Crowns And A Cradle

“Your son is not the only one of royal blood. You are Princess Sarina de Valmont.”

Sarah’s legs felt like jelly. “Every adopted child wonders if she’s really a princess…. Does that make us cousins?”

Josquin shook his head. “Are you disappointed that we’re not related?” he asked.

She would have been more disappointed if they had been. She wasn’t sure why, because she had no romantic interest in him. “Why should I care either way?” she asked carefully.

A shadow darkened Josquin’s handsome features. “When we met, I sensed a connection between us.”

She wasn’t about to admit that she had felt it, too. “You’ve just said we’re not related by blood.”

“There are other kinds of connections between a man and a woman.”

Dear Reader,

What makes readers love Silhouette Romance? Fans who have sent mail and participated on our www.millsandboon.co.uk community bulletin boards say they enjoy the heart-thumping emotion, the noble strength of the heroines, the truly heroic nature of the men—all in a quick yet satisfying read. I couldn’t have said it better!

This month we have some fantastic series for you. Bestselling author Lindsay McKenna visits use with The Will To Love (SR 1618), the latest in her thrilling cross-line adventure MORGAN’s MERCENARIES: ULTIMATE RESCUE. Jodi O’Donnell treats us with her BRIDGEWATER BACHELORS title, The Rancher’s Promise (SR 1619), about sworn family enemies who fight the dangerous attraction sizzling between them.

You must pick up For the Taking (SR 1620) by Lilian Darcy. In this A TALE OF THE SEA, the last of the lost royal siblings comes home. And if that isn’t dramatic enough, in Valerie Parv’s Crowns and a Cradle (SR 1621), part of THE CARRAMER LEGACY, a struggling single mom discovers she’s a princess!

Finishing off the month are Myrna Mackenzie’s The Billionaire’s Bargain (SR 1622)—the second book in the latest WEDDING AUCTION series—about a most tempting purchase. And The Sheriff’s 6-Year-Old Secret (SR 1623) is Donna Clayton’s tearjerker.

I hope you enjoy this month’s selection. Be sure to drop us a line or visit our Web site to let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit. Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Crowns and a Cradle

Valerie Parv

To Mary-Theresa Hussey, whose enthusiasm for Carramer earns her honorary citizenship, with appreciation from the Carramer royal family and their historian.

Books by Valerie Parv

Silhouette Romance

The Leopard Tree #507

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270

Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313

*The Monarch’s Son #1459

*The Prince’s Bride-To-Be #1465

*The Princess’s Proposal #1471

Booties and the Beast #1501

Code Name: Prince #1516

†Crowns and a Cradle #1621

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Interrupted Lullaby #1095

Royal Spy #1154

VALERIE PARV

lives and breathes romance, and has even written a guide to being romantic, crediting her cartoonist husband of nearly thirty years as her inspiration. As a former buffalo and crocodile hunter in Australia’s Northern Territory, he’s ready-made hero material, she says.

When not writing about her novels and nonfiction books, or speaking about romance on Australian radio and television, Valerie enjoys dollhouses, being a Star Trek fan and playing with food (in cooking, that is). Valerie agrees with actor Nichelle Nichols, who said, “The difference between fantasy and fact is that fantasy simply hasn’t happened yet.”

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Prince Josquin de Marigny had been careful not to let a look or gesture betray how restless he felt. But his close friend, Peter Dassel, who chaired the Carramer Business Consortium of which Josquin was patron, leaned closer and murmured into his ear, “Now you’ve shown the flag and presented the awards, you’re wondering how soon you can get away, aren’t you?”

The reception for outstanding Carramer business people had already run over its allotted time in the prince’s schedule, thanks to the lengthy acceptance speeches the winners had chosen to give. Now they milled around Château de Valmont’s beautiful East Salon, enjoying coffee, delicious pastries and the opportunity to network with one another. No wonder they weren’t anxious to depart.

Josquin restrained a sigh. “I didn’t mean to let it show.”

Peter shook his head. “It doesn’t except to me, Josh. I’ve known you a long time.”

Since they had attended the same school, Josquin thought. They had met within months of their eighth birthdays. As the son of the Australian ambassador to Carramer, Peter had refused to be intimidated by Josquin’s title or his close relationship to the ruling family of Carramer. Peter had challenged Josquin to a running race to prove that the Australian was the prince’s equal. Not accustomed to being challenged by a commoner, Josquin had accepted. Over a distance twice as long as Peter had originally proposed, they had raced to a hard-fought draw, and afterward had become firm friends. Josquin had been delighted when Peter had taken out Carramer citizenship, and their friendship had grown stronger over the years since then.

Now Peter gave an understanding grin and said in a lowered voice, “I hope she’s beautiful.”

Josquin’s coffee cup stilled in midair and he frowned. “Who?”

“The woman you’re so anxious to get away to meet.”

Josquin lowered the cup and deposited it on the tray of a passing waiter. “How do you know there’s a woman involved?”

“I don’t, but I live in hope. Good grief, Josh, you’re thirty next month. Isn’t it time you settled down?”

“Maybe I like playing the field.”

“And maybe you’re too fussy for your own good.”

“You realize it’s high treason to talk to a member of the royal family this way?”

Peter made an unconvincing attempt to look alarmed. “Somebody has to talk to you this way. Your quest to restore your family’s lands and fortune is commendable. But at the rate you’re going, you’ll be a venerable forty before you let any woman get past your guard, far less anywhere near the altar.”

Josquin nodded pleasantly to one of the award recipients, but was thinking of his self-imposed timetable. Until he had more to offer a woman, he didn’t plan on getting romantically involved with anyone. “Forty isn’t too old for marriage these days.”

“Depends whether you want to have the stamina to keep up with the little princes and princesses when they come along. Personally I prefer having my children while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

As godfather to Peter’s three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter, Josquin was inclined to agree. He felt a wintry expression settle on his face. “We can’t all be as lucky as you.”

“Lucky, nothing. The day I set eyes on Alyce, I knew she was the one for me. I mapped out a campaign to win her, and the rest was history.”

“Did she know how calculating you are?”

Peter laughed. “She knew. I found out later that she had the same idea.” His expression sobered. “Jokes aside, Josh, when you finally meet the woman for you, I hope you won’t let pride stand in your way.”

His friend turned to speak to another guest, leaving his words hanging around Josquin like a cloud. It was easy for Peter to talk. His parents hadn’t squandered everything they had as if there was no tomorrow. Fleur, his mother, a former lady-in-waiting at the court of Prince Henry, ruler of Valmont Province, had taken to her role as a princess like a duck to water. Indulged by Josquin’s father, Leon, who could refuse her nothing, Fleur had run up accounts everywhere as if the royal coffers had no limits, until Leon was forced to sell most of the family’s land holdings to pay their way.

But for the patronage of Prince Henry, who had treated Josquin like a son, Josquin would have had a struggle to complete his education. Whenever he thought of the difference the elderly ruler had made to his life, he felt a debt of gratitude. Prince Henry had had no obligation to nurture Josquin. He had a father, however improvident, and Josquin wasn’t related to Henry. But Henry’s own son had died in his twenties, leaving a breach in the ruler’s life that Josquin knew he had helped to fill. It was little enough repayment for all Henry had done for him over the years, helping to compensate for the benign neglect Josquin’s parents had shown their only son.

Josquin hadn’t learned the full extent of their fecklessness until he was twenty-three, when his father suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving almost nothing except the remnants of the family estate on the outskirts of the capital city of Solano. Josquin quickly realized that his mother couldn’t cope on her own, and expected him to manage her life for her.

He had put in years of hard work and careful management before they could breathe easily again. Even now his mother’s lifestyle could hardly be called frugal although she complained about what she called her reduced circumstances. She had no idea what it cost Josquin even to keep her in clothes, far less maintain her household in Solano. Money seemed to flow through her hands like water. She was hardly an ideal advertisement for married life.

All the same, he found his thoughts turning to the woman Peter had accurately guessed Josquin was anxious to meet as soon as his work here was done. He knew the woman well enough to be able to pick her out of a crowd, knew her history, her habits and lifestyle, her tastes in clothing and food, as well as if they had been married for years. Odd to think that he was about to meet her face-to-face for the first time.

Sarah McInnes was the name she was known by in America. Her name conjured in Josquin’s mind the image of a startlingly beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. She had long hair the color of nutmeg, curling softly onto her shoulders, and dark brown eyes that reminded him of the rare and beautiful sun deer running wild in the forests of Carramer.

By now Josquin had seen enough photographs of her to guess that if she stood alongside him, she would come up to his chin in her stocking feet. The reports said she had trained as a dancer in her early teens until she grew too tall to become a ballerina, and had entered the art world as an assistant curator after leaving college. He had little trouble imagining how she would move, with a dancer’s easy grace.

Two years ago, she had moved out of the apartment she had occupied in her parents’ home, and now lived alone. Not quite alone. Josquin frowned as he thought of the baby Sarah had given birth to almost a year ago. There was no sign of the child’s father, and Josquin’s investigators had been unable to identify him. The prince felt himself tense involuntarily as he thought of Sarah managing entirely alone since her child’s birth. He had spent too much of his childhood fending for himself while his parents were wrapped up in their own lives, not to empathize with her struggle.

He was curious as to what had caused the break between herself and her American family. She hadn’t become pregnant until after she left home, ruling out the baby as the cause. According to the reports, Sarah had taken very little with her when she left the McInnes household, and her present lifestyle was far from lavish. Yet Josquin could only admire the life she had made for herself and her child.

Since the investigators had tracked her down a few months ago, Josquin had followed Sarah’s progress avidly. With every new report he became more fascinated by her, and more intrigued at the prospect of finally meeting her. If he hadn’t been determined not to get involved with any woman, his preoccupation with her would have been a real concern.

He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. Where was his equerry who had been instructed to interrupt if the function went on too long? On cue, Gerard appeared at the door, his gaze sweeping the room until he located Josquin. Approaching the prince, the equerry bowed deferentially and announced, “Your Highness, your next appointment is waiting for you.”

Not a moment too soon, Josquin thought. He gave Peter an apologetic look. “If you’ll excuse me, duty calls.”

Peter inclined his head respectfully, but Josquin caught a gleam in his friend’s eye. “Thank you for supporting our work, Your Highness. Appreciated as always,” he said. Under his breath, Peter added, “When you meet your mystery woman, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Josquin resisted reminding his friend how much scope that would give him if he took it literally. Peter had been far from saintly until marriage settled him down. Nor did Josquin bother denying that there was a woman involved. He would only fuel Peter’s suspicion.

He let his equerry clear a path for him through the crowd, nodding and smiling his way to the door and heaving a sigh of relief when it whispered shut behind him. These functions were good for the province’s economy, and as Prince Henry’s principal business adviser, Josquin willingly supported them, but the benefits didn’t stop the social side from boring the pants off him.

Unlike the meeting that lay ahead of him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he anticipated meeting Sarah in the flesh at last. He knew how beautiful she was, and how she lived, but he wanted to know what she was really like. Would she be as charming in person as she had looked when the photographer had captured her playing with her baby on a blanket in a park near her apartment? She had been unaware of being observed, and the delightfully unselfconscious way she looked was imprinted on Josquin’s memory.

He sobered abruptly as his thoughts strayed beyond the initial meeting. Not for the first time, he wished that Henry hadn’t insisted that Josquin be the one to find her and have her brought to Carramer. After everything the old prince had done for him Josquin could hardly refuse, but he couldn’t make himself feel good about it. He wouldn’t be the only one when Sarah found out what Henry expected of her, Josquin thought, as he waited for his car and driver to take him to their meeting.

Chapter One

Sarah McInnes bounced the grumbling baby on her hip. “Not much longer now, little one.” She nudged her suitcase forward with her foot, frowning at the slow-moving line ahead of her. The Carramer people might be “the world’s most delightful hosts” according to the brochures, but their customs officials had scant regard for a baby’s needs. Christophe was tired after the long flight and she could see him getting ready to give his small lungs a workout.

She was being ungrateful, she knew. She was about to visit one of the most beautiful countries in the world, thanks to a radio station’s computer that had dialed her phone number at random in a competition. Given the odds against winning such a wonderful prize, how could she feel unhappy about anything? She put her mood down to exhaustion. Although the flight attendants had been wonderful, taking turns to distract him, Christophe had fretted most of the way from America. As a result Sarah had slept little herself.

Suddenly her attention was captured by a flurry of activity at the station ahead of her. A handsome man strode up to the officials and spoke quietly to them. Their response, instant and unmistakably deferential, made her wonder who the man was and why everyone jumped to attention when he appeared on the scene.

She had sworn off men, even ones with hair the color of midnight and the build of an athlete straining his designer suit. He would never be able to buy clothes off the rack, she thought, not with those wide shoulders and narrow waist. From where she stood she couldn’t see his legs, but as he had crossed the customs hall, the men with him had struggled to keep up.

The man’s intense gaze swung to the people in her line. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest longer on her than on the people around her? There was no reason for her to be singled out. She was only an ordinary tourist visiting the country. A different line catered for people traveling on business visas, so none of the people around her could be tycoons planning to pour millions of dollars into the island kingdom’s economy, especially not Sarah herself.

For someone who had no interest in men other than the adorable one-year-old in her arms, Sarah found herself paying a foolish amount of heed to the way everyone danced attendance on this one man. He stabbed a finger at the computer screen alongside him and began to talk in a lowered voice.

Only another customs official, she concluded. Maybe he was simply one of those men who commanded attention no matter what their position in life.

Since she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, she amused herself by continuing to study him covertly. She put his age at about thirty, although it was hard to pin down when he moved with such athletic grace. When he finally strode away, she felt something very like disappointment.

She was startled when a uniformed man approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kindly come this way, madame.”

His tone carried a hint of command, and her stomach lurched. Had she made a mistake when she completed the entry formalities for herself and Christophe? Sarah had never been in trouble of any kind, and had never been to Carramer before. While studying the brochures, she’d felt drawn to the place, but put the feeling down to her lifelong fascination with the South Pacific. So what could be the matter?

She decided she wasn’t giving up her place in line without some explanation. “I’m sure you mean to help,” she said firmly. “But I’m almost at the head of the line and if I lose my place now, it will be hard on my baby. He’s already tired and fractious.”

As if to confirm her assertion, Christophe gave vent to a series of escalating wails that had the soldier wincing in sympathy.

“The child is the reason we wish to expedite your entry,” he said over Christophe’s cries. “Please come with me.”

Since she was the only person in line carrying a baby, the officials must have felt sorry for her. Who was she to argue with anything that speeded this up? Aware of the curious glances of the people remaining in line, she allowed the soldier to pick up her suitcase, and followed him across the customs hall to a pair of wood-paneled doors. He swung one of them open, put her case down inside, and held the door wide so she could enter.

The activity had diverted Christophe, she was relieved to see. His tears had dried to distressed hiccups, and he was looking around curiously. The peace wouldn’t last but she was grateful for the respite.

Before the door closed, she saw the soldier take up a post outside—to keep her in, or others out? Then the heavy door swung completely shut and the sounds of the reception hall melted into silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing. Plush carpeting masked the tentative steps she took into the room.

“Please come in and take a seat.”

She hadn’t been imagining things, the intriguing man from the customs hall had paid her special attention. He was doing it now, she saw as she approached the massive antique desk he was seated behind. A leather folder lay open in front of him and she was alarmed to see that her photo lay on top of a thick sheaf of papers. Not her passport photo, either. This one showed her with Christophe in the park opposite their apartment. What was it doing here, and how did this intriguing stranger come to have it in his possession?

She perched on the edge of a leather sofa in front of the desk, settling Christophe on her knee where he began to play with the amber beads around her neck. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

“First I need to confirm a few details. May I see your passport, please? The baby’s, too.”

She handed them to him. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I assure you. This will only take a moment.”

In spite of his assurance, her apprehension grew as he studied the documents. She told herself that his manner was pleasant enough. Surely if there was a problem, he wouldn’t keep glancing from the passports to her, as if she intrigued him for some reason.

Her peace of mind wasn’t eased by the awareness that he was more startlingly good looking up close than he had seemed from a distance. His eyes were the gold-flecked blue of a stormy sea, and his skin was lightly tanned, emphasizing her first impression of him as the athletic type. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on the bridge of a yacht, fighting the helm for mastery of the waves. His commanding presence suggested he would win.

Since she was studying him she could hardly feel insulted at finding herself on the receiving end of an equally thorough inspection. If she didn’t feel so uncertain as to why he had singled her out, she would have been flattered.

“Your full name is Sarah Maureen McInnes, and your baby is Christophe Charles…McInnes?” he said.

Hearing the slight upward inflection in his voice, she frowned. “I’m a single mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“I’m merely checking facts. No judgment is implied,” he said.

She immediately regretted reacting so defensively. Just because other people had drawn unflattering if inaccurate conclusions about why she was single with a baby, didn’t mean everyone was the same. “I’m tired. Christophe is tired. We’ve had a long flight,” she said by way of mitigation. “I’d like to know what’s going on, Mr.—” she read the brass nameplate at the front of the desk “—Mr. Sancerre.”

The corners of the man’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me for not introducing myself right away. My name is Josquin de Marigny. The airport director, Leon Sancerre, kindly permitted me the use of his office for this meeting.”

Iced water skittered along her spine, as she recalled a fragment of information from the tourist brochures. “De Marigny? Isn’t that…aren’t they…”

“The royal house of Carramer,” he supplied.

She was glad she was already seated. Her knees felt as if they would buckle if she tried to stand. No wonder everyone had deferred to him. What on earth was going on here? “Are you the king?” she asked in a strangled voice.

He shook his head. “By tradition, Carramer has no king. Our present ruler is Prince Lorne de Marigny, my cousin,” he added before she could frame the question. “I serve as an adviser to Prince Henry de Valmont, ruler of Valmont Province. According to these documents, Valmont is your destination.”

She was too busy dealing with her confusion, to absorb the details. “Look, Mr….that is, Your Highness, I won this vacation in a contest, and the destination was Valmont Province. I had no say in it, although from all accounts it’s one of the most beautiful parts of Carramer. But I’d still like to know what you want with me.”

“Ah yes, the contest. Did it not occur to you to wonder how you came to be so fortunate?”

“When you haven’t had a vacation in two years, and a radio station calls to say a computer has awarded you a trip to a fairy-tale South Pacific kingdom, and all the documentation arrives in your mailbox as promised, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”