Valerie Parv - Crowns And A Cradle

She was too busy dealing with her confusion, to absorb the details. “Look, Mr….that is, Your Highness, I won this vacation in a contest, and the destination was Valmont Province. I had no say in it, although from all accounts it’s one of the most beautiful parts of Carramer. But I’d still like to know what you want with me.”

“Ah yes, the contest. Did it not occur to you to wonder how you came to be so fortunate?”

“When you haven’t had a vacation in two years, and a radio station calls to say a computer has awarded you a trip to a fairy-tale South Pacific kingdom, and all the documentation arrives in your mailbox as promised, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

She felt her heart sink as the obvious thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to say I didn’t win a contest? Was it some kind of hoax? Is that why you had me removed from the line?”

He shook his head. “You’re right, there was no contest. I arranged for the call to be made as a way to bring you to Carramer.”

Clutching Christophe tightly to her, she struggled upright, so disappointed that she hadn’t won a trip after all that she didn’t care whom she offended. Prince or not, he had no right to play with her life. “I don’t know what’s going and I don’t care anymore, but I’m calling the police. I’m sure this is against some law or other even in Carramer.”

With all the grace and speed of a leopard, the prince moved to her side, urging her to sit down again. This time, he took a seat beside her, keeping his hand on her arm. “Hear me out first, then you may do whatever you feel you must, although the American police won’t be much help now you’re on Carramer soil.”

“Am I a prisoner here?”

“The opposite in fact. You belong here as much as I do.”

She felt the floor drop away beneath her feet and was glad of his touch to anchor her in reality. She had dreamed of this moment for nearly two years, yet suddenly she felt afraid. “Do you know who I am?”

He paused long enough for her heart to begin a frantic tattoo. “I believe so.”

She could hardly breathe for the tension coiling through her. She tightened her hold on Christophe. “Tell me,” she implored in a voice barely above a whisper.

The prince’s firm grip on her other arm sent a silent message of support. “My searches suggest that you are a citizen of Carramer.”

“You mean I was born here?”

“No, you were born in America.”

“Then how can I…”

“There are a few minor details to be confirmed, but I’m already sure I have the right woman.”

“The right woman for what?” She may not be who she had grown up thinking she was, the child of James McInnes, the well-known Californian property developer, and his artist wife, Rose, but she didn’t think she was from anywhere like Carramer, either.

“You do know you were adopted soon after your birth?” the prince prompted.

Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I found out when I had a blood test for a persistent virus two years ago. The hospital said I couldn’t possibly be my father’s child. At first I thought my mother might have had an affair, but then I discovered that I didn’t belong to her, either.”

“Surely a birth certificate was required when you obtained your passport?”

“That was an excellent forgery, too, although I didn’t know it.” She had obtained her passport for a vacation in Europe to celebrate her graduation. She hadn’t known the truth about herself then, and had never doubted that her documents were authentic. Her adoptive parents’ wealth had its uses, she had concluded. If it could buy them a child, obtaining false documentation for her was a minor detail.

“You were never told the circumstances of your birth?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t want me to know I was adopted. When I found out, and wanted to look for my birth parents, James refused to help me. He said I would have to choose between them and him.” Her voice cracked. “He reminded me of all they had done for me, and told me I should let the past lie. Do you know what that past might be?”

The prince nodded. “What I have to tell you may take some time, and I would prefer a more appropriate setting.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It would be better if you weren’t glancing at your watch every few minutes.”

She had been unaware she was doing it. “Christophe needs to be fed and changed and put down for a nap,” she said. Not to mention that she needed rest herself. His suggestion that he could tell her about her background had temporarily banished her own tiredness, but it would catch up with her later, she knew.

“Then I will escort you to your accommodation,” he said as indecision gripped her. “We can continue our discussion after you attend to your child.”

She thought of the contrast between his life as a prince, and hers as a single mother. “I hope you’re prepared for a culture shock,” she said shakily.

He looked amused. “Prince Lorne has two young children, as does his brother Michel and their sister, Princess Adrienne. I’ve had ample practice at taking care of my cousins’ babies.”

“Don’t princes have servants to take care of the less pleasant chores?”

He hesitated before saying, “Some do.”

But not him, she heard the implication. Why not? Was he a modern royal who preferred to do things himself? Given his personal intervention in her affairs, it seemed so. She curbed her impatience. “Why can’t you just tell me what you know?”

“There is every chance that you will refuse to believe me. I need time to convince you to trust me.”

Oddly enough she was inclined to do so already, she realized, wondering at the same time why she did. It wasn’t because he was a prince. She’d read enough about royalty to know they suffered from the same human weaknesses as everyone else. Something about Prince Josquin himself inspired her trust.

As he used the phone to summon a car for them, she watched him in fascination. He was obviously accustomed to being in a position of power. She saw it in the relaxed way he gave orders, as if he expected them to be obeyed. Without question.

Her gaze was riveted by the way he rested a muscular thigh on the edge of the desk, letting one leg swing free. He looked like a man who was comfortable with his position in life, she thought. Since she had no idea what her position in life was, having had all her assumptions turned on their heads by the discovery that she was adopted, she couldn’t help envying the prince his air of self-assurance.

His eyes were half closed, veiling their unusual color under a sweep of lashes that matched the blue-black of his hair. His lean, aristocratic features had probably taken generations of breeding to achieve such a prepossessing result. Her heart picked up speed again. What kind of breeding had produced her?

The prince knew the answer but she sensed he wouldn’t tell her until he judged the time was right. She saw intrigue in the gaze he turned on her as he dealt with the call. Intrigue and something far more disquieting, a fire she had last seen in a man’s eyes the night Christophe had been conceived. Recalling the life-changing impact of that experience, she felt her internal temperature soar. She fussed with Christophe’s clothes, not wanting Josquin to see how badly his gaze had unsettled her.

He barely knew her. Then she thought of the thick file in the prince’s possession. He must know a lot more about her than she did about him. More than she knew about herself, come to that.

Her first clear memory was of her third birthday party at the McInnes home in Southern California. Brendan, the boy next door, had taken her red balloon and burst it in her face when she asked for it back. She was wary of balloons to this day. She had been an above-average student and model daughter, bowing to her father’s wish that she attend a local college so she could continue to live at home.