Her Royal Baby

CHAPTER FOUR

‘GREAT.’

‘Great?’

‘Do you know what you’ve just done for inter-country relations?’ Marc demanded as the door closed. ‘These people know who I am and now they’re thinking I’m somewhere between Godzilla and Attila the Hun.’

‘As if I care.’

‘You might not, but I do.’

‘Were there reporters out there with cameramen attached?’ They were both past fury now, and moving on to a level they didn’t know. Sparks were flashing off them like two electric cables coming into contact. You could practically smell the burning. ‘Are the press in this country interested in the doings of some tinpot prince? I don’t think so. Broitenburg is a tiny country. I think you have an exaggerated idea of your own importance… Your Highness.’

She ended her words on a note of bitter sarcasm.

Tinpot prince… She’d called him a tinpot prince.

The words hung between them

With anger still driving her, she turned her back to check Henry. The child was obviously accustomed to sleeping through noise. Now he snoozed on, tiny lashes fluttering closed over his dark eyes. She’d wrapped him snugly in a blanket and he was using a corner of it for comfort, sucking it in his sleep.

Henry was the important one here, she thought, trying desperately to get her thoughts in some sort of order. Henry. Not some crazy foreign prince with an overblown idea of his own importance.

‘Will you tell me what was in the letter?’ Marc asked, and Tammy whirled to face him again. She had so many emotions spinning in her head it was hard to know where to begin. His voice had calmed, but she was still a long way from anywhere approaching calm.

He saw it. His hands came up in a gesture that said he wanted to placate, not inflame the situation further. ‘You must be hungry,’ he said softly. ‘I know I am.’ He picked up the Room Service menu and flicked it open. ‘Let me order dinner for both of us and we’ll eat and talk at the same time.’

‘Here?’

‘Of course here. You’ve made that plain.’ He managed a smile. ‘If I object your very efficient security officers will come and eject me. They’ll create an international incident and that will be that. So… I’m in your hands, Miss Dexter.’

She backed off a pace and glared. ‘Why don’t I trust that smile?’

‘You can trust me,’ he said, so softly that she hardly heard.

But she did hear. She looked at him for a long moment. Their eyes locked and she found her colour mounting. This time it wasn’t from anger.

You can trust me? Did she? What was it about this man?

‘Fine,’ she stammered. ‘Order. Only not frogs’ legs.’

‘Or kangaroo steak,’ he said gravely. ‘Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

‘At last. We have consensus.’

They might have had a consensus on dinner, but they sat at either side of Tammy’s tiny table and eyed each other as if either could produce a loaded automatic at any minute.

Marc poured wine, and Tammy eyed that, too, with distrust.

‘No, Miss Dexter,’ he told her. ‘The wine doesn’t contain poison, and I’m not trying to get you drunk.’

‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’

Marc closed his eyes. When he opened them the humour had gone. There was bleak acceptance of where she was coming from.

‘What was in the letter?’

‘I’d imagine you know.’

‘I know very little,’ he told her. ‘I had little to do with my cousin. Our families were not close.’

‘How can you be Prince Regent if your families were not close?’

‘I never expected to inherit the crown. Jean-Paul had an older brother, Franz, who was killed in a car racing accident five years ago. After Franz’s death Jean-Paul inherited the crown. With two cousins before me I’d never imagined it could come to me. And I don’t want it.’

She frowned. ‘You don’t want it?’

‘Believe it or not, no.’

‘So why…?’

‘There’s no one else,’ he said heavily. ‘Except Henry. Tell me what was in the letter.’

Tammy bit her lip. She took a sip of the wine, which was gorgeous-Marc certainly knew how to order wine-and thought about it. The letter was intensely personal, but maybe the time for keeping secrets was past.

She focused on the food for a bit: lobster and salad and fries. It was a combination that was just what she felt like. At some level she was very, very hungry.

But overriding hunger was the sensation that maybe she needed to be honest with this man.

There’d been enough secrets.

‘My sister seemed…desperate,’ she told him. ‘Her letter sounds like she was way out of her depth. She apologised for not letting me know about her marriage and her pregnancy. She said our mother engineered her meeting with Jean-Paul and pushed them both into marriage. I can believe that.’

‘I can believe it too,’ Marc said softly. ‘I hate to say it, but your sister seemed…well, she seemed a wimp. I only met her the once, at her wedding. She was a fairytale princess but a wimp just the same.’

‘Lara always did what my mother wanted,’ Tammy said sadly. ‘From the time Isobelle took any notice of her Lara was her puppet. Fights are all that was ever between my mother and me, from as far back as I can remember, but by the time Lara was ten or eleven she was beautiful and she was biddable. Isobelle schooled her well in the art of making it in the world by using men.’

‘So Jean-Paul would have seemed desirable?’

‘Isobelle used to call Lara a princess,’ Tammy said, and the old bitterness was still in her voice. ‘She wanted it so much. My father was titled and moneyed, and for a while Isobelle thought she’d scored a title for herself. That was why she got pregnant with me. But even after she had me my father refused to marry her. It was a waste of a pregnancy so far as Isobelle was concerned. And maybe it explains why she hates me so much.’

‘She hates you?’

But Tammy wasn’t about to be sidetracked onto things that didn’t matter. ‘Isobelle married four times,’ she told him. ‘Lara was another pregnancy to force some man to marry her. And she succeeded. The marriage lasted for a whole eighteen months.’

‘Lara was like her?’

‘Obedience was her way of getting affection. We did what our mother wanted or there was no affection at all.’

Marc’s eyes watched Tammy. He knew what she was saying. There was a lifetime of bitterness behind the words. But he didn’t comment. He waited for her to continue, and in a while she did.

‘Anyway…anyway, as Lara got older my mother dragged Lara with her in her stupid schemes. Lara was too weak to see the pitfalls of the men my mother found for her. According to her letter, Jean-Paul scared her but she was too spineless to do anything about it. She let Isobelle push her into marriage. Then when Henry was six months old-they were in Paris and Isobelle had dropped in for a flying visit-Lara went shopping and returned to find one of Jean-Paul’s crazy friends trying to feed Henry drugs. Jean-Paul thought it was funny. That was enough to get through Lara’s thick skull. She wasn’t bad. She was just…spineless.’

‘So she sent Henry back to Australia with your mother?’

‘She sent him to me.’

‘To you?’

‘According to her letter she asked Isobelle to bring the baby to me.’ Tammy shrugged. ‘I’m the one who’s dragged Lara out of trouble in the past. Even though we were separated, Lara knew I wouldn’t have refused.’

‘But Isobelle didn’t bring Henry to you?’

‘No.’ Tammy shook her head, still thinking it through. ‘How could she have brought the baby to me? She would have had to find me, for a start. Then she would have had to explain what was going on and I might have yelled at her. It was far easier to dump Henry in a hotel with his nanny and tell Lara she couldn’t find me. Or that I wasn’t interested. Or she might even have told Lara that I was involved in caring for him. Heaven knows.’ She bit her lip and her face hardened. ‘Isobelle will tell me.’

Marc looked across the table at her, his face thoughtful. ‘So there’s no love lost between you and your mother?’

‘None.’

‘Lara’s hardly blameless. Surely a mother would have checked on her baby?’

‘By the sound of it…’ Tammy said, her voice fading to a whisper. ‘By the style of the writing it seems as if Lara was out of it, too.’

He thought about that and nodded. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. If I’d had live with Jean-Paul maybe that would have been the only way I could face him.’

‘He was that bad?’

‘He was that bad.’

‘My mother must have known.’

He didn’t respond. There was no response to give. For a while there was total silence.

‘Your fries are getting cold,’ he said at last, and Tammy caught herself.

‘I…yes.’

‘They’re good.’

‘They are, aren’t they?’ she said, and managed a smile. He smiled back at her.

There it was again. That smile. It was a knockout. It brought sunshine where there’d been only blackness. It seemed as if where there was this smile her world couldn’t be all that dreadful.

Not if this man was in it.

Now, that was a crazy thing to think, she thought savagely. This man and his family were the cause of all this…mess.

Henry.

Her eyes slid sideways to the cot and Marc followed her gaze.

‘It’s not a total disaster,’ he said softly, and her eyes swung back to him in surprise. As well as everything else, did he have the capacity to read minds?

‘Why do you want him to go home…?’ She corrected herself. ‘To go back to Broitenburg?’

‘He must.’

‘You surely don’t want a child?’

‘No, but…’

‘Charles called you the Prince Regent. So that makes you the ruler of the country. Right?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But what?’

He sighed, refilled his wine glass and settled back, like a man prepared to lay his cards on the table.

‘The country is in a mess,’ he told her honestly. ‘Jean-Paul behaved like an absentee landlord for years, and so did his brother before him. The government’s corrupt. Everyone who’s anyone has made themselves positions of power. Charles, for example. Why does a country as small as Broitenburg need an Australian embassy? It doesn’t. Yet here’s Charles-being paid a sickening stipend, driving the car you saw us in, living in an embassy that would house a dozen families. Broitenburg is… was-a prosperous little country, yet when Franz and then Jean-Paul came into power it was bled dry by corrupt officialdom. The whole thing needs a dose of salts.’

‘And you’re just the man to give it to them,’ Tammy said thoughtfully, and Marc grinned.

‘Actually, yes.’

‘Why bother?’ she asked curiously. ‘Why do you care?’

‘It’s a wonderful country,’ Marc said softly. ‘I was brought up there and I love it. My cousins didn’t give a toss about it, but Broitenburg under my grandfather’s rule was magic. It breaks me up, seeing what’s happening now.’

‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘So why can’t you thunder in and kick some butt?’ Tammy demanded. ‘Instead of throwing obscene amounts of money at me so you can spend the next twenty years babysitting, why not just go home and rule?’

‘There’s a problem.’

‘Which is?’

‘The succession is Henry’s, not mine. The constitution makes me a caretaker monarch. When he reaches twenty-five, the job is his.’

Tammy thought that through. A twenty-five-year reign and then honourable retirement? It didn’t sound bad to her. ‘That gives you twenty-five years of playing king,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘If that’s what I have-but I don’t. Not at the moment. My Regency only holds true if Henry’s in the country. If Henry isn’t living in Broitenburg then I have no power at all.’

Tammy thought about that for a bit more. She was still confused, and, as well, she found she wasn’t sympathetic. She glanced over at the sleeping baby and the thought of Henry inheriting a crown seemed little short of ridiculous. Monarchies were all very well, she decided, but she was a modern girl. An Australian. Did a country really need a royal family?

‘You mean, if Henry doesn’t return the country would revert to a democracy.’

He shook his head, his eyes bleak. ‘If it did there’d be no problem, but Jean-Paul has left the place to be run by power-hungry despots. I have no time to change things. Without a monarchy the country will self-destruct, and I can’t let that happen.’

Help. The more she thought about it the more she didn’t like it. Not one bit. ‘So Henry needs to go back?’

‘Henry needs to go back.’

She glanced again across at the cot, where the baby was still fast asleep. He was so little. He was so…needful. ‘You’d put the country’s welfare above Henry’s?’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ he said gently. ‘I swear he’ll be looked after.’

‘He doesn’t need looking after,’ she blurted out. ‘He needs love.’

‘I’ll…care for him.’

She stared up at him, trying to read his face. Once again she read sincerity. This was a man doing what he thought was best.

What was there in it for him?

The Regency. Twenty-five years of playing ruler of the country, she thought, and the idea hardened her heart. If Henry didn’t return, this man would be nothing.

‘I’ve told you-I don’t want this,’ he told her, and she stared.

‘What…?’

‘You’re thinking I want Henry’s return to ensure my own power base, but it’s not true. I never wanted power. I don’t want it now. If leaving Henry here meant Broitenburg could move into a progressive democracy then I’d leave him. You must believe that.’

‘I-’

‘But it won’t happen,’ he told her, overriding her interruption as he tried to give her a sense of his own urgency. ‘The officials are ruining the country. We’re a great little country, but whole industries are moving away because of government corruption. Good people-skilled people-are leaving Broitenburg because their skills go unrewarded.’

He leaned towards her then, his voice still urgent and his eyes not wavering from hers. ‘As Prince Regent I can change things,’ he told her. ‘The crown has power-too much power-but in the short term that can be used for good. I can curtail government corruption. I can even rewrite the constitution so that the monarchy becomes more in line with the British tradition-where the monarch exists to lead the people as an inspirational role, not controlling day to day living. Tammy, you must give me this chance. I want my country to be the wonderful place it once was.’

There was passion in his voice. Fire. Tammy looked across the table at Marc and saw a man who believed absolutely in what he was doing.

This man wasn’t corrupt, she thought. He was honest and he was strong and he cared. There was a part of her that recognised something in him that was almost a part of her. Like twin souls…

For the first time she wondered about him. Really wondered. What had he been doing before Jean-Paul’s death? Where had he been?

Was there a woman in his life?

Where had that thought come from? She gave herself a mental slap, hauling her thoughts sharply into line. This was hardly the time for wondering such things. He was pleading for her to hand over her nephew.

She couldn’t do it.

‘Maybe when he’s older…’

‘Tammy, he needs to come home now. His claim to the throne lapses forty days after his father’s death. I have until Friday.’

Using her name unnerved her still more. Once more she attempted to focus on what he was saying. Friday. ‘That’s in four days?’

‘Yes.’

‘But…’ She shook her head, bewildered. ‘Why did you leave it this long to collect him?’

‘I thought he was safe.’ Marc’s hands clenched on the table before him. ‘At the funeral your mother told me he was being safely cared for in Sydney. She was so…’

‘I know. I know what my mother can be.’

‘I assumed she was going back to him. Heaven knows whether she said it, but that was the impression she gave. She acted distraught at the thought of her grandchild being orphaned. So I thought…I thought that he’d be best staying with his grandmother. I had to take urgent steps to ensure that I took control until Henry came of age so I put Henry’s arrival down as something that could wait until the last minute. I had no worries about him-until I got the call from your country’s Social Services.’

Passion gave way to anger, just like that. Isobelle had made herself an enemy of this man, and the tone of his voice made Tammy shudder.

‘What the hell was she thinking of?’ he demanded.

The answer to that was easy. ‘Herself.’

Marc’s eyes flew to hers again. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’

‘Isobelle suits herself. She always has. Sitting around waiting for Henry to grow up so she can be a loving grandmother to a twenty-five-year-old prince is hardly her style. She’ll be off with her next millionaire now.’

‘You’re not in contact with her?’

‘I’ll speak to her about this.’ Tammy glanced down at the letter and Marc’s anger was reflected in hers. ‘Oh, yes. I’ll speak to her.’

‘But meanwhile…’

‘Meanwhile you still need to take him?’

He nodded, anger fading to be replaced by determination. ‘I’m sorry, but, yes.’

‘And I’m sorry, but, no. I can’t let you.’

‘You must.’

‘It’s a dilemma, isn’t it?’ she told him. ‘Broitenburg needs Henry, but Henry doesn’t need Broitenburg. You might be prepared to sacrifice one little boy for the greater good, but I can’t.’ She bit her lip. ‘Marc, I don’t need to be a psychologist to see that he’s damaged already. It’s so hard to make him react. Lara knew what was happening. In her letter she’s frightened; not for herself but for Henry. She asks me to help. She commits him to my care.’

‘But…’

‘But now I’m all he’s got,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t give him a crown or a country, and I can’t save your political ideals. All I can do is care for one little boy, and that’s what I’ll do.’ Her voice softened into compassion and she rose, pushing her chair back from the table. Decision made. ‘I’m sorry, Marc. I’d like to help you but I can’t. Unless I know he’ll be loved, I just…can’t.’

He rose, too. He stood staring down at her for a long, long moment, reading the resolution in her face. She wouldn’t relent. Her face was grim and set. Implacable.

He’d never met a woman like this, he thought. She stood barefoot and bereft of any make-up. Her shirt and jeans were worn and faded. They were clean, but that was all that could be said for them. Her still-damp curls were trailing across her shoulders and he had the most impossible urge to reach out and touch one. Just one.

Impossible.

The whole set-up was impossible.

‘I think we’ve come to an impasse,’ she was saying. ‘I think…maybe you have to leave.’

‘There’s one way out of this mess.’

‘Yes?’ She raised her eyebrows in polite disbelief.

He thought about it for a long minute, and the more he thought about it the more it seemed the only solution possible.

‘You could come to Broitenburg with Henry.’