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The Prince's Secret Bride
Raye Morgan


Royal scandal: the prince and the pregnant waif! Prince Nico can’t walk by when he sees Marisa needs his help. She’s confused and lost, and clearly has no place to go. So he sweeps her back to his royal palace. Seeing she’s pregnant brings out Nico’s protective instincts – feelings he thought he’d left behind… Until Marisa came along normal life seemed shallow and frivolous, but now it feels as though Nico has something to live for.But with his royal realm torn apart by war and rebellion, can Nico afford to fall in love with this pregnant stranger?The Royals of Montenevada Three gorgeous princes… and how they meet their brides-to-be!







“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” Prince Nico demanded.

“I want to go home,” Marisa said quickly. “I didn’t want to bother you again, so…”

The words died in her throat. He was barefoot, and his shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open as though he’d begun getting ready for bed. His eyes were darkly haunted, but what really took her breath away was the gorgeous landscape of his hard muscular chest.

“How can you go home if you don’t know where home is?” he asked evenly.

He stared down at her without speaking for long moment.

“You really have no right to stop me, you know,” she added stoutly.

“You think not?’ he said softly, moving closer. “You haven’t been paying attention, Marisa. I have every right.”


Raye Morgan is a fool for romance—even in her own family. With four grown sons, love, or at least heavy-duty friendship, is constantly in the air. Two sons have recently married—that leaves two more to go, and lots of romantic turmoil to feed the idea machine. Raye has published over seventy romances, and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. Though she’s lived in Holland, Guam and Washington, D.C., she currently makes her home in Southern California, with her husband and the occasional son. When not writing, she can be found feverishly working on family genealogy and scrapbooking. So many pictures—so little time!



Dear Reader

The thing about royalty is—they’re regular people, just like you and me.

And yet, they’re not. There really is something special about them. Is it the costumes they put on for royal occasions? The special rituals they put themselves through? The castles and palaces they live in? The way everyone pays attention to every little crazy thing they do?

I don’t know. But I do know it sometimes seems as though they’ve been touched by a magic wand or sprinkled with enchanted gold dust or something the rest of us haven’t experienced—just to make sure they are set apart and worth watching.

I hope you enjoy watching the royals of the House of Montenevada as they struggle to regain that royal magic, putting their country back together after a long time in exile. Prince Nico feels the responsibility deeply, and knows he shouldn’t be distracted by Marisa, whose amnesia makes her a suspicious element among them. Who is she? Could she be a spy for the recently routed Acredonnas?

Well—read the book and see!

Raye Morgan




THE PRINCE’S SECRET BRIDE


BY

RAYE MORGAN




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

PRINCE Nico of the royal House of Montenevada pulled down his cap and turned his collar up, partly against the misting drizzle, but also in order to avoid being recognized. His family had been back in power less than six months and he was already sick of the toll it was taking on his private life. He hadn’t spent five years leading a rebellion in the mountains so that he could be treated like a rock star. He’d thought they were fighting for bigger things. Now he wasn’t so sure.

The dark streets were pretty much deserted and only dimly lit by flickering street lamps. A lone car went by. Then a cluster of giggling teenagers, late for their curfews. As he started over the Gonglia Bridge, he passed a young woman whose eyes were strangely vacant; she seemed to gaze right through him. Her mass of blond crimped curls was wild around her pretty face, but that seemed to be a style that was popular these days and he didn’t think twice about it. That otherworldly look in her eyes stayed with him, though, and when he reached the high point of the bridge’s arc, he turned and looked back to see what she was doing.

“Hey!”

What he saw had him running back. The crazy woman was about to jump! In the half a minute since he’d passed her, she’d climbed out on the scaffolding and was leaning over the inky waters that rolled beneath, racing down out of the mountains toward the sea.

“Hold it!” he yelled as he flung himself at her.

She looked up, startled, and tried to avoid him, twisting away so that she was even more dangerously close to crashing down into the river. He grabbed her roughly. There was no time for niceties. Gripping her upper arm, he sank his other hand into her thick hair and yanked her back onto solid surface. She fell against him and he had just time to take in the soft, round feel of her breast as his palm unintentionally slid over it, before she turned on him like a scalded cat.

“Get away!” she cried, glaring at him and backing away. “Leave me alone!”

He grimaced, annoyed with her, annoyed with anyone who would make such an obvious play for attention as jumping from a bridge. And then her soft blue jacket fell open enough for him to see her body and he realized that she was pregnant. That put a different light on things. He winced, knowing from experience that a pregnancy could change everything—for everyone involved. He looked deeply into her wide dark eyes and saw something that tugged at his sympathies after all.

“I’d be happy to leave you alone,” he said, trying to shave any harshness from his comments, “if you think you could refrain from flinging yourself into rivers.”

She shook her head impatiently. “I wasn’t trying to jump.”

“Really? You were doing a pretty good imitation of a bridge jumper.”

“No, I was just looking for my things.” She looked away distractedly. “He…he threw them over the side of the bridge and…” Her voice trailed off and she met his gaze again, her own eyes hooded. “Never mind,” she said, hunching deeper into her jacket and turning away.

He’d only heard half her muffled words but he was willing to join in. “What were you looking for? Maybe I can help you.”

“No.” She seemed to be trying to put distance between them. Glancing at him sideways, she began to move away. “You can’t help me.”

It was dark. He was large. And male. He knew he probably looked threatening to her. He didn’t mean to. But what the hell? He had better things to do with his time than to follow a crazy woman around. So he shrugged.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I will, thank you.”

He slowed, then came to a stop and watched as she hurried away. He supposed it was best to leave her alone, just as she’d demanded. Still, he hated to do it. She bothered him. There was something in the way she moved, to quote an old song.

Besides, this town was only a few months into recovering from a war and the place was crawling with unsavory characters who had nothing better to do than to make trouble for someone else. It was a problem he and his brothers were going to have to deal with very quickly. One of many. And right now it could be a problem for this troubled lady.

You can’t save them all.

Those words echoed painfully in his head and he shook them away. Gordon Greiva, his best friend and comrade-in-arms, had said that often in the old days when they’d been fighting for their country’s liberation. Nico, letit go. You can’t save them all. The irony was, Gordon himself had died in that final battle.

No, he couldn’t save them all. Truth to tell, he didn’t have the greatest track record in saving much of any of them. And what could he do to help this one? Not much. She’d certainly made it clear she didn’t want his help.

With a careless shrug, he turned away and started back toward the other side of the bridge. He needed a drink.

He heard the pub before he saw it, music and laughter an appealing invitation to step into the crowd. But he hesitated in the doorway, peering inside. He would love to go in, order Scotch, neat, and sit back and let that liquid fire burn its way into his soul, restoring him to something resembling real feeling again. It was tempting. He could see himself sitting there in the darkened room, letting the smoke and conversation wash around him while he contemplated life and all its twists and turns.

But he knew that picture was a fantasy. As soon as he sat down, the waitress would look at him sharply, then whisper to one of the other customers. The buzz would begin as people craned their necks, staring, until finally someone would get brave enough to come over and start talking. And once the ice had been broken, the flood would come, people wanting to rehash the war, people wanting to know why everything wasn’t instantly wonderful now that the good guys had taken over again. And who knew if it was a bar full of patriots or a refuge for disgruntled losers. You paid your money and you took your chances. But tonight, he didn’t feel up to testing those waters.

Turning away from the pub, he looked back at the river. He couldn’t seem to shake the image of his distressed jumper, her wild curls floating around her face, her dark eyes filled with mystery. He wondered if she’d found what she’d been looking for, and if she was going to have any trouble making her way home. The bridge looked ominous from this angle, like a path into dangerous territory. The wet streets were empty. It was getting late and time for him to make a decision as to where he was going to spend the next few hours.

He started down the walkway that fronted the river feeling vaguely uneasy, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze running restlessly over the scene. And then it sharpened. Something was moving down by the riverbank, where various debris was piled up around a short pier. He stopped and looked harder, then swore softly and vaulted over the river wall to get to the water’s edge. It was her.

A few quick strides brought him to where she was bending over a large black plastic bag.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

She looked up, startled once again. Straightening, she pushed at her damp hair, leaving wet strands plastered to her forehead. “It’s none of your business.”

She’d been crying. Once he saw the tears on her cheeks, he knew he was a goner. It was none of his business, but there was no way he could stay out of it now. She was far too vulnerable. Only a cad would leave a woman like this to fend for herself in the night.

Still, his impulse was to growl and start ordering her about. He restrained it. He knew enough about women to know that wasn’t going to work out well. Taking a deep breath, he said carefully, “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing. What’s wrong?”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “Please, just go. I’m really busy here. I’ve got to find…” Her voice trailed off and she went back to trying to move the huge plastic bag.

Instead of leaving, he moved closer. “You’ve got to find what?”

She shook her head and threw a hand out as though covering the waterfront. “My bag. My things.”

He frowned. She could hardly be talking about this big plastic bag she seemed to be so intent on moving out of the way. He reached around her and moved it for her, revealing only more, smaller plastic bags, all filled with suspicious substances. It was obviously trash someone had stacked there, along with things that had washed up on the shore.

“What sort of bag?” he asked her. “What did it look like?”

She straightened and looked around, her bottom lip caught by her teeth, her eyes worried. “I…I’m not sure…”

He resisted the impulse to throw up his hands. “Then how are you going to find it?”

Tears welled in her dark eyes and she turned her head away, her damp curls flopping limply against her neck in a way that somehow touched him. He could see her finely cut profile against the lights from across the river. Her features were delicate, yet strong in a determined sort of way. Her body was slender despite the pregnancy. Her legs were long and exotic, like a dancer’s, and her short skirt showed them off in a way that would turn any man’s head. She moved like a dancer, smooth, fluid motion, like a song brought to life. But that thought made him want to laugh at himself for thinking it. He wasn’t usually quite so sentimental.

Then she turned and his gaze dropped to her full breasts and the way they strained against the soft sweater she wore under her jacket, and he felt a reaction so quick and so hard, it threw him off guard for a moment.

“I don’t need help,” she said, but her voice quavered and the tears were still in her eyes.

Something caught in his chest and he grimaced. No, he wasn’t going to let her get to him. At the same time, she obviously couldn’t be abandoned here. He’d already noticed someone skulking farther down along the river. No, he was going to make sure she got to safety—wherever that might be.

But he wasn’t going to care. Never again. That part of him was gone—and good riddance.

“Just go away,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Just go.”

“I’m afraid to leave you here,” he shot back. “You might try another shot at river-rafting.”

She glared at him. “I was not trying to jump into the river.”

“Really? Then what were you doing? Practicing high-bar techniques for Olympic trials in gymnastics?”

She didn’t answer, turning away instead.

“I’ll admit it seems unlikely for someone in your condition….”

“Condition?” she asked. Then she looked down and gasped softly, her hands going protectively to her rounded belly. “Oh. I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

He stared at her. Females didn’t “forget” pregnancy. There was something very odd about this woman. But something distracted him from the subject. For the first time he noticed there was something dark and shiny in her hair. He touched it and drew back his fingers. Blood.

“Hey. What’s this?”

She reached up but didn’t quite touch it herself. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Maybe I hit my head when I fell. Or…or…” She looked up at him questioningly. “Maybe it’s where he hit me.”

Her words sent a blinding flash of outrage slashing through him. The thought of someone deliberately hurting her made him crazy for an unguarded moment.

“Who?” he demanded. “Where? What did he do to you?”

A look of regret for having mentioned it flashed across her face and she turned away. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm to stop her from starting off. “This is serious. I’m taking you to the police.”

She jerked from his grip and began to back away, her eyes wide. “No, I can’t do that. No.” She glared at him, shaking her head, looking fierce. “I can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated, looking past him.

He frowned. He could think of only two reasons why someone wouldn’t want to go to the police, neither of them good.

“Look, I’ll be with you. I’ll handle things. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She flashed him a scathing look. “It must be nice to be so sure and cavalier about other peoples’ lives,” she said. “Who do you think you are, anyway? King of Carnethia?”

He looked at her sharply, but no, she really didn’t seem to know she was talking to someone pretty close to that mark.

“Just someone trying to help you,” he said softly.

“Really?” She tossed her damp hair and sent him a penetrating look. “And what do you expect to get out of it?”

He gave her a half shrug and a well-practiced look of pure boredom. “I was hoping for a simple thank you, but even that seems to be out of the question.”

For just a moment, her gaze faltered. “Why should I trust you?” she asked, pushing hair back out of her eyes.

“You don’t seem to have a lot of choice, do you?” he grumbled, moving restlessly. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the police, there must be somebody I can call to come get you or something.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it poised. “Give me a number.”

She shook her head and looked away.

“Come on. We’ve got to get you out of this drizzle, at least.” He looked back at the store-fronts along the riverside. It was late and most of the shops were closed. “How about that little café there? It’ll be warm and dry.”

She looked up. He could see she was tempted.

“A nice hot cup of coffee? Come on. I’m buying.”

She glanced at the café and a look of longing came into her face. “I’m so hungry,” she admitted softly.

He snapped the cell phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “That does it. Come on. Let’s go.”

Turning, she looked searchingly into his face. He wondered what she saw there—a helpful new friend or the hard-bitten man he knew he’d become? It seemed she hadn’t recognized who he was. That was a relief. So she wasn’t particularly political. Good.

“Let’s go,” he said again, putting his hand lightly at her back to urge her along.

He entered the café warily, scanning the scene like a soldier on point. Simple booths lined one side of the room. Wrought-iron tables and chairs filled the center. Posters and advertisements covered the walls and pop music was playing on the speaker. The place was almost empty. A pair of young lovers had a booth at the back but they were lost in each other’s eyes and paying no attention. An elderly couple was finishing up a meal toward the front. Involved in some sort of argument, neither looked up. That left the waitress and she just looked bored and very sleepy. No one reacted.

Who knew—maybe he was becoming unrecognizable. That would certainly be an improvement.

He led her to a booth in a protected corner and sat across the table from her.

“An omelet and a tall glass of milk,” he ordered for her, giving the bored waitress a quick, cool smile. “And I’ll take a cup of espresso.”

“Eggs,” the mystery woman said thoughtfully, as though she were considering whether she really liked them or not. “Okay.” She sneaked a look back at the counter. “But that pie looked awfully good,” she mentioned.

He stifled the grin that threatened to soften his mouth. “Okay. A large piece of the apple pie, à la mode, too. We’ll share it.”

As the waitress left with their order, the woman gazed at him wide-eyed with that searching look again.

“Do I know you?” she asked softly.

He looked at her sharply, afraid she’d realized who he was, but all he saw was bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, and he relaxed. If she felt he looked familiar, but couldn’t quite place who he was, that might at least make her trust him a bit more.

“Not that I know of,” he replied lightly. “We met on the bridge just tonight.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“And I don’t know your name,” he noted.

She nodded as though she thoroughly agreed, and he prodded further.

“My name’s Nick,” he said, fudging a bit. “What’s yours?”

“Uh…” She looked trapped for a moment and avoided his gaze, looking about the café as though she was going to find the answer to his question in the atmosphere. “Marisa,” she said quickly as her eyes focused behind his head. “It’s Marisa. Marisa Fleur.”

“Marisa,” he repeated. “Pretty name.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marisa.”

She put her small, fine-boned hand in his and for the first time, she actually smiled. “Nice to meet you, too, Nick.”

The beat of his heart stuttered. There was no way to deny it. For just a second, he was afraid his heart had stopped. The feel of her small, smooth hand in his, the beauty of her sweet smile, the warmth that came momentarily from her dark gaze, all combined to shock him as though someone had hit him with a stun dart. He blinked, drew in a sharp breath, and quickly pulled his hand away from hers. What the hell…?

“And thank you,” she was saying. “It might not seem like it but I really appreciate you taking the time to…well, to help me.”

He nodded, avoiding her gaze, still shaken by the involuntary reaction he’d had to her smile and touch. “No problem,” he said gruffly.

He risked looking at her and it was okay. Whatever spell had swept over him seemed to be gone for now. Still, forewarned was forearmed. He was going to be on his guard from now on.

He waited for her to take a few bites of her omelet before trying to question her. Her color was better by then, and she’d lost most of that trapped look.

“So,” he said, nursing his espresso in both hands. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You mean on the bridge?” she asked.

He nodded.

She looked down. “I…well, I think a man came up from behind and knocked me down.”

His hand tightened on the slender cup. “Did you know him?”

“I don’t think so. No,” she amended quickly. “No, I’m sure he was just a mugger or something. He grabbed my purse and then he threw my bag over the side of the bridge.” She gazed at him earnestly. “That’s why I was climbing up on the railing. I was trying to see where my bag had gone.”

“And that was what you were looking for along the side of the river?”

She nodded. “I know there’s not much hope in finding my purse, but if I could find my bag…”

“It’s a suitcase?”

She hesitated, looking uncertain. Then she nodded again.

He frowned. There was something odd and off-kilter about all this. “When did it happen?”

She hesitated, shrugged, then her eyes lit up as she remembered. “Just before I saw you the first time. I think maybe you scared him away.”

The waitress brought them a huge slice of pie on a ceramic plate. A rounded mound of vanilla ice cream was melting on top. Marisa smiled again and he frowned to keep from letting it get to him.

“So you’re here from out of town?” he noted as he handed her a fork. “Where are you from?”

She looked down again. “I really can’t talk about that,” she said evasively.

He shrugged. “Do you know anyone in town?” he asked.

She didn’t answer but the look on her face said it all. What was he going to do with her? The realization came to him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was going to take her home. At this time of night, what else could he do?

They rose to leave and he turned to let her go first, and as he did so, his gaze fell on an advertising poster on the wall behind where he’d been sitting. Marisa’s Flowers it said, along with an address and telephone number.

Marisa’s Flowers. He turned slowly and watched as she walked ahead of him out of the café, and that feeling in the pit of his stomach got sicker.


CHAPTER TWO

MARISA.

It wasn’t her name but it felt like a near fit. Close enough—for now. Her real name was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but every time she thought she had it, it slipped away again. But it would come. She had no doubt about that. She’d hit her head pretty hard and it had knocked her silly for a moment. Give her a little time and a bit of rest and it would all come back. If only she could find her suitcase….

She glanced at the man walking beside her. He was near thirty, large and hard and there was something just a little bit dangerous about him. There was something appealing, too, despite his icy demeanor. But she needed to be careful. She’d been wrong about men before. Hadn’t she? She couldn’t think exactly how, but she knew it was true. She wasn’t thinking too clearly right now but she did know one thing: men were nothing but trouble. She’d best get away from this one as soon as possible.

“Thanks for the late-night snack,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I’m sure you’ve got places to go and people to meet, so I’ll just say goodbye here.”

She stuck out her hand. He took it but not for the handshake she’d expected.

“Where are you going?” he said, looking down at her, his hand warm on hers.

She tugged, but he wasn’t letting go. Looking up, she winced—partly at how tall he was, but mostly for the look of resolve in his silver-blue eyes. The man wasn’t going to go gently into the dark and foggy night, was he?

She hesitated. What she really wanted to do was get back to looking for her suitcase. She needed that bag with an urgency she wasn’t really clear on—but she needed it badly. She wanted to comb both sides of the river until it turned up. But something told her he wasn’t going to go for that.

“I know where I’m going,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got…uh…someplace to stay.”

He cocked one dark eyebrow, and it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen a man do. She gaped at him, astonished at her own reaction. He was masculine magic—a gangster right out of a thirties film, a movie star dining at the Copa in the forties, a military commander from the fifties, a rock star from the sixties, Italian royalty from any decade at all. He had the presence common to all those icons, a sort of magnificent sense of command that took her breath away.

And he didn’t believe a word she’d said, making her shiver with the sort of expectant chill she only got from a really good thriller.

“Fine,” he was saying as she was pulling herself back down to earth. “I’ll go with you to make sure you get to your destination without any more bridge diversions.”

She felt that under ordinary circumstances, she would have talked back and insisted on going her own way, but she was still getting over the shock his insolent eyebrow had given her, so she nodded and began to make her way along the riverfront sidewalk, her companion beside her, and not an idea in her head as to where she would go.

She had to make up her mind soon. They couldn’t just wander around the city. She bit her lip and tried to think of some way to get into a doorway that would pass muster as her final objective.

Meanwhile, they walked.

It was late and the streets were deserted, but there was a man in the block ahead, leaning against the wall of a building, playing his guitar. As they got closer, she could see that he was standing near the entrance to a sort of nightclub. Music and laughter floated out, but the man was playing to his own muse, standing under a light. He wore dark glasses and there was a cup on the ground near his feet. Maybe he was blind.

Maybe. But she shivered. Something about him…

Maybe it was just the night. As her mother used to say, nothing good happens out there after midnight.

Her mother? She tried to grab hold of that concept, tried to see a face, but it slipped away before she could focus. A feeling of loss filled her, but she tamped it down. Never mind, she would think of it soon enough.

Turning to her companion as they reached the crosswalk, she put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go this way,” she said, nodding down a direction that would avoid the guitar player. “I think this is quicker.”

He came along without comment and in a moment or two, she was breathing evenly again. Funny. She didn’t know why, but the man playing his guitar on the previous block had reminded her of something…something she didn’t want to remember.

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, she supposed wryly. After all, she wasn’t remembering much. Was this going to be a long-term problem? Possibly. But right now it was mostly annoying. And her mind was full of so many things, she didn’t have time to worry about it.

The first order of business was to get rid of this man so she could go back and find her suitcase. Something told her that was the key to getting herself back to normal. As they came to another corner, she stopped and smiled at him quickly.

“There it is,” she said, gesturing down the block. “I can handle the rest of this on my own,” she added breezily. “Thanks again.”

She turned to hurry off, but his hand stopped that, his long fingers curling around her upper arm.

“Marisa,” he said, a smile teasing the corners of his wide mouth as he looked down into her wide eyes, “this is Embassy Row.”

She turned and looked. Sure enough, the street was lined with stately mansions, and even in the dark, she could see the placards identifying the countries.

“So?” she said, trying to remain nonchalant. “I…I’m staying with the Hungarians for now.” She looked up to see if he was buying it.

He laughed shortly. “Liar,” he said calmly. “The Hungarian embassy has been closed down for years and they haven’t sent a new delegation yet.” He shrugged. “Want to try again?”

She glared at him. He was becoming insufferable.

“Look, I don’t want to argue about this. I appreciate your concern, but you have no hold over me.” Very deliberately, she peeled away his fingers, making a graphic statement to back up her words. “And I’d like to be on my own.”

“You can’t be.”

She wrinkled her nose, frowning up at him. “What are you talking about?”

That wonderful eyebrow rose again. “You’re carrying a baby with you, no matter what you do,” he said flatly. “And that means you need to take a little extra care, don’t you think?”

Looking down, she bit her lip. He was right. She could see the slight bulge of her tummy. She was pregnant! It startled her every time she remembered. How had this happened?

Well, she supposed it was in the usual way. Still, you’d think she would remember something like that. At least, she should remember the man involved.

She wished her mind would clear. She was so confused. She knew it would be crazy to go with this man she didn’t even know. Of course, in some ways it was even crazier to go roaming the streets when she didn’t know where to go or what to ask for. What was she going to do, sleep under a bridge or in a doorway like a homeless person?

But that seemed to be what she was right now. Until she figured out who she was and where she was going, she was homeless.

“I’ll be honest with you, Marisa,” he went on. “You’re a grown woman. If you want to wander the streets of this city at all hours, ordinarily you could be my guest. But right now, things are different. You’ve got to think about that baby you’re carrying.”

She blinked at him, not sure where he was going with this.

He considered her levelly. “I think you’d better come home with me.”

That shocked her. She gasped softly, wondering if he really meant it—and how he eant it. What kind of a home was he talking about? What sort of situation?

She looked up with a wry smile. “What will your wife think?” she tried, fishing for information.

A cold shadow passed through his gaze. “I’m not married.”

She shivered, then tried to make light of the circumstances with a quip. “That’s what they all say. Right after they claim to read Playboy for the articles.”

His mouth twisted. Despite himself, he almost grinned. “Okay,” he admitted, “I’ll plead guilty to being male.”

She wondered if that meant he was acknowledging a certain attraction. She thought maybe it did, and that made her want to smile, too. Better to make a smart-aleck crack instead, she decided hurriedly.

“Wise move,” she retorted with a nod. “Next you might as well throw yourself on the mercy of the court. That’ll get you a lighter sentence.”

“If you’re the court, I’d think twice,” he shot back. “But either way, here’s the truth. I’m not married.”

He wasn’t married. Was she? No, she didn’t think so. Despite the fact that she was pregnant, she couldn’t picture herself married. It just didn’t feel like it.

She studied him with her head to the side, considering. “Do you have any children?” She only asked because he seemed so concerned about the baby she was carrying.

“No. But I care a lot about children. And I think it’s only fair to give a baby the best first nine months you possibly can.”

She nodded. Of course she agreed. Who wouldn’t? But what did that mean, exactly? If she couldn’t even remember why she was pregnant….

“Come on,” he said, starting off across the street. “You’re dead on your feet. We’ve got to have a doctor look at you before you pass out.”

“Doctor?” She found herself going along with him again. What had happened to her determined effort to peel off? It seemed to have melted into the mist. “Where are you going to find a doctor at this time of night?”

“I’ve got one where I live.”

That made her do a double take. “Really?”

“Yes.” He glanced at her sideways, a half grin just for her. “I’ve also got a sister who will take care of you. So you don’t have to worry about my intentions.”

She wanted to protest, to say she hadn’t been a bit worried, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Once we get there, I probably won’t even see you again. Carla will handle everything.”

“Will she?” He was walking quickly now and she was hurrying just to keep up.

“Yes. She’s capable of handling just about anything. The entire country, even.”

“Well, if she can handle you, I’m sold.”

They stopped at the crosswalk on a major road. Two cars sped past. Looking back, she thought she saw someone duck between two buildings. That gave her a start, then she relaxed. She was imagining things. This night was taking a toll on her sanity, wasn’t it? She felt an overwhelming need to bring things to rights as much as she could.

Nico took her arm. “We’re almost there,” he told her.

Instead of starting off across the street, she hung back, putting her own hand on his.

“Okay, listen,” she said seriously. “Before we get there, I’ve got a confession to make.”

His eyes darkened as he looked down into hers. “Really.”

“Yes.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her own eyes for a moment, then opened them and blurted out, “I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.”

He almost smiled. “That’s been obvious from the first moment I saw you.”

She pressed her hand on his and gazed earnestly up into his eyes. “No, I’m serious. I really don’t know who I am.”

He blinked and the smile faded. “That’s why you made up that name, Marisa Fleur?”

She gasped. “How did you know?”

He shrugged. “I saw the sign in the café and figured it out pretty quickly.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wish I was a better liar,” she muttered.

“What was the point of lying?” he said sensibly. “You got hit on the head and you’re a little confused. That’s why you need to see a doctor.”

She looked at him in surprise, then realized what he saw when he looked at her. He saw a woman under suspicion of wanting to commit suicide. Maybe he thought she’d wanted to jump because she was pregnant and had no husband. And why wouldn’t he think that? She had no wedding ring on her finger. That made her bite her lip. She probably wasn’t married, but she really didn’t know. And why was her impulse to lie about it all? Was she trying to hide something?

But all that was crazy. She wasn’t suicidal. She was confused, but not ready to end it all. Was she?

No, of course not. Why couldn’t she keep things straight? She’d climbed up on the bridge to try to see where the man had tossed her suitcase. She had hoped to see where it had landed, or where the river might have taken it, so that she could get it back and find her things and clear everything up. That was all. Nothing earthshaking. She hoped.

“Come on,” he said. “I live right across the street.”

She looked at where he was pointing and gasped.

“Wait a minute. Isn’t this Altamere? The royal palace?”

“Yes. Come along.” He started across the street and she came along willingly, gaping at the huge Gothic building they were headed for.

“Oh my,” she said softly.

He glanced down at her. “Have you been here before?”

“What? No. I don’t think so. But…” She looked at him questioningly as he used a remote to open the huge iron gates. “Do you work here or something?”

“No, Marisa,” he said, closing the gates behind them and nodding to a security guard. “I live here.”

“Wait.” Grabbing his arm, she stopped and stared up at him, her eyes huge with wonder. “Ohmigod. You’re one of the princes, aren’t you?”

He smiled, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Guilty as charged.”

That did it. The world started to swirl and if Nico hadn’t caught her, she would have hit the ground for the second time that night.


CHAPTER THREE

“ALL I can say is, it’s about time you brought a woman home.”

Nico turned to throw a stern glance at his lively, dark-haired sister as she entered the parlor where he’d taken Marisa just after she’d fainted in his arms. But his next words were directed at the silent-as-a-ghost butler standing near the door.

“Chauncy, has Dr. Zavier been contacted?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the man responded with a slight bow. “He is on his way here now.”

“Good.”

He turned back to Marisa, looking down at her, where she lay on the velveteen couch, with a frown of concern. She hadn’t stirred since he’d carried her in. Did that have any connection to the bump on the head she’d taken earlier on the bridge? He took her hand in his again and felt her pulse. She was lying very still with her eyes closed, but he couldn’t see any other evidence of injury. Her breathing was normal.

What the hell—maybe she was asleep.

“She’s very pretty,” Carla noted, leaning on his shoulder to look at the exceptionally pretty blond woman. “Though I thought brunettes were more your type.”

He had to bite back the sharp retort that rose in his throat. Maybe Carla had forgotten about Andrea.

Andrea. Just thinking her name slashed another jagged tear into his heart. A vision of wild, lustrous auburn curls filled his mind’s eye. Memories of her dancing green eyes, her soft skin, her rolling laughter swept over him in a wave that threatened to choke him. He pulled away from his sister and began to pace the Persian carpet, fighting back the crippling anger that always came when he thought of his loss.

Marisa was a very different type. Slender and light, her blond hair curling into an impenetrable mass that didn’t quite reach her shoulders, she was nothing like the woman he had loved. But just seeing Marisa lying there on the couch brought back his most painful memories.

Andrea had been on the cold, hard ground that awful night, over a year ago now. They’d been pinned down by a sniper and his rounds were still biting in around them as he’d worked frantically on her wounds. Ripping apart his shirt to use to bind her torn flesh, he tried desperately to stop the bleeding. He cried out encouragement, prayed aloud, promised things and begged. But the blood kept coming, slowly draining her life away. And finally, there was nothing to do but to cradle her lifeless body in his arms and curse and sob out his anguish and promise revenge.

But that was then. This was now. And the woman on the couch wasn’t in danger of dying. Still, she was alone and vulnerable and she carried a child, just like Andrea. He couldn’t ignore the parallels.

“This is hardly a date, Carla,” he rebuked her curtly, just because he had to funnel his anguish into anger in order to keep it under control.

“Well, brother dear, it’s as close as you’ve come lately,” she said cheerfully, pushing back her thick black hair and bending over Marisa.

He glanced over, regretting that he’d snapped at her, though not quite enough actually to apologize. He knew it hadn’t been easy for Carla, growing up during a war with three older brothers always taking precedence. He should cut her some slack.

Carla had lived a strange, schizoid existence, sometimes thrust into the midst of bloody battles as the family fled attack, at other times treated as though she were the proverbial pampered princess to be kept away from ordinary life as long as possible. Their mother had died two years ago and their father, the king, very recently. When she’d been alive their mother had always acted as though Carla’s primary role in life was to wait for the right eligible swain to present his credentials and get permission to sweep her off her feet. So Carla had waited. But the war and other things had cluttered the time up and now, in her early twenties, he knew she was beginning to fear she had waited too long.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Carla knew he was thinking about her situation. She appreciated his compassion, but a little action on her behalf would be more useful. Princesses were usually betrothed by now. And no one seemed to be doing anything about it.

When she’d taken her fears to their aunt Kitty, the older woman had reassured her.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she’d said, patting her hand lovingly. “I’m sure your brothers will always need looking after. If you don’t get married, there will always be a place for you at the palace.”

It had been a shock to realize her aunt didn’t think much of her chances either. If only she’d been born beautiful, the way her brothers were handsome, things would have been so much easier. She wasn’t bitter, but it did seem unfair.

“You seem beautiful to me,” her father had always said, but that, obviously, didn’t help at all.

She’d decided, if it came down to it, she would run away to another country, change her identity and join a dressage team training for the Olympics. Why not? She was good at working with horses. Better that than feeling like a piece of furniture half of the time.

The woman Nico had settled onto the couch was beautiful. Carla smiled as she looked her over. She was as happy to admire beauty as the next person. But as she looked, she noticed the woman’s rounded stomach.

“Uh-oh. It looks like she’s got a little traveler along for the ride.” She shook her head, frowning. “Darn. Does that mean she’s already married?”

The prince moved away restlessly. “I’m not really sure about that.”

“Oh?” She straightened and gazed at him questioningly.

He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his slacks. “She’s…well, it’s a bit complicated, but she got mugged tonight and now it seems she’s not sure who she is.”

“Amnesia?” Carla’s silver-blue eyes, so like Nico’s, glittered with interest.

“Maybe.”

Carla turned back to look at her. “No traditional rings.” She tilted her head, considering the silent woman. “I’d say she’s unattached.”

“Carla…” he said warningly.

“But then, I’m an optimist.” She allowed herself a quick look of concern before she went back to needling her brother. “Of course, you’ve as good a chance as anyone at turning her head.”

He groaned.

“But that doesn’t explain why she fainted.” Turning, she gave him an arch look. “You’ve obviously terrified the poor dear. What on earth did you do to her?”

“Nothing at all,” he said defensively. “She just…well, when she realized who I was…”

Carla laughed and threw up her hands. “Of course. That would be enough to scare any girl into a stupor.”

He turned away with a snort. “Where’s that damn doctor?”

“He was probably sound asleep when Chauncy called him,” Carla said, getting a confirming nod from the butler. The doctor’s house, where he lived with his wife and the two nieces they’d taken in when they had been orphaned, was at the far edge of the compound. “It is after midnight. Don’t worry, he’ll get here.” She smiled as she watched her brother go back to pacing the floor.

Marisa was lying very still, her eyes closed, her mind drifting. If she stayed very quiet, maybe she could pretend she was asleep and dreaming and she could put off the reality of her situation. The murmured voices of the others in the room were muted, washing around her. Still, try as she might, she couldn’t help but hear what they were saying.

It was all a little too much right now. Somehow she had walked out of her own everyday reality and stepped into a fantasy—she’d just been carried into a palace in the arms of a prince, for heaven’s sake! And she couldn’t even remember how or why she got here.

Carefully, she tried to reconstruct her day, but she couldn’t remember anything that had happened before she found herself on the cold bridge walkway with a lump on her head. She’d tried to shake off the dizziness and she was aware of a man throwing her suitcase and purse over the side of the bridge. What had happened to him? By the time she’d regained her feet, she’d noticed Nico coming toward her and the man who’d attacked her was nowhere to be seen.

The rest was a muddle of clearing her head and walking along with the man she now knew was Prince Nico. There was a stop for something to eat in a café, but what had happened there was blurry. And then the prince had brought her here.

He and his sister were talking as though they didn’t think she could hear a thing they were saying. She knew she ought to open her eyes and sit up and join in, but she still needed a moment or two to regroup. Just a moment or two.

“Be serious for a minute,” the prince was saying, reacting in exasperation to something his sister had said. “And tell me what we’re going to do with her.”

“Don’t think twice, Nico. I’ve already got the second-floor maids up, running a bath, preparing the peach room, laying out nightclothes.”

His tone turned reluctantly admiring. “I have to admit, you’re nothing if not efficient.”

“I do my best. Just trying to make sure that your little treasure has a place to lay her head.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness.”

Marisa frowned slightly at the new voice that was practically a whisper, then realized it was the butler.

“Yes, Chauncy?”

“I hesitate to intrude, but I thought it might be wise to point out another factor that might have upset the young lady.”

“And what is that?” Nico sounded just a bit impatient and she could see why. The man sounded conniving to her, too.

“We live in perilous times, Your Highness. I don’t think you can afford to rule out the possibility that she might be… affiliated with the opposition in some way and was shocked to find herself ensconced with the enemy, so to speak.”

“Nonsense. Chauncy, you see enemies behind every bush.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I beg your pardon for speaking so candidly.”

Marisa lay very still and wondered if she was part of the opposition. She didn’t know the answer to that question, but she did know she had to get out of here. Carla had called her a treasure. What on earth had she meant by that? Unbidden, an old Carnethian folk song trailed its way into her mind. The refrain repeated, “Oh what a lucky girl, to be the prince’s plaything.” The phrase was said with bitter irony and added a bad feeling to this crazy mix. Royalty played exotic games in a rarified atmosphere she wasn’t used to. She didn’t belong here.

And something was tugging at her—some responsibility she hadn’t met, or some errand she hadn’t completed. She had to go, even if she didn’t know where.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, just as the doctor arrived, but it was the prince’s gaze she met first. The connection that sparked between them made her gasp softly. She hadn’t realized before just how blue those eyes were, or how provocative. She saw something there that set off alarms inside her and sent her heart into a thumping frenzy. But maybe she was imagining things, because a moment later his look was cool and impassive and he was speaking to the doctor as though she were a homeless person he’d found in the street. Which she was, wasn’t she?

The only time he revealed a flash of emotion was when the doctor turned to him almost accusingly.

“This woman is pregnant,” he said, looking sternly at the prince.

Nico’s face hardened and he stared at the man. “I just met her tonight,” he said icily.

It was obvious the two men didn’t care much for each other, but Marisa didn’t have time to dwell on that fact. Dr. Zavier examined her quickly and dispassionately, then declared her well enough for now. He found nothing physically wrong, other than a bump on the head, and prescribed lots of rest and plenty of fluids and promised to look in on her in the morning.

Marisa agreed with that diagnosis. She was fine, really. Just tired and a bit confused. She sat up as the doctor left, then looked hesitantly into the prince’s eyes, wary of seeing whatever that was she’d seen a few moments before, but his gaze was bland, revealing nothing more than vaguely impatient interest, and she relaxed. She was probably being a ninny and she hated that. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be stronger from now on. Just as soon as that was possible.

Nico introduced her to Carla, his sister, who immediately took over and ushered her down the hall and up the stairs and into a warm bath, chattering in a friendly manner all the while. Two chambermaids helped and Marisa didn’t have to do a thing. Before she knew it, she was clean and smelling delicious with her dirt-stained clothes exchanged for a silky nightdress that felt like heaven. And finally, Carla led her to a luxuriously plush canopied bed in a beautiful room decorated in peach and gold. By the time Marisa had caught her breath, she knew it was all too much.

“I should go,” she protested weakly, knowing she was in danger of letting herself be seduced by all this cosseting.

“Nonsense,” Carla told her cheerfully, turning back the bed and providing a step-stool. “It’s late. You need to sleep. You can go in the morning.”

“But, my clothes…”

“They’re being cleaned for you. In the meantime, look here.” Carla threw open a tall wardrobe set against the inner wall. “You see all these?” she said, sweeping her hand along the length of the display inside. Bright cloth hung from every hanger. “They belong to my cousin Nadia. She’s just about your age and size. Minus the pregnancy, of course, but you’re barely showing. Feel free to use anything here that you like.”

Marisa shivered. This was beginning to remind her of a fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t always have happy endings. She could think of a few where the young innocent visitor was lulled into a false sense of security by all the riches laid before her, only to come to a bad end when she finally realized what the evil captors actually wanted from her.

“Uh, where is Nadia?” she asked.

Carla shrugged and pretty much evaded a straight answer. “Good question. That’s something we’d all like to know.”

She drew the heavy drapes closed over the lacy liners at the window and Marisa turned slowly, following her movements. She was hesitant to seem to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, but still….

“I… I don’t really know why you’re being so nice to me,” she said carefully. “I mean, you don’t know anything about me or where I came from or…”

Carla’s good-natured laugh rang out. “Well, neither do you, from what I hear. We’re all playing this by ear, aren’t we?”

Marisa couldn’t help but return her smile. “I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly.

“You get into that bed and get some sleep,” Carla said, turning to go. “There’s a bell rope if you need anything.”

“Carla,” Marisa said quickly, “thank you.”

Carla stopped at the doorway and looked back. She hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll be honest, Marisa. It’s lovely having you here, but the bottom line is that Nico is in charge when our oldest brother, Crown Prince Dane, is out of town. I’m sure you know—but then, maybe you’ve forgotten—that our father, King Nevander, died last month after a long illness. So now we’re preparing for a coronation. The Crown Prince is in Paris making international alliances. Nico is the de facto ruler here at home for the time being. And Nico gets what he wants. If he thinks you’re welcome here, you’re welcome here. So relax and enjoy it.”

With a wave she was gone. Marisa stared after her. Somehow her last words had not been comforting. The more she heard the prince wanted her here, the more she began to think she didn’t want to be here. Instead of heading for the bed, she turned and hurried toward the wardrobe, reaching in to grab something to wear for a quick escape. She’d barely taken down a beautiful pink sweater when a soft rapping on her door told her this wasn’t going to be quite so easy.

“Come in,” she said, tensed in uneasy anticipation.

Prince Nico entered the room, just as she’d been afraid he would. Funny, but he looked more handsome, taller, harder and just a bit scarier than he had when she hadn’t known he was royal. Biting her lip hard, she tried to hold back any evidence of being swept away. She absolutely refused to seem awestruck. She’d been impressed with him before, but once she realized he was royalty—like it or not, that had its effect. The royals were stars. How could it be any other way?

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gazing curiously at the pink sweater.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” She pressed the sweater to her chest. “I…listen, I’m sorry to be such a bother to everyone.” She gazed up at him earnestly. “Really. I think I should go. You know…”

His handsome face was impassive but his blue eyes shimmered silver in the lamplight. “You can’t go.”

“Oh.” That startled her for a moment. Why couldn’t she go? It didn’t make any sense. Was he just throwing his royal weight around? Or did he have some ulterior motive? She wasn’t sure why she was so suspicious of everyone. But then again, maybe she did have a hint or two as to why that might be. After all, she’d been assaulted tonight. Time to guard herself a bit more carefully, perhaps.

“Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than to look after me. I mean…here you are, a prince and all.” She shook her head and tried to convince him. “If I’d realized that from the beginning, I would never have gotten…” The word involved was the one she was going for, but the connotations scared her off. “…tangled up with you,” she said instead, then frowned, wondering if maybe that was worse.

The faintest of smiles quirked the corners of his mouth. “Too late. I’m entangled.” Reaching out, he took the hanger with the pink sweater from her hands and walked it back to the wardrobe.

She gazed at him, nonplussed. “But why?”

He hung up the sweater, then closed the door and turned back. “That doesn’t matter.”

Her warning system was setting off tiny alarms again. “Sure it does. I don’t understand why you think you have any responsibility for me and my child.”

He gazed at her for a long moment before answering that one—long enough that she began to feel self-conscious. She was standing there in a filmy nightdress, after all. Hardly the way one would want to appear in an audience with a prince. Unless, of course, one had seduction in mind. That sent blood rushing to her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had the sweater back to hide behind.

“We care about all our subjects, Marisa,” he said at last.

Right. She almost laughed aloud at that one. Especially when she considered the hint of mockery she heard in his tone.

“Maybe so, but you don’t invite them all to come and stay in the palace, do you?”

His blue eyes seemed to smile. “No. You’ve got me there. I’ll have to admit it. You’re special.”

That gave her the shivers. “Why?” she demanded, though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

He glanced down. She knew her pregnancy was pretty well hidden by the folds of the gown, but it almost felt as though he had X-ray eyes. He was very obviously referring to her child as the reason he was taking extra care to protect her. Her hands went involuntarily to her belly once again and she bit her lip, wondering if she could trust him—or if this was just a way to lower her defenses.

“Are you married?” he asked bluntly.

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. The usual order of things would require a husband somewhere in the mix.”

She looked down. Funny, she couldn’t remember who the father was right now—but despite the fact that there had been a moment there, when she’d still been groggy from the mugging and this amnesia or whatever it might be was still new to her, that she’d been startled to find she was with child, she was now well aware that she was carrying a baby close to her heart. She would never lose sight of that for a moment.

“I’m not married,” she said firmly.

He cocked his head to the side. “Can you remember…?”

“No.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. She knew instinctively that she had never voluntarily submitted to the authority of a husband. And she was beginning to feel very similarly about the authority of a prince. “But I know I’m not married. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “Perhaps your husband was killed in the war.”

She shook her head, chin high. “No.”

His eyes darkened. “You seem very sure.”

“I am. Look.” She held up both hands. The simple rings she wore left no room for the traditional Carnethian doubles all married women wore in this country. “I would remember. I just can’t believe I would forget a thing like that. Or if there were anyone in my life that I was in love with.”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe the answer will be in your luggage. I’ll send out men to search for your suitcase first thing in the morning.”

Her suitcase! That sense of urgency came over her again. She looked toward the door. “I really should go,” she began.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he cut in, sounding like a man whose patience was still holding, but not for much longer. “The doctor said you needed rest.”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to get it here. Look, I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt of that. But what about your baby?”

“What about my baby?” she said defensively. “It really has nothing to do with you.”

For just a moment, she thought she saw him wince, as though her feisty words had hurt him somehow. Despite everything, she regretted it. And that was a real problem. Her impulse was to do anything she could to make him happy. And that made her want to scream.

“Your Highness,” she said, purposefully using his rank as a way to distance herself from him. “I may not remember my name at the moment. And I may not be too clear on where I came from.”

She paused for a moment as a picture swam into her mind, a hazy, misty picture that wouldn’t quite come into focus. She blinked, thinking the clouds would clear in a second or two and she would see it perfectly.

“Are you remembering something?” he asked, stepping closer.

She drew in a quick breath as the picture evaporated before her eyes. Looking at him, she twisted her mouth slightly. “Not anymore,” she said coolly.

He nodded. “Let me know if you do,” he said, searching her face as though he thought the answers might appear there.

She sighed. Here was the problem. He saw her as a victim, someone who needed to be taken care of. She’d been through a lot today and taken some hard knocks, but she knew one thing for sure—she was no victim. She could take care of herself. She was going to have to pull herself together enough to show him that inner toughness before it was too late.

“Get some sleep,” he told her, starting to turn away. “We’ll discuss your situation tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first,” she muttered to herself as she listened to the sharp sound of his boots on the tiled floor of the hallway.


CHAPTER FOUR

MARISA stared at what she could see of the flowered canopy above her. Not much moonlight slipped in around the heavy drapes. She’d slept for an hour or so, but something was gnawing at her and she was completely awake now. If she was going to try to find a way out of this place, now was the time. She had to go. She didn’t feel right being here in the first place. This memory thing was driving her crazy. She was so sure she would remember everything if only she could find her missing bag. There was a compulsion driving her. She had to hurry back to the river and find her bag before anyone else did. And the most chilling thought of all. If she never found it, would she ever remember who she was?

Sitting up, she leaned against the headboard and tried to make a plan. She was in the palace. There were guards. There were probably alarms on the windows and doors. So how was she going to get out of here?

Well…how about a bold walk right out the front door? Why would a guard even want to stop her? She was a guest in this house and she wanted to leave. What could be simpler?

Slipping out of bed, she went to the wardrobe, bypassing the pink sweater for a light training suit in more earthy tones. The pants were stretchy and fitted just fine around her belly. The top was a little snug around her bust. She was ready to go.

In moments she was making her way carefully down the wide staircase and into the dimly lit marble foyer. Catching sight of the front-door guards through the glass, she stopped and chewed on her lip. Now that she was down here, coming face to face with a couple of men likely to have overly aggressive authoritarian complexes didn’t seem like such a good idea. Maybe she ought to try a side door or window first, something in one of the rooms that opened off the foyer. Turning she dismissed first one doorway, then another. A semi-dark room appeared to her left. It seemed to be a library of some sort, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Light from the moon cast a silver aspect across the floor that was almost inviting. She slipped inside, heading for the windows. Surely she would be able to open at least one of them, and if she could get through into the garden without triggering the alarm…



Prince Nico sat in semi-darkness, sunk in the depths of a huge leather chair in the palace library, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The night was stretching out long and lonely ahead of him. He wished there was a switch that could turn his mind off. It was running like a rat in a wheel. At this rate, he was never going to be able to sleep.

The cause was plain enough. Marisa. Marisa with her amnesia and her adorable bewilderment and her strangely vulnerable eyes and her determined bravery. And most of all, with the mystery child she carried. For some reason she had appeared out of the mist and walked into his life, conjuring up all his old ghosts and setting them free to torture him once again. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a long time.

And why was that? What had she done to him? There was no real reason for it. Marisa looked nothing like Andrea. Her personality was very different as well. So why had she captured his imagination like no other woman had done for a long, long time?

Throwing back his head, he groaned softly. He knew exactly what it was—he just had to face it.

First, she was pregnant and at just about the same stage Andrea had been when she’d been killed. That just naturally reached out and twisted his heart in ways not much else could. He wanted to protect her, to keep the world and all its ugliness away from her, to make sure nothing happened before she delivered her baby. His own baby had died with Andrea. A double tragedy. A double outrage. The pain had been unbearable. If he had the power, he would make sure that never happened to anyone again.

Okay, was that enough? Did that answer the questions roiling inside him? He lifted his glass and looked at the way a shaft of moonlight turned the drink inside to liquid gold and knew he hadn’t begun to give a full answer.

Ah hell. He took another long sip and put the glass down on the table at his elbow. Maybe he’d had enough to drink now to be honest with himself.

“She turns me on.”

There. He’d said it. And now he hated himself.




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