The Expectant Princess. Stella Bagwell
and shoulders like a wild waterfall.
Before Marcus realized where his thinking was headed, he was suddenly wondering what it would be like to run his hands through the thick brown tresses, to skim the pads of his fingers over the smooth skin of her face, her throat and down the shadowy cleavage between her breasts.
Dear Lord, he must be drunk from lack of sleep and too much work, he reasoned with himself. There was no other reason for him to be thinking such lustful thoughts about his king’s daughter. Especially now that King Michael was missing and presumed dead.
Across the table Dominique was feeling a bit disturbed by Marcus’s close scrutiny. It wasn’t like him to look at her so intensely. And though she knew it was a crazy notion, she wondered if the man was finally seeing her as a woman. Not as the teenager he used to know.
The whole idea heated Dominique’s cheeks and forced her to rise to her feet and put a measurable space between them.
Walking to the edge of the balcony, she leaned against the thick balustrade. From this high point, Old Stanbury, the capital city of Edenbourg, lay far below. Its network of winding narrow streets were nestled against green hillsides and lined with shops, boutiques and quaint cottages built centuries before the ravages of World War II had threatened this small island country.
Far to the west, between a break in the mountains, was a sparkling glimpse of blue-gray sea, while directly below were the palace grounds, where slopes of grassy lawns were dotted with huge shade trees and patterned with hedgerows. In another month, tea roses would be blooming thickly in the carefully tended gardens. A beautiful time for a wedding. But that part of Dominique’s dreams were over.
She was trying to fight off those bitter thoughts when Marcus came to stand beside her. With a rueful smile, she looked over at him.
“I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m not very good company this morning.”
The smile he cast her was regretful. “I’m not here to be entertained, Dominique. In fact, I think I should be the one apologizing for starting your day out on such a bad note.”
She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “No. Please don’t apologize. I want you to keep me abreast of what’s happening with the investigation.”
He nodded soberly. “Perhaps we’ll hear something soon.”
As she studied his somber face, it suddenly dawned on her that her father’s disappearance was bound to be tearing at him just as much as it was her. Marcus had spent many years serving his country and, most of all, his king. He had become her father’s right-hand man, a close friend and confidant to Michael Stanbury.
The need to comfort him overshadowed her intentions to remain distant. She reached for his hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “I know you must be hurting over all this, too, Marcus. You love Father very much.”
“Yes,” he said flatly. “It’s not the same without him.”
“No. But then our lives never really stay the same, even when we want them to.”
Her comment brought a grimace to his face. “I’m sure you heard about my marriage and divorce.”
She nodded while trying to hide her surprise that he’d brought up the subject. From what she recalled, Marcus had been a private man. She’d not expected him to want to share that sort of thing with anyone.
“It was in the papers,” she told him. “I couldn’t help but see all the articles. I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”
Pulling away from her, he gripped the top rail of the balustrade as he stared out at the distant city. “Being a member of your father’s staff made my private life fodder for the news media. I don’t think there was even one story that ever got it right.”
Her throat tightened with unexpected emotion. Marcus had always been a hero in her eyes. And heroes weren’t ever supposed to hurt. “Your wife—I mean, ex-wife—is very beautiful. You must have loved her madly.”
The corners of his mouth turned downward. Madly was probably the perfect way to describe his feelings toward Liza back then, Marcus thought. For a while he’d been insane over the woman. He’d not been able to see beyond his own besotted emotions that she was not suited to him or his way of life. Liza had never been able to understand that when duty to his country called, she had to take second stage.
“I’m over Liza, Dominique. But I do still deeply regret that our baby didn’t survive.”
Baby. The word jolted the deepest part of her and for long moments she was too choked to speak.
Finally, she managed, but her voice was hoarse and so low it was almost carried away with the sea breeze. “You’ll have a child someday, Marcus. When you find that special woman.”
His lips twisted to a mocking slant. “No. Two years ago Liza suffered a spontaneous miscarriage. The doctors couldn’t explain why it happened. Except that nature had decided to intervene. Somehow the lack of a concrete reason made it harder for both of us to accept the loss. The whole thing made me realize that having a wife and a child of my own was…too risky an endeavor. I’ve decided I’m not cut out to be a husband or father. Some men aren’t, you know.”
Oh yes, Dominique did know. But she’d learned the lesson too late. Now she had to face the reckoning of her folly alone.
Dominique was so lost in her problems, she wasn’t aware that Marcus had moved closer until his lips were brushing a soft kiss against her cheek.
“Welcome home, Dominique,” he murmured.
Too stunned to make any sort of reply, she watched him leave the balcony, then with quivering fingers, she touched the spot where his lips had warmed her skin.
Marcus believed he wasn’t meant to be a husband or father. If Dominique was wise, she would make herself believe it, too.
Four days later, in the family room of the Stanbury palace, Dominique announced that she intended to drive out to the scene of her father’s accident and have a look for herself.
“Dominique,” Queen Josephine calmly spoke up, “the police are doing all they can. Your interference would only hinder their progress.”
Dominique turned an astounded look on her perfectly groomed mother. Sometimes Josephine’s stiff upper lip infuriated her. Putting on a strong and reserved facade for the public was one thing, but in the privacy of family, Dominique didn’t believe any of them had to keep up a show of iron will.
Her parents had been married for thirty-three years and had produced three children together. Yet there had been times when Dominique wondered about their relationship. Their marriage had been an arrangement, made between two families seeking to merge their bloodlines and further enforce their power.
Now, as she looked at her mother sitting calmly in a winged-back chair, her smooth profile turned toward the flames in the fireplace, she could only guess at the woman’s guarded emotions. Was she mourning a lost love or simply accepting that the king was dead and it was her duty to continue without him?
“What progress are you talking about, Mother? It’s been a week and they still can’t tell us what happened with Father! They can’t even find his body!”
“That hardly means you can,” Nicholas spoke up from across the room.
Dominique rolled her eyes toward the high ceiling of the massive room. “I didn’t say I could, Nick. I’m only saying I want to go look for myself. I want to see where my father supposedly lost his life.”
“Not me,” Rebecca said from a nearby armchair. “It gives me the shivers just thinking about it.”
“I’m with Rebecca. The scene is not something for the fainthearted to see.”
This was from Jake Stanbury. Close to thirty years old with a tall, lean build and dark brown hair, he was the second son of Edward, who had arrived later that morning after the