The Prince's Secret Bride. Raye Morgan

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      It was obvious the two men didn’t care much for each other, but Marisa didn’t have time to dwell on that fact. Dr. Zavier examined her quickly and dispassionately, then declared her well enough for now. He found nothing physically wrong, other than a bump on the head, and prescribed lots of rest and plenty of fluids and promised to look in on her in the morning.

      Marisa agreed with that diagnosis. She was fine, really. Just tired and a bit confused. She sat up as the doctor left, then looked hesitantly into the prince’s eyes, wary of seeing whatever that was she’d seen a few moments before, but his gaze was bland, revealing nothing more than vaguely impatient interest, and she relaxed. She was probably being a ninny and she hated that. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to be stronger from now on. Just as soon as that was possible.

      Nico introduced her to Carla, his sister, who immediately took over and ushered her down the hall and up the stairs and into a warm bath, chattering in a friendly manner all the while. Two chambermaids helped and Marisa didn’t have to do a thing. Before she knew it, she was clean and smelling delicious with her dirt-stained clothes exchanged for a silky nightdress that felt like heaven. And finally, Carla led her to a luxuriously plush canopied bed in a beautiful room decorated in peach and gold. By the time Marisa had caught her breath, she knew it was all too much.

      “I should go,” she protested weakly, knowing she was in danger of letting herself be seduced by all this cosseting.

      “Nonsense,” Carla told her cheerfully, turning back the bed and providing a step-stool. “It’s late. You need to sleep. You can go in the morning.”

      “But, my clothes…”

      “They’re being cleaned for you. In the meantime, look here.” Carla threw open a tall wardrobe set against the inner wall. “You see all these?” she said, sweeping her hand along the length of the display inside. Bright cloth hung from every hanger. “They belong to my cousin Nadia. She’s just about your age and size. Minus the pregnancy, of course, but you’re barely showing. Feel free to use anything here that you like.”

      Marisa shivered. This was beginning to remind her of a fairy tale. Fairy tales didn’t always have happy endings. She could think of a few where the young innocent visitor was lulled into a false sense of security by all the riches laid before her, only to come to a bad end when she finally realized what the evil captors actually wanted from her.

      “Uh, where is Nadia?” she asked.

      Carla shrugged and pretty much evaded a straight answer. “Good question. That’s something we’d all like to know.”

      She drew the heavy drapes closed over the lacy liners at the window and Marisa turned slowly, following her movements. She was hesitant to seem to be looking a gift horse in the mouth, but still….

      “I… I don’t really know why you’re being so nice to me,” she said carefully. “I mean, you don’t know anything about me or where I came from or…”

      Carla’s good-natured laugh rang out. “Well, neither do you, from what I hear. We’re all playing this by ear, aren’t we?”

      Marisa couldn’t help but return her smile. “I guess you’re right,” she said reluctantly.

      “You get into that bed and get some sleep,” Carla said, turning to go. “There’s a bell rope if you need anything.”

      “Carla,” Marisa said quickly, “thank you.”

      Carla stopped at the doorway and looked back. She hesitated, then sighed. “I’ll be honest, Marisa. It’s lovely having you here, but the bottom line is that Nico is in charge when our oldest brother, Crown Prince Dane, is out of town. I’m sure you know—but then, maybe you’ve forgotten—that our father, King Nevander, died last month after a long illness. So now we’re preparing for a coronation. The Crown Prince is in Paris making international alliances. Nico is the de facto ruler here at home for the time being. And Nico gets what he wants. If he thinks you’re welcome here, you’re welcome here. So relax and enjoy it.”

      With a wave she was gone. Marisa stared after her. Somehow her last words had not been comforting. The more she heard the prince wanted her here, the more she began to think she didn’t want to be here. Instead of heading for the bed, she turned and hurried toward the wardrobe, reaching in to grab something to wear for a quick escape. She’d barely taken down a beautiful pink sweater when a soft rapping on her door told her this wasn’t going to be quite so easy.

      “Come in,” she said, tensed in uneasy anticipation.

      Prince Nico entered the room, just as she’d been afraid he would. Funny, but he looked more handsome, taller, harder and just a bit scarier than he had when she hadn’t known he was royal. Biting her lip hard, she tried to hold back any evidence of being swept away. She absolutely refused to seem awestruck. She’d been impressed with him before, but once she realized he was royalty—like it or not, that had its effect. The royals were stars. How could it be any other way?

      “How are you feeling?” he asked, gazing curiously at the pink sweater.

      “I’m fine. Absolutely fine.” She pressed the sweater to her chest. “I…listen, I’m sorry to be such a bother to everyone.” She gazed up at him earnestly. “Really. I think I should go. You know…”

      His handsome face was impassive but his blue eyes shimmered silver in the lamplight. “You can’t go.”

      “Oh.” That startled her for a moment. Why couldn’t she go? It didn’t make any sense. Was he just throwing his royal weight around? Or did he have some ulterior motive? She wasn’t sure why she was so suspicious of everyone. But then again, maybe she did have a hint or two as to why that might be. After all, she’d been assaulted tonight. Time to guard herself a bit more carefully, perhaps.

      “Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than to look after me. I mean…here you are, a prince and all.” She shook her head and tried to convince him. “If I’d realized that from the beginning, I would never have gotten…” The word involved was the one she was going for, but the connotations scared her off. “…tangled up with you,” she said instead, then frowned, wondering if maybe that was worse.

      The faintest of smiles quirked the corners of his mouth. “Too late. I’m entangled.” Reaching out, he took the hanger with the pink sweater from her hands and walked it back to the wardrobe.

      She gazed at him, nonplussed. “But why?”

      He hung up the sweater, then closed the door and turned back. “That doesn’t matter.”

      Her warning system was setting off tiny alarms again. “Sure it does. I don’t understand why you think you have any responsibility for me and my child.”

      He gazed at her for a long moment before answering that one—long enough that she began to feel self-conscious. She was standing there in a filmy nightdress, after all. Hardly the way one would want to appear in an audience with a prince. Unless, of course, one had seduction in mind. That sent blood rushing to her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she had the sweater back to hide behind.

      “We care about all our subjects, Marisa,” he said at last.

      Right. She almost laughed aloud at that one. Especially when she considered the hint of mockery she heard in his СКАЧАТЬ