Princess Of Convenience

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT TOOK twenty minutes to get from where they’d met the farmer to the palace gates.

In that twenty minutes the world had woken up.

One phone call from the farmer had produced immediate results. There had been huge media interest in the death of Lady Sarah. Everyone in the country knew the terms of the royal succession, and apart from Marcel and the politicians who would benefit, everyone had been devastated. There was general consensus that the little prince should stay with his grandmother and there had been hope that Raoul would prove a better ruler than his predecessors. Sarah’s death had dashed those hopes, but there was still avid interest in this Prince Raoul who the country knew so little of and who had lost so badly.

So there’d been media camped up at the palace gates, waiting to get interviews, photos, anything. That interest had died back over the past few days, so much so that they’d been able to get out this morning simply by driving the gardener’s van. No one had been stirring in the camp. No one had expected anything except maybe a statement of misery as the royals moved out.

But the farmer’s phone call had changed things.

As they approached the castle gates, the media seemed to burst from nowhere. Photographers and reporters and their associated equipment were spread over the road and their excitement was obvious from five hundred yards.

‘Uh-oh,’ Raoul muttered.

‘M. Luiten must have told them,’ Jess whispered, horrified.

‘Maybe it was your own declaration down the mountain,’ Raoul said drily. ‘You can hardly go round calling me your husband if you don’t want anyone to know.’

‘But the farmer didn’t have a phone.’

‘Maybe not but I’m guessing he and Angel found a phone faster than I can drive.’

‘So you’re saying this is my fault?’

‘Absolutely.’ He grinned.

‘Raoul…’

‘It’ll be fine,’ he told her. ‘Pretend you don’t speak our language.’

‘I can do that. And they can hardly photograph me,’ she said, cheering up as she hugged her babies. Raoul was smiling his reassurance. It couldn’t be all bad. ‘I’m covered in alpaca.’ She peered out at the pack ahead, blocking the road. ‘Can they stop us? Can’t we keep driving?’

‘Squashing the odd reporter?’

‘I think reporters are unsquashable,’ she said doubtfully. ‘It’s in their job description.’

‘A bulldozer probably wouldn’t squash this lot and we’re going to have to face this some time,’ he told her, drawing reluctantly to a halt. ‘We might as well face this now.’

‘Wrong.’

‘Wrong?’

‘You’re going to have to face this some time,’ she told him. ‘I’m going back to Australia.’

‘After the Press conference, my love,’ he told her. ‘Which is scheduled to start right now.’

My love…

Why had he called her that? Jess sat in the passenger seat and hugged Balthazar and Whatshername while Raoul got out of the van and started answering questions.

He’d called her my love. It had been a throw-away line, she thought. A dry reference to that fact that they were now married. It didn’t mean anything.

Heck, why was she thinking about two little words when she had so much more to think about? She shoved the two words away-not so far that she couldn’t haul them up at some later date and inspect them, but far enough away so she could think about what was happening.

The window on her side was closed but Raoul had left his side open and she could hear every word. There were microphones in his face and cameras flashing. Ugh. She slunk down and held her alpacas close; forming a barrier from the crowd trying to peer in.

The babies wriggled, not liking the flashes.

‘Shush,’ she told them. ‘We’re not on display here. Raoul is.’

Her husband?

He’d called her his love. Damn, the words wouldn’t stay where she’d put them. They were demanding immediate inspection.

‘I bet that’s what he called every one of his thousand previous women,’ she told the alpacas, and then she corrected herself. ‘I mean…they’re not previous to me. I do not make one thousand and one.’

She wasn’t making sense, even to herself.

She might as well listen to what was going on outside.

‘We’ve received reports that you’re married.’ That statement in many different forms was being thrown at him from all sides.

Did he mind? He seemed assured, Jess thought. A prince in charge of his world. Or maybe as a doctor working where he’d been, he’d had practice handling the Press. Whatever, Raoul had himself settled now. He was leaning back against his closed car door, protecting his bride as he faced the media.

‘That’s right,’ he told them. ‘I’m married. As of an hour ago.’

There was a moment’s shocked silence-a vast aura of stunned amazement from a contingent of the media who clearly were unused to being this shocked-and then a surge of questions.

‘When?’

‘Why?’

‘Who?’

‘Is it the lady in the car?’ someone demanded, and Raoul’s quiet yes led to another moment’s silence.

Jess pushed the lock down on her side of the van. Just in time. Someone grabbed her door and tried to open it.

She manoeuvred Balthazar so he was between her and the window.

‘Questions to me, please,’ Raoul told them. ‘My wife is understandably overwrought.’

Overwrought? She thought about that, while she cowered behind her alpacas. Overwrought. It made her sound like a frail little princess.

Balthazar licked her hand and she thought, No, I’m not frail. She hugged the little cria closer. It was she who should be reassuring Balthazar. What was he doing licking her?

‘This is a marriage of convenience, right?’ someone else asked and Raoul let the question hang, as though considering. But obviously he’d decided that the only way forward here was with honesty.

‘You all understand the rules of the succession,’ he told them. ‘And I’d imagine you all understand what’s happened. My mother desperately wants to be permitted to raise her grandson. The Comte Marcel refuses her that right. My cousin, Lady Sarah, agreed to marry me so that the succession could stay with me. Tragically, Lady Sarah’s untimely death meant that my nephew would be placed in the viscount’s care on Monday. Ms Devlin kindly made the offer of marriage and I was left with no choice but to accept.’

Hey! She thought about that. It sounded really reasonable, she decided, but there were parts of it that she couldn’t quite like. I was left with no choice but to accept…

Poor Raoul, forced into marriage with the likes of her.

Hmmph.

Listen some more, she told herself. Let’s not get your knickers in a knot quite yet. Focus.

‘Has Ms Devlin been married before?’

‘Yes. As had Lady Sarah. That’s no impediment to the succession.’

‘Will you stay in the country now?’

A moment’s hesitation. Then, ‘Yes. There is a lot that needs attending to in this country. I’m prepared to stay here and see that changes are made.’

There was a general rumbling of interest, and Jess heard the transparent murmur of approval. And…hope?

But they were focusing back on her again.

‘Will Ms Devlin help care for the prince?’

‘Ms Devlin intends to leave for Australia tomorrow and have nothing further to do with us.’

‘She’s now a princess, right?’ someone asked.

‘Legally, yes.’

‘We need photographs.’

‘I’m sure you’ll understand that my wife was in a severe car accident only a week ago,’ he said, smoothly. ‘She’s not up to photographs or answering questions.’

Ooh, she was a real wilting violet. Jess could feel herself getting frailer by the minute.

‘If she’s not up to answering questions, how can she be up to deciding to marry you?’ someone demanded. ‘Surely that’s a bigger question than any we can put to her?’

The train of thought took hold. There were more flashes in her direction. Wall of alpaca, with bride somewhere behind.

‘Was this really her idea or yours?’ someone else asked. ‘She’s been injured and stuck in the palace until now. Has anyone seen her apart from palace insiders?’

‘She’s not a bride by coercion, is she?’ someone else called. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

Raoul was starting to sound exasperated. ‘If you knew Jessica you’d never suggest such a thing. Coercion!’

Coercion, Jess thought blankly. Poor little injured traveller, tied with silk cords, or maybe chained in a dripping dungeon, rats running over her feet, surrounded by a few skeletons for good measure, whipped, starved, until finally she agreed to marry the wicked prince.

She grinned.

But maybe it wasn’t funny. The questions were getting nastier.

‘We can suggest what we like,’ someone else said. ‘We’re damned sure Marcel will be suggesting there’s been a measure of intimidation. Or bribery. He’s going to have kittens when he finds out you’re married. And married to an accident victim who’s not even well enough to answer questions…’

Enough.

Princess Jessica flicked up the lock on her door. She placed the little white alpaca, as yet unnamed, across onto Raoul’s seat and attempted to do the same with Balthazar. But Balthazar had decided that the only thing standing between him and the mortal terror of the flashes was Jess. He gave a tiny flickering whimper and stuck his nose into her armpit. When she tried to haul him out he whimpered again.

She sighed.

‘OK, let’s do this together,’ she told him. ‘Princess in chains and alpaca in armpit. A lethal combination, I don’t think.’

But it had to be done. She hugged Balthazar close, and she emerged to face the music.

The media moved, just like that. Bride emerges from car…

For a moment Jess couldn’t speak. There was no chance to speak. The moment her door opened the cameras spun to face her, and flashlights went crazy.

Balthazar nuzzled closer and she knew how he felt. Give her an armpit to hide in and she’d be right in there! But Raoul-her only available armpit-was on the other side of the van and she’d emerged to defend him.

Right. Let’s do it.

‘You’re scaring my babies,’ she said, clearly and loudly, and everyone took a step back.

‘You speak our language,’ someone said, and she gave him a look of astonishment.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘But you’re Australian.’

‘The two things are not necessarily incompatible.’

‘Jess, hop back into the van,’ Raoul said uneasily. He turned to the Press, appealing to their better nature. ‘Jess isn’t well. I’ll drive her into the palace grounds and come out and speak to you for longer.’

‘I’m sorry to have to contradict you, my love,’ Jess said, giving him her most domestic smile, ‘but I’m very well. Far too well for these ladies and gentlemen to imply you’ve coerced me into marriage while I was ill.’

There was another murmur of surprised delight. The attention, if anything, intensified.

‘You called His Highness “my love”.’

‘So I did,’ she agreed cordially. ‘What do you call your wife?’

General laughter.

‘Does he call you “my love”?’

‘He started it.’ She looked across the van roof to Raoul, she lifted her brows in mock-enquiry and she smiled. ‘Didn’t you…dear?’

‘Um…’ He appeared gobsmacked. Maybe he was gobsmacked.

‘Why did you agree to marry His Highness?’ someone asked and Jess allowed her domestic smile to become a trifle complacent.

The reporter who’d asked the question was younger than Jess. Jess smiled at her, woman to woman. ‘His Royal Highness was desperately in need of a bride,’ she said virtuously. ‘And I was available. I’ve done a very good deed.’ She grinned across at Raoul. ‘I know, Prince Raoul has major problems in terms of eligibility. He’s thirty-five, he’s desperately good-looking, he’s kind to his mum, he loves his nephew, he’s a doctor-and I imagine he looks really gorgeous in a white coat. Oh, and did I mention that he’s rich?’ She let her smile become prim. ‘But I’ve put all that aside. I thought, no, I can take pity on him and marry him. Charity is my middle name.’

There was general laughter-delighted laughter-and the attitude of the entire Press corps changed. She had them on her side, just like that.

‘So now you’re Princess Jessica,’ the reporter said and Jess raised amused eyebrows.

‘I guess I am. As long as no one expects me to wear a tiara.’

‘What did you wear at your wedding?’

‘What I have on.’ She glanced down at her jeans, which were now liberally adorned with alpaca hair and the odd bit of mud from tiny hooves.

‘With or without the alpaca?’ someone demanded.

‘Hey, I had to have bridal attendants,’ she told them and everyone laughed again. She flicked a glance down into the van, just to make sure her Baby No. 2 was OK-and winced. ‘Um, Raoul…’

‘Yes, dear?’ He seemed stunned.

‘Um…what you were most afraid of…in the van…’

Distracted, he stared into the van window. And saw what she was seeing.

‘Oh, God…’

The media were now totally on their side. From being aggressively curious, they were suddenly a group of people enjoying themselves. Raoul hauled the door of the van open and gingerly pulled out the cria-holding her at arm’s length. He handed her to the nearest reporter.

‘Hey, I don’t want it,’ the man said and Raoul grinned.

‘This is my first royal command,’ he told him. ‘Take her away.’ His grin deepened. ‘Consider it a scoop.’

More laughter and the reporter carried her gingerly to the road verge. Just a bit too late.

Actually, quite a lot too late.

‘You’re going to explain the condition of his van to Georgio,’ Raoul told Jessica wrathfully-and she giggled.

‘Yes, dear.’

They were entranced. These reporters must have been bored stupid for the last few days. Maybe they’d been bored stupid for years, with a not very savoury royal family to report on. Now… Jess could see headlines forming in their eyes, but she could also see real pleasure.

‘You’re not really leaving us tomorrow?’ someone asked and the laughter died.

She swallowed.

‘Yes, I am.’ There was nothing else to say. She thought briefly, maybe she could stay and keep on with her buying expedition, but she knew now that such a thing would be impossible. She’d have reporters trailing her every inch of the way, and Raoul would be left…

She glanced across at Raoul and thought, no, she had to get away. From Raoul?

‘I don’t live here,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve made this marriage so that Prince Edouard can be safe, and so Prince Raoul can set in train the reforms he badly wants to make. But I’ve done that by agreeing to the marriage itself. There’s no reason for me to stay longer.’

‘What about all those things you just listed regarding His Highness’s eligibility?’ the woman reporter demanded, and Jess met her look head-on and thought: Uh-oh.

Woman to woman.

She looked away but…was she that transparent?

She couldn’t be transparent.

‘Hey, I’ve saved the world,’ she said, trying for laughter again. ‘I’m like Superman turning back into nobody, popping my cape back in the cupboard until the next crisis. My job here is done. Back to the real world.’

Laughter. But still the question. ‘But you’ll stay married to His Highness forever?’

‘If that’s what it takes,’ she told them, and her chin jutted again, definite on this point at least. ‘I’ll not marry anyone else.’

‘Because of the gorgeous white coat?’ the woman reporter teased and there was more laughter.

‘I haven’t actually seen the white coat,’ she admitted. ‘And maybe it’s just as well if I don’t. As I said, my job here is done. I’m leaving tomorrow.’

‘Let us photograph you together,’ someone begged and she hesitated but then she glanced across at Raoul and his eyes were sending her a message.

Let’s do this. Let’s get it over with.

So she nodded. She walked across to the verge where Whatshername was starting to fret again. She handed Balthazar to Raoul and she lifted Whatshername into her arms. Then she turned and smiled at the media. With her husband. And her children?

‘OK,’ she told them. ‘Take as many pictures as you like. Behold the royal family.’

Raoul was smiling, relaxing, seemingly enormously relieved. He moved in close and he held her around the waist with the arm that wasn’t holding Balthazar.

A smiling couple holding an alpaca apiece.

Raoul was holding her. She was pulled tight against him as the photographers took aim. She felt…she felt…

She didn’t know how she felt. Very, very confused?

I definitely do not want to see that white coat, Jess thought grimly as she pasted on her very nicest camera-facing smile. If one arm could do so much damage, imagine what a white coat could do. There was such warmth, such strength…

His smile…

I do not want to see that white coat, she told herself again. I mustn’t see it. I need to get out of here fast!

‘You were incredible.’

Somehow they’d got away. Once they were inside the palace grounds the gates swung closed behind them. Without servants the castle forecourt was deserted. They emerged to soft sunshine and silence-and strangeness. Married life?

‘I can’t believe how you twisted them around your little finger,’ Raoul was saying. He lifted Whatshername out of the van and set her on the lawn.

‘Sheer idiocy,’ Jess told him, taking Balthazar to join his twin.

‘There was no idiocy about what you just did. You’ve saved our bacon. You have the Press on our side. There’ll be no questions about our marriage. Marcel won’t have a leg to stand on if he tries to drum up support to kick us out.’

‘Will he do that?’

‘He was certainly making noises before I married Sarah. But tomorrow the country will wake to you and your alpaca twins and the knowledge that I’m taking over. I already explained my logic to the Press before Sarah died. The population knows my marriage will mean free elections and a move to a proper democracy.’

‘Where will that leave you?’ she asked curiously and he shrugged.

‘As Regent I’ll get to sign all important papers. I can dissolve parliament if I wish-as I’ll do now-but there’s no way I’ll do that after we get a decent government. I’ll even be moving to change the constitution so that no ruling prince ever has the powers that I have again. It’s time this country moved out of the Dark Ages.’

‘You have all these powers?’ she asked cautiously. ‘Even if you’re just Regent?’

‘Hey, there’s no just about it.’ He was watching the two little alpacas nose each other in the morning sun, then settle down on the lush lawn for a nap. ‘For the next eighteen years I’m effective ruler.’

‘The same as a king.’

‘If you like.’

‘But with a retirement date.’

‘Mm.’ He grimaced. ‘It’ll be the only thing that keeps me sane. I get to retire at fifty-three.’

‘And go back to Somalia?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You know,’ she said cautiously, ‘what you’ve just done…I hadn’t really thought it through from your angle. I’ve been married. I’ve had a son. But you… If you’re settling here for eighteen years, won’t you want a wife?’

‘I already have one.’

‘No, but a real one.’

‘You’re real enough for me, Jess.’

She gave him a distracted smile. ‘You know what I mean,’ she told him. ‘Not one in name only. You might find it hard to move on to your next thousand women in the confines of the royal spotlight.’

‘My next thousand women?’

‘You said you’d had a thousand,’ she told him. They were watching the babies still nuzzling each other in sleepy satisfaction as they wriggled down on the grass.

‘Right,’ he said faintly. ‘I’d forgotten.’

‘So if you want a divorce…’ she said.

‘I don’t want a divorce.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t think I can get a divorce. Not until I’m fifty-three.’

‘We might be able to manage one while Marcel’s not looking,’ she said. ‘If you meet someone highly desirable we could fix it so we were divorced and you were remarried two minutes afterwards so Edouard will still be safe.’

‘I don’t want to be divorced.’

It was a strange statement. A weird statement. It hung between them, a bit like an upraised sword. Threatening damage?

Surely threatening peace.

‘You never know,’ she managed and if she didn’t manage to get her voice to work quite right then who could blame her? By anyone’s reckoning it had been a very strange morning.

‘These babies need feeding,’ Raoul told her and his voice was suddenly rough. She looked at him strangely. Was he feeling like she was?

Alpacas. Think of alpacas. What had he said? The babies need feeding?

‘Um…sure.’

‘Do you have any idea what to feed alpaca babies?’

‘Alpaca milk, preferably,’ she said. ‘But failing that, my best guess is skimmed milk. We can ring a vet and find out. But I’m sure skimmed milk won’t hurt in the interim.’ She thought about it. ‘We need baby bottles. Do you suppose there’s somewhere in the kitchen who can find such things?’

‘I doubt it.’

Goodness, was there no end to what she had to do for this family? She was going to turn out bossy, she thought, and then she thought of Cordelia and grinned.

Cordelia would tell her she’d been born bossy.

‘You take the babies across to the stables,’ she told him. ‘I’ll go see what I can find.’ She hesitated, seeing her own doubt reflected in his eyes. ‘You know, weird as it seems, rooting around in a castle kitchen to see if I can find baby bottles is strangely appealing.’

‘No stopping for toast and marmalade,’ he told her and her smile faltered a little. Damn, how was it that he made her feel like this? As if he knew her so well? As if there was a part of her that was missing? Or had been missing up until now.

‘I’m off on a bottle hunt,’ she told him, more tersely than she’d meant. ‘You go find our babies a bed.’

‘Right,’ he told her and there was still that strange look on his face. ‘Right.’

It took her longer than she’d intended. Henri and Louise and Edouard were nowhere to be seen, and there were certainly no servants to ask, so she had to search the kitchen herself. She found what she was looking for-in the end she found a whole cupboard filled with baby paraphernalia-but then she had to figure out how to operate the microwave. She failed dismally. Finally she found a pot and stuck it on the range and heated her milk the hard way. She filled two bottles with care and carried them back to the stables.

She’d never been in the stables before-she’d been hardly anywhere in this vast, rambling castle-but the stables were unmistakable. They consisted of a vast undercover walkway with stall after stall on either side. Each stall had a horse’s name above. The alleyway in front of the stalls was cobbled and the cobbles were worn with generation upon generation of boots and horseshoes.

Where were all these horses? The stalls were deserted.

Except the first stall. She peered in and found them. Raoul had located fresh hay and spread it liberally. He was sitting against the back wall, with an alpaca baby on each knee.

For a moment the sight of him took her breath away. A big man, a prince, dressed in casual clothes, dressed for the outdoors, a physician…a man with hay in his hair and with a tiny baby on each knee.

‘About time,’ he told her and the spell was broken-or broken a bit-and she managed to smile and go sit down beside him in the hay.

‘I’m not sure how we do this,’ she told him.

‘I’d guess that we stick the teat end of the bottle in the mouth end of the alpaca and see what happens,’ he told her.

‘Gee,’ she said admiringly. ‘That’s what a medical degree teaches you, huh?’

‘That’s not the half of it, lady,’ he told her. ‘Let’s give it a try.’

So they did. And it worked.

And then it became even more unsettling, Jess decided. Sitting on the fresh-smelling hay, her shoulder just brushing the man beside her, with the babies sucking greedily at their bottles as they nestled into the knees of their human carers…

It was so domestic it was scary, Jess thought, and then she thought, yep, she was beginning to be scared. She was definitely scared. Since Dominic’s death-well, ever since his diagnosis-she’d felt way out of control, and now…it was as if there was an edge somewhere really close, and she was about to go into free-fall.

They didn’t speak. Jess couldn’t think of a thing to say, and it seemed Raoul was no smarter. The tiny alpacas drank most of their bottles, but it had been a huge day for the baby alpacas. As the level of the bottles dropped, their drinking slowed, and as the last of the milk drained away the babies drifted off to sleep.

They were twins. They gave each other comfort. Their mother had never fed them, they knew humans as the source of their food and they had each other. So, fed and warm, they nestled together without fear on the soft hay and slept.

‘I guess we can leave them,’ Jess said and her voice sounded funny. That edge was definitely closer.

Raoul had risen and was holding out his hand to pull her up. She took it, uncertainly. ‘I’ll bring Edouard down later to introduce him to them,’ he said. He tugged her to her feet and she rose and was suddenly too close.

Far too close.

‘I guess we should go tell the others what we’ve done,’ Raoul said, but he didn’t move.

‘I guess.’

‘Jess, I want to thank you.’

‘No thanks needed.’ Her voice had fallen to a whisper. She didn’t know why, but it had. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Step away from the edge.

‘Without you…’

‘Without me you would have found someone else.’

‘No one else,’ he said, softly. He was already holding one of her hands. Suddenly he was holding the other. He was looking down into her eyes, he was tugging her against him-and then, without her willing it, without her knowing exactly how it had happened-or why-he was kissing her.

She didn’t want to kiss Raoul Louis d’Apergenet. She did not!

Who was she kidding? She wanted to kiss Raoul Louis d’Apergenet more than anything-anyone!-in the world. He was lowering his mouth onto hers, she was opening her lips to him and it felt the most natural, the most wonderful thing that she’d ever done in her life.

It felt as if she had found her home.

This man could kiss! The sensations she’d experienced during their wedding kiss came flooding back. Raoul was right for her. He was the other half of her whole. They fitted together perfectly, and he filled a need in her that she hadn’t known she had-that she hadn’t known existed. Now it felt so good, so right, that to tear herself away was unthinkable.

He smelled wonderful. New-mown hay, milk, baby alpaca and…and Raoul.

He felt wonderful.

He tasted just fine.

She could forget herself in this man’s arms, she thought blissfully, and promptly did.

For Jess, the last two years had been a blur of misery and despair. She’d emerged at the end of the struggle for Dom’s life thinking she could never again feel life above the grey fog she lived in.

But in these few days…no, in these last few hours the fog had been blasted clear. There was life outside her fog. Life was waiting. Raoul was waiting.

But he was no longer waiting. Raoul was claiming her for life. Life was…beginning.

And she gloried in the sensation. Her fingers were entwined in his hair, claiming him, deepening the kiss. She felt her body respond, aroused as it had never been aroused, wanting as it had never wanted…

Raoul.

How did he make her feel like this? She didn’t know and she wasn’t asking questions. For now there was only this moment, this sensation of pure pleasure, of aching need fulfilled, and the feeling that it was reciprocated.

This man was her husband.

‘My wife,’ he murmured in her ear and it felt right.

This was the start of the rest of her life?

His hands were on her blouse, unfastening the buttons. She wasn’t objecting. Why would she? His hands were rough and warm and tender on her breasts and she wanted this as much as he wanted it.

Raoul. Her husband.

‘We don’t have witnesses,’ she murmured and she felt him smile.

‘Excellent.’

Excellent was good. Excellent was…well, excellent. No more questions.

Or maybe just the one. His hands were moving lower, caressing her hips. She felt herself ache with pleasure and with need, and she knew…she knew that the question that had to be asked must be asked now. Now!

‘Um…do we have protection?’

That gave pause. He pulled back, enough to look down into her eyes-and he groaned.

‘Hell.’

Hell indeed.

‘Hay’s prickly anyway, my love,’ she whispered, trying to ignore the jolt of dismay that she felt run through her whole body. But she couldn’t ignore it. Something had happened to her here that was unfathomable. Every inch of her was screaming that she was married-joined-and they should begin their marriage right now. Protection or not. In this sweet-smelling hay, with sleeping babies beside them…

Babies. Not! They both thought the same thing at the same time and their bodies jerked apart a whole half-inch.

‘Hell.’ It was a deeper groan, heartfelt. Raoul raked his hair in dismay, but he took her into his arms again, tender and yet proprietorial. Claiming his own. Claiming his wife?

‘I guess it does matter,’ he whispered into her hair.

‘It surely does.’ Her words sounded firm. She wasn’t the least bit firm inside though. She was very, very wobbly. ‘If you think I’m going back to Australia pregnant…’

‘Do you need to go back to Australia?’

It was her turn to pause then. To pull back. To stare at his face and try to read his eyes.

‘Of course I need to go.’

‘We could wait and see if this marriage could work.’

Another pause. Everything seemed to still. What was he saying? ‘Yeah?’ she managed, but it was a squeak.

‘Love, we need to think…’

But there was no time to think. Not now. ‘Uncle Raoul!’ It was a child’s high-pitched call from outside the stables.

Edouard.

‘Raoul?’

That was Louise.

Jess stiffened. She pulled away a little more, brushing hay from her clothes, from her hair.

Raoul stayed where he was, watching her.

‘Jess…’

‘This is nonsense.’ Of course it had to be nonsense. A fairy tale with a happy ending. ‘What…what a thing to say.’

‘I’m stuck here,’ he told her. ‘It might not be so bad. We could work things out.’

‘You want to be stuck here with a wife?’

‘It’d be better than being alone,’ he told her and she stared at him, astounded.

‘Are you proposing?’

‘I might be.’

‘Well, don’t,’ she snapped. ‘Of all the romantic-’

‘Jess, we both know that romance doesn’t work.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ She was glaring at him, her glare on high beam. ‘You’d know. Of course you’d know. A thousand women…’

‘Hey, I was joking about the thousand women.’

‘And I was fooling around when I let you kiss me,’ she snapped.

‘You were kissing back.’

‘I was being kind.’ She glowered. ‘You’ve got hay stuck in your hair.’

‘I need to be compromised.’

‘By sleeping on the settee in my bedroom. Not by rolling in the hay.’

‘It’d be more fun rolling in the hay.’

He was laughing. The rat was laughing. ‘Cut it out, Raoul,’ she managed. ‘Edouard is looking for us.’

‘So he is. You want to hide?’

Enough. Raoul had dragged a bale of hay into the stables to make a bed for the alpacas. He’d spread out most of the bale but there was a sizeable chunk still intact, pressed together in a square. He stood, smiling softly at her, inviting her to seduction-and she cracked.

She lifted the square of hay and threw it. Hard.

So when Edouard and his grandmother reached the door of their stall they found a glowering bride and a bridegroom who was covered in a cloud of hay.