The Princess Is Pregnant!. Laurie Paige

and talk then. In the palace, or shall we go out?”

      Everyone would notice if they went to a restaurant. Desperation seized her, and she said the first thing that came to mind. “In my chambers. I’ll arrange it.”

      “Good.” He guided them into the sea, staying by her side until they reached the mainland.

      She kept her gaze carefully averted from the enticing flex of his muscles as they donned their garments. He escorted her to the palace gate, then lifted her chin with a finger and gazed into her eyes.

      “Marriage to me may not be so bad as you obviously think,” he suggested with a touch of bitterness.

      She avoided his gaze. “We’ll talk tonight. At eight.” She unlocked the gate and fled, rushing to her chambers in a welter of undefined emotion. “Hurry,” she said to her maid. “We have things to do.”

      Then she sank into a chair and sat there in a daze, doing nothing at all.

      Chapter Three

      Megan paced from her desk to the window, then started back. She paused in front of the hearth and considered ordering a fire. But that might be construed as too intimate. God forbid she appear eager for intimacy with the handsome Earl of Silvershire.

      She would have laughed at the irony but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. Poor princess, everyone would say as they carried her away. She just couldn’t handle the affairs of state.

      It was affairs in general that she couldn’t handle, she admitted with gallows humor.

      An authoritative knock sounded at the door. Candy, her personal maid, hovering over the table set for two, glanced her way in question. Megan nodded and stayed at the hearth.

      Jean-Paul entered, thanked the maid, then looked directly into Megan’s eyes, trapping her with his commanding presence when she really wanted to bolt to her bedroom and hide in the closet. He bowed with careless grace.

      Tonight he wore all black—slacks, shirt, sans tie, and velvet jacket. He looked like a storybook prince.

      “You’re beautiful,” he said, as if this were such a simple truth it should be obvious to anyone who saw her.

      Although the night often grew cool due to the sea breeze, she’d chosen a long summer dress of golden silk with satin leaves of deep green around the neckline and elbow-length sleeves and hem. He handed her a golden rose wrapped with ribbons of variegated green.

      “Thank you. That was thoughtful.” She slipped the wrist corsage over her left hand, staring at it in confused wonder.

      “I called and asked Candy about your outfit,” he explained.

      An odd resentment flowed through her at the casual use of her maid’s name. Then it was gone as she recalled the whisper of her own name on his lips. Megan, he’d said in a husky murmur that magic night. Sweet selky.

      At that moment, had she been such a creature, she would never have traded her human form for that of the sea mammal, although selkies supposedly yearned to return to their watery home.

      She was brought back to the present when Jean-Paul crossed the carpet and lifted her hand to his lips. His kiss was brief and formal. But only for a moment, then he turned her hand and kissed her wrist. She gasped.

      The maid gave a surprised exclamation, then quickly coughed to cover it. When Megan frowned her way, the girl smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the tablecloth.

      “You may serve the first course,” Megan said, sweeping past the earl and hearing the whisper of the silk against her thighs at the same instant she inhaled his scent, which was that of balsam cologne, shampoo and talc…and one she was thoroughly acquainted with.

      She had to stop thinking like that!

      “Please join me,” she invited, stopping at the table, which, set for two, seemed much too confining. However, they could hardly discuss their problems at the family table.

      Besides, her mother was filling in at some royal function for the king this evening and the twins were out of the country, so only the princesses were at home. Megan didn’t want to share Jean-Paul with her sisters at present.

      Thinking of the king, Megan wondered what important project had come up. Her father hadn’t been seen the past five days. Neither Megan nor her sisters knew what was up, which was not unusual; their father had left the raising of the children to his queen while he attended royal affairs.

      On second thought, Meredith, who worked with the Royal Intelligence Institute, might know, but she hadn’t said.

      Growing up in a palace, one learned to discern the faintest nuances of intrigue. Megan had discovered long ago that things were seldom as they seemed in a royal household and that personal matters always were last in priority. Her gaze went to her handsome guest.

      “Deep thoughts?” Jean-Paul’s smile was mocking but not sarcastic or cruel. She’d never seen him act in a mean-spirited manner, a good trait in a father.

      Quickly, before her unruly mind went off on another tangent, she sat and arranged her skirts while he took the chair opposite her. Candy served a chilled plum soup from fruit grown on the royal farm. Megan saw Jean-Paul’s eyes linger on the girl, a frown in the blue depths.

      “That will be all for the evening, Candy,” Megan told the maid. “We’ll serve ourselves.”

      With a confused bow, the young woman, recently turned eighteen, left the sitting room.

      “Alone at last,” her guest murmured, his face relaxing into a pleased expression.

      Startled at the laughter in his eyes, she managed a smile and picked up her spoon. The meal was consumed in near silence. She was glad she’d chosen only four courses, for she couldn’t come up with a topic of small talk, and he didn’t try.

      After they finished the white chocolate mousse, they returned to the sitting area. He chose the sofa after she took a chair at right angles to it.

      She poured him a cup of coffee, black with no sugar as she remembered from their week in Monte Carlo, then prepared her own with half milk and one spoon of sugar.

      “What is your position on marriage?” he asked as soon as the formalities were complete.

      The question shook her composure like a broadside hitting a sailing ship. “I don’t approve of arranged ones.”

      A frown snapped a groove between his eyes. “Has one been proposed for you?”

      The fury startled her. “No. Of course not. Meredith would be wed first.”

      He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Life as a royal is damned difficult. I suppose we would need to spend most of the year here. That wouldn’t be a problem while my father is alive. When I inherit, we’ll have to spend at least half the time at Silvershire.”

      “This is absurd,” she began. He was planning where they would live while she hadn’t yet come to terms with a possible marriage.

      His eyes met hers in a brilliant glance of blue fire. “You’ll like it there. We have the sea and the mountains just as you do here. I’ll show you my secret places.”

      “Wait!” she cried softly. “You’re…this is going too fast. I haven’t told my parents yet.”

      “I said I’d speak to your father. Do you think I’d let you take the heat alone?”

      “That’s noble of you, but as you noted, there’s no need to rush into anything.”

      “Yet,” he added, his gaze sweeping over her. “You’re small. A child will show soon. Have you been ill in the mornings?”

      She nodded, shy about admitting it. The fact seemed more intimate than the night they’d shared.

      “And there is this,” he murmured, continuing his