Her Royal Baby. Marion Lennox

gently, and he motioned to the car. ‘I have the papers here.’

      ‘What papers?’

      ‘The release papers.’

      ‘I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ She was standing as if she’d been turned to stone. Her face was totally devoid of colour and he thought she looked as if she was about to topple over. She looked sick.

      He made an involuntary gesture of comfort, holding out a hand—and then he pulled it away. What was he thinking of? He needed as little contact here as possible. He couldn’t possibly comfort this woman.

      ‘I need the release papers to allow me to take Henry back to Broitenburg.’

      She thought about that. ‘Lara did have a child?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I didn’t know.’ She looked up at him, her eyes bleak with shock. ‘I didn’t know anything about a baby.’ It was a despairing wail. ‘Surely if she’d had a child she would have contacted me. If she was in trouble…’

      ‘Your sister wasn’t in trouble,’ Marc told her. ‘She married Jean-Paul and she had everything she’d ever wanted. A royal marriage. Servants. Luxury you can’t begin to imagine.’

      ‘She never would have wanted a child.’

      Marc nodded. That fitted with what he knew of Lara, but there was an explanation. ‘Jean-Paul needed an heir,’ he told her. ‘He was Crown Prince of Broitenburg. He wouldn’t have married Lara if she hadn’t been prepared to give him a child.’

      Tammy thought about that, too, and it almost made sense. Maybe with Lara’s warped sense of values marrying royalty would be worth the cost of having a child. She knew her mother and Lara so well. She knew the way they thought. Money and status were everything. For Lara to be a royal bride… Yes. It was a price Lara might well have been prepared to pay.

      ‘So she had a child? Henry?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But you said Henry was here. In Australia. In Sydney.’

      ‘Lara sent him back to Australia about four months ago.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘Yes, it does matter.’ Anger and sadness were surging back and forth, and now anger won. ‘You tell me my sister married and had a baby, and was royal, and is now dead. You tell me you want the baby. And when I ask questions you say “Does it matter?”’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you here? Obviously my mother didn’t think it was worth telling me of my sister’s death. And my sister didn’t bother to tell me of her marriage or the birth of her child. So why are you here now? What are you demanding that I sign? What does all this have to do with me?’

      Marc took a deep breath. He didn’t want this. He just needed a signature and then he’d leave. He had enough complications without this, and, looking at her face, he knew a complication was looming right now.

      ‘Your sister named you as Henry’s legal guardian in the event of her death,’ he told her. ‘If Henry was still in Broitenburg it wouldn’t matter, but because he’s here your Department of Foreign Affairs say I can’t take him out of Australia without your permission.’

      It was all too much. Tammy stared at Marc for a long, long moment and then silently slipped her harness from her shoulders. She lifted a radio handset from her belt.

      She didn’t look at Marc.

      ‘Doug?’ she said into the radio, and Marc thought back to the foreman he’d met down the road, organising the rest of the team—two young women and an older man. That’d be Doug, then. ‘The people in the big car who were looking for me?’ she was saying. ‘They’ve told me that my sister and her husband have been killed and their baby—my nephew—is alone in Sydney. Can I leave my gear here and have you pick it up? I’m going to Sydney and I need to leave now.’

      There was a crackle of static, and then a man’s voice raised in concern.

      ‘Yeah, I know it’s the pits,’ Tammy said bleakly. ‘But I’ve got to go, Doug. No, I don’t know how long I’ll be away. As long as it takes. Put Lucy onto the tree I’m working on now. She has the skills. But for now… I’ll be in touch.’

      Then she laid the handset on the ground with her harness. She lifted a backpack that was lying nearby and heaved it over her shoulder. It was an action that spoke of decision.

      ‘You’re going back to Sydney now?’ she asked, still with that curious detachment.

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘But nothing,’ she told him. ‘Take me with you.’

      ‘Take you to Sydney?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ she snapped. ‘You tell me I have a nephew and I’m his guardian—’

      ‘He doesn’t need you.’

      That was blunt. She paused and bit her lip. ‘So he has someone who loves him?’ she demanded, and it was his turn to pause.

      ‘He has people—a nanny who’s caring for him—and once I have him back to Broitenburg I’ll employ someone thoroughly competent.’

      Competent. The word hung between both of them and Marc immediately knew that it wasn’t enough.

      ‘That’s not what I asked,’ she said.

      He knew what she meant but was helpless to offer more. ‘I…’

      ‘Why on earth did Lara send him home?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted honestly. ‘It seemed odd to me. But Jean-Paul and Lara were in Paris four months ago. Then they were in Italy and Switzerland. I’ve seen neither of them since just after the child was born. It wasn’t until after their death that I knew the child had been sent to Australia.’

      The child…

      That was a mistake. The brief description was chilling, even to him, and it made everything suddenly worse. Bleaker. Marc thought about it and amended it. ‘Henry,’ he said gently, and Tammy flushed.

      ‘Yeah. Henry. The child. How old did you say he is?’

      ‘Ten months.’

      ‘And he’s heir to some royal thing?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And so you want to take him back to Broitenburg so he can be looked after by nannies in the lap of luxury until he’s old enough to be king?’

      ‘Prince,’ Marc corrected her. ‘Broitenburg is a principality.’

      ‘Prince, then. Whatever,’ she said distractedly. ‘It makes no difference. Are you married?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You heard. Are you married?’

      ‘No. I…’

      ‘So who gets to play mother to Henry?’

      ‘I told you. He’ll have nannies. The best.’

      ‘But as legal guardian I get to decide whether he goes or not.’

      She’d cornered him. He hadn’t wanted to admit it. Get her signature and get the child. At home it had seemed easy.

      ‘If you refuse to let him return to Broitenburg I’ll apply for custody myself,’ he said stiffly.

      ‘You do that. You’re going home tomorrow, did you say? Good luck getting legal custody by then.’

      He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. There’d been no one near the child for months and