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Kate only got as far as the door when Marc slammed his palm against the facing, preventing her from opening it. “I need you to understand, Kate.”
She turned and saw a pain in his eyes that stole her breath. “I do understand, Marc, more than you give me credit for. I just can’t stand the thought of you throwing in the towel. You can’t back down now, not when you have so much to lose.”
“Right now, I would gladly walk away, but you’re right. I owe it to my country to fight. I owe it to Philippe’s memory.”
“You owe it to yourself, Marc. This is only a temporary situation. We’ll get through it together. We’re both strong enough, and we’re a good team.”
He touched her face with tenderness. “I don’t know what I have done right in this lifetime to have you on my side, especially after the way I’ve treated you of late. And I am sorry for that.”
“I know. I also know you’re a good man with a huge burden to bear. And you’ll be a good father to Cecile. She needs you, too, even if she’s not your child.”
“And I need you. More than you realize.”
Kate waited to experience the suffocation, the resentment of someone needing her. It didn’t come.
She doubted Marc was inclined to ask for help very often—partly from pride and partly from trying to prove he could go it alone. The admission seemed to be costing him a lot, evident in the uneasiness in his expression. And if she could help him, she would. She loved him that much.
“I’m here for you, Marc.” At least for now. “But you have to let down your guard and let me in.”
He tipped his forehead against hers. “You’re the only sanity in my life, Kate, and I want you so badly at times it hurts. That’s why I’ve avoided you, knowing that every time I look at you…touch you…every time…”
He kissed her then—a passionate kiss that exposed his desperation, his need, causing the carpeted floor to sway beneath Kate’s feet. Without breaking the kiss, Marc spun her around and guided her back until she felt the desk nudge her bottom. He pressed against her, letting Kate know exactly how much he needed her, setting her senses on maximum alert and sending her pulse on a sprint. He slid his hands over her body, from shoulders to hips and then back up to fondle her breasts through her beige silk blouse.
He undid her slacks and slipped his hand inside, touching her as if starved for the intimate contact. He made her body weep with every caress of his fingertips, made her give everything over to the sensations he evoked so masterfully. Kate trembled from the onslaught of feelings, from the love she’d kept hidden from him and probably always would.
Before the climax completely took hold, Marc took his hand away yet kept his mouth mated firmly with hers. She didn’t have to ask what he was doing when she heard the metallic sound of his belt buckle release and the track of his zipper.
They shouldn’t do this, Kate thought. Not here, not now, not without…
Marc pushed her slacks and underwear to her thighs then pushed into her with a hard thrust. Her body responded with an all-consuming climax that nearly brought her to her knees, saved only by Marc’s hold on her. Her mind now trapped in a carnal web, Kate could no longer think coherently as Marc set a frantic rhythm, his hands molded to her bottom, pulling her closer, moving in deeper and deeper.
He finally ended the kiss and brought his lip to her ear, whispering something in French…a low, deep declaration that set her imagination on fire.
His respiration increased and his heart pounded against her chest. With one last thrust, his frame went rigid in her arms and he shook with the explosive force of his own climax.
She kissed his face, stroked his hair, held him close as their breathing returned to normal. But the return of awareness of what had happened—and what they hadn’t done—hit Kate with the force of an earthquake. She’d wanted to absorb his pain, escape their problems and make more memories—only to disregard the one thing that had been necessary to prevent creating more havoc in both their lives.
She knew the moment reality hit Marc when he muttered a harsh curse in English, one she had no trouble understanding. He braced his hands on the table on either side of her and kept his eyes lowered. “We didn’t—”
“I know.”
“Can you—”
“Get pregnant?” she finished for him. “Yes.”
“Bloody hell.”
Kate had mistakenly envisioned Marc’s words of love, not words of regret, after the tender moments they’d shared before this uncontrolled act. How ridiculous of her to think such a thing. How stupid of her to be so careless. She was a doctor. She knew the possible consequences, but so did Marc.
His remorse became all too clear when he slipped from her body and turned his back on her. “I do not expect your forgiveness for my total disregard for caution,” he said as he redid his slacks.
She couldn’t disregard the emotional wall he had erected, his distant tone.
Kate adjusted her clothes with trembling hands, unable to shake the seriousness of the situation. She hoped an attempt at humor might defuse the situation. “Well, we can now add offices to our list of places to avoid, along with sofas and kitchens. Maybe if we just sleep together in a bed, we’ll be able to control ourselves.”
When he faced her again, Marc’s stony expression told Kate her efforts hadn’t worked. “It doesn’t matter where we are, Kate. The only way we’ll avoid losing control is by avoiding each other. I can only assure you that I’ve never been this irresponsible. Never. It seems all I do is create one problem after another.”
Kate should be flattered by the fact that she’d driven him to such abandon, but she wasn’t, considering what it might mean in the long term. Considering he saw her—their lovemaking—as a problem, when she considered it a gift. “Look, if I happen to be pregnant, I don’t expect anything from you. But you have my guarantee I’ll love any child that belongs to me, whether you choose to be involved in its life or not.”
Anger turned his eyes as dark as moonless midnight. “Do you believe so little of me that you think I would abandon my own child? If that is so, then it would stand to reason that you don’t believe my claims that Cecile is not my child.”
Could things get any worse? “I do believe you, Marc. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to do. And if you think we should avoid each other, then all you have to do is tell me. I won’t bother you again.”
“Kate, I want…” He hesitated then spun around and headed to the door. “Nicholas is probably waiting. I’ll ride back with one of the guards. We can discuss this later.”
Kate fought back a sudden rush of tears as she followed him into the hall. “Marc, we need to talk about this now. You can’t just walk away.”
“Are the king and his lady having a lovers’ quarrel?”
Kate and Marc turned simultaneously toward the end of the corridor. Mortification set in when Kate realized the annoying voice belonged to none other than Jonathan Renault.
How could they deny his allegations now?
Marc chose not to fight the sudden fury welling within him. In fact, he welcomed the wrath that he now directed at Renault with an acrid look, his hands fisted at his sides itching to wipe the smug look off the doctor’s face. “You are treading on dangerous ground, Renault. You have been since you made your erroneous assumptions known to the press.”
Renault looked Kate up and down before centering on her flushed face and kiss-swollen lips. “It seems my assumptions have been correct, although I assure you I’ve said nothing to the press.”
Marc took a menacing step forward. “Menteur.”
“I am a liar? Forgive me, Your Highness, but are you not guilty of the same? You have lied about your relationship with Dr. Milner. Of course, I do understand your motivation. I cannot imagine the people of Doriana would accept that their king had taken a common putain as his lover.”
No one called Kate a whore. No one. “You low-life bastard.” Rage sent Marc forward but before he could land a fist on Renault’s ugly face, Kate grabbed his arm. “No, Marc,” she said. “This will only make matters worse.”
“Listen to your lover, Your Highness,” Renault said, cowering in the corner of the corridor. “I will press charges with the authorities if you lay one hand on me. I do not care if you are the king.”
Marc derived some satisfaction in the terror calling out from Renault’s eyes. “You’re right. I am not above the law. But I am within my rights to dismiss you from your position. I expect you to vacate the premises tonight and not return. And if I see you again, I won’t be so benevolent.”
“Are you threatening me, King Marcel?”
“I am saying I will no longer tolerate your insolence, Renault.”
“And I promise you will regret your decision.”
After the doctor scurried away, Marc crouched in the hall and grabbed his nape with both hands. He couldn’t remember feeling so drained and useless. He’d always shown great restraint when dealing with the likes of Renault and practicing care when it came to lovemaking. Tonight he had done neither.
He felt a gentle touch on his head. “Let’s go home, Marc.”
Home.
Marc didn’t feel as if he really had a home, a place where he truly belonged, at least not one where he was welcome… except when he’d been in Kate Milner’s arms.
Two days had gone by since the clinic fiasco and Kate had barely seen Marc except in passing. Again. She’d occupied her time with work and searching hospital records for any mysterious women who’d given birth six to eight months before, as Marc had requested. Yet she hadn’t come across any information that might lead to the identity of Cecile’s mother. All the children had been accounted for through pediatric follow-ups except for one, and that had been a boy. Most likely that child’s family had moved away, and it began to look as if Cecile had not been born at St. Simone’s hospital after all, which greatly complicated the investigation.
Kate decided she would have to start questioning the staff, if she could even begin to concentrate on anything aside from Marc’s troublesome, self-imposed withdrawal. Right now, she had to feed a very fussy Cecile.
“I am worried about my son.”
Kate looked up and centered her gaze on Mary. Obviously his mother shared her concern. “Marc’s worried about everything.” She made silly airplane noises while trying to slip the spoon of strained carrots into Cecile’s smiling mouth.
Mary reached over and swiped at the baby’s face after Cecile blew a raspberry, sending the orange pureed food all over Kate’s T-shirt. “He has much to be concerned about, but he will get through this with you by his side.”
Kate sensed Marc wanted nothing to do with her now, and that made her hurt in the worst way, right in the area of her heart. “He’ll get through it by himself. He’s a very strong man.”
Mary smiled a mother’s smile. “A very strong man who is fighting falling in love every step of the way.”
Kate spoke around her shock, with effort. “Mary, I hope you’re not misunderstanding mine and Marc’s relationship. We’re just friends.” Her declaration had a false ring to it, and she figured Mary had seen right through the pretense.
“I do not presume to know anything, Kate. However, when he looks at you, his heart shines from his eyes. Have you not noticed this?”
No, she hadn’t. She’d only seen regret and anger. The past few days during their limited contact during dinner, she’d seen nothing at all. “He’s mad at me. It doesn’t have anything to do with love.”
“He’s angry at the world, Kate. He’s in love with you.”
Needing an escape, Kate rose from the table, cleaned Cecile’s hands and face then slid her from the high chair. “I’m going to put this little one to bed after her bath.”
“Beatrice can do that, dear. You look as though you might collapse from exhaustion.”
True, every one of Kate’s muscles protested the least bit of activity, but that had to do with some very strenuous lovemaking in some less-than-comfortable positions, even though it had been days since her last interlude with Marc.
Heat traveled up her throat to her face when the images came to mind. “I’ll put the baby to bed. It will give Beatrice a break and me a chance to wind down after a long day.”
Mary’s grin was surprisingly wicked for a sophisticated queen mother. “I can think of other ways to do that.”
Kate frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Yes you do, and so does my son. But if you prefer to play innocent, I’ll certainly understand. One does not normally discuss matters of an intimate nature with one’s future mother-in-law.”
Kate’s eyes opened wide and so did her mouth. “You’re kidding, right?”
Mary rose with stately grace and patted Kate’s cheek, then Cecile’s. “I would never make light of something so important. And I have very good instincts about these things. I only hope that you do as well.”
Mary sashayed away, her red silk caftan flowing behind her. She smiled at Kate over her shoulder before she disappeared out the door.
Kate took a moment to absorb Mary’s outrageous assumptions. Wrong assumptions, at least about a marriage between her and Marc. But she hadn’t been wrong about their relationship progressing beyond friendship, at least for Kate. Mary was mistaken to think that her son was at all interested in settling down, not with the weight of the kingdom resting on his shoulders.
“Isn’t that a silly idea, Marc wanting to marry little old me?” Kate asked Cecile as she headed to the nursery.
Cecile blew a bubble and belly laughed.
Kate hugged her hard. “My sentiments exactly.”
Again Marc found himself locked in his suite, attempting to lock out his problems. For the past few days, he’d met with advisers and his press aide to try to counteract the allegations. But the speculation involving his relationship with Kate and Cecile’s parentage had already reached most of Europe. Nothing like a royal scandal to wake the world.
He’d also successfully pushed Kate away, and he regretted that decision even if it was best for them both. He had battled the urge to go to her, make love with her, lose himself in her and in doing so recapture some of his strength. Yet he couldn’t keep relying on her to serve as his proverbial port in a storm. He’d never relied on anyone to see him through his problems. Except for Kate, he realized when he reflected on their first encounters, her assistance with his studies all those years ago. But since that time, he’d been on his own. He would continue to make it on his own. Alone.
But he had found some solace during a few late-night meetings with little Cecile. He could basically set his watch to the exact moment when she would wake and require soothing, half-past midnight. Several times he’d almost laughed when he’d heard Beatrice telling his mother that the baby was now sleeping through the night. But his laughter did not come easily these days.
He glanced at the bedside clock and realized the time for Cecile to rouse was upon him now. He might not be able to establish a solid role as a leader to suit everyone concerned, or give Kate all that she needed beyond physical pleasure, but he could at least play the part of white knight to an innocent child. A child who looked to him for nothing more than company, looked at him with admiration, without judgment, when he rescued her pacifier from the floor.
After shrugging on his robe, he walked quietly through the hallway to the nursery and opened the door. Instead of finding the room totally deserted, he discovered Cecile cradled in Kate’s arms, both sound asleep in the rocker.
Marc leaned a shoulder against the door and watched them with a warmth that radiated from his soul and settled on his heart. Kate’s face looked tranquil and beautiful in sleep. He wanted to put Cecile to bed, then carry Kate to his bedroom. He settled for staring a few more moments, then closed the door behind him.
He leaned back against the wall outside the room and stared at the ceiling. He could not fight his feelings for Kate any longer. He cared deeply for her, more than he had for any woman. And he wanted to be with her, regardless that he shouldn’t.
Determination sent him back to his suite to plan. He would somehow make it up to Kate, do something to show her how much he did care.
If, in fact, she still wanted him.
Kate really wanted to holler like a maniac.
If one more person asked if she was the king’s girlfriend, then she would let go a yell that would be heard across the ocean. Her mother had been the latest in the long line of inquiring minds during their recent conversation. Kate had told her that she and Marc were just friends, not exactly the truth but not really a lie, at least not now. They hadn’t been much of anything for the past five days.
Kate needed a break from it all, from the gossip and innuendo and sideways glances. Today was Saturday, a much-needed day off, and she prepared to spend some of her time talking with the staff about Philippe DeLoria. If she happened to come upon any relevant information, then she would have an excuse to talk to Marc. Otherwise, she refused to invade his privacy since he seemed determined to steer clear of her. Eventually, she did intend to confront him, but not until she knew exactly what she would say.
Following a meager lunch, Kate made her way through the gardens and entered the palace through the kitchen, coming upon Beatrice preparing several of Cecile’s bottles. A good place to start with her inquiry, Kate decided. After all, they’d become fast friends, and the nanny did speak decent English.
“Hi, Bea,” Kate said, bringing forth the nanny’s smile over the pet name Kate had given her.
Beatrice swiped a forearm across her forehead, where wayward tendrils of auburn hair rained down from her neat bun. “Hello, Dr. Kate. If you are looking for the baby, she is sleeping. The queen mother is also taking a nap.”
Kate took a stool at the kitchen workstation across from Beatrice and immediately thought about the first time Marc had kissed her by the stove. They’d come a long way in a short time, and they still had far to go—if Kate had any say in the matter.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she said, “Actually, I wanted to talk with you, Bea. Did you know Philippe?”
Beatrice didn’t look up from screwing the cap on to one of the bottles. “Yes, ma’am, I did know him.”
“Then you worked here before he died?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How well did you know him?”
Beatrice’s gaze snapped up, her hazel eyes wide with horror. “I did not know him in that way, mademoiselle.”
Her strong reaction made Kate question if the woman was telling the absolute truth, but then Beatrice was a year away from forty and didn’t seem like the kind who would take a younger man as a lover. However, nothing would surprise Kate these days. “I’m not saying you and King Philippe were close in that way. I’m just wondering if maybe he was involved with a woman. Someone the family might not have known about.”
Beatrice fumbled with a bottle, barely saving it from a major formula spill. “He was engaged to marry Countess Trudeau.”
