The Prince's Secret Bride. Raye Morgan

sort of situation?

      She looked up with a wry smile. “What will your wife think?” she tried, fishing for information.

      A cold shadow passed through his gaze. “I’m not married.”

      She shivered, then tried to make light of the circumstances with a quip. “That’s what they all say. Right after they claim to read Playboy for the articles.”

      His mouth twisted. Despite himself, he almost grinned. “Okay,” he admitted, “I’ll plead guilty to being male.”

      She wondered if that meant he was acknowledging a certain attraction. She thought maybe it did, and that made her want to smile, too. Better to make a smart-aleck crack instead, she decided hurriedly.

      “Wise move,” she retorted with a nod. “Next you might as well throw yourself on the mercy of the court. That’ll get you a lighter sentence.”

      “If you’re the court, I’d think twice,” he shot back. “But either way, here’s the truth. I’m not married.”

      He wasn’t married. Was she? No, she didn’t think so. Despite the fact that she was pregnant, she couldn’t picture herself married. It just didn’t feel like it.

      She studied him with her head to the side, considering. “Do you have any children?” She only asked because he seemed so concerned about the baby she was carrying.

      “No. But I care a lot about children. And I think it’s only fair to give a baby the best first nine months you possibly can.”

      She nodded. Of course she agreed. Who wouldn’t? But what did that mean, exactly? If she couldn’t even remember why she was pregnant….

      “Come on,” he said, starting off across the street. “You’re dead on your feet. We’ve got to have a doctor look at you before you pass out.”

      “Doctor?” She found herself going along with him again. What had happened to her determined effort to peel off? It seemed to have melted into the mist. “Where are you going to find a doctor at this time of night?”

      “I’ve got one where I live.”

      That made her do a double take. “Really?”

      “Yes.” He glanced at her sideways, a half grin just for her. “I’ve also got a sister who will take care of you. So you don’t have to worry about my intentions.”

      She wanted to protest, to say she hadn’t been a bit worried, but the words stuck in her throat.

      “Once we get there, I probably won’t even see you again. Carla will handle everything.”

      “Will she?” He was walking quickly now and she was hurrying just to keep up.

      “Yes. She’s capable of handling just about anything. The entire country, even.”

      “Well, if she can handle you, I’m sold.”

      They stopped at the crosswalk on a major road. Two cars sped past. Looking back, she thought she saw someone duck between two buildings. That gave her a start, then she relaxed. She was imagining things. This night was taking a toll on her sanity, wasn’t it? She felt an overwhelming need to bring things to rights as much as she could.

      Nico took her arm. “We’re almost there,” he told her.

      Instead of starting off across the street, she hung back, putting her own hand on his.

      “Okay, listen,” she said seriously. “Before we get there, I’ve got a confession to make.”

      His eyes darkened as he looked down into hers. “Really.”

      “Yes.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her own eyes for a moment, then opened them and blurted out, “I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.”

      He almost smiled. “That’s been obvious from the first moment I saw you.”

      She pressed her hand on his and gazed earnestly up into his eyes. “No, I’m serious. I really don’t know who I am.”

      He blinked and the smile faded. “That’s why you made up that name, Marisa Fleur?”

      She gasped. “How did you know?”

      He shrugged. “I saw the sign in the café and figured it out pretty quickly.”

      She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wish I was a better liar,” she muttered.

      “What was the point of lying?” he said sensibly. “You got hit on the head and you’re a little confused. That’s why you need to see a doctor.”

      She looked at him in surprise, then realized what he saw when he looked at her. He saw a woman under suspicion of wanting to commit suicide. Maybe he thought she’d wanted to jump because she was pregnant and had no husband. And why wouldn’t he think that? She had no wedding ring on her finger. That made her bite her lip. She probably wasn’t married, but she really didn’t know. And why was her impulse to lie about it all? Was she trying to hide something?

      But all that was crazy. She wasn’t suicidal. She was confused, but not ready to end it all. Was she?

      No, of course not. Why couldn’t she keep things straight? She’d climbed up on the bridge to try to see where the man had tossed her suitcase. She had hoped to see where it had landed, or where the river might have taken it, so that she could get it back and find her things and clear everything up. That was all. Nothing earthshaking. She hoped.

      “Come on,” he said. “I live right across the street.”

      She looked at where he was pointing and gasped.

      “Wait a minute. Isn’t this Altamere? The royal palace?”

      “Yes. Come along.” He started across the street and she came along willingly, gaping at the huge Gothic building they were headed for.

      “Oh my,” she said softly.

      He glanced down at her. “Have you been here before?”

      “What? No. I don’t think so. But…” She looked at him questioningly as he used a remote to open the huge iron gates. “Do you work here or something?”

      “No, Marisa,” he said, closing the gates behind them and nodding to a security guard. “I live here.”

      “Wait.” Grabbing his arm, she stopped and stared up at him, her eyes huge with wonder. “Ohmigod. You’re one of the princes, aren’t you?”

      He smiled, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “Guilty as charged.”

      That did it. The world started to swirl and if Nico hadn’t caught her, she would have hit the ground for the second time that night.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “ALL I can say is, it’s about time you brought a woman home.”

      Nico turned to throw a stern glance at his lively, dark-haired sister as she entered the parlor where he’d taken Marisa just after she’d fainted in his arms. But his next words were directed at the silent-as-a-ghost butler standing near the door.

      “Chauncy, has Dr. Zavier been contacted?”

      “Yes, Your Highness,” the man responded with a slight bow. “He is on his way here now.”

      “Good.”

      He turned back to Marisa, looking down at her, where she lay on the velveteen couch, with a frown of concern. She hadn’t stirred since he’d carried her in. Did that have any connection to the bump on the head she’d taken earlier on the bridge? He took her hand in his again and felt her pulse. She was lying very still with her eyes closed, but he couldn’t see any other evidence of injury. Her breathing was normal.

      What the hell—maybe she was asleep.

      “She’s very pretty,”