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Nick nudged the little girl’s shoulder, urging her forward. “This is Josie.”
Josie, who would be seven now, held out her hand, which still looked far too thin and delicate for Amelia’s peace of mind. “Pleased to meet you,” Josie said to CeCe and Hester with perfect manners, then added in a whisper to CeCe, “Are you really a princess, like Cinderella?”
CeCe laughed. “Well, I don’t have any glass slippers, and I ride to work in a limo rather than a pumpkin, but I did manage to catch myself a pretty good prince.”
Yeah, rub it in, Amelia thought. CeCe would be living out her own private fairy tale here in America while Amelia was whooshed off to a country she hadn’t visited since she was Josie’s age, where she didn’t even speak the native language.
Life wasn’t fair. But then, her work with the ICF had taught her that.
“Josie, you’ve gotten taller. I think you’ve grown a foot since I last saw you,” Amelia said, trying to get the little girl to warm up to her.
“But they both could use some fattening up,” said Hester. “I’ll bet Bernice has some fresh cookies in the kitchen.”
“Splendid idea,” CeCe said.
The children looked up hopefully at Nick.
“One cookie apiece,” Nick said.
Looking delighted, CeCe gave a hand to each. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Traitor,” Amelia muttered. But she would have to speak privately to Nick at some point. He had yet to tell her why he’d come here, and the sooner he did that, the sooner he would leave. And the sooner he left, the less chance she would make a fool of herself by begging him to smile at her again, to stop making her feel she’d done something criminal.
Even if she had.
Nick put his hands on his lean hips. “Are you going to ask me all the way into the royal penthouse, Your Highness?”
“Please don’t call me that,” Amelia said.
“What am I supposed to call you, then? Not Melanie.”
“You and the kids all called me Mellie. That could be short for Amelia, as well.”
“Nicknames are a show of fondness. I use them for friends. Doesn’t apply in this case.”
Well, he certainly had sharpened his tiger’s claws during their separation. But she’d be damned if she showed him how much he could hurt her.
NICK REFUSED to be impressed by the Carradignes’ terrace, where Melanie—Amelia—had led him. Apparently there was a spy in or near the household, someone providing tidbits to the gossip columnist, Krissy Katwell, and Amelia thought there would be less chance of someone overhearing their discussion if they went outside.
He hadn’t read any New York papers, but the Korosol press had gone to town with the story of the princess’s illicit marriage. They’d probably picked up the item from this Krissy person.
Nick had almost fainted when he’d discovered Melanie Lacey was actually Princess Amelia, granddaughter to the king of Korosol. She must have been slumming in Palemeir. Her way of dabbling in charity work. Her little deception had thrown his life into chaos.
Fortunately the rain had stopped. Nick and Amelia sat on opposite ends of a bench in the center of an oasis of trees and shrubs that rivaled Central Park. The greenery sheltered them somewhat from the damp March breeze.
He enjoyed the discomfort reflected on Amelia’s face, her stiff, too-regal posture. He wanted to needle her. He wanted to do more than that, after the hell she’d put him through. Unfortunately, he also wanted to bed her. A year’s separation hadn’t taken the edge off his desire.
A year ago, he’d naively thought a marriage license might afford him that privilege. But once the adoption papers had been filed immediately after their hasty wedding, she’d deserted him.
He wouldn’t trust her again. He’d ask for her help, but this time he’d make sure there were no loopholes.
She looked fantastic, he conceded. He’d been half-afraid she would look different in her princess environment, with her hair tortured into some silly style, maybe wearing a tiara and two pounds of makeup. But she was still just Mellie, a natural beauty who required no enhancement. That tumble of gold curls was as unruly as ever, inviting a man’s fingers to bury themselves in them. Her green eyes still flashed emerald bright, even out of the intense Palemeiran sun. And her body was just as curvy and luscious as he remembered, more tempting in a casual, flower-sprigged dress.
“So what’s going on? Why are you here?” Amelia asked point-blank.
“It’s those do-gooders at the Ministry of Family,” Nick said. “News of our marriage—and that it wasn’t legal—has been picked up in Korosol. The fact you dumped me on our wedding day has brought social workers down on me like a ton of bricks. They say it’s obvious the marriage was a fraud, and so was the adoption. Thanks.”
Amelia gasped. “They want to take the children from you? They can’t!”
“Apparently they can. Korosol isn’t America. There’s not any legal recourse. The Ministry of Family will investigate, and their decision is final.”
“But surely they’ll find you’re a good father. You’re very devoted to those children.”
“How would you know? You haven’t been around for the past year—a fact that hasn’t escaped the social workers’ notice. They say we got married with fraudulent intent, adopting children without ever meaning to live as a family. They’re old-fashioned in Korosol.”
Amelia looked away. “That’s my fault, I suppose. But I couldn’t stay in Palemeir. The ICF wanted me out of there, and I had to do what they said.”
“So you just abandoned your new husband and the children who needed you. Do you have any idea how badly you disappointed Josie?” And him, although he’d shoot himself before he’d admit that to Amelia.
His barb hit its mark. He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she ruthlessly blinked them back. “We both knew the marriage was strictly so you could get the children out of the country,” she said. “Even if it had been legal, it was a sham.”
He intentionally softened his voice. “That kiss at the airport didn’t feel like a sham.”
Amelia’s face turned a flattering shade of pink. She had no ready comeback, and all she could do was look away. He was glad to know that kiss had affected her as it had him. There they’d been, arguing at the Palemeir airport—if one dirt airstrip and a cinder-block terminal could be called that—and suddenly they’d been in each other’s arms. They’d never kissed before, not even at their wedding.
That kiss, long and slow and hot, had been everything Nick had fantasized about, and more. He thought he’d won, that he’d convinced her to stay with him. Then he’d realized it was a kiss goodbye.
“I wanted to at least see you and the children to Korosol,” she finally said. “But the children were already getting attached to me. It was better that I left when I did. Surely you can see that.”
All right, maybe she had a point. There had never been any question that the marriage was one of convenience. He and Mellie had been friends—good, close friends, bonding quickly the way people do in adversity—but nothing more, not that he hadn’t wished for more.
They had never discussed a future together, and in fact, what could he have offered her? He was not husband material, and never would be—never again. For that matter, he wasn’t really great father material, either. He was no longer capable of fully opening his heart to a child. But in the last year he’d grown so fiercely protective of those kids that he would die for them. Mellie was right about that. Maybe he didn’t always say the right thing. Maybe he was too strict. But he refused to let anything bad happen to them—including another major disruption in their home life. He would fight the Ministry of Family with every weapon in his arsenal to prevent them from ripping the kids away from him and thrusting them into foster care.
After a few moments, Amelia was more composed. She sat up straighter, and in a brisk tone, said, “I’d like to help with your situation. What can I do?”
“I would think that would be obvious. You’re a princess. Your grandfather is my king, and he’s here. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I know he is still here, that he didn’t return to Korosol after CeCe’s wedding. My sister could never keep secrets from me.” Nick had tracked Eleanor down in New York, and had figured out that if she was here, so was the king.
“So you want me to intercede on your behalf.”
“You get an A.”
She looked uneasy, which he didn’t understand. The request he’d made of her was simple—far simpler than falsifying marriage licenses and adoption papers.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I’ll do what I can, of course. But it’s not as simple as you make it sound. First, I’m not exactly on intimate terms with my grandfather. I barely know him. And second, I’m certainly not among King Easton’s favorites right now.”
“Ah. He doesn’t like it when his princesses make the gossip columns?”
“Exactly. And third, he’s a stickler for following the letter of the law. He doesn’t micromanage his country. Interfering with the Ministry of Family’s normal course of business isn’t his style.”
“You’re saying you won’t even try?”
“No, I’ll give it my best shot. But I think we should see him together, present a united front. It’s the best chance we have.”
Exactly what Eleanor had suggested.
“We should probably bring the children with us, too,” Amelia continued. “It couldn’t hurt for Easton to see you all together, as a family.”
“Let’s do it, then.” He stood up, anxious to get his audience with the king over with. The sooner he got this mess straightened out, the sooner he could get his kids back home to the peace and quiet of Montavi, the little mountain town where he was building a new life for himself and the children. And the sooner he could get away from this woman who’d lied to him but still made him tingle in uncomfortable ways.
Amelia laughed. “We can’t just walk in on him. We’ll have to make an appointment. Fortunately, your sister is the one who can set it up.”
“I’ll talk to her, then.” Hell, he’d pulled Josie out of school for this trip, thinking it wouldn’t hurt her to miss a couple of days of first grade. But now it looked as if she might miss a week or more, and she was already a year behind because of the language problem.
“I’ll show myself out.” He turned and headed toward the terrace doors, wondering where he might find his children in this monstrous penthouse.
“Nick?”
He stopped, turned.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I really was. But not even the ICF knew my true identity back then. If the truth had gotten out, it could have created a security nightmare. Keeping my identity secret is second nature to me. But you’re right, I should have explained before I…before I married you. I didn’t think through the possible repercussions, and I’m truly sorry.”
He was surprised by her candor and seeming sincerity. He’d expected her to be different than he remembered her. A year ago, she’d just been a dedicated volunteer who never complained about physical hardships. He’d even seen her give away her own dinner more than once.
He’d had a hard time reconciling that selfless, friendly woman with a Korosolian princess. But now that he’d seen her again, she seemed much the same as before—a fact that was dangerous to his peace of mind. Saying goodbye to her the first time had been torture. And unless he wanted to go through it all again, he’d better harden his heart.
Chapter Two
Amelia had run out of nails to bite as she, Nick and the children cooled their heels in an anteroom at the Korosol embassy. Her grandfather had agreed to see them the day after Nick’s arrival in Manhattan, but he’d chosen the embassy as the venue, even though it was Saturday. It was less personal than his quarters at the penthouse would have been—not a good sign. He was treating them like any other subject who wanted his time, but King Easton was not one to give preferential treatment to anyone—not even the future queen.
She had worn her best, most dignified outfit—a gray wool suit with a black silk blouse, silver stockings and gray pumps. She’d even made an attempt to subdue her hair into a tame twist, and at CeCe’s urging had actually worn makeup.
Nick, for his part, had cleaned up pretty nicely. He’d been a savagely handsome man back in Palemeir, filling out his camouflage clothes in intriguing ways. His wild, sun-bleached hair, deeply tanned skin and scruffy beard had added to his dangerous image. And Amelia was a sucker for dangerous. She’d always felt smothered by the protective cocoon she’d been raised in—bodyguards, exclusive schools, tinted-windowed limousines. The adventure and excitement of traveling to third world countries under a false identity had held appeal for Amelia as much for the danger as for the chance to help children.
Nick still looked dangerous, but with a sheen of class. He wore a sober suit and tie, the coat taut across his broad shoulders. His hair was a darker blond now, the short, military cut having gotten rid of the sun’s highlights. But that didn’t stop Amelia from wanting to run her fingers through it, something she’d had to resist since meeting him. She could have ill afforded to fall in love with him a year ago, even less so now.
He was clean-shaven, and his tan had mellowed to a burnished gold. His hands looked strong as ever. She could still see them gripped around his old M16 as he ushered the refugee caravan across a dangerous bridge. But his nails were now clean and clipped neatly.
The children looked adorable, too, in spanking-new clothes, faces scrubbed, hair combed. She hardly recognized them as the same terrified, ragamuffin orphans she and Nick had rescued.
Josie, entirely too somber for a seven-year-old, sat in a wingback chair with her hands folded in her lap, casting cautious glances at Amelia. She was mistrustful of everyone but Nick and Jakob. But the terror of a year ago had left her eyes.
She did not instinctively seek Amelia’s comforting embrace as she’d done before. Amelia realized Nick was right—she had disappointed Josie, who had trusted her in Palemeir. Josie showed no outward signs of hostility, but she might never again trust Amelia—a sobering thought.
Jakob, on the other hand, was a little monkey. After thoroughly investigating everything in the waiting room, including some priceless prehistoric artifacts pulled from Korosol caves, he’d crawled into Amelia’s lap. A year ago he’d spoken only a few words, but now he chattered like a magpie. He did not remember his birth parents—nor much of anything about his previous life. He did seem to remember Amelia, though, which warmed her heart. She loved children and had always planned to adopt some orphans when she was ready to settle down. The world was just full of children who needed love.
Her status as future queen changed all that. She would not be allowed to adopt, and would in fact be expected to bear a child herself—after she married some stuffy aristocrat. The thought of a loveless marriage “for the good of the country” repulsed her.
“So you really don’t know the king?” Nick asked.
“I saw him once in my life before this current visit, when I was a small child. I barely remember it. It’s a sore point with my mother—the fact that Easton didn’t do something to help her sort things out after my father died, at a time when she needed him most. But I guess he had his own grief to deal with.” She paused. “He’s grieving now, too. It’s been little more than a year since Uncle Byrum died in that terrible jeep explosion.”
Nick grimaced. “A terrible thing for Korosol, given what Byrum’s death means in terms of succession. I can’t think of a man less fit to rule than your cousin.”
Nick was referring to Byrum’s son, Prince Markus, the apparent heir to the throne since his father’s death, though Amelia knew better. For whatever reason, King Easton did not favor Markus. Since an ancient charter allowed the Korosol king to choose his own successor, Easton intended to do just that.
It would be something of a scandal when he announced that Prince Markus would not succeed him on the throne. Neither would Easton appoint his youngest son, James, a thrice-married Wyoming wildcatter who had proved himself most unsuitable for the throne, not to mention unwilling.
Amelia sighed. “In thinking about the country, though, it’s easy to lose sight of the human aspect. The king has lost two of his three sons now. That’s the saddest thing, I think, to lose a child.”
Nick’s face hardened almost imperceptibly. Had she said something wrong? She’d been rattling on, probably because of nerves. Maybe he just didn’t like prattling women.
The double doors on the far end of the room whispered open, halting all conversation. Eleanor Standish, Nick’s younger sister, appeared. Though Amelia didn’t know the king’s secretary well, because Ellie had been in America only a few weeks, the two women got along well. Ellie had pitched in to help with CeCe’s spur-of-the-moment wedding, proving herself efficient and flexible, not to mention sensitive to CeCe’s feelings. Everyone who met her, liked her. However, her frumpy clothes and thick glasses made her look more like a schoolmarm than a trusted member of the royal inner circle.
She certainly didn’t remind Amelia of Nick in any way, and Amelia had been shocked a couple of weeks ago when she’d learned the two were siblings. Sometimes it amazed her how truly small Korosol was.
Eleanor and Nick embraced warmly, and the children both ran up with kisses and hugs in abundance for their aunt Ellie. Amelia felt a moment of jealousy that Josie hadn’t shown her similar affection.
Ellie studied Nick for a moment. “Nicky. You look very…very civilized.”
Nick raised one eyebrow in question. “I don’t think I’m being complimented.”
“Of course you are,” Ellie argued. “I’ve never seen you in a suit, that’s all.”
“You’ve seen me in a dress uniform,” Nick pointed out. “That’s not much different.”
A dress uniform? So Nick had been in the official Korosol military, then. That surprised Amelia. Ellie had said something about her parents disapproving of her brother. Amelia had this impression that Nick had always been a drifter, offering his unique skills to whoever could afford his price. But she supposed he would have had to acquire those skills somewhere.
Nick lowered his voice. “So, how’s the wind blowing?”
“With the king?” Ellie thought for a moment. “Hard to say. He wasn’t pleased with the quality of his sweet roll this morning. But if anything can cheer him up, these two can. His Majesty loves children. He’ll see you now. I should warn you he has another engagement in fifteen minutes, so you’ll have to talk fast.”
Fifteen minutes. Could they convince the king in such a short time how important it was to keep these children with Nick? How could Easton possibly understand the conditions in Palemeir, the unbelievable risks Nick had taken to honor his promise to Josie and Jakob’s mother?
EASTON CARRADIGNE, king of Korosol, threw a handful of pills into his mouth and washed them down with a swallow of bitter coffee just as the door opened to his temporary office and Eleanor entered. She gave him a little curtsy, which she did every time she saw him no matter how many times he told her such an archaic practice was unnecessary. Secretly, though, he enjoyed the gesture of respect.
“Her Highness, Princess Amelia,” Eleanor announced. “And Nicholas Standish. Oh, and Josie and Jakob Standish, too.”
Easton couldn’t believe it. They’d brought the children with them? Did they think he was some doddering, softhearted old man who could be swayed by a couple of moppets?
Well, okay, they were sort of cute, especially the little girl, who moved with such grace and quiet. The little boy, hardly more than a toddler, entered the room like a small hurricane.
“Don’t touch that,” Easton and Eleanor said together when Jakob tried to peer into the top of a sixteenth-century vase. Nicholas immediately corralled the boy before any harm could be done, and the four of them stood before Easton, waiting for him to acknowledge them. He should have come out from behind his desk to shake their hands, maybe give the little ones some candy, and kiss his granddaughter, the future queen, on the cheek. But he was more tired than usual today. All this business with Amelia’s secret, illegal marriage bandied about in the press had worn him out. Especially coming on the heels of CeCe’s very public scandal. He hoped Amelia’s predicament could be resolved as quickly as CeCe’s was.
“You can be seated,” Easton said as he took his own chair—a huge, thronelike thing. Ellie had chosen it for him, and he heartily approved. He relished the pomp and circumstance surrounding his station, even more so these days. Funny how one took so many things for granted until one was about to lose them.
Nicholas and Amelia sat in the wingback chairs that faced Easton’s desk. The little boy crawled into Nicholas’s lap, while Eleanor fetched a small slipper chair for the girl—what was her name? He’d already forgotten. Was memory loss one of his expected symptoms? Or was he just getting old? Some would say that at age seventy-eight he’d already been old for some time.
