Regency Pleasures. Louise Allen

He was obviously accustomed to being in a position of power. She saw it in the relaxed way he gave orders, as if he expected them to be obeyed. Without question.

      Her gaze was riveted by the way he rested a muscular thigh on the edge of the desk, letting one leg swing free. He looked like a man who was comfortable with his position in life, she thought. Since she had no idea what her position in life was, having had all her assumptions turned on their heads by the discovery that she was adopted, she couldn’t help envying the prince his air of self-assurance.

      His eyes were half closed, veiling their unusual color under a sweep of lashes that matched the blue-black of his hair. His lean, aristocratic features had probably taken generations of breeding to achieve such a prepossessing result. Her heart picked up speed again. What kind of breeding had produced her?

      The prince knew the answer but she sensed he wouldn’t tell her until he judged the time was right. She saw intrigue in the gaze he turned on her as he dealt with the call. Intrigue and something far more disquieting, a fire she had last seen in a man’s eyes the night Christophe had been conceived. Recalling the life-changing impact of that experience, she felt her internal temperature soar. She fussed with Christophe’s clothes, not wanting Josquin to see how badly his gaze had unsettled her.

      He barely knew her. Then she thought of the thick file in the prince’s possession. He must know a lot more about her than she did about him. More than she knew about herself, come to that.

      Her first clear memory was of her third birthday party at the McInnes home in Southern California. Brendan, the boy next door, had taken her red balloon and burst it in her face when she asked for it back. She was wary of balloons to this day. She had been an above-average student and model daughter, bowing to her father’s wish that she attend a local college so she could continue to live at home.

      She was twenty-seven and a Libran, celebrating her birthday on September 29, as far as she knew. Now she wondered if she could trust anything she had been told about herself all her life.

      She still felt like the same person inside. Still the same stubborn, opinionated, deliver-on-your-promises woman she’d always been. Three-year-old Brendan had found out to his cost when she threatened to punch his nose if he didn’t return her balloon. He had burst it so she had punched his nose. She had spent time standing in the corner afterward, but the pattern had been set. She still did what she said she would do, no matter what it cost her.

      A shiver took her. She felt more adrift now than when she had learned of her adoption. The prince had no right to make her wait for information that concerned her so intimately. But as a grown woman, she could hardly threaten to punch him in the nose, so she schooled herself to patience. She had a feeling he wasn’t a man she could hurry into anything.

      “How did you know I was arriving today?” she asked as Josquin opened the door to escort her to the car. Stupid question, she thought. He had obviously arranged everything. She was still shaken to discover that the vacation she thought she’d won was nothing more than a hoax, but she wasn’t as furious with him as she thought she should be.

      “I was waiting for you,” he confirmed. At his slight gesture, a porter sprang to their side. At the prince’s quiet instruction, the man retrieved her suitcase and carried it away. She watched him go with some trepidation, realizing that she had placed herself and her child entirely in the prince’s hands.

      Christophe had dozed off at last, not waking as they left the airport building. He slept with his head on her shoulder, one thumb anchored in his mouth and the other clutching a fistful of her shirt. With any luck he wouldn’t stir until they reached their hotel, if that’s where the prince was taking her.

      “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. I must be somebody important,” she said, striving for lightness and failing. “Why did you have to lure me to Carramer to speak to me?”

      “Because we are running out of time.”

      “You know you’re driving me crazy?”

      His stern mouth softened into a slight curve. “I can’t say I mind having that effect on such a beautiful woman.”

      She resisted the urge to feel complimented. “I’ll bet you say that to lots of women.”

      “Would it surprise you if I deny it?”

      She nodded. “I’d have trouble believing it.”

      “I shall take that as a compliment. Here’s our car.”

      She stopped in her tracks, astonished to find a chauffeur opening the door of a black stretch limousine for her. What she took to be the royal standard fluttered from the hood. This would raise a few eyebrows if it were to pull up outside her apartment block in North Hollywood, she thought.

      She had been the recipient of enough barbed comments when her neighbors discovered she was a single mother with a baby and no sign of a father. It was a pity they wouldn’t get the chance to see this. She smiled.

      The prince looked at her curiously. “What do you find so amusing?”

      “I was picturing the reaction back home if I rolled up in this. You’re used to it, I suppose.”

      His gaze lingered on her face. “Not so used to it that I can’t enjoy it through your eyes.”

      She made herself comfortable on leather upholstery that felt like riding on a cloud. One seat held a baby capsule with a pristine lambswool lining. Without waking him, she secured Christophe in the seat, unnerved at this evidence of how thoroughly the prince had prepared for their arrival.

      The compartment was fitted with a television screen and a well-stocked bar. As the car glided out of the airport, the prince deftly opened a bottle of French champagne, and poured the golden liquid into flutes. He handed one to her. “To your safe arrival.”

      She drank to quiet her screaming nerves, feeling anything but safe. It dawned on her that she had allowed herself to be talked into riding in a car with a complete stranger, just the situation her parents—that Rose and James, she amended mentally—had warned her against when she was growing up.

      They had wanted her to be perfect. Perfection had always been paramount to James McInnes, whether in his business or his private life. If he could have adopted a boy so easily, he probably would have done so. As it was, Sarah felt sure he hadn’t told her she was adopted so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what he saw as a shortcoming. He had probably regarded her wish to search for her birth parents as a criticism of himself as a father. He refused to accept that this wasn’t about him or Rose, but about Sarah and her needs. Rose McInnes had been more understanding, but as always, followed her husband’s lead.

      Getting pregnant hadn’t been Sarah’s intention, but she had felt so cut adrift by their lack of support, that she had turned to her childhood friend, Jon Harrington, for comfort. Neither of them had counted on compassion turning into passion and then into something beyond their control, but it had.

      What a combination. She hadn’t been sure which of them had been the least experienced, little Miss Perfect or Jon, the would-be priest. Inexperience hadn’t stopped them from creating a child between them. Her breath caught as she looked at the baby sleeping, lulled by the limousine’s smooth motion. Christophe was the most precious thing in her life, the only person to whom she truly belonged. She regretted her lack of self-control with Jon, but she could never bring herself to regret the child they had created.

      Jon never knew he had fathered a child and he never would, if she had anything to do with it. If he knew, he would insist on taking responsibility, even marrying her if she wanted him to. But he had dreamed of becoming a priest for as long as she could recall, and she was determined not to take his dream away from him. She felt badly enough having her own life in ruins thanks to James McInnes. She wasn’t about to ruin Jon’s life as well.

      Soon after she discovered she was pregnant, Jon had entered the seminary, and their contact had been limited to letters every few weeks. In his last letter, he’d told her he was being sent to his order’s mission in South America. She missed