Stella Bagwell - The Expectant Princess

The sobering thought braced her somewhat and she forced herself to dig a tiny embroidered kerchief from her handbag. With trembling hands, she carefully dabbed at the moisture beneath her eyes.

“Dominique? Are you all right?”

Dominique’s heart went still, then lurched into a hard, anxious thud. Nearly four years had passed since she’d seen him, but the male voice behind her was as familiar as yesterday’s sunset.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped away from the marble column and turned to face the man she’d tried her best to forget.

Even before Marcus Kent had become her father’s top adviser, he’d been an impressive figure of a man both intellectually and physically. At two inches over six feet, he was all lean muscle and broad shoulders. Short, raven-black hair waved slightly back from a wide forehead and strong, roughly chiseled features. Thick black eyebrows and lashes framed a pair of eyes that were nothing less than striking. Their smoky-topaz color was as unique as the man himself.

At thirty-three he was twelve years Dominique’s senior. Yet as she gazed at him now, she knew she had never met a man who stirred her more.

“It wasn’t necessary for you to check on me, Marcus. But thank you just the same.”

Three strides carried him to within inches of her and she felt herself quivering with renewed awareness as his solemn gaze searched her upturned face. The years she’d been away at university in the States had been kind to him. He looked just as virile and potently masculine as he had that day she’d said goodbye.

“You were very white when you fled your family a moment ago. I wanted to make certain you hadn’t fainted.”

“I’m sure a guard followed me.” She wouldn’t know of life any other way. Being a member of a royal family made her a target. She’d long ago had to counsel herself to the fact that her movements in public, no matter how trivial, were almost always watched and her behavior scrutinized. Especially here in the city of Old Stanbury.

“I expect at this moment you need more than a guard’s presence.”

His gentle suggestion caused pricks of fresh tears to burn the backs of her eyes. Determined to do her father proud, she blinked and sniffed and swallowed them down. But the idea that King Michael might really be gone from their lives drained the very strength from her legs and she grabbed for Marcus’s hand almost at the same moment he reached out to steady her.

“Oh, Marcus,” she said hoarsely. “This has to be a nightmare. Please tell me Father can’t be dead.”

From the moment Marcus had spotted Dominique entering the cathedral this morning, his insides had gathered into hard knots and remained that way. In the past few days, he’d learned from the king himself that she was home from university to attend this morning’s christening. But he’d deliberately avoided going by her suite of rooms in the family’s palace to say hello.

Years ago Marcus had made a point to quell her schoolgirl adulation for him and, in doing so, he suspected he’d crushed her young pride. At the time he’d not set out to deliberately hurt or embarrass her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d always been genuinely fond of Dominique and he’d wanted to send her off to university with a clear mind. Not cluttered with romantic notions for an older man.

Four years had passed since then, and he figured somewhere in between she’d forgiven him for forcing her to take off her rose-colored glasses where he was concerned. As for himself, the years Dominique had been away had seen him married with high hopes, then divorced with bitter regret.

Now he wished he had made a point of seeing Dominique before this morning. Maybe then he would have been prepared for the drastic change in her appearance. She’d grown into a woman whose beauty knocked the very breath from his lungs.

Her tall, slender body now moved with grace and poise. The golden-brown cap of curls he remembered framing her face had grown into long waves that very nearly touched the back of her waist. Today the thick tresses were pulled back from her temples with diamond-studded combs that matched the loops of diamonds dangling from her earlobes. He recalled her eyes being the same pale green he was looking into, only now their open innocence was gone, replaced by a provocative slant and a touch of shadowy mystery that was utterly feminine. A perfectly straight nose led down to an equally perfect set of lips. Plump and moist; the top lip dipped deeply in the middle, the bottom curved to an enticing pout.

No doubt she had been properly kissed since he’d last seen her, Marcus thought. In fact, for all he knew, she might have already given her heart to some young man.

The gentle pressure of her fingers tightening around his brought Marcus out of his wandering thoughts—thoughts that were both foolish and improper on his part. It didn’t matter that her cream-colored dress did more than hint at the luscious curves of a woman. To him she could be nothing more than the king’s young daughter. A king who, it appeared, was most likely dead.

“I’m sorry, Dominique. I can’t give you hope when there seems to be none.”

Her head dropped, then swung from side to side in disbelief. The sudden urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her shocked Marcus. Although he didn’t know why his feelings should be a surprise to him. Where Dominique was concerned, he’d always harbored a protective streak. Six years ago, when he’d joined the king’s administrative staff, she’d been a shy, gangly fifteen-year-old. Uncertain of her place in the royal family and at the same time hungry for reassurance and affection. His own rough childhood had helped to create an affinity for the young princess. One that obviously hadn’t dissolved, in spite of the past years she’d been away.

“What about LeAnn’s christening?” she murmured. “Are they still going through with the ceremony?”

“No,” he answered, his thoughts softening his voice. “The accident has taken precedence now. Your family is making preparations to return to the castle.”

Her head came up swiftly. “Oh. Then I must get back inside.”

With her free hand she pressed the kerchief against both cheeks, then snapped the dainty cloth away in the small gold velvet bag hanging from her shoulder.

Marcus released her hand, then cupped his palm around her bent elbow. As he guided her through a back entry of the cathedral, he wished above anything that she didn’t have to face the sorrow of her father’s accident. He wished it was in his power to shield her now and always from life’s harsh realities.

But he was just a man. A commoner, despite his lofty position as the king’s high counsel. She deserved and needed more than he could ever give her and he suspected she’d learned that while she’d been away, growing into a woman.

Three days later Dominique was still struggling to shake the notion that her father’s horrific accident was all just a nightmare. Each morning she expected to wake and join her family in the dining hall for breakfast. Somehow she knew she would find King Michael seated at the head of the long table, a cup of tea in one hand, a newspaper in the other. But each morning she’d discovered the dining hall empty, her mother choosing to breakfast in privacy, while her brother, Nicholas, was already at work, trying to deal with the upheaval their father’s disappearance had caused with the media and the political world.

This morning Dominique had chosen to breakfast on the balcony off her bedroom. If she were going to eat alone, at least she could do it in total solitude without a bevy of servants hovering over her.

Being away at university had spoiled her, she supposed. While living on campus and attending classes, she’d not been smothered by a royal entourage to carry out even her smallest bidding. Over time, she’d grown to love the freedom, the feeling that basically she was no different than any other young woman working toward a degree. Even if she was Princess Dominique Stanbury of Edenbourg.