Royally Pregnant. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ deeper into the marshmallow-soft pillow, not quite ready to give up the comfort of sleep. A dream, she thought, please let all this be a dream.

      And please don’t let me wake up.

      But the distant rumble of thunder and the steady drip of rain off the eaves outside the bedroom window reminded her that it was not a dream at all. She truly was inside Penwyck Palace, snuggled under a thick down comforter that covered a four-poster canopied bed which was in and of itself fit for a king.

      She barely remembered being brought here yesterday. The pain medication had not only eased her aches and pains, but had made her fall into a deep sleep for the night. Obviously the medication had worn off, she thought when she rolled to her back and her shoulder twanged in protest. Wincing, she lifted a hand to her forehead and pressed her fingers to the insistent, dull ache in her skull.

      When the pain eased, she drew in a slow breath, then rose on one elbow and glanced around the spacious room. Elegant was her first thought, Victorian romantic was her second as she took in the canopied bed, lace curtains, floral wallpaper and a French country armoire.

      And flowers. Beautiful long-stemmed pink roses, white carnations, purple delphiniums, all in a huge, cut-crystal vase on a round corner table. Beside the bed, pale-yellow Old English roses spilled from the sides of a clear glass bowl. Next to the roses, in a shallow porcelain dish, were two pure-white gardenias.

      Tears burned Emily’s eyes as she stared at the fragrant flowers. Everyone had been so nice to her since yesterday. Liam, Dr. Waltham, even Nurse Weidermeyer, though Emily had to admit the woman did frighten her a bit.

      And Dylan. In the back of the limo he’d been so incredibly gentle, then at the infirmary those piercing blue eyes of his had shown such concern. When he’d touched her chin so tenderly, her heart had skipped a beat. The texture of his callused hands on her skin had been electric. She’d almost forgotten she was sit ting before him practically naked under the infirmary gown, had nearly forgotten where she was and why.

      She hated that he’d blamed himself, even though she’d been the one to cause the accident. If only there was some way to undo what had been done, she thought as she stared at the sheer white canopy over her head, some way to turn back the clock and make things right.

      But there wasn’t, of course. She couldn’t change a thing now. It was too late. She couldn’t look back, knew she had no choice but to move forward.

      At the sound of a soft knock at the door, Emily attempted to sit, but the effort sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder. With a gasp, she lay back against the pillows and struggled to find her voice.

      “Come in.”

      The door opened slowly, and a rail-thin brunette wearing a gray-and-white maid’s uniform wheeled a food cart into the room. The smell of peppermint tea and bacon reminded Emily that she hadn’t eaten since the day before.

      “Mornin’ Miss Emily,” the maid said cheerfully and pushed the cart beside the bed. “My name is Sally. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

      “No.” Emily bit her lip and slowly, carefully, attempted to sit. “I was already awake.”

      “Let me help you.” Sally quickly moved beside the bed and reached for another pillow, then slipped it behind Emily’s back. “Your nurse went off to get your medication, and the doctor will be here in a little while to see how you’re doing. Do you need to use the bathroom?”

      “Not just yet.” Emily let the worst of the pain pass, then forced a smile. “Please don’t fuss over me. It’s really not necessary.”

      “Oh, but it is, Miss Emily.” Sally drew her brows together in a serious frown, then she turned and lifted the silver dome on a plate. Steam rose from a fluffy mound of scrambled eggs and several slices of bacon. “Not that I wouldn’t want to fuss over you anyway, of course, but Prince Dylan was quite firm in his instructions.”

      Sally lifted a blue linen napkin covering a silver basket. Emily’s mouth watered at the pile of pastries inside. “Instructions?”

      “He said that you were to have anything you wanted, anything at all.” Sally poured tea from a silver pot into a white china cup. “He also said if there was any problem, no matter how small, he was to be personally and immediately informed. Would you like cream in your tea?”

      “Ah, no, thank you.” Emily shifted until she found a comfortable spot, then accepted the tea Sally offered. “But surely Dyl—Prince Dylan—has more important matters to deal with than me.”

      Pulling out a wooden bed tray from underneath the cart, Sally placed it over Emily’s legs, then reached for a set of silverware and a linen napkin. “Well, the palace has been in a bit of a bumble since King Morgan fell ill.”

      “The king is ill?”

      “Heavens, yes. Very ill, with encephalitis, we were told. We’re all so happy he’s out of danger now and recovering. It’s been a huge relief for the queen and Prince Owen that Prince Dylan has finally come home.”

      Emily sipped the tea Sally handed her; the warmth of the liquid relaxed her. “Prince Dylan has been gone?”

      “You don’t know?” Sally stared at Emily in bewilderment, then, with a small gasp, pressed her hand to her mouth. “I was told that you’ve lost your memory, but I wasn’t thinking. So it’s true, then? You really don’t remember anything? Who you are or where you’re from?”

      The ache in Emily’s temple became a throb at Sally’s question. Closing her eyes, she simply shook her head.

      “Oh dear, I’m so sorry I’ve upset you.” Distressed, the maid wrung her hands. “Here I am, supposed to take care of you and I’m only making things worse.”

      “No.” Emily drew in a long breath, then opened her eyes again and forced a smile. “No. You’ve done nothing. Tell me about Prince Dylan.”

      Sally’s face took on a dreamy look. “Prince Dylan is…amazing.”

      Emily tried not to smile. It appeared that the young maid had a crush on Dylan. Not that Emily was surprised. What woman under eighty wouldn’t be swooning over the handsome prince? Hadn’t she found her own stomach fluttering when he’d touched her?

      “You said he’d been gone,” Emily prompted.

      “For nearly two years.” Sally set the plate of bacon and eggs on the tray. “No one knows exactly where he’s been or what he’s been doing. Some say he was in Africa, hunting dangerous animals in the thickest, darkest jungles. Some say he was at sea, sailing the vast, endless oceans, visiting the most exotic ports and women. There’s even talk of an Italian contessa and a secluded villa.” Sally paused with a sigh. “He’s quite the ladies’ man, you know. So rugged and handsome and a smile that would make any woman melt on the spot.”

      “I’m sure there are puddles all around the world,” Emily said dryly, more than a little unnerved that she’d had exactly the same reaction to the man.

      “There are other rumors, too.” Sally leaned closer and whispered, “But so outrageous I really don’t think I should repeat them.”

      “No,” Dylan said stiffly from the doorway as he stepped into the room. Annoyance narrowed his eyes. “You really shouldn’t.”

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