Stolen Kiss From a Prince. Teresa Carpenter

fanciful art graced the walls. White furnishings added a crisp cleanliness to the room. He spotted three attendants besides the matron. He had no doubt Samson had received the best of care in these rooms.

      “It is my desire to return to Kardana as soon as possible. Please have the Prince’s things packed and ready to go. And have his nursemaid report to me.” He was surprised not to spy Tessa, Samson’s nursemaid, somewhere nearby.

      She always seemed to be hovering about, eyeing him. With the encouragement of his sister-in-law. Tessa was a dear friend of Helene’s, and always struck Julian as more of a companion than a child care specialist. He made it a point to avoid them both.

      Now he hoped for Helene’s safety.

      “It’s best he return home,” he advised the woman before him.

      Matron nodded. “It is good he will have people around him he knows. However, he is quite exhausted and likely to be very fussy if you wake him now. Might you wait for a bit?” Her gaze cut to something behind him and back again as she made her plea. “Perhaps after you have dined?”

      “Unfortunately, time is an indulgence I cannot allow. Please take me to my nephew,” he demanded, denying her request for a delay.

      “Of course.” With a sigh, she gestured toward a door behind him that led to another room.

      In here the drapes were closed and the lights turned low. Samson slept in a low race-car-shaped bed in the west corner. An older child occupied a canopied daybed nearby. As Julian stood over him, Samson jerked in his sleep and his tiny brow pinched as if stress followed him into slumber.

      So young.

      So innocent.

      So important.

      Looking down on him, Julian felt totally inadequate to care for him. The thought that he might be responsible for raising this child to be King outright terrified him. He was a bachelor by choice. He liked his tranquil life behind the scenes. Being Minister of the Treasury suited him, the numbers, the strategy, the quiet.

      One more reason to pray for his brother’s safe return.

      “Julian, ami.” Princess Bernadette, a regal blonde, swept into the room. She flowed forward and embraced him in warm arms, kissing the air over both cheeks. “I am so sorry. Tell me you have good news of Donal and Helene?” He shook his head, his gaze going to the thin woman with short platinum blond hair, who followed the Princess into the room. Tessa. Good.

      “There is nothing new to report. The weather prevents a full-scale search. America sent a SEAL team to help. They are leading a small group of extreme weather experts on an extraction expedition, but it is slow going and communication is spotty.”

      “At least it is something.” She squeezed his hands. “Please know we pray for their safe return.”

      He nodded an acknowledgment. “You can understand I am anxious to return to France to oversee the rescue operations.”

      “Indeed.” She looked down on Samson. “Poor baby knows something is wrong. He has been fussy. He will be happy to see you. He needs the familiar and to be with family.”

      Right. Julian couldn’t remember the last time he’d held the child.

      “Thank you for your care of Samson. It has been a relief during these trying hours to know he is in good hands. Now, however, we have a train to catch.” He nodded to the bed. “Tessa.”

      With a flick of pale blue eyes, the nanny stepped up to the crib and reached for the toddler. Samson jerked awake. Blinked at Tessa then Julian and let out a scream.

      * * *

      A shrill scream woke Katrina Vicente. She sprang up in the small bed, her fuzzy mind immediately going to Sammy. The toddler wasn’t dealing well with his parents’ disappearance. He totally rejected his nanny. The dolt, and Katrina didn’t use the word lightly, had told the boy his parents weren’t coming back. Of course he went into hysterics.

      Tessa quickly realized her mistake and had tried to correct herself by telling him his parents were lost and everyone was looking for them, but the not-yet three-year-old didn’t comprehend the nuances of the situation. All he knew was he wanted his mama and papa, and they weren’t here.

      From that point on he wanted nothing to do with Tessa. She was familiar but not his mother, and he was smart enough to know when he saw her it meant his mother wasn’t back yet.

      Hearing his screams she pushed to her feet, ready to take on the dark-haired man who’d dared to wake her charge.

      “Mon Dieu.” She rushed forward. “You best have a good reason for waking this child. Or I’ll have your head.” She sent a chastising glare toward the Matron, hovering behind the man’s broad figure.

      “K’tina.” Sammy twisted toward her voice and held out his arms.

      She reached for him, the pitiful wail wringing her heart.

      “Who are you?” The man stepped back, turning so Sammy was beyond her grasp. He stared down his aristocratic nose at her. The deep timbre of his voice easily cut through Sammy’s renewed screams even as the boy thrashed wildly in his arms. “Samson, be still, child.”

      “I am the one who got him to sleep.” She’d worked so hard to get him settled. In total despair, he hadn’t been sleeping or eating. The poor baby was completely out of sorts.

      He’d been in the middle of a screaming fit when Katrina came on duty early the day before. As nursemaid to the children of Prince Jean Claude and Princess Bernadette, she had become well adept at soothing such scenes. She’d wrapped him in her arms and sang softly to him. He shrieked and thrashed, but she’d held him securely, rocking and singing as he cried. Finally he’d slept for a couple of hours. Bringing much-needed peace to the nursery.

      From then on he’d latched onto Katrina and she’d gladly stayed to care for him. She managed to calm him some, got him to eat a little through the day, but he rarely slept more than a few minutes at a time before he woke screaming. Nightmares, Dr. Lambert diagnosed.

      And now this man had awoken him from his first decent rest.

      “He’s going home,” the man stated.

      “Give him to me.” Undeterred by the man’s imposing stance, she invaded his space to reach the boy. Focused on the child’s cries, she tried to take Sammy, but quickly learned she was no match for the man’s strength.

      “It’s okay, baby.” She stroked Sammy’s light blond hair seeking to reassure him. “It’s okay. Katrina is here.”

      “Mama!” Sammy cried out at the same time he threw himself backward in the man’s arms.

      Unprepared for the sudden movement, Katrina was unable to elude him, and his hard head conked into hers. Pain exploded across her temple and black dots grew into bigger dots until darkness threatened to overcome her. She swayed and felt a hard band circle her waist. Slowly the dimness receded, and she found Sammy was in her arms and she was in the stranger’s. Her legs felt weak yet she had no fear of falling. In the background voices buzzed.

      “Katrina!”

      “My goodness.”

      “Call the doctor.”

      Sammy clung to her, his small head resting on her chest, his wails growing into full-fledged screams. Disoriented, she blinked up into rich amber eyes.

      “I have you.” Warm breath tickled her neck. He led her to the daybed she’d been sleeping in until a few minutes ago. “Sit. We must check out your head.”

      “Sammy first,” she insisted, grateful to be off her feet. Though curiously disappointed to lose the security of his arms. The bump on the head obviously distorted her thinking.

      Dr. Lambert arrived within minutes. Light bounced off his bald head, and bushy white eyebrows topped expressive eyes. He smiled kindly and spoke in English,