The Royal Wager: Persuading the Playboy King / Unmasking the Maverick Prince / Daring the Dynamic Sheikh

Renault looked Kate up and down before centering on her flushed face and kiss-swollen lips. “It seems my assumptions have been correct, although I assure you I’ve said nothing to the press.”

Marc took a menacing step forward. “Menteur.”

“I am a liar? Forgive me, Your Highness, but are you not guilty of the same? You have lied about your relationship with Dr. Milner. Of course, I do understand your motivation. I cannot imagine the people of Doriana would accept that their king had taken a common putain as his lover.”

No one called Kate a whore. No one. “You low-life bastard.” Rage sent Marc forward but before he could land a fist on Renault’s ugly face, Kate grabbed his arm. “No, Marc,” she said. “This will only make matters worse.”

“Listen to your lover, Your Highness,” Renault said, cowering in the corner of the corridor. “I will press charges with the authorities if you lay one hand on me. I do not care if you are the king.”

Marc derived some satisfaction in the terror calling out from Renault’s eyes. “You’re right. I am not above the law. But I am within my rights to dismiss you from your position. I expect you to vacate the premises tonight and not return. And if I see you again, I won’t be so benevolent.”

“Are you threatening me, King Marcel?”

“I am saying I will no longer tolerate your insolence, Renault.”

“And I promise you will regret your decision.”

After the doctor scurried away, Marc crouched in the hall and grabbed his nape with both hands. He couldn’t remember feeling so drained and useless. He’d always shown great restraint when dealing with the likes of Renault and practicing care when it came to lovemaking. Tonight he had done neither.

He felt a gentle touch on his head. “Let’s go home, Marc.”

Home.

Marc didn’t feel as if he really had a home, a place where he truly belonged, at least not one where he was welcome… except when he’d been in Kate Milner’s arms.

Two days had gone by since the clinic fiasco and Kate had barely seen Marc except in passing. Again. She’d occupied her time with work and searching hospital records for any mysterious women who’d given birth six to eight months before, as Marc had requested. Yet she hadn’t come across any information that might lead to the identity of Cecile’s mother. All the children had been accounted for through pediatric follow-ups except for one, and that had been a boy. Most likely that child’s family had moved away, and it began to look as if Cecile had not been born at St. Simone’s hospital after all, which greatly complicated the investigation.

Kate decided she would have to start questioning the staff, if she could even begin to concentrate on anything aside from Marc’s troublesome, self-imposed withdrawal. Right now, she had to feed a very fussy Cecile.

“I am worried about my son.”

Kate looked up and centered her gaze on Mary. Obviously his mother shared her concern. “Marc’s worried about everything.” She made silly airplane noises while trying to slip the spoon of strained carrots into Cecile’s smiling mouth.

Mary reached over and swiped at the baby’s face after Cecile blew a raspberry, sending the orange pureed food all over Kate’s T-shirt. “He has much to be concerned about, but he will get through this with you by his side.”

Kate sensed Marc wanted nothing to do with her now, and that made her hurt in the worst way, right in the area of her heart. “He’ll get through it by himself. He’s a very strong man.”

Mary smiled a mother’s smile. “A very strong man who is fighting falling in love every step of the way.”

Kate spoke around her shock, with effort. “Mary, I hope you’re not misunderstanding mine and Marc’s relationship. We’re just friends.” Her declaration had a false ring to it, and she figured Mary had seen right through the pretense.

“I do not presume to know anything, Kate. However, when he looks at you, his heart shines from his eyes. Have you not noticed this?”

No, she hadn’t. She’d only seen regret and anger. The past few days during their limited contact during dinner, she’d seen nothing at all. “He’s mad at me. It doesn’t have anything to do with love.”

“He’s angry at the world, Kate. He’s in love with you.”

Needing an escape, Kate rose from the table, cleaned Cecile’s hands and face then slid her from the high chair. “I’m going to put this little one to bed after her bath.”

“Beatrice can do that, dear. You look as though you might collapse from exhaustion.”

True, every one of Kate’s muscles protested the least bit of activity, but that had to do with some very strenuous lovemaking in some less-than-comfortable positions, even though it had been days since her last interlude with Marc.

Heat traveled up her throat to her face when the images came to mind. “I’ll put the baby to bed. It will give Beatrice a break and me a chance to wind down after a long day.”

Mary’s grin was surprisingly wicked for a sophisticated queen mother. “I can think of other ways to do that.”

Kate frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Yes you do, and so does my son. But if you prefer to play innocent, I’ll certainly understand. One does not normally discuss matters of an intimate nature with one’s future mother-in-law.”

Kate’s eyes opened wide and so did her mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”

Mary rose with stately grace and patted Kate’s cheek, then Cecile’s. “I would never make light of something so important. And I have very good instincts about these things. I only hope that you do as well.”

Mary sashayed away, her red silk caftan flowing behind her. She smiled at Kate over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.

Kate took a moment to absorb Mary’s outrageous assumptions. Wrong assumptions, at least about a marriage between her and Marc. But she hadn’t been wrong about their relationship progressing beyond friendship, at least for Kate. Mary was mistaken to think that her son was at all interested in settling down, not with the weight of the kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“Isn’t that a silly idea, Marc wanting to marry little old me?” Kate asked Cecile as she headed to the nursery.

Cecile blew a bubble and belly laughed.

Kate hugged her hard. “My sentiments exactly.”

Again Marc found himself locked in his suite, attempting to lock out his problems. For the past few days, he’d met with advisers and his press aide to try to counteract the allegations. But the speculation involving his relationship with Kate and Cecile’s parentage had already reached most of Europe. Nothing like a royal scandal to wake the world.

He’d also successfully pushed Kate away, and he regretted that decision even if it was best for them both. He had battled the urge to go to her, make love with her, lose himself in her and in doing so recapture some of his strength. Yet he couldn’t keep relying on her to serve as his proverbial port in a storm. He’d never relied on anyone to see him through his problems. Except for Kate, he realized when he reflected on their first encounters, her assistance with his studies all those years ago. But since that time, he’d been on his own. He would continue to make it on his own. Alone.

But he had found some solace during a few late-night meetings with little Cecile. He could basically set his watch to the exact moment when she would wake and require soothing, half-past midnight. Several times he’d almost laughed when he’d heard Beatrice telling his mother that the baby was now sleeping through the night. But his laughter did not come easily these days.

He glanced at the bedside clock and realized the time for Cecile to rouse was upon him now. He might not be able to establish a solid role as a leader to suit everyone concerned, or give Kate all that she needed beyond physical pleasure, but he could at least play the part of white knight to an innocent child. A child who looked to him for nothing more than company, looked at him with admiration, without judgment, when he rescued her pacifier from the floor.

After shrugging on his robe, he walked quietly through the hallway to the nursery and opened the door. Instead of finding the room totally deserted, he discovered Cecile cradled in Kate’s arms, both sound asleep in the rocker.

Marc leaned a shoulder against the door and watched them with a warmth that radiated from his soul and settled on his heart. Kate’s face looked tranquil and beautiful in sleep. He wanted to put Cecile to bed, then carry Kate to his bedroom. He settled for staring a few more moments, then closed the door behind him.

He leaned back against the wall outside the room and stared at the ceiling. He could not fight his feelings for Kate any longer. He cared deeply for her, more than he had for any woman. And he wanted to be with her, regardless that he shouldn’t.

Determination sent him back to his suite to plan. He would somehow make it up to Kate, do something to show her how much he did care.

If, in fact, she still wanted him.

Kate really wanted to holler like a maniac.

If one more person asked if she was the king’s girlfriend, then she would let go a yell that would be heard across the ocean. Her mother had been the latest in the long line of inquiring minds during their recent conversation. Kate had told her that she and Marc were just friends, not exactly the truth but not really a lie, at least not now. They hadn’t been much of anything for the past five days.

Kate needed a break from it all, from the gossip and innuendo and sideways glances. Today was Saturday, a much-needed day off, and she prepared to spend some of her time talking with the staff about Philippe DeLoria. If she happened to come upon any relevant information, then she would have an excuse to talk to Marc. Otherwise, she refused to invade his privacy since he seemed determined to steer clear of her. Eventually, she did intend to confront him, but not until she knew exactly what she would say.

Following a meager lunch, Kate made her way through the gardens and entered the palace through the kitchen, coming upon Beatrice preparing several of Cecile’s bottles. A good place to start with her inquiry, Kate decided. After all, they’d become fast friends, and the nanny did speak decent English.

“Hi, Bea,” Kate said, bringing forth the nanny’s smile over the pet name Kate had given her.

Beatrice swiped a forearm across her forehead, where wayward tendrils of auburn hair rained down from her neat bun. “Hello, Dr. Kate. If you are looking for the baby, she is sleeping. The queen mother is also taking a nap.”

Kate took a stool at the kitchen workstation across from Beatrice and immediately thought about the first time Marc had kissed her by the stove. They’d come a long way in a short time, and they still had far to go—if Kate had any say in the matter.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she said, “Actually, I wanted to talk with you, Bea. Did you know Philippe?”

Beatrice didn’t look up from screwing the cap on to one of the bottles. “Yes, ma’am, I did know him.”

“Then you worked here before he died?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How well did you know him?”

Beatrice’s gaze snapped up, her hazel eyes wide with horror. “I did not know him in that way, mademoiselle.”

Her strong reaction made Kate question if the woman was telling the absolute truth, but then Beatrice was a year away from forty and didn’t seem like the kind who would take a younger man as a lover. However, nothing would surprise Kate these days. “I’m not saying you and King Philippe were close in that way. I’m just wondering if maybe he was involved with a woman. Someone the family might not have known about.”

Beatrice fumbled with a bottle, barely saving it from a major formula spill. “He was engaged to marry Countess Trudeau.”

Kate suspected the woman’s nervousness could indicate knowledge of a secret tryst. She bent her elbow and leaned her cheek against her palm. “What was she like, the countess?”

“I have never met her.”

“Then she wasn’t around all that much.”

“No.” Beatrice picked up the bottles and put them in the refrigerator before coming back to Kate. “I must go and check on the baby.”

Kate rested her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “I know you probably don’t want to answer my questions, Bea, but this is very important. You can trust that whatever you tell me will be protected.”

“I do not understand what you are asking of me.”

“I think you know something about Philippe DeLoria’s love life. Did he have a secret lover?”

Beatrice twisted the white apron she wore over her plain gray shift. “I could not say… I should not…”

“I have to know, Bea. This could help us find Cecile’s mother.”

The nanny glanced around the room like a frightened doe, then turned her attention to back to Kate. “If I tell you, will you vow not to tell the queen mother the information came from me? I have been sworn to secrecy when it comes to the royal family’s privacy.”

Kate raised her hand in oath. “I promise.”

After looking around the room once more, Beatrice leaned forward and whispered, “It was rumored he had a lover in one of the mountain villages, a peasant girl. I think I saw her once, in the guesthouse late at night. I was…” Her gaze faltered. “I was going for a walk with a friend in the gardens.”

Kate was curious about Beatrice’s little late-night rendezvous with the friend, but that wasn’t the main issue. “Can you describe her to me?”

“I could not see her.”

“Do you know her name? Even her first name would help.”

“No. I heard him call her mon amour. My love. That was all.”

And it was more information than they’d had to this point. Kate circled the counter and drew Beatrice into a quick hug. “Thank you, Bea. You’re the best.”

“And so are you, Dr. Kate. You bring joy to the household.”

If only that were true, Kate thought. At least where Marc was concerned. “Have you seen King DeLoria?”

“Bernard…” Beatrice blushed like the devil. “I mean Mr. Nicholas said that the king would be gone most of the day.”

Bernard and Beatrice. Maybe that mystery was solved. If only Kate could say the same for the mystery mother, and Marc’s activities over the past few days. Maybe he had found a lover in a mountain village. Kate burned over that thought.

“Could you have Mr. Nicholas tell the King I need to see him, Bea? I’ll be waiting in the guesthouse.”

“As you wish, Doctor.”

“Just Kate. I think we should be on a first-name basis now.”

Beatrice beamed as if Kate had offered her the queen’s palace suite. “I would like that very much, at least when we are in private. Otherwise, it would not be respectful.”

Kate shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ll see you later. And thanks for everything.”

With a newfound energy, Kate strode through the gardens, stopping to smell the roses lining the path. She skipped the last few yards like a schoolgirl and burst into the guesthouse, pulling up short when she found Marc sitting on the elegant wingback chair in the corner next to the white brick fireplace, looking dark and imposing against the pristine backdrop, and incredibly sexy in his faded jeans and black knit shirt.

“Where have you been?” His voice was low, demanding.

Kate refused to fall at his feet, although it was tempting. “What does it matter to you? You haven’t been all that concerned over my whereabouts for the past week.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So have I.” She started to tell him about the conversation with Beatrice but words escaped her when he kept staring as if he really wanted to get her naked. And she really wanted to let him.

But first and foremost, she had to maintain some control in his presence. His recent rejection still stung and she needed to resist him.

“Why are you here?” Her timid voice betrayed her conviction.

“You need to accompany me on a drive,” he said.

She snapped her fingers. “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m supposed to drop everything?” Her clothes immediately came to mind.

“It would be in your best interest to accompany me.”

Of all the arrogant kings. “And what if I don’t?”

At least this time she sounded more confident. But Kate’s confidence scattered when Marc came to his feet slowly, his eyes burning holes in her fake bravado. He stalked toward her until he stopped immediately in front of her, so close she could trace the outline of his Adam’s apple. “Do you really wish me to show you what I’ll do if you do not agree?”

Kate dared him with a look. “If you think you’re man enough.”

Proving he was very much a man—a Cro-Magnon man—Marc grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder, then headed out the open door. He took away her breath when he set her in the all-terrain vehicle and slid his tongue across her lower lip. Then he took away her sight when he covered her eyes with a strip of white cloth, brushing one breast with a fingertip after he was done.

As ridiculous as it seemed, Kate didn’t care what he did as long as he eventually removed the blindfold—and anything else he cared to remove.

So much for resisting him.

Eight

“How much farther?”

“It won’t be long now.”

Marc glanced at Kate, who seemed extremely sedate for someone wearing a blindfold. Although the pastoral terrain offered a panoramic view, the less she knew of their destination, the better. He wanted to save the full effect of the scenery for when she first encountered four thousand square feet of natural wood structure, set among ancient forests and majestic mountains, miles from any significant population, at least during the summer, before the arrival of snow.

He intended to use the remainder of the weekend to treat Kate as she deserved to be treated, to make love to her undisturbed in a real bed in the glow of firelight. To tell her what he was feeling. As far as Marc was concerned, his own private retreat would aid in accomplishing that goal, if Kate chose to cooperate.

After pulling into the narrow drive, Marc shut off the Hummer and opened his door. “We’re here.”

“Where is here?”

When Kate reached for the knot on the cloth, he told her, “Do not take that off yet.”

She wrinkled her upturned nose. “Why not?”

He leaned over and whispered, “Because I want to remove it.” He anticipated taking off more than the blindfold before evening’s end.

After sliding from the seat, he rounded the vehicle then helped her out. The afternoon sun enhanced the chestnut highlights in her hair and, when he untied the cloth, illuminated her deep green eyes that revealed surprise and something he couldn’t quite name, but it almost resembled anger.

Without speaking, she surveyed the pines surrounding the lodge for a few moments then climbed the steps leading to the porch that spanned the length of the building. She faced him again, her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her heels. “This must be the infamous cabin.”

Infamous? Obviously the staff had been talking, Marc decided.

He passed by her and inserted the key into the lock, disappointed over her lack of enthusiasm. “I see that someone has ruined my surprise. Was it Nicholas?”

“Actually, it was Elsa.”

Marc’s hand froze on the doorknob. “Elsa?”

“During our phone conversation, she asked me if you’d taken me to the ‘little’ cabin yet, although I can’t say that I agree with her definition of ‘little.’”

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