Pregnant!: Prince and Future...Dad? / Expecting! / Millionaire Cop & Mum-To-Be. Christine Rimmer
be here.
Unless…
But no. That was impossible. He would never tell her father what had happened between them the night before last. Why should he? What could that possibly get him? Except maybe the king’s ire.
Oh, God. Had someone seen them? And then carried the tale to her father?
And even if such a thing had happened, well, why call a meeting about it? It was acutely embarrassing, yes. It showed a distinct lack of judgment on Liv’s part and on Finn’s.
But this, after all, was an era when royals sometimes cohabitated without benefit of matrimony. That an unmarried princess and an equally unattached prince might spend a few passionate, imprudent hours together simply wasn’t the end of the world.
Plus, it had happened on Midsummer’s Eve. In Gullandria, the way she understood it, Midsummer’s Eve was the one night a year when, as the old saying went, anything goes.
Her father spoke again, his tone irritatingly neutral. ‘‘Of course, you know Prince Greyfell. And Prince Danelaw.’’
Liv nodded at each man in turn, taking care not to meet Finn’s eyes. ‘‘Yes, hello. Good to…see you both.’’ The old prince and the young one honored her with the usual fist-to-chest salute.
As Liv concentrated on not looking at Finn, she found herself pondering the whole prince question. In Gullandria, all male jarl born of married parents were princes, each a possible successor to the throne. When her father, for whatever reason, could no longer rule, the princes would gather in the gold-domed Grand Assembly building down in the capital. They would hold a special election, know as the Kingmaking, and a new king would be named from among them.
Thus, in her father’s palace, virtually every man she met who wasn’t a servant or a soldier was a prince. Kind of diluted the meaning of the word, if you asked Liv—which, of course, no one had.
Liv faced her father. She gave him a big smile. ‘‘Well, I’m glad you sent for me. I did want to say goodbye and—’’
Her father raised a hand for silence. ‘‘Liv, my dear. I didn’t call you here to tell you goodbye.’’
A weighty sense of foreboding caused her to swallow. Convulsively. ‘‘You didn’t?’’
‘‘No. I called you here so that we might discuss your upcoming marriage to Prince Danelaw.’’
Chapter Four
Liv stared at her father. Surely he hadn’t said what she’d thought he’d said.
She heard herself croak in sheer disbelief, ‘‘You can’t be serious.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ said her father in a gentle, kindly tone that made her want to grab a heavy, blunt object and break it over his head. ‘‘But I am serious. A marriage has become imperative. And I think you know why.’’
Liv kept her shoulders back and her hands at her sides. Of course, it didn’t matter what he knew or what he commanded her to do—at least, not aside from how utterly mortified she felt at the thought that somehow her father had found out about Friday night. She was her own woman and would run her own life.
And never in a million years would she marry Finn Danelaw.
Still, she did want to know what information he actually had and where he might have gotten it. She sent Finn a hot glare. He looked back at her, one bronze eyebrow slightly lifted—cool, collected. Giving her nothing.
Her father continued, ‘‘I know that you and Finn spent Midsummer’s Eve out in my parkland, indulging in…amorous adventures, shall we say?’’
‘‘Who told you that?’’
Osrik didn’t even blink. ‘‘You deny it?’’
She did not. She wasn’t proud of the truth, but she had more respect for herself than to tell lies about it. ‘‘I only asked who told you.’’
Her father waved a hand. ‘‘Suffice to say, there is nothing you do in Isenhalla or on the grounds surrounding it that I won’t learn about.’’ He paused, then swept his arm out toward the windows—and the world beyond. ‘‘There’s nothing you do in the whole of my kingdom that I won’t hear of, eventually.’’
‘‘Spies?’’ she demanded. ‘‘That’s what you’re talking about. You’ve got spies on me—and on Brit, too, right?’’ Suddenly, the annoying behavior of the chambermaid was starting to make sense. And if he had the chambermaid reporting to him, spying on his daughters for him, then he probably did know everything. It was altogether possible that the maid could have been there, lurking, listening to everything Liv had told Brit both last night, and the night before.
Osrik went on, ‘‘I was prepared to overlook your misadventures the other night. After all, it was Midsummer’s Eve and you were raised an American. You have no real sense of your true place and responsibilities in the world. But a pregnancy cannot be overlooked.’’
Liv stared at her father unflinching. ‘‘With all due respect, Father, I’m not even going to dignify that bit about me and my ‘place’ in the world with a response. As for the rest of it—ridiculous. Prince Danelaw and I were…together for one night. It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since then. The likelihood that I’m pregnant isn’t all that high—and there’s no way to prove it right now, even if I am.’’
Osrik granted her an infuriatingly patronizing shrug of his proud, well-tailored shoulders. ‘‘I had, I confess, high hopes for you, Liv. I won’t go into detail about my plans. There’s no point. Now that there’s a child coming, my hopes must be put aside.’’
The man was impossible. Assumption piled upon assumption. Liv didn’t know how to answer them all. So she picked one of the major ones. ‘‘How many ways can I say it? You don’t know that I’m pregnant. I don’t know that I’m pregnant. There is no way for anyone to know at this point whether I might be pregnant or not.’’
‘‘Of course there’s a way. There’s what happened to you last night.’’
‘‘Who told you what happened to me last night?’’
He didn’t answer, only went on as if she hadn’t asked the question. ‘‘Your mother had my children. I know the Freyasdahl symptoms and I know those symptoms have never been wrong. You’re pregnant, Liv. I’ve spoken with Finn and he has agreed to marry you as soon as we can reasonably make the arrangements.’’
Liv could not find words blistering enough to express her unqualified contempt for virtually everything her father had said since she’d entered that room. While she cast about for them, Osrik let out a long sigh. He and Prince Greyfell exchanged knowing looks.
Osrik said ruefully, ‘‘As I mentioned, this marriage is not what I intended for you. But after what happened with Elli—which was not at all what I at first wanted for her—I find I’m learning to be more flexible.’’ He gestured grandly at Finn, as if drawing her attention to some fine piece of horseflesh or a prime breeding bull. ‘‘Finn Danelaw is the scion of an ancient and important family. His holdings are extensive. You will not be disappointed in the wealth and influence he brings you. It’s not a bad match by any means.’’
Liv was still seeking the right final, scathing words. They had to be just right. After all, her father was a king. And even a daughter had to use some care when giving a dressing-down to a king. She slid one more hard, burning glance at Finn. He met her look coolly, as if none of this ridiculousness really involved him, as if he were a mildly interested spectator at a melodramatic play.
Liv almost hated him at that moment. How dare he stand there, looking faintly amused as her father informed her that she had to bind her life to his?
She faced her father proudly. ‘‘Listen. Listen carefully. It is not going to happen. I am not