A Royal Wager - Kristi Gold Mills & Boon By Request

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very healthy. I’ll do a full exam tomorrow, just to be sure.”

      Marc glanced at the closed door. “I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve made the room into a nursery again.”

      Kate shrugged. “I didn’t do anything but play with Cecile while the staff moved in the furniture.”

      “My mother must have called in all her favors to have a crib delivered so quickly.”

      “The crib was yours.”

      “I had no idea my mother kept it.”

      “She obviously cares a great deal for you,” Kate said softly.

      Marc acknowledged that his mother had always cared about him, but after the events of the day, he questioned whether she respected him. “By the way, where is she?”

      “She had a terrible headache so I insisted she go to bed. I’m sure it’s stress.”

      No doubt due to the situation, and him. “I hope we clear this up soon. She’s been through quite a lot over the past year with Philippe’s death. And now this.”

      He saw true sympathy in Kate’s emerald eyes. “Yes, she has been through a lot, and so have you.”

      How unselfish for her to consider his feelings, Marc thought. A rare occurrence in the household. “I’ve adjusted.” He’d been forced to adjust. No time to consider anything but duty. No time to really grieve.

      “Are you sure you’ve adjusted?” she asked.

      No, he wasn’t, yet the time to assess his situation would probably continue to elude him. “Of course.”

      Kate hid a yawn behind her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

      Marc felt like a selfish fool. “No apology necessary. You must be exhausted from your trip.”

      Her ensuing smile tripped Marc’s pulse into a frenzy. “Yes, I am tired. Beatrice has agreed to sleep in the room adjacent to the nursery in case Cecile wakes during the night. Do you think Mr. Nicholas could drive me back to the hotel?”

      Marc wasn’t ready for her to leave. He wanted to spend more time with her even knowing it was selfish on his part, and totally ill-advised. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to stay here considering the lateness of the hour?”

      “My clothes are at the hotel and I really need a bath.”

      Marc did not need to imagine her in the bath, but he did—in great detail, right down to the curve of her hip, the shading between her thighs, the roundness of her breasts where his gaze now came to rest.

      Kate pointed to a dark smudge above her right breast. “Strained peas. Little Cecile is a healthy eater but she loves to toss food. Her aim is pretty darned good.”

      Marc reached for a lock of Kate’s dark hair. “Yes, I do believe I see a few remnants here.”

      As he twined the soft strands in his fingers, their gazes remained fixed as Kate said, “I’m only a phone call away if you need anything.”

      Marc needed something from her now—although he couldn’t act on that need. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “I will personally see to your return. I’ll drive you myself.”

      Her expression reflected wariness. “Are you sure? You look pretty beat.”

      “I promise I will stay awake long enough to make certain you are delivered safely to your room.”

      And he promised himself that he would leave her at the door because if he did not, he would find it very difficult to leave her at all tonight.

       Three

      A cool breeze whipped over Kate’s face as they traveled the darkened streets of St. Simone in Marc’s classic convertible chick magnet. No slick, mean, manly machine had ever turned her head. She preferred comfortable sedans and comfortable shoes, which reminded her of the less-than-comfortable pumps squeezing her feet like a sadistic vise. She was tempted to kick them off but thought it best to leave on all articles of clothing, in case Marc got the wrong idea.

      Like she would really try to seduce him in her current state. Her suit was wrinkled, her hair was a mess and her bra cut into her like steel fingers. Whoever invented push-up braziers should be bound at the wrists and ankles by underwire for at least forty-eight hours.

      And Marc, with his suave sophistication and the wind blowing his golden hair away from his face, could easily pass as a sexy super spy like James Bond. Kate could be his girl of the month and sidekick, Roadkill. Yeah, he would definitely be interested in that scenario.

      Marc pulled up to the curb in front of the inn and put the car in park. They were immediately joined by two other black vehicles, one in front, one in back.

      Marc glanced in the rearview mirror and muttered, “For once, I wish they would leave me the hell alone.”

      “I’m sure they’re only concerned for your safety.”

      “I seriously doubt any dissidents are waiting inside the hotel on the off chance that I might pay a visit in the middle of the night. They seem to forget that for most of my adult life, I’ve seen to my own welfare.”

      “But that was before you were king.”

      “And that seems like decades ago.” He shifted in the seat to face her. “I want to thank you again, Kate.”

      She dislodged the rest of her wind-blown hair from her face and stared at him. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t really do anything.”

      “Don’t underestimate your assistance. I’m not certain my mother would have managed the situation quite as well had you not been there.”

      Kate noted the weariness in his tone and in his eyes. “What do you think will happen now? With the baby, I mean.”

      “Right now, I’m too bloody tired to worry about it.” He brushed one stubborn strand of hair away from her face. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, too, although you look very beautiful at the moment.”

      Kate’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “No. I’m very serious.”

      That dog don’t hunt, Kate thought, her grandfather’s favorite saying. She would do well to remember that Marc DeLoria was a master of seduction, and obviously desperate if he considered her beautiful when she was sporting the results of wind-wrecked hair and an infantile food fight.

      Desperate? Ha! His little black book was probably as big as her Physicians’ Desk Reference. In fact, he’d probably utilized this very hotel for clandestine affairs.

      “I’ve never been at this inn before,” he said, as if challenging her assumption.

      Kate studied the red brick building’s facade and the flower boxes framing the windows to avoid his continued scrutiny. “It has old-world charm, Your Highness.” Marc wasn’t suffering in the charm department, either.

      “Kate, as long as we’re in private, you may call me Marc.”

      Her gaze snapped from the building to him. “What if I slip up at some point in time?”

      He grinned, revealing his drop-dead gorgeous dimples. “Then it’s off with your head.”

      Kate circled her hands around her throat. “Maybe I should just stick to Your Highness. Hard to treat patients without a head.”

      He looked suddenly solemn. “Seriously, I would appreciate you calling me Marc. I could use a friend.”

      She could use some strength. “Okay, Marc. I’ll be your friend.”

      “Thank you.”

      He looked so appreciative, so sincere,

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