Her Royal Baby

CHAPTER SIX

IT GREW stranger.

For a start they sat in the pointy end of the aeroplane. First class. Tammy had never sat in anything other than economy in her life.

Marc had booked three seats. There was a baby crib in front of them so Henry could be put down when he needed to sleep. There was room on the floor for Henry to crawl, and the stewards were on hand to cater for every whim.

But from the time Tammy entered the aircraft she felt as if she’d wandered onto the wrong movie set.

‘Can’t I go and sit in economy?’ she asked. ‘I don’t feel like I’m flying unless my knees are stuck into my chin.’

‘Stick your knees under your chin if you must,’ Marc growled. ‘But you stay here. If you leave me with Henry then I’ll go into a spasm.’

She cast him a sideways look. He was eyeing Henry as if he might bite. ‘Babies aren’t your thing, huh?’

‘They certainly aren’t.’

Not for the first time she wondered about him. What was it her mother had said about him? That he was a womaniser? Maybe, but the description didn’t quite fit.

Here in the forced intimacy of the airliner facing a twenty-four-hour flight, there was all the time in the world to ask questions. After all, what could he do if he was offended? Kick her off the plane? No way, she decided. He wouldn’t even tolerate her going to economy.

So she could chance a few impertinent questions.

‘You’re not married?’

‘I’ve told you I’m not.’

‘Do you have a partner?’

He raised his eyebrows at that. ‘A partner…’ His dark eyes suddenly crinkled in amusement. ‘You’re covering all eventualities here. Do I have a girlfriend, a boyfriend or a dog?’

‘Okay.’ She smiled back. ‘Any of the above. Do you?’

He thought about it for a minute and then nodded, as though the question was a bit of an imposition but he’d answer it anyway. ‘I have a girlfriend.’

‘I see.’ A girlfriend. So what was he doing kissing her? Maybe her mother was right. He was a womanizer.

She shouldn’t mind. She didn’t. Did she?

‘What about you?’ he asked, his tone suddenly curious. ‘My detective says you have no one.’

‘It’s hardly fair,’ she complained. ‘I have to believe what you tell me. You get me privately investigated.’

‘That’s what money is for,’ he said equitably. ‘But as for me… Since I’ve succeeded to Jean-Paul’s position you need hardly hire a private investigator. Any European women’s magazine will tell you more than you ever wanted to know.’ His brow creased. ‘You were in Europe for three years. I can’t believe you wouldn’t have heard about Lara. She was a real hit with the press-her wedding photos made the front of every major newspaper.’

‘I would have been back in Australia by the time she was married,’ Tammy said, thinking her timeline through. ‘Back up a gum tree.’

‘Your favourite place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because?’

‘Because people hurt,’ she said honestly. ‘Getting attached hurts. I tried with Lara and look what happened.’

‘Yet you’ll try again with Henry?’

‘I have no choice.’

‘You do have a choice. I told you I was prepared to bring Henry back to Broitenburg by myself.’

‘And your girlfriend? What would she think of that?’

‘Ingrid is hardly a baby person, and our relationship is hardly long-term. But you know I’d take care of him.’

‘Yeah?’ Henry was on her knee, sucking an ear of his newly acquired teddy with all the intensity of an athlete competing in a marathon. Henry and Teddy had contracted a case of love at first sight, and Tammy suspected Ted’s ear wasn’t going to make Singapore, much less Europe. ‘You’d take care of him?’

‘Yes.’

Right. She cast him a suspicious glance. The man looked immeasurably sure of himself. Capable of anything. Capable of caring for babies?

‘Then how about starting now?’ she asked him, and before he could demur she lifted Henry across so that he was sitting on the knee of His Highness, Prince Regent of Broitenburg.

His Highness, Prince Regent of Broitenburg, looked stunned to the socks.

‘I…I can’t.’

‘You just said you could.’ She closed her eyes with a determination she was far from feeling. In fact she wanted to stay awake and watch. But… ‘I’m going to sleep now, Your Highnesses,’ she told them both. ‘Entertain yourselves.’

To her surprise she did sleep, and when she woke hours later the cabin lights were dimmed and the man beside her was asleep as well.

As was Henry. The little boy had fallen asleep on Marc’s knee. The stewards had placed blankets over all of them. From her cocoon of blankets Tammy stared across in the dim light at man and baby sleeping together. They looked warm and contented, and very, very much as if they belonged together.

They even looked alike! Henry’s tiny lashes were fast shut in an exact replica of his princely cousin’s. His head was tucked under Marc’s chin and, outside the blankets, Marc’s big hand had a tiny fist curled around one of his fingers.

The sight was suddenly almost too much for Tammy. She gazed at the pair of them and found a lump the size of a golf ball forming in the back of her throat. Damn, what was it about this man that made her feel like weeping? This man and this baby…

She knew nothing about him, she thought desperately. Nothing. Except that he was Prince Regent of a small and lovely principality and he had a girlfriend called Ingrid.

‘Ingrid is hardly a baby person,’ he’d said. Was Marc a baby person? He hadn’t seemed so. Yet sitting here, looking at the way the little boy was snuggled into him, it seemed there was a way into this royal heart. He might seem ruthless and overbearing, but Henry was exposing a side she suspected had never been exposed before.

Ingrid is hardly a baby person.

What sort of person was Marc-and what sort of household was Tammy getting into?

It was a household so large that it took her breath away.

No, she thought, stunned. It wasn’t a house in any sense of the word. The limousine swept them along the vast curved driveway and stopped beneath steps that could have graced the parliament of a great nation. Below the steps was a lake, stretching away into the distance, and above…

Above their heads the castle soared skyward. It was something straight out of a fairytale. Built of white stone, three storeys high without its score of turrets and towers spiralling above, it glistened with a beauty that made Tammy catch her breath.

It wasn’t ostentatious-or maybe it was, but it was built with such grace and charm that ‘ostentatious’ was the wrong adjective. It could only be called beautiful. Nestled against a backdrop of magical mountains, surrounded by exquisite gardens and woodland, the scene made her want to jump from the car and explore right now.

She could scarcely take it all in. In the foreground was the fairytale castle, all spires and gargoyles and terraces. Away in the background there were traces of snow, spider-webbing down the grander of the mountain peaks. The sun glistened down on the castle’s stonework, making the ancient palace and its surroundings come alive with vibrant colour.

White swans were sailing across the lake in all their majesty. The grounds swept on further than the eye could see. This place had been neglected, Marc had told her, but Tammy could see no hint of neglect here.

Magic!

Her new home.

‘What do you think?’ Marc was asking and she turned to find him watching her with evident enjoyment. She flushed.

‘I think…it’s a ridiculous flaunting of wealth.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Pretentious.’

‘Really?’

‘And…’ She could no longer prevent herself from stating the truth. She gazed around from the castle, to the grounds, to the lake and back to the castle again.

‘And it’s also very, very beautiful,’ she murmured, and found Marc’s smile had faded.

‘It is,’ he said slowly, and for a moment as his gaze still rested on her face she wasn’t sure exactly what he meant.

Neither was Marc.

But Tammy couldn’t dwell on Marc’s thoughts. She had enough of her own to absorb. She thought back to the shabby one-room apartment that had been her base for the past ten years and had to pinch herself to believe she wasn’t dreaming. And when a uniformed butler made his stately way down the steps and held the car door wide for her she had to pinch herself all over again.

‘This isn’t real,’ she muttered, and found that Marc was watching her still. His laughter had faded completely now and there was a strangely enigmatic expression in the back of his eyes.

‘It’s real.’

‘Welcome home,’ the butler was saying, with all the solemnity in the world, and she closed her eyes and wondered what on earth she had got herself into.

Welcome home indeed.

The staff were lined up to meet them. It was like something out of a television show, Tammy thought dumbly, walking along the line of uniformed staff to be introduced. There must be twenty people assembled in the great hall. Marc knew each of them by name. He greeted them with what seemed to Tammy to be real friendliness.

‘I won’t be able to remember anyone,’ Tammy stammered unhappily, suddenly acutely conscious of her shabby clothes. Maybe Marc had been right. Maybe one dress wouldn’t have hurt. Or two…

‘We won’t expect you to.’ Marc was smiling at her, with the smile that had caused so much trouble. Was it that smile that had made her agree to this crazy journey? ‘But maybe you’d better learn the most important. This is Dominic, our butler and head steward. And, Tammy, this is Mrs Burchett.’

An elderly lady was on the end of the receiving line. She bobbed a curtsey to Marc but her eyes were on the baby in Marc’s arms. Since the flight Henry had moved back and forth between the two adults naturally, and now he was cradled in Marc’s arms as if he belonged. ‘Mrs Burchett is our housekeeper,’ Marc was telling Tammy as Henry gurgled his own greeting, ‘and she’s English. Anything you want to know, ask Madge.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure.’ Madge Burchett beamed, her smile enough to lessen Tammy’s feeling of intimidation all on its own. ‘Oh, hasn’t the wee lad grown? We haven’t seen him since just after his birth. And you’re his aunt.’ Her eyes raked Tammy from head to foot, and Tammy could sense the comparison to her sister. Nothing was said, though, except, ‘You’re very welcome…?’

‘Thank you.’

‘Can I take you and the little one up to your rooms?’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Marc told her. He tried to hand Henry over to the housekeeper but the little boy clung. Marc disengaged his pudgy hands from around his neck and passed him to Tammy. ‘Madge, if you can look after Miss Tamsin…?’

‘I surely can. Will you come this way, please?’

Tammy cast an uncertain look at Marc, but he was already moving away from her. He’d have things to do, she told herself. A million things. He’d handed the baby over to the women. He’d played his part. From now on, his body language said, he intended to lead a very separate life.

As if on cue there was a cry of pleasure from outside and a tall, lithe woman about Tammy’s age came striding into the hall. She’d obviously been out riding. Her outfit was pure dressage-gorgeous. Her chestnut hair was twisted up into an elegant chignon, her flawless skin was beautifully made-up, and the smile she was directing at Marc was truly something to behold. She held a riding crop, but she tossed it aside and ran straight into Marc’s arms.

‘Marc. Darling! How wonderful to finally have you home.’

Tammy bit her bottom lip and turned away, to find Mrs Burchett surveying the pair with every appearance of disapproval.

‘Well, miss,’ the elderly lady said, dragging her eyes from them as if she was seeing something she’d rather not. ‘You can meet Miss Ingrid later. For now you’ll be tired of travelling and tired of meeting people. Let’s get you and the wee one settled.’

‘Tell me what the set-up is here.’

It had taken Tammy all of two minutes to know that in Mrs Burchett she’d found a friend. Jeans and faded shirts might be inappropriate for this castle, but it was obvious that Mrs Burchett had been afraid of Tammy being another Lara-or another Ingrid. Her relief was palpable.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything.’ They were settling Henry into the vast nursery suite. Henry had been the easiest child to travel with, Tammy thought and the reason was obvious. He expected nothing. He didn’t cry because tears didn’t produce results. He’d passed between Tammy and Marc with no fuss at all, and all he needed for occupation was the ear of his teddy.

He should make more fuss, she thought savagely. He should know people. He should demand attention. At ten months it was unnatural not to. The more time she spent with him the more Tammy wanted to shake her sister-her mother-Marc-anyone who’d had anything to do with him.

‘The set-up here is simple,’ Mrs Burchett told her. ‘Apart from you and Prince Marc and Miss Ingrid, there’s just staff. Until Prince Jean-Paul’s death we hardly saw any of the royal family. Jean-Paul and your sister spent most of their time in resorts that are a good deal more exotic than this place. We were too far from the major cities for Prince Jean-Paul. The last time I saw Master Henry was when he was two weeks old. The family hasn’t been back here since.’

‘Never?’

‘Never.’ The housekeeper shook her head. She gave Tammy a searching look, and then decided to be even more forthcoming. ‘We run a good household,’ she told her, ‘but the last few years have been hard. Many of us weren’t being paid. It was only the fact that many had nowhere else to go that made us stay. Like me. I was an assistant cook-I came twenty years ago to have a change of scene when my husband died. Normally I’d never have been promoted to housekeeper somewhere as grand as this, but everyone more senior left. It’s only since Prince Jean-Paul died that things have started to be put back in order.’

‘By Marc?’

‘By His Highness, yes.’

She couldn’t call him His Highness, Tammy thought ruefully. Maybe if he hadn’t kissed her…

Maybe. But for whatever reason she simply didn’t think of him as His Highness. She thought of him as Marc.

‘And Miss Ingrid?’

‘She’s been here for three days,’ Mrs Burchett told her and the disapproval was straight back again. ‘She arrived to wait for him-so she said. She’s been acting like she owns the place since she arrived. Like Princess Lara’s moth-’ She gasped as she realised what she’d nearly said, and bit back the words, but Tammy knew what she’d intended to say.

‘Like my mother?’

‘I didn’t mean…’ Madge Burchett put a hand up to cover her eyes, and when they reappeared Tammy saw tears glistening on her lashes. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m speaking out of turn. It’s just…I seldom see anyone here who’s English, and we’ve been hoping for so long that the little one would come back here. It means everything to us that His Highness has succeeded in bringing him home. And it’s not just me who’s affected. It’s everyone in this country. My tongue’s run away with me. I had no business criticising Miss Ingrid or your mother. My dear, I never meant…’

‘You needn’t worry. There’s no love lost between my mother and me.’

‘Beg pardon, miss.’ The elderly lady gave an audible sniff. ‘But are you thinking you’ll stay?’

‘I don’t seem to have any choice.’ Tammy sat down on the vast and opulent bed in the room next to Henry’s and swung her legs. Her toes didn’t touch the floor. This was some bed. It was some palace. More and more she was starting to wonder what she was doing here. She had no role. Aunt to Henry? Here on a permanent basis? She’d be a fish out of water.

But at least there was kindness among the staff. Mrs Burchett might think she’d been out of line, but her welcome couldn’t have been warmer. Now she was beaming at her with a smile that would have warmed the coldest of hearts. ‘It’s so lovely to see the wee one with someone who cares. We were that pleased when His Highness rang and said you’d refused to let Henry come back without you. It’s the first time we’ve had anyone even hinting that they care about the baby’s welfare. Poor little mite. And now…’ She gave herself a little shake, as if she’d said what she wanted to say and was now moving on. ‘I’ll let you unpack and sort yourself out. Is your luggage coming in another car?’

‘This is my luggage.’

The woman looked down at the grubby backpack in dismay. ‘But, my dear…’

‘It’s all I need.’

‘But what will you wear to dinner?’

‘This. I intend to eat here. I don’t want to eat with His Highness. Or…or Ingrid.’

‘You can’t eat up here.’ The housekeeper sounded appalled.

‘Then I’ll eat with you, in the servant quarters.’

‘That would never do.’ The thought was clearly horrific.

Damn. Tammy looked around her at the lushly furnished nursery suite. It might be gorgeous, but it needed a stove and a fridge and a few basic essentials. And she just knew there wouldn’t be a supermarket for miles! ‘Can’t I just have a sandwich up here?’

‘Maybe for tonight…’ the housekeeper said doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure… Does His Highness know what you intend?’

‘His Highness knows I intend to be independent.’

‘And he approves?’

‘It hardly matters,’ Tammy told her, somehow managing a reassuring smile. ‘I make my own decisions.’

‘I’ll send you up your sandwich, dear,’ Mrs Burchett told her. ‘If that’s what you want. But what the Prince will say I daren’t think…’

True to her word, Mrs Burchett sent up sandwiches and a glass of milk for her dinner. By that time Tammy had been in the castle for a whole two hours.

She was hardly at home yet. She’d spent the two hours unpacking-well, that had taken her ten minutes. Then she’d explored her surroundings. She seemed to have a vast wing to herself, and it was so huge it took her an hour of prowling before she felt she knew the half of what was there. She wasn’t brave enough to leave her wing in case she never found her way back.

She’d fed Henry, whose time clock was out of kilter. He’d eaten and fallen asleep almost straight away. She’d showered, put on clean jeans, and then tried to figure out how she could stop feeling strange.

It was impossible, she thought, and when the sandwiches and milk arrived on silver salvers, complete with uniformed steward carrying them, she felt really, really ridiculous.

Worse was to come. She’d had one bite of a sandwich and there was a knock on the door. There was no wait for a response. Marc marched right in. He was dressed for dinner. Royal dinner. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, royal blue tie.

He was certainly something! He looked a real prince, Tammy thought, and tried to stop her heart giving the absurd lurch she was almost growing accustomed to.

He stopped two feet inside the door and stared at her sandwich as if it was personally offensive.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘What do you think?’ She was perched on the side of her ridiculous bed and she waved her sandwich at him. ‘Eating dinner.’

‘Dinner’s in the dining room. Now.’

‘Nope. Dinner’s here.’

He marched across and picked up her sandwich, inspecting it as if it was poison. ‘So Mrs Burchett was right. You’re eating ham sandwiches for dinner!’

‘They didn’t have Vegemite.’

He didn’t even smile. He took a step back and surveyed her as if she’d arrived from another planet.

‘Henry’s asleep,’ he told her, slowly, as if she might have trouble understanding the language.

‘Mmm.’ She smiled.

‘So why are you sitting up here? Alone?’

‘I told you. We keep our lives separate. That’s the way I want it, so I might as well start now.’

‘That’s ridiculous. Mrs Burchett has prepared a wonderful dinner. I won’t allow you to offend the staff.’

‘Mrs Burchett sent me the sandwiches. She understands.’

‘She doesn’t understand anything.’ He stood back and raked his hair in a gesture that contained both weariness and frustration. ‘Tammy, it’s my job to get this place running as it should. In my uncle’s time this was a family home. The staff here nearly all worked under him and that’s what they want to see. Normality. Most of them have remained loyal under the most outrageous circumstances. They’re delighted that Henry’s here and that I’ve elected to stay tonight as well. The least you can do is come down and enjoy the banquet they’ve put on for us.’

‘Banquet?’

‘Banquet.’

Tammy’s heart sank. She stared across to the far wall. An entire bank of mirrors sent twenty reflections of her bedraggled self straight back.

‘I’m not a princess,’ she told him. ‘I don’t belong here.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You’re Henry’s guardian and his aunt,’ he said with an attempt at patience. ‘You have as much a place in this house-in this family-as I have. You can’t seriously expect to sit up here and sulk in your bedroom for the next twenty-five years.’

‘I’ll find a house.’ She’d already realized the impossibility of staying where she was. ‘This estate is enormous. There must be somewhere Henry and I can stay independently. A gardener’s cottage or something.’

‘Oh, certainly,’ he said with exaggerated scorn. ‘Henry is the heir to the crown. Are you seriously saying he’ll live in a gardener’s cottage until he’s twenty-five?’

‘I’m a gardener,’ she flashed at him. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. But Henry’s the heir to the throne.’

‘If I hear that phrase one more time-’

‘You’ll hear it lots of times,’ he snapped. ‘Because that’s what this whole thing’s about. You think I wanted any of this? I have a beautiful property of my own, not ten miles south of here. Renouys is my home. That’s where I want to be. I didn’t want to be Prince Regent. I didn’t want to be responsible for Henry. But someone has to make the hard calls. Someone has to care.’

‘I’m only in this country because I care.’

‘Then go the whole way. I thought you had more to you than this. Skulking in your bedroom because you’re scared of a formal dinner…’

‘I am not!’ She was standing now, her face white with fury. ‘As if I don’t know how to eat with the likes of you!’

‘What other reason is there for you to refuse to come down to dinner?’

She glowered. ‘I have jet-lag.’

‘Yeah, right. And I’m the King of Siam. You slept like a top the last six hours in the plane.’

‘I did not.’

‘You slept,’ he said harshly, but a glimmer of laughter was returning to the back of his eyes. ‘I should know. You slept on my shoulder while Henry’s dampness seeped into my shirt. I have a crick in my neck and a stained shirt to prove it. For six hours I couldn’t move-and very uncomfortable it was, too.’

‘I did not sleep on your shoulder!’

‘Shall we ring the airline stewards and have them adjudicate?’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘It is,’ he said politely, and looked at his watch. ‘Ingrid and I are having pre-dinner drinks. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. I ask that you join us.’

‘I don’t want-’

‘Neither do I. But I must. And I think you should make up your mind that you must, too.’

‘I’ve only got jeans…’

The hint of laughter deepened as he surveyed her shabby self. ‘Whose fault is that?’

She glowered even more.

‘You’ll come?’

‘I…’

‘You have no choice.’

‘Fine!’ she threw at him. ‘Fine. I’ll come to dinner in my rags and I’ll disgrace myself before your entire staff and you can snigger at me all you want. Fine. Just get out of my room now.’

‘I-’

‘Get out!’

Fifteen minutes.

Help.

She could go as she was. She should, she thought grimly. She should do just that.

But…she was Henry’s guardian. She had a place in this household until Henry no longer needed it. She should give it a fair go.

The glimmer of laughter in Marc’s eyes came back to haunt her. Damn the man. How dared he place her in such a situation?

He had tried to warn her…

She stared at her battered backpack as if it was a personal enemy. What on earth was she to do? She just knew that Ingrid would be gorgeous, and playing beggar maid to a handsome prince and princess was not her cup of tea at all.

But Lara had lived here for a while, she thought slowly. Lara, who chose and discarded clothes on a whim. If she’d lived here even for a short time… She bit her lip, indecision playing over her face. Could she? Should she?

Why not? She was in a fairytale castle. Why not indeed?

‘Call me if there’s anything you want,’ Mrs Burchett had told her. ‘The bell connects to the kitchens. Normally I’d have one of the girls answer it, but tonight I’ll answer it myself.’

She stared at the bell and then made her decision.

She was a long, long way from the bush. She was a long, long way from home.

Ingrid was growing impatient. Marc’s steward caught him on the stairs and detained him for another few minutes, and by the time he returned to the drawing room she could scarcely conceal her annoyance. ‘Where have you been?’

Her tone was proprietorial enough to annoy him. ‘Inviting Henry’s aunt down to join us,’ he told her.

‘For dinner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does she want to join us?’ Ingrid asked incredulously. ‘I would have thought…’

‘You would have thought what?’

He hadn’t been expecting Ingrid to be here waiting for him. In truth he’d been looking forward to a few days to work things out before he contacted her. But she was here now, and the fact that he didn’t feel like speaking to anyone had to be overcome.

‘Well, her sort…’

‘Yes?’ He stilled, watching Ingrid. ‘What do you mean-her sort?’

‘Well, she’s clearly not used to moving in our circles.’ Ingrid smiled her gorgeous smile and her gentle laughter tinkled out musically in the beautiful salon. ‘What did you tell me? You’ve dragged her here from the Australian bush? Darling, you’ll be lucky if she knows how to use a knife and fork.’

‘She’s Lara’s sister,’ Marc snapped, and Ingrid nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes. Isn’t it amazing? That those two can be sisters…? Lara was a beauty.’

‘Tammy-Tamsin isn’t exactly ugly.’

‘No, dear, but those clothes…and those freckles…’

‘Do you want to go in to dinner?’ he asked shortly, offering his arm.

‘You don’t want to wait for our little mate from the bush?’

‘No need,’ said a dangerously controlled voice from the door. ‘Your little mate from the bush is right here.’

She took his breath away. Marc turned to face the door and it was all he could do not to gasp.

How had she done this in fifteen minutes?

She was transformed.

Gone were her faded jeans and her old shirt. Gone was Tammy Dexter, tree surgeon. In her place…Tamsin.

The dress was deceptively simple-a sliver of brilliantly cut black silk. It had a scooped neckline and tiny capped sleeves. It curved into a cinched waist and hugged her hips to a short, short hemline. Her long tanned legs went on for ever to a pair of strappy black sandals that made her legs look even longer than they were.

And the rest… Her burnished curls were brushed to a shimmering glory, swinging around her shoulders in a soft cloud. She’d found some make-up-just a little-just enough to add a tiny touch of colour to her lovely mouth and accentuate those huge brown eyes.

She was stunning!

‘Where the hell did you get the clothes?’ he demanded, and her eyes creased in amusement.

‘Now, here I was, wondering whether my manners were up to scratch.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly, catching himself. She was right. As a greeting it was hardly appropriate. ‘I…Tammy, this is Ingrid. My…’

‘Partner,’ Ingrid finished for him, her dark eyes giving him a strange sideways glance. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you…Tammy.’ She came forward and took Tammy’s hand in her cool grasp, gave it a lightly welcoming squeeze. ‘How are you, my dear? We were just saying you must be feeling very strange. I wouldn’t have wondered if you’d wanted dinner in your room tonight.’ Her eyes perused Tammy and her look of light amusement deepened. ‘You’ve been raiding your sister’s clothes, I see. Well done, you. I was going to wrap them up and send them to charity, but if you can use them…’

The implication was obvious, and Tammy flushed. But she held her cool. This woman reminded her of her mother, and Tammy had learned early that anger wasn’t a useful tool. Other methods were more effective.

‘I’m pleased that you did no such thing,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ve yet to see the terms of my sister’s will, but I doubt her private property would be yours to dispose of. Legal writs are so tiresome, don’t you think?’ She took the flute of champagne Marc had poured for her and smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s just what I needed. And Dom Pérignon…my favourite.’

Fifteen minutes ago she’d been saying that what she needed was a Vegemite sandwich. Marc blinked-but then maybe he would have blinked anyway.

Wow!

Until now he’d suspected Tammy had chosen her isolated profession because of an inferiority complex. Lara and her mother, Isobelle, were magnificent. They were creatures whose every feature screamed perfection, from the tip of their beautifully pedicured toes to their gleaming tresses. If Tammy had grown up comparing herself to such perfection-well, maybe anyone would have headed to the bush.

But Tammy was just as beautiful as her sister or her mother, he thought. Maybe even more so. She wore very little make-up and no jewellery, but in her sister’s simple black dress she made Ingrid appear overdressed and over-made-up.

And Ingrid knew. And Ingrid didn’t like it one bit.

‘Well, of course if they fit you…’ She was smiling, moving to the head of the table and gesturing to Tammy to sit. Hostess to guest. The gesture wasn’t lost on Marc who grimaced. Hell, he had things to sort out here.

But Tammy still seemed unfazed. ‘It’d be a waste not to use them,’ Tammy agreed cheerfully. ‘By the look of the wardrobes I shan’t need to buy anything more until Henry inherits.’

‘You intend to stay that long?’

‘Henry needs a mother,’ Tammy said softly, sitting down as though she’d sat at such tables all her life. The butler was behind her-he assisted her into the chair and placed a napkin on her knees and she gave him a friendly, happy smile. ‘I guess I’m it.’

‘But if Marc and I-’

‘Will you have wine?’ Marc interrupted with a harried look, and Tammy gave him her very nicest smile.

‘Yes, please.’

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.

And Tammy…

Why did his thoughts swing back to Tammy? Tammy, gazing at him from that huge tree she’d been working on. Tammy, asleep on his shoulder in the plane. Tammy, hugging her nephew, making him smile, swinging her bare feet while she sat on that huge, crazy bed.

Tammy in the tiny black dress, beating Ingrid at her own game.

Yeah, right. Get involved with Tammy and he’d be involved with this family for ever. He hated it. Hated it! And Tammy was just such a one as his mother. There was no way he’d subject her to-

Subject her? What was he thinking of? Marrying the girl?

Where had that thought come from? Ridiculous! He was so out of his comfort zone in all this that he didn’t know where he was.

‘Damn you, Jean-Paul,’ he told his dead cousin. ‘I’m not playing your games. I’m not playing any games. I do what I have to do and then I get out of here.’

Tammy…

Don’t be a fool, he told himself as he rounded the last bend and trod up the steps back into the castle. I should never have kissed her. God knows why I did. One thing’s for certain: it’s never going to happen again. She doesn’t want me just as much as I don’t want her.

But…how much was that?