried desperately to stop the bleeding. He cried out encouragement, prayed aloud, promised things and begged. But the blood kept coming, slowly draining her life away. And finally, there was nothing to do but to cradle her lifeless body in his arms and curse and sob out his anguish and promise revenge.

But that was then. This was now. And the woman on the couch wasn’t in danger of dying. Still, she was alone and vulnerable and she carried a child, just like Andrea. He couldn’t ignore the parallels.

“This is hardly a date, Carla,” he rebuked her curtly, just because he had to funnel his anguish into anger in order to keep it under control.

“Well, brother dear, it’s as close as you’ve come lately,” she said cheerfully, pushing back her thick black hair and bending over Marisa.

He glanced over, regretting that he’d snapped at her, though not quite enough actually to apologize. He knew it hadn’t been easy for Carla, growing up during a war with three older brothers always taking precedence. He should cut her some slack.

Carla had lived a strange, schizoid existence, sometimes thrust into the midst of bloody battles as the family fled attack, at other times treated as though she were the proverbial pampered princess to be kept away from ordinary life as long as possible. Their mother had died two years ago and their father, the king, very recently. When she’d been alive their mother had always acted as though Carla’s primary role in life was to wait for the right eligible swain to present his credentials and get permission to sweep her off her feet. So Carla had waited. But the war and other things had cluttered the time up and now, in her early twenties, he knew she was beginning to fear she had waited too long.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Carla knew he was thinking about her situation. She appreciated his compassion, but a little action on her behalf would be more useful. Princesses were usually betrothed by now. And no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

When she’d taken her fears to their aunt Kitty, the older woman had reassured her.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she’d said, patting her hand lovingly. “I’m sure your brothers will always need looking after. If you don’t get married, there will always be a place for you at the palace.”

It had been a shock to realize her aunt didn’t think much of her chances either. If only she’d been born beautiful, the way her brothers were handsome, things would have been so much easier. She wasn’t bitter, but it did seem unfair.

“You seem beautiful to me,” her father had always said, but that, obviously, didn’t help at all.

She’d decided, if it came down to it, she would run away to another country, change her identity and join a dressage team training for the Olympics. Why not? She was good at working with horses. Better that than feeling like a piece of furniture half of the time.

The woman Nico had settled onto the couch was beautiful. Carla smiled as she looked her over. She was as happy to admire beauty as the next person. But as she looked, she noticed the woman’s rounded stomach.

“Uh-oh. It looks like she’s got a little traveler along for the ride.” She shook her head, frowning. “Darn. Does that mean she’s already married?”

The prince moved away restlessly. “I’m not really sure about that.”

“Oh?” She straightened and gazed at him questioningly.

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his slacks. “She’s…well, it’s a bit complicated, but she got mugged tonight and now it seems she’s not sure who she is.”

“Amnesia?” Carla’s silver-blue eyes, so like Nico’s, glittered with interest.

“Maybe.”

Carla turned back to look at her. “No traditional rings.” She tilted her head, considering the silent woman. “I’d say she’s unattached.”

“Carla…” he said warningly.

“But then, I’m an optimist.” She allowed herself a quick look of concern before she went back to needling her brother. “Of course, you’ve as good a chance as anyone at turning her head.”

He groaned.

“But that doesn’t explain why she fainted.” Turning, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve obviously terrified the poor dear. What on earth did you do to her?”

“Nothing at all,” he said defensively. “She just…well, when she realized who I was…”

Carla laughed and threw up her hands. “Of course. That would be enough to scare any girl into a stupor.”

He turned away with a snort. “Where’s that damn doctor?”

“He was probably sound asleep when Chauncy called him,” Carla said, getting a confirming nod from the butler. The doctor’s house, where he lived with his wife and the two nieces they’d taken in when they had been orphaned, was at the far edge of the compound. “It is after midnight. Don’t worry, he’ll get here.” She smiled as she watched her brother go back to pacing the floor.

Marisa was lying very still, her eyes closed, her mind drifting. If she stayed very quiet, maybe she could pretend she was asleep and dreaming and she could put off the reality of her situation. The murmured voices of the others in the room were muted, washing around her. Still, try as she might, she couldn’t help but hear what they were saying.

It was all a little too much right now. Somehow she had walked out of her own everyday reality and stepped into a fantasy—she’d just been carried into a palace in the arms of a prince, for heaven’s sake! And she couldn’t even remember how or why she got here.

Carefully, she tried to reconstruct her day, but she couldn’t remember anything that had happened before she found herself on the cold bridge walkway with a lump on her head. She’d tried to shake off the dizziness and she was aware of a man throwing her suitcase and purse over the side of the bridge. What had happened to him? By the time she’d regained her feet, she’d noticed Nico coming toward her and the man who’d attacked her was nowhere to be seen.

The rest was a muddle of clearing her head and walking along with the man she now knew was Prince Nico. There was a stop for something to eat in a café, but what had happened there was blurry. And then the prince had brought her here.

He and his sister were talking as though they didn’t think she could hear a thing they were saying. She knew she ought to open her eyes and sit up and join in, but she still needed a moment or two to regroup. Just a moment or two.

“Be serious for a minute,” the prince was saying, reacting in exasperation to something his sister had said. “And tell me what we’re going to do with her.”

“Don’t think twice, Nico. I’ve already got the second-floor maids up, running a bath, preparing the peach room, laying out nightclothes.”

His tone turned reluctantly admiring. “I have to admit, you’re nothing if not efficient.”

“I do my best. Just trying to make sure that your little treasure has a place to lay her head.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness.”

Marisa frowned slightly at the new voice that was practically a whisper, then realized it was the butler.

“Yes, Chauncy?”

“I hesitate to intrude, but I thought it might be wise to point out another factor that might have upset the young lady.”

“And what is that?” Nico sounded just a bit impatient and she could see why. The man sounded conniving to her, too.

“We live in perilous times, Your Highness. I don’t think you can afford to rule out the possibility that she might be… affiliated with the opposition in some way and was shocked to find herself ensconced with the enemy, so to speak.”

“Nonsense. Chauncy, you see enemies behind every bush.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I beg your pardon for speaking so candidly.”

Marisa lay very still and wondered if she was part of the opposition. She didn’t know the answer to that question, but she did know she had to get out of here. Carla had called her a treasure. What on earth had she meant by that? Unbidden, an old Carnethian folk song trailed its way into her mind. The refrain repeated, “Oh what a lucky girl, to be the prince’s plaything.” The phrase was said with bitter irony and added a bad feeling to this crazy mix. Royalty played exotic games in a rarified atmosphere she wasn’t used to. She didn’t belong here.

And something was tugging at her—some responsibility she hadn’t met, or some errand she hadn’t completed. She had to go, even if she didn’t know where.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, just as the doctor arrived, but it was the prince’s gaze she met first. The connection that sparked between them made her gasp softly. She hadn’t realized before just how blue those eyes were, or how provocative. She saw something there that set off alarms inside her and sent her heart into a thumping frenzy. But maybe she was imagining things, because a moment later his look was cool and impassive and he was speaking to the doctor as though she were a homeless person he’d found in the street. Which she was, wasn’t she?

The only time he revealed a flash of emotion was when the doctor turned to him almost accusingly.

“This woman is pregnant,” he said, looking sternly at the prince.

Nico’s face hardened and he stared at the man. “I just met her tonight,” he said icily.

It was obvious the two men didn’t care much for each other, but Marisa didn’t have time to dwell on that fact. Dr. Zavier examined her quickly and dispassionately, then declared her well enough for now. He found nothing physically wrong, other than a bump on the head, and prescribed lots of rest and plenty of fluids and promised to look in on her in the morning.

Marisa agreed with that diagnosis. She was fine, really. Just tired and a bit confused. She sat up as the doctor left, then looked hesitantly into the prince’s eyes, wary of seeing whatever that was she’d seen a few moments before, but his gaze was bland, revealing nothing more than vaguely impatient interest, and she relaxed. She was probably being a ninny and she hated that. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be stronger from now on. Just as soon as that was possible.