Royal Affair (7 page)

When he turned toward the kitchen, he saw her.
His perfect smile appeared, a homing device for her heart like the beam of a lighthouse guiding a lost ship to safety. Longing rose in her. She wanted to go to him and rest in his arms and let him take care of her and the future.

He placed a hand on his chest and stared at her as if under an enchantment. When he spoke, his voice was soft, deep, beguiling.

 

“Be still, my heart, 'tis naught

But a vision, an earthly delight wrought

From the yearnings of a soul stricken

By loneliness of a most dismal sort.”

 

Ivy swallowed as emotion rose to her throat. “Very affecting,” she mocked gently because the words had moved her. “Did you make it up?”

He shook his head. “An obscure Lantanyan poet, lovesick for a woman denied to him.”

“Why? What happened? Did her parents refuse to let her marry him?”

“No. She was already married.”

“Oh.”

“To my father,” he finished. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to be seated. With an elegant flourish, he snapped open the napkin and laid it across her lap. His hand touched her shoulder and lingered a second before he brought tall glasses of iced tea to the table and joined her.

“Did she love the poet?” Ivy asked, unable to contain her curiosity about his family.

Max laid his napkin in his lap, then gazed at Ivy as if weighing the answer. “As a friend,” he said. “My mother would never have allowed an inappropriate emotion to intrude between her and my father.”

Ivy mulled this over. “It was a love match? Your parents were in love?”

“They were devoted to each other.”

She wasn't sure that answered her question. “Are love and devotion the same?”

Max looked up from buttering a roll. He spoke with great assurance, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. “For a king and queen, yes. They were dedicated to each other, to their family and to the country. Together they worked toward a common goal for the good of all.”

“They shared a vision,” Ivy concluded, but still, that wasn't the question. “But is that love?”

Max laid the knife across the edge of the bread plate and studied her. “It was enough to sustain them through forty-four years of marriage. What is it you want to know?”

“Were they faithful to each other?” she asked bluntly.

His handsome, somewhat arrogant face relaxed. “Ah, that is what bothers you,” he said gently. “Yes, they were faithful as far as I know. There were never any rumors about either of them, although the tab
loids seized upon the slightest pretext to paint a different picture. That is something you will have to resign yourself to. As my queen, you will have your every word, every gesture interpreted in the worst possible manner.”

“Life in the public eye,” she murmured.

“Yes. But there will be private moments, ones we will share with no one but each other. Other times will be enjoyed with our children and friends. Those are the moments we will cherish and remember when the paparazzi print their lies and innuendoes about our lives.”

“I'm afraid of the lies,” she said quietly. “How does one separate them from the truth?”

Reaching across the table, he tilted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. “I have no doubts about your loyalty,” he said. “So the question in your mind is about mine.” He paused, then said, “My word of honor, I will be faithful to my American rose.”

She hadn't expected the pledge or the intensity in his voice as he spoke. The words blew through her like a gale, forcing her to hold her doubts up to a careful scrutiny in the face of his surety. Scenes from her stormy childhood darted through her inner vision.

“My parents—”

“We are not them,” Max interrupted before she could tell him about their turbulent marriage. “We are shaped by our past to a certain extent, but we have choices. We can follow a road of our own choosing.”

“How do we know which one is best?”

His sudden smile was teasing, but totally confident. “Let the stars be your guide.”

She gave him a severe frown. “First you say we do the choosing, then you advise letting fate or whatever make the choices for us. That makes no sense.”

“It does,” he said softly. “You spent a night in my arms. Was that fate or our own choice in answering the irresistible attraction between us? A child came of that night. We didn't plan that, but it happened. Fate? Or a willing risk on our part?”

No answer came to her.

“Well?” he demanded.

“I don't know,” she said defiantly.

“In either case, the results are the same.”

The baby. She laid a hand on her abdomen, feeling a whiplash of emotion too strong to be denied. She wanted the child. Already the bonds of love formed a protective casing around the tiny life that bloomed inside her.

“I want the child,” she told him.

His nod indicated he had never thought otherwise. “So do I. Did you think I wouldn't?”

“I didn't know. The man I thought was the father turned out to be someone else.”

They were silent for the remainder of the meal. Max's gaze was moody as he stared out the patio door. Ivy put the leftovers away and placed the used dishes in the dishwasher. When there was nothing left
to do, she refilled their tea glasses and indicated she was going outside.

On the patio, she smiled and waved to the golfers who were searching the creek area for a lost ball, the same two men who'd nearly beaned her the other day.

Friday. Two days ago. And she'd already succumbed—again!—to the passion that boiled between her and Max at the slightest glance. What had happened to her common sense?

“Don't beat it to death,” he advised, joining her. He, too, waved at the men.

“You know what I find odd?” she said after a moment.

“What?”

“From what I've read, royalty has had illegitimate children throughout history without a thought to their well-being or to their gaining the throne, so why are you concerned?”

A large, masculine hand closed over hers. His grip didn't hurt, but she was immediately aware of the power there, and the fact that he was furious with her.

“I care about the child,” he said in a low, dangerous tone. “It is my flesh and blood as well as yours. Don't ever question my motives about it again. Do you hear?”

She nodded slowly, her heart pounding a dull thud of fear throughout her body.

He removed his hand from hers. His face seemed cast in stone as he said, “You're afraid of me.
You've shared total physical intimacy with me, yet you're afraid.”

“Not of you.”

“Then what?”

“Of the marriage. I can't see that it has a chance of success. Our lives are so different.”

“My father married an American. Their marriage worked.”

She wondered if it really did, or if it was a facade they presented to the world. Looking at Max, she realized he was convinced. As a child in the home, he would have known of any discord. Children always did. “Your family life was different from mine. My parents divorced soon after I was born. Neither tragedy nor a new baby kept them together.”

Falling silent, she studied him while his gaze roamed restlessly over the pleasant pastoral scene. A slight frown indented a line over the bridge of his nose.

“I can offer you and the child a good home and all the advantages of wealth and education the world offers,” he told her. “Think of it as a business merger, if you will. There is one stipulation. There can be no divorce.”

Ivy found herself again trembling next to an abyss. On this side, she was safe but alone. On the other, she would have marriage, companionship and a family—things she ardently wanted—but they came at great risk and a high price. If the marriage failed, she would be trapped.

But then, so would he.

“If the marriage is a mistake,” she began.

“Then we will suffer, but we will also bear it,” he said, finishing the thought for her. A smile slowly curved across his mouth. “Or it may be bliss. We've already had some samples of that.”

Oh, yes, she knew about the bliss. In his arms she couldn't think. He incited feelings she'd never known existed. Unfortunately, they couldn't stay in bed all the time. A sigh worked its way out of her. “I don't think passion lasts. It never seemed to for my mother and father.”

“I don't know about your father, but your mother is not a good example, if you will forgive me for saying so.”

“True.”

“I understand your childhood experiences have left you wary, but you must put that behind you now and think of the future.” He shifted closer and laid his hand over her abdomen. “We can't ignore the result of our passion, and there's no need to,” he said with great practicality. “We are a match in many ways. The marriage will be good.”

Looking into his eyes and the certainty she witnessed there, she wanted to believe him.

Truly she wanted to…

M
onday morning came too early for Ivy. Max had left her apartment last night when she'd indicated she was going to bed. Alone. He'd grinned, kissed her and left, making sure she locked the door behind him.

She dressed for work in black slacks and a white-and-black knit top. Her black tasseled loafers were comfortable, a part of her “uniform” for the office. After drying her hair and brushing it as smooth as it would go, she tied a black scarf around her head to tame the curls and to make her look older.

As part of her healthier life-style, she prepared oatmeal in the microwave and ate it with whole
wheat toast. She found it did wonders for calming her unreliable tummy.

In fact, she felt quite fit by the time she arrived at the headquarters of Crosby Systems and parked at the far corner of the parking lot so she'd have to walk a good distance to her office. Once in the office, she saw the department secretary had set up the meeting Ivy had requested for nine that morning. It was now eight-thirty.

After going over memos, e-mails and regular mail, she got a cup of coffee and headed for the conference room next door. No one else had arrived yet. She laid out the plans she and her team had worked on. It was now in the final stages and, if approved by Lantanya's ministry of education, would go into production.

That would necessitate her staying in Lantanya for weeks while the plan was implemented to oversee it and make sure it was installed according to the specifications.

Hearing voices in the hall, she took her seat at the head of the table and pushed a button for a projection screen to lower at the other end of the room. The three systems engineers assigned to her project filed in.

She noticed they were unusually quiet. Then she understood why.

Her brother entered the room and with him, wearing a guest badge, was Max.

Trent's eyes met hers. He smiled slightly. “We have a guest,” he said, his gaze taking in the whole
team. “Max Hughes is a consultant for Lantanya. He wants to go over the plans before they are sent to the officials for final approval. I believe you know him, Ivy, so I'll leave you to introduce the others.”

“All right,” she heard herself say. Her voice, to her ears, sounded as if she spoke from a deep well.

“Come to my office about a quarter to twelve,” Trent told her. “We'll go to lunch at the country club. Father and Toni will join us.”

Ivy nodded.

Trent left them, closing the door as he did. Ivy glanced at one of the engineers. At her unspoken request, he rose from the chair on her right and went to another.

“Please join us,” she said to Max.

“Thank you.” Max smiled at the group. “I'm pleased to be able to take part at this stage of the planning.”

Ivy introduced each of the men and outlined their part in the system plans. “I have the flow charts back from drafting, so we can begin,” she finished, and dimmed the lights so they could easily see the screen.

Onto the projector she laid the first sheet, which was covered with the “big picture” diagrams for a cable system with computers and filters at each school in Lantanya.

“The signals will be digital and come from a commercial satellite network,” she explained to Max. “Digital is faster than the analog system you
are using at present at the university level. Those will be replaced.”

Max nodded. “Could we incorporate a training program so that graduate students would do the actual installations and setup of the computers and software?”

“That would slow us down,” her chief engineer said, his frown indicating he didn't care for the idea.

“But it can be done,” Ivy interrupted. “Your graduate systems engineers can handle the computer-modem setup at each location under our senior engineer. We've already agreed to use local labor for installing the cables and related equipment.”

“Perfect,” Max murmured. “Please continue.”

Ivy led the discussion on the final components of the system as the team went over the plans down to the final detail. They found no mistakes on the drawings and made only one minor modification to the overall system.

Max occasionally asked a question, but otherwise listened attentively. After her initial tension dissipated, Ivy became engrossed in the work, although she never lost her awareness of the man who sat on her right, his dark eyes alert and taking in everything.

They stopped for a short break at ten-thirty, then finished up the meeting at eleven-thirty. Ivy thanked them for their hard work on the project, handed the flow chart sheets to the head engineer and turned off the projector.

“Shall we see if Trent is ready?” she asked Max,
pausing at the light switch. When he nodded, she flicked out the light and led the way to her brother's office. She was acutely aware of Max's hand on the small of her back, big and warm and confident, as they walked down the hall.

Trent was on the phone, but his secretary told them to go on in. He smiled and waved them to a seat while he finished the conversation.

Ivy, listening, realized one of their employees had been injured on the job. Her brother was talking to the doctor on the case.

“Crosby Systems will pick up the tab, no matter what the insurance company does,” Trent said firmly, “so start the physical therapy when he's ready.”

Ivy was proud of Trent. At thirty-seven, he was CEO of the firm and very good at his job. Their father had trained him to be. Like Jack Crosby, Trent was a workaholic and he also was divorced. Ivy had been amazed when Trent had married a woman so like their mother in character that it was scary.

Vain and self-centered, his wife had been a model. Her life had revolved around her beauty and social engagements, leaving little time for Trent and the family he'd wanted. Thank goodness there had been no children.

Katie and Trent were fairly close, due to working together for years, and Katie had told her all about their big brother's disastrous marriage.

Ivy stole a glance at Max. Marriage was so
uncertain, even when the couple shared the same background. Passion didn't seem to be a very reliable criterion.

“Ready?” Trent asked. “Dad and Toni are holding a table for us.”

The three of them went together in Trent's car. Ten minutes later they arrived and parked in the shade of an old oak tree near the entrance to the club. Ivy realized she'd forgotten to prepare Max for her father and his wife.

“Hello. I see you finally got here,” Jack Crosby said, standing when he saw them.

Ivy placed a duty kiss on his cheek, then stood aside while he spoke to Trent and shook hands with Max when her brother introduced the men. Ivy let her father introduce his second wife, Toni.

Max took the woman's hand and gave an elegant little bow. His only expression was a pleasant smile. No surprise showed in his eyes as it did in most people's upon meeting the stepmother, who was thirty-seven to Jack Crosby's sixty-nine years. Thirty-two years' difference.

But recalling what she'd read about other marriages among royalty, a large age difference didn't seem to bother them as long as the woman produced the necessary heir. And maybe a spare.

Ivy was jolted by how cynical she sounded, even to herself.

As the group was seated, she had to admit Toni
wasn't the usual trophy wife. She held an MBA from a prestigious school back east. After she was hired for a position in the marketing department, Jack had made her his executive assistant before he'd married her and retired.

Actually Toni had been an asset to Jack and to the company. She was still his confidante and trustworthy advisor. She and Katie got along well, too. Not that Ivy had any quarrel with her stepmother, but they weren't close.

“You look familiar,” Toni now said, tilting her head and studying Max. “Your accent is slight but detectable. European. Italian, perhaps?”

“You have an excellent ear. I'm from Lantanya, just off the coast of Italy,” Max told her. “An island kingdom few people remember exists.”

“Trent tells me you're a consultant to the education minister there,” Jack said, a question in his voice.

Ivy was aware of Max's slight hesitation and his glance at her before he replied, “In a manner of speaking.”

Apparently Katie hadn't told Trent of Max's real identity. She didn't know whether this was the time to do so or not. The moment passed before she reached a decision as the waiter brought the day's specials to their attention.

“I think I'll have the salmon,” Toni said. “You should, too, darling,” she said to her husband. “It's supposed to be good for the heart.”

“Yes, dear,” her father said meekly, then laughed as his wife balled her fist and tapped him on the shoulder.

Ivy smiled at their playfulness. She'd always assumed Toni had married Jack for his money and position, but after the woman's concern at his last heart attack, which was the second one in five years, Ivy wasn't so sure.

Maybe Toni did love Jack…or at least was smart enough to keep up the pretense that she did. Dear ol' Dad had been a womanizer all his life. It would take a sharp gal to keep his attention. Toni, with her intelligence and blond-haired, blue-eyed, model-perfect looks, seemed able to do that.

But Ivy didn't envy her stepmother the job. It wasn't the life she wanted with her mate, always having to strive to keep his interest, never letting your guard down and staying on the lookout for other women wanting your position. She wanted a husband she could trust.

Mentally sighing, she studied Max as he chatted with the others, completely at ease in this environment. She could imagine their life together during their private moments, those in which they indulged the wild passion between them, but she feared privacy would be a rare thing in their lives.

What if Max went to other women when she wasn't available, just as her father had done to her mother?

The idea caused her such pain that she couldn't think about it with others around. It brought her too low, too close to the brink of tears.

“Ivy,” Max said gently.

She blinked, realized she was still staring and looked away from his handsome face.

“Your order?” he coaxed.

“Oh. Uh, I'll have the salmon, too.” She hadn't heard her father order it, but she assumed he had. “No potatoes. A double serving of the mixed veggies, please.”

After Max and Trent put in their order, the waiter left. Ivy tried to keep her mind on the discussion of the weather and her father's golf score.

For his age, he looked really good, Ivy mused. His blond hair, once very much like hers, had gone white. He had a golfer's tan and kept his weight in check. Having come from a poor family, he was proud of starting his own company and making millions, and looked the part.

“He'd better watch his game,” Toni declared. “I'm very close to beating him.” She tossed her head and gave Jack a challenging oblique glance, definitely flirty.

Maybe that was the way to keep a man's attention. Flirt with him, throw challenges at him, keep him guessing about one's motives, the hidden messages behind the teasing tone.

Ivy sighed. She didn't think she was cut out for that kind of intrigue and double-entendre teasing.

Max leaned close. “Stop worrying,” he said sternly.

“I can't,” she admitted.

“You're not in this alone, you know.”

She gazed into his eyes, which seemed so deep that she could see right into his soul. For a long minute he left himself open to her, then he smiled and took her hand under cover of the table.

“Let me do the worrying,” he murmured. “Let's tell your father we plan to marry before the end of the month.”

A horrible sense of disaster rolled over her, leaving her speechless.

“I can see the idea appeals to you,” he said with a sardonic twist and a flicker of other emotions in his eyes that she couldn't read.

Ivy had to open her mouth and force herself to breathe. It was then that she noticed her relatives were staring at her and Max. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled too much, and she gave up the effort.

Max had no such trouble. “As you may have guessed,” he said in a lazy drawl, “I'm courting Ivy. Or trying to. She's stubborn, as I'm sure you've realized.”

Ivy wanted to sink right through the floor as four pairs of eyes observed her with differing expressions. She decided she would kill Max as soon as they were alone.

 

Max smiled to himself as he rode home with Ivy at five-thirty that afternoon. She was furious with him for telling her family he was courting her. She was also trying not to show it. He theorized she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her.

He wanted to do just that, in more ways than one.

The blood surged hotly through his body. Being with her all day had fueled his ardor instead of cooling it. Had she but known it, her refusal to bend to his wishes only made the challenge that much more interesting.

“Out with it before you explode,” he told her when she pulled onto the freeway.

She shot him a searing glance. “Why did you tell my family that we—that you—that—”

“I'm courting you? I am.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's the only solution,” he told her. “I know you don't think we know each other well enough for marriage, so I'm giving you the time you need. We'll do the things other couples do while dating.”

“Huh. Where do you want me to drop you?” she asked, icicles coating the words.

“Wherever you're going is fine.”

“I'm going home.”

“That's where I'm going, too.”

“You're not coming home with me.”

“I thought we would have dinner and enjoy a quiet evening together. It's something I rarely get to do.”

“Poor overworked prince,” she scoffed.

He fingered one of her riotous curls, then leaned close. “We could talk, have dinner, talk, make love, then talk some more.”