The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.

Gina paused before the oil of Jack’s grandfather. He wore the full dress uniform of an army colonel, complete with gold shoulder epaulets and saber. “My grandmother knew him,” she told Ellen. “She said he and your mother-in-law attended a reception she once gave for some sultan or another.”

“I’ve read about your grandmother,” her hostess commented as they moved to the next portrait, this one of Ellen and her husband in elegant formal dress. “She sounds like an extraordinary woman.”

“She is.” Lips pursed, Gina surveyed the empty space at the end of the row. “No portrait of Jack and Catherine?”

“No, unfortunately. We could never get them to sit still long enough for a formal portrait. And...” She stopped, drew in a breath. “And of course, we all thought there was plenty of time.”

She turned and held out both hands. Gina placed hers in the soft, firm fold.

“That’s why I wanted this moment alone with you, dear. Life is so short, and so full of uncertainties. I admire you for doing what your heart tells you is right. Don’t let Jack or his father or anyone else bully you into doing otherwise.”

* * *

The brief interlude with Ellen made her husband a little easier to bear. John II didn’t alter his attitude of stiff disapproval toward Gina but there was no disguising his deep affection for his son. He not only loved Jack. He was also inordinately proud of his son’s accomplishments to date.

“Did he tell you he’s the youngest man ever appointed as an ambassador-at-large?” he asked during a leisurely brunch that included twice-baked cheese grits, green beans almondine and the most delicious crab cakes Gina had ever sampled.

“No, he didn’t,” she replied, silently wishing she could sop up the béchamel sauce from the crab cakes with the crust of her flaky croissant.

“Then he probably also didn’t tell you some very powerful PACs have been suggesting he run for the U.S. Senate as a first step toward the White House.”

“Dad...”

“Actually,” Gina interrupted, “I read about that. I know those PACs love Jack. And he and I talked about his running for office the other night.”

John II paused with his knife and fork poised above his food. “You did?”

“Yep. I told him he should go for it.”

“Dad...”

Once again the father ignored the son’s low warning. His lip curled, and a heavy sarcasm colored his voice. “I’m sure our conservative base will turn out by the thousands to support a candidate with an illegitimate child.”

“That’s enough!”

Jack shoved away from the table and tossed down his napkin. Anger radiated from him in waves. “We agreed not to discuss this, Dad. If you can’t stick to the agreement, Gina and I will leave now.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was stiff but it was an apology. “Sit down, son. Please, sit down.”

Ellen interceded, as Gina suspected she had countless times in the past. “Jack, why don’t you take our guest for a stroll in the rose garden while I clear the table and bring in dessert?”

Gina jumped up, eager for something to do. “Please, let me help.”

“Thank you, dear.”

* * *

A decadent praline cheesecake smoothed things over. Everyone got back to being polite and civilized, and Ellen deftly steered the conversation in less sensitive channels.

Gina thought they might make it through the rest of the visit with no further fireworks. She nursed that futile hope right up until moments before she and Jack left to drive back to Washington. At his mother’s request, he accompanied her into her study to pick up a flyer about an organization offering aid to abused children overseas she wanted him to look at.

That left Gina and John II standing side by side in the foyer for a few moments. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, broken when he made an abrupt announcement.

“I had you investigated.”

“What?”

“I hired a private investigator.”

Gina’s brows snapped together, and her chin tipped in a way that anyone familiar with the duchess would have recognized immediately as a warning signal.

“Did you?”

“I wanted him to chase down rumors about the other men you might have been involved with.”

Her hand fluttered to her stomach in a protective gesture as old as time. “The other men I might have screwed, you mean.”

He blinked at the blunt reply, but made no apology. “Yes.”

The thought of a private investigator talking to her friends, asking questions, dropping insinuations, fired twin bolts of anger and mortification. Gina’s chin came up another inch. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Why go to the expense of a private investigator? A simple DNA test would have been much cheaper.”

“You were in that clinic in Switzerland. Jack flew over right after you called him. I told him to insist on a paternity test, but...” He broke off, grimacing. “Well, no need to go into all that now. What I want to say is I accept that you’re carrying my grandchild.”

“How very magnanimous of you.”

The icy response took him aback. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but the sound of footsteps stilled him. Both Jack and his mother sensed the tension instantly. Ellen sighed and shook her head. Her son demanded an explanation.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gina said before his father could respond. “Nothing at all. Thank you for a lovely lunch, Ellen.”

She kissed the older woman’s cheek before offering a cool glance and a lukewarm handshake to Jack’s father.

“Perhaps I’ll see you again.”

He stiffened, correctly interpreting the threat buried in that polite “perhaps.”

“I certainly hope so.”

* * *

“All right,” Jack said as the Range Rover cut through the tunnel of oaks shading the drive. “What was that all about?”

Gina wanted to be cool about it, wanted to take the high road and shrug off the investigation as inconsequential, but her roiling emotions got the better of her. She slewed around as much as the seat belt would allow. Anger, hurt and suspicion put a razor’s edge in her words.

“Did you know your father hired a P.I. to investigate me?”

“Yes, I...”

“With or without your approval?”

“Christ, Gina.” His glance sliced into her. “What do you think?”

She was still angry, still hurt, but somewhat mollified by his indignation. Slumping against the seat back, she crossed her arms. “Your father’s a piece of work, Ambassador.”

Which was true, but probably not the smartest comment to make. Jack could criticize his father. He wouldn’t appreciate an outsider doing so, however, any more than Gina would tolerate someone making a snide comment about the duchess. The tight line to Jack’s jaw underscored that point.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He accepted the apology with a curt nod and offered one of his own. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you about the investigation. The truth is I didn’t know about it until after we got back from Switzerland and then it just didn’t matter.”

Her anger dissipated, leaving only an urgent question. “Why not, Jack? Didn’t you...? Don’t you have any doubts?”

“No. Not one.” The rigid set to his shoulders eased. His reply was quiet and carried the ring of absolute truth. “We may disagree on a number of important issues, marriage included, but we’ve always been honest with each other.”

Her eyes start to burn. She refused to cry, she flatly refused, but she suddenly felt miserable and weary beyond words. “Look,” she said tiredly, “this has been a busy few days. I may have overdone it a bit. I think...I think I’d better fly back to New York this evening.”

He knifed her a quick look. “Is it the baby?”

“No! The baby’s fine.”

“Then it’s my father.” Another sharp glance. “Or is it us?”

“Mostly us.” She forced a smile. “You have to admit we didn’t get much sleep the past two nights. I need to go home and rack out.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“It’s what I really want.”

* * *

The drive back to D.C. took considerably less time than the drive down to Richmond. No cutting off to ramble along Route 1. No stops at picturesque cafés. Jack stuck to the interstate, and Gina used the time to check airline schedules. She confirmed a seat on a 7:20 p.m. flight to New York. It was a tight fit, but she could make it if she threw her things in her weekender and went straight to the airport.

“You don’t have to wait,” she told Jack as he pulled into the parking garage at L’Enfant Plaza. “I can grab a cab.”

“I’ll drive you.”

She was in and out of TTG’s guest suite in less than twenty minutes. A quick call ensured the cleaning crew would come in the following day. The key cards she sealed in an envelope and slid under the door to the main office. Elaine Patterson, manager of the Washington venue, was due back tomorrow. Gina would coordinate the after-event report with her and tie up any other loose ends by email.

Her emotions were flip-flopping all over the place again when Jack pulled up at the airport terminal. Part of her insisted she was doing the right thing. That she needed to pull back, assess the damage to her heart done by the nights she’d spent in his arms. The rest of her ached for another night. Or two. Or three.

If Jack were experiencing the same disquiet, it didn’t show. He left the Range Rover in idle and came around to lift out her weekender. His expression was calm, his hand steady as he buried it in her hair and tilted her face to his.

“Call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

“And get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll see you at our next doctor’s appointment, if not before.”

Before would be good, she thought as she closed her eyes for his kiss. Before would be very good.

* * *

When she climbed out of a cab outside the Dakota almost seven hours later, her ass was well and truly dragging. Her flight had been delayed due to mechanical problems before being canceled completely. The passengers had sat for well over an hour on the plane before being shuffled off and onto another. She’d called Jack once she was aboard the alternate aircraft so he wouldn’t worry, and again when she landed at LaGuardia.

Since they’d touched down at almost midnight, she didn’t call her grandmother. The duchess would have gone to bed hours ago and Gina didn’t want to wake her. Feeling dopey with exhaustion, she took a cab into the city. Jerome wasn’t on duty and she didn’t know the new night doorman except to nod and say hello. Wheeling her suitcase to the elevator, she slumped against the mirrored wall as it whisked her upward.

The delicate scent of orange blossoms telegraphed a welcome to her weary mind. She dropped her purse and key next to the Waterford crystal bowl filled with potpourri. Her weekender’s hard rubber wheels made barely a squeak as she rolled it over the marble tiles.

She’d crossed the sitting room and was almost to the hall leading to the bedrooms when she caught the sound of a muffled clink in the kitchen. She left the suitcase in the hall and retraced her steps. Light feathered around edges of the swinging door between the dining room and kitchen. Another clink sounded just beyond it.

“Grandmama?”

Gina put out a hand to push on the door and snatched it back as the oak panel swung toward her. The next second she was staring at broad expanse of black T-shirt. Her shocked glance flew up and registered a chin shadowed with bristles, a mouth set in a straight line and dark, dangerous eyes topped by slashing black brows.

Ten

Everything Gina had ever learned or heard or read about self-defense coalesced into a single, instinctive act. Whipping her purse off her shoulder, she swung it with everything she had in her.

“Hé!” The intruder flung up his arm and blocked the savage blow. “Várj!”

“Várj yourself, you bastard!”

Gina swung again. This time his arm whipped out and caught the purse strap. One swift tug yanked it out of her hands.

“If you’ve hurt my grandmother...”

She lunged past him into the kitchen. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the largest knife in the upright butcher-block stand.

“Jézus, Mária és József!” The stranger chopped his hand down on her wrist, pinning it to the counter. “Stop, Eugenia. Stop.”

The terse command pierced her red haze of fear but her heart still slammed against her chest as the questions tumbled out. “How do you know my name? What are you doing here? Where’s my grandmother?”

“The duchess is in her bedroom, asleep, I presume. I am here because she invited my sister and me to stay. And I know your name because we’re cousins, you and I.”

“Cousins?”

“Of a sort.”

When she tugged her wrist, he released his brutal grip. A smile softened the stark angles of his face. “I’m Dominic. Dominic St. Sebastian. I live in Budapest, but my parents came from Prádzec. Your grandmother’s home,” he added when she looked at him blankly.

It took her a moment to recognize the name of the town on the border between Austria and Hungary, in the heart of what was once the Duchy of Karlenburgh.

“I don’t understand. When did you get here?”

“This afternoon.” He gestured behind him to the coffeemaker just starting to bubble and brew on the counter. “It’s midnight in New York, but morning in Hungary. My body has yet to adjust to the time change and craves its usual dose of caffeine. Will you join me for coffee and I’ll explain how Anastazia and I come to be here, in your home.”

“No coffee,” Gina murmured, her hand fluttering to her stomach as she tried to absorb the presence of this dangerous-looking man in her grandmother’s kitchen.

He was as sleek and as dark as a panther. Black hair, black shirt, black jeans slung low on his hips. The T-shirt stretched taut across a whipcord-lean torso. The hair was thick and razored to a ragged edge, as though he didn’t have time or couldn’t be bothered with having it styled.

“Tea, then?” he asked.

“Tea would be good.” Slowly getting her wind back, Gina nodded to the cabinet behind his head. “The tea caddy is in there.”

“Yes, I know.” His smile reached his eyes. “The duchess told me to make myself to home. I took her at her word and explored the cupboards.”

Whoa! This man’s face cast in hard angles and tight lines was one thing. The same face relaxing into a lazy grin was something else again. Gina had a feeling Dominic St. Sebastian could have his pick of any woman in Budapest. Or pretty much anywhere else in the world.

The fact that he knew his way around a tea caddy only added to the enigma. While the fresh-made coffee dripped into the carafe, he brewed a pot of soothing chamomile. Moments later he and Gina were sitting across from each other with steaming mugs in hand.

“So,” he said, slanting her a curious look. “The duchess never spoke to you of me or my family?”

His speech held only a trace of an accent. A slight emphasis on different syllables that made it sound intriguing and sexy as all hell. Wondering where he’d learned to speak such excellent English, Gina shrugged.

“Grandmama told my sister and me that we had some cousins, four or five times removed.”

“At least that many times. So we could marry if we wished to, yes?”

The tea sloshed in her mug. “Excuse me?”

“We’re well outside the degree of kinship forbidden by either the church or the law. So we could marry, you and I.”

A sudden suspicion darted into Gina’s consciousness. Despite the duchess’s seeming acceptance of her granddaughter’s single-and-pregnant status, was she resorting to some Machiavellian scheming?

“Just when did my grandmother invite you and your sister to New York?”

“She didn’t. I had to come on business and since Anastazia had never been to the States, she decided to accompany me. When we phoned the duchess to arrange a visit, she invited us for tea. She was so charmed by my sister that she insisted we stay here.”

Charmed by his sister? Gina didn’t think so.

“How long will you be in New York?”

“That depends on how swiftly I conclude my business. But not, I hope, before I get a chance to know you and the duchess. I’ve heard many tales of her desperate flight after the duke’s execution.”

“She doesn’t speak of those days. I think the memories still haunt her.”

“Is that why she’s never returned to Austria, or traveled to any part of what is now Hungary?”

“I think so.”

“That’s certainly understandable, but perhaps some day she will visit and allow Anastazia and me to return her gracious hospitality. She would find everything much changed.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“You must come, too. I would enjoy showing you my country, Eugenia.”

“Gina, please. Grandmama’s the only one who calls me Eugenia, and then it’s generally because I’ve screwed up.”

“And does that happen often?”

She made a face. “Far more often than either of us would like.”

The tea and the European rhythm of Dominic’s speech had combined to bring Gina the rest of the way down from the adrenaline spike of her scare. When she reached bottom, weariness hit like a baseball bat.

Her jaw cracked on a monster yawn. She barely got a hand up in time to cover it and gave Dominic a laughing apology.

“Sorry ’bout that. It’s been a long day.”

“For me, also.” His mesmerizing onyx eyes held hers. “Shall we go to bed?”

Okay, she had to stop attaching sexual innuendo to every word that came out of the man’s mouth.

They took their mugs to the sink. Dominic rinsed them while Gina emptied the coffeemaker. He flicked off the kitchen light as they passed through the swinging door, plunging them both into temporary blindness.

Gina had grown up in this apartment and was intimately familiar with every piece of furniture a mischievous girl could crawl under or hide behind. She also knew which sharp edges to avoid, blind or not. Instinctively, she angled to the left to skirt the corner of a marble-topped table.

The move brought her into contact with Dominic’s thigh, and his hand shot out to save her from what he must have assumed was a near fall.

“Careful.”

For the second time that night he’d captured her arm. Gina wasn’t quite as quick to shake off his hold this time.

“Thanks. I assume Grandmama put Anastazia in my sister’s room and you in the study?”

“Is the study the baronial hall with the oak paneling and crown molding?” he asked dryly.

“It is.” They stopped outside the double sliding doors. “Here you go. I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Correction. Make that later in the morning.”

His fingers slid from her forearm to her elbow to her wrist. Raising her hand, he bowed and dropped a kiss on it with old-world charm right out of the movies.

“Aludj jól, Gina.”

“And that means?”

“Sleep well.”

“Aludj jól, Dominic.”

She left him standing by the sliding doors and reclaimed her suitcase. No light shone from under the door to her grandmother’s room, so Gina slipped quietly into her own. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

She woke mere hours later. Grunting at what felt like a bowling ball resting atop her bladder, she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

When she snuggled between the sheets again, sleep didn’t descend as swiftly. And when it did, it brought confusing dreams of a shadowy figure whose hair morphed from black to gold to black again.

* * *

Since Samuel wasn’t expecting her back from Washington for another day, possibly two, Gina didn’t feel compelled to go in to the office the next morning. Good thing, because she didn’t wake up a second time until almost nine.

She took her time in the shower, wondering if she’d dreamed that kitchen encounter last night. It was so surreal, and so unlike her grandmother to invite complete strangers to stay in their home. Maybe she was more tied to the land of her birth than she let on.

Gina followed the scent of coffee and cinnamon toast to the kitchen, where Maria was turning fresh toast onto a plate.

“There you are. Dominic told us, la duquesa and me, that you came in late last night.”

“I just about jumped out of my skin when I came in last night and bumped into him.” Dying for a cup of coffee, Gina poured a glass of apple juice instead. “I’m surprised Grandmama invited him and his sister to stay here.”

“Me, as well. But they are very nice and have made your grandmother smile. You will see,” Maria said, flipping the last of the toast onto the platter.

“Here, I’ll take that.”

The scene in the sunny, green-and-white breakfast room certainly seemed to give credence to Maria’s comment. The duchess was holding court, her snowy hair in a crown of braids, her chin feathered by the high lace collar of her favorite lavender silk blouse. Her smile was far from regal, though. Wide and lively, it transformed her face as she carried on an animated conversation with her guests in their native language.

But it was those guests who stopped Gina in her tracks. In the bright light of day, Dominic appeared every bit as dangerous as he had last night. Must be that European, unshaved whisker thing. Or his preference for black shirts. This one was starched cotton and open-collared, showing just a hint of a silver chain at his throat.

The woman seated across from him was almost as riveting. Her hair fell well past her shoulders, as lustrous and raven-black as her brother’s. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her mouth a glistening red. Thick lashes framed dark eyes with just the hint of a slant. If the rest of her was as striking as that sculpted face, the woman could walk into any modeling agency in New York and sign a high six-figure contract within minutes.

All of a sudden Gina felt fat and dumpy and just a tad jealous of the way these two outsiders seemed to have glommed on to her grandmother. That lasted only until the duchess spotted her. Her lined face lit up with love.

“You’re awake at last. Come and join us, dearest.”

Dominic pushed back his chair and took the platter of toast so Gina could bend to give her grandmother a kiss. The look he gave her banished any lingering nasty thoughts. Fat and dumpy wouldn’t have put such an admiring gleam in his eyes.

“Good morning, cousin. Did you sleep well?”

“Very.”

“You must let me introduce my sister. Anastazia, this is...”

“Eugenia Amalia Therése,” the brunette said in an accent noticeably heavier than her brother’s.

She, too, pushed back her chair and came around the table. Holding out both hands, she kissed Gina’s cheeks. “I have been so eager to meet you, cousin. I, too, was named for the Archduchess Maria Amalia of Parma.” She wrinkled her perfect nose. “I am Anastazia Amalia Julianna. Such long names we have, yes?”

Despite her cover-model looks, she was open and friendly and engaging. Gina couldn’t help but smile back.

“We do indeed.”

“You must call me Zia. And I will call you Gina.”

That thorny matter settled, they joined the others at the table. Gina helped herself to two slices of cinnamon toast while her grandmother gave them all a rare glimpse into the family archives.

“Poor Archduchess Maria Amalia,” she said with a wry smile. “Married against her will to a mere duke while two of her sisters became queens. Marie Antoinette of France and Marie Caroline of Naples and Sicily.”

Charlotte took a sip of her tea and shared another historical tidbit.

“The three sisters were reportedly very close. They often exchanged letters and portraits and gifts. One of the last letters Marie Antoinette smuggled out of her prison was to Amalia.”

“I’m told there’s a miniature of their mother, the Empress Marie Therese of Austria, in your Metropolitan Museum of Art,” Zia said eagerly. “It is one of the places I hope to visit while I am here.”