Her Royal Baby (14 page)

‘Suffer…'

‘I believe he loves you,' Dominic said gently. ‘That's why I'm talking to you like this. It's not my business, but I can see what's happening.'

‘He loves me?' She was staring at the butler as if he'd lost his mind.

But Dominic's voice was sure. ‘Yes, miss.'

‘He hardly knows me.'

‘He knows you.' Dominic smiled, a smile of infinite sadness. ‘So do we all.'

‘But…' She flinched, trying to take this on board. She
couldn't. Marc? Love her? The thing was impossible. He had so many women.

‘Why do you think he's left now?' Dominic asked her, and Tammy tried to make her confused mind focus. But all she could see was one clear path—right back to Australia.

‘I can't stay here,' she said on a note of finality. ‘I can't. I…'

‘You love him, too.'

‘No.
Yes.
I don't know!' She turned to stare out of the vast French windows, as if she could still see Marc's disappearing car. ‘This is impossible. If I took Henry back to Australia then Marc would inherit, like it or not. He'd be forced to take on his responsibilities.'

‘But he'd never learn to love,' Dominic told her and she turned back to him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘What on earth am I meant to do about that?'

There was no answer. They both knew it. Nothing. What was there to be done?

‘Hell.' It was a whisper of fear. ‘Oh, Dominic…'

‘Yes, miss,' Dominic said simply. He opened the door and stood aside while she passed out into the corridor. His confidences were clearly at an end. ‘It is hell. I don't know what to do about it, and neither does anyone here. We're hoping for a miracle, and only you can provide it.'

 

She didn't get much sleep that night. After waking and playing until midnight Henry decided to revert to European time and snooze like an angel until morning. Not so his aunt. She paced the bedroom, tried unsuccessfully to sleep, and then paced some more.

What could she do?

Leave? Take Henry back to Australia? To a lifetime of childcare and single parenthood?

Would he hate her for robbing him of the throne? Maybe he would. And Marc would be left here—alone.

Could she stay here? Share Henry's care with Marc? See him every other day? Hope Dominic was right?

Dominic couldn't be right. How could such a man as Marc love her?

There was no sleep at all.

 

The following day she did some haphazard work in the gardens during Henry's afternoon nap. But for the rest of the time she played with him, talked with him, and tried to keep her mind off what was happening to his big cousin.

Her love.

She loved him. The knowledge was now seared into her heart with a clarity that was blinding. She'd fallen in love with her little nephew and then she'd fallen even more deeply in love with his big cousin.

The whole situation was impossible. Absurd. She didn't belong. Marc himself should be living here. He was either Prince Regent or Crown Prince, depending on what she did.

She could take Henry back to Australia and Marc would be Crown Prince, like it or not. A lonely Crown Prince. A man alone with his shadows. Or she could stay here with Henry and watch Marc be Prince Regent, independent and aloof.

And she'd go quietly nuts.

As the day wore on she hugged her little nephew over and over again, until she was sure he'd object, but he simply cooed at her and tried to pull her hair, and her heart twisted and twisted until she thought it would tear apart.

Because there was one more choice, and as the day wore on she saw that it was the only choice she could make. But it was the hardest decision she'd made in her life. How could she do it?

How could she not?

 

It was seven at night. Marc was at his desk in the huge front room he'd used as his study ever since he'd inherited
Renouys. It was a magnificent room, furnished more for comfort than for style, and it was here that he considered himself home.

Not in that other place, he thought bitterly as he stared unseeing at the work in front of him. Not in the royal palace. His own home was grand enough, but it wasn't a whisker on the Broitenburg royal residence.

The Broitenburg palace was Henry's home, he told himself. And Tammy's. It was no place for him. He'd done his duty for his country. He'd brought his tiny cousin home. If Tammy… No, if
Henry
needed him then he was available for the short time his assistance was required, but this was where he belonged.

So why did it seem so bleak? Why did this place that had always seemed such a sanctuary suddenly seem so empty?

He should contact his friends, he thought. Not Ingrid. He'd moved on from Ingrid. Other friends. He had a brilliant social circle. All he had to do was lift the phone and he'd have people down here. Or he could drive up to the city—catch up with friends at their home base. See a few shows. Try out the new restaurant everyone was talking about.

It held no appeal at all.

He had work to do. He clicked his computer mouse and a design sprang to life. It was the design Henry had ‘helped' him with two nights before.

Water still flowing uphill? Hmm. Maybe it needed a little more work.

But, instead of starting to correct things, he found himself staring down at the screen and smiling. Hell, he'd enjoyed playing with Henry so much.

He'd still see him.

He shook himself, realising where his thoughts were taking him. Right back to Tammy!

Sure, he'd see Henry, but from now on he'd see him on
his terms, he thought savagely. Not on the crazy terms Tammy had set. Every second day…

Ridiculous.

He glanced at his watch. Seven. Ha! On Tammy's terms he'd be taking over Henry's care right now. Well, he'd sorted that out. She'd be back at the palace and she'd settle down to care for Henry and her precious trees. Alone.

Which was what he wanted—wasn't it?

Of course it was. Tammy had nothing to do with him. So he had no right to be feeling as he was feeling right now. As if she'd just drive up the driveway and open the door and come into his arms…

Crazy. It was a crazy way to think and he had to move on. He and Tammy? No and no and no.

He had to do some work! He turned back to his laptop but was distracted by the sound of a car approaching. He half rose and then settled. It'd be nothing, he told himself, annoyed that his gut had given a stupid, hopeful lurch. It'd be a tradesman. A delivery van. This was a working farm, after all, and he had a farm manager who'd see to things.

He needed to do some work.

But there were voices, muted in the distance, and he found himself pausing so that he could listen without the distraction of a clicking keyboard. There was a soft murmur and a man's voice responding. André. His farm manager.

‘Over there, miss. Straight through the front door and first turn to the left.'

He froze.

Tammy.

 

She had to do this. She had to say what she needed to say and get out of here. She had to keep her face in order—not cry—not hold onto Henry a moment longer than she needed to.

How? She was breaking her heart. She couldn't believe
she was doing this. That she'd come to this dreadful decision…

She didn't know, but somehow she had to do it.

She didn't belong here. Henry belonged here and so did Marc.

Let the two of them get on with it.

 

‘Tammy.'

Marc had risen and was out of the study and into the hall before she'd entered the room. At the sight of her he stopped dead.

‘Marc.' Her tone was cool and careful. She was wearing her customary jeans, T-shirt and battered sneakers and he thought, How the hell had he ever thought someone like Ingrid could be beautiful? Could clothes and grooming make someone beautiful? The thought was a farce.

She was just…lovely.

But Tammy was carrying Henry and she wasn't thinking of her appearance. Her eyes were frozen.

There was pain behind her gaze, he thought. Why?

Tammy's voice, when she spoke again, was rigidly formal.

‘It's time,' she said blankly, and before he knew what she was about she'd walked forward and placed Henry into his arms. The little boy was delighted to see him. He chuckled and tried to grab a fistful of Marc's dark hair. Marc let him pull. His eyes were on only Tammy.

‘What are you doing?' She'd set a bag containing baby things down on the floor. Now she was eyeing him from six feet away and the pain behind her eyes was unmistakeable. Was that a glimmer of tears?

‘I told you; this is not my job,' she said, in a voice that wasn't quite steady. ‘My role is to see that Henry is cared for and loved. With you I know that he will be.'

‘But…'

‘I didn't come here to be Henry's full-time carer. He loves you as well as me.'

‘But I don't…'

‘Love him? You do, you know.' Her face was totally expressionless now, as if she was holding herself rigidly under control. ‘You're capable of all the love in the world, but you won't let yourself see it. You're afraid. Well, that's okay with me—I can wear it—but Henry can't. Henry needs you, and you need him. You need each other whether you intend to be Prince Regent or Crown Prince. Either way. Take your pick.'

He felt as if he'd been punched. Hard. ‘How do you know…?'

‘I'm not blind,' she said shortly. ‘You're running scared, Marc. Well, I have been too, but something's happened. What's between you and me…it's made me see that the world's what we make it. I'm afraid I've fallen in love with you, Marc.' Then, as he made an involuntary protest, she shook her head. ‘No. I shouldn't have said that. It's not fair to lay my weakness on you. I'm not expecting you to do anything with it. Why would I? I've lived a long time without any sort of loving and I know I can keep on that way. So can you, I guess. But Henry's the one who's important. He's a very special little boy. He needs a daddy. He needs you, Marc, and I won't let you walk away from that need.'

‘So you're leaving him here?' Marc said blankly. He wasn't too sure what was happening here. What she was saying was leaving him stunned, and it didn't explain the look of blank misery on her face. Or did it? ‘You're leaving him here until tomorrow night?'

‘I'm leaving him here until he needs me,' she said bluntly, and turned on her heel and ran down the steps before he could say a word.

Before he could see the tears streaming down her face. Tears of goodbye.

 

What had she said?

I'm afraid I've fallen in love with you…

He stood staring out at her retreating back and thought he must have been hearing things. How the hell could she decide she loved him? She'd known him for so short a time.

Didn't she know he could destroy her? His family—the royal connection—it contaminated all it touched.

Did he love Tammy?

No! He didn't love anyone. He didn't
do
love!

But Henry was in his arms, gurgling up at him, making him rethink everything he'd believed in for so long.

Making him rethink love?

It was impossible, he decided fiercely. Put it away. Think about the arrangements Tammy was trying to force on him. Twenty-four hours of turnabout childcare… How could this work?

It was farcical, Marc decided, but he gave the little boy his supper and tried desperately not to think about the stricken look on Tammy's face or the reason behind it. How could they juggle the baby back and forth between two households? A day here—a day there?

Maybe Tammy was right. Maybe he
should
go back to live in the palace with Tammy and Henry on a permanent basis.

No! It was impossible. It made a mockery of all he'd spent his life achieving.

Independence. Sanity.

And the love thing…

No. He didn't want to go there. He'd kissed her once too often. He'd been a fool to do it and somehow he'd have to undo the damage.

‘Your aunt hasn't got the sense to see how impossible this is,' Marc told Henry, and Henry gurgled and grinned
and demanded another toast finger. ‘She'll have to take you full time. Maybe I can take you at weekends. Sometimes.'

But even that was too much. The longer he spent with Henry the more the little boy wormed his way into his heart.

He'd leave him with the servants.

No. He couldn't do it and Tammy knew he couldn't. This was emotional blackmail, he thought furiously, and then thought— What had he tried to use with her? He'd tried to offload his responsibilities onto her slender shoulders and maybe it wasn't fair.

‘I'll take you home tomorrow night and make her see reason,' he told Henry, and had a toast finger land on his nose in response. ‘Gee, thanks. Maybe your aunt can teach you table manners.'

But…

She…loved him?

He hadn't imagined what she'd said. Her words kept ringing over and over in his brain but he shoved them away with all the force he could muster. They didn't make sense. She hadn't meant them. Or, if she had, well, then she just had to get over it.

He didn't do love.

Then Henry dropped his toast, and the ancient collie who always slept by the stove leapt to his feet like a pup of six months and devoured it in a gulp. Henry's roar of indignation almost raised the roof, and he sobbed inconsolably into Marc's shoulder.

He didn't do relationships?

‘We'll make some more toast,' he told Henry, then wiped the little boy's eyes and gave him a shame-faced grin. ‘Okay, I know I'm hooked. I'm hooked on you. But it's only for today. After that…somehow I'll get my distance back, and that's the way I'll keep it.'

 

He wanted distance? Unbeknownst to Marc, that was exactly what he was getting.