Her Royal Baby

‘Meanwhile you still need to take him?’

He nodded, anger fading to be replaced by determination. ‘I’m sorry, but, yes.’

‘And I’m sorry, but, no. I can’t let you.’

‘You must.’

‘It’s a dilemma, isn’t it?’ she told him. ‘Broitenburg needs Henry, but Henry doesn’t need Broitenburg. You might be prepared to sacrifice one little boy for the greater good, but I can’t.’ She bit her lip. ‘Marc, I don’t need to be a psychologist to see that he’s damaged already. It’s so hard to make him react. Lara knew what was happening. In her letter she’s frightened; not for herself but for Henry. She asks me to help. She commits him to my care.’

‘But…’

‘But now I’m all he’s got,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t give him a crown or a country, and I can’t save your political ideals. All I can do is care for one little boy, and that’s what I’ll do.’ Her voice softened into compassion and she rose, pushing her chair back from the table. Decision made. ‘I’m sorry, Marc. I’d like to help you but I can’t. Unless I know he’ll be loved, I just…can’t.’

He rose, too. He stood staring down at her for a long, long moment, reading the resolution in her face. She wouldn’t relent. Her face was grim and set. Implacable.

He’d never met a woman like this, he thought. She stood barefoot and bereft of any make-up. Her shirt and jeans were worn and faded. They were clean, but that was all that could be said for them. Her still-damp curls were trailing across her shoulders and he had the most impossible urge to reach out and touch one. Just one.

Impossible.

The whole set-up was impossible.

‘I think we’ve come to an impasse,’ she was saying. ‘I think…maybe you have to leave.’

‘There’s one way out of this mess.’

‘Yes?’ She raised her eyebrows in polite disbelief.

He thought about it for a long minute, and the more he thought about it the more it seemed the only solution possible.

‘You could come to Broitenburg with Henry.’

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WAS just as well she’d finished her fries. Tammy might well have choked. She stared at the man across the table as if he was out of his mind.

‘Why would I want to come to Broitenburg?’ she said at last.

He smiled.

There it was again. Just as she had herself under control-almost-that smile flashed out and it was enough to sidetrack her completely. But she had to concentrate. What he was saying was stupid.

‘Why shouldn’t you come to Broitenburg?’

‘Because I don’t want to.’

‘Have you ever been?’

‘No. How can I have been? I’m not even sure where it is. And…’

‘There you are, then. It’s the most wonderful country. Mountains. Lakes. Castles. It’s like the Dordogne region of France, only better. Fairytale country. Tourists love us. You’ll love us.’

She was still staring at him. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t tried?’

‘I live in Australia,’ she said carefully. ‘My career is in Australia.’

‘When I first met you,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘you thought I was offering you a job.’

‘I would never have taken it.’

‘You’d had other overseas job offers?’

‘I’m a tree surgeon,’ she told him, not without a hint of pride. ‘I’m highly qualified.’

‘Despite leaving school at fifteen?’ He was watching her across the table, his eyes thoughtful. ‘I had a phone call this evening from the man I employed to find you. He’s come up with a lot more detail. I know more about you now.’

She flushed, unnerved. ‘S…so?’

‘So you’re probably the most knowledgeable tree surgeon in this country. You’ve done university courses by correspondence so you have book-learning and practical experience. You’ve even worked in Europe.’

‘I…’

‘In the famous gardens of France and England. You worked with the best man available. Lance Hilliard’s reputation is second to none. You talked him into taking you on for three years and at the end of it you could name your price as an international expert. Yet you came back here.’ His calm eyes were probing, questioning. ‘But why?’

This was so none of his business. ‘I love it.’

‘I can see that you do. But why bury yourself…?’

‘I’m not a people person.’

‘I can see that, too.’ He nodded, taking her objection for granted. ‘But I can offer you as much isolation as you want. And as much work. If you’re prepared to use your skills at the castle…’

‘The castle?’

‘The Broitenburg palace sits in hundreds of acres of cultivated woodland,’ he said softly. ‘It’s very beautiful. The head groundsman would be delighted to have you work with him.’

She shook her head in disbelief. The situation was absurd. It was as absurd as this man was unsettling. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Why is it ridiculous?’

‘Because I’m staying here.’ She flashed a look at the sleeping baby and then glared back at Marc. ‘I’m staying with Henry.’

‘You can hardly take Henry back with you into the wilderness,’ he said in a voice that was oh so reasonable. Oh so persuasive… ‘Set him up in a tent at the foot of the tree you’re working on? I hardly think so.’

‘I’ll take a break.’

‘For a few months,’ he agreed. ‘Sure. Until your money runs out. And then?’

‘Then…’ She bit her lip. ‘I can get a city job in one of the botanic gardens. I can put Henry in a creche…’

‘I’ll fight you on that one. The heir to the Broitenburg throne will not be placed in a creche.’

Anger flashed out at that. How dared he? ‘It’s no different to being left with a nanny in Broitenburg.’

‘No. But if he was left with you in Broitenburg? Wouldn’t that be much better for all of us?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Think about it.’ Before she knew what he intended he’d taken her hands tightly within his. His hold was urgent. His eyes met hers and held, and the warmth and strength and urgency of his hold were compelling all by themselves.

‘Tammy, the royal palace of Broitenburg is a wonderful place to live,’ he told her. ‘All your living expenses would be covered. We could find a really good woman to help look after Henry-you could help me choose her-and you could spend as much time with Henry as you liked. You could choose to be a lady of leisure…’

‘No!’

‘Or not,’ he said smoothly. ‘And if you wanted to work I’d be willing to pay you double your current hourly rate. More.’

She was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘You mean I’d live in the castle?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s crazy.’ She’d seen plenty of castles in her time in Europe, and she’d been fascinated by them, but they were something out of the past-a lifestyle she had nothing to do with. She looked down at the hands Marc was gripping and winced. Her hands were scratched and worn, weathered by the elements and by sheer physical work.