Regency Pleasures. Louise Allen

      Which wouldn’t be very long if Sarah had any say in it, she thought as she greeted Marie. The longer she stood in the shadow of the breathtaking château, the more she believed that Josquin must be mistaken. The prince’s research might have been thorough, but he would have to depend on advisers and investigators. Their information could have been wrong. It would be sorted out soon, then she and Christophe could go home.

      There was no holiday. Belatedly she realized that the check she had received as spending money was as much a sham as the prize she had supposedly won. She would have to return the money to Josquin, although she had no idea how she was going to manage it.

      “What if this turns out to be a mistake?” she asked.

      He made a gracious gesture. “Then I will be the one who made it. You are welcome to remain at Valmont as a guest of the royal family for as long as you choose. It is the least I can do to make amends, if a mistake has been made.” His tone said he doubted it.

      Relief swept through her. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she had counted on this vacation to give her the chance to regroup. Although it had been her choice and she wouldn’t change it for anything, bearing Christophe alone hadn’t been easy. Her grandmother’s legacy wouldn’t last much longer. Soon she would have to return to work.

      Her former job as assistant manager of an art gallery had been kept open while she was on maternity leave. With a baby to consider, she couldn’t work the long, sometimes unpredictable hours she’d done previously, so she had been forced to hand in her resignation. She had intended to use her vacation time to plan her future.

      “Thank you,” she said, her tone betraying her relief.

      The prince inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Shall we go in now?”

      A butler held one of the carved double doors open for her and gestured deferentially for Sarah to precede him.

      Sarah found herself standing on a floor made of Italian travertine inlaid with granite. A coffered ceiling stretched twenty or more feet above her head. At one end of the cavernous hall was a wide, curving staircase.

      Sarah had been surrounded by beautiful possessions all her life, but had seen nothing like Château de Valmont. “This is amazing.”

      “This is one of the finest houses in Carramer.”

      “I can believe it. Now I’m convinced you have the wrong person.” Her son couldn’t possibly be the heir to all this.

      “Then I shall have to convince you otherwise.”

      “If it means living in such a magnificent place, I don’t mind you trying.”

      At the excitement in her voice, he smiled. “The château stands at the center of a very large estate which is home to several members of the royal family. Substantial as the estate is, there are other royal homes that are even more impressive, such as the palace at the capital, Solano, home of the monarch, Prince Lorne.”

      “I can’t believe it could be grander than this. Do you live here?”

      “When my work requires it.” He gestured for her to accompany him up the grand staircase.

      The heavily carpeted treads made her feel uncertain—or was it the presence of the enigmatic man at her side? Either way, she was glad of the ornate balustrade to steady herself. Soon she would discover who she really was, and how her baby came to be a prince of Carramer, if that’s who he really was.

      Marie must have taken a route reserved for the servants, because she was already fussing over Sarah’s suitcase when Josquin opened the door onto a lavish suite of rooms. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said.

      Sarah had never seen anything like the suite spread out before her. Two bedrooms opened off a circular sitting area. Beyond it was a covered patio with a panoramic view all the way to the sea. The sun sparkled off an expanse of white sand that begged to be explored. Sarah hugged Christophe, making a silent promise to show him the beach. She couldn’t wait to build his very first sand castle.

      Marie carried some of Sarah’s clothes into what turned out to be a walk-in closet, also with an ocean view.

      “Comfortable? We may move in here for good,” she said.

      Josquin’s mouth twitched. “Be careful what you wish for, Sarina.”

      She eyed him curiously. “What did you call me?”

      “A local variation of your name,” he said easily. “Does it trouble you?”

      “I suppose not.” More troubling was her feeling that his use of the name hadn’t been entirely fortuitous. She wished he would tell her what he knew of her background and get this over with, but she sensed that Prince Josquin would do things in his own way and time.

      She turned to the maid. “Marie, which is the baby’s room?”

      “It’s all right, Marie. I’ll take care of this.”

      The maid bobbed a curtsy, and Josquin opened a connecting door onto a spacious bedroom equipped with everything a baby could possibly need. Sarah settled Christophe onto a changing table beside an exquisitely decorated antique crib. Above it was a mobile of horses. She set them twirling. This was a far cry from the tiny bedroom she had turned into a nursery in her apartment back home, and she found herself wishing that her friends from the art gallery were here to see this.

      Josquin angled his lithe body against the door frame and watched. Christophe reached for the mobile, kicking his legs in delight. “Horee, horee,” he chortled.

      “They sure are, sweetheart,” she said, dodging flying feet as she set about changing him. “What a clever boy you are.” So far his vocabulary had been restricted to bowie, his word for the bottle he had recently started to use, and her favorite word, Mama.

      She buried her face against his tummy, blowing a raspberry against his velvet skin. “I love every one of your words, don’t I? One day we’ll have long talks and you’ll tell me I don’t know anything because I’m only your mother, so I’d better enjoy horee while I can.”

      Josquin looked intrigued. “He’s already starting to speak?”

      She looked up. “First words at one, sentences at two.”

      “So my cousins tell me.”

      “You don’t have children of your own?”

      “I’m not married.”

      She wasn’t sure why, but the information lifted her spirits. “As a de Marigny, don’t you have to take care of the succession or something?”

      “Prince Lorne and Prince Michel both have sons, so the succession isn’t something I need worry about.”

      She felt her eyebrows lift. “No daughters?”

      “Women do succeed to the throne under some circumstances, but it is more usual in Carramer for titles to pass down through the male line.”

      She looked at Christophe. “Like the Valmont one?” He nodded, and she added, “How can you be sure you have the right child?”

      Josquin shifted slightly. “You took a DNA test once.”

      “That’s right. It’s how I discovered I was adopted.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You gained access to my medical records? How could you?”

      “It was necessary.”

      “You had no right.”

      “I had a duty,” the prince cut across her. “I may not approve of the investigator’s methods, but I needed answers quickly.”

      She lifted Christophe off the table and sat down with him on a rocker placed beside the crib. The baby pawed at her breast but she hesitated. She had fed him discreetly in public before without feeling self-conscious about it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it