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A wave of emotion hit her as she looked down at the sleeping child her sister had given birth to less than two months before. Protecting Bree was all she cared about now. She was such a pretty baby with her downy peach fuzz hair and her rounded pink cheeks.
“I’m going to be your mommy from now on, sweetheart,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of her sister’s tragic death. “I just hope I can do a decent job of it. I promised Julienne, and I’m going to try as hard as I can to keep that promise.”
The promise was the last thing she’d said to her sister as she lay dying. She hadn’t realized how soon she would have to put her promise to the test. As soon as she’d understood what her uncle was planning, she knew she had to get her sister’s child out of his control. Luckily, he’d been so consumed with his plotting that he hadn’t noticed the time she took to come here to the chalet and prepare to bring Brianna here.
This was to be the first step on their journey. The plan was clear. She would get on a bus, just like they’d taken to get here in the first place. As they neared the border, she would get off and head for the countryside. They might be intercepted, and just in case, she’d printed up some fake id cards on the computer. They ought to pass if no one looked too closely.
But she wasn’t really worried about that part of the trip. She’d done it many times before with her family when she was young. During the recent war, it had sometimes been the only way to get from her grandparents’ estate in Dharma back into Carnethia. She knew the route and how to avoid the checkpoints. It would be harder carrying the baby, but she could do it. She would be in Dharma in just a couple of hours, and from there it was just a short train ride to Northern Italy.
And then—what? Yes, that was the question.
Brianna’s tiny baby lips puckered for a moment, but then she sighed, still asleep. Abby smiled through her tears. She couldn’t keep thinking about the suffering in her life. For Brianna’s sake, hope was going to be the watchword from now on. Hope for a beautiful future. Hope would make her strong.
That, and just a little luck ought to do it.
Mychale closed his eyes and enjoyed the water as it beat down on his long, lean naked body. The water pressure was great here, all that energy from the mountain rivers. A shower such as this was like a good massage. If only he could beat the kinks out of his mind the same way.
He’d had a fantasy the night before of washing away Stephanie’s scent, as though that would somehow help clear up the Stephanie problem. But in the bright light of day, he knew that wasn’t going to work. Stephanie was here to stay and he was stuck with her. The wedding was scheduled for the fall.
He groaned. The whole thing was insane. How had he let his brother Dane talk him into this? But he knew exactly how. All that guilt- inducing rhetoric about duty and honor and what he owed his country and the royal house of Montenevada. He’d let Dane wear him down and now he was betrothed to a woman he could barely stand to be in the same room with. Something had to give, and he was here to figure out what that something was.
He felt better after a shower, clean and fresh and almost fully rested. He was going to find a way out of his quagmire. No problem. He would think of something. For just a moment, a wave of nausea came over him and he leaned against the wall, wondering what the hell was going on. But it evaporated quickly, leaving him with a slight sense of unease, but not much more. He would probably feel better after he ate something. And that was contingent on there being any food in the house.
He pulled on slacks and a clean shirt out of the closet. As he was buttoning his cuffs, he remembered about Abby Donair and groaned again. Another problem woman to deal with. But maybe their encounter had scared her off. Most likely, once she realized she wasn’t going to have the run of the place on her own, she’d headed out to greener pastures. The sound of rain against the windowpanes put a damper on that idea, but he kept his optimism alive.
He went down the stairs with a spring in his step. He’d always loved this big old house with its massive fireplaces and the dark wood and glass everywhere. In its day, it had seemed state-of-the-art for the sort of mansion that hung off the side of the mountain, but now it could certainly use a bit of updating. The plumbing was ancient and the colors were gloomy. He should make some plans and come up here to oversee the renovations. He could put in top-of-the- line modern appliances, granite counters in the kitchen, travertine tile in the bathrooms, maybe a sauna or two, an environmental rain room. Maybe he should move in for good, give up his playboy lifestyle and start living the life of a country gentleman. Why not?
He knew he wasn’t serious, and it made him smile to think about it.
But his smile died as he came face-to-face with Abby in the hallway. She stared at him and he stared at her and neither of them said a word, as though both were judging what to make of the other after their unusual meeting earlier that morning.
He studied her, trying to place her in a category for more comfortable judgment. She was pretty, but very young, her body nicely rounded but slender. Her long blond hair hung straight as a silk banner down her back, reaching almost to her cute little derriere. She looked like a university coed, or a throwback to the Summer of Love. He could picture her dancing to psychedelic music, spinning with a dreamy look on her face and her hair flying behind her.
“So you weren’t just a midnight fantasy after all,” he said at last.
Her dark eyes flashed and suddenly she didn’t look so young. “Of course not,” she said, her voice ripe with disdain.
“Still, that leaves us with a question hanging in the air,” he noted cynically. “What the hell are you doing here?”
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY stared into Prince Mychale’s mocking gaze for a long moment without even trying to answer his question. Something told her that, if she wasn’t careful, this could turn out very differently from her fantasy picture of a few moments ago. Drawing in a quick breath, she turned on her heel and began to walk down the hall.
“Come this way,” she said crisply over her shoulder. “I made you some breakfast.”
He had to grin at her high-handed manner. It was so obviously bravado, but why not? She needed to maintain a sense of herself and she’d come up against royalty. This was certainly better than the cringing tone some took around him. He had to admire her nerve.
So he followed, enjoying the way the length of her hair teased the rounded seat of her snug designer jeans, though he was a little too jaded to have his head turned by such simple pleasures. At least, that was what he was telling himself as he walked along with his gaze glued to the pertinent part of her anatomy.
She opened the door to the breakfast room. Floor-to-ceiling windows brought in a flood of light despite the rain. When he was young, this had been his favorite room in the house, the place where he’d read voraciously from the chalet library while the kitchen staff supplied him with drinks and snacks, along with the occasional lecture from Milly, the family cook, in the proper food etiquette for princes. She had a few helpful words for his choice of reading material a time or two as well. He remembered when she’d found a risqué magazine he’d hidden between the pages of his history book. The place had erupted like Vesuvius that day. Even his eyebrows had felt singed.
Memories flooded him for a moment, bringing on a certain melancholy. Where were all those servants now? They’d been like family back then, closer to him than his father and brothers who were off fighting while he was still in school. The house seemed an empty echo chamber without them.
But never mind. He had this lovely young woman instead, much as she tended to puzzle him, especially as he looked at the breakfast she’d prepared.
“Why?” he asked, his tone appropriately bemused.
She glanced back as she went into the kitchen to get the coffee urn. “You have to eat.”
She was right. That still didn’t explain why she should be the one to feed him, but she was right. He surveyed the room narrowly, but he was ravenous. He hadn’t had anything for over twenty-four hours. And the things she’d laid out on the table looked great.
“You didn’t put knockout drops in the coffee, did you?” he asked as he sat down at the table and watched her pour the dark liquid into his porcelain cup.
She grunted, flashing him a sideways glance. “You’ve already slept long enough.”
As though she resented it! He looked up at her and shook his head. If she really was as young as he’d presumed, she didn’t seem to know it. She was acting like a stern school- teacher, or even dear old Milly.
He frowned, remembering how she’d felt in his bed just a few hours before. That lithe body writhing beneath him hadn’t given a hint of her autocratic side. And just the thought of it made him want to study her rather delicious form more closely. He glanced in her direction, admiring the way her light sweater clung to the generous swell of her breasts. One look and he was reacting like a teenager. Clearing his throat, he carefully reined in his libido and regained control of his incorrigible imagination.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he noted dryly, taking a sip of the hot coffee and wincing at the sting. “But I’m the homeowner, aren’t I? And you’re the housebreaker? Or do I have that switched somehow?”
“I haven’t broken a thing,” she countered indignantly. “And I’m being very nice to you. Don’t forget about not biting the hand that feeds you.”
“With ingredients from my own pantry, no doubt,” he muttered as he savored a bite of the cinnamon roll. It was melt-in-your-mouth great, he had to admit. The woman could bake, at least. “Unless you brought along some supplies of your own?” He looked up in an ironic bit of challenge.
She had the grace to color slightly. “No, not really. Except for the eggs.”
She’d brought along her own eggs. Somehow that didn’t sound like your average housebreaker. More like a squatter, perhaps. That thought gave him a second of pause, but he dismissed it out of hand. She was no squatter. She was here for a reason. He had no doubt he would find out what that reason was, eventually.
“If you’re not a housebreaker, how did you get in?” he asked curiously.
For the first time, a look of pure guilt flashed in her eyes. She hesitated and he could almost see the decision-making process as it took place and she tossed out the excuses that first came to her in order to tell the truth.
“When I was young, we would come up here when the Royal family left. We…well, we figured out how to get in.”
He stared, appalled at the nerve. “You little thieves!”
“No! Oh, no, we never took anything.” Her eyes radiated complete honesty and despite his usually cynical nature, he reluctantly bought it fairly quickly. Still, that was a danger signal and he knew it.
“We just…absorbed the atmosphere.” She hugged herself, looking around the room, letting memories creep back. The war had seemed far away, but they were all aware of it looming off in the distance, like a dark cloud menacing the horizon. Larona, the village, was divided, just as the country was, but most there backed the royal family. After all, they had lived among them for generations. “We tried to imagine what it would be like to be princesses,” she added softly.
“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked gruffly, breaking off another piece of roll and savoring it.
She looked surprised. “My sister and I.” And a very young Gregor Narna. But she didn’t need to bring him into this. Memories of her sister were troubling enough.
Gregor had been the instigator of the break- ins. His father was the village veterinarian so he’d accompanied him here to the château many times to care for one or another of the horses that had been kept here in those days. Gregor himself was on a fast track to medical school, even then.
“Someday I’ll have a house like this,” he would tell his wide-eyed audience of two as they wandered through the rooms and spoke in whispers, just in case. “Just wait and see.”
How Julienne had laughed at him. “It’s not the house you care about,” she’d teased him. “You just want another glimpse of Princess Carla. We all know it!”
Abby smiled, remembering how red-faced Gregor had been as he stoutly denied it. Dear Gregor. She hadn’t seen him for years, but at that time, he’d been like a beloved older brother to her and Julienne. Then their parents had died and they’d left the Larona and the lake country to go live with their uncle, and things had never been the same.
Her eyes clouded as she thought of that and she turned away. “We never touched anything,” she said again. “We were just little girls. Coming here was like coming to an enchanted world. We loved it.”
Mychale sat back in his chair and frowned. “Wasn’t there a guard?”
“Oh, yes. There was that old bearded man who liked to walk the grounds with a shotgun over his shoulder.” She smiled remembering. “He spent most of his time fishing, though, in the river. He was easy to avoid.”
“Elias Karn.” He nodded, remembering the man. “I guess we’d better hire a replacement. You’re lucky we’ve been ignoring the old place since the restoration.”
“I know. I checked that out before…” She stopped dead. She’d almost said, “before bringing the baby here.” She was going to have to be more careful. “Before coming,” she amended quickly.
“Did you?” He gave her a quizzical look. He still couldn’t quite figure her out. “But I guess if old Elias had still been here, it wouldn’t have held you back much. If he weren’t already deceased, I’d dock his pension for inattention to his duties.”
Her smile faded. He meant his threat in jest, but it betrayed a cold streak she didn’t like. “So you’re that type, are you?” she noted, sticking her chin out. “Like to throw your weight around? I suppose you use your royalty to get into dance clubs ahead of the others and go to the front of the line at fast food restaurants.”
Her assumptions were so outrageously off the mark, he had to laugh. “You’re merciless, aren’t you?”
A rebellious look flashed across her pretty face. “I’m not a child,” she said, as though somehow he’d implied she was.
“No,” he agreed, cutting into more of the wonderful breakfast she’d prepared. “But you considered this your childhood haunt. And now you’re back.”
“But I won’t be here long,” she added quickly.
“You got that right,” he muttered, his mouth full of the most delicious frittata he’d ever tasted. “I’ll drive you down to the village as soon as the rain lets up.”
“Oh, I can’t go to the village,” she protested, looking alarmed.
He stared at her. “Why not?”
“They…they know me there.” Suddenly this young woman who had been so forthright was avoiding his gaze. “None of my family is left, but my family home was right in the middle of town. I’d be recognized in no time, and I really don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”
He frowned, remembering what she’d said the night before about being related to Dr. Zaire. “Doesn’t your uncle know where you’ve gone?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No one knows. Except you, of course.” She looked at him intensely. “Swear you won’t tell.”
“I’m not swearing anything.”
He studied her for a moment, not quite sure what to make of her. He’d had women hide in his room before. He’d found women in his bed, had one climb up to a balcony to get to him. At first he’d thought she might be one of that type.
But now he realized this wasn’t that at all. Sitting there, gnawing on her lower lip, she had trouble in her eyes. No, she was definitely not trying to entice him in any way. A faint grin played at the corners of his mouth. He rather liked the novelty.
“Where is it that you’re going?” she asked him earnestly.
“Going?” It seemed an odd question.
She threw a hand out. “Well, I imagine you’re on your way somewhere.”
“No.” He shook his head. She didn’t seem to want to accept that this was still his base, his home. It had been for years while his family engaged in the violent rebellion that had finally taken back their government almost a year before. The mountain lakes area had never really been in the hands of the Acredonnas, the dictatorial regime that had kept this country in its sway for almost fifty years. Mychale and his family had often used it as their refuge throughout their long exile. Of course, in those days the perimeter of the estate was bristling with guards and firepower while the royal family was here. Who knew little girls sneaked right onto the property and violated all security rules whenever the entourage decamped?
Once the rebels had been tossed out and the monarchy had reestablished itself, the base of operations had shifted to the palace in the capital, but that didn’t mean this area wasn’t still important to the family. It was just as much their home as the palace was. Tradition and affection would make sure it always remained so.
“This was my destination,” he told her, flexing his shoulders and looking around the room. “I’m here.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “You’re going to stay here?”
“That’s the plan.” He finished his meal and sighed with contentment, then looked at her. “Why do I get the distinct impression that you want me to go?”
She hesitated. “It’s not that, exactly. But…” She took a deep breath and charged ahead. “Well, I was going to ask you if I could stay here. Just for a few days.”
Her dark eyes beseeched him and he had to admit, they were awfully appealing. But the question was ridiculous. The woman wasn’t a complete stranger to him, but it was close. And anyway, he’d come here to accomplish that wasn’t going to be easy. He needed room and focus, not an audience.
He shook his head emphatically. “Sorry. I’m going to be using the place.”
She looked skeptical. “The whole place? All by yourself?” Her face changed. “Oh, maybe you’re having friends join you?”
He groaned. “Oh, I hope not.”
“Then…”
He felt a twinge and squelched it quickly. No, he could not let himself go soft.
“Listen…what was your name again?”
“Abby. Abby Donair.”
“Abby Donair.” His brow furled as he thought about that for a moment. He could remember her pretty face but he couldn’t place the name.
“Listen, Abby,” he went on. “I drove all the way out here in order to be alone. I’ve got some heavy thinking to do, and I can’t do that with you hanging around. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go.”
Mychale sat back as though that settled the matter. It was more than obvious that he was used to people falling in line once he handed down the word. She wanted to glare at him but she knew that wouldn’t get her very far. Still, wasn’t that just like a prince? Or any man, for that matter.
She had just licked her upper lip, preparing an answer, when a new thought occurred to her. She looked at him sharply. She’d been thinking about herself, but she ought to be wondering why he would be out here in the middle of nowhere, needing to think things over. She could only think of one thing. It had to be because of the scandal that had been rocking the palace two days before when she’d taken off with her sister’s baby. No wonder he seemed a bit out of sorts. The whole royal family was in an uproar, from what she’d heard. Her main problem was going to be to keep him from connecting the whole affair to her—and Brianna.
“I guess all your family is pretty upset about…things,” she began tentatively.
“Things?” He looked at her blankly. “What things?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know about the scandal? Where had he been hiding? Didn’t he pay any attention to the tabloids?
“Where have you been over the last few days?” she asked him bluntly.
He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. If only he could blot out that last week of his life. “On a cruise. Mediterranean.”
“I see.” Oh my. She was in luck, wasn’t she? “No communication with the outside world at all, huh?”
“No.” He frowned at her. “Why? Did somebody bomb the palace?”
