The Prince's Secret Bride

Nico introduced her to Carla, his sister, who immediately took over and ushered her down the hall and up the stairs and into a warm bath, chattering in a friendly manner all the while. Two chambermaids helped and Marisa didn’t have to do a thing. Before she knew it, she was clean and smelling delicious with her dirt-stained clothes exchanged for a silky nightdress that felt like heaven. And finally, Carla led her to a luxuriously plush canopied bed in a beautiful room decorated in peach and gold. By the time Marisa had caught her breath, she knew it was all too much.

“I should go,” she protested weakly, knowing she was in danger of letting herself be seduced by all this cosseting.

“Nonsense,” Carla told her cheerfully, turning back the bed and providing a step-stool. “It’s late. You need to sleep. You can go in the morning.”

“But, my clothes…”

“They’re being cleaned for you. In the meantime, look here.” Carla threw open a tall wardrobe set against the inner wall. “You see all these?” she said, sweeping her hand along the length of the display inside. Bright cloth hung from every hanger. “They belong to my cousin Nadia. She’s just about your age and size. Minus the pregnancy, of course, but you’re barely showing. Feel free to use anything here that you like.”

Marisa shivered. This was beginning to remind her of a fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t always have happy endings. She could think of a few where the young innocent visitor was lulled into a false sense of security by all the riches laid before her, only to come to a bad end when she finally realized what the evil captors actually wanted from her.

“Uh, where is Nadia?” she asked.

Carla shrugged and pretty much evaded a straight answer. “Good question. That’s something we’d all like to know.”

She drew the heavy drapes closed over the lacy liners at the window and Marisa turned slowly, following her movements. She was hesitant to seem to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, but still….

“I… I don’t really know why you’re being so nice to me,” she said carefully. “I mean, you don’t know anything about me or where I came from or…”

Carla’s good-natured laugh rang out. “Well, neither do you, from what I hear. We’re all playing this by ear, aren’t we?”

Marisa couldn’t help but return her smile. “I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly.

“You get into that bed and get some sleep,” Carla said, turning to go. “There’s a bell rope if you need anything.”

“Carla,” Marisa said quickly, “thank you.”

Carla stopped at the doorway and looked back. She hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll be honest, Marisa. It’s lovely having you here, but the bottom line is that Nico is in charge when our oldest brother, Crown Prince Dane, is out of town. I’m sure you know—but then, maybe you’ve forgotten—that our father, King Nevander, died last month after a long illness. So now we’re preparing for a coronation. The Crown Prince is in Paris making international alliances. Nico is the de facto ruler here at home for the time being. And Nico gets what he wants. If he thinks you’re welcome here, you’re welcome here. So relax and enjoy it.”

With a wave she was gone. Marisa stared after her. Somehow her last words had not been comforting. The more she heard the prince wanted her here, the more she began to think she didn’t want to be here. Instead of heading for the bed, she turned and hurried toward the wardrobe, reaching in to grab something to wear for a quick escape. She’d barely taken down a beautiful pink sweater when a soft rapping on her door told her this wasn’t going to be quite so easy.

“Come in,” she said, tensed in uneasy anticipation.

Prince Nico entered the room, just as she’d been afraid he would. Funny, but he looked more handsome, taller, harder and just a bit scarier than he had when she hadn’t known he was royal. Biting her lip hard, she tried to hold back any evidence of being swept away. She absolutely refused to seem awestruck. She’d been impressed with him before, but once she realized he was royalty—like it or not, that had its effect. The royals were stars. How could it be any other way?

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gazing curiously at the pink sweater.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” She pressed the sweater to her chest. “I…listen, I’m sorry to be such a bother to everyone.” She gazed up at him earnestly. “Really. I think I should go. You know…”

His handsome face was impassive but his blue eyes shimmered silver in the lamplight. “You can’t go.”

“Oh.” That startled her for a moment. Why couldn’t she go? It didn’t make any sense. Was he just throwing his royal weight around? Or did he have some ulterior motive? She wasn’t sure why she was so suspicious of everyone. But then again, maybe she did have a hint or two as to why that might be. After all, she’d been assaulted tonight. Time to guard herself a bit more carefully, perhaps.

“Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than to look after me. I mean…here you are, a prince and all.” She shook her head and tried to convince him. “If I’d realized that from the beginning, I would never have gotten…” The word involved was the one she was going for, but the connotations scared her off. “…tangled up with you,” she said instead, then frowned, wondering if maybe that was worse.

The faintest of smiles quirked the corners of his mouth. “Too late. I’m entangled.” Reaching out, he took the hanger with the pink sweater from her hands and walked it back to the wardrobe.

She gazed at him, nonplussed. “But why?”

He hung up the sweater, then closed the door and turned back. “That doesn’t matter.”

Her warning system was setting off tiny alarms again. “Sure it does. I don’t understand why you think you have any responsibility for me and my child.”

He gazed at her for a long moment before answering that one—long enough that she began to feel self-conscious. She was standing there in a filmy nightdress, after all. Hardly the way one would want to appear in an audience with a prince. Unless, of course, one had seduction in mind. That sent blood rushing to her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had the sweater back to hide behind.

“We care about all our subjects, Marisa,” he said at last.

Right. She almost laughed aloud at that one. Especially when she considered the hint of mockery she heard in his tone.

“Maybe so, but you don’t invite them all to come and stay in the palace, do you?”

His blue eyes seemed to smile. “No. You’ve got me there. I’ll have to admit it. You’re special.”

That gave her the shivers. “Why?” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

He glanced down. She knew her pregnancy was pretty well hidden by the folds of the gown, but it almost felt as though he had X-ray eyes. He was very obviously referring to her child as the reason he was taking extra care to protect her. Her hands went involuntarily to her belly once again and she bit her lip, wondering if she could trust him—or if this was just a way to lower her defenses.

“Are you married?” he asked bluntly.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. The usual order of things would require a husband somewhere in the mix.”

She looked down. Funny, she couldn’t remember who the father was right now—but despite the fact that there had been a moment there, when she’d still been groggy from the mugging and this amnesia or whatever it might be was still new to her, that she’d been startled to find she was with child, she was now well aware that she was carrying a baby close to her heart. She would never lose sight of that for a moment.

“I’m not married,” she said firmly.

He cocked his head to the side. “Can you remember…?”

“No.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. She knew instinctively that she had never voluntarily submitted to the authority of a husband. And she was beginning to feel very similarly about the authority of a prince. “But I know I’m not married. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “Perhaps your husband was killed in the war.”

She shook her head, chin high. “No.”

His eyes darkened. “You seem very sure.”

“I am. Look.” She held up both hands. The simple rings she wore left no room for the traditional Carnethian doubles all married women wore in this country. “I would remember. I just can’t believe I would forget a thing like that. Or if there were anyone in my life that I was in love with.”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe the answer will be in your luggage. I’ll send out men to search for your suitcase first thing in the morning.”

Her suitcase! That sense of urgency came over her again. She looked toward the door. “I really should go,” she began.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he cut in, sounding like a man whose patience was still holding, but not for much longer. “The doctor said you needed rest.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to get it here. Look, I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt of that. But what about your baby?”

“What about my baby?” she said defensively. “It really has nothing to do with you.”

For just a moment, she thought she saw him wince, as though her feisty words had hurt him somehow. Despite everything, she regretted it. And that was a real problem. Her impulse was to do anything she could to make him happy. And that made her want to scream.

“Your Highness,” she said, purposefully using his rank as a way to distance herself from him. “I may not remember my name at the moment. And I may not be too clear on where I came from.”

She paused for a moment as a picture swam into her mind, a hazy, misty picture that wouldn’t quite come into focus. She blinked, thinking the clouds would clear in a second or two and she would see it perfectly.

“Are you remembering something?” he asked, stepping closer.

She drew in a quick breath as the picture evaporated before her eyes. Looking at him, she twisted her mouth slightly. “Not anymore,” she said coolly.

He nodded. “Let me know if you do,” he said, searching her face as though he thought the answers might appear there.

She sighed. Here was the problem. He saw her as a victim, someone who needed to be taken care of. She’d been through a lot today and taken some hard knocks, but she knew one thing for sure—she was no victim. She could take care of herself. She was going to have to pull herself together enough to show him that inner toughness before it was too late.

“Get some sleep,” he told her, starting to turn away. “We’ll discuss your situation tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first,” she muttered to herself as she listened to the sharp sound of his boots on the tiled floor of the hallway.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARISA stared at what she could see of the flowered canopy above her. Not much moonlight slipped in around the heavy drapes. She’d slept for an hour or so, but something was gnawing at her and she was completely awake now. If she was going to try to find a way out of this place, now was the time. She had to go. She didn’t feel right being here in the first place. This memory thing was driving her crazy. She was so sure she would remember everything if only she could find her missing bag. There was a compulsion driving her. She had to hurry back to the river and find her bag before anyone else did. And the most chilling thought of all. If she never found it, would she ever remember who she was?

Sitting up, she leaned against the headboard and tried to make a plan. She was in the palace. There were guards. There were probably alarms on the windows and doors. So how was she going to get out of here?

Well…how about a bold walk right out the front door? Why would a guard even want to stop her? She was a guest in this house and she wanted to leave. What could be simpler?

Slipping out of bed, she went to the wardrobe, bypassing the pink sweater for a light training suit in more earthy tones. The pants were stretchy and fitted just fine around her belly. The top was a little snug around her bust. She was ready to go.

In moments she was making her way carefully down the wide staircase and into the dimly lit marble foyer. Catching sight of the front-door guards through the glass, she stopped and chewed on her lip. Now that she was down here, coming face to face with a couple of men likely to have overly aggressive authoritarian complexes didn’t seem like such a good idea. Maybe she ought to try a side door or window first, something in one of the rooms that opened off the foyer. Turning she dismissed first one doorway, then another. A semi-dark room appeared to her left. It seemed to be a library of some sort, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Light from the moon cast a silver aspect across the floor that was almost inviting. She slipped inside, heading for the windows. Surely she would be able to open at least one of them, and if she could get through into the garden without triggering the alarm…

Prince Nico sat in semi-darkness, sunk in the depths of a huge leather chair in the palace library, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The night was stretching out long and lonely ahead of him. He wished there was a switch that could turn his mind off. It was running like a rat in a wheel. At this rate, he was never going to be able to sleep.

The cause was plain enough. Marisa. Marisa with her amnesia and her adorable bewilderment and her strangely vulnerable eyes and her determined bravery. And most of all, with the mystery child she carried. For some reason she had appeared out of the mist and walked into his life, conjuring up all his old ghosts and setting them free to torture him once again. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a long time.

And why was that? What had she done to him? There was no real reason for it. Marisa looked nothing like Andrea. Her personality was very different as well. So why had she captured his imagination like no other woman had done for a long, long time?

Throwing back his head, he groaned softly. He knew exactly what it was—he just had to face it.

First, she was pregnant and at just about the same stage Andrea had been when she’d been killed. That just naturally reached out and twisted his heart in ways not much else could. He wanted to protect her, to keep the world and all its ugliness away from her, to make sure nothing happened before she delivered her baby. His own baby had died with Andrea. A double tragedy. A double outrage. The pain had been unbearable. If he had the power, he would make sure that never happened to anyone again.

Okay, was that enough? Did that answer the questions roiling inside him? He lifted his glass and looked at the way a shaft of moonlight turned the drink inside to liquid gold and knew he hadn’t begun to give a full answer.

Ah hell. He took another long sip and put the glass down on the table at his elbow. Maybe he’d had enough to drink now to be honest with himself.

“She turns me on.”

There. He’d said it. And now he hated himself.

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