The Expectant Princess. Stella BagwellЧитать онлайн книгу.
Michael know of your arrival?”
Edward opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a word, his son, Luke, quickly interceded. “We’ve only just now come from the airport, Your Majesty, and—”
The remainder of the younger man’s sentence was missed as another flurry of activity caused everyone’s attention to swing once again to the entrance of the cathedral. Instantly, mouths gaped and soft gasps of alarm sounded. A royal guard was rushing toward the christening party as if demons were on his heels.
Clearly anticipating that something was amiss, Nicholas put a bracing hand under his mother’s elbow. Next to Dominique, Rebecca silently reached for her daughter. Dominique carefully handed LeAnn back to her sister-in-law and waited with the rest as the young guard bowed before the royal family.
“What is it, man?” Nicholas demanded impatiently.
The guard’s words came out in a breathless rush. “I fear it’s bad news, Your Highness. The king and his driver have been involved in an accident. The car crashed through a guardrail and careened down the side of a steep cliff. We believe both men are dead.”
Wails of utter shock and horror rose from the crowd to echo off the hallowed walls of the cathedral. Before Dominique could begin to comprehend the news, a security detail was surrounding Nicholas.
At the same time, Marcus Kent, the king’s high counsel, was pushing his way forward through the group of stunned dignitaries and friends.
In a daze, Dominique watched as he lay his hand on her brother’s shoulder and soberly spoke, “According to the Edenbourg Treatise, it is now my solemn duty to proclaim Nicholas to be the acting king of Edenbourg until Michael is found or declared dead.”
Josephine gripped her son’s arm. “What do you mean found?” she asked Marcus. “Has the king’s body not yet been recovered?”
Marcus shook his head. “No. Security has just now informed me that King Michael’s body is missing from the accident scene.”
Dominique didn’t hear the laments of those around her. Nor did she realize a cry of pain was spilling from her own lips as she pressed a hand to her stomach and rushed from the abbey.
Chapter One
A few steps away from the cathedral’s grassy courtyard, Dominique laid her cheek against a column of cool marble and tried to calm her roiling stomach.
Dear God, don’t let me be sick now, she silently prayed. Her mother, her family were going to need her strength. They couldn’t be burdened with the secret she carried. At least, not now.
Even though she desperately tried to hold them back, tears poured from her eyes. She was a princess, bred and tutored to be strong under the very worst of circumstances. If her father knew she was displaying such emotion in a public place he would be horrified and angry.
The sobering thought braced her somewhat and she forced herself to dig a tiny embroidered kerchief from her handbag. With trembling hands, she carefully dabbed at the moisture beneath her eyes.
“Dominique? Are you all right?”
Dominique’s heart went still, then lurched into a hard, anxious thud. Nearly four years had passed since she’d seen him, but the male voice behind her was as familiar as yesterday’s sunset.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped away from the marble column and turned to face the man she’d tried her best to forget.
Even before Marcus Kent had become her father’s top adviser, he’d been an impressive figure of a man both intellectually and physically. At two inches over six feet, he was all lean muscle and broad shoulders. Short, raven-black hair waved slightly back from a wide forehead and strong, roughly chiseled features. Thick black eyebrows and lashes framed a pair of eyes that were nothing less than striking. Their smoky-topaz color was as unique as the man himself.
At thirty-three he was twelve years Dominique’s senior. Yet as she gazed at him now, she knew she had never met a man who stirred her more.
“It wasn’t necessary for you to check on me, Marcus. But thank you just the same.”
Three strides carried him to within inches of her and she felt herself quivering with renewed awareness as his solemn gaze searched her upturned face. The years she’d been away at university in the States had been kind to him. He looked just as virile and potently masculine as he had that day she’d said goodbye.
“You were very white when you fled your family a moment ago. I wanted to make certain you hadn’t fainted.”
“I’m sure a guard followed me.” She wouldn’t know of life any other way. Being a member of a royal family made her a target. She’d long ago had to counsel herself to the fact that her movements in public, no matter how trivial, were almost always watched and her behavior scrutinized. Especially here in the city of Old Stanbury.
“I expect at this moment you need more than a guard’s presence.”
His gentle suggestion caused pricks of fresh tears to burn the backs of her eyes. Determined to do her father proud, she blinked and sniffed and swallowed them down. But the idea that King Michael might really be gone from their lives drained the very strength from her legs and she grabbed for Marcus’s hand almost at the same moment he reached out to steady her.
“Oh, Marcus,” she said hoarsely. “This has to be a nightmare. Please tell me Father can’t be dead.”
From the moment Marcus had spotted Dominique entering the cathedral this morning, his insides had gathered into hard knots and remained that way. In the past few days, he’d learned from the king himself that she was home from university to attend this morning’s christening. But he’d deliberately avoided going by her suite of rooms in the family’s palace to say hello.
Years ago Marcus had made a point to quell her schoolgirl adulation for him and, in doing so, he suspected he’d crushed her young pride. At the time he’d not set out to deliberately hurt or embarrass her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d always been genuinely fond of Dominique and he’d wanted to send her off to university with a clear mind. Not cluttered with romantic notions for an older man.
Four years had passed since then, and he figured somewhere in between she’d forgiven him for forcing her to take off her rose-colored glasses where he was concerned. As for himself, the years Dominique had been away had seen him married with high hopes, then divorced with bitter regret.
Now he wished he had made a point of seeing Dominique before this morning. Maybe then he would have been prepared for the drastic change in her appearance. She’d grown into a woman whose beauty knocked the very breath from his lungs.
Her tall, slender body now moved with grace and poise. The golden-brown cap of curls he remembered framing her face had grown into long waves that very nearly touched the back of her waist. Today the thick tresses were pulled back from her temples with diamond-studded combs that matched the loops of diamonds dangling from her earlobes. He recalled her eyes being the same pale green he was looking into, only now their open innocence was gone, replaced by a provocative slant and a touch of shadowy mystery that was utterly feminine. A perfectly straight nose led down to an equally perfect set of lips. Plump and moist; the top lip dipped deeply in the middle, the bottom curved to an enticing pout.
No doubt she had been properly kissed since he’d last seen her, Marcus thought. In fact, for all he knew, she might have already given her heart to some young man.
The gentle pressure of her fingers tightening around his brought Marcus out of his wandering thoughts—thoughts that were both foolish and improper on his part. It didn’t matter that her cream-colored dress did more than hint at the luscious curves of a woman. To him she could be nothing more than the king’s young daughter. A king who, it appeared, was most likely dead.
“I’m sorry, Dominique. I can’t give you hope when there seems to be none.”
Her