Stolen Kiss From a Prince. Teresa Carpenter

felt good—”

      “You are babbling, mademoiselle—” His sigh reeked of exasperation. “What is your full name?”

      “Katrina Lynn Carrere Vicente.” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth.

      “Carrere?” Of course the name caught his attention. “You’re a relative of Jean Claude?” His tone turned grim. “Please tell me you are not related to the Prince.”

      “Distantly,” she confessed, “through my mother.” She didn’t mention her father was a close personal friend. No need to make matters worse than they were.

      His head dropped forward causing thick strands of hair to fall over his wide brow. He muttered what sounded like, “It just keeps getting better and better.”

      Her sentiments exactly.

      But the show of emotion lasted only a moment. He quickly drew himself up and straightened his shoulders.

      “Mademoiselle Vicente you have my deepest apologies. I should never have touched you.”

      “Your Highness.”

      He shook his head. “I’ll express my regrets to the Prince in the morning.”

      “No.” Her eyes went wide in shock. She felt sick to her stomach. The last thing she wanted was for the royal family to know she’d forced herself on a guest. She couldn’t handle another disgrace. She stepped forward in entreaty. “Promise me you will not.”

      “I must.” His posture was rigid. “I have offended a member of his family.”

      “No offense. None.” She assured him. “You were the perfect gentleman.”

      His eyes narrowed in censure. “I had my tongue down your throat. Hardly the actions of a gentleman.”

      “But you kept your hands above my waist. I wanted them on me—” She broke off as his eyes darkened and narrowed even more. What was she saying? So not the place to go.

      “I promise I am not offended. It has been a tough couple of days for everyone, and we found a moment of comfort in each other. That is all that happened.”

      “Is that how you see it?” His shoulders relaxed slightly.

      It was all she would allow herself to believe.

      “Yes. You held Sammy and I while we slept, something we both needed desperately. Something I believe you needed, too. The kiss came from the comfort of that gesture. You are leaving in the morning. Can we not forget it ever happened?”

      He studied her in silence so long her nerves grew rattled. Finally he beckoned. “Come here.”

      Leery, she forced apprehension aside to approach him slowly, until she had to tip her head back to look up at him. He stared down into her eyes, his gaze penetrating. Again he rattled her with his intensity. Would he agree to put her indiscretion aside?

      “Yes?” she prodded.

      “Just checking your pupils,” he stated. “How do you feel? Any nausea?”

      The question confused her until she remembered her concussion.

      “No,” she assured him. Did he think her injury affected her thinking? No, only her actions. It was the only excuse she could come up with for her uncharacteristic advances. “I am fine.”

      “So it would appear.” He nodded formally. “Tessa is next door. You may use the bed in Samson’s room.”

      “Thank you.” At the mention of bed, fatigue washed over her. “I checked on Sammy when I put him down. He was doing fine.”

      “Good. That’s good.” He turned back to the fire, clearly dismissing her.

      But she couldn’t leave without knowing if he meant to speak to the Prince in the morning. The loss of her career was the least of her worries. She respected and honored the people in this household and wished no harm or embarrassment on them. Not again.

      She couldn’t bear her father hearing of this. The disgrace might well jeopardize his friendship with the Prince.

      “Please, Your Highness.” She dared to disturb him. “I must know if you plan to reveal my indiscretion to the Prince.”

      He stiffened but did not turn. “It shall be as you requested. We simply shared a moment of comfort.”

      “Thank you.” She backed away, eager to put this encounter behind her. There was much more to Prince Julian than his reputation gave him credit for. Tonight she could only be thankful for his mercy.

      * * *

      Sleep eluded Julian. He worried about Donal, his father, Samson, while thoughts of duty warred with his natural inclination to stay in the background. Every instinct he possessed rebelled against losing his brother.

      At five in the morning, he gave up all pretense of trying to sleep and rang for coffee, a hot breakfast and an array of items for Samson and the nanny. In anticipation of an early departure he also asked for Tessa to be roused so she could pack and get Samson ready for travel. Next he called and advised his security detail of his plans.

      One of the advantages of being in the palace was not having security underfoot every moment.

      He’d dressed and packed his own bag when the knock came at the door. He glanced at the closed door of the temporary nursery as he crossed the room. There’d been no movement from that quarter, a hopeful sign Samson was getting the rest he needed.

      Another knock sounded as he reached the door. He opened it to find his meal and the lady of the palace awaiting him.

      “Bernadette.” He bent over her hand. “You look fresh and lovely, considering the early hour. To what do I owe this honor?”

      She moved gracefully into the room. “I have something to discuss with you. I am hoping I might share a cup of coffee with you while you eat.”

      “Of course.” He waved her toward the elegant cart the steward had situated near the window and pulled the desk chair around for her use. The steward produced another chair and Julian joined her.

      “Thank you, Pierre.” Bernadette smiled a dismissal.

      “What do you wish to discuss?” Julian picked up his napkin.

      “Non, mon ami, you must eat first,” she insisted. “You barely touched dinner last night.”

      “I had a lot on my mind.”

      “As you will until Donal is returned to us. First rule of being a ruler—take care of yourself.” She lifted a dome, revealing a hot plate of steaming eggs. “Take a few minutes and enjoy a peaceful meal. Then we shall talk.”

      Lifting the coffeepot he poured two cups and placed one in front of her. “What you have to discuss must be really bad.” He tapped his cup against hers. “I believe it’s best if I eat first.” He dug into his vegetable omelet.

      “Wise choice.” She sipped, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the freshly brewed beverage. She flashed him a sheepish smile. “Jean Claude prefers tea. I like both so I usually defer to him. But I do enjoy a good cup of coffee.”

      “There’s nothing better to jump-start the day,” he agreed.

      She chatted while he ate, managing to avoid any sensitive topic in the process. The weather, politics and his family were never mentioned. He admired her talent at putting him at ease, allowing him a few minutes peace while he enjoyed his meal.

      When he finally set down his fork, she topped off their coffee and got to the point.

      “I am afraid I have some upsetting news. Tessa came to see me last night and asked me to let you know she cannot return with you to Kardana.”

      “What?” He carefully set his cup in its saucer. This couldn’t be happening. “That is unacceptable.”