The Marquis And The Mother-To-Be. Valerie Parv

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СКАЧАТЬ than she was, with chestnut hair cut in a military style. He half turned and she swallowed. Lord, he was big, wide at shoulder and hip and narrow everywhere else. His aristocratic profile tugged at her memory, but before she could pinpoint the reason, he turned away again.

      She took stock of his clothing so she would be able to describe him to the police when she could safely contact them. White shirt, the sleeves rolled back over tanned forearms, open at the neck. The shirt was tucked into snug-fitting denims held up by a plaited leather belt slung cowboy-style around his hips. As he moved to the window, the gleam of his boots jarred her. What kind of prowler polished his boots to a mirror shine?

      Now or never, she told herself, pushing the door all the way open. Without giving herself time to think, she moved up behind him and pressed the cigar tube into his back with all the force she could muster. “Don’t move. I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

      Eduard lifted both hands to shoulder height, palms outward, careful not to move suddenly. He hadn’t allowed for his ghost to tote a gun and didn’t care for the businesslike way it pressed against his back. “We can work this out. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

      “You seem sure I’ll regret it.”

      The melodious voice reminded him of bells, and he itched to turn around and get a look at the owner. “Have you shot many people?” he asked.

      “Only the ones who barge into my home while I’m out. You’re remarkably well dressed for a burglar. Who are you?”

      Her home? He decided against arguing for the moment. “My name is Eduard de Marigny.”

      He flinched as the gun barrel burrowed harder.

      “Right, and I’m Princess Adrienne. I may be from Australia, but I know that de Marigny is the name of the Carramer royal family. You’ll have to come up with a better alias because I’ve met Eduard.”

      This was news to him. Unable to resist, he glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of shoulder-length ash-blond hair and a porcelain complexion. Cornflower eyes were trained on him as intensely as her weapon. A very attractive ghost, he judged. Her musical voice definitely held a hint of the Australian heritage she claimed, overlaid with something more European.

      He sighed. “My name is Eduard Claude Philippe de Marigny, Marquis of Merrisand, currently with the rank of commander in the Carramer Royal Navy. I have identification in my shirt pocket if you’d care to examine it.”

      He heard her indrawn breath as if she recognized his titles. But the gun barrel didn’t waver as she slid a slender hand around his chest and felt her way to his pocket. The lightly caressing touch made his heart pick up speed. He decided there were better ways to introduce himself to the young lady.

      Reflexes and training allowed him to grasp her wrist, jerk her off balance, and spin her around in front of him so she fell into his arms. He tightened them around her, seeing that the weapon which dropped from her hand was only an old cigar tube of Prince Henry’s. He had to give his ghost full marks for ingenuity.

      He looked down at the woman in his arms. In closeup, her blond hair was sun-streaked and cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves, framing delicate features that wouldn’t have been misplaced on a model.

      “A most attractive ghost,” he murmured.

      She struggled in his grasp. “What are you talking about? Let me up.”

      He held tight, since it wasn’t exactly a hardship. “First I want to make sure that you’re human.”

      He hadn’t intended to kiss her, but the temptation was too great. In his arms she felt as light as a feather, but she had her share of muscles, he noticed. Her shape and build suggested someone who took very good care of herself.

      Her mouth was a shell-pink bow, curved now in fury, and her eyes sparked a warning at him. He ignored it and lowered his lips to hers. She tasted of the baking he’d smelled when he walked in, yeasty, warm, thoroughly inviting.

      She tasted so good that he took his time over the kiss, aware that at some point she gave up fighting him, and brought her arms around him. She probably thought she was stopping herself from falling, but that didn’t explain the way her mouth opened so temptingly. If he’d been kissing her for real, he knew exactly how he would have responded to those parted lips.

      But this wasn’t the time. As it was, he had let the kiss go on far longer than was wise, the heat racing through him testifying to how much he had enjoyed it. Setting her upright and away from him took considerable self-restraint.

      Looking confused, she backed away a little, but her cheeks glowed and her eyes glittered as if she had also enjoyed the experience more than she thought she should. “What did you do that for?”

      “When I arrived, I thought the place was haunted. I had to make sure you aren’t a ghost.”

      “You’re crazy.”

      “And you’re trespassing. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

      She made a choking sound. “I’m trespassing? You’re the interloper. I own this place.”

      His intense gaze raked her, what he saw distracting him from the obvious foolishness of her claim. “You look familiar. Who are you?”

      She’d been thinking the same about him. “Carissa Day, and this is my home.”

      She saw his memory return in a rush. “Good grief, it is you, Cris.”

      “Nobody has called me Cris since I was fifteen. Except… Eduard? It really is you.”

      He had changed, she saw. As a teenager, he had worn his dark chestnut hair longer. In the navy he had grown from a shy, slightly bookish teenager into a solidly built man who looked as if he could handle himself in most situations. He folded his arms over his chest, evidently enjoying her astonishment. “Told you so.”

      She had also changed, but she doubted if he saw as much progress as she did in him. When he’d last seen her, she had been long-legged and coltish, as if her limbs had outgrown her body. Her hair had been shorter and darker, and she’d worn glasses instead of the contacts she wore now.

      Unwillingly reminded of the last time he had kissed her, all those years ago, she struggled to compose herself. “Of all the people who might have walked in here, you’re the last person I expected to see.”

      “I don’t know why,” he observed. “Tiga Lodge has been in the family for a century. Prince Henry owned it until he died last year.”

      She felt a frown etch itself between her eyes. “That must be why it was on the market.”

      He took her arm. “You and I need to talk, Cris… Carissa.”

      “It’s okay. Cris sounds good the way you say it.” Like a homecoming, she thought.

      Telling herself she was bemused by his sudden appearance, not by his kiss, she let him steer her back along the hall toward the kitchen. She saw his look register that the laundry had been removed from the line, and felt herself color, thinking of him seeing the lacy garments. She was glad she had moved them on the way in. Her days of hoping to attract Eduard’s attention with her feminine wiles were long gone, although the way she felt СКАЧАТЬ