Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride: Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride

And most of all, she couldn’t let him know about the baby.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded coldly. “Oh, wait. Don’t even try to tell me. You’ll just lie.”

The provocative expression in his eyes changed to ice in an instant.

“Pellea, I’m not a liar,” he said in a low, urgent tone. “I’ll tell you or I won’t, but what I say will be the truth as I know it every time. Count on it.”

Their gazes locked in mutual indignation. Pellea was truly angry with him for showing up like this, for complicating her life and endangering them both, and yet she knew she was using that anger as a shield. If he touched her, she would surely melt. Just looking at him did enough damage to her determined stance.

Why did he have to be so beautiful? With his dark hair and shocking blue eyes, he had film-star looks, but that wasn’t all. He was tall, muscular, strong in a way that would make any woman swoon. He looked tough, capable of holding his own in a fight, and yet there was nothing cocky about him. He had a quiet confidence that made any form of showing off unnecessary. You just knew by looking at him that he was ready for any challenge—physical or intellectual.

But how about emotional? Despite all his strength, there was a certain sensitivity deep in his blue eyes. The sort of hint of vulnerability only a woman might notice. Or was that just hopeful dreaming on her part?

“Never mind all that,” she said firmly. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

His anger drifted away like morning fog and his eyes were smiling again. “After I’ve gone to so much trouble to get in?”

Oh, please don’t smile at me! she begged silently. This was difficult enough without this charm offensive clouding her mind. She glared back.

“You are going. This very moment would be a good time to do it.”

His gaze caressed her cheek. “How can I leave now that I’ve found you again?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re not going to mesmerize me like you did last time. You’re not staying here at all.” She pointed toward the gate. “I want you to go.”

He raised one dark eyebrow and made no move toward the door. “You going to call the guard?”

Her eyes blazed at him. “If I have to.”

He looked pained. “Actually, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Then you’d better go, hadn’t you?”

He sighed and managed to look as though he regretted all this. “I can’t leave yet. Not without what I came for.”

She threw up her hands. “That has nothing to do with me.”

His smile was back. “That’s where you’re wrong. You see, it’s you that I came for. How do you feel about a good old-fashioned kidnapping?”

CHAPTER TWO

PELLEA BLINKED QUICKLY, but that was the only sign she allowed to show his words had shocked her—rocked her, actually, to the point where she almost needed to reach out and hold on to something to keep from falling over.

Monte had come to kidnap her? Was he joking? Or was he crazy?

“Really?” With effort, she managed to fill her look with mock disdain. “How do you propose to get me past all the guards and barriers? How do you think you’ll manage that without someone noticing? Especially when I’ll be fighting you every step of the way and creating a scene and doing everything else I can think of to ruin your silly kidnapping scheme?”

“I’ve got a plan.” He favored her with a knowing grin.

“Oh, I see.” Eyes wide, she turned with a shrug, as though asking the world to judge him. “He’s got a plan. Say no more.”

He followed her. “You scoff, Pellea. But you’ll soon see things my way.”

She whirled to face him and her gaze sharpened as she remembered his last visit. “How do you get in here, anyway? You’ve never explained that.” She shook her head, considering him from another angle. “There are guards everywhere. How do you get past them?”

His grin widened. “Secrets of the trade, my dear.”

“And just what is your trade these days?” she asked archly. “Second-story man?”

“No, Pellea.” His grin faded. Now they were talking about serious things. “Actually, I still consider myself the royal heir to the Ambrian throne.”

She rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that one.”

He turned and met her gaze with an intensity that burned. “I’m the Crown Prince of Ambria. Hadn’t you heard? I thought you understood that.”

She stared back at him. “That’s over,” she said softly, searching his eyes. “Long over.”

He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes burning with a surreal light. “No. It’s real and it’s now. And very soon, the world will know it.”

Fear gripped her heart. What he was suggesting was war. People she loved would be hurt. And yet…

Reaching out, she touched him, forgetting her vow not to. She flattened her palm against his chest and felt his heartbeat, felt the heat and the flesh of him.

“Oh, please, Monte,” she whispered, her eyes filled with the sadness of a long future of suffering. “Please, don’t…”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the center of her palm without losing his hold on her gaze for a moment. “I won’t let anything hurt you,” he promised, though he knew he might as well whistle into the wind. Once his operation went into action, all bets would be off. “You know that.”

She shook her head, rejecting what he’d said. “No, Monte, I don’t know that. You plan to come in here and rip our lives apart. Once you start a revolution, you start a fire in the people and you can’t control where that fire will burn. There will be pain and agony on all sides. There always is.”

His shrug was elaborate on purpose. “There was pain and agony that night twenty-five years ago when my mother and my father were killed by the Granvillis. When I and my brothers and sisters were spirited off into the night and told to forget we were royal. In one fire-ravaged night, we lost our home, our kingdom, our destiny and our parents.” His head went back and he winced as though the pain was still fresh. “What do you want me to do? Forgive those who did that to me and mine?”

A look of pure determination froze his face into the mask of a warrior. “I’ll never do that. They need to pay.”

She winced. Fear gripped her heart. She knew what this meant. Her own beloved father was counted among Monte’s enemies. But she also knew that he was strong and determined, and he meant what he threatened. Wasn’t there any way she could stop this from happening?

The entry gong sounded, making them both jump.

“Yes?” she called out, hiding her alarm.

“Excuse me, Miss Marallis,” a voice called in. “It’s Sergeant Fromer. I just wanted to check what time you wanted us to bring the tiara by.”

“The guard,” she whispered, looking at Monte sharply. “I should ask him in right now.”

He held her gaze. “But you won’t,” he said softly.

She stared at him for a long moment. She wanted with all her heart to prove him wrong. She should do it. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it?

“Miss?” the guard called in again.

“Uh, sorry, Sergeant Fromer.” She looked at Monte again and knew she wouldn’t do it. She shook her head, ashamed of herself. “About seven would be best,” she called to him. “The hairdresser should be here by then.”

“Will do. Thank you, miss.”

And he was gone, carrying with him all hope for sanity. She stared at the area of the gate.

There it was—another chance to do the right thing and rid herself of this menace to her peace of mind forever. Why couldn’t she follow through? She turned and looked at Monte, her heart sinking. Was she doomed? Not if she stayed strong. This couldn’t be like it was before. She’d been vulnerable the last time. She’d just had the horrible fight with her father that she had been dreading for years, and when Monte had jumped into her life, she was in the mood to do dangerous things.

The first time she’d seen him, he’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere and found her sobbing beside her fountain. She’d just come back to her chambers from that fight and she’d been sick at heart, hating that she’d hurt the man she loved most in the world—her father. And so afraid that she would have to do what he wanted her to do anyway.

Her father’s health had begun to fade at that point, but he wasn’t bedridden yet, as he was now. He’d summoned her to his room and told her in no uncertain terms that he expected her to marry Leonardo. And she’d told him in similar fashion that she would have to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar. No other way would work. He’d called her an ungrateful child and had brought up the fact that she was looking to be an old maid soon if she didn’t get herself a husband. She’d called him an overbearing parent and threatened to marry the gardener.

That certainly got a response, but it was mainly negative and she regretted having said such a thing now. But he’d been passionate, almost obsessive about the need for her to marry Leonardo.

“Marry the man. You’ve known him all your life. You get along fine. He wants you, and as his wife, you’ll have so much power…”

“Power!” she’d responded with disdain. “All you care about is power.”

His face had gone white. “Power is important,” he told her in a clipped, hard voice. “As much as you may try to pretend otherwise, it rules our lives.” And then, haltingly, he’d told her the story of what had happened to her mother—the real story this time, not the one she’d grown up believing.

“Victor Halma wanted her,” he said, naming the man who had been the Granvillis’ top enforcer when Pellea was a very small child.

“Wha-what do you mean?” she’d stammered. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and she was afraid she understood only too well.

“He was always searching her out in the halls, showing up unexpectedly whenever she thought she was safe. He wouldn’t leave her alone. She was in a panic.”

She closed her eyes and murmured, “My poor mother.”

“There was still a lot of hostility toward me because I had worked with the DeAngelis royal family before the revolution,” he went on. “I wasn’t trusted then as I am now. I tried to fight him, but it was soon apparent I had no one on my side.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was sent on a business trip to Paris. He made his move while I was gone.”

“Father…”

“You see, I had no power.” His face, already pale, took on a haggard look. “I couldn’t refuse to go. And once I was gone, he forced her to go to his quarters.”

Pellea gasped, shivering as though an icy blast had swept into the room.

“She tried to run away, but he had the guard drag her into his chamber and lock her in. And there, while she was waiting, she found a knife and killed herself before he could…” His voice trailed off.

Pellea’s hands clutched her throat. “You always told me she died during an influenza epidemic,” she choked out. She was overwhelmed with this news, and yet, deep down, she’d always known there was something she wasn’t being told.

He nodded. “That was what I told you. That was what I told everyone. And there was an epidemic at the time. But she didn’t die of influenza. She died of shame.”

Pellea swayed. The room seemed to dip and swerve around her. “And the man?” she asked hoarsely.

“He had an unfortunate accident soon after,” her father said dryly, making it clear he wasn’t about to go into details. “But you understand me, don’t you? You see the position we were in? That’s what happens when you don’t have power.”

“Or when you work for horrible people,” she shot back passionately.

Shaking his head, he almost smiled. “The strange thing was, the Granvillis started to trust me after that. I moved up in the ranks. I gained power.” He looked at his daughter sternly. “Today, nothing like that could happen to me. And what I want for you is that same sort of immunity from harm.”

She understood what he wanted for her. She ached with love for him, ached for what he’d gone through, ached for what her own mother had endured. Her heart broke for them all.

But she still hadn’t been able to contemplate marrying Leonardo. Not then.

To some degree, she could relate to his obsession to get and hold power. Still, it was his obsession, not hers and she had no interest in making the sort of down payment on a sense of control that marrying Leonardo would entail.

But this had been the condition she’d been in when she’d first looked up and found Monte standing in her courtyard. She knew she’d never seen him before, and that was unusual. This was a small country and most in the castle had been there for years. You tended to know everyone you ran into, at least by sight. She’d jumped up and looked toward the gate, as though to run.

But he’d smiled. Something in that smile captivated her every time, and it had all begun that afternoon.

“Hi,” he’d said. “I’m running from some castle guards. Mind if I hide in here?”

Even as he spoke, she heard the guards at the gate. And just that quickly, she became a renegade.

“Hurry, hide in there,” she’d said, pointing to her bedroom. “Behind the bookcase.” She’d turned toward the gate. “I’ll deal with the guards.”

And so began her life as an accomplice to a criminal—and so also her infatuation with the most wrong man she could have fallen in love with.

Monte didn’t really appreciate the effort all this had cost her. He’d taken it for granted that she would send the guard away. She’d done the same thing the last time he was here—and that had been more dangerous for them both—because they’d already seen him in the halls at that point. The whole castle was turned upside down for the next two days as they hunted for him. And the entire time, she’d had him hidden in her bedroom.

No one knew he was here now except Pellea—so far.

“Was that the DeAngelis tiara you were talking about just now?” he asked her. “I thought I heard Leonardo bring it up.”

She glared at him. “How long have you been here spying on me? What else did you hear?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What else didn’t you want me to hear?”

She threw her hands up.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The wedding-dress-design discussion and your talk with Leonardo were about it.”

They both turned to look at the beautiful gown hanging against a tall, mahogany wardrobe. “Is this the gown you’re wearing to the ball tonight?”

“Yes.”

It was stunning. Black velvet swirled against deep green satin. It hung before him looking as though it was already filled with a warm, womanly body. Reaching out, he spanned the waist of it with his hands and imagined dancing with her.

“The DeAngelis tiara will look spectacular with this,” he told her.

“Do you remember what it looks like?” she asked in surprise.

“Not in great detail. But I’ve seen pictures.” He gave her a sideways look of irony. “My mother’s tiara.”

She shivered, pulling her arms in close about her. “It hasn’t been your mother’s tiara for a long, long time,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

He nodded slowly. “My mother’s and that of every other queen of Ambria going back at least three centuries,” he added softly, almost to himself.

She shivered again. “I’m sure you’re right.”

His smile was humorless. “To the victor go the spoils.”

“I didn’t make the rules.” Inside, she groaned. Still defensive. But she did feel the guilt of the past. How could she not?

“And yet, it will take more than twenty-five years to erase the memories that are centuries old. Memories of what my family accomplished here.”

She bit her lip, then looked at him, looked at the sense of tragedy in his beautiful blue eyes, and felt the tug on her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, reaching for him and putting a hand on his upper arm. “I’m sorry that I have to wear your mother’s tiara. They’ve asked me to do it and I said yes.”

He covered her hand with his own and turned toward her. She recognized the light in his eyes and knew he wanted to kiss her. Her pulse raced, but she couldn’t let it happen. Quickly, she pulled away.

He sighed, shaking his head in regret, but his mind was still on something else.

“Where is it?” he asked, looking around the wardrobe. “Where do you keep it?”

“The tiara?” She searched his eyes. What was he thinking? “It’s in its case in the museum room, where it always is. Didn’t you hear Sergeant Fromer? The guards will bring it to me just before I leave for the ball. And they will accompany me to the ballroom. The tiara is under guard at all times.”

He nodded, eyeing her speculatively. “And so shall you be, once you put it on.”

“I imagine so.”

He nodded again, looking thoughtful. “I was just reading an article about it the other day,” he said, half musing. “Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, all huge and of superior quality. Not to mention the wonderful craftsmanship of the tiara itself. It’s estimated to be worth more than some small countries are.”

Suddenly she drew her breath in. She hadn’t known him long, but she was pretty sure she knew a certain side of him all too well.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she cried, all outrage.

He looked at her in surprise. “What?”

She glared at him. “You’re thinking about grabbing it, aren’t you?”

“The tiara?” He stared at her for a moment and then he threw his head back and laughed. That was actually a fabulous idea. He liked the way she thought.

“Pellea,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and dropping a kiss on her forehead. “You are perfection itself. You can’t marry Leonardo.”

She shivered. She couldn’t help it. His touch was like agony and ecstasy, all rolled into one. But she kept her head about her.

“Who shall I marry then?” she responded quickly. “Are you ready to give me an offer?”

He stared at her, not responding. How could he say anything? He couldn’t make her an offer. He couldn’t marry her. And anyway, he might be dead by the end of the summer.

Besides, there was another factor. If he was going to be ruler of Ambria, could he marry the daughter of his family’s biggest betrayer? Not likely.

“I think kidnapping will work out better,” he told her, and he wasn’t joking.

She’d known he would say that, or something similar. She knew he was attracted to her. That, he couldn’t hide. But she was a realist and she also knew he hated her father and the current regime with which she was allied. How could it be any other way? He could talk about taking her with him all he wanted, she knew there was no future for her there.

“I’ll fight you all the way,” she said flatly.

He smiled down into her fierce eyes. “There’s always the best option, of course.”

“And what is that?”

“That you come with me willingly.”

She snorted. “Right. Before or after I marry Leonardo?”

He looked pained. “I can’t believe you’re serious.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I am marrying Leonardo in four days. I hope.”

He brushed the stray hairs back off her cheek and his fingers lingered, caressing her silken skin. “But why?” he asked softly.

“Because I want to,” she responded stoutly. “I’ve promised I will do it and I mean to keep that promise.”

Resolutely, she turned away from him and began searching through a clothes rack, looking for the clothes she meant to change into.

He came up behind her. “Is it because of your father?”

She whirled and stared at him. “Leave my father out of this.”

“Ah-hah. So it is your father.”

She turned back to searching through the hangers. He watched her for a moment, thinking that he’d never known a woman whose movements were so fluid. Every move she made was almost a part of a dance. And watching her turned him on in ways that were bound to cripple his ability to think clearly. He shook his head. He couldn’t let that happen, not if he wanted to succeed here.

“Leonardo,” he scoffed. “Please. Why Leonardo?”

Unconsciously, she cupped her hand over her belly. There was a tiny baby growing inside. He must never know that. He was the last person she could tell—ever. “It’s my father’s fondest wish.”

“Because he might become ruler of Ambria?”

“Yes.” How could she deny it? “And because he asked.”

That set him back a moment. “What if I asked?” he ventured.

She turned to him, but his eyes showed nothing that could give her any hope. “Ah, but you won’t, will you?”

He looked away. “Probably not.”

“There’s your answer.”

“Where is Georges?” he asked, naming the Granvilli who had killed his parents. “What does he say about all this?”

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “The General seems to be unwell right now. I’m not sure what the specific problem is, but he’s resting in the seaside villa at Grapevine Bay. Leonardo has been taking over more and more of the responsibilities of power himself.” She raised her head and looked him squarely in the eye. “And the work seems to suit him.”

“Does it? I hope he’s enjoying himself. He won’t have much longer to do that, as I intend to take that job away from him shortly.”

She threw up her hands, not sure if he meant it or if this was just typical male bombast. “What exactly do you mean to do?” she asked, trying to pin him down.

He looked at her and smiled, coming closer, touching her hair with one hand.

“Nothing that you need to worry about.”

But his thoughts were not nearly as sanguine as he pretended. She really had no conception of how deep his anger lay and how his hatred had eaten away at him for most of his life. Ever since that night when the castle had burned and his parents were murdered by the Granvilli clan. Payment was due. Retribution was pending.

“Is your father really very ill?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” She found the shirt she wanted and pulled it down.

“And you want to make him happy before he…”

He swallowed his next words even before she snapped her head around and ordered curtly, “Don’t say it!”

He bit his tongue. That was a stupid thing to have thought, even if he never actually got the words out. He didn’t mind annoying her about things he didn’t think she should care so much about, but to annoy her about her father was just plain counterproductive.

“Well, he would like to see you become the future first lady of the land, wouldn’t he?” he amended lamely.

He tried to think of what he knew about her father. Marallis had been considered an up-and-coming advisor in his own father’s regime. From what he’d been able to glean, the king had recognized his superior abilities and planned to place him in a top job. And then the rebellion had swept over them, and it turned out Vaneck Marallis had signed on with the other side. Was it any wonder he should feel betrayed by the man? He was the enemy. He very likely gave the rebels the inside information they needed to win the day. There was no little corner of his heart that had any intention of working on forgiveness for the man.

“Okay, it’s getting late,” she said impatiently. “I have to go check on my father.”

“Because he’s ill?”

“Because he’s very ill.” She knew she needed to elaborate, but when she tried to speak, her throat choked and she had to pause, waiting for her voice to clear again. “I always go in to see him for a few minutes at this time in the afternoon.” She looked at him. “When I get back, we’ll have to decide what I’m going to do with you.”

“Will we?” His grin was ample evidence of his opinion on the matter, but she turned away and didn’t bother to challenge him.

Going to her clothes rack, she pulled out a trim, cream-colored linen suit with slacks and a crisp jacket and slipped behind a privacy screen to change into them. He watched as she emerged, looking quietly efficient and good at whatever job she might be attempting. And ravishingly beautiful at the same time. He’d never known another woman who impressed him as much as this one did. Once again he had a pressing urge to find a way to take her with him.