Crowns And A Cradle

She felt her heart sink as the obvious thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to say I didn’t win a contest? Was it some kind of hoax? Is that why you had me removed from the line?”

He shook his head. “You’re right, there was no contest. I arranged for the call to be made as a way to bring you to Carramer.”

Clutching Christophe tightly to her, she struggled upright, so disappointed that she hadn’t won a trip after all that she didn’t care whom she offended. Prince or not, he had no right to play with her life. “I don’t know what’s going and I don’t care anymore, but I’m calling the police. I’m sure this is against some law or other even in Carramer.”

With all the grace and speed of a leopard, the prince moved to her side, urging her to sit down again. This time, he took a seat beside her, keeping his hand on her arm. “Hear me out first, then you may do whatever you feel you must, although the American police won’t be much help now you’re on Carramer soil.”

“Am I a prisoner here?”

“The opposite in fact. You belong here as much as I do.”

She felt the floor drop away beneath her feet and was glad of his touch to anchor her in reality. She had dreamed of this moment for nearly two years, yet suddenly she felt afraid. “Do you know who I am?”

He paused long enough for her heart to begin a frantic tattoo. “I believe so.”

She could hardly breathe for the tension coiling through her. She tightened her hold on Christophe. “Tell me,” she implored in a voice barely above a whisper.

The prince’s firm grip on her other arm sent a silent message of support. “My searches suggest that you are a citizen of Carramer.”

“You mean I was born here?”

“No, you were born in America.”

“Then how can I…”

“There are a few minor details to be confirmed, but I’m already sure I have the right woman.”

“The right woman for what?” She may not be who she had grown up thinking she was, the child of James McInnes, the well-known Californian property developer, and his artist wife, Rose, but she didn’t think she was from anywhere like Carramer, either.

“You do know you were adopted soon after your birth?” the prince prompted.

Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I found out when I had a blood test for a persistent virus two years ago. The hospital said I couldn’t possibly be my father’s child. At first I thought my mother might have had an affair, but then I discovered that I didn’t belong to her, either.”

“Surely a birth certificate was required when you obtained your passport?”

“That was an excellent forgery, too, although I didn’t know it.” She had obtained her passport for a vacation in Europe to celebrate her graduation. She hadn’t known the truth about herself then, and had never doubted that her documents were authentic. Her adoptive parents’ wealth had its uses, she had concluded. If it could buy them a child, obtaining false documentation for her was a minor detail.

“You were never told the circumstances of your birth?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t want me to know I was adopted. When I found out, and wanted to look for my birth parents, James refused to help me. He said I would have to choose between them and him.” Her voice cracked. “He reminded me of all they had done for me, and told me I should let the past lie. Do you know what that past might be?”

The prince nodded. “What I have to tell you may take some time, and I would prefer a more appropriate setting.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It would be better if you weren’t glancing at your watch every few minutes.”

She had been unaware she was doing it. “Christophe needs to be fed and changed and put down for a nap,” she said. Not to mention that she needed rest herself. His suggestion that he could tell her about her background had temporarily banished her own tiredness, but it would catch up with her later, she knew.

“Then I will escort you to your accommodation,” he said as indecision gripped her. “We can continue our discussion after you attend to your child.”

She thought of the contrast between his life as a prince, and hers as a single mother. “I hope you’re prepared for a culture shock,” she said shakily.

He looked amused. “Prince Lorne has two young children, as does his brother Michel and their sister, Princess Adrienne. I’ve had ample practice at taking care of my cousins’ babies.”

“Don’t princes have servants to take care of the less pleasant chores?”

He hesitated before saying, “Some do.”

But not him, she heard the implication. Why not? Was he a modern royal who preferred to do things himself? Given his personal intervention in her affairs, it seemed so. She curbed her impatience. “Why can’t you just tell me what you know?”

“There is every chance that you will refuse to believe me. I need time to convince you to trust me.”

Oddly enough she was inclined to do so already, she realized, wondering at the same time why she did. It wasn’t because he was a prince. She’d read enough about royalty to know they suffered from the same human weaknesses as everyone else. Something about Prince Josquin himself inspired her trust.

As he used the phone to summon a car for them, she watched him in fascination. He was obviously accustomed to being in a position of power. She saw it in the relaxed way he gave orders, as if he expected them to be obeyed. Without question.

Her gaze was riveted by the way he rested a muscular thigh on the edge of the desk, letting one leg swing free. He looked like a man who was comfortable with his position in life, she thought. Since she had no idea what her position in life was, having had all her assumptions turned on their heads by the discovery that she was adopted, she couldn’t help envying the prince his air of self-assurance.

His eyes were half closed, veiling their unusual color under a sweep of lashes that matched the blue-black of his hair. His lean, aristocratic features had probably taken generations of breeding to achieve such a prepossessing result. Her heart picked up speed again. What kind of breeding had produced her?

The prince knew the answer but she sensed he wouldn’t tell her until he judged the time was right. She saw intrigue in the gaze he turned on her as he dealt with the call. Intrigue and something far more disquieting, a fire she had last seen in a man’s eyes the night Christophe had been conceived. Recalling the life-changing impact of that experience, she felt her internal temperature soar. She fussed with Christophe’s clothes, not wanting Josquin to see how badly his gaze had unsettled her.

He barely knew her. Then she thought of the thick file in the prince’s possession. He must know a lot more about her than she did about him. More than she knew about herself, come to that.

Her first clear memory was of her third birthday party at the McInnes home in Southern California. Brendan, the boy next door, had taken her red balloon and burst it in her face when she asked for it back. She was wary of balloons to this day. She had been an above-average student and model daughter, bowing to her father’s wish that she attend a local college so she could continue to live at home.

She was twenty-seven and a Libran, celebrating her birthday on September 29, as far as she knew. Now she wondered if she could trust anything she had been told about herself all her life.

She still felt like the same person inside. Still the same stubborn, opinionated, deliver-on-your-promises woman she’d always been. Three-year-old Brendan had found out to his cost when she threatened to punch his nose if he didn’t return her balloon. He had burst it so she had punched his nose. She had spent time standing in the corner afterward, but the pattern had been set. She still did what she said she would do, no matter what it cost her.

A shiver took her. She felt more adrift now than when she had learned of her adoption. The prince had no right to make her wait for information that concerned her so intimately. But as a grown woman, she could hardly threaten to punch him in the nose, so she schooled herself to patience. She had a feeling he wasn’t a man she could hurry into anything.

“How did you know I was arriving today?” she asked as Josquin opened the door to escort her to the car. Stupid question, she thought. He had obviously arranged everything. She was still shaken to discover that the vacation she thought she’d won was nothing more than a hoax, but she wasn’t as furious with him as she thought she should be.

“I was waiting for you,” he confirmed. At his slight gesture, a porter sprang to their side. At the prince’s quiet instruction, the man retrieved her suitcase and carried it away. She watched him go with some trepidation, realizing that she had placed herself and her child entirely in the prince’s hands.

Christophe had dozed off at last, not waking as they left the airport building. He slept with his head on her shoulder, one thumb anchored in his mouth and the other clutching a fistful of her shirt. With any luck he wouldn’t stir until they reached their hotel, if that’s where the prince was taking her.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. I must be somebody important,” she said, striving for lightness and failing. “Why did you have to lure me to Carramer to speak to me?”

“Because we are running out of time.”

“You know you’re driving me crazy?”

His stern mouth softened into a slight curve. “I can’t say I mind having that effect on such a beautiful woman.”

She resisted the urge to feel complimented. “I’ll bet you say that to lots of women.”

“Would it surprise you if I deny it?”

She nodded. “I’d have trouble believing it.”

“I shall take that as a compliment. Here’s our car.”

She stopped in her tracks, astonished to find a chauffeur opening the door of a black stretch limousine for her. What she took to be the royal standard fluttered from the hood. This would raise a few eyebrows if it were to pull up outside her apartment block in North Hollywood, she thought.

She had been the recipient of enough barbed comments when her neighbors discovered she was a single mother with a baby and no sign of a father. It was a pity they wouldn’t get the chance to see this. She smiled.

The prince looked at her curiously. “What do you find so amusing?”

“I was picturing the reaction back home if I rolled up in this. You’re used to it, I suppose.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “Not so used to it that I can’t enjoy it through your eyes.”

She made herself comfortable on leather upholstery that felt like riding on a cloud. One seat held a baby capsule with a pristine lambswool lining. Without waking him, she secured Christophe in the seat, unnerved at this evidence of how thoroughly the prince had prepared for their arrival.

The compartment was fitted with a television screen and a well-stocked bar. As the car glided out of the airport, the prince deftly opened a bottle of French champagne, and poured the golden liquid into flutes. He handed one to her. “To your safe arrival.”

She drank to quiet her screaming nerves, feeling anything but safe. It dawned on her that she had allowed herself to be talked into riding in a car with a complete stranger, just the situation her parents—that Rose and James, she amended mentally—had warned her against when she was growing up.

They had wanted her to be perfect. Perfection had always been paramount to James McInnes, whether in his business or his private life. If he could have adopted a boy so easily, he probably would have done so. As it was, Sarah felt sure he hadn’t told her she was adopted so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what he saw as a shortcoming. He had probably regarded her wish to search for her birth parents as a criticism of himself as a father. He refused to accept that this wasn’t about him or Rose, but about Sarah and her needs. Rose McInnes had been more understanding, but as always, followed her husband’s lead.

Getting pregnant hadn’t been Sarah’s intention, but she had felt so cut adrift by their lack of support, that she had turned to her childhood friend, Jon Harrington, for comfort. Neither of them had counted on compassion turning into passion and then into something beyond their control, but it had.

What a combination. She hadn’t been sure which of them had been the least experienced, little Miss Perfect or Jon, the would-be priest. Inexperience hadn’t stopped them from creating a child between them. Her breath caught as she looked at the baby sleeping, lulled by the limousine’s smooth motion. Christophe was the most precious thing in her life, the only person to whom she truly belonged. She regretted her lack of self-control with Jon, but she could never bring herself to regret the child they had created.

Jon never knew he had fathered a child and he never would, if she had anything to do with it. If he knew, he would insist on taking responsibility, even marrying her if she wanted him to. But he had dreamed of becoming a priest for as long as she could recall, and she was determined not to take his dream away from him. She felt badly enough having her own life in ruins thanks to James McInnes. She wasn’t about to ruin Jon’s life as well.

Soon after she discovered she was pregnant, Jon had entered the seminary, and their contact had been limited to letters every few weeks. In his last letter, he’d told her he was being sent to his order’s mission in South America. She missed his friendship, but the loss was a small price to pay to let him hold on to his dream. When Christophe was old enough, she would tell him about his father, making sure her son understood what a special man Jon was.

She had found herself an apartment, supporting herself through her pregnancy and afterward with money from a trust fund left to her by her maternal grandmother. She and her grandmother had loved one another dearly, and she was glad her grandmother had died without knowing that they weren’t related by blood after all. Sarah hadn’t been in touch with her adoptive parents since she left, and she wondered with some bitterness, if they preferred it that way.

She took a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles tease her throat. She felt foolish worrying about what Rose and James would think of her behavior now, when she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy. In any case, the man at her side wasn’t a complete stranger. The soldier at the customs hall had called him Your Highness, and she’d bet that this car wasn’t made available to just anyone. “It occurs to me that I should have asked to see some identification,” she said.

The prince’s deeply carved features relaxed into a look of amusement. “Perhaps my driver’s license will do?”

“I didn’t know princes had them.”

He sighed, suggesting that he had had this conversation more than once before. “We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else.”

Don’t even go there, she warned herself, as images of the prince getting dressed in the morning sprang to her mind. He was a means to an end, finding out who she was. Once he told her what he knew about her background, their paths might never cross again.

Strange how disappointing the notion felt, although she told herself it was to be expected. He was a member of the Carramer royal family, for goodness’ sake. Once he had fulfilled whatever duty he had toward her, he wouldn’t involve himself with the personal concerns of an ordinary citizen, assuming she was one. She couldn’t suppress a feeling of anticipation at the prospect. For nearly two years after finding out that she was adopted, she had wondered where she fitted in. She had never considered that she might belong somewhere other than in America.

“Why are you taking such an interest in me?” she asked, giving voice to the thought she had suppressed since he singled her out for attention. “I’m not some royal love child, am I?”

“Are you always so persistent?” he asked, an edge in his voice.

Her throat dried. She had asked out of a perverse wish to provoke him, not because she thought that it could be true. Now she felt the ground shift under her again. What was so terrible about her background that he evaded her questions?

She twisted sideways, fixing him with her most imperious glare. He might be royal but she had been brought up as the daughter of wealthy parents. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and it was time he knew it. “I insist that you tell me what you know about my background.”

He seemed unmoved by her anger. “You’ll have your answers very soon. We have arrived at your accommodation.”

The car swung past a sentry box, a uniformed guard saluting as they drove between black wrought iron gates bearing enameled crests. The car continued along an avenue of ancient trees, through which she glimpsed palatial houses, suggesting that they had entered an exclusive enclave.

Before she could ask Prince Josquin, the car came to a halt beneath a sandstone portico. The building behind it was enormous, at least four stories high and spreading out in two wings for the length of a city block. By craning her neck she could make out a blue and jade flag fluttering from a mast atop a crenellated tower. Suspicion gripped her. “This doesn’t look like a hotel. It looks more like…”

“Château de Valmont,” the prince cut in smoothly. “Welcome home.”

Chapter Two

She stared at him, feeling her jaw drop. “Home? You can’t be serious?”

“Do I look as if I am joking?”

He looked…he looked amazing, she thought, aware that his bombshell didn’t stop her from thinking about him in those terms. She had a feeling His Highness could dominate any woman’s thoughts without really trying.

But she couldn’t accept his suggestion that she had any claim to this astonishing place. Whoever her birth parents were, if they had belonged here, they wouldn’t have borne a child in America and given her up for adoption. The château and the vast estate around it looked as if they had sheltered generations of one family. Such tradition wasn’t easily set aside.

Before she could voice the questions crowding her mind, the car door was opened by a uniformed servant who bowed to her. “May I assist you with the infant, madame?”

Until she knew more about why she was here, she wasn’t trusting her son to anyone’s care but her own. “Thank you, I’ll take him myself.”

“As you wish, madame. I will have someone attend to your bags.”

While the servants bustled about, she lifted Christophe out of the capsule. He stirred and gave her a heart-stopping smile, showing off his solitary front tooth. “You had a good rest, didn’t you?” she said, smiling back at him. Not for Christophe, the worry about what this was all about. As long as he was warm, dry and fed, and she was within his line of sight, he was content.

As she held him against her cheek, he gurgled happily and thrust his fingers into her mouth. She kissed them, feeling almost overwhelmed by love for him. As long as they had each other, everything would be all right, she told herself, as she had so often since he was born.

She became aware of Prince Josquin’s thoughtful gaze on her. She turned to him. “Christophe still needs feeding and changing.”

“Everything you and the baby might need has been anticipated,” he assured her.

“By whom? For what purpose?” She sighed impatiently. “I know, you’ll give me the answers soon.”

Josquin took her free arm, his gesture indicating the hovering servants. “There’s no need to make a scene. No harm will come to you or your child.”

She jerked her arm free. “You think this is a scene? Wait until you see what a real scene looks like.” She tightened her hold on Christophe and faced the prince, tigress with cub bracing herself to take on full-grown male tiger. Her stance made it clear that, at need, she would take on the world to protect her child. “We’re not going any further until you give me a good reason why we should.”

A scowl marred his even features, suggesting that no wasn’t a word he was accustomed to hearing. After a thoughtful pause, he said, “Because your son is the heir to everything you see around you.”

She felt the color drain from her face. “He’s what?”

“He is Prince Henry’s sole male heir.”

“If it’s true, it would make my baby…he would be…” She couldn’t bring herself to force the word out.

Josquin did it for her. “He is Prince Christophe de Valmont.”

Josquin saw the moment when her knees threatened to buckle. His strong arm came around her, supporting her and Christophe. She shook her head slightly to dispel the mist tugging at the edge of her thoughts. “There must be some mistake. We’re American citizens. How can my son be the heir to anything in Carramer, far less a prince?”

“I understand this is a lot to take in. That’s why I wanted to break it to you in a more appropriate fashion.”

“Would any way make a difference when you have such news? Are you sure?”

Josquin inclined his head. “Too much is at stake for my inquiries to have been anything but meticulous.”

They would have been anyway, she assumed. Josquin didn’t strike her as a man who did anything by halves. She was far from convinced that the château was her son’s birthright, but for his sake, she had to find out. “We’ll come inside, for now at least,” she said, keeping a tremor out of her voice with an effort.

The prince looked relieved. He indicated a pretty dark-haired woman of about Sarah’s age, who had come to stand beside them. “This is Marie. She will serve as your personal attendant while you’re here.”

Which wouldn’t be very long if Sarah had any say in it, she thought as she greeted Marie. The longer she stood in the shadow of the breathtaking château, the more she believed that Josquin must be mistaken. The prince’s research might have been thorough, but he would have to depend on advisers and investigators. Their information could have been wrong. It would be sorted out soon, then she and Christophe could go home.

There was no holiday. Belatedly she realized that the check she had received as spending money was as much a sham as the prize she had supposedly won. She would have to return the money to Josquin, although she had no idea how she was going to manage it.

“What if this turns out to be a mistake?” she asked.

He made a gracious gesture. “Then I will be the one who made it. You are welcome to remain at Valmont as a guest of the royal family for as long as you choose. It is the least I can do to make amends, if a mistake has been made.” His tone said he doubted it.

Relief swept through her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she had counted on this vacation to give her the chance to regroup. Although it had been her choice and she wouldn’t change it for anything, bearing Christophe alone hadn’t been easy. Her grandmother’s legacy wouldn’t last much longer. Soon she would have to return to work.

Her former job as assistant manager of an art gallery had been kept open while she was on maternity leave. With a baby to consider, she couldn’t work the long, sometimes unpredictable hours she’d done previously, so she had been forced to hand in her resignation. She had intended to use her vacation time to plan her future.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone betraying her relief.

The prince inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Shall we go in now?”

A butler held one of the carved double doors open for her and gestured deferentially for Sarah to precede him.

Sarah found herself standing on a floor made of Italian travertine inlaid with granite. A coffered ceiling stretched twenty or more feet above her head. At one end of the cavernous hall was a wide, curving staircase.

Sarah had been surrounded by beautiful possessions all her life, but had seen nothing like Château de Valmont. “This is amazing.”

“This is one of the finest houses in Carramer.”

“I can believe it. Now I’m convinced you have the wrong person.” Her son couldn’t possibly be the heir to all this.

“Then I shall have to convince you otherwise.”