Kitabı oku: «Betrothed to the Prince»

“I’ve never been married. Of course, I am betrothed,” said Garth.

“Betrothed?” Tianna turned to face him, blushing harder than ever.

“A technicality, really,” he added quickly. “A hangover from the old days. She’s a minor princess from West Nabotavia. I doubt you’ve heard of her.” He shrugged it off as though it were hardly worth mentioning.

Minor, eh? “Fascinating,” said Tianna. “Do you have a wedding planned?”

“Are you kidding?” Garth’s laugh was utterly genuine. “Do I look like marriage material to you?”

She looked him over thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know. A good wife might be able to make a man out of you.”

Dear Reader,

Oh, baby! This June, Silhouette Romance has the perfect poolside reads for you, from babies to royalty, from sexy millionaires to rugged cowboys!

In Carol Grace’s Pregnant by the Boss! (#1666), champagne and mistletoe lead to a night of passion between Claudia Madison and her handsome boss—but will it end in a lifetime of love? And don’t miss the final installment in Marie Ferrarella’s crossline miniseries, THE MOM SQUAD, with Beauty and the Baby (#1668), about widowed mother-to-be Lori O’Neill and the forbidden feelings she can’t deny for her late husband’s caring brother!

In Raye Morgan’s Betrothed to the Prince (#1667), the second in the exciting CATCHING THE CROWN miniseries, a princess goes undercover when an abandoned baby is left in the care of a playboy prince. And some things are truly meant to be, as Carla Cassidy shows us in her incredibly tender SOULMATES series title, A Gift from the Past (#1669), about a couple given a surprising second chance at forever.

What happens when a rugged cowboy wins fifty million dollars? According to Debrah Morris, in Tutoring Tucker (#1670), he hires a sexy oil heiress to refine his rough-and-tumble ways, and they both get a lesson in love. Then two charity dating-game contestants get the shock of their lives when they discover Oops…We’re Married? (#1671), by brand-new Silhouette Romance author Susan Lute.

See you next month for more fun-in-the-sun romances!

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Betrothed to the Prince
Raye Morgan

To Jean, for all the days of laughter.

RAYE MORGAN

has spent almost two decades, while writing over fifty novels, searching for the answer to that elusive question: Just what is that special magic that happens when a man and a woman fall in love? Every time she thinks she has the answer, a new wrinkle pops up, necessitating another book! Meanwhile, after living in Holland, Guam, Japan and Washington, D.C., she currently makes her home in Southern California with her husband and two of her four boys.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

“Hello. What have we here?”

Princess Katianna Mirishevsky Roseanova-Krimorova, usually known as Tianna Rose, stood looking down at the man sprawled on the cushioned gazebo bench with a reluctant sense of interest. It was pretty obvious he was sleeping off the effects of a night on the town. She couldn’t imagine how the staff who administered to this royal residence could let such things go on.

“Shoddy maintenance,” her mother would have said. This certainly wouldn’t have been tolerated at her parents’ home.

But this casual attitude seemed to be common here on the Arizona estate of the Roseanova family—the home of the exiled Royal House of the Rose. She’d arrived at the address, dismissed her cab and gone to the entry gatehouse, only to find the gate standing wide open and no one in attendance. The estate where she’d grown up was much more modest and low-key than this one, and yet such lax security was unheard of there. And besides that, she’d assumed there would be a shuttle service to take her to the main house, and now it looked like she was going to have to make the uphill climb on her own.

Sighing, she started up the long driveway, only to notice the cute little gazebo overlooking a small man-made lake. She could see someone was inside so she made the detour in hopes of finding help. But it seemed she was destined to be out of luck again. The man was out like a light.

Still, he was so good-looking, even in this state, that she lingered, looking him over for a moment. He looked quite comfortable lying on a sort of window seat setup equipped with plush cushions. His dark blond hair was tousled and a little too long, but his white shirt, though partially unbuttoned, was impeccable, his leather jacket expensive-looking and his slacks still had a beautiful crease. His features were strong and even, his skin smooth and tan. The slight stubble on his chin only enhanced the effect of very appealing masculinity. All in all, he was gorgeous. They just didn’t hire them like this where she came from—more the pity.

She thought about giving him a quick shake and waking him. But no. That wouldn’t be much use. She might as well get back on the path and make her way to the main house. Pulling her wine-colored suede jacket a little closer in the cool fall morning air, she gave one last glance at the muscular exposure of his impressive chest and turned to go. To her horror, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, trapping her.

“Hey, Little Red Riding Hood,” he said in a voice low as a scratchy old cello. “Didn’t anyone tell you it isn’t safe to wander around alone in these woods?”

“Let me go!” she ordered once she found his grasp was like steel.

“Oh.” His eyes were barely slit open. “Sorry. I thought you were part of my dream.” But he still held her.

She tugged on his hold, definitely annoyed by now.

“Listen,” she began, but he wasn’t listening at all.

“You’re sexy enough to be part of my dream,” he was musing whimsically. “And you’ll definitely be a part of my next dream.”

“Make that your nightmare,” she snapped, reaching to grab his thumb and bend it backward, hard, turning into it to make a clean breakaway.

“Hey!” he said, and swore as he dropped her wrist and began to struggle to sit up. “What the—?”

But she didn’t stick around to chat. Head high, she marched toward the driveway without a backward glance, silently thanking her personal defense trainer as she went. So much for those who thought princesses were sitting ducks for any passing tormentor. It was actually rather satisfying to have run across a chance to use her training.

The entire incident was timely. She’d needed a little boost to her self-esteem to help her through the chore she’d set for herself here. She’d come to break her engagement to Garth Franz Josef Mikeavich Romano Roseanova, Prince of Nabotavia. She was going to have to be tough to make him understand that she was not going to marry him, no matter how many official proclamations of their betrothal he could pull out of the country’s archives.

Not in a million years.

The inner area of the estate was set off by a long arbor covered with winding sprays of climbing red roses, and she paused at the lovely gateway to gaze in at the spires and towers and balconies decorating the huge palatial mansion ahead, giving a little cough of amusement.

“Just like an East Nabotavian prince to build himself a little Rhineland castle in the middle of Arizona,” she thought to herself.

She was a West Nabotavian herself, one of a contingent of refugees who had fled the tiny Central European country twenty years before during a deadly revolution. Most had landed in the United States, living relatively good lives, working and waiting for their chance to rid their country of its oppressors. Now a miracle had happened and the rebels had been thrown off. Nabotavia wanted its monarchy back, and young people such as Tianna were preparing to return to a land they only knew in legends. But it was their home, their destiny. Anyway, it was supposed to be.

Tianna was having trouble reconciling her own plans with this new imperative. She didn’t know how Prince Garth felt about it, but she had no intention of going back. And that was one reason she meant to break their engagement off right away.

A scattering of raindrops made a pattern on the walkway and she looked up at the dark clouds gathering above her in the huge Arizona sky. Somewhere not too far off, thunder crackled. Good thing she wasn’t too far from the house.

A shout drew her attention. Some sort of a hullabaloo seemed to be going on in another area of the estate. She could hear some yelling, a man’s voice, then a woman’s higher shriek. Craning her neck, she spotted the location of the activity. Two large cows were munching contentedly in the vegetable garden while a number of people were dancing around them, yelling and waving hats and brooms and other implements of distraction. That solved the mystery of where the security guards must be.

Shrugging lightly, Tianna walked through the arbor and started toward the house, the sensible heels of her soft leather shoes making a pleasing tattoo on the flag-stone pavers. But another sound stopped her in her tracks. She turned, frowning, not sure what it was. The soft noise was coming from just beyond the primrose beds that lined the driveway. It seemed to be coming from a small bundle wrapped in a blanket and was certainly something alive. A kitten? A puppy? She moved forward hesitantly and lifted the edge of the little pink blanket.

Her heart stopped. A baby. Big blue eyes stared out at her and the sweet little mouth made a tiny o.

“A baby!” she said to no one in particular. “Oh, you precious little thing.”

She looked around quickly, sure that someone must be nearby who was in charge of this sweetheart. But there was no one in sight. Perhaps the nanny had stuck the baby here while she ran off to help with the cows. Another inept employee! What a strange place this was—and how glad she was that she wasn’t going to be marrying the prince and living here, even temporarily.

But the raindrops were coming harder all the time. Without any more hesitation, she shifted her overnight case to her other hand, reached down and scooped up the baby and headed for the house. She’d been aiming at the front door, but the side entry looked closer and the door there was open, so she changed her trajectory and made a beeline for that.

“Hello!” she called, stepping in out of the drizzle and into the huge kitchen, shaking the drops from her rich copper-colored hair and setting her overnight case by the door.

A teenage girl with a snub nose and a mop of bouncing curls came forward to greet her. “Oh, did you come for the pastry job, then? I think you’re a bit early.”

“The job?” Tianna looked at her blankly, pressing the little live bundle to her chest. “Oh, no, actually…” She shook her head and smiled at the girl. “No, I’ve come to see the prince.”

“The prince?” Her dark eyes widened. “Sorry. He’s not here.”

“Not here?” Tianna said with dismay. She’d had her family secretary call and check and they’d said he would be in all this week. Oh! She should have called herself, just to make sure. But she’d assumed the information would be good.

Still, she’d come here on the sly, so what did she expect? Her parents thought she was visiting an old school friend in Phoenix. Instead, she’d slipped over to Flagstaff in order to talk Prince Garth into joining her in annulling their betrothal.

They’d been engaged since they were small children, an arrangement set up in a case of influence swapping that had long since lost its importance, as far as she was concerned. And since he’d never shown the slightest interest in her—they had never even met—she had high hopes she was going to be able to pull it off and present it as a fait accompli to her father.

“Where has he gone?” she asked the maid.

The girl shrugged again. “I don’t know. I think maybe Texas.”

“Oh no.” Tianna couldn’t believe she’d come all this way for nothing. “Do you have any idea when he’ll be back?”

“No, Miss. I’m sorry. He doesn’t come here much lately.”

The baby squirmed and made a tiny sound, more like a kitten than a child and Tianna gave it a com forting pat.

The young maid looked confused. “Is that a baby?”

“Oh, yes.” Tianna held it out where it could be seen. “Someone left this baby outside in the rain. I thought I’d better bring her in.”

The maid blinked. “Outside in the rain?” she echoed blankly.

“Exactly,” Tianna said. “It must belong to some one here.”

“No, Miss.” She was shaking her head quite emphatically. “There’s no baby living here. I would know if there was a baby here.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Tianna murmured, looking down into the precious face and feeling a pang of sympathy for the poor little thing. All alone, with no one to claim her. Something tugged at her heart as she remembered another little girl lost from her own past. Wincing, she hugged the baby to her heart and murmured a comforting sound.

“Cook’s not here,” the little maid went on.

“They’re all out chasing the cows. They got out again and went straight for the vegetable garden, like they do every time.” She gestured toward a chair. “Please sit and wait, Miss. Cook will be back in no time. I’ll go fetch her and tell her you are here for the pastry job.”

The girl bobbed her head and before Tianna could correct her again, she disappeared down a dark passageway.

“Oh!” Tianna looked down at the tiny life in her arms and her annoyance melted. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered, kissing the downy head. “But what am I going to do with you?”

She looked around the room for a place to put the baby down, but though the huge kitchen managed to have a homey ambience, with copper-bottomed pans displayed over a central island and swags of herbs hanging in a window, its shining stainless steel counters and appliances didn’t seem to have a niche for a baby to sleep in.

Someone was coming down the hall toward the kitchen and she turned, hoping to find an adult who could be talked to instead of the witless little maid. There was a muted groan before the newcomer appeared, a hand held to his head, his eyes barely slit open enough to make his way.

Tianna gasped. It was the reprobate who’d been lolling about in the gazebo. She stood where she was, paralyzed. A woman who prided herself on her levelheaded attitude toward life, she was not one to be bowled over by a handsome hunk, but this was, without a doubt, the most stunning man she’d ever seen, and now that he was upright, he looked even better than he had a few minutes earlier.

Her trained photographer’s eye told her she was looking at a masterpiece. His physical beauty shone through despite the fact that his golden hair needed cutting and he’d changed his clothes into something more casual. Dressed in a pair of snug jeans and a cotton shirt left carelessly open to display that breathtakingly muscular chest, he was absolutely spectacular in a young-god-straddling-the-universe sort of way. She might have taken him for the prince himself if she hadn’t already heard the prince was gone.

But no. The few princes she’d met over the years had mostly been effete and purposeless, dried husks of the men of power they might once have been. This man was too earthy, too vital, to be a prince. He looked more like a warrior. A warrior who’d had too much to drink recently.

“Haven’t we met somewhere?” he asked, gazing at her through narrowed eyes, as though the room was too bright for him.

“You might say that,” she said crisply, determined he wouldn’t know how attractive she found him. “You could be having trouble remembering, since you were lying down at the time.”

“Oh yes. The girl of my dreams.” His crooked smile was a knock-out, but it was fleeting. In seconds he was putting his hand to his head again and wincing. “Sorry to present myself in such a state of disrepair,” he added. “I’m recovering from a rather late night.”

“So I see.”

“Ouch. Your tone has the definite sting of disapproval.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a hangover, have you, Red Riding Hood?”

“Never.”

“No. I didn’t think so. You’re one of the wise ones. It’s written all over you.” He sighed. “I think I’ve finally learned that lesson myself. I know I’m never going to touch alcohol again.” He looked around the kitchen as though he’d lost something. “What do you know about making Bloody Marys?” he added hopefully.

“Nothing.”

She made her tone as scornful as possible, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. If she’d known a magic potion to make him feel better, she’d have conjured it up in a flash. As it was she just stood there, watching him, holding the baby to her chest. She’d always known pure beauty could be fascinating, but she’d never experienced it in the form of a man before.

He nodded, accepting fate for what it was, and rummaged in a cabinet, finding a remedy for himself. Tearing open a package, he poured the contents into a glass and filled it with water from the faucet in the huge stainless steel sink, then downed most of it, making a face as he set the glass back down on the counter.

“Not quite as satisfying as the hair of the dog,” he murmured as he made his way painfully toward the kitchen table. “But probably more effective.”

Slumping into a chair, he threw his head back and closed his eyes and wondered, and not for the first time, why he put himself through this sort of punishment. Admittedly, it had been a good long time since he’d tied one on like he had the night before. At one time it had actually seemed like fun. As the years went on, it had become rather dreary, and he’d pretty much given up the party scene. But last night…

He wasn’t kidding anyone. He knew why he’d tried to drown himself in a bottle the night before. The anniversary of his parents’ murder was a tough thing to get past, and last night had been the twentieth one. Hopefully by next year this time he’d be too busy in Nabotavia to go through this yearly ritual.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring right into the steady green gaze of the young woman gently pacing back and forth in front of him. Suddenly he was almost embarrassed by his condition. She was so young and bright and clean-looking. He felt shopworn and seedy in contrast. He sat up a bit straighter.

“What have you got there?” he asked, noting the bundle she carried close to her chest.

She cuddled it closer, pressing a kiss to the tiny head. “A baby,” she replied, gazing at him over the top of the blanket.

Suddenly he was wide-awake. “A baby?” He sat up even straighter as the implications became clear to him. “Your baby?”

“No.” She glanced at him, then away again. “Someone left her out in the yard. I just brought her in out of the rain.”

“Uh-huh.”

That hardly seemed likely. Now he was guarded. He tried to remember if she’d been carrying the baby when he’d first seen her in the gazebo, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly enough at the time to notice much of anything. He frowned, focusing. Had he ever seen her before? No, he didn’t think so. He would have remembered. And she wasn’t claiming any previous relationship at this point.

“I know nothing about babies,” he said, as though merely making conversation. “I’ve heard they have something to do with human beings, in much the same way the acorn magically transforms itself into the mighty oak, but I have a hard time believing it.”

She wasn’t paying any attention to his jesting declaration. Her face was bent down to the little one and she was murmuring soft sounds to it. He frowned. She did seem inordinately attached to a baby she’d only just met. He couldn’t help but be suspicious.

One thing he’d been scrupulously careful about all his adult life was to make sure there would never be a woman who could claim her baby was his. There had been a few who had tried that scam, but the claims had never held up. Still, it had happened often enough to make him very wary.

He’d learned very young that his special station in life meant there weren’t many people he could trust. Everybody seemed to want something from him, whether it was influence or favors or just the extra prestige of being able to say they had been hanging out with the prince. He didn’t often let his guard down. The few times he’d done that had led to pain and disaster. His carefully maintained image of vaguely good-natured cynicism was real in part, but it also served to hide an inner vulnerability he wouldn’t ever risk again.

“So what’s it doing here?” he asked.

She looked at him as though she was beginning to doubt his intelligence. “It’s a baby,” she said carefully.

“But not yours.”

“No, I found it in the yard.”

“So you said.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “So whose is it really?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, but your gate was unattended. Almost anyone could have sauntered in.”

“True.” He wasn’t convinced, but then, it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have much interest in babies anyway. But he did like the look of the woman who held it. “So you think things are a little lax around here, do you?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she said without bothering to soften her judgment. “This place is run like a public park.”

“Oh. I suppose you think you could do a better job.”

She gave a short laugh. “I know I could.” He liked her attitude. It was refreshing to meet an attractive woman who didn’t seem to be bowled over by just being in his presence. “Really. If you took over management, what would you do to improve it?”

She gave him a sideways look and went back to rocking the baby in her arms. “My first item of business would probably be to fire you.”

“Fire me?” He stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.

“Absolutely.” She followed up her assertion with a scathing glance that went up and down the long, muscular length of him, and was meant to convey disapproval, but ended up feeling too much like admiration for comfort and she quickly looked away. “I would never put up with an employee who acted like you do.” She shifted the baby from one hip to the other. “What do you do around here, anyway?”

He grinned. She really didn’t know he was the prince of this castle. That was great. “Oh, not a whole heck of a lot. Mostly they just keep me around for comic relief.”

“Really?” Her look told him she halfway believed it. “Well you could make yourself useful right now. Would you like to hold the baby for a moment?” She offered the little bundle with the blanket open so that the baby could be seen.

He glanced at it and looked away, shaking his head dismissively. “I’m not much of a baby person.” She stepped toward him. “Hold her anyway, while I fix a place to put her down.”

Not likely. Something about the thought of taking charge of that little piece of life gave him the willies. He threw her a baleful look. “I’ll do it,” he said, rising and looking around the kitchen, grabbing a large basket and arranging the napkins it held into a sort of bed. “Here you go.”

She carefully laid the sleeping child in the impromptu bed and pushed it to a safe place on the counter, then looked down with a sweet smile. “She’s so beautiful.”

He’d never considered red and wrinkled to be beautiful, but he did like the look of the woman. She interested him. She kept looking at him in the oddest way. It wasn’t just that she was attracted to him. Women usually were. But there was something more, something mysterious in her smoky green eyes.

She was very pretty, but it was a careless sort of beauty. The way she held herself, the way she moved, he could tell she didn’t think about her looks any more than she thought about the weather. There was an innocence about her, and yet at the same time, a sophistication, as though she knew a lot, but it was mostly secondhand information, experience gained from books and not from mixing with the masses.

“Funny,” he said softly, looking at the way her bronze hair lay against the smooth pale skin of her neck and wondering if she smelled as good as she looked. “You don’t look like a pastry chef.”

“I am not a pastry chef,” she responded automatically, looking up at him. It didn’t occur to her to say she was a princess. She never said things like that. If she had her way, the whole princess thing would fade from her life and no one would ever know about it again. Of course, being a princess was the very reason she was here, a fact she had practically forgotten by now.

“I saw Milla, the kitchen maid, in the hall and she said you’d come about the pastry chef position.”

Tianna gave him a long suffering look. “Milla was wrong.”

He frowned. Thinking wasn’t as painful as it had been a few minutes earlier, but it still wasn’t back with its usual zing. “What are you, then?”

“I’m a photographer.”

He groaned, dropping back down into the chair and stretching. “Not another photojournalist sniffing around for a story on the royals.”

“I’m not a photojournalist,” she assured him quickly. “I told you, I’m a photographer. I mainly concentrate on architectural photography. And I have no interest in photographing royals.”

“Good. Then we won’t have to kick you out on your ear.”

She bristled. “I’d like to see you try,” she said sharply, one hand on her hip.

“Oh. That’s right. I forgot you were the dangerous one.” His blue eyes glinted at her in a way that sent a new awareness skittering along her nerve endings. “Quite the little wild cat, aren’t you?” he said in a tone that made her sound downright erotic.

Her breath caught in her throat and color flooded her cheeks, but she lifted her chin and tried to ignore it. “I’m nothing of the sort. But I do know how to defend myself.”

“I’ll say you do. I’ve got the sore hand to prove it.” He shook the hand, deemed it basically unscathed, but looked up at her accusingly anyway. “That was quite a nice demonstration of the old thumb trick you put on this morning. What other escape moves do you have up your sleeve?”

She looked fully at him and for just a moment, their gazes seemed to connect, fuse, and sizzle.

“I…I think I’d better keep that to myself,” she said, feeling a bit muddled and looking toward the window, absently noting that the rain was coming down pretty steadily now. “The element of surprise is half the battle.”

“Here,” he said, coming to his feet. “I’ll show you a good one.”

“No thanks.” She turned away, shaking her head, but he moved too quickly for her.

“If someone grabs you, like this,” he said, coming up behind her and sliding his arms in, locking them just beneath her breasts, pulling her close in against him. “What would you do?”

She gasped. His face was next to hers, his breath tantalizing her cheek, his rough day’s growth of beard rasping against her skin. It had all happened so fast, she had to wait a beat or two to make sure she understood just exactly what was going on here.

“You snap back your right elbow and at the same time, you make a turn to the left,” he was advising, his voice silky, so very near her ear.

She could hardly breathe. He was holding her to his long, strong body and she thought she could feel every one of his muscles against her back. Her natural inclination was to do as he said and turn toward the left, but one second of clear thinking and she realized what that meant. She might be in his arms now, but if she followed his instructions she would be in his embrace and in perfect position to be kissed.

A lovely thought—if only she could believe he wasn’t doing this on purpose just to mock her. Which, of course, he was! She steeled herself. She wasn’t going to follow through and fall into his trap. Instead, she made another move her personal defense trainer had taught her and quickly raised her foot, coming down hard on top of his.

He yelled. She pulled out of his grip, whirling to glare at him hotly. Half-laughing, he was hobbling in pain.

“My God, woman, you’re lethal. I was just trying to show you…”

She raised her hands as though to defend herself. “Stay back!” she ordered him.

And at the same time, the cook came bustling in through the outer doorway, her hair damp, her look very cross. She took in the scene at a glance, nodded at Tianna, and glared daggers at the man standing beside her.

“Young mister, you know the rules,” she said sternly, shaking a finger at him. “There’s to be no trifling with the help.” She all but stamped her foot and pointed to show him the way out of her kitchen.

“Trifling?” He glanced at Tianna and shook his head, laughing softly. “Don’t worry. This lady is definitely a no-trifling zone.”

His gaze met hers and held for a moment, then he turned his full charm on the cook.

“That you, of all people, should accuse me of trifling.” He had the confident smile of a man who had used charisma as his currency out of many a sticky situation in his life and was pretty sure it would work for him again, any time he chose to use it. “I was doing no such thing. I was merely keeping a visitor company while waiting for you to return and do your duty by her.”

The cook was still pointing. “If you want to practice your profligate ways, you’ll do so somewhere else,” she insisted. “I’ve got work to do here.”

The handsome charmer reacted with weary resignation.

“Aye aye, Cook.” He gave her a somewhat disjointed salute, then leaned toward her teasingly. “My mentor, my conscience, my guide. As ever, words of wisdom fall from your lips like petals from the rose….”