Claiming His Pregnant Princess. Annie O'Neil
herself she’d done the right thing, all the while knowing she hadn’t.
Fate had intervened in saving her from a loveless marriage, but what was it doing now?
Taunting her with what she could never have?
She blinked and looked again.
Those green eyes would haunt her until the end of time.
Before she could stop herself she spoke the name she’d thought she’d never utter again.
“Jamie?”
* * *
For a moment Jamie thought he was hallucinating. It couldn’t be her. Beatrice was meant to be on her honeymoon right now. That and no one called him Jamie.
He’d gone back to James the day she’d left. He’d changed a lot of things since then.
“Jamie, is that you?”
For a moment everything blurred into the background as he looked straight into the eyes of the woman he had once thought he would spend his life with.
Still the same dark, get-lost-in-them irises, but there was something new in them. Something...wary. No, that wasn’t right. Something...fragile. Unsure. Things he’d never seen in them before.
Her hair was different. Still short, but... Why had she gone platinum? Her formerly chestnut-brown hair, silky soft, particularly when it brushed against... A shot of heat shunted through him as powerfully as it had the first time he’d touched it. Touched her.
Instinct took over. She was struggling with a patient. Before he could think better of it, he was on the other side of her, calling to his colleague to find a wheelchair.
“What’s your name, love?” he asked the girl, who was whispering words of encouragement to herself in English.
“Leah,” Beatrice answered for her. “Leah Stokes.”
Jamie hid a flinch as the sound of Beatrice’s voice lanced another memory he’d sealed tight. If he’d doubted for a second that this transformed woman—the blond hair, the uncharacteristically plain clothing, the slight shadows hinting at sleepless nights—was the love of his life, he knew it now. She had a husky, made-for-late-night-radio voice that was perfect for a doctor offering words as an immediate antidote for pain. Even better for a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
“The exam table isn’t far away. Instead of waiting shall we—” Beatrice began.
He nodded before she’d finished. Once-familiar routines returned to him with an ease he hadn’t expected. The looks that made language unnecessary. The gestures the said everything. They’d done this particular move when he’d “popped in” accidentally on purpose to help out with her trauma training. Carried patients here and there. Practiced the weave of wrists and hands. Supported each other.
“On three?” The rush of memory and emotion almost blindsided him. He’d been a fool to let her go. Not to fight harder.
But a modern-day commoner versus a latter-day prince?
There’d been no contest. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Like a fool, he looked up.
“One...two...”
He saw the words appear on her lips but could hardly hear them, such was the rush of blood charging around his head.
Never again.
That was what he’d told himself.
Never again would he let himself be so naive. So vulnerable. So in love.
As one they dipped, eyes glued to each other’s, clasped one another’s wrists and scooped up the patient between them, hardly feeling Leah’s fingers as they pressed into their shoulders once she’d been lifted off the ground.
It definitely wasn’t the way he’d imagined seeing Beatrice again. If ever.
“Just here on the exam table, per favore.” Beatrice had shifted her gaze to her patient, her hands slipping to Leah’s leg to ensure the abraded skin was kept clear of rubbing against the paper covering the table. “Thank you, Dr. Coutts.”
Her dark brown eyes flitted back toward him before she returned her full attention to her patient, but in that micromoment he saw all that he needed to know. Seeing him had thrown her as off-kilter as it had him.
Whether it was a good thing or a bad thing was impossible to ascertain. At least he hadn’t seen the thing he feared most: indifference. He would have packed his bags and left then and there. But something—the tiniest glimmer of something bright flickering in those espresso-rich eyes of hers—said it would be worth his while to stay.
Answers were answers, after all.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, tugging the curtain around the exam table, his eyes taking just a fraction of a second longer than necessary to search her hand for the ring. Jewelry had never been his thing, but that ridiculously huge, pink cushion-cut diamond ring—a family heirloom, she’d said—was etched in his mind’s eye as clearly as the day she’d told him she was moving back to Italy. Family, she’d said. Obligations. Tradition.
He yanked the curtain shut, unable to move as he processed what he’d seen. Pleasure? Pain? Satisfaction that neither of them had succeeded in gaining what they’d sought?
A chilling numbness began to creep through his veins.
No sign of a ring.
Nothing.
Each and every one of her fingers was bare.
* * *
Bea’s heart was thumping so hard behind her simple cotton top she was sure her patient could see it.
Even though she had taken longer than normal to put on her hygienic gloves, Leah would have had to be blind not to notice her fingers shaking.
Jamie Coutts.
The only man who’d laid full claim to her heart.
Why wasn’t he in England?
Leaving Jamie had been the most painful thing she’d ever done. The betrayal she’d seen in his eyes would stay with her forever. Having to live with it was so much worse.
“Is everything all right?” Leah asked.
“Si, va bene.” Bea gave her head a quick shake, pushed her hands between her knees to steady them and reminded herself to speak English. She had a patient. Rehashing the day she’d told the man she loved she was going to marry another would have to wait.
“Let’s take a look at this leg of yours.” Bea gave her hands a quick check. Jitter-free. Good. “Cycling, was it?”
“We were coming down one of the passes,” Leah confirmed, her wince deepening as Bea began gently to press the blue pads of her gloved hands along the injury. “A car came up alongside me. I panicked and hit the verge too fast.”
“A fall when you’re wearing these clip shoes can be tough. It looks largely superficial. Not too much bleeding. But from the swelling on your knee it looks like you took quite a blow.” Bea glanced up at her, “I’m just going to take your shoes off, all right? Do you feel like anything might be broken? Sprained?”
Leah shook her head. “It’s hard to say. I think it’s the road rash that hurts the most, but my knee is throbbing!”
“Did you get any ice on it straight after you fell? A cool pack?”
“No...” Leah tugged her fingers through her short tangle of hazel curls, loosening some meadow grass as she did so, before swiping at a few more tears. “The guys had all ridden ahead. Downhill pelotons freak me out—and I wasn’t carrying a first-aid kit with me. A local couple saw me fall and brought me here.”
Poor thing. Left to fend for herself.
It’s