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The Monarch's Son
“I intended to introduce myself as soon as you were recovered.”
“You’d better tell me now,” Allie urged.
Before Lorne could speak, his security man said in awed tones, “I have the honor to present His Royal Highness, Prince Lorne de Marigny, ruler of the sovereign islands of Carramer.”
She felt faint, but this time it had less to do with the pounding she had taken in the surf than with the impact of the man standing before her. “You’re the ruler of the whole country?”
Lorne nodded.
The combined effect of her ordeal and the discovery that she had been rescued by the monarch himself combined to overwhelm her precarious hold on consciousness. The security man’s startled cry and Lorne’s barked command were the last things she heard before she saw the sand rushing up toward her.
The Monarch’s Son
The Prince’s Bride-To-Be
The Princess’s Proposal
Dear Reader,
Looking for sensational summer reads? All year we’ve been celebrating Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary with special titles, and this month’s selections are just the warm, romantic tales you’ve been seeking!
Bestselling author Stella Bagwell continues the newest Romance promotion, AN OLDER MAN. Falling for Grace hadn’t been his intention, particularly when his younger, pregnant neighbor was carrying his nephew’s baby! Judy Christenberry’s THE CIRCLE K SISTERS miniseries comes back to Romance this month, when sister Melissa enlists the temporary services of The Borrowed Groom. Moyra Tarling’s Denim & Diamond pairs a rough-hewn single dad with the expectant woman he’d once desired beyond reason…but let get away.
Valerie Parv unveils her romantic royalty series THE CARRAMER CROWN. When a woman literally washes ashore at the feet of the prince, she becomes companion to The Monarch’s Son… but will she ever become the monarch’s wife? Julianna Morris’s BRIDAL FEVER! persists when Jodie’s Mail-Order Man discovers her heart’s desire: the brother of her mail-order groom! And Martha Shields’s Lassoed! is the perfect Opposites Attract story this summer. The sparks between a rough-and-tumble rodeo champ and the refined beauty sent to photograph him jump off every page!
In future months, look for STORKVILLE, USA, our newest continuity series. And don’t miss the charming miniseries THE CHANDLERS REQUEST…from New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels.
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
The Monarch’s Son
Valerie Parv
MILLS & BOON
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To my darling Paul, the real prince in my life
Books by Valerie Parv
Silhouette Romance
The Leopard Tree #507
The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270
Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313
*The Monarch’s Son #1459
VALERIE PARV
lives and breathes romance, and has even written a guide to being romantic, crediting her cartoonist husband of nearly thirty years as her inspiration. As a former buffalo and crocodile hunter in Australia’s Northern Territory, he’s ready-made hero material, she says.
When not writing about her novels and nonfiction books, or speaking about romance on Australian radio and television, Valerie enjoys dollhouses, being a Star Trek fan and playing with food (in cooking, that is). Valerie agrees with actor Nichelle Nichols, who said, “The difference between fantasy and fact is that fantasy simply hasn’t happened yet.”
HISTORY OF CARRAMER
The Carramer Crown takes place in the fictitious island kingdom of Carramer in the South Pacific. French explorer la Perouse called Carramer “the loveliest fleet of islands anchored in any ocean.” Carramer comprises three inhabited islands and a handful of tiny offshore islands. The main island is Celeste, home to the capital city of Solano, and the ruling monarch, Lorne de Marigny. Across the Carramer Strait lies the larger, blissfully beautiful Isle des Anges (Island of the Angels) and its near neighbor, tiny Nuee, both governed by Prince Lorne’s younger brother, Michel, next in line to the throne after Lorne’s son, Nori. Younger sister Adrienne sees no role for herself in government, and yearns to establish a horse-breeding stable.
Carramer’s traditions are a mixture of French and Polynesian influences. It enjoys a perfect climate, as near-constant trade winds prevail throughout the year and most rain falls as daytime showers that are accompanied by rainbows, giving rise to the popular name for Carramer of “the Rainbow Isles.”
There is rumored to be another royal offspring living in the United States, but so far that story remains untold.
Valerie Parv
Official historian to the sovereign state of Carramer
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
As soon as Allie Carter felt the powerful undertow start to drag her out to deep water she knew she was in trouble. The current flowed as fast as a river, much too powerful for her to swim against. It was all she could do to keep her head above water.
Every instinct urged her to fight her way back to the fast-receding beach, but she resisted the temptation, knowing it was the way to certain death. Instead she made herself swim parallel with the shore. She knew that sooner or later the current would dissipate in calm water, then she could turn toward land, although judging by the ferocity of the current, it was likely to be a long way from Saphir Beach where she’d entered the water.
“Let it take you, don’t fight it,” she told herself to curb her rising panic. She couldn’t help thinking about the sharks that frequented the deeper waters. Maybe they only ate women from Carramer and not visiting Australians, she thought. Talk about wishful thinking. The thought distracted her briefly from the growing ache in her shoulders and arms, although it did nothing for the rawness of her throat from swallowing salt water.
Just when she was afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to make it back to shore, she felt the current’s grip slacken, and she began angling her strokes to carry her to a cove visible in the distance. Exhaustion and salt water blurred her vision but she thought she saw someone moving about on the sand, unless it was more wishful thinking.
By the time she reached shallower water she couldn’t summon the energy to stand up, and she flopped in the breakers, chest heaving with the struggle to breathe, barely able to see out of stinging eyes. Waves washed over her head and threatened to carry her out to sea again but she had no strength left to fight them.
Suddenly she felt herself being lifted into strong arms and carried the last few feet up the beach. “It’s all right, you’re safe.” The French-accented voice sounded powerfully male, although the man himself was an infuriating blur. With an odd sense of detachment she felt herself being placed on her stomach on an unyielding surface. A heavy pressure made itself felt on her back and she tried to protest but couldn’t force the sound out. The pressure returned several times at steady intervals until she coughed, bringing up copious amounts of seawater.
“Much better,” the vibrant male voice commented as if to himself, adding to her, “lie still while I get a doctor.”
Groggily she rolled over onto one elbow and struggled to focus on her rescuer. Looming seemed like a good word to describe the tall, broad man bending over her. But his voice sounded concerned, and the hands that placed a folded towel under her head and offered her another to clean her face were gentle. When he leaned over her, she was enveloped in a tantalizingly elusive scent, something expensive and French and very, very masculine.
“I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be fine if I can rest for a few minutes,” she croaked, hoping she sounded more convincing to him than she did to herself.
“You are far from fine. You almost drowned in the grip of the serpent.” This time he sounded definitely disapproving.
She felt spent but knew she wasn’t delirious. “The serpent?”
“Local folklore. You Australians would call it a rip. An undertow. You obviously haven’t been in Carramer very long or you would know that Saphir Beach is dangerous unless you know these waters well.”
Her temper wasn’t helped by her exhaustion and the awareness of how close she’d come to drowning. She didn’t need this stranger to point out that it was due to her own stupidity and lack of local knowledge. “I wasn’t to know, was I?” she snapped. “The only warning signs were in Carramer language.”
“How surprising.”
The sarcasm in the man’s voice wasn’t lost on her. She struggled to sit up and found herself lying on thick woven matting under a white canopy that reminded her of a sheik’s tent. She blinked hard, realizing uncomfortably that she must have washed up on one of the many private beaches around the island kingdom. Its owner, as his behavior suggested he was, sounded annoyed by the intrusion.
Her vision had nearly cleared, and almost against her will she was intrigued by the man meeting her curious gaze. In spite of his disapproving expression he had the most arresting features she had ever seen, strongly carved as if from stone. Only the working of a muscle at his jawline belied this impression.
His obsidian eyes glared at her from under hair of almost the same color. Gold flecks glittered in the dark pools of his gaze. Something familiar about him tugged at her, although she was so tired she could barely think straight. Another question occurred to her. “How did you know I’m Australian?”
He frowned, censure in every line of his face. “If your accent hadn’t betrayed you, your beauty and your boldness would have done so.”
She seized on his last points. “Are you telling me that Australian women have a look you can recognize?”
He nodded. “Your particular robustness is quite different from the delicacy of Carramer women, even when you’re as slender and shapely as you are, Miss…”
He tailed off, clearly expecting her to supply a name. “Alison Carter,” she said, pleased to hear her voice sounding less husky already. “Allie to my friends.”
“Alison.” The curt way he said her name immediately removed him from the friend category. “I am Lorne de Marigny.”
“Pleased to meet you, Monsieur de Marigny.” She matched his formal tone and granted him the locally preferred French appellation almost unconsciously. In Australia she would have called him Lorne without a second thought, but his upright bearing and stern manner suggested that it wouldn’t be wise, for some reason. Oh well, when in Rome or Carramer, she thought. Summoning her limited reserve of strength, she struggled to her feet. “Thank you for your help, but I’d better go.”
A wave of dizziness caught her and she swayed. Instantly his arm came around her shoulder, supporting her. “You are in no condition to go anywhere until you have been cleared by a doctor.”
His supportive arm felt so good that she was tempted to lean into his embrace and let him continue making decisions for her. He sounded accustomed to it, and she was very, very tired, but she couldn’t impose on him any longer when he clearly resented her presence. “No, thanks. You’ve done more than enough. I’m sorry I intruded on your privacy, but I’ll leave now.”
The black gaze bored into her, his closeness emphasizing the intensity in his expression. “Precisely how do you plan on leaving?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I guess I’ll walk back to Allora. I’m staying at a hostel there.”
He dismissed the notion with a curt gesture. “In the first place, you’re in no condition to walk anywhere, far less a couple of miles back to the town.”
She started in surprise. “The current took me that far?”
“It has been known to.” He sounded dryly amused.
She could hardly wait for the second place. “And?”
“You’re seeing a doctor before you go anywhere. Come, my villa is over the rise.”
He clearly took her compliance for granted, and she lifted her head in automatic defiance. “Next thing you’ll tell me you keep a doctor on call.”
Lorne merely looked at her. “As it happens I do.”
“And a chauffeur and a helicopter complete with pilot, too, I suppose?”
He inclined his head slightly. “Among other staff, yes.”
She couldn’t restrain her outrush of breath, feeling more like a fish out of water than ever. A nearly drowned fish at that. Either this prepossessing stranger had delusions of grandeur or he was a man of some importance. She squared her shoulders. No matter who Lorne de Marigny was, where she came from, one person was as good as another. “I don’t see any staff around here right now,” she said with a pointed glance around them.
His black look impaled her. “Are you questioning my word?”
He sounded as if it was a rare event. Maybe it was time somebody did. “In Australia we call things as we see them,” she stated, her gesture encompassing the empty beach.
He dragged in a deep breath and she could practically feel him restraining his temper. “Make no mistake, we are under observation from several quarters even now. This beach is well known to be off-limits to the public, and my staff is trained to be discreet, giving me at least the illusion of privacy.”
Unlike certain foreigners, came the unspoken criticism. “Look, I didn’t plan on washing up on your private beach,” she protested, tiring of his imperious attitude and his insulting suggestion that she required watching. What harm could one bikini-clad tourist possibly do to a man of his impressive physique? “If one of your…staff…will give me a lift back to Allora, I’ll get out of your hair. I promise I’ll see a doctor as soon as I get back,” she added before Lorne could say any more on the subject.
His dark brows drew together. “Are you always so annoyingly persistent?”
“Only when half-drowned,” she assured him tiredly. Her every muscle ached from fighting the current, and her legs weren’t doing too well at holding her up. She was in no state to deal with Mr. Arrogance even if it turned out that he owned half of Carramer.
He regarded her in obvious disbelief. “Why do I doubt that it takes a bout with the serpent to bring out this tendency in you?”
On the other hand he had saved her life, she conceded to herself. “When I was four, my mother called me Miss One-Note because she said I was so single-minded,” she confessed, not entirely sure why. “I guess I haven’t changed.”
“I imagine you have changed considerably since you were four,” he commented, appraising her so frankly that she was left in no doubt as to the changes he was referring to.
His blatantly masculine scrutiny reminded her of how much her white bikini revealed. Having forgotten to pack her own swimsuit, she had purchased the bikini locally yesterday, allowing the saleswoman’s enthusiasm to override Allie’s misgivings about its brevity. She hadn’t allowed for the way the twin bands of stretch material molded themselves to her body when wet, revealing even more of her shapely figure than they had when dry.
Well, so what if they did, she told herself defiantly. It wasn’t as if she had anything to be ashamed of. She was no supermodel, but a careful diet and exercise routine had given her curves in all the right places. All the same, Lorne’s slow inspection provoked a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with nearly drowning. It came to her that she felt more out of her depth beside Lorne on the sand than she had in the grip of the undertow.
“You’d better take the lead,” she suggested in an unsteady voice.
He inclined his head, his expression darkly amused. “I invariably do.”
As he took her arm and steered her toward a narrow path skirting a dune, the heat of his hand seared her skin as if a naked flame had touched it. She glanced in surprise at the strong fingers cupping her elbow. No flames, only ordinary flesh and blood. Her exhausted state must be the reason why his touch sent shivers dancing along her spine. Maybe he was right and she would be wise to consult a doctor after all.
“What brings you to Carramer? Are you on vacation?” he asked as she tried vainly to match his long-legged strides. He noticed and moderated them a little.
His disinterested tone suggested that he was only making polite conversation. “It’s a working holiday,” she supplied. “I came here to paint.”
“You are an artist?”
Again she caught the disapproval in his tone and wondered at its source. Her sigh was more betraying than she intended. “That’s what I want to find out. Back home in Brisbane I teach art at a girl’s school, but I’ve always wanted to paint professionally. I decided to spend some accumulated leave exploring what I can achieve.”
“Why Carramer specifically? Surely you can paint in Australia?”
She nodded. “I could, but there are too many distractions.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Distractions as in a man?”
Distractions as in a family for whom she had always been on call, she thought, automatically suppressing a flash of resentment. Between a constantly ailing mother who expected Allie to parent her, and a spoiled younger sister who thought her needs should always come first, there had never been much time or money for anything Allie herself wanted.
Her father had left them when Allie was sixteen, and since then her mother had looked to her daughter for support, swearing that she couldn’t manage alone. Her many ailments could never be specifically diagnosed but prevented her from working full-time and ensured that Allie was always there for her, doing all she could to make her mother’s life easier. She had even abandoned her dream of attending art school in favor of teacher training so she could bring in enough money to help put her sister through university.
Then a few months ago, Alison’s mother had dropped the bombshell that she intended to marry a neighbor who had apparently courted her while Alison was at work. Nothing was said in words but it was made clear that it was time Alison made a life for herself. She was duly thanked for all she had done but shown clearly that her sacrifice was no longer necessary.
Lorne mistook her silence for agreement. “Was this man cheating on you?”
Alison’s confused gaze flew to his face. “No, I mean there is no man. I came for my own reasons.”
He looked skeptical. “You’re telling me that a woman of your obvious charms has no man waiting for her at home?”
She would have taken it as a compliment if not for the painful knowledge that Lorne was right. Supporting her family and dealing with their emotional demands left her little room for a love life. She’d dated a colleague from school but he was, if possible, more demanding than her family, even objecting to this vacation because she wouldn’t be at his beck and call.
Suggesting that he might not wait for her return was intended to bring her to heel. She wasn’t sure who had been more surprised when she agreed that it was probably better that way. “There’s no man waiting at home anymore,” she denied, unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of her voice.
“I suppose your own needs took priority.” Lorne’s cutting tone was a judgment in itself.
At his high-handed tone resentment surged through her. She had had enough of ordering her life around the demands of people who were only too ready to shrug her off when it suited them. Now it was time for some changes. Unconsciously she lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with pleasing myself?”
He paused before replying. “In my experience, it usually means riding roughshod over the feelings of others.”
It was the last thing she would do, but she was too drained by her near drowning to feel like defending herself to Lorne. What would he know about the price her responsibilities had exacted from her, anyway? From his extraordinary good looks and talk of his villa and staff, it sounded as if he didn’t have anyone but himself to worry about.
She shot him a sidelong glance, confused by her ambivalent response to him. His take-charge attitude should have bothered her, but instead it excited her at some unexpected level. She forced herself to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and study him as he had studied her. He was indeed as tall as she’d first concluded, but not dauntingly so, perhaps a head taller than Allie herself. His straight back and easy carriage created an intriguing impression of leashed power.
His hawklike features should have been alarming but instead she found herself imagining how he would look in a moment of joy, the dark eyes lightening with pleasure and the full-lipped mouth curving into a smile. A shiver ran through her.
She would like to paint him exactly as he looked now, she thought. Wearing sleek black swim briefs that rode low around narrow hips, he nevertheless managed to look aristocratic, like a knight in full regalia. Trying to capture that quality would challenge any artist. He looked as if he knew exactly where he fitted into the world.
She suppressed a surge of envy. It must be wonderful knowing exactly who you were and what you should be doing, something Allie herself was still trying to sort out. “What do you do here?” she asked on impulse.
He looked baffled for a moment then said, “Do? You could probably say I run things.”
She was intrigued in spite of herself. “You mean like a manager? In business or government?”
His compelling mouth tightened. “You haven’t been in Carramer very long, have you, Alison?”
“A week, but I plan to stay as long as my money lasts. Why? Should I know who you are?”
He shook his head. “No, but I suspect you’re about to find out.”
She followed the direction of his gaze to where a dark figure plunged toward them from the trees beyond the cove. Then she saw a man in pursuit of a much smaller figure pelting across the sand.
“Nori,” Lorne said, his voice softening with such affection that she regarded him curiously. He opened his arms, and the child threw himself into them, wrapping both arms around the man’s neck as if he would never let go. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be taking a nap,” Lorne asked.
“Don’t need a nap, I’m a big boy now.” The child’s voice was a piping imitation of Lorne’s vibrant French-accented voice.
For some reason Allie felt a stab of disappointment. There was no doubt that Lorne and Nori were father and son. The resemblance was far too strong. So he was married. She didn’t know why it bothered her, as their paths were unlikely to cross again, but the discovery felt as uncomfortable as a grain of sand in her shoe.
