The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.. Merline Lovelace
please. Grandmama’s the only one who calls me Eugenia, and then it’s generally because I’ve screwed up.”
“And does that happen often?”
She made a face. “Far more often than either of us would like.”
The tea and the European rhythm of Dominic’s speech had combined to bring Gina the rest of the way down from the adrenaline spike of her scare. When she reached bottom, weariness hit like a baseball bat.
Her jaw cracked on a monster yawn. She barely got a hand up in time to cover it and gave Dominic a laughing apology.
“Sorry ’bout that. It’s been a long day.”
“For me, also.” His mesmerizing onyx eyes held hers. “Shall we go to bed?”
Okay, she had to stop attaching sexual innuendo to every word that came out of the man’s mouth.
They took their mugs to the sink. Dominic rinsed them while Gina emptied the coffeemaker. He flicked off the kitchen light as they passed through the swinging door, plunging them both into temporary blindness.
Gina had grown up in this apartment and was intimately familiar with every piece of furniture a mischievous girl could crawl under or hide behind. She also knew which sharp edges to avoid, blind or not. Instinctively, she angled to the left to skirt the corner of a marble-topped table.
The move brought her into contact with Dominic’s thigh, and his hand shot out to save her from what he must have assumed was a near fall.
“Careful.”
For the second time that night he’d captured her arm. Gina wasn’t quite as quick to shake off his hold this time.
“Thanks. I assume Grandmama put Anastazia in my sister’s room and you in the study?”
“Is the study the baronial hall with the oak paneling and crown molding?” he asked dryly.
“It is.” They stopped outside the double sliding doors. “Here you go. I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Correction. Make that later in the morning.”
His fingers slid from her forearm to her elbow to her wrist. Raising her hand, he bowed and dropped a kiss on it with old-world charm right out of the movies.
“Aludj jól, Gina.”
“And that means?”
“Sleep well.”
“Aludj jól, Dominic.”
She left him standing by the sliding doors and reclaimed her suitcase. No light shone from under the door to her grandmother’s room, so Gina slipped quietly into her own. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.
* * *
She woke mere hours later. Grunting at what felt like a bowling ball resting atop her bladder, she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
When she snuggled between the sheets again, sleep didn’t descend as swiftly. And when it did, it brought confusing dreams of a shadowy figure whose hair morphed from black to gold to black again.
* * *
Since Samuel wasn’t expecting her back from Washington for another day, possibly two, Gina didn’t feel compelled to go in to the office the next morning. Good thing, because she didn’t wake up a second time until almost nine.
She took her time in the shower, wondering if she’d dreamed that kitchen encounter last night. It was so surreal, and so unlike her grandmother to invite complete strangers to stay in their home. Maybe she was more tied to the land of her birth than she let on.
Gina followed the scent of coffee and cinnamon toast to the kitchen, where Maria was turning fresh toast onto a plate.
“There you are. Dominic told us, la duquesa and me, that you came in late last night.”
“I just about jumped out of my skin when I came in last night and bumped into him.” Dying for a cup of coffee, Gina poured a glass of apple juice instead. “I’m surprised Grandmama invited him and his sister to stay here.”
“Me, as well. But they are very nice and have made your grandmother smile. You will see,” Maria said, flipping the last of the toast onto the platter.
“Here, I’ll take that.”
The scene in the sunny, green-and-white breakfast room certainly seemed to give credence to Maria’s comment. The duchess was holding court, her snowy hair in a crown of braids, her chin feathered by the high lace collar of her favorite lavender silk blouse. Her smile was far from regal, though. Wide and lively, it transformed her face as she carried on an animated conversation with her guests in their native language.
But it was those guests who stopped Gina in her tracks. In the bright light of day, Dominic appeared every bit as dangerous as he had last night. Must be that European, unshaved whisker thing. Or his preference for black shirts. This one was starched cotton and open-collared, showing just a hint of a silver chain at his throat.
The woman seated across from him was almost as riveting. Her hair fell well past her shoulders, as lustrous and raven-black as her brother’s. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her mouth a glistening red. Thick lashes framed dark eyes with just the hint of a slant. If the rest of her was as striking as that sculpted face, the woman could walk into any modeling agency in New York and sign a high six-figure contract within minutes.
All of a sudden Gina felt fat and dumpy and just a tad jealous of the way these two outsiders seemed to have glommed on to her grandmother. That lasted only until the duchess spotted her. Her lined face lit up with love.
“You’re awake at last. Come and join us, dearest.”
Dominic pushed back his chair and took the platter of toast so Gina could bend to give her grandmother a kiss. The look he gave her banished any lingering nasty thoughts. Fat and dumpy wouldn’t have put such an admiring gleam in his eyes.
“Good morning, cousin. Did you sleep well?”
“Very.”
“You must let me introduce my sister. Anastazia, this is...”
“Eugenia Amalia Therése,” the brunette said in an accent noticeably heavier than her brother’s.
She, too, pushed back her chair and came around the table. Holding out both hands, she kissed Gina’s cheeks. “I have been so eager to meet you, cousin. I, too, was named for the Archduchess Maria Amalia of Parma.” She wrinkled her perfect nose. “I am Anastazia Amalia Julianna. Such long names we have, yes?”
Despite her cover-model looks, she was open and friendly and engaging. Gina couldn’t help but smile back.
“We do indeed.”
“You must call me Zia. And I will call you Gina.”
That thorny matter settled, they joined the others at the table. Gina helped herself to two slices of cinnamon toast while her grandmother gave them all a rare glimpse into the family archives.
“Poor Archduchess Maria Amalia,” she said with a wry smile. “Married against her will to a mere duke while two of her sisters became queens. Marie Antoinette of France and Marie Caroline of Naples and Sicily.”
Charlotte took a sip of her tea and shared another historical tidbit.
“The three sisters were reportedly very close. They often exchanged letters and portraits and gifts. One of the last letters Marie Antoinette smuggled out of her prison was to Amalia.”
“I’m told there’s a miniature of their mother, the Empress Marie Therese of Austria, in your Metropolitan Museum of Art,” Zia said eagerly. “It is one of the places I hope to visit while I am here.”
“You must get Eugenia to take you. She spent many hours at the Met as a child.”
“Oh, but I must not