Royally Pregnant. Barbara McCauley

no, thank you.” Emily shifted until she found a comfortable spot, then accepted the tea Sally offered. “But surely Dyl—Prince Dylan—has more important matters to deal with than me.”

      Pulling out a wooden bed tray from underneath the cart, Sally placed it over Emily’s legs, then reached for a set of silverware and a linen napkin. “Well, the palace has been in a bit of a bumble since King Morgan fell ill.”

      “The king is ill?”

      “Heavens, yes. Very ill, with encephalitis, we were told. We’re all so happy he’s out of danger now and recovering. It’s been a huge relief for the queen and Prince Owen that Prince Dylan has finally come home.”

      Emily sipped the tea Sally handed her; the warmth of the liquid relaxed her. “Prince Dylan has been gone?”

      “You don’t know?” Sally stared at Emily in bewilderment, then, with a small gasp, pressed her hand to her mouth. “I was told that you’ve lost your memory, but I wasn’t thinking. So it’s true, then? You really don’t remember anything? Who you are or where you’re from?”

      The ache in Emily’s temple became a throb at Sally’s question. Closing her eyes, she simply shook her head.

      “Oh dear, I’m so sorry I’ve upset you.” Distressed, the maid wrung her hands. “Here I am, supposed to take care of you and I’m only making things worse.”

      “No.” Emily drew in a long breath, then opened her eyes again and forced a smile. “No. You’ve done nothing. Tell me about Prince Dylan.”

      Sally’s face took on a dreamy look. “Prince Dylan is…amazing.”

      Emily tried not to smile. It appeared that the young maid had a crush on Dylan. Not that Emily was surprised. What woman under eighty wouldn’t be swooning over the handsome prince? Hadn’t she found her own stomach fluttering when he’d touched her?

      “You said he’d been gone,” Emily prompted.

      “For nearly two years.” Sally set the plate of bacon and eggs on the tray. “No one knows exactly where he’s been or what he’s been doing. Some say he was in Africa, hunting dangerous animals in the thickest, darkest jungles. Some say he was at sea, sailing the vast, endless oceans, visiting the most exotic ports and women. There’s even talk of an Italian contessa and a secluded villa.” Sally paused with a sigh. “He’s quite the ladies’ man, you know. So rugged and handsome and a smile that would make any woman melt on the spot.”

      “I’m sure there are puddles all around the world,” Emily said dryly, more than a little unnerved that she’d had exactly the same reaction to the man.

      “There are other rumors, too.” Sally leaned closer and whispered, “But so outrageous I really don’t think I should repeat them.”

      “No,” Dylan said stiffly from the doorway as he stepped into the room. Annoyance narrowed his eyes. “You really shouldn’t.”

      Three

      “Prince Dylan!” Her face bright red, Sally spun around and curtsied awkwardly. “I—I thought you were in a meeting with Admiral Monteque this morning.”

      Dylan resisted the urge to tug at the charcoal silk tie around his neck, wished to God he didn’t have to wear these damn suits to informal meetings. “Not for another hour.”

      Completely flustered that she’d been caught talking about a member of the royal family, an offense that she knew she could be fired for, the young maid began to babble. “I—I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness. I didn’t mean to, that is, I wouldn’t have—”

      “Never mind, Sally.” Frowning, Dylan waved a dismissive hand. “I’d like to speak to Emily, if you don’t mind.”

      Sally folded her hands in front of her and smiled. “Well, of course I don’t mind.”

      Dylan lifted a brow. “Alone.”

      “Oh, yes, of course, of course. I’m so sorry.” The maid pushed the food cart aside, then glanced at Emily. “I’ll be back in a little while to help you with a bath and wash your hair, but if you need anything at all, just dial two-four on the phone. Or I can wait outside, if you like, or I can—”

      “Sally.”

      The maid jumped at Dylan’s sharp reprimand, then backed toward the door, her eyes cast downward as she bowed out of the room.

      Brow furrowed, Dylan stared at the closed door for a long moment. He’d never quite gotten used to the bows and curtsies he’d been subjected to his entire life. He’d accepted all the formality as part of his inherited duty, but still, that didn’t mean he had to like it.

      There were times he was thankful that his brother would be named the next king. From the time they’d been young children, Owen had been more suited to rule Penwyck. He’d always had more patience, more interest in the politics of the country, while Dylan had found it difficult to stay in one place for any length of time or to follow the endless rules that the royal family was subject to. And his temper had gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion, a fact that his mother had lamented over his entire life.

      And still, there were times that Dylan wondered if he could make a difference if he were to rule the country, if he could curb his temper and rule with his intellect instead of his emotions.

      But what did it matter? Owen would be the next king of Penwyck, and Dylan bore his twin no ill will over that fact. Owen would make a fine king. He had a wife, Jordan, who would be a lovely queen, and their four-year-old daughter, Whitney, was already a beautiful princess. Owen would make their parents and family and all the people of Penwyck proud.

      Dylan turned his attention to Emily. Pillows plumped behind her back, she sat upright in the large bed, a breakfast tray perched across her legs. She watched him with a cautious, uncertain expression in her eyes, eyes still glazed and heavy from sleep.

      His blood stirred at the sight of her. With her thick, dark hair tumbling around her pale face and slender shoulders, and the soft rise of her bare breasts at the V of her green silk pajama top, she seemed more fantasy than reality.

      Then his gaze dropped to the mark on her cheek and reality returned. A swear word hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he checked himself before it escaped. Though the swelling appeared less noticeable than the day before, the bruise itself had darkened to an angry, deep blue.

      “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” She lifted her gaze to his when he moved beside the bed. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t curtsy. You’ve caught me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid.”

      “From where I’m standing, Emily, you are hardly what I, or any other man, would consider disadvantaged.” Her blush spread across her cheeks and down the long, smooth column of her neck. Once again his gaze was drawn to her breasts, and he saw the outline of her nipples under the thin silk pajama top. The blood she’d stirred only a moment ago now began to heat quickly.

      Forcing his mind off ravaging the woman, Dylan cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

      “As if my head were a forest,” she replied. “And a little man with a chain saw is busy cutting down the trees.”

      He reached for the phone. “I’ll have your nurse paged right away.”

      “It’s just a headache.” She touched his arm to stop him, then quickly pulled away. “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness. That was presumptuous of me and I—”

      “Stop that.” He frowned at her, then pulled the chair from beside the nightstand next to the bed and sat down. With a sigh, he took her hand in his. “Emily, I told you yesterday, when we’re alone, I’d rather you call me Dylan.”

      “I—” She dropped her gaze. “If you like.”

      “I like.”

      He liked a lot of