Her Royal Baby

CHAPTER EIGHT

INGRID wasn’t there.

Tammy walked into the dining room and stopped, stunned. There was only Marc, standing in his dinner suit before the enormous fireplace, a curious smile curving the corners of his mouth.

‘What?’ she said crossly before she caught herself and made a recovery. ‘I mean, good evening, Your Highness.’

‘Good evening, your ladyship.’ He gave her a formal bow which from someone else might be seen as a mockery, but from him was as natural as taking a lady’s hand and kissing it.

Which wasn’t exactly natural, Tammy thought, seriously ruffled. How many men had she ever met who kissed the back of a lady’s hand? Approximately none.

And how many men could smile at her and make her insides do these really strange things?

‘Where’s Ingrid?’ Her tone was more curt than she’d intended, and his smile faded.

‘Ingrid had urgent matters calling her home.’

‘To your home?’

‘To her home.’

She thought about that. Part of her-the silly part-was very, very pleased. The other part had to be sensible. She should accept this announcement for what it was worth. ‘So it’s as Mrs Burchett says? You’ve moved on?’

‘I’ve done nothing of the kind.’

‘Will she be coming back? Ingrid, I mean?’

‘I don’t see that Ingrid’s whereabouts need concern you.’

‘It’s only this dress,’ she said apologetically, looking down at the little black number she was wearing. ‘If it’s just you here from now on then I can go back to jeans.’

His lips twitched and laughter flashed into his dark eyes. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said. ‘Merci du compliment.’

‘Think nothing of it.’

‘I thought women dressed for men?’ he said curiously, and she raised her brows in a look of incredulity.

‘Only if they’re trying to attract them,’ she told him seriously, taking the champagne he offered and trying to keep her composure as their fingers touched. How he had the capacity to shake her just by touching, she didn’t know. ‘Which I’m not.’

Was that true? Was she trying to attract him? No, she told herself flatly. Or…not very much, anyway. Not any amount she was prepared to admit.

Somehow she made herself continue the conversation-which was really, really hard. ‘Women dressing when there are other women around is a very different ballgame,’ she managed. ‘My mother and sister could dissect a woman’s wardrobe from a hundred paces.’

‘And you hated it?’

‘I did,’ she agreed cordially. ‘Can we go find this soufflé? And this chicken?’

‘Why did you knock back quail?’ he asked curiously, and she flinched. But she made a recovery. Somehow.

‘I never liked quail.’

‘And if I do?’

‘If you put me in charge of menus then you eat what I like.’

‘You’re a hard woman.’

‘I am.’ She grinned, suddenly enormously cheered by Ingrid’s unexplained absence. It didn’t make any sense, but then she was just about past making any sense to herself at all over anything.

It was a fabulous dinner.

The kitchen staff could cook chicken any night they pleased while she was here, Tammy thought dreamily. The chicken casserole had been luscious, as had the salmon soufflé for entrée. So was the flaky quince tart for dessert, and the tiny meringues Dominic was serving with coffee were melt-in-the-mouth wonderful.

This was like no food she’d ever eaten. Wow! She ate another meringue and thought the belt on her little black dress would have to expand a notch or two if things stayed like this.

‘What?’ Marc asked, and she looked across the table to find him watching her. This was a crazy dining room for just the two of them. It was truly splendid. Twenty-foot ceilings, gilded walls, crimson brocade drapes, a vast open fireplace, candles, paintings of ancestors looking sternly down, silverware, crystal, a vast silver epergne on the heavily ornate sideboard…

A woman might well be intimidated by all this, Tammy thought, and then looked into Marc’s eyes and thought, No, this was what was more likely to intimidate her. Not the room. The man. Specifically, the way he smiled at her.

It made her catch her breath and more.

‘I was just wondering what happened to the poor quails we were supposed to have,’ she lied, and he smiled again-which made her catch her breath all over again.

‘Do we care?’

‘I like quails.’ She forced her face into a frown. ‘I don’t like them to eat, though. I like them flying about. I found one once, when I was a little girl. He’d been wounded and lost a wing and he became my pet. Querky Quail. I loved him.’

‘So you’re not intending to eat Querky’s relatives?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with chicken instead of quail,’ she told him severely. ‘If I’d had to decide before either had been killed then there’d have been no choice, but if the quail have already been killed then we shouldn’t waste them.’

‘So you’ll serve them up at breakfast?’

‘Um…maybe not.’

But he’d come to a decision. ‘Then you’ll have to eat them by yourself for dinner tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Or let the servants eat them.’ He pushed his empty coffee cup away and rose to assist her to do likewise. As she stood, he pulled her chair back for her. Which unnerved her all over again. Good grief! A man assuming that she-a tree surgeon-needed help climbing from a chair? What next?

But she couldn’t exactly say she disliked the sensation. In truth, it was an amazing feeling. For a start it brought him so close to her that her dress brushed the fine cloth of his suit. His hand brushed her bare arm and she felt a rush of heat straight through her body-a rush of heat she’d never felt before.

What was it with her? she asked herself desperately. She was acting like a teenager.

‘I’ll have to eat them myself?’ Damn, why was her voice not working properly? Why was she finding it so hard to think past how close he was? ‘You won’t be here?’

‘I’m going home.’

Home. Back to his own independent life.

That changed things. A cold, hard knot of anger settled in the pit of her stomach and the heat faded to nothing. ‘Why?’

‘I told you. I can’t stay here.’

‘But you live here.’

‘No. You live here now,’ he told her. ‘You made that decision when you decided to come back with Henry. Your home is here. My home is ten miles away.’

‘Then you brought me here on false pretences,’ she said angrily. ‘Nothing was said about this when I decided to come. You made it sound as if your home was here.’

‘If you hadn’t decided to accompany Henry, then my home would have had to be here.’

‘Then what’s changed?’

‘You, of course.’ He was looking down at her, and his face was still. Expressionless. He was showing no emotion at all-in fact he was so carefully showing no emotion that she wondered just what was going on behind that carefully maintained façade. ‘You,’ he repeated. ‘And me.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He was far too close for comfort, and suddenly she was finding it hard to breathe.

‘You’ve said it’s impossible.’ Still that expression that said he was holding himself under rigid control.

‘So it is,’ she managed. Damn, she was still too close. He was still too close! ‘I need my own space.’

‘So do I.’

‘Surely this castle is big enough for both of us?’ She felt suddenly desperate. Overwhelmed by the enormity of what he was suggesting. That she be left alone… ‘If you’ll agree to me turning part of it into a self-contained apartment…’

‘I won’t do that. It’s not necessary. I hate this place.’

She eyed him with caution. There was still no emotion on his face at all. Hate? He said the word like a carefully rehearsed line in a play.

‘So you farm out your responsibility…?’

‘I do nothing of the kind. It’s not my responsibility.’

‘Neither is it mine.’

‘You chose to come here,’ he told her.

‘I chose to care for Henry. Not your whole damned castle. Not your whole damned kingdom.’

‘Principality,’ he snapped, and she gasped.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m trying to be serious and you’re fiddling with semantics.’

‘I’m not fiddling with anything. I’m leaving.’

‘You never said you were leaving so soon.’ They were standing chest to breast, anger emanating from each in waves. ‘I can’t take on the castle. It’s way too soon. I’m hardly accustomed to Henry yet.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Dominic and Madge will help you through.’

‘So why won’t you stay longer?’

‘I have to leave.’

‘Why?’ She was practically yelling as she battled something she hardly understood. ‘Why do you have to leave? What do you mean-you and me? Why are you running? Is it this castle? For heaven’s sake, you’d think there were ghosts here.’

His face set. Hardened. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous. I’m not afraid of ghosts.’

‘Then what are you scared of?’

‘Nothing,’ he snapped. ‘I have responsibilities at my own château.’

‘Which can’t be handled from here? I don’t believe you.’

‘Believe it or not, it’s the way it is.’

‘No,’ she snapped. She was breathing hard, trying to work things out in her mind. It wasn’t making the tiniest bit of sense. ‘Before we left Australia there wasn’t a hint that you weren’t staying here. Now you say you’re leaving tomorrow. There must be a reason why you’re going so fast. For heaven’s sake, why?’

Why?

The word hung around them. The whole world seemed to draw in its breath, waiting for his response.

Why?

He stared down at her, goaded beyond belief. Why?

She was gazing up at him, her brown eyes dark with anger. Her skin was flushed. Her breast was rising and falling in angry passion, and her brilliant curls were tumbling onto her bare shoulders. She looked…

She looked…

It was too much.

Why?

He knew exactly why, and he could bear it not one minute longer.

He’d sworn not to. The first time had been a damnable mistake. He never should have done it. She’d been too sweet, too vulnerable, too… Too Tammy.

But how could he not? She was here in his hands, gazing up at him, and this thing between them…

He didn’t understand it one bit, but he knew what he had to do.

Of course.

Once again he kissed her.

Afterwards he couldn’t believe he’d done it. It was the last thing he wanted-wasn’t it?

Of course it was. He’d kissed her back in Australia and it had been a mistake. Then he’d kissed her as an affirmation of a promise. But this…this was no affirmation. This was the age-old attraction between man and woman. Quite simply he wanted her as he’d never wanted a woman in his life.

Sense had nothing to do with it. Logic had flown out through the vast French windows. He was crushing her to him with a longing and a passion that had nothing to do with any sense or logic or…or anything.

For now there was only his absolute need.

He needed her. For this moment he needed her like life itself. She was his home. His heart. His life.

His hands gripped her with the fierceness of possession, and in joy he felt her melting into him. Her face was tilting up to his and it seemed she was as desperate as he was-desperate to find his mouth-desperate to reach him.

She was responding! Her lips were beneath his. Her mouth was opening, demanding, searching for something that he’d thought was only his to need-but it seemed the need was hers as well.

This woman was his life, he thought incredulously. He could feel it. She was the other half of his whole. When she smiled, her smile reached his heart in a way it had never been reached. Ever. She was wild and free and untrammelled. Bare of make-up, no pretence about her, fiercely independent…

Yet when she held her little nephew there was such softness about her that she melted his bitter heart.

All through this dinner he’d sat, and he’d wanted her. Worse. All through this day-or had it started on the aeroplane, or even before? The sight of her bare toes on the grass this morning. The thought of her smiling down at him from that damned tree when he’d first seen her.

He was wild with the wanting of her. She should push him away, he thought fiercely. She should fight him. But her body was yielding to his with such infinite sweetness that he practically groaned aloud.

She set him on fire. All he could feel was the wanting, and a fierce heat was coursing through every part of his body. His hands gripped her shoulders tighter and then slid downward. As if compelled, his fingers moved so that he could feel the soft swell of her breasts. The perfect symmetry of her… The perfection…

Tammy.

Had he said her name aloud? He scarcely knew. All he knew was that his body was dissolving in a surge of desire he scarcely recognised.

This wasn’t like him. He didn’t feel like this about women. He didn’t!

Oh, Lord, her own hands were moving now. He felt a tug and her fingers were sliding under his shirt, feeling the strong contours of his back. Teasing him. Wanting him as he wanted her. Aching for him. He could feel her need.

She wanted him as much as he wanted her!

He was powerless to stop. He’d been holding himself in a grip of iron all day. He’d been telling himself that he had to get away. One more day, he’d told himself. One more night and then he’d leave and see her only on formal occasions.

But how could he leave? He couldn’t even put her away from him. Not when she clung to him with such passion-such a fierce wanting-as though she recognised that here was her mate.

Here was his home.

It was a ridiculous thought, a ridiculous feeling surfacing over and over, but he was beyond reason. His mouth was plundering hers and the feel of her was setting him on fire. All he knew was the wanting, and the heat of his need was throbbing through every vein of his body. The iron control he’d held himself under for all these years had slipped away at her touch. One touch…

One woman…

His!

The knocking took a while to penetrate.

For a moment Marc thought it was nothing but his own heartbeat, but there was another sharp rapping at the door and then a wail. Somehow it registered. Somehow.

Someone was knocking on the other side of the great doors.

Marc pulled away, but afterwards he never knew how. It was a sheer physical wrench, like losing part of himself, and he stood back and looked at the girl before him, saw his own confusion mirrored in her eyes.

‘I…’ He was staring as if he’d never seen her before. ‘Hell, Tammy…’

‘I know.’ Somehow she managed a whisper. She put her hand up to her lips as if she couldn’t believe what had just occurred. ‘You…you didn’t mean to do that.’

‘No, I…’

The knocking sounded again. Marc pulled himself together-a little-and turned to face the door.

‘Yes?’ When no one answered, he forced himself to take a step away and haul it open.

Out in the hall Mrs Burchett was carrying a wide-awake Henry. As the doors swung wide she looked from Tammy to Marc, obviously aching to know what she’d interrupted.

Obviously guessing…

‘I’m so sorry, but…’

Henry had been crying-or maybe that was an understatement. His little face was crumpled and sodden, and as soon as he saw Tammy he reached out as if he was desperate.

‘He woke and he won’t stop crying,’ Mrs Burchett told them. ‘Nothing I do is right. He slept all afternoon while you were out with your trees, and now…he’s wide awake and frantic.’

‘Give him to me.’

Despite her confusion, despite the fact that her world had been tilted so far on its axis that she was in danger of falling off, Tammy’s heart turned over. This was the first sign that Henry even recognised her. At ten months old a baby should be bonding with his people. He’d never bonded with anyone. She cast Marc a confused and desperate glance, but she forced herself to focus on her little nephew. ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ she whispered, lifting him from Mrs Burchett’s arms and hugging him close. ‘I…I was just coming.’

‘Stay,’ Marc managed. ‘We need to talk.’

‘I need to see to Henry.’

‘You can cuddle him here.’

‘We’ll talk in the morning.’

‘I’ll be gone in the morning,’ he told her, and that stopped her in her tracks.

‘Gone?’

‘I told you. I’m leaving.’

‘But…’ Mrs Burchett was looking from one to another, her curiosity a tangible thing, but it couldn’t matter. Tammy was so confused she didn’t care who heard the distress and confusion in her voice.

‘You haven’t told us that, sir,’ Mrs Burchett said, and Tammy was suddenly grateful. Grateful that she could bury her face in Henry’s hair and hide her surging colour while Marc had to concentrate on someone other than her.

‘I’ve only just decided,’ Marc snapped. Like Tammy, he was thoroughly confused. Hell, he needed to get away from here. He was losing his mind. He’d overstepped some boundary he hadn’t known was there, and beyond the boundary was a chasm he was fearful of facing.

The chasm was so deep he might fall for ever.

Maybe staying and talking to Tammy was a bad idea. Maybe staying within fifty yards of Tammy was a nightmare.

‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ he said a trifle unsteadily, and made to pass by Tammy and the child.

But Henry was resting on Tammy’s hip, and as he passed he brushed the little boy. Henry leaned back and held out his arms.

To him.

Marc stopped dead.

None of them could believe it. Tammy was holding Henry close, but the tiny boy was leaning back now, his face brushing Marc’s dinner jacket and his tear-drenched eyes gazing up at his big cousin.

He’d bonded to the two of them, Tammy thought incredulously. Somehow over the long journey, when Marc had held him close and let him sleep in his arms, the baby had decided that here was a person he could trust.

‘I need to…’ Marc was trying to leave, but his feet wouldn’t move. His eyes were on Henry, and they mirrored Tammy’s disbelief.

And Tammy came to a decision faster than she’d come to a decision in her life.

‘No,’ she said, and before Marc knew what she was about she’d handed over her nephew. Marc’s arms came involuntarily out to grasp the baby-to stop him falling-but Tammy was sure he wouldn’t fall. She knew that this big man would hold his baby cousin and care for him.

She knew.

‘No,’ she said again, and took a deep breath. ‘If you’re leaving in the morning then tonight’s your turn. You look after Henry. He wants you and I want my bed. Mrs Burchett, could I see you outside for a moment, please?’ She grasped the housekeeper’s hand and tugged her to the door. ‘Goodnight, Your Highnesses.’

And without another word she slipped out of the room and fled, towing the housekeeper behind her.

Nobody was around.

At first bemused, and then occupied by Henry’s need for reassurance, Marc took a few minutes before he left the dining room. Finally, with Henry snuggled against his chest and clearly contented, he tugged the servants’ bell.

No one appeared.

‘Let’s find Mrs Burchett,’ he told Henry, but Madge was nowhere to be found. The kitchen was empty. Coffee cups lay unwashed, but everything else was cleared, ready for breakfast next morning.

There were always servants around, he thought, puzzled. Marc pressed the nearest bell and waited.

Nothing.

‘They can’t all be in bed.’ In the times he’d stayed in this palace he wouldn’t have noticed if there was one footman or a dozen, but that there were now none was clearly unusual. ‘Maybe they all go to bed at ten. Maybe I just haven’t noticed before.’

Henry was gurgling happily in his arms now, enjoying this tour of the servants’ quarters with one of his two favourite people. More and more bemused, Marc carried Henry out into the hall. On the table was a note, formally addressed to His Highness, Marc, Prince Regent of Broitenburg.

It was Tammy’s handwriting. Of course.

Dear Marc

I’m only just figuring it out, but I’m starting to think Henry needs you more than he needs me-so it’s a shame for you to leave and have him forget you. The answer is to share the parenting. Tonight you look after Henry. Tomorrow night he can stay with me. The night after that he’s yours again. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s surely better than him losing you altogether. Good luck. Tammy.

And underneath was a postscript.

As you tell me that I’m in charge, I’ve ordered the staff to bed.

Marc stood and stared at the note for far longer than he needed. Finally Henry grabbed it and started determinedly chewing.

Caring for Henry every second day? What was she thinking of?

Back in Australia he’d promised to care for him, he thought, dazed by where these arrangements were heading. He’d told her that if she allowed him to bring Henry to Broitenburg then he’d be responsible for him. But he’d intended handing the little boy to Mrs Burchett and a hired nanny while he kept his distance. Madge would ensure Henry had everything he needed.

Except…Tammy?

Dammit, Henry needed Tammy.

No. He was holding Henry in his arms and Henry was at peace with his world. He was munching the note into a soggy pulp, his spare hand gripped his already battered teddy, and he was being held by a man in whom he had implicit trust.

Henry had everything he needed right here. Tammy was right. Somehow Henry had elected two grown-ups to be his people and Marc was one of them.

Henry was happy.

But Marc wasn’t. Marc was feeling as if the world was closing in on him. All he’d tried to escape was right here, contentedly mulching paper. Ties. Family. Responsibility.

Love.

‘I can care for you until breakfast, but not after that,’ he said grimly, and Henry paused and thoughtfully tried to jam a piece of paper into Marc’s mouth. ‘No thanks, kid; I’ve had dinner.’

Undeterred, Henry went back to chewing.

‘You need to go to bed.’

Did he? Henry looked unconvinced.

‘I tell you what else you need…’ There was a hint of sogginess under Marc’s arm, and it didn’t come from the paper. ‘I guess your diapers will be up in Tammy’s…I mean up in the nursery.’

The rooms were adjoining, Marc remembered. Tammy’s bedroom was set up for a nanny. There was no door between it and the nursery. He’d take Henry up there, he decided, and if Tammy was still awake…

Surely she couldn’t be asleep? Or if she happened to wake…

‘Serve her right,’ he decided. ‘Who the heck does she think she is, trying to run my life? This is her job, not mine.’

She wasn’t there.

Marc carried Henry into the nursery and just happened to glance-straight away-at the door to Tammy’s bedroom. He’d expected a hump under the bedclothes. She’d pretend to be sleeping, he decided, and hadn’t figured out whether to call her bluff and wake her or just leave Henry in the crib and let him wake her himself.

But she wasn’t there!

Her bed was beautifully made up, as it had been since it was made by the servants that morning. It hadn’t been slept in. The clothes she’d been wearing that night were lying on a bedside chair. Instinctively his eyes went to the wardrobe.

Hell! He couldn’t help himself. In seconds he had the wardrobe door open, and when he saw her clothing still there he felt his breath escape in a sigh of relief.

She hadn’t left the palace for good, then.

Why had he thought she would?

He hadn’t, he told himself. He was just…checking.

So where was she?

‘Tammy?’

No answer. Frustrated, he hit the servants’ bell and listened to it echoing away in the distance. What had Tammy written?

As you tell me that I’m in charge, I’ve ordered the staff to bed.

Where was she? Here he was, held close by Henry, when all he wanted to do was haul open the door and stride out into the night to find Tammy.

She’d be hidden in the servants’ quarters, he decided. Or in any of the thirty or so empty bedchambers around the palace. Or out in the garden and up a tree. Anywhere.

Alone.

Damn.

Henry gave the beginning of a grumble of protest and the sogginess grew. He was going to have to cope with this crisis alone. He couldn’t fetch Tammy even if he wanted to.

Damn, where was she?

Nowhere. He was by himself.

‘This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen to royalty,’ he told his cousin. ‘I should head down to the servants’ quarters and wake someone-rescind Tammy’s orders-have someone else change you and look after you.’

Wouldn’t that be what she’d expect him to do?

Yes.

She was expecting him to walk away. After all, that was just what he’d said he was going to do.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them he discovered Henry was watching him with wide-eyed wonder-as if he knew his future hung on what happened right this minute.

‘I can change a diaper,’ Marc said grimly, carrying Henry through to the change table. ‘I can take care of a baby.’

He could.

But as he laid Henry down and tackled the first domestic duty it had ever fallen to him to undertake-as Henry beamed up at him in delight at the removal of something that had clearly been starting to irk him-Marc looked down into his little cousin’s eyes and thought there was more to this than domestic duty. He wasn’t just taking care of a baby.

He was falling in love!

The thought scared him so much that it took all the control he could muster not to walk out of the room right then. All he wanted was to take Henry down, knock on the housekeeper’s bedroom door, hand over his responsibilities and run.

His responsibility gurgled up at him and smiled a fine baby smile, and the fine gossamer threads of responsibility tightened so firmly Marc thought he’d choke.

Instead, he somehow fastened a new diaper-in a fashion-lifted Henry into his arms and took him back to his suite.

And settled down to wonder where in hell Tammy was?