Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

His hazel gaze touched on her coolly. “Is that why you came to Silvershire? To see the prince?”

“Of course. I wanted him to look me in the face and tell me…”

“Tell you what?”

“Never mind.” No way was she admitting to this man, this stranger, the depth of her shame. Reginald had pretended to love her. And now, when she carried his child, a baby they’d made together, he pretended he didn’t know her. She sighed. “Forget I asked that. It was foolish of me.”

Chase watched her a heartbeat longer, then he dipped his head, his hazel eyes shuttered.

Another thought occurred to her. “Is this plan to remove me from your country carried out at Reginald’s direction?”

“No.” He gave her a long, hard look. “This is entirely spur-of-the-moment. Not planned. After what happened back at the hotel, I had no choice. It’s not safe for you in Silvershire. Especially now.”

That caught her attention. “Especially now?”

“That phone call…Things have changed,” Chase said softly, as though his words could hurt her.

“Why? What’s happened?” She searched his hard, rugged face. “What are you not telling me?”

He took her hand and leaned forward, compassion turning his hazel eyes dark. “That phone call I just got? It was the Duke of Carrington, my boss. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Prince Reginald, the father of your unborn child, is dead.”

“Dead?”

Her amazing eyes widened as she took in his words. Shock and disbelief flashed across her face. She hadn’t known. Russell had been so certain, but he’d been wrong.

Sydney Conner was hearing the news for the first time. Chase would bet his life on that.

“Dead?” She repeated, bewilderment echoing in her husky voice. “Reginald? Are you sure?”

Still watching her closely, he nodded. Unbelievably, he had a random urge to touch her, to stroke her creamy skin and soothe the grief from her face. Instead, he clenched his jaw and kept his hands to himself.

“When?” Her husky voice vibrated with sadness.

“He died last night, at his country estate. We—that is, the royal public relations department—have a press conference scheduled for—” he glanced at his watch “—right about now.”

“A press conference?” She said the words as though they were foreign. Again her sapphire gaze searched his face. “You’re telling the truth? Reginald…is…really…dead?”

“Yes.” He kept his own face expressionless. “You’ll see it in the papers tomorrow.”

Though her hands shook, she felt no immediate sense of loss. She’d already lost Reginald the day he’d walked away from her and the child they’d created. He’d made it plain he wanted nothing further to do with the woman he’d once courted so ardently.

The foolish woman, a bitter smile curved her lips, who’d trusted his words of love. “I can’t believe it.”

He said nothing, merely continuing to hold her hand and watch her.

Reginald. Dead. Now her baby would never have a chance to know its father. Even though Reginald had refused to acknowledge her pregnancy, she’d had hopes he would change once the child was born.

Even though her own sire hadn’t.

“Was there an accident? How…how did he die?”

“No accident. There’s some speculation it was a drug overdose. Other than that, I don’t know. They haven’t begun the autopsy. I’m sure I’ll be notified—as will the press—when they know anything.”

“Overdose?”

“You didn’t know he did drugs?”

Slowly, she shook her head. Pulling her hand free, she pressed herself into the seat. Tension began to build in her shoulders. For an instant, she longed for Camille, her talented, personal masseuse back home in Naessa, and she rubbed her aching neck. The beginnings of a headache started behind her eyes. Damn it. She felt vaguely guilty, though she knew her wishing him dead had nothing to do with what had actually happened.

Though he’d dumped her and scorned their child, Reginald didn’t deserve to die.

“Are you all right?”

She’d been so lost in her own thoughts she’d managed almost to forget he was there. Almost being the key word. She doubted people often forgot a man like Chase Savage. Even sitting still, he dominated the cabin space.

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “I think.”

For a moment she thought she saw compassion in his hazel eyes. Because she didn’t want that, she swallowed and lifted her chin. “Did you know Reginald well?”

“Prince Reginald?” He raised his brows. “He was a bit out of my stratosphere.”

What could she say to that? “He was out of everyone’s stratosphere.”

“What about you?” he asked. “How’d you meet him?”

“After a performance.” A thousand bittersweet memories rushed back to her. He’d sent her flowers the first night. And every night after that, in every city in which the symphony had performed. He’d come backstage every single time, charming her fellow performers, his dark and hooded gaze focused on her. Only on her.

Afraid, she’d refused his invitation to dinner. Again and again. Her refusals never seemed to faze him, for he’d continued to ask until finally, wearily, she gave in. After all, as he’d pointed out, it was merely a simple meal. What objections could she have to eating?

That dinner had been the beginning of her downfall.

“Reliving the excitement?” Though his tone was kind, he gave her a mocking smile.

Without thinking, she shook her head. “Just remembering,” she told him softly. “Reginald was a charismatic man.” She wouldn’t tell him the rest. “His death will be felt by many.”

“Perhaps.” Chase gave her an odd look. “But then, of course, you must have seen a different side of him.”

Before Reginald’s betrayal, Sydney could have talked about him for hours, and cherished every word. She’d believed he’d loved her, she who’d been so patently unloved her entire life. She’d bloomed under his attention. Now that she knew the truth, that she’d merely been a flavor of the month to him, she felt foolish. What she’d mistaken for love on her own part was mere infatuation. But she’d refused to retreat into her safe little shell. For her baby’s sake, she’d pursued Reginald back to his own country, determined to give her child what she herself had never had. A father.

Staring blindly out her window, she realized the light-colored fog had changed, darkened.

She took a deep breath. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. In view of what’s happened, I think I should know.”

After a moment, he nodded. “As you know, I’m head of public relations for Silvershire. Prince Reginald forwarded the e-mails you sent him to the duke, who dispatched me to handle you.”

“Handle me?” As though she was some royal hanger-on who now presented a problem.

“Yes. I was sent to check you out.” His gaze swept over her, making her insides tighten.

“Now it no longer matters. Reginald is dead. My baby will never know its father now.”

“No longer matters?” He watched her closely. “You aren’t going to try and claim rights to the throne?”

After a startled moment, she could only shake her head. “I have no reason to do that. If King Weston wants my child to be named heir, then I would consider it.”

“Your child has royal blood. Not just Reginald’s but yours. You’re Prince Kerwin’s daughter.”

“Bastard daughter.” She smiled, a pro at hiding the hurt. “There’s a world of difference between the two. Believe me. That’s why I find it difficult to believe that someone wants to kill me. I’m important to no one, especially my sire.”