The Improperly Pregnant Princess
Jacqueline Diamond
Scandal Rocks Fairy-Tale FamilySeems that the most proper Princess CeCe Carradigne has stunned New York society and royal watchers all over the globe with the announcement that she is marrying longtime business rival (and uncommonly sexy commoner) Shane O'Connell. The lady, recently hand-picked by her grandfather, the King of Korosol, to be the new ruler of the fabulously wealthy European country, is also said to be in…shall we say…a delicate condition. That must be the reason for the imperially instant nuptials. It certainly couldn't be love–not with the public battles Her Highness and His Handsomeness have been said to have displayed lately. Or perhaps passion is ruling these noble newlyweds?Get all the facts inside…as a search for an heir to the throne leads to scandals of royal proportions for The Carradignes: American Royalty
His Royal Highness, King Easton Carradigne of Korosol, requests your presence during his secret search for a new heir to his throne.
Please join the King and his regal entourage as they journey to the United States on the quest to name a successor. First stop: the city of Manhattan, where three American princesses are about to get a surprise of royal proportions.
Don’t miss any of these exciting tales from
THE CARRADIGNES: AMERICAN ROYALTY
The Improperly Pregnant Princess
by Jacqueline Diamond
The Unlawfully Wedded Princess
by Kara Lennox
The Simply Scandalous Princess
by Michele Dunaway
The Duke’s Covert Mission
by Julie Miller
Dear Reader,
March roars in like a lion this month with Harlequin American Romance’s four guaranteed-to-please reads.
We start with a bang by introducing you to a new in-line continuity series, THE CARRADIGNES: AMERICAN ROYALTY. The search for a royal heir leads to some scandalous surprises for three princesses, beginning with The Improperly Pregnant Princess by Jacqueline Diamond. CeCe Carradigne is set to become queen of a wealthy European country, until she winds up pregnant by her uncommonly handsome business rival. Talk about a shotgun wedding of royal proportions! Watch for more royals next month.
Karen Toller Whittenburgh’s series, BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, continues this month with The Playboy’s Office Romance as middle brother Bryce Braddock meets his match in his feisty new employee. Also back this month is another installment of Charlotte Maclay’s popular series, MEN OF STATION SIX. Things are heating up between a sexy firefighter and a very pregnant single lady from his past—don’t miss the igniting passion in With Courage and Commitment. And rounding out the month is A Question of Love by Elizabeth Sinclair, a warm and wonderful reunion story.
Here’s hoping you enjoy all that Harlequin American Romance has to offer you—this month, and all the months to come!
Best,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin American Romance
The Improperly Pregnant Princess
Jacqueline Diamond
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Ari and Hunter
who are both princes in their mother’s eyes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jacqueline Diamond, who has published more than fifty novels, is a former Associated Press reporter. When she isn’t taking care of her husband, two sons and two cats, she enjoys growing vegetables and flowers. A native of Texas, Jackie grew up in Nashville, Tennessee, and currently makes her home in Southern California. You can write to her at P.O. Box 1315, Brea, CA 92822.
Books by Jacqueline Diamond
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
79—THE DREAM NEVER DIES
196—AN UNEXPECTED MAN
218—UNLIKELY PARTNERS
239—THE CINDERELLA DARE
270—CAPERS AND RAINBOWS
279—A GHOST OF A CHANCE
315—FLIGHT OF MAGIC
351—BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS
406—OLD DREAMS, NEW DREAMS
446—THE TROUBLE WITH TERRY
491—A DANGEROUS GUY
583—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE
615—YOURS, MINE AND OURS
631—THE COWBOY AND THE HEIRESS
642—ONE HUSBAND TOO MANY 550-CAPTURED BY A SHEIKH
645—DEAR LONELY IN L.A….
674—MILLION-DOLLAR MOMMY
687—DADDY WARLOCK
716—A REAL-LIVE SHEIKH
734—THE COWBOY AND THE SHOTGUN BRIDE
763—LET’S MAKE A BABY!
791—ASSIGNMENT: GROOM!
804—MISTLETOE DADDY
833—I DO! I DO!
855—DADDY, M.D.
875—KISS A HANDSOME STRANGER
889—SURPRISE, DOC! YOU’RE A DADDY!
913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
435—AND THE BRIDE VANISHES
512—HIS SECRET SON
550—CAPTURED BY A SHEIKH
Contents
Prologue (#ua13d4d2c-754c-5b27-b3a9-78e14de0c50b)
Chapter One (#ued8331a9-c496-5290-bfb2-c2038f0c98e4)
Chapter Two (#u14974376-d094-5e2c-b9f6-c339d72b9820)
Chapter Three (#u5c59a96b-6caa-50d2-98df-cb3ecf21ff74)
Chapter Four (#u5fdfb0ff-428a-59a9-b3f7-8466fcd7f04d)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
King Easton Carradigne clicked off the phone with a sense of relief. He had just set in motion events that should secure the future of the tiny kingdom of Korosol.
He gazed fondly around the high-ceilinged, tapestry-hung office on the second floor of his palace. Perhaps his successor, after she was crowned, would allow him to occupy this room a little longer…but no. When he handed over the reins of power, he must do so completely.
Feeling restless, the seventy-eight-year-old monarch sprang to his feet and strode to the high, multipaned window. From here, his gaze swept the beloved scene he was about to hand over to a virtual stranger.
Although it was evening, the king could fully appreciate the sweep and splendor of the landscaped grounds, having long ago memorized every inch of the gardens and ponds. Even in February, they were free of snow because of the mild, Mediterranean climate.
To his right, the royal-blue-and-silver flag of his homeland flapped as a groundsman lowered it for the night. A semitame deer raised its head at the sound. Seeing nothing to fear, it resumed grazing.
There was nowhere else in the world quite like Korosol, Easton thought. Tourists flocked to this refuge, which sloped from the mountains to the sea between France and Spain. They prized the beaches and mountain hot springs, the good weather and the rare wines.
He knew that his people credited him with much of Korosol’s affluence and stability. Easton, who had performed his duty for over fifty years to his hundred thousand subjects out of love, only hoped his successor would do as well.
Until last year, the obvious heir had been his eldest son, Byrum. Then, while on safari in Africa, Byrum and his wife, Sarah, had died when their Jeep exploded.
Although by tradition Easton’s choice should have fallen to their son, Markus, terrible rumors had reached him. A few of his grandson’s acquaintances believed Markus was somehow involved in the death of his parents. Even if they were mistaken, Markus’s drinking and dark moods made him unsuited to ruling.
Grieving for Byrum, Easton had let the matter slide until this month, when his intermittent weak spells had intensified to the point that they alarmed his physician. The doctor had sent him to Paris for secret medical tests.
The verdict: Easton suffered from a rare blood disease of unknown origin. The doctors said he would grow frailer over the coming months and had at most a year to live.
The need to choose an heir became urgent. While it was true that, in its eight-hundred-year history, Korosol had rarely been ruled by anyone not in a direct line of father-to-eldest-surviving-child descent, the law allowed the king to name his own successor.
That was what he planned to do.
A discreet knock at the door heralded the entrance of General Harrison Montcalm, Easton’s royal adviser. A thoughtful man with erect military bearing, Sir Harrison stood six feet tall, the same height as the monarch.
At age forty-five, however, the retired general was considerably more muscular. A good man to lean on in a crisis, in more ways than one, the king reflected.
“Is everything set, Your Majesty?” asked his adviser.
“The royal jet can leave first thing in the morning, as we discussed,” Easton said. “My daughter-in-law was most receptive to my plans, although I suppose she’d have been happier with more than a day’s notice.”
“You are springing quite a surprise on her,” Sir Harrison said.
“She doesn’t know the half of it yet.” Easton smiled, picturing stylish Charlotte DeLacey Carradigne. He hadn’t seen her in—how many years? Twenty? Amazing.
The last time they’d met had been after his youngest son, Drake, died in a plane crash, leaving a wife and three daughters in New York. Busy running her family’s DeLacey Shipping Co., Charlotte hadn’t traveled to Korosol since the funeral, and, Easton had to admit, he’d sorely neglected his granddaughters.
Time passed so quickly. Much too quickly, he could see now.
“You didn’t mention your purpose?” Sir Harrison asked. Like his monarch, he chose to speak in English in preparation for their trip. In addition to French, the nation’s first language, almost all Korosolans spoke fluent English and Spanish.
“I did not.” Easton hoped he was doing the right thing by keeping his illness and his plans secret. “I want to see my granddaughters as they really are. The less preparation they have, the better. Especially Cecelia.”
“You haven’t reconsidered Prince James?” Only Sir Harrison would dare to ask such a question. It was, indeed, his duty to make sure the king weighed all aspects of this crucial decision.
“Out of the question,” Easton said sadly. “I wish it were otherwise, believe me.”
His middle son had turned out wild. Thrice divorced and a heavy drinker, James worked as something called a “wildcatter” in Wyoming. Easton believed his job had something to do with oil wells, although he wouldn’t put it past his renegade son to hunt mountain lions for a living, either.
James had a variety of children by an assortment of unsuitable wives. It seemed unlikely any of them would be prepared to assume the mantle of monarchy.
No, Charlotte’s daughters were his best bet, the king mused. Their mother, a debutante from a well-connected family, met Easton’s high standards, and her daughters were the toast of New York society.
Her eldest daughter, Cecelia, had earned an MBA and served as executive vice president of DeLacey Shipping. At twenty-nine, she appeared well qualified to run a country.
There were two younger daughters as well. While he assumed they had also been raised with a sense of propriety, Easton knew little about them.
The only other younger member of the royal family was the king’s nephew, Christopher, a married father of two, who lived in California. Unfortunately, Christopher was the illegitimate son of Easton’s deceased sister, Magdalene, and therefore not really considered part of the royal family.
“As you requested, we’re taking only a small staff,” Sir Harrison said. “I believe we can keep our presence out of the press.”
“I certainly hope so. The people of Korosol should learn of their new ruler from me, not from some scandal sheet,” the king said. “Ellie’s agreed to go, has she?” Eleanor Standish, a young woman of good family who had been his wife’s goddaughter, served as his personal secretary.
“Certainly. She’s devoted to you.”
“Glad to hear it.” Lively Ellie lifted the king’s spirits and saw to his comfort whenever they were away from the palace.
“We’ll take six bodyguards, two per eight-hour shift,” the adviser continued. “The captain of the Royal Guard will accompany us, of course.”
Sir Harrison made no reference to the fact that Captain Devon Montcalm was his son. The young man, a fine military officer who had been knighted two years ago, was not close to his father.
“The Duke of Raleigh is coming also, is he not?” Easton demanded. “It was my personal request that he be assigned to the embassy in New York.”
“Of course,” said Sir Harrison. “He understands the delicate nature of his assignment.”
The duke, Cadence St. John, was to serve as acting ambassador. In reality, as a commander in the Korosol Special Operatives, Cade was under orders to watch for any threat to the three New York princesses.
If Markus had indeed arranged the deaths of his parents to promote his own succession to the throne, he wouldn’t stop at frightening or even killing one of his cousins. The king wanted Cade St. John to keep an ear to the ground.
“Since we’re leaving in the morning,” the adviser said, “perhaps Your Majesty should get some rest.”
“I’m not decrepit yet.” Easton’s doctors had assured him that he could make this trip safely if he didn’t overexert himself.
“I was implying no such thing.”
“You’re my adviser, not my nursemaid,” the king added for emphasis. He didn’t want his staff members fussing over him, however noble their motives. “In any case, with luck, it will be a short trip. I will inform Lady Charlotte’s family of my intentions and spend a few days observing Princess Cecelia. Then we can all fly back here.”
“I hope the princess is everything you expect,” said Sir Harrison.
“She will be.” Easton stifled a yawn. After his protestation, he didn’t want his adviser to see how sleepy he suddenly felt. “The girl has royal blood and a proper upbringing. What could possibly go wrong?”
“Nothing, Your Majesty,” said the general.
“That’s right. Nothing!” said the king. “Don’t you need to go to bed?”
“Me?” said Sir Harrison.
“You look tired,” he said. “Go on with you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The royal adviser bowed and withdrew.
King Easton waited a couple of minutes to make sure the man had cleared the corridor, then took himself off to his chamber. He was already dreaming, before his head hit the pillow, of what a perfect choice his granddaughter would turn out to be.
Chapter One
“Congratulations,” the doctor said. “You’re pregnant.”
“I’m what?” Sitting on the edge of the examining table, CeCe Carradigne wished that, by some miracle, she would suddenly see that another woman had slipped in to the examining room and was now hearing the happy news.
A married woman. A woman who wanted children.
There was, however, no one else in the well-appointed examining room. Just unmarried CeCe, who didn’t have a maternal instinct in her body, and Dr. Elizabeth Loesser, known to her patients as Dr. Beth.
“I take it this pregnancy wasn’t planned,” the doctor said.
“That’s an understatement.” CeCe struggled to maintain her composure. It was no use. “How did this happen?” she wailed. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”
Dr. Beth smiled. “I’m sure you know the facts of life, Miss Carradigne…or should I call you Princess?”
“I wish people would forget about that royalty business,” CeCe said. “I haven’t felt like a princess since my father died.”
“A pregnancy is something to be welcomed, especially when the mother is in good health, as you are,” her physician continued. “Of course, if you want to consider adoption, I’d be happy to make a referral.”
A Carradigne, give up a baby for adoption? The tabloids would splash the story across every newsstand in America. Royal Baby to Be Given Away.
The paparazzi were the bane of CeCe’s life. Even without an adoption to ignite their interest, she shuddered to think what they would do if they learned of her out-of-wedlock condition. “Princess Pregnant, But Where’s the Prince?” they’d trumpet.
Not to mention the snide remarks that would pass among the executives who reported to her at DeLacey Shipping. They’d already nicknamed her “the barracuda” after she reorganized their departments to increase efficiency.
“I’m afraid adoption is unacceptable,” she said. “Just give me the vitamins and the prenatal pamphlets.”
“I’ll send in the nurse with some information,” said the doctor. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know. I’m sure the father will take responsibility.”
“The father?” CeCe repeated. Oh, heavens. She’d been so stunned by the news that until this moment she hadn’t given any thought to Shane O’Connell. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s out of the picture.”
“Oh, dear.” Judging by Dr. Beth’s expression, she assumed the man was married.
“‘Oh, dear’ is right.” CeCe decided there was no need to fill in the blanks.
Blast Shane O’Connell! How like that ruffian to try to stamp a claim on her.
Well, she had nothing in common with the other women he dated, judging by their descriptions in Krissy Katwell’s Manhattan Chronicle gossip column. CeCe Carradigne didn’t hang on anyone’s arm or gaze adoringly into any man’s eyes.
No, all she’d done was to jump impulsively into bed with that dark-haired, dark-eyed stallion, she thought sarcastically.
It had been an amazing experience, though. The memory of Shane’s lean hips and probing mouth stirred flames deep within CeCe.
Annoyed at herself, she finished the conversation with the doctor, only half paying attention. All she could think was, What am I going to do?
After meeting with the nurse and scheduling her next appointment, CeCe called to summon her driver from a nearby parking garage. Her briefcase stuffed with vitamins and pamphlets, she marched out through the waiting room with the sense of running a gauntlet.
Heads turned as the waiting patients followed her progress, and she could hear the buzz of conversation even before the door closed. “Isn’t that Cecelia Carradigne?” “She really does look like a princess, doesn’t she?” “It isn’t fair to be so rich and so…”
It wasn’t fair, all right. It wasn’t fair that CeCe Carradigne, who never quite lived up to her mother’s expectations, should find herself in this mess.
Pregnant! And by Shane O’Connell, of all men!
It had been CeCe’s idea to forge an alliance between his package delivery service and DeLacey Shipping, to better compete for international shipping contracts. Although their business interests dovetailed, the negotiations had proved tempestuous.
Both of them were hard-driving, no-holds-barred people, she supposed. Whenever they found themselves in the same room, they clashed. Except for one night.
She and Shane had agreed to meet at his apartment, which was more private than the two-story penthouse unit she shared with her mother, one of her sisters and assorted staff. CeCe hadn’t even considered the implications of spending an evening alone with a man at his place, because she didn’t think of Shane O’Connell as a man. He was more of an unavoidable irritant.
They’d talked business, quarreling as usual while sharing a few drinks. Suddenly, they were all over each other. What on earth had happened?
They’d both been hideously embarrassed afterward. At least, she had. She’d fled with the briefest of goodbyes.
When she realized they’d forgotten to use contraception, CeCe had persuaded herself that nothing would result from a single encounter. Half of New York was pursuing infertility treatments, it seemed. Why should she be any different?
When her period failed to arrive on time, she’d rationalized. Hard work and excuses had kept her fears at bay for a few weeks. Then she’d made this doctor’s appointment.
There was no more room for doubt. She was carrying Shane O’Connell’s child.
CeCe descended in the elevator, uncomfortably aware that people were staring at her here, too. The problem with standing five foot eight and having blond hair and green eyes was that people immediately noticed you, and it didn’t take long for them to connect you to the photographs that ran far too often in the newspapers.
CeCe wished she were an anonymous shipping executive whose problems concerned no one but herself. She also wished, more than anything, that she hadn’t spent that night at Shane’s apartment.
Outside, traffic jammed the street and pedestrians scurried by, bundled against the February chill. Cold nipped at CeCe’s legs through the front opening in her long coat.
She would have preferred to wear pantsuits in winter, but her mother insisted that skirts were more ladylike. And what Charlotte wanted, Charlotte got.
From a nearby vendor’s stand, CeCe caught the scent of hot dogs roasting. She was starved. Absolutely ravenous.
She didn’t understand why, because normally she kept so focused on work that she often forgot to eat. It must be the hormones.
Were hot dogs bad for babies? She didn’t have time to read the pamphlets before making a decision about lunch, so CeCe bought one. As she finished paying, the Mercedes stopped at the curb. She had to rush and fold herself inside, briefcase, wiener and all.
“Where to, Miss Carradigne?” asked Paulo, the family’s chauffeur.
“The office, please.” CeCe checked her watch. It was after one o’clock, and she had a one-thirty meeting with Shane. “I’m afraid I’m running late.”
Paulo zipped through tiny openings in traffic with a race-car driver’s skill. If anyone could get her to work on time, it would be him.
Shane had no patience for being kept waiting. The last thing CeCe wanted was to arrive late and find herself already at a disadvantage.
They’d concluded arrangements for their alliance a week after that indiscreet evening. Since then, the pair of them had maintained contact by fax and e-mail. However, now that they planned to seek a joint shipping contract with a Chinese toy company, they were meeting to discuss strategy.
Should she tell him about the pregnancy? CeCe supposed Shane had a right to know. Yet she couldn’t see herself blurting out the bald fact of impending parenthood to the intense, self-made millionaire.
Shane’s meteoric rise had put him on Top Ten lists at Forbes, Fortune and Newsweek. His rough-hewn good looks and reputation for dating around had put him on some very different Top Ten lists at Cosmopolitan and Redbook.
Darn it, CeCe was not going to let the man intimidate her. As far as she was concerned, this was her baby, not his.
After finishing the hot dog, she started to stuff the wrappings into a rubbish container, then realized her mother would notice them later. She stuck them in her briefcase instead, even though she knew her papers would smell like wiener for days. That was preferable to a lecture from Charlotte about nutrition.
The thought of lectures from Charlotte inspired a question: Was there one for unplanned pregnancies? If so, CeCe wondered how long it lasted and whether she could arrange to have her secretary page her with an urgent call in the middle of it.
At 1:29 p.m., they reached the nineteen-story DeLacey Shipping building on Broad Street, near the East River and, of course, the DeLacey Shipping terminal. CeCe scurried out of the car, thanked Paulo and raced for the lobby.
Employees scattered from her path. A couple of clerical workers, whose medical benefits and holiday bonuses CeCe had increased last year, offered smiles and greetings. Several executives, having been threatened with demotions after she audited their departments, glowered.
On the nineteenth floor, CeCe burst through double glass doors labeled Executive Vice President. Her secretary, Linzy Lamar, jumped up from the computer. A pleasant-looking divorcee´e in her thirties, she blended seamlessly into her role.
“Mr. O’Connell is waiting in your office,” she said. “Also, your mother stopped by.”
That was hardly big news, since Charlotte’s even larger office suite lay at the opposite end of the corridor. “Did she say why?”
“No, Miss Carradigne.” The secretary, although a reserved woman, talked fast because she’d learned that otherwise she’d never get to finish her spiel. “She said she’ll drop by again when she has time. I put the new traffic study on your desk.” That was a compilation of data by DeLacey executives regarding potential problem areas, including trade routes and competitors.
“Thank you,” CeCe said as she breezed past.
She flung open the broad, polished-wood door into her office. Even in February, light flooded the expansive room overlooking the harbor.
A large silhouette blocked one window. “I’ll get back to you,” Shane said into his cell phone, and clicked off. Frowning, he turned to face CeCe.
Time stopped. Even the adrenaline rushing through her arteries slammed to a halt as their gazes met.
The man’s fierce brown eyes pinned her with such force that CeCe could hardly breathe. In the two months since they’d seen each other, she’d forgotten the impact of Shane’s presence.
His husky build and broad shoulders made most other men look scrawny. Even more impressive was the masculine confidence that showed in every movement.
He tapped his watch. “You’re five minutes late. I have a busy schedule.”
She rejected the idea of blaming her tardiness on traffic. “I was unavoidably delayed,” she said, and clapped her briefcase onto her broad desk.
That was a mistake, because it forced out some air. Shane caught a whiff. “You stopped for lunch, I gather.”
“I didn’t stop. I ate on the run.” CeCe grabbed the hot dog wrappers and dumped them in a wastebasket.
“You’ll get indigestion.”
I’m going to have indigestion for about seven more months, so what the heck? No, she scolded herself, that was not the best way to break her earth-shattering news. “That’s my problem.”
Shane gave her a crooked grin, revealing a devastating dent in one cheek that sent heat flooding through CeCe’s body. Annoyed with herself, she unbuttoned her coat and tossed it onto a chair.
“If you don’t want to discuss your eating habits, let’s get down to work.” He set his laptop computer on her conference table and flipped it open. “To date, Wuhan Novelty has cobbled together a variety of carriers to transport toys down the Yangtze River, across the Pacific and on to warehouses and stores. Add the fact that they’ve also begun selling directly on-line, and you’ve got a complicated mess.”
“Which we can uncomplicate,” CeCe said.
“Absolutely.” Swiftly, he outlined his plan for combining DeLacey’s shipping capacity with his fleet of trucks and planes to provide door-to-door service to North America.
Sitting beside him at the conference table, CeCe felt the energy pulsing through Shane as he talked. If there were a bed in her office, she might be tempted to fall into it.
Hadn’t she learned anything?
“Your eyes are glazing over,” he said. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all,” CeCe said. “It’s a brilliant plan.”
What she needed, she realized abruptly, was a brilliant plan of her own. Not to win the contract with Wuhan, but to introduce the subject of children.
“Do you have anything to add?” Shane asked.
“Toys!” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“They make toys.” It was the perfect lead-in.
“I’m aware of that,” he said.
As usual when CeCe’s mind was racing a mile a minute, an idea popped into it. “We’re going to do more than transport their product,” she said. “We’re going to give them free publicity and get some for ourselves.”
“How do you propose to do that?” From the glint in his eye and the way he leaned forward, it was clear she’d engaged Shane’s interest.
“As you know, if we get the contract, DeLacey will be buying a couple of new container ships,” CeCe said. “We’ll paint them—what are Wuhan’s corporate colors?”
“Yellow and red,” Shane said.
She should have known that, CeCe thought, hating to be caught short in even the smallest detail. “Great. Also, we’ll put their logo alongside ours and fly their flag right below ours. We’ll paint some of your planes and trucks, too. We want everybody to notice that DeLacey and O’Connell are bringing them toys.”
“Like Santa Claus,” he suggested.
“Yes!” The more she expanded on it, the more CeCe loved her idea. “We’ll design an ad campaign. Not just for trade publications, but TV commercials and billboards.”
“We don’t ship for the general public. We only serve corporate customers,” Shane pointed out.
“Corporations are run by people who have children,” CeCe said. “We’ll make them love us. When we pitch them our services, it’ll give us an edge over our competitors.”
“It could work,” Shane agreed. “Personality is one thing most freight companies lack.”
“Speaking of children,” CeCe said, and stopped, unable to figure out how to finish the sentence.
“Yes?” His face, close to hers, was manly. A strong jaw. An expressive mouth…
“Do you like them?” she asked.
“Do I like kids?” he echoed. “I’m not sure I follow your point.”
“You might…act as a spokesman. In the ads,” she improvised. “You could talk about how having children humanizes corporate executives. About how you can’t wait to have children yourself.”
“Me?” he said.
“Who better?” CeCe asked. “I mean, I’m a woman, so it wouldn’t make people sit up and pay attention if they heard me talking about children.” Unless they knew me, of course. “But if you said a few words about how much fatherhood meant—or might mean—to you, or was something you looked forward to…”
He leaned back, disconnecting. “Sorry, CeCe, but I’m not the type.”
“What type is that?” She hoped her sinking feelings didn’t show on her face.
“I’m not cut out to have kids.” Shane’s voice had a tight quality that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t have the time or the interest. I don’t even like them.”
“We’re talking theoretically,” CeCe said. “About how you might feel someday, not right now.”
“Children make me feel trapped,” he said. “My childhood was pretty miserable. Not that I use that as an excuse for anything. The whole family thing just doesn’t work for me.”
“That’s so—so—1980s of you!” she flared, hopping up because she couldn’t bear to sit next to this man for another instant. “You’ve heard of the ‘me generation’? We’re supposed to be past that! Men today march in picket lines for fathers’ rights. How’d you get stuck in the past?”
“Wait a minute.” Shane, too, got to his feet, apparently unwilling to have CeCe tower over him. In this position, his six-feet-one-inch frame would have dwarfed hers had she not been wearing three-inch heels. “We’re talking about an ad campaign, for heaven’s sake. Don’t take it personally.”
“It’s a great ad campaign!” CeCe could hear her tone rising. “Or it was until you loused it up!”
“I never claimed to be an actor.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing! Everything! Isn’t it obvious?”
“I guess we should talk about what happened between us,” Shane said.
“Nothing happened,” CeCe said. “Didn’t we agree on that?”
“If nothing happened,” came her mother’s voice, “why are you shouting about it?”
Shocked, CeCe came to a dead stop. How much had Charlotte heard?
The president of DeLacey Shipping glided into the room. The Duchess of Avion—who had received the title upon her marriage, although no one called her that outside of Krissy Katwell’s gossip column in the Manhattan Chronicle—moved with natural grace.
“Good to see you, Shane,” she said.
“It’s a pleasure, Lady Charlotte.” As they shook hands, Shane’s manner became subtly more polite and restrained. Like everyone in New York except Charlotte’s own daughters, he was a little in awe of her.
She could do things that nobody else got away with. Take, for instance, her short hair, which had turned completely white as she approached her fiftieth birthday. The unfashionable hue looked so attractive that a lot of people assumed she’d bleached it, and hairdressers had hurried to follow the trend.
As for her clothing and grooming, they were always immaculate and perfect for the occasion. Today she wore a blue wool jacket that brought out the color of her eyes, over a gray silk blouse and winter-white skirt.
“Discussing the Wuhan account?” Charlotte asked. “What have you decided?”
She didn’t sit down, so Shane and CeCe kept their recital brief. The company president nodded approval when they finished. “Let me know when you’ve finalized the presentation.”
“Before we submit anything formally, a trade representative has invited CeCe and me for brunch day after tomorrow,” Shane said. “He seems thrilled at the idea of meeting a princess.”
“Good. She’ll be there.” Charlotte didn’t bother to ask CeCe whether the engagement fit her schedule. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”
“Of course.” Shane closed his laptop. CeCe felt his gaze linger on her as he said goodbye.
After closing the door behind him, Charlotte said briskly, “Well, well. That man likes you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not his type, of course,” her mother continued with maddening certainty. “A man like him needs a lady who builds her life around him. Someone compliant, which no one has ever accused you of being.”
Although she didn’t consider Shane O’Connell to be her type, either, CeCe bristled at her mother’s words. She knew better than to say anything, though. Revealing one’s feelings to Charlotte meant turning them over for inspection and rearrangement.
“Linzy said you dropped by earlier. What’s going on?” she asked.
“Your grandfather is coming to visit,” said Charlotte. “How’s that for a bombshell? Arriving tomorrow, no less. I suppose it’s a royal prerogative not to give much advance notice.”
To CeCe, who hadn’t seen King Easton of Korosol since she was nine, the king was both a stranger and a legendary figure. A thrill of excitement ran through her.
“Why?” she asked. “He never travels this far.”
“He refused to say anything except that the trip is secret,” Charlotte said. “He’ll be staying with us. The rest of his staff will reside at the embassy, except for the bodyguards. As it turns out, the apartment below ours is vacant, so they’ll be housed there.”
CeCe’s head spun. She wasn’t sure she could deal with a royal visit while her personal life was in such an uproar. Still, what choice was there? “What can I do to help?”
“He’s expressed a desire to spend time with you,” said her mother. “You’ll accommodate anything he requests. The king expects to get his way, and he shall.”
“But my work—”
“If you need to take time off, then do it,” her mother said. “You’ll attend that brunch with Shane. There’s nothing like a princess to impress the customers. Otherwise, I’ve run this business since your father died and I can handle it without you just fine.”
Her words hit CeCe like a slap in the face. Since earning her master’s degree in business five years earlier, she had worked long hours to reorganize and modernize DeLacey Shipping’s corporate structure. It appeared none of that meant anything to her mother.
She had to speak up on her own behalf. She didn’t, however, want to sound like a little girl whining to an all-powerful parent, so CeCe chose her words carefully. “I’m sorry you don’t value my contributions more than that.”
“Don’t get all worked up over nothing.” Charlotte waved her hand dismissively. “You’re a big help, most of the time. Now, remember, the king is arriving tomorrow afternoon, so you’ll need to leave the office early. We’ll discuss the rest of the arrangements at home.”
Then she was gone, leaving CeCe steaming. Sometimes it was hard to tell who infuriated her most, Shane or her mother.
A roiling sensation in her stomach brought her back to reality. The delicate matter of her pregnancy would have to be kept secret, even within the family, until the king departed.
Thank goodness she hadn’t told Shane. No one must know and there must be no risk of scandal in front of King Easton, or CeCe would never be able to face her mother again.
Chapter Two
Shane had his cell phone clamped to one ear as the cab halted in front of his Madison Avenue office building. O’Connell Industries occupied an entire floor of the sleek high-rise.
“We’ll see you Thursday morning,” he confirmed to the Chinese trade representative. They had already agreed to eat at a French restaurant near Central Park, convenient to CeCe’s apartment. “The princess looks forward to meeting you.”
The cab driver turned and gave him a hurry-up look. On the sidewalk, a man tugged at the door and called, “You getting out or what?”
Mindful of the Chinese sensitivity to protocol, Shane said a polite goodbye into the phone while paying the driver. After hanging up, he pocketed the phone, collected his laptop and hurried across the sidewalk into the lobby.
Other people jostled him as Shane bolted for the elevator and wedged himself inside. The first thing he would do when he owned his own building was to designate a private elevator, he vowed.
On the thirty-first floor, Shane stepped into the East Coast headquarters of O’Connell Industries. He always relished passing through the vast outer office filled with desks and ringing phones. What a contrast to the shabby hole-in-the-wall where he’d begun his career!
“Mr. O’Connell? Ferguson is here,” said Tawny Magruder, Shane’s secretary, when he reached his office suite. A tall, dark-skinned woman who took no guff from anyone, she nodded toward the man sitting outside Shane’s office.
His personal assistant and valet, Ed Ferguson, rarely came to the headquarters. His domain included Shane’s apartments on both coasts, his vacation cottage, his yacht and his corporate jet.
Today, Ferguson’s purpose was evident from the tuxedo, encased in a plastic cleaner’s bag, draped over his arm. “I thought you might not get home in time to change for tonight,” he said.
“What would I do without you?” Shane asked. Ed, a former foster child with whom he’d shared a group home, had been first a friend, then his devoted employee. Slight of build and modest of manner, the man might appear colorless to others, but Shane valued his steadfastness and honesty.
“You sure do need him. Don’t anybody ask me to fetch their dry cleaning,” said Tawny.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Shane said.
His secretary smiled. Like him and Ed, Tawny had had a difficult past, including a stint as a welfare mother. She’d turned out to be a real tiger, quick to defend her boss and untiring in her work.
Her loyalty, like Ferguson’s, was intense. Shane’s willingness to hire people with troubled backgrounds—as long as they adhered to his high standards—was, he believed, one of his company’s strengths.
“You’re expected at the Foster Children’s College Fund dinner at six-thirty,” Ferguson reminded him.
“He knows that,” Tawny said. “I entered it into his organizer.”
“A busy man has other things to do than look up lists,” the personal assistant retorted stiffly.
“I never leave the office without making sure Mr. O’Connell knows his plans for the evening,” snapped the secretary.
Shane grinned at them both. “I appreciate your concern, you two.”
“If you need help dressing, I can return,” Ferguson said.
“Look, if the man needs…” Tawny stopped in mid-sentence. “Okay, if he wants somebody to zip his pants, I’ll let you do it.”
“I can zip my own pants, thank you very much,” Shane said. “Ed, I appreciate your bringing the tux.”
“Also, there were a couple of messages.” The aide handed him an answering-machine tape. “Of a personal nature.”
“Thanks.”
“You could have left that with me,” Tawny said. “Mr. O’Connell, I told him earlier there was no need to wait.”
“It was my pleasure to wait,” Ferguson said. “Good day, Mr. O’Connell, Miss Magruder.” His back straight, the aide withdrew.
“I’m going to start calling him Jeeves,” muttered Tawny, and returned her attention to her computer.
Inside his private office, Shane dealt with his e-mail and returned business calls. As he talked, he propped his feet on the broad desk.
He loved this office, and the one at his West Coast headquarters in Long Beach, California. CeCe Carradigne might take her surroundings for granted, but Shane never did.
CeCe Carradigne. He pictured her tall, slim figure striding across her office to greet him this afternoon. Her blond bangs and slightly angular bone structure emphasized the size of those green eyes, and he relished the fullness of her lips.
Today, he’d watched for any sign of the warmth they’d shared that night they spent together. Surely at some point, he’d believed, she would relax and joke with him. Touch his cheek. Move suggestively closer…
It hadn’t happened. She must be made of ice, as people said. Or else that night simply hadn’t meant anything to her.
Shane wished he didn’t find the woman so fascinating. He had relished discovering the feminine side underneath her tough exterior. And he loved the quick way her mind worked.
They were too much alike, though. If he ever did settle down with a woman, she wouldn’t be someone who worked as hard as he did and fought every battle to the bitter end.
Besides, Shane had gradually come to accept, as one relationship after another failed, that he wasn’t suited to long-term intimacy. Maybe it was because his private life always came second to business. Or because, as an orphan, he’d learned that emotional safety lay in depending exclusively on himself.
That didn’t mean he’d lost interest in women, only that he was realistic about the terms of endearment. Reminded of the tape Ferguson had left, he inserted it into the answering machine.
“Shane! Darling!” It was Amy, a recently divorced stockbroker who’d flirted with him at a cocktail party. “I’ve just been handed tickets to the most fabulous musical for Saturday night, and of course I immediately thought of you.”
The next message came from Janet, an attorney he’d met at a charity event. She had sharp, lively features, he recalled, and had recently separated from her husband.
“I’m throwing a little dinner party for a few friends on Saturday,” she said. “I’d be so pleased if you could attend.”
Their interest flattered Shane. Both were attractive, successful women.
He didn’t want to start anything, however. Especially when, pointless as it seemed, he couldn’t get CeCe out of his mind.
Why had she gotten so miffed today because he’d refused to hawk the joys of fatherhood? It must have been pique because he’d spoiled her brilliant public relations idea. Well, she’d picked the wrong guy for the assignment.
Shane had no interest in children. And he certainly wouldn’t consider having one himself. It was too painful. When he happened to look into one of those little faces, he saw himself as he’d once been, vulnerable and helpless.
At eight, his father had died in an industrial accident. His mother, Annie, had had to work two jobs, in day care and as a waitress, so most days Shane had come home alone from school, fixed his own dinner and put himself to bed.
When he was twelve, Annie stumbled into a gang fight outside the restaurant where she worked. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, the police had said.
Desperately missing his mother, Shane had hated both of his foster homes. He’d run away repeatedly, until he was placed in a group home.
There he saw the other boys picking on shy Ed and sprang to his defense. From then on, Shane stuck around to protect his friend.
Why was he dragging up memories that he’d sworn to leave untouched? he wondered. It must have been CeCe’s mention of children.
Still, he was sorry to have left their conversation unfinished. After making his excuses to Amy and Janet, Shane turned to his computer.
His office and DeLacey Shipping had recently installed equipment to allow videoconferencing. It was time to put it to good use.
KING EASTON DOZED DURING the nine-hour flight from Korosol to New York. He was grateful for the comforts of a private jet, although there was a lot to say for the old days when luxury liners were the transatlantic transport of choice.
He and his bride, Cassandra, had traveled to America by ship a few years after the death of Easton’s father, King Cyrus. They’d combined business of state with their honeymoon.
Although Cassandra claimed to feel awkward in public, she became a darling of the press with her fashionable figure and ready wit. Easton had enjoyed his meeting with President Truman and had retained a fondness for the United States ever since.
He missed Cassandra terribly. Wise and well educated, she’d been his closest friend and adviser. Had she been born a generation later, she would surely have pursued a career of her own.
Her death six years ago had devastated the king, although in a way it came as a blessing after a series of strokes. If he could have spared her any suffering by taking it on himself, he would have.
He’d have given his life to save either of his dead sons, as well. Twenty years ago, he’d shared his grief with Cassandra when Drake died in the crash of a private plane. It had also killed Drake’s father-in-law and seriously injured his nephew Markus, who’d been in America on holiday.
Easton remembered how Byrum and Sarah had posted a vigil by their son’s hospital bed, and how joyfully they’d brought the fifteen-year-old home to Korosol. It was almost beyond belief that their beloved son had had a hand in their deaths, yet Easton couldn’t discount the rumors.
Troubled, he gave up trying to sleep and called for a meal. A short time later, the flight arrived in New York.
While Harrison Montcalm and Cadence St. John went directly to the embassy, two helicopters fetched Easton, his bodyguards and his secretary to the roof of an apartment building overlooking Central Park. He was impressed all over again by the vast stretch of greenery marking the heart of the metropolis.
“All cities should have a refuge like this,” Cassandra had declared. Easton wished, achingly, that she was with him now.
“We’re so high up!” Ellie Standish said as the helicopter’s motor fell silent.
“Do you think we should build skyscrapers in Korosol la Vella?” teased the king. His country’s capital city had its share of modern buildings, but none this tall.
“Absolutely not!” Ellie pushed her glasses up on her nose and smoothed out her skirt. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about my home.”
At twenty-six, the young woman had all the makings of a knockout, with her bright blue eyes and long, curly brown hair, but she hid beneath frumpy clothes. That suited Easton fine. Otherwise, some young fellow was likely to fall in love with his secretary and snatch her away.
“Please stay here, Your Majesty, while we secure the area,” said Devon Montcalm, the captain of the Royal Guard.
“Certainly,” Easton said.
Since his daughter-in-law’s two-story penthouse apartment was already guarded, it took only a few minutes for Devon to make contact with her security chief and reassure himself as to the arrangements. Then he and the other guards escorted the king across the roof and down a private elevator.
Easton declined Devon’s offer of his arm for support. The king had no intention of appearing as an invalid.
He found his heart beating faster as the elevator halted. It was exciting to meet the granddaughters he hadn’t seen since they were children. Especially the one who, he hoped, held the future of his kingdom in her hands.
The doors opened on a marbled foyer. What an elegant place, Easton thought, noting the two-story-high ceiling and the curving staircase to his right.
“Your Majesty!” He would have recognized Charlotte DeLacey Carradigne anywhere. The tall, slim woman in the designer suit had hardly aged in twenty years.
She curtseyed gracefully. Easton caught her hand and pulled her up. “My dear, you look splendid,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t waited so long to pay you this visit.”
“You’re as handsome as ever. So much like Drake.” She flashed him a smile tinged with sadness. After so many years, he could see that she still mourned her husband. “You look a little pale. Was it a long flight?”
“Long enough,” he said. “And a colder winter than usual in Korosol. Charlotte, let me introduce my secretary, Eleanor Standish. She’s not staying here, but she’ll make sure my room’s settled the way I like it.”
“Of course.”
The housekeeper appeared as if by magic and whisked Ellie away. “Have the guards bring the suitcases to suite A,” he heard her say, and then he was alone with his daughter-in-law.
“Where are the girls?” Easton asked.
“Waiting in the Grand Room, right across the gallery.” Charlotte clasped her hands together. “That is, Amelia and Lucia are here, and CeCe’s on her way.”
The king felt a twinge of irritation at this tardiness. “Cecelia isn’t waiting for me?”
“She’s monitoring a severe storm in the Pacific that could impact a couple of our ships,” Charlotte explained. “Your granddaughter takes her duties very seriously.”
“That’s a good sign,” Easton said, his annoyance soothed, as they crossed a long corridor hung with paintings and large photographs.
“A good sign?” asked his daughter-in-law.
“We’ll get to that,” the king said.
COMMUNICATIONS FROM DeLacey’s ships in the storm area had been disrupted. Despite all their satellites, international weather sources couldn’t pinpoint the storm’s latest activity.
“What good is all this technology, anyway?” CeCe moaned, leaning back in her chair. Since she was alone in her office, no one answered.
The morning had been filled with one frustration after another. Her mother had called twice to urge her to get home before the king arrived. And, in truth, there was little CeCe could do to help her valiant captains, other than validate any decisions they made.
Still, she felt obligated to stick it out. At least this way, if a decision was made that derailed scheduling and angered a client, CeCe would take the blame on herself. It seemed only fair.
A beep from the computer startled her. For a moment, she couldn’t remember what that meant.
Puzzled, she minimized the maritime weather page so it disappeared from the screen. Instantly, it was replaced by the grinning face of Shane O’Connell.
“You can see me, but I can’t see you,” he said. “Turn your video on!”
CeCe had made so little use of the videoconferencing program that she’d almost forgotten it was installed. Annoyed and intrigued at the same time, she straightened in her chair and finger-combed her bangs. Then she clicked on Send Video.
Shane’s grin broadened. “Hey, you look pretty darn good for a digital image.”
“What’s going on?” There must be a new development in the Wuhan negotiations. “I thought everything was set.”
“For the ad campaign?” Shane’s dark eyes narrowed. “Whoa, lady.”
“I meant for brunch tomorrow,” CeCe said. “Forget the ad campaign.”
“You seemed pretty keen on it yesterday.” His expression shifted into confusion, or maybe that was the effect of the pixels. They sometimes rearranged themselves jerkily, giving the impression that she was watching stop-action animation instead of a real person.
Except that Shane was very, very real. His voice had a fierce vibrancy even through the computer speakers, and CeCe got the shivery sense that he was right here in the room with her.
Close enough to touch, yet out of reach. Just like in life.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She couldn’t tell him about her grandfather’s visit, so she explained, “We’re having some bad weather at sea. What’s this call about, Shane?”
“Us,” he said.
Her heart nearly stopped. Surely she’d misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”
“When your mother came in, we were on the verge of talking about what happened that night at my apartment,” he said. “It’s time to finish the conversation.”
Not now! CeCe thought. Not with her mother’s silent nagging pulling at her mind, and worry about the storm making her feel guilty about taking even a moment for herself. “Forget that night. It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Shane repeated. “Does that mean I can expect you to drop by my place again, say, tonight?”
CeCe stared at him, trying to make sense of his comment. “What are you talking about?”
“You say that what happened doesn’t matter. So it won’t matter if we get together again, will it?” he replied, his eyes daring her to argue. Or maybe that was once again, the effect of digital imperfections. “We’re both consenting adults and whether you want to admit it or not, we enjoyed ourselves.”
“Life isn’t about having fun,” CeCe snapped, although it was difficult not to be amused by Shane’s outrageous remarks. Something about the man appealed to her even when he infuriated her.
“Lighten up,” he said. “Let me bring out the best in you. Or the worst. Whatever. Shall we say, seven o’clock, my place?”
“I have plans,” she said.
“So do I,” he admitted. “I didn’t figure you’d agree.”
“You louse!” CeCe couldn’t help laughing. “You have a lot of nerve!”
“So are we past it?” he asked.
“Past what?”
“That circling-each-other-and-snarling business,” Shane said. “What happened, happened. We’re both consenting adults and we both enjoyed it. No harm done.”
“Well…” CeCe swallowed. It seemed awfully abrupt to break the news about her pregnancy over the Internet. Besides, the connection might not be secure.
Then there was the matter of her grandfather’s visit. She couldn’t tell Shane yet, even if she wanted to.
A tap at her office door was followed by Linzy’s entrance. “Miss Carradigne? Did you see the latest weather bulletin?”
“No. What’s it say?” CeCe reached instinctively for her mouse.
“Don’t you dare minimize me!” Shane said.
Linzy frowned. “Is there someone on the speakerphone?”
“I’m videoconferencing with Mr. O’Connell,” CeCe said. “What’s the news?”
“The storm’s veered. The worst of it is expected to miss the shipping lanes,” said her secretary.
“Thank heaven.” CeCe checked her watch. “Oh, my goodness.” At last report, her grandfather was expected to land right about now. Even if she hurried, she’d be late to greet him. “I’ve got to go.”
Linzy withdrew discreetly. “What’s so important?” Shane asked.
“Family business,” CeCe said.
“So when it comes to our little escapade, it’s forgive, if not forget?” he pressed.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, and clicked off.
She didn’t want to keep the king of Korosol waiting any longer than she had to. Especially not for the impudent Shane O’Connell.
THE GRAND ROOM LIVED UP to its name, the king saw as he entered. Large enough to serve as a ballroom, it soared a full two stories. Fabric wall paneling in shades of beige and light blue set off the antique furnishings, and the windows opened onto a covered lanai.
Two young women sprang to their feet as Easton entered and dipped in slightly shaky curtseys. They were lovely women, both tall and blond.
Amelia, who wore a tailored dress, gave him a conciliatory smile. “I’m sure CeCe will be here any minute.”
Lucia, a shade taller and slimmer, wore a swirly, bohemian dress and large, bright earrings. She was, the king recalled from one of Charlotte’s letters, a jewelry designer, so she’d probably made them herself. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she murmured. “I mean, to see you again.”
She’d been six, and her sister seven, the last time he met them. It seemed like another lifetime.
“Come give your grandfather a big hug, both of you,” Easton said.
They embraced him shyly. Close up, they smelled of springtime.
“They’re beautiful girls,” he told Charlotte. “You’ve done well.”
“I must apologize again for Cecelia,” she said. “She has a computer in her suite upstairs. I told her she ought to keep track from here until…”
Across the hall, the elevator doors opened and Easton heard high heels click across the marble floor. Such an impatient sound, and an oddly familiar one.
His chest tightened. His wife’s steps used to sound exactly like that when she was in a hurry.
“With all those weather satellites, you’d think we could get some accurate information sooner about…” A tall, loose-limbed young woman, hair straggling across her face, stumbled to a halt in the doorway. “Oh, he’s here! I mean, you’re here. Welcome to New York, Your Majesty.”
As she dipped in a curtsey, he distinctly heard her knees crack. Then she straightened and King Easton forgot everything as he got a good look at her face.
It was his Cassandra, come back to life in her eldest granddaughter.
CECE FIGURED SHE’D BLOWN IT this time. Everyone was staring at her, especially her grandfather.
He was tall and erect, although thinner than she’d expected, and looked in his early sixties rather than his late seventies. His gray hair might be thinning, but there was nothing faded about his green gaze.
She hoped he wasn’t going to scold her. The chauffeur had set a crosstown speed record getting her here, which had done nothing to ease her churning stomach.
And she wished she hadn’t been quite so abrupt in ending the call with Shane. When he wasn’t scowling and trying to drive a hard bargain, the man could be downright charming. Dangerously so, as she’d learned.
“Please accept my apology for the delay,” CeCe said. “I hope my mother told you about the storm.”
“She did indeed.” Never taking his eyes off her, King Easton crossed the room and caught CeCe’s hands in his strong ones. “Your devotion to duty does you credit.” He spoke with a charming French accent.
Charlotte, who had opened her mouth to intervene in what she obviously expected to be a difficult moment, clamped it shut again. Amelia looked relieved, and Lucia amused.
Nothing had prepared CeCe for her grandfather’s absorption in her. As he stood directly in front of her, his stare seemed to bore into her.
Until this moment, he had been a remote figure with little impact on her life. Now, suddenly, a connection sprang to life between them.
She knew she ought to make polite conversation, to ask about his journey or offer him some refreshment. CeCe couldn’t find the words.
“You look exactly like your grandmother,” he said.
“That’s quite an honor. We have a portrait of her, you know.” Several people had pointed out a resemblance that escaped CeCe.
Her coloring was lighter than Cassandra’s, and she was taller. Hester Vanderling, the family’s former nanny and current housekeeper, attributed the similarity to the independent set of their chins.
The king blinked as if emerging from a daze, and released her hands. “Sit down, everyone. We need to talk.”
“I’ll have one of the maids bring coffee,” Charlotte said.
“It’s a bit late in the day for caffeine,” the king reproved. “Herbal tea and biscuits—cookies, you call them, I believe.”
“Right away.” On the intercom, Charlotte summoned the kitchen staff. Soon an ornate silver tray was wheeled in, with a handcrafted teapot and cups on top and two levels of cookies and small cakes.
Charlotte reached for the teapot, then stopped. “CeCe, as the eldest daughter, you should pour.”
Not since she’d had to defend her master’s thesis in front of a faculty panel had CeCe experienced such a jolt of alarm. Her tea-pouring ability was only one level above abysmal.
“Of course,” she said, doing her best to hide her dismay. Princess Bluster, that’s what her college classmates had nicknamed CeCe after she brazenly answered a teacher’s questions about a textbook chapter she’d neglected to read, and got away with it. “It would be my pleasure.”
Her sisters regarded her with varying degrees of surprise and concern. When CeCe reached for the teapot, Amelia leaned forward as if trying to help with body language.
King Easton regarded her quizzically. “You’re left-handed?”
“I’m afraid so.” Living in a right-handed world contributed to CeCe’s clumsiness, although Charlotte had never considered that an excuse.
“So was your grandmother,” said the king. “She used to complain that servingware was designed for right-handed women. We had several teapots made especially for her.”
“I’m afraid I left mine at the office,” CeCe said.
“You left your what at the office?” asked Charlotte.
“My left-handed teapot,” she said.
There was a moment’s pause, and then King Easton burst out laughing. “My granddaughter is joking! How delightful.”
CeCe’s sisters released a few giggles. Charlotte smiled cautiously.
“Would you like me to pour?” asked Amelia.
“She’s very good at it,” said Lucia.
“And I’m not,” CeCe concluded.
The king beamed at them. “I appreciate your frankness, and I’m glad to see that your sisters have kind hearts. Lady Charlotte, they’re a tribute to their upbringing.”
Their mother basked in his praise. For once, CeCe was glad to see, the three of them had won her approval.
Amelia proceeded to serve the tea without spilling a drop. Charlotte herself couldn’t have done better.
When they were all settled, the king said, “I want to tell you why I’ve come.”
“You don’t need a reason,” said his daughter-in-law.
“That’s true. Yet there is one.”
Since her mother’s announcement the previous day, CeCe had turned the matter over in her mind. Now she figured she had a pretty good idea what to expect.
Three years ago, there’d been talk that King Easton would retire on his seventy-fifth birthday. However, after his eldest son decided he wanted a few more years of relative freedom, the retirement was postponed.
Now that a year of mourning for Byrum had ended, her grandfather must have decided to hand the reins of power to Markus. Her cousin had made no secret of his eagerness to assume the role.
She wasn’t sure why Easton wanted to announce the transition to his granddaughters in person. The most likely explanation was that he sought the family’s support for the new king, along with their attendance at the coronation.
Of course they would go. CeCe only hoped her pregnancy wouldn’t be too obvious by that point.
“I’ve decided to step down from the throne,” Easton said.
CeCe nodded. It was what she’d assumed.
“We’re sorry to hear it,” Charlotte said.
“Don’t be. As long as I can hand Korosol to a strong, benevolent monarch, we should all rejoice.”
“When is the coronation to take place?” CeCe asked.
“That depends on you.”
“On us?”
“On you personally.” Easton studied her closely. “You see, Princess Cecelia, I’ve decided that you are to be my successor.”
Chapter Three
In the stunned silence that followed King Easton’s announcement, CeCe became acutely aware of the ticking of an antique clock. Of the swirl of dust motes down long shafts of light. Of the swift thumping of her heart.
Was he joking? One look at his face told her otherwise.
Her mother and sisters sat frozen. If anyone had dared to light a bomb under Charlotte’s chair, she wouldn’t have stirred.
Queen of Korosol? Such a thought had never entered CeCe’s mind, even in those childhood days when she and her sisters used to play at being princesses for real.
Of course, they were princesses for real. Living in New York, however, those titles meant little beyond the interest they stirred among the status-conscious.
“I don’t even know Korosol,” she said, then realized how ungracious that sounded. “I mean, I don’t deserve this honor. I haven’t visited the country since I was nine.”
“I’m aware of that.” Her grandfather sank back on the couch, looking weary. “I blame myself for not insisting that you girls spend a month each summer with me. However, a businesswoman with your credentials should be able to familiarize yourself with Korosol’s needs rather quickly.”
Charlotte coughed before managing to speak. “Your Majesty, I’m astounded. We’re all incredibly grateful—”
The king lifted one hand to halt the flow of words. “It’s a lifelong commitment. Since my granddaughter hasn’t been prepared for it the way I was, I won’t try to force it on her.”
“Naturally, my daughter will do anything you ask,” Charlotte assured him.
CeCe couldn’t begin to absorb the ramifications of becoming a queen. Moreover, her grandfather’s decision puzzled her.
“Although I realize the law doesn’t require it, I always assumed Markus was next in line,” she said.
Her cousin, who was half a dozen years older than CeCe, maintained an apartment in New York and a playboy lifestyle. Having seen him often over the years, she found him charming at times and manipulative at others.
Thin frown lines puckered Easton’s forehead. “I have reason to believe my grandson may not be, well, quite right for the job. That’s all I care to say on the matter.”
Perhaps it was Markus’s occasional heavy drinking that bothered their grandfather, CeCe thought. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for her cousin, who’d mentioned several times how much he looked forward to assuming the throne.
“I think CeCe will make a wonderful queen,” Amelia said, fulfilling her accustomed role of peacekeeper.
“She’ll be terrific, if it’s what she really wants to do,” said Lucia.
Queen Cecelia of Korosol. CeCe was sophisticated enough to know how the world would trumpet the storybook elevation of a New York executive into such a romantic position.
Romantic to others, perhaps. She doubted Shane would be impressed. He’d made it clear he admired people for their accomplishments, not for what was simply handed to them.
That was one of the reasons that his respect meant so much to her. Until that embarrassing night they’d spent together, she’d secretly looked forward to their negotiations. The flare of approval on his face when she raised a point that he hadn’t considered, even when it came at his own expense, thrilled her.
She’d missed Shane these past few months. Even though he sometimes annoyed her, she came alive during their verbal battles.
Becoming queen meant CeCe would never again walk into her office and see him standing there. She would never be able to call him on the phone and ask his advice or outline her latest idea.
Of course, she wasn’t queen yet. Under the circumstances, she reminded herself, she probably never would be. Could she possibly have timed her pregnancy worse?
CeCe knew she ought to say something now, but she couldn’t bear to blurt out the truth and see the disgust on her grandfather’s face. Not to mention that Charlotte would squawk loud enough to set off car alarms for blocks.
Despite lacking a course of action, she still needed to give her grandfather a response. “It’s a tremendous opportunity,” she said. “One I’m not sure I’m ready to handle. Would it be all right if I think it over?”
“There’s nothing to think about!” snapped her mother. “If your father were here—”
“If Drake were here, he’d be pleased that she takes the matter so seriously,” said the king. “I’m glad you don’t grab at the chance to glorify yourself, Cecelia. You understand, as you should, that saying yes will change not only your life but the lives of thousands of people.”
It was a solemn responsibility to have all those people counting on her. CeCe had never shrunk from taking charge, and she wasn’t about to start now—if it turned out her grandfather still intended to give her the chance, once she figured out how to break her news to him.
“We’ll get to know each other over the next few days,” the king said. “That will give you a chance to weigh the matter, and me an opportunity to make sure you’re the right person to rule my land.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” she said.
The monarch rose stiffly to his feet. The four women jumped up also. “I want to make sure my room is arranged to my liking before Ellie leaves. I shall see you all at dinner.”
“Let me show you the way.” Charlotte accompanied him from the room.
The young women sat in stunned silence for a few minutes. Then Lucia said, “I’m glad he picked you and not me!”
“I can just imagine you turning the royal palace into an artists’ loft like the one you live in,” Amelia teased.
“Well, I am an artist, and I can’t live my life to please other people,” replied their younger sister.
“You’re the one who’d make a good queen, Amelia,” CeCe said. “You could still work with the International Children’s Foundation. I’m sure they’d love to have a queen as a figurehead.”
“I’m not a figurehead!” Amelia answered in a rare display of temper.
“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Although CeCe didn’t know the details of her sister’s work, she couldn’t help noticing that Amelia vanished from the apartment for weeks at a time. Often, she suspected, to travel to war-torn lands.
The ICF, a nonprofit relief organization, rescued orphans overseas and found them good homes. Because of the risk of being kidnapped if anyone discovered her identity, Amelia worked and traveled under an assumed name.
“You shouldn’t feel obligated to take the job just because grandfather and mother want you to,” Lucia told CeCe. “Once you become a queen, you won’t have a moment to yourself. Forget about finding the right man, not that it’s so easy for the rest of us.”
Three years earlier, Lucia had been duped by a gold-digging fiancé. Ever since, she’d avoided entanglements to concentrate on her design business.
Charlotte sailed through the door. “Don’t you dare try to talk your sister out of this! Being offered the throne is a dream come true.”
“Or a nightmare,” retorted Lucia.
“I don’t understand why you contradict me at every turn.” Charlotte’s tongue made a disapproving click. “Isn’t it bad enough that you live in SoHo and hang out with all those artsy types?”
CeCe was in no mood to hear old arguments rehashed. “I hope grandfather understands that I’m not going to be entirely at his beck and call these next few days.”
“His secretary mentioned he’s got some business at the embassy tomorrow morning, so you can keep your appointment with Shane,” Charlotte said. “Now, pipe down, all three of you. I have something to say.”
“Uh-oh,” muttered Lucia. Amelia shook her head at her sister.
CeCe perched on the arm of a sofa. The way her stomach felt, piping down was more difficult than her mother might guess. “Go ahead.”
Charlotte eyed the dessert cart longingly. “Before we start, there’s no point in letting these go to waste, I suppose.”
To keep her figure trim, she rarely indulged. Now she helped herself to a slice of mousse cake, taking dainty bites with a small silver fork. She must, CeCe mused, have expended a great deal of energy in worrying about the king’s arrival to have worked up such an appetite.
Her daughters needed no encouragement. Soon they were all sitting around, eating and waiting on their mother’s pronouncement.
At last the final bite of cake disappeared. It was typical of Charlotte not to begin speaking while she might have even a crumb of food left in her mouth.
“Now, listen closely,” she told her daughters. “I’m not sure when we’ll have another moment alone.”
“We’re listening,” Lucia said.
The dessert plate issued a refined pinging noise as Charlotte set it on the coffee table. “You know how hard I’ve worked all these years at the shipping company. It wasn’t entirely by choice, I assure you.”
“We know it was for our welfare,” Amelia said.
“After my husband and my father died, the business was in turmoil,” Charlotte said. “Twenty years ago, the world wasn’t as accepting of women executives as it is today.”
CeCe could sympathize with what her mother must have endured. She’d met with her share of patronizing remarks from competitors and potential clients, and found them infuriating.
“Although you were safe in Hester’s hands, I wish I could have spent more time with the three of you,” their mother continued. “I know I wasn’t always there for the moments when you needed someone to talk to.”
A break in her voice revealed a rare vulnerable side of Charlotte. However, despite the sacrifices, CeCe knew that her mother wouldn’t have had things any other way. Fierce pride had motivated her to seize the helm of the company when she might have sold it or looked to her father’s family for assistance.
“Most of all, I regret not raising you with a greater appreciation of your father’s heritage,” she said. “It isn’t entirely the king’s fault that we drifted apart. I take some of the blame on myself.”
“I’m not sure how much more we could appreciate it without living there full-time,” Lucia said. “We’re Americans, after all.”
“You have dual citizenship and don’t forget it!” said her mother. “If I’d had any inkling that this day would ever come…well, I can only hope that CeCe will rise to the occasion. If she doesn’t, you two other girls must keep yourselves available. I won’t tolerate excuses. Do I make myself clear?”
CeCe’s cheeks flamed at the suggestion that she might be found lacking. Despite her pregnancy, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of failing her family, especially her mother.
She’d always felt a duty to assist her mother, even if Charlotte rarely seemed to notice. As a teenager, CeCe had fussed with pretty dresses and social occasions only when her mother required it. Mostly, she’d devoted herself to her studies and to working part-time at the shipping company, learning the business from the ground up.
Now she was ready to take on the monarchy. The fact that she might not be allowed to, that she might bring disgrace on herself and her family just when everyone’s hopes were riding on her, made CeCe want to cry.
Well, she wouldn’t cry. She never cried, or hardly ever. Somehow, she was going to find a way to save face and pull this whole thing off.
SHANE WISHED HE COULD READ CeCe’s thoughts. Something must be buzzing through her mind, he’d concluded during brunch. Fortunately, the Chinese trade representative, Mr. Wong, hadn’t appeared to notice anything amiss.
To someone who knew her well, CeCe’s attention seemed scattered. At the same time, she’d changed in a subtle way that made her coloring more vivid and her manner less brisk. Shane couldn’t stop looking at her.
When they left the restaurant, he was glad to find that the sun had come out. Despite the winter chill, across the street women were pushing baby carriages through Central Park while college-age skateboarders whizzed past.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said after Mr. Wong departed in a taxi.
CeCe regarded him suspiciously. “A walk?”
“I’ll escort you to your apartment building, if you like,” Shane said. “Or are you heading to the office?”
“The apartment.” She pushed a wing of blond hair off her temple and started to step off the curb against the light.
He grabbed her arm. “What’s wrong with you today?”
“I’m a little distracted,” CeCe said.
“Tell me it’s the effect of my boyish charm,” Shane teased.
“Sorry, but it isn’t.”
The light changed and they crossed in a swarm of people. For no logical reason, he found himself wanting to protect her against jostling passersby.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “Anything I can help you with?”
CeCe’s eyes widened. “You want to help me?”
“If I can.” He wondered if she was surprised by the idea that a woman in her lofty position might need anything from a man who’d had to claw his way up in the world. No, he thought, CeCe had never struck him as a snob. “What’s going on?”
“It’s…personal,” she said.
Personal. That might mean she was seeing another guy. Shane disliked that notion thoroughly.
They veered onto a park path. Most of the other strollers were elderly people or mothers with young children. A couple of students, book bags at their feet, sat on a park bench, smooching.
On the lake, a few brave souls were ice skating. One tiny ballerina spun around three times and then, losing her balance, plopped onto her rear end.
“So is he in the shipping business, too?” Shane asked.
“Is who in the shipping business?”
“This personal problem,” he said.
CeCe burst out laughing. “I don’t believe you said that!”
She thought he was jealous, Shane realized. Of course he wasn’t. “Not that I care,” he added.
“It’s my family,” CeCe said. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you any more than that. They’re very strict about privacy.”
Not having had a family since he was twelve, Shane had no idea what sort of matters families kept to themselves. He didn’t enjoy feeling like an outsider. “We’re practically partners. Your business is my business.”
“This isn’t business,” CeCe corrected him. The cold air stung her cheeks and brightened her eyes, or perhaps the sunlight merely highlighted the changes Shane had noticed in the restaurant.
He decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, he made conversation about Mr. Wong and how their meeting had gone.
CeCe relaxed. Any minute, he thought, she’d let slip whatever was bothering her and then he could help her fix it.
SHE OUGHT TO TELL SHANE about the pregnancy, CeCe thought. But if she did, she would have to mention the repercussions involving her grandfather’s visit and his offer to make her queen, both of which were state secrets.
It wasn’t as if Shane was eager to be a father, she reminded herself. He’d made it clear how much he disliked children.
Also, from working in a mostly male environment, CeCe knew that most men’s reaction to a problem was to leap in with an instant solution. That worked all right in business situations. When it came to personal matters, however, she would find it highhanded and infuriating.
She didn’t want to get irritated with Shane today. His presence comforted her, even though she couldn’t confide in him.
Central Park was a different place when she was with him. Usually, she walked through it mentally reviewing reports and formulating plans for DeLacey Shipping.
Today, she didn’t want to concentrate on anything but Shane. The pattern of light and shadow falling across his face fascinated her. So did the vulnerable twist of his mouth.
Despite his protestations, what kind of father would he make? CeCe watched a mittened toddler tossing a ball with his father and tried to picture Shane in the man’s stead. She couldn’t make the stretch.
At least his company was peaceful. So peaceful that it wasn’t quite normal.
“I know what’s missing,” she said.
“What?”
“Your cell phone’s not ringing.”
“Neither is yours,” he said.
“I turned it off during brunch. So did you, I guess.” When he nodded, CeCe said, “Maybe we should both turn them on.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t.”
He moved closer. Despite their coats, she could feel heat radiating from his body. It made her itch to slide her hands inside his clothing and stroke his chest.
If she became queen, she would have to choose a husband who could reign alongside her, presumably someone from European nobility. CeCe hoped it was possible for her to get this excited about being close to another man. If she couldn’t, well, she supposed that was the price a queen had to pay.
But right now, she had Shane to herself. There were so many details of his life that she wondered about, and it might be her last chance to ask him.
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” she said.
“Go ahead.”
“I’ve heard the stories about your being an orphan.” Seeing nothing in his expression to indicate she was trespassing on forbidden territory, she continued, “I’ve read that you built a struggling air-freight company into a major contender by carving out your own niche in the package-delivery business.”
“You left out the part about my dogged work ethic and brilliant flashes of insight,” Shane joked. “Otherwise, you got it right.”
“What I never understood was how you got your hands on an air-freight company in the first place,” CeCe said.
“CPR,” he replied cryptically.
She tried to place the initials. “Is that a venture capitalist firm?”
“It stands for cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”
“Oh, that kind of CPR,” CeCe said.
“They taught it to us at the group home. Part of our health-and-safety training.” Shane moved her gently aside as a messenger’s bicycle whizzed past, its bell ringing. “Probably they figured we ruffians might give the counselor a heart attack.”
“What’s the connection to air freight?” she asked as they strode with their long legs in sync.
“While I was in high school, I got a part-time job at an air-freight company at Long Beach Airport,” Shane said. “The owner, Morris O’Day, suffered a heart attack my third day on the job. While everyone else was waiting for the paramedics, I administered CPR.”
“You saved his life?” CeCe asked.
“So Morris believed,” Shane said. “Once he recovered, he took me under his wing and taught me the business.”
“You must have impressed him in a lot of ways. He wouldn’t have wasted his time on you otherwise.” The teenage Shane, although no doubt slighter of build and less polished, must still have been a force to reckon with.
“We became friends,” he said quietly. “Morris took the place of the father I’d scarcely known. My mentor, that’s how I describe him to people, but he meant much more to me than that.”
“You’re speaking in the past tense,” CeCe said. “Did he die?”
“Five years later, when I was twenty-two, he suffered another heart attack.” Shane’s pace slowed. “That time, I couldn’t save him. Later, I was astonished to learn that he’d willed me the company. The assets were mortgaged and the planes were outdated, but it gave me a start.”
“He didn’t have any family?” CeCe couldn’t imagine such isolation. “How sad that he didn’t have a wife or a child. He worked so hard and then he had no heir.”
“He did have an heir—me,” Shane said crisply.
CeCe saw that she’d offended him. “Of course. You meant a lot to him.”
“I’ve had to blaze my own trail. So did Morris,” Shane snapped. “I guess that’s hard for you to understand.”
“What do you mean? I’ve had to…” She stopped herself in midsentence.
She’d intended to say that she’d had to work hard, but so what? There was no denying that her path had been paved. Much as CeCe hated to admit it, she would never have become executive veep at twenty-nine if she weren’t the owner’s daughter.
She knew that, with her drive and organizational abilities, she’d have made a success of herself one way or another. Not on the scale that Shane had, however, or at least not as rapidly. For one thing, she couldn’t get by on five hours’ sleep a night, as he was reputed to do.
They reached the west side of the park and headed for her apartment building a block away. CeCe wished she could undo the offense she’d given by her thoughtless remark about Morris.
Making truces came so easily to her sister Amelia. If only CeCe could borrow a pinch of her kind nature before it was too late.
“I didn’t put things very well,” she said, by way of preamble.
“You said what you meant. There’s no need to apologize for the fact that you and I look at the world from very different perspectives.” Shane spoke in an even, impersonal tone. “We’re about as different as two people can be. I don’t hold that against you, and I hope you don’t hold it against me, either.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re leaving much room for us to meet in the middle,” CeCe said.
“Was there ever any hope of that?”
She had to be honest with him, and herself. “I guess not.”
In front of her building, they shook hands formally. “I’ll keep in touch about the negotiations with Wuhan Novelty,” Shane said, and walked away.
CeCe drank in the sight of his broad shoulders as he cut through the slow-moving tide of pedestrians. Her palm tingled where it had touched his moments before.
If her grandfather still wanted her to be queen after he learned of her pregnancy, she might not be handling the Wuhan negotiations, CeCe realized with a start. That meant there was a scary chance that she might never see Shane O’Connell again.
When she glanced back at the street, he’d disappeared.
Chapter Four
On her way up to the apartment, CeCe noticed that the royal guards weren’t patrolling with Charlotte’s regular staff. That meant her grandfather must still be at the embassy, thank goodness.
She needed time to sort out the turmoil in her mind. There were so many decisions to make, and despite her reputation as a take-charge executive, she had no idea how to make them.
Against her better judgment, she yearned to bring Shane into the picture. He’d just made it clear, however, that he saw no common ground between them, outside of their business alliance.
This would be the right time for most women to ask their mothers for advice. Unfortunately, CeCe knew exactly what Charlotte would say: (a) The man isn’t right for you, (b) Of course you’ll be queen, and (c) You’re what?
Under the circumstances, she was glad to learn from Hester Vanderling that Charlotte had gone to the office. According to the housekeeper, Amelia was in her room, working on her computer, and otherwise the vast apartment was practically empty.
“The cook and her assistant have to work late tonight to prepare a special dinner for your grandfather, so your mother gave them the morning off,” explained Hester.
The housekeeper and her husband, Quincy, the Carradigne’s butler, occupied private quarters. Since they lived on the premises, they were usually around although, like now, not necessarily on duty.
“Could we talk?” CeCe asked.
“I’d like that.” Hester gave her a pleased but slightly puzzled smile.
Although she’d confided in Hester a lot in her younger years, CeCe rarely turned to her these days, believing she ought to handle her own problems. However, Hester, with her gentle nature, loyalty to her native land of Korosol and devotion to the Carradigne girls, might have exactly the perspective CeCe needed.
They went into the kitchen for coffee. From the broad terrace came a scuffling noise.
“What on earth?” said Hester.
“Got you, you skulking scumbag!” roared the voice of Quincy Vanderling.
“Oh, dear!” Hester pressed a wall button to summon security. “We’d better find out what’s happening.”
“It sounds like Quincy caught an intruder.” No one had ever penetrated Charlotte’s guards before. Or had the butler taken one too many nips of kitchen sherry and tried to tackle a pigeon? Quincy had his vices, but a better butler couldn’t be found.
CeCe hurried into the breakfast nook. Through the wide-open French doors, she saw the husky butler wrestling a darkly tanned man with short brown hair. In his forties, the intruder was thin but muscular and easily held his own.
“He was in the kitchen!” Quincy panted when he spotted the women. “I chased him out here and caught him!”
The fellow stopped struggling and turned toward CeCe. “Hello, princess,” he said with oily familiarity. “Why don’t you call off this old geezer before he injures himself?”
Winston Rademacher. CeCe hadn’t seen him in several years, but it was hard to mistake that creepy smile and those shifty eyes that always seemed to be squinting.
From the other side of the terrace, two guards raced toward the pair. “Hold on,” CeCe called, stepping outside. “It’s my cousin Markus’s adviser.”
Quincy dropped the fellow’s arm. “You work for Markus Carradigne? Why didn’t you say so?”
“No one gave me a chance.” Rademacher tugged on his wrinkled coat sleeve.
“What are you doing here?” CeCe demanded.
His gaze met hers, then veered away. “Looking for the king. I’m in New York on Markus’s business while he’s tending to his affairs in Korosol.”
“He was snooping, is more like it,” retorted Hester. “I’m sorry, Miss CeCe. I shouldn’t have said that, I suppose. Now, come inside, Quincy. It’s cold out there.”
“Call off your dogs, will you?” Rademacher sneered at the guards and strode toward CeCe.
On the few previous occasions when she’d met him, he’d struck CeCe as a dangerous type. She hoped Markus had researched the man’s background.
Right now, his attitude offended her, and he’d had no business bypassing security on his way up. Still, it would give unnecessary offense to her cousin if her guards bodily ejected his confidant.
“You may go. Please check the locks on the back and side stairs,” she told the two men.
That was probably how he’d broken in. In addition to connecting the apartment’s two floors, the staircases served as emergency escape routes down through the building, although the heavy intervening doors could only be opened from the Carradigne side. “Quincy, you were very brave. Thank you for defending us.”
“It was completely unnecessary.” Rademacher oozed past CeCe into the kitchen.
“Mr. Rademacher.” Her sharp tone halted him as he headed for the coffee carafe. “Your behavior is unacceptable.”
“Is it indeed, princess?” Despite the supercilious tone, he hesitated.
“You had no business sneaking into this apartment without announcing yourself to the guards. The king is not here. I suggest you look for him at the embassy, and I suggest you do it now,” CeCe said.
Resentment flashed across his face, and was instantly replaced by obsequiousness. “Whatever you wish, princess.”
“I’ll show you out,” said Hester. Quincy accompanied her, watching Rademacher’s every move.
A short time later, Hester returned alone. “We put him on the elevator,” she said. “What an unpleasant man.”
“Is your husband all right?” CeCe was fond of Quincy, a former handyman whose devotion to his wife and to the Carradignes was beyond question.
“He’s better than all right. A scuffle like that makes him feel young again.” Hester smiled. “Now, let’s have that coffee.”
They took their mugs to the breakfast table and sat facing each other. Outside, boxed evergreens on the landscaped terrace blocked the cityscape.
Memories from years past drifted comfortably over the scene. There’d been summer days when blooms transformed the terrace into a lush paradise, and rainy days when the nanny entertained the three girls with hot chocolate and Korosol folktales.
“What’s on your mind?” asked the housekeeper.
CeCe released a long breath. She had to tell someone her news, and the longer she waited, the harder it would get. “Oh, Hester, I’m pregnant.”
Her old friend blinked in surprise. “Well! I don’t know what…You know, it might be the best thing for you.”
“What?” CeCe had never expected this reaction.
“It’s time you figured out you’re a woman. You’ve been denying your feminine instincts ever since your father died,” Hester said.
“I have not!” she flared.
“It was as if you thought you had to be the man of the family,” said her friend, undeterred by the outburst. “For a while, you refused to wear anything but pants. It nearly gave your mother fits.”
“I remember that.” CeCe had assumed her behavior must have represented a typical preteen phase. Perhaps, though, there was some truth in the housekeeper’s observation. “But, Hester, this isn’t the right way to rediscover my feminine instincts, as you call them, even if I wanted to. It’s a disaster!”
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