The Prince's Royal Dilemma
“But not immediately.”
“No,” she acknowledged. “Princess Alexandria and Prince Damon were distressed, and I didn’t want to leave them in such a state.”
“When you are summoned to my office, your wants are irrelevant.”
She might have a crush on the prince, but she wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he could be a royal ass at times. It seemed that this was one of those times. As the flutters in her belly became knots of apprehension, she forced herself to take a deep breath and mentally count to ten before she responded. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but I was under the impression that it was my job to care for the children, and that is what I was doing.”
“And what were you doing when this picture was taken?” he demanded, tossing a newspaper down on the top of his desk.
Lara’s gaze dropped, her annoyance giving way to shocked embarrassment, then fury. “I was on private property,” she told him. “I don’t know how this could have been taken.”
“There’s no such thing as privacy beyond the gates of this estate,” he reminded her. “You should have learned that long before now.”
It would be smart, she knew, to keep her eyes down, fold her hands together and apologize for her obvious error in judgment. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, and her pride refused to let her beg for his forgiveness.
“Instead, you’re again on the front page, looking like you belong in a centerfold.”
Though her face was hot with a combination of embarrassment and anger, she managed to respond evenly. “I’m flattered you think so.”
His dark eyes narrowed on her. “If you think I’m amused by this, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“On the contrary, I wouldn’t think you’re amused by anything, Your Highness.”
“Certainly not, less than three weeks after the deaths of the Prince and Princess of Tesoro del Mar, a picture of their nanny—” he slapped his hand down on the paper “—cavorting on the beach.”
“Cavorting?” she challenged.
“Is there another explanation for this?”
A very innocent one, in fact, but he obviously wasn’t prepared to listen to anything she had to say. “Ask your brother,” she said instead. “He was there.”
She saw a quick flicker of surprise in his eyes before they narrowed again. “Marcus?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened. “It seems that at least two of my brothers have exhibited questionable judgment where you’re concerned, and though I didn’t agree with Julian’s decision to hire a nanny so young and obviously inexperienced, it was his decision to make. But the children are my responsibility now, and I have to do what’s best for them.”
Now she did drop her gaze, so he wouldn’t see the tears that filled her eyes. It was her own fault, she knew, for baiting him. But his self-righteousness grated on her and overrode her common sense. It was only thoughts of the children that enabled her to ignore both her anger and her pride. For them she would grovel, she would plead—she would do whatever was necessary.
“Whatever you think that picture means, it has nothing to do with my ability to care for the children.”
“On the contrary,” he said mockingly, “it has everything to do with knowing what is best for them and proves to me that your judgment is lacking.”
His tone was decisive, his expression stony, and she knew that groveling and pleading would have no effect on this man. Along with the realization came a stab of pain that struck deep into her heart.
“You can pick up your severance pay from the finance office on your way out,” he said.
The anger was stronger than the hurt now, and strong enough to override the reason that had held her temper in check. “Is that supposed to make everything okay? Do you really think monetary compensation would make me want to abandon the children?”
When he opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head. “Oh, that’s right—what I want is irrelevant.”
A muscle in his jaw tightened, but he only said, “That will be all, Miss Brennan.”
She made her way to the door, brokenhearted and defeated by the knowledge that there was nothing she could do now. On the other hand, she had nothing left to lose. She paused with her hand on the knob and turned back to him.
“No, that’s not all,” she said. “You say you’re doing this because it’s best for the children, but how could you possibly know? Do you think that spending a few hours at the dinner table with them on special occasions has made you an expert on what they want or need?”
He deliberately kept his attention focused on the papers on his desk, as if she was already gone. But Lara wouldn’t be dismissed so easily.
“Did you know that Christian struggles with algebra and hates scalloped potatoes? Did you know that Lexi’s favorite color is orange and that she dreams of being a dancer?”
He glanced up, his eyes hard and cold, but said nothing.
“Did you know that Damon hasn’t slept through the night since he heard about the explosion on the yacht?”
There, finally, just the slightest flicker of something, though she couldn’t have guessed whether it was surprise or distress or annoyance. And when he spoke, it was only to say, “Are you quite finished now?”
She shook her head. It was too late to hope that he would reconsider—the prince regent wouldn’t let his decisions be questioned, never mind changed—but, for the sake of the children, she needed him to understand. “They need more than a watchful eye and instruction on their royal responsibilities—they need to know that they’re loved.”
His jaw hardened. “You are dismissed, Miss Brennan.”
The tears that she’d tried so valiantly to hold back, tears of frustration and anger and hurt, spilled onto her cheeks, but she held her head high. “And you are an arrogant, pompous ass.”
Chapter Two
“You really called him that?” Tanis’s grin was as wide as her eyes.
“I really did.” Lara sniffled as she nodded.
She’d hardly stopped crying since she’d driven through the gates of the palace, away from the children she’d grown to love as if they were her own. The children to whom she hadn’t even said goodbye.
Prince Rowan hadn’t refused to let her see them, so she couldn’t blame him for that. No, that responsibility was entirely her own, because she’d known she would never be able to face them without falling apart and because she didn’t know how to explain to them that she was leaving—at least not without revealing Rowan’s part in causing her departure. As angry as she might be with His Highness, he was the children’s legal guardian and she had no right—nor did she want—to interfere with that. But, oh, how her heart ached.
Lara figured that when a person was feeling battered and bruised, she should go home. Unfortunately, home was nearly a thousand miles away, so she’d asked the palace chauffeur to take her to Tan’s house instead.
Tanis had returned to Tesoro del Mar two years after Lara had settled on the island, partly to avoid her mother’s attempts to marry her off but mostly to be closer to her best friend. An art history graduate and struggling artist, she worked full-time at a local café to pay the rent and part-time at the Port Augustine Art Gallery to buy her canvases and paints and—she kept hoping—make some professional connections. In light of her busy schedule, Lara was lucky to have caught Tan at home—and grateful.
“I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.” Her friend brought a bottle of merlot and a couple of glasses to the table.
Lara knew that even if she could explain her vehement outburst, her behavior was still inexcusable. “I was just so hurt and angry.”
“And understandably so.” Tanis poured the wine. “You’ve devoted four years to that family, and he tosses you out on your butt because of a sexy photo in the paper.”
She winced. “I don’t even want to think about that picture. I still don’t understand how it could have been taken. It was a private beach—and Lexi and Damon and Marcus were there, too.”
“Telephoto lens,” her friend said matter-of-factly. “Then some creative zooming and cropping and instead of a picture of the royal nanny spending a day at the beach with the kids, the photographer has a front-page sex kitten.”
“Thank you so much for your support.”
Tan just grinned.
Lara sipped her wine. “Do you think he can have me deported for what I said to him?”
“He’s the prince regent—he could probably have you deported for jaywalking, but why would he bother?”
“Good point.”
“You know,” Tanis said, bringing a platter of assorted sweets to the table, “you should consider the possibility that His Royal Arrogance did you a favor.”
“How’s that?” she asked miserably.
“Because as long as you were working and living at the palace, you were never going to get over your infatuation with him.”
Lara selected a macademia nut brownie and bit into it. “Which is the same problem you have with your work at the art gallery.”
“Now at least you’re free to do what you want when you want,” her friend continued, ignoring the reference to her own life. “Maybe even go out on a date every once in a while.”
“You make it sound like I was locked up in the palace tower for the past four years.”
“You might as well have been.”
“I’ve been on dates,” Lara said, just a little defensively.
“Have you ever gone out with the same guy more than twice?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“No,” Tanis answered her own question. “Because you mentally compare everyone to Rowan, and what normal guy could even hope to compete with a prince?”
She couldn’t deny it was true, even if the comparisons had mostly been subconscious, so she said nothing.
“You’re twenty-five years old,” her friend continued. “Way too young to be thinking about marriage, in my opinion, but if you really want to have a dozen kids of your own someday, you have to stop living in a fairy-tale world and start looking for daddy prospects.”
“You’re right,” she finally admitted.
Tan’s smile was smug. “Of course I’m right. And I know just the man to make you forget all about His Royal Arrogance.”
She groaned. “Please tell me you’re not talking about a blind date.”
“Actually, I’m not talking about a date at all, but a job.” She broke a peanut butter cookie in half and popped a piece into her mouth.
“What job?” Lara asked.
“Taking care of Luke’s kids.”
“Your Luke?”
“My boss,” her friend clarified.
Lara had met him a couple of times at the art gallery and knew a little of his basic background from Tanis. A hunky widower with twin girls, if she remembered correctly. And the object of her friend’s secret affection. “I thought he had a nanny.”
“He did. Until last week when she ran off with a sculptor whose work was on display at the gallery.”
She managed a smile. “And you think he’s desperate enough to hire a nanny fired by the royal family?”
“I know he’d be lucky to have you,” Tan said loyally. “In fact, I’ll give him a call right now if you’re interested.”
Lara was tempted to say no, to let herself dream that the prince regent would somehow realize he’d made a mistake and ask her to come back, but she knew that would never happen.
“But if you’re not sure, you can take some time to think about it,” Tan continued. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”
“Thanks,” Lara said, grateful for the offer, though she knew she couldn’t accept it. Her friend’s apartment was barely big enough for one person, even without all the art supplies scattered around. “But I think starting a new job would be good. I need to move on.”
“Then I’ll call Luke right away.” Tanis was already reaching for the phone.
Lara sipped her wine while her friend made the arrangements.
“He wanted to come over and pick you up right now,” Tan said when she disconnected the call.
“I could go now,” she agreed.
“No way. It’s a rare occurrence for us to have the same day off and I want to go shopping.”
“Shoe shopping?”
Her friend grinned. “Is there any other kind?”
“I guess a new job calls for new shoes,” she agreed, but her eyes filled again with tears.
Tan touched her hand. “It will get better.”
“The worst part of this whole situation is that I wasn’t prepared and I should have been. I knew Prince Rowan never liked me—I just didn’t realize how much he actually disliked me.” She swallowed. “It was almost as if he was looking for an excuse to fire me.”
“That’s because he’s an arrogant, pompous ass,” Tanis declared with such conviction that Lara had to smile.
“Married?” Rowan stared at Henri Marchand, certain the information he’d just been given couldn’t possibly be true. “You must be joking.”
“I’m afraid not,” his political advisor and longtime friend said solemnly. “If you don’t marry within six months of your thirty-fifth birthday, you risk losing the throne.”
“Can I challenge the law? Change it?”
“You could try, but it would be a difficult and time-consuming process and your birthday isn’t far away.”
Rowan scanned the highlighted portion of the text again, shaking his head. “Which means that I have little more than six months to find a suitable bride.”
The corners of Henri’s mouth curved just a little, and Rowan knew he was amused by the thought of his avowed bachelor friend finally sticking his head in the marriage noose.
“That’s right, Your Highness.”
“And if I refuse? Would the throne then pass to Eric?”
It was a hypothetical question, really, because he wouldn’t ever ask his brother to give up the career he loved in the navy just to help him avoid a pesky little matter like marriage. And if the throne passed further down the line to Marcus—no, he couldn’t even imagine it. His youngest brother was barely old enough to be responsible for himself, never mind an entire country.
“It’s not that simple,” Henri warned. “Because Tesoro del Mar is a cross between a hereditary and an elective monarchy, the appointment of your successor would need to be approved by the royal council.”
“As mine was approved.”
“Yes. Much to the annoyance of the princess royal.”
Rowan frowned. “My aunt Elena objected to my appointment as prince regent?”
“When a ruler dies without an heir of legal age, his successor is to be chosen from all eligible members of the royal family, and your aunt thought her eldest son, Prince Michael, should have at least been considered for the position.”
“And Michael is already married.”
Henri nodded. “I don’t know that your cousin is even interested in the position, but there’s no doubt his mother wants it for him, and if you choose to ignore this legislation, she will find a way to use it against you.”
Rowan folded his hands on top of his desk, not wanting to give any further indication of the frustration churning inside. He understood that it was his duty to fill the role of prince regent until his eldest nephew was of an age to take his rightful place on the throne, but he sure hadn’t been thinking about marriage when he’d accepted the position. Now he was being pressured not just to find a wife but to do so within a specified time frame—or put the future of the monarchy in jeopardy.
“Okay,” he said to his friend. “You’re supposed to be my advisor. Advise me. How exactly am I going to pull this off?”
“With all due respect, while marriage seems to be a political necessity, the choosing of a bride should be a personal decision.”
Rowan just scowled.
“You’ve escorted any number of beautiful women to various social events,” Henri reminded him. “Surely it wouldn’t take much persuasion for one of them to accept a permanent position at your side.”
“Choosing a suitable companion for a state dinner or a few pleasurable hours behind closed doors is entirely different from deciding who will be not just the next princess of Tesoro del Mar but the person with whom I share the rest of my life.”
“There must be someone who made an impression,” Henri said. “At least one woman you couldn’t stop thinking about after you’d said good-night.”
Rowan tried to summon memories of the women he’d gone out with in the past year but found his efforts diverted by the image of Lara that hovered in his mind. He couldn’t remember any other woman’s eyes, only her vibrant green ones—the way they softened to the shade of moss when she talked about the children or sparked like emerald fire when she was angry. He’d kissed more women than he could remember, but it was somehow the lips he hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting that beckoned him—Lara’s lips, soft and full and so tempting. He’d dated women with long hair—some with flowing blond tresses, others with spiraling dark curls, but all he could remember now was the way the copper of Lara’s hair glinted in the sun and the way the short choppy layers emphasized her delicate bone structure and creamy ivory skin.
“Obviously, there is.” Henri’s comment broke through his reverie.
Rowan pushed aside the haunting image and forced himself to ignore the almost painful yearning that stirred deep in his belly. “No,” he lied. “There’s no one.”
His friend responded by arching his brows but didn’t challenge his statement. “Well, then, you better start looking. Though I’ll warn that you will likely be inundated with bridal candidates as soon as the media gets wind of this, as you know they will.”
He nodded, having long ago accepted the fact that every aspect of his life was subject to public scrutiny, even—or maybe especially—his choice of female companions. “You’re sure there’s no way around this?”
“I’m not a lawyer,” Henri reminded him. “But I’d assume that the law has stood as long as it has because it is supported by the people.”
Rowan nodded again. “Thank you, Henri.”
He bowed and retreated to the outer office.
His friend’s comment about not being a lawyer reminded Rowan that Marcus soon would be. He picked up the phone to call his brother.
Marcus Santiago was jolted from a dead sleep to wide awake on the first ring. A quick glance at the clock had his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed for the receiver. The last time he’d received a call from home in the middle of the night, it was because his eldest brother and sister-in-law had been killed.
“What’s happened now?” he demanded in a gravelly voice.
“Everyone’s okay.”
Marcus let out a sigh and sank back into his bed. “Then why couldn’t you have waited until morning to call?”
“It is morning,” Rowan told him.
“Barely.”
“And I wanted to be sure to catch you before you headed off to class.”
“I don’t have any classes that start earlier than 10:00 a.m. local time,” he reminded his brother.
“I’m going to fax you some pages,” Rowan said, ignoring the complaint and pushing ahead with his own agenda.
“What pages?”
“A copy of an archaic piece of legislation that somehow still happens to be in effect. I need your interpretation of it and, more importantly, I need you to figure out how I can get around it.”
Now this was unexpected…and interesting. “Tell me you haven’t violated Tesorian law.”
“Not yet,” Rowan said, then proceeded to fill his brother in on the details of his recent conversation with Henri. By the time he was finished, Marcus was hooting with laughter.
“I don’t care that you find this amusing,” Rowan said to him. “So long as you find me a loophole.”
“Maybe instead of fighting this, you should look at it as an opportunity,” his brother suggested.
“How is this anything but a disaster waiting to happen?”
“You’ve been thrown into the roles of prince regent and guardian of our niece and nephews, which hardly leaves you any time for a social life.”
“You have enough social life for both of us,” Rowan interrupted.
“You can’t let one unfortunate and long-ago experience sour you on the prospect of marriage forever.”
“I’m happy with my life, with the freedom to date a different woman every night of the week if I want.”
While Marcus could certainly appreciate that option and did, he knew that his brother had once wanted something different—until Margot had killed those dreams.
He also knew that Rowan wouldn’t want to be reminded of the ill-fated affair of which he still bore the scars, so he only said, “You used to envy Julian his luck in meeting and falling in love with Catherine.”
“Turns out he wasn’t so lucky after all, was he?” Rowan said bitterly.
“I’m just suggesting you could look at this legislation as an opportunity to find someone special.”
“I’m not opposed to the idea of marriage—just to having it forced upon me, and within a legislated time frame, no less.”
Marcus could certainly understand that. “Send me the paperwork,” he said, “and I’ll see what I can do.”
Ten days after Miss Brennan left the palace, Rowan was still trying to convince himself that he had no reason to feel guilty. But every time he looked into Damon’s tear-streaked face or saw the abject misery in Alexandria’s big gold eyes, he wondered if the decision he’d made was really what was best for them. Even Christian, usually so stoic and accepting, seemed to miss the nanny. And then there was his conversation with Marcus—two days after he’d fired her—wherein his brother explained the circumstances behind the picture of Lara on the beach.
He’d made a mistake—he’d reacted emotionally instead of rationally, and without having all of the facts. But the picture had done something to him, churned up desires he hadn’t even been aware of possessing. It was one thing to want a woman—he hadn’t lived well into his thirty-fourth year without experiencing the pull of desire and the pleasures of making love. But Lara was the children’s nanny, and he was appalled by the weakness within himself that he could want a woman who was so clearly off-limits, and want her desperately.
He’d thrown the paper in the trash, but somehow that tempting image of her was burned into his brain. He couldn’t sleep at night without dreaming about her, fantasizing about that slim, sexy body wrapped around him. And when he woke in the morning, hard and aching with wanting her, he could only be grateful that she was gone—far out of the reach of temptation. But after the initial wave of relief passed, the guilt settled in—guilt that, while he might have made the decision that was right for him, he’d made it for all the wrong reasons.
Of course, the decision had been made, so there could be no going back. Damon would cease throwing temper tantrums when he realized they had no effect; Alexandria would regain her appetite; and Christian would smile again. He had to remain firm in his conviction and trust that their rebellious behavior would pass. They just needed a period of adjustment. The new nanny had only been in residence for a week, and Rowan was confident that it wouldn’t be too much longer before life settled into a normal routine again—and Damon would, hopefully, settle down.
He hadn’t hired Edna Harris because of her gray hair or long skirts or thick clunky shoes, but he considered those to be definite bonuses. She’d been in the business of caring for other people’s children longer than he’d been alive, and she wasn’t a woman he’d need to worry about going clubbing on her night off or sneaking out of the palace for a midnight rendezvous with a lover. And he definitely wouldn’t be distracted by the image of her laughing eyes, smiling lips or shapely curves.
Yes, Edna Harris was the best thing for all of them, especially now that he was facing a deadline to marry. He had to focus his attention on the future and trust that his erotic dreams about Lara would fade and he’d be able to sleep again at night.
His hopes in that regard were dashed by the sharp poke of a finger in his side.
He shook off the fog of his restless slumber and pushed himself up, trying to focus through the darkness on the child standing beside his bed. “What’s the matter, Alexandria?”