The Expectant Princess. Stella Bagwell

his feelings should be a surprise to him. Where Dominique was concerned, he’d always harbored a protective streak. Six years ago, when he’d joined the king’s administrative staff, she’d been a shy, gangly fifteen-year-old. Uncertain of her place in the royal family and at the same time hungry for reassurance and affection. His own rough childhood had helped to create an affinity for the young princess. One that obviously hadn’t dissolved, in spite of the past years she’d been away.

      “What about LeAnn’s christening?” she murmured. “Are they still going through with the ceremony?”

      “No,” he answered, his thoughts softening his voice. “The accident has taken precedence now. Your family is making preparations to return to the castle.”

      Her head came up swiftly. “Oh. Then I must get back inside.”

      With her free hand she pressed the kerchief against both cheeks, then snapped the dainty cloth away in the small gold velvet bag hanging from her shoulder.

      Marcus released her hand, then cupped his palm around her bent elbow. As he guided her through a back entry of the cathedral, he wished above anything that she didn’t have to face the sorrow of her father’s accident. He wished it was in his power to shield her now and always from life’s harsh realities.

      But he was just a man. A commoner, despite his lofty position as the king’s high counsel. She deserved and needed more than he could ever give her and he suspected she’d learned that while she’d been away, growing into a woman.

      Three days later Dominique was still struggling to shake the notion that her father’s horrific accident was all just a nightmare. Each morning she expected to wake and join her family in the dining hall for breakfast. Somehow she knew she would find King Michael seated at the head of the long table, a cup of tea in one hand, a newspaper in the other. But each morning she’d discovered the dining hall empty, her mother choosing to breakfast in privacy, while her brother, Nicholas, was already at work, trying to deal with the upheaval their father’s disappearance had caused with the media and the political world.

      This morning Dominique had chosen to breakfast on the balcony off her bedroom. If she were going to eat alone, at least she could do it in total solitude without a bevy of servants hovering over her.

      Being away at university had spoiled her, she supposed. While living on campus and attending classes, she’d not been smothered by a royal entourage to carry out even her smallest bidding. Over time, she’d grown to love the freedom, the feeling that basically she was no different than any other young woman working toward a degree. Even if she was Princess Dominique Stanbury of Edenbourg.

      The slight sound of a footstep on flagstone alerted her that she was no longer alone. Glancing up from a plate of fruit, she saw that Prudence, her lady-in-waiting, had joined her on the balcony.

      Only two years older than herself, Prudence had been with Dominique since their early childhood. When the time had come for Dominique to go to college, Prudence had begged to go along with her princess, but the king and queen had separated the two, believing it would help their daughter develop more independence. Now that Dominique was back, Prudence was delighted and had practically been smothering her with attention.

      At the moment, the young woman with dark brown hair twisted into an elaborate coil at the back of her head gave her princess a rueful smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Dominique. But someone has asked to see you. Are you feeling up to a visitor this morning?”

      “Who is it, Pru?”

      The other woman’s smile deepened. “Marcus Kent. I thought you might not want me to send him away.”

      Other than a faint lift of her eyebrows, Dominique made no reply to her lady’s subtle hint. Instead, she glanced down at her blue velour robe. She wasn’t properly dressed, but she was decently covered. And Marcus might have received some sort of news about her father that he wanted to deliver personally.

      “I’ll see him here on the balcony. Oh, and Pru,” she added as her personal attendant turned to hurry away. “Please send a servant up with a pot of fresh decaffeinated coffee and a thermos of cold fruit juice. Mr. Kent might want refreshments.”

      “Of course,” she said with a wide smile. “I’ll be in the study if you need me for anything else.”

      Prudence disappeared back into the palace and Dominique quickly finger-combed her loose hair. Thankfully, she had taken the time to thoroughly brush the long strands before breakfast. But without combs or headbands to confine it, the waves slipped and slid to their choosing rather than hers.

      Oh, what did it matter anyway, she thought dismally. Most likely Marcus still thought of her as a young schoolgirl. No doubt he probably believed the crush she’d had on him for a while had died since her time away at university. It didn’t matter that she looked less than her best.

      The thought was hardly out of her head when a tall shadow appeared across the glass tabletop. Looking up, she squinted against the bright morning sun streaming around his silhouette.

      “Prudence didn’t tell me you were still having breakfast,” he said in that deep voice she remembered so well. “I should have waited until a later hour to see you.”

      Shaking her head, Dominique motioned for him to take the chair opposite her.

      “You’re not interrupting anything. I think I’ve forced down three bites in the past half hour.”

      He frowned with disapproval. “That’s hardly the way to start your day.”

      The sight of his dark handsome face had already fed her more than the food on her plate, she realized with sudden shock. Then quickly pushing the unbidden thought away, she said, “I’m not sure when my days start and end now, Marcus. Since the morning of the accident, everything has seemed surreal.”

      Settling back in the wrought-iron chair, he propped his ankle against his knee. Dominique’s gaze slid discreetly over the light gray suit that was perfectly cut to fit his broad shoulders, then on to the strip of pale pink shirt against his tanned neck and the burgundy striped tie lying against his chest. From what she knew of Marcus, his looks or clothing were not that important to him. Seeing to the needs of his king and his country were always first and foremost. Yet he was a man who could throw on an old rugby shirt and a pair of jeans and still manage to look impressive.

      Watch it, Dominique, she silently scolded herself. As a teenager, she’d allowed the image of Marcus Kent to put stars in her eyes. But she was a grown woman now and he was a man who would never see her as anything more than a friend or princess. He’d made that clear years ago. And besides, she’d already made a fool out of herself over one man. There was no way she was going to make a second mistake.

      “I’ve been meaning to stop by and—offer my condolences before now,” he said. “But as you might guess, things have been hectic with the ongoing investigation of the accident and getting Nicholas settled in as the new acting king.”

      Dominique latched on to one word and quickly tossed it back at him. “Condolences? Does that mean—” She swallowed as her throat threatened to close around the words. “Has Father’s body been found?”

      Shaking his head he started to speak, then stopped abruptly as a maid, dressed in a gray-and-white uniform and carrying a loaded ornate silver tray, appeared on the balcony.

      After depositing the tray on the table, the plump older woman stood waiting to serve them. Dominique quickly dismissed her, saying, “Thank you, I’ll do it.”

      With a quick curtsy she left them, and Dominique looked at Marcus. “Would you like coffee or juice?”

      “Coffee. With a dollop of cream. No sugar.”

      She reached for a cup and saucer. The thin, gold-encrusted china rattled loudly in her shaking hands.

      Quickly, Marcus leaned forward and took the dishes from her. “Here, let me,” he said gently. “You’re in no shape to be handling hot liquid.”

      “I’m