The Pregnant Princess Page 11

  He wanted to shake her. Instead, he leaned forward and nipped lightly at the smooth flesh of her shoulder. “Yes, but that was when I’d convinced myself you were a figment of my imagination.”

  She yelped and shrank back. “Your imagination?” She sounded slightly indignant.

  “My imagination,” he repeated. “Too good to be true. A hallucination caused by years of disappointing experiences. I wanted the real thing so badly that I created it. Or so I thought.”

  “And this is the real thing?”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, frowning to disguise his smile. Little smart aleck. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her forward, kissed her hard and deep one final time and then lifted her off him.

  She promptly collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  Groaning as his cramping leg muscles protested, he stood and pulled back the covers on the bed, then lifted her and laid her on the mattress. She immediately snuggled into the pillow, and he patted the smooth, bare buttock she presented before turning out the light and climbing in behind her. He gathered her into his arms and as he closed his eyes and sank into the sweet oblivion of sleep, he felt more content than he could ever remember feeling before in his life.

  The morning’s bright white light streamed into the room through the sheer curtains over the window, slowly calling him awake. He’d forgotten to close the heavier drapes the night before. It didn’t really matter, though. They needed to get up and get going today anyway.

  Elizabeth stirred in his arms. Or rather, beneath his arm. During the night she’d stretched out flat on her stomach. He lay on his side with one arm and one leg possessively chaining her to him. He smiled at the thought.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Mmm. G’morning.” She turned onto her side, then rolled onto her back. “What am I going to do when I can’t sleep on my stomach anymore?” she asked the ceiling.

  “I guess you’ll just have to let me hold you all night,” he offered.

  She turned into his arms, snuggling in and pressing small kisses across his chest. “That sounds nice.”

  “Elizabeth.” He spoke slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb her unduly. This was going to be the tricky part. Turning his head, he kissed her temple, his thumb caressing the ball of her shoulder where his arm lay around her. “We should get married.”

  As he’d expected, her body stiffened. She didn’t pull away, though, and he was cautiously optimistic. Maybe she’d realized that what they had between them on the physical plane was extraordinary, that some people lived entire lives without experiencing the connection they had.

  Finally, she spoke. “I believe we already had this discussion. No, thank you.”

  “Why not?” His instinct was to lift himself over her and demand that she acquiesce, but he knew her well enough by now to know that that approach would get him nowhere.

  “Physical infatuation isn’t a good enough foundation for a lifetime together.”

  “But it’s a solid part of that foundation,” he argued. “How many married couples do you suppose aren’t sexually attracted?”

  “It’s only a part, though, as you just said.” There was a hint of sad weariness in her voice. “And it’s about the only part we do have.”

  “We have more than that,” he insisted.

  “Rafe, I’m not going to marry you and that’s final.” Her body was stiff and unresponsive, and suddenly he couldn’t stand to be in the bed where she’d been so warm and sweet the night before.

  Heaving himself upright, he stalked into the bathroom to shower and shave, then donned the second set of clothes he’d ordered for himself yesterday. While he dressed, he steeled himself to do what he was going to have to do if she continued to be stubborn.

  Damn woman! He couldn’t understand the wall of resistance she erected each time he mentioned marriage.

  Walking back into the bedroom, he said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Elizabeth, will you please marry me?”

  She was looking out the window, clad only in a sheer dressing gown; all he could see was her profile as her lips formed the word, “No.”

  He sighed. “Then you leave me no choice.” He walked across the room and picked up the telephone. Fishing his wallet out of the pants he’d flung across a chair the night before, he extracted a piece of paper and started punching in the numbers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling your father.”

  “My father!” She turned her head and glared at him. “Put that telephone down.”

  He ignored her.

  “Why are you calling my father?”

  “To tell him that you’re pregnant with my child, and you won’t marry me even though I’ve begged you to.” He knew it was harsh, but he sensed that there was no other way to force her to agree, and he was determined. His child was going to have his name, and Elizabeth was never leaving him again.

  “No!” Her response sounded so agonized that Rafe had to steel himself not to take her in his arms again and comfort her.

  Slowly he replaced the receiver and turned to face her. “Why not?”

  Elizabeth swallowed. Her gaze was still defiant, but he sensed the decisiveness draining away from her and gradually her defiance changed to a sad acceptance. “I’ll marry you,” she said quietly. “Just don’t tell my parents.”

  “You’re going to have to tell them sometime.”

  “I know.” She shook her head and looked away. “You don’t understand. I should be the one to tell them.”

  “All right.” He eyed her. “We’ll go get married.”

  “What? You mean today?” She rounded on him and her face went slack with shock for a moment. Then almost as quickly, the fire that he was beginning to recognize lay just beneath the surface of her ladylike demeanor flashed in her eyes. “You had this planned all along,” she accused. “Even before I got on that plane yesterday morning, you intended to force me to marry you today. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?” she demanded when he remained silent.

  Rafe regarded her for a moment, lightning bolts zinging his way from those emerald eyes. Finally he raised both hands in surrender. “I hadn’t decided for sure, but after last night there isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t get married. I told you I mean my child to be legitimate. I’m prepared to do whatever I have to do to ensure that this baby never has to question his rightful heritage.”

  She all but sneered. “Noble words for a man who’s turned his back on his own heritage.”

  The barb was a direct hit. “Bull.”

  “Hah.” She crossed her arms and regarded him scornfully. “You’re afraid to face your own family. The one time you were near your home in more than a decade, you came incognito and didn’t even speak to your parents before sneaking off.”

  “I’m not afraid of my family,” he said, feeling rage welling up from a hidden cache deep in his mind. His lip curled. “They’ve already done everything they can to make me buckle under and it hasn’t worked.”

  Her face lit with the curiosity he was beginning to realize was an integral—if damned annoying—part of her personality. “What did they do?”

  “Never mind.” He knew he sounded like a surly schoolboy, but the memories bombarding him made him feel like a child again as he relived some of the scenes he’d endured with his father.

  I never said he wasn’t a nice boy. But he’s the butcher’s son. Hardly a suitable companion for you, Raphael. I’ve already explained to his family that the friendship simply cannot continue.

  With an effort, he shook off the voices from his past, focusing on the woman who would be his future. “Just be dressed and ready to go in thirty minutes.”

  “I’m having breakfast and taking a shower first,” she said. “I’m not going to rush around just so you can be on whatever little schedule you have planned.”

  “Fine. Will sixty minutes be enough?”

  “Plenty. Shall I meet you at the bar?”
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br />   He was still trying to forget the things her question had called to mind. “All right. I’ll have another dress sent up. Be in the bar in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He ignored the pert salute she aimed his way as he left the suite and stalked toward the elevator.

  Hours later, she remained so angry, she couldn’t stand still as she waited impatiently for the royal limo to be called to the VIP queue. As she paced back and forth, she checked her watch. By now, Rafe knew she’d gone and unless he was a lot less resourceful than she suspected, he knew she’d boarded an international flight. And he knew she was going home.

  It hadn’t been easy. She’d placed one quick call to Laura Bishop at the Colton ranch. Laura had agreed to make her travel arrangements and called back a short time later with all the necessary information.

  Laura also agreed to explain to Alexandra that so far Sam Flynn had been unavailable. Elizabeth had hoped so much that she and her sisters would be able to locate the man they were all convinced was their brother, kidnapped as an infant and presumed dead. Only he hadn’t been killed, after all. And though the records at The Sunshine Home for Children had left something to be desired, she and her sisters had narrowed down the field of possibilities. Now only two remained: Sam Flynn, the man she had been supposed to make contact with in Phoenix, and John Colton, the younger brother of Alexandra’s new husband, Mitch, who, according to Mitch, was unable to be contacted until he decided to show up.

  Elizabeth felt bad about letting her sisters down just when they were getting close to finding their brother, but… They would understand, she was sure. She had to talk to her parents before Rafe did. After that, Laura could make sure Sam Flynn was available before Elizabeth returned to speak with him.

  With her conscience resting easier, she’d packed rapidly. Then she’d sneaked out of the hotel and caught a flight with minutes left in the hour he’d granted her. At JFK, she’d left her connecting flight to board the private plane her father had sent at Laura’s request.

  The limo arrived and before she was ready, before she really wanted to be there, she was being driven through the familiar gates of the palace to the main entry stairs where her mother and father, wearing smiles wide enough to crack their faces, waited to greet her. They hurried down the steps as the chauffeur opened the door, and as she slid out, she was enveloped in her mother’s arms.

  She knew the moment her mother realized what the bulge between them was. Gabriella’s body stiffened. She pulled away and stood back, holding Elizabeth at arm’s length to look at her. All of her. Shock, surprise, bewilderment all flashed across the Queen’s face. Then compassion filled her eyes.

  “Oh, my darling,” she said. “Is this an occasion for celebration? Are you happy about this?”

  “Happy about what?” Her father’s voice boomed over her mother’s softer tones.

  “Brace yourself, Phillip,” said Queen Gabriella. “Our little girl is pregnant.” She shepherded Elizabeth up the steps as she spoke, issuing orders to the staff for refreshments in the family drawing room.

  “Pregnant! But where…who…how…?” The King’s voice trailed off into astonished silence as he strode along at his wife’s heels.

  “I imagine we’ll learn where the father is and who the father is very shortly, dear,” her mother said over her shoulder. “And if you don’t know how by now, I truly despair of you.”

  Despite the tears that threatened to fall, Elizabeth had to giggle. She’d been so afraid to tell them. Well, afraid wasn’t exactly the right word. More like sorry. She knew being an unwed mother must be the last thing her parents wanted for one of their daughters. She’d put off this moment for so long because she hadn’t been able to face the thought of their disappointment in her.

  And there was another reason, as well.

  They had to locate James! If they didn’t, and if this baby she carried was a son…she couldn’t bear to think about what it would mean for her child. Please, God, let this be a girl.

  “So.” Her mother pressed her into a wingbacked chair and lifted her feet onto the matching hassock, making Elizabeth smile. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Some kind of juice would be wonderful. Cranberry, please?”

  Her mother nodded, and the hovering maid took off at light speed. Anyone in the palace employ who hadn’t already heard that Princess Elizabeth had come home with a baby on the way would know in a matter of minutes, she was sure.

  One more reason she dreaded the idea of raising her child in the palace environment in which she’d been raised.

  “How are you feeling?” her mother asked.

  Simultaneously the king asked, “Do you know if it’s a boy?”

  Her father was pacing back and forth in front of the wide windows, looking rather…agitated. She supposed he had the right to be.

  “I feel fine,” she answered her mother. “A little bit of morning sickness early on, but now I couldn’t feel better.” Unbidden, an image of the heated lovemaking she had experienced only hours ago flashed through her head and she felt herself blush.

  Her mother raised her eyebrows with a knowing smile, but didn’t comment.

  “I’m about five months along,” Elizabeth went on. “The baby’s due in mid-June. And, no, I don’t know its gender. We’ll have to wait and be surprised.”

  “Is the father in the picture?” Her own father had stopped his pacing and turned to toss the question at her.

  Elizabeth hesitated. “Yes. But not in the way you might hope.”

  “In other words, he’s not prepared to marry you.” Her father was glowering.

  “No, Daddy,” she said, smiling gently. “It’s the other way around. I’m the one who won’t marry him.”

  “Does this man have a name you’d like to share with us?” her mother asked. “If you’d rather not, I suppose we can accept that.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less, but she knew there was no point in hiding it. The truth would come out sooner or later. Sooner probably, if she knew Rafe. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that this was anything but a successful skirmish in what looked to be a long siege.

  “He has a name,” she said reluctantly. “You know him.”

  “The Prince of Thortonburg,” her father said.

  “Yes. Although he goes by Rafe Thorton these days.” She looked at him in surprise. “Has he already spoken to you?”

  “No, but it makes sense,” her father said. “That young man couldn’t shake his royal title fast enough to suit him. When he told me you’d be staying with him, it seemed out of character.”

  “Raphael.” Her mother smiled. “I always did like his spirit. Victor never succeeded in training that one to his ridiculously outdated notions of aristocratic conduct.”

  “He didn’t know who I was when we…when we… met.” Her face felt hot again, and the disappointment in her mother’s eye didn’t help.

  “I see,” the Queen said.

  “He was upset at first,” Elizabeth confessed. “As you said, he doesn’t have a very high opinion of royalty. But once he’d gotten over the shock, he decided we would get married.”

  “And that’s a problem for you?” her mother asked in a soft voice. She stood and came around behind the chair, setting her hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders and rubbing gently.

  “I don’t want to be married out of duty.”

  “Is that the only reason he wants to marry you?”

  Elizabeth shrugged and avoided the question. “This is all Serena’s fault. She’s the one who talked me into tracking him down and telling him.”

  Her father turned from the window. “Coming from Serena, that was amazingly sensible.” But his voice was indulgent and he was smiling. Serena had been a handful since the day she was born. Every silver hair in his head could be attributed to her, he’d said more than once.

  “Daddy…” She hesitated, feeling ridiculous for even asking the question when she kn
ew the answer. Still… “Rafe has some notion that you and his father arranged, or at least promised, that he’d marry one of us. I told him it’s not true.” But she knew her eyes were asking her father for the truth.

  Phillip shook his head. “Victor hounded me about that for years. I always told him that I’d never oppose a match if one of my daughters chose either of his sons. As you said, it’s not true.” The King hesitated. “Does Thortonburg understand the manner in which the Wynborough crown is passed on?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I—I’m not sure.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “You’d better be sure, dear. If this child is the first-born grandson to the King—”

  “I know.” Elizabeth linked her fingers. “I know.”

  The King moved to the side of Elizabeth’s chair and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “I have an appointment with the Minister of Public Works, but when I return I want to be filled in completely.”

  As he rose, a commotion in the hallway had them all turning. Trained to react instantly to threatening situations, the guard on duty slammed the door shut. As he did so, Elizabeth could see him drawing the gun from his holster.

  Then she recognized the voice echoing down the hall, though it had an imperious quality that she’d never associated with it before. “…Thortonburg and I’m going to be marrying the Princess Elizabeth, so do not tell me they’re unavailable. I’ll search every damned room of this palace if I have to.”

  She half rose from her chair, but the King moved faster. Throwing open the door to the room, he spoke at the top of his considerable voice. “The Prince of Thortonburg is welcome. Put away your arms, everyone. Thank you for your vigilance, though in this instance it isn’t necessary.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. If Rafe had wanted a demonstration of the ridiculous lengths her father went to with security, she couldn’t have provided a better one if he’d specifically asked.

  When she opened her eyes again, he was there, striding into the room. Bigger, as always, than she remembered and looking as totally furious as she’d ever seen him. His expression today made his face the day he’d found her by her broken-down rental car look almost friendly.