The Royal Wager Page 8

  Propelled by his weakness for this woman, Marc closed the distance between them in two strides and braced his palms on the desk on either side of her. He sought her mouth in a rush, as if he couldn’t survive without exploring the territory once more. She opened to him, played her tongue against his, pushed him to a point where he could easily dispense with all formality and clothing to get inside her immediately. But he rejected that notion. If he could touch her, taste her, tempt her, then that would be enough. It would have to be enough.

  After breaking the kiss, he settled his face in the hollow below her throat, pressing his lips there while inhaling her enticing fragrance.

  “Marc, I thought you said we couldn’t.” Her voice was a teasing, breathy caress at his ear.

  “Shouldn’t,” he murmured then slid his tongue down the cleft between her breasts, stopping where the opening of her blouse ended and buttons began, knowing he should not go any farther. But knowing what he shouldn’t do did nothing to quell the urge to do what he wanted to do. To her, with her.

  Kate threaded her hands through his hair, back and forth in long, torturous strokes. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”

  He straightened and slipped the first button on her blouse, ignoring the persistent voice telling him to stop. “I’ve locked the door.” He released two more buttons, keeping his gaze fixed on Kate’s eyes, searching for any sign of protest. He saw nothing but need. “I gave orders that we are not to be disturbed.”

  “Very resourceful,” she said, followed by a shaky smile that indicated nervousness, but not reluctance.

  Finally, Marc parted her blouse, exposing her bra, which he unhooked with a quick flip of one finger beneath the front closure before pushing it aside with both hands. His gaze roved over her breasts, round and pink tinged to match the flush on her face when he lifted her up and seated her on the desk’s edge.

  As he traced a path around one rosy tip with his finger, Kate watched his movements, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “Tu es parfaite,” he whispered. “Perfect.”

  Dipping his head, he drew one nipple into his mouth, relishing the feel of her against his tongue. He wanted more. He wanted it all. He wanted to undo her slacks, slip his hand inside, experience her wet heat. He wanted to open his own fly, give himself some blessed relief, and thrust inside her.

  When Kate released a soft, sexual sound, reality forced its way into his psyche and he took a step back. “We have to stop this, Kate.”

  “Why?”

  Marc had so many reasons, but he began with the most important. “I have nothing to protect you against pregnancy, and God knows I do not need another complication.”

  Kate’s face fell as if it had the weight of the world attached. “Complication? So that’s what I am to you?”

  “No…that’s not…” What in the hell could he say? Yes, she was a complication. His overwhelming desire was very complicated, as were his feelings for her that he did not dare examine. “Look, Kate, I’ve done what I said I would not do. I’ve proven my weakness for you against my better judgment.”

  “Weakness for me, or for women in general?”

  That brought seething anger to the surface of Marc’s attempts at a calm facade. “I’ve spent almost a year being celibate, and it was not due to a lack of propositions. I’ve met many women over that time, in many different places, and not one has tempted me the way that you do. Only you, Kate, and no one else.”

  She looked a bit more relaxed, if not totally pleased, as she redid her bra. “And what do you propose we do now? Ignore our attraction to each other?” She paused with a hand on the blouse and looked at him thoughtfully. “Or were you just trying to prove a point?”

  “If that were true, Kate, I would not have stopped.”

  She sent a direct look at his distended fly. “Then you’re determined to be the king of steel, is that correct?”

  Steel would be a more-than-adequate description in terms of his erection, but not when it came to his strength as far as Kate was concerned. “I cannot make love to you Kate. If I do, then I am in danger of hurting you in the process.”

  “You can’t hurt me, Marc. I know what this is all about. Chemistry. Attraction. Not ever-after.”

  “But you have no idea what my life is about. If anyone even suspects we’re involved, you will suffer for it.”

  “I’m not a wilting flower. And as I told you before, I’m only looking for some adventure.” She didn’t sound all that convincing. “But I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Right then, he would have gladly taken her down to the floor and finished what they’d started—what he had started. Instead, he turned away and headed for the door.

  He needed to remember who he was—a king with a consuming need to be accepted. But his need for Kate was beginning to overshadow everything else.

  He could not let that happen. It might destroy everything he had sought to accomplish in terms of his reputation. But worse, it could destroy her.

  Without facing her again, he said, “I will see that Nicholas returns you safely to the hotel.”

  And then he would retire for the evening, alone, to chastise himself for his complete lack of control.

  Even after Marc had been gone for several minutes, Kate could still feel his mouth and hands on her breasts, could still hear him say that he couldn’t make love to her, that she was a complication. She refused to be a complication.

  Probably just as well he’d stopped, Kate decided as she adjusted her clothing before leaving the office. And she was crazy to think that she didn’t want him with every fiber of her being. She did take some comfort in knowing that he wanted her, too. At least from a physical standpoint. Unfortunately, she had tried to fool herself into thinking that she only wanted some adventure with Marc, a few goes at hot and fast lovemaking. In reality, she wanted to be more than his friend, more than his lover. Yet Marc wasn’t the kind of man who required more than temporary affairs—without complications.

  Kate’s feelings for Marc were very complicated and she would have to analyze them later. Right now she needed to put aside her predicament, will away the shakes and see about Cecile. With that thought, she opened the door only to be met head-on by the queen mother.

  “Hi, Mary,” Kate said in a too-loud voice laden with fake cheerfulness.

  “Hello, dear.” Mary’s gaze roamed over Kate from head to toe. “Have you seen my son?”

  Oh, she’d seen him all right, and he had definitely seen her. “He left his office a few minutes ago. How’s Cecile?”

  “She’s an angel and down for her afternoon nap.”

  Searching for a quick escape, Kate pointed toward the back staircase leading to the nursery. “I think I’ll go check on her now.”

  “I would prefer you take a walk with me.”

  Oh, boy. “Any place in particular?”

  “The gardens. It’s a beautiful day and a good opportunity for us to have a little talk.”

  Kate assumed her face probably flashed guilt like a billboard, triggering the queen mother’s request. Mary most likely suspected something was brewing between Kate and the king. Kate saw no way out aside from running away, but that would further encourage the queen mother’s suspicions.

  When Kate said, “Lead the way,” surprisingly Mary linked her arm with Kate’s and guided her down the gilt and marble corridor, then through a pair of double French doors that led to the rear palace grounds.

  They remained silent as they strolled along a rock path lined with rose bushes and neatly trimmed hedges. When they reached a stone bench, Mary sat and patted the place next to her. “Join me, Kate.”

  Kate complied, keeping her gaze trained on a tree where a bluebird flitted along the branches, wishing she could sprout some wings and fly away.

  Mary’s sigh floated over the gentle breeze. “I suppose you now have the results of Cecile’s blood test.”

  At least she hadn’t quizz
ed her about Marc, Kate thought. But she wasn’t sure it was her place to deliver the news that would most likely be a reality jolt. However, she couldn’t lie to this woman who had been nothing but kind to her since the beginning. “Yes, I have the results.”

  “Well?”

  Kate shifted until she faced Mary, taking the woman’s hand into hers. “Cecile has Philippe’s and Marc’s blood type.”

  Mary drew in a long breath and released it on a weary sigh. “Then she is most likely my grandchild.”

  “Unless there is someone else in the family that could be a possibility.”

  Mary shook her head. “No. The line ends with Marcel. His father had only one niece, his deceased sister’s child, and she is in Canada, happily married with two children. I have no one else in my family.”

  Kate ached at the loneliness in Mary’s voice and grasped for words that might ease her pain. “And now you have Cecile. And Marc.”

  Mary studied their joined hands. “Marcel has been a stranger to me for the past few years. He’s always been searching for something, although heaven only knows what.”

  “Respect,” Kate said with certainty.

  “I suppose you’re right about that.” Mary lifted her gaze to Kate. “Do you believe Cecile is his child?”

  “He’s adamant that she isn’t.”

  “But do you believe him?”

  Kate wanted to, honestly she did. “What I think doesn’t matter,” she said, the same thing she’d told Marc earlier. “Cecile’s well-being is important, though. She needs your love.”

  “She will have it,” Mary stated. “I am more concerned with my son. He has much to bear as a king.”

  “I know, but he has broad shoulders.” In both a literal and figurative sense.

  “He also needs the love of a good woman.”

  Kate shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a princess somewhere who would be more than willing to give him that.”

  Mary patted Kate’s hand. “My dear, we are running relatively low on monarchs in this day and time. Marcel needs someone who understands him. Someone who can settle him down. A nice, educated woman would fit the bill.”

  The expectant look on Mary’s face took Kate aback. “Again, I’m sure someone will turn his head.”

  “Someone already has, and that someone is you.”

  Kate’s breath hitched hard in her chest. “Mary, I really don’t think—”

  “You need not think, Kate. You only need to be there for him. The rest will take care of itself. Unless you do not care for him.”

  Kate looked away, knowing the guilt had returned. “I’m very fond of Marc. I have been since the day I met him nine years ago.”

  “But can you love him?”

  In many ways, Kate already did. In many ways, she always had. “Right now, Marc needs a friend, and I’m willing to be that to him.”

  “Friendship is a good place to begin.” Mary stared off into space while the afternoon sun washed the gardens in a soft golden glow. “Marcel’s father was my friend and my confidant. My lover. The love of my life, even though it was ordained that we marry.”

  “You mean some sort of arrangement?”

  Mary smiled. “I know that must sound archaic to a modern young woman such as yourself. But I tend to believe that fate had a hand in our union. If only fate had not been so cruel as to take him from me much too soon.”

  The sorrow in Mary’s voice, the mist of unshed tears in her eyes, caused a lump to lodge in Kate’s throat. After fighting back her own tears, Kate said, “You’re still young, Mary. You could find someone else.”

  “There is no one else for me, my dear. I’ve loved only one man in my life, a wonderful man, and he has no equal.” She drew Kate into an unexpected embrace. “I wish for you that kind of rare and precious love, my dear Kate.”

  Kate desperately wanted to believe in its existence, but with Marc? Only if he was willing to return that love.

  Once they parted, she told Mary, “Thank you. Your story inspires me.”

  Mary squeezed Kate’s hands. “And your presence here is very welcome, which leads me to a request.”

  “Anything.”

  “I would like you to move into the palace, or I should say onto the palace grounds.” She gestured beyond the path to a break in the hedge. “Over there, you will see a small cottage. Philippe used it as his own private retreat. We’ve removed his possessions, but it’s still nicely furnished. It would afford you some seclusion.”

  Being so close to Marc both thrilled and concerned Kate. If he decided not pursue a relationship, then she would have to face him on a daily basis, and that could be very detrimental to her heart. “I’ll think about it,” she promised Mary, and she would think about it, probably most of the night. “In the meantime, I’ll be happy to remain here for the next few days to help take care of Cecile.”

  “That’s not necessary, Kate. Beatrice will serve as her nanny. Besides, you will have enough on your plate when you begin your work tomorrow.”

  “I don’t mind missing some sleep where Cecile is involved,” Kate insisted. Or where Marc was concerned. “She’s such a joy to be around.”

  Mary stood and stared down at Kate with a knowing look, as if she could read Kate’s thoughts. “She is very fond of you, too, Kate. And whether he cares to admit it or not, so is my son.”

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  Six

  Marc did not care to admit to himself that what he was feeling for Kate Milner went far beyond simple lust. He admired her conviction, reveled in her strength of will, her insight. Yet he couldn’t deny that he longed to make love to her. He also couldn’t deny that she was effectively breaking through the armor he had erected to protect his emotions. And he had no idea how he had allowed that to happen.

  Yes, he did know. When he was with her, he didn’t feel so alone.

  But he was alone in his office now, trying to concentrate on work, yet he could only ponder his situation with Kate, memories of their earlier interlude in this very place battering his mind. He could not fall into that trap. Not now. Not with so much riding on his country’s expectations of him as a leader. In less than six weeks, he would appear before the governing council to state his case. Doriana needed to move into the twenty-first century, and providing premium health care was of the utmost importance. He had to prove to the ruling body that he had his country’s best interests at heart and he needed the funds to see his plans come to fruition.

  Now nearing midnight, he tossed aside the proposals he’d been composing for some time and opted to retire to bed. On his way to his suite, he stopped at the nursery to look in on Cecile, hoping to find Kate so he could issue another apology since he had not joined her for dinner. But he only found Cecile, sleeping soundly in the dimly lit, deserted room.

  Quietly he approached the crib and stared down at the infant lying on her belly, her knees tucked beneath her and her face turned toward him in profile. Marc watched her for several moments, trying to find something in her features that reminded him of Philippe. She could belong to either one of them based on looks alone. But Marc was very certain she was not his child, even though in many ways he felt responsible for her. After all, Philippe was gone, and she was all that remained of him—if, in fact, Cecile was his child. Deep down, Marc believed that to be the truth. If only he could prove it.

  When Cecile released a soft whimper, Marc feared he had inadvertently roused her by his presence alone. He laid his palm on her tiny back and patted her a few moments, praying she would settle back into slumber before she roused Beatrice. Instead, she let go a cry, prompting Marc to pick her up. He walked her around the nursery, soothing her with soft whispers in order not to wake the household.

  “You and I will be in a great deal of trouble if you make too much of a fuss,” he told her as he retrieved the pacifier from the crib then placed it in her mouth. “Now be a good girl and go back to sleep.”

  She rubbed her eyes, reared her head back, pok
ed her finger in his mouth then grinned as if to say, “Silly king, I have no intention of sleeping.”

  How could he resist such a captivating child? He couldn’t, and she knew it. This particular female was determined to wrap his heart around her finger and she was succeeding. So was Kate.

  He brushed a kiss across her warm, downy-soft cheek. “Your mother must have held you often, if only we knew who she was.”

  Cecile yawned, then palmed his jaw as if fascinated by the feel of his whiskers. Without warning, she settled her head on his shoulder.

  Marc experienced an unexpected swell of emotion and a fierce protectiveness as he relished her warmth against his heart. She was an innocent, and she deserved the best in life. Even if they never confirmed her parentage, Marc vowed to make certain she was safe, secure and well loved by the family. She would never know the misery of not being accepted.

  When he felt she had sufficiently calmed, Marc laid her back in the crib and held his breath. Her eyes opened briefly and she raised her head and leveled her unfocused gaze on him. Then she turned her face away, laid her head back down and her respiration once more became steady and deep.

  Marc was greatly satisfied that he had been able to calm her with little effort. If only something so simple could ease him into sleep. If only he had someone to comfort him, to reassure him at times that he wasn’t totally floundering as a leader. If only he had Kate to talk to.

  But Kate obviously had returned to the hotel, and he would have to face the night alone.

  After retiring to his suite, Marc took a quick shower then slipped beneath the cool sheets without bothering to dress. He punched the pillows several times, but couldn’t seem to settle down despite his exhaustion.

  Turning onto his back, he stared at the ceiling and considered going for a drive. But even that held no real appeal. What he wanted most—what he needed most—was Kate. Odd that he’d spent years without needing anything or anyone, and now in two days’ time, he missed her more than he’d missed any human being aside from his father and brother.