Her Royal Baby by Marion Lennox

Author:Marion Lennox
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2003-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

Hell.

Marc couldn’t sleep. Finally, at about two in the morning, he rose and took himself out for a walk in the gardens. It was a full moon. The moonlight was reflecting off the lake and the night was gorgeous. He walked the full perimeter of the lake. His strides lengthened as he walked and so did his sense of unease.

What was he doing?

Until Jean-Paul had died his life had been uncomplicated. Or…less complicated. He’d been able to keep himself right apart from this family, and that was the way he’d liked it.

He’d been brought up close to here, but miles apart in terms of lifestyle. His father had been the Crown Prince’s brother. The brothers had got on—once—but the children hadn’t. Jean-Paul’s mother had been a snob of the first order, who’d preened herself on her success in marrying Marc’s uncle, whereas Marc’s mother had been a warm, fun-loving woman who’d had little to do with royalty.

For good reason. At the thought of his mother, Marc twisted his mouth into a grim line. What they’d done to her… This family…

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. It was past. He’d learned that the only way to cope with these people—with anyone who had any connections to the crown—was to be businesslike and brusque.

Because he loved this little country he’d do what he had to do over the next few years. He’d wear the crown and hold the monarchy in good stead for his little cousin, but that was as far as it went. If Tammy—Tamsin, he told himself harshly; he’d keep this formal—if she could be persuaded to take a royal role then he could step back into the background. Which was what he wanted. He wanted to go back to his lovely little estate and get right away from these people.

From Tammy?

Yes. From Tammy, he told himself savagely. She stirred him as he hadn’t believed a woman could.

And he didn’t understand why. His sort of woman wasn’t like that. Not like Tamsin. His sort of woman was one such as Ingrid.

Ingrid…

The thought of her behaviour at dinner made his teeth clench. She’d been a bitch. He needed to get rid of her. After dinner, as she’d clung and expected to be taken back to his bed, he’d rebuffed her with more bluntness than tact.

‘I’m jet-lagged, Ingrid. I need my own bed tonight.’

‘I can just stay a while, sweetheart.’

Sweetheart… The term sounded almost obscene coming from her. She was beautiful, and she’d been an elegant hostess for him in the past, but their relationship hadn’t lasted any more than a few short months. None of his relationships did.

That was the way he liked it. The women in his circle were all tarred with the same brush as his aunt and Isobelle and Lara. He knew damned well what drove them. To bring a woman in from outside—to expose her to the goldfish bowl of royalty—would be to expose her to the same sort of pain his mother had experienced. He couldn’t do it.

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