Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride. Kate Hardy
Lorenzo’s eyes were very dark. Beautiful.
He reached over and wound one of her curls round the end of his finger.
Oh, help. That sensual awareness of him over dinner had just gone up several notches. It would be so easy to tip her head back and invite him to kiss her … but that would be such a stupid thing to do.
Indigo was about to take a step backwards. Just to be safe. But then Lorenzo leaned closer and brushed his mouth against hers.
His kiss was sweet and almost shy at first, a gentle brush of his mouth against hers that made every single one of her nerve-ends tingle. And then he did it again. And again, teasing her and coaxing her into sliding her hands into his hair and letting him deepen the kiss.
Indigo had had her fair share of kisses in the past, but nothing like this.
Crown Prince,
Pregnant Bride
Kate Hardy
KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She also writes for Medical™ romance.
Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com.
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With special thanks to Mike Scogings for sharing his expertise on stained glass, and to C.C. Coburn for the lightbulb about the mermaid.
Contents
SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED to be there.
OK, Lorenzo knew that tourists were important. Without the income they brought when they visited the house and gardens of Edensfield Hall, his old school friend Gus would never have been able to keep his family’s ancient estate going. Even keeping the roof of the house in good repair ate up huge chunks of the annual budget, let alone anything else.
But there were set times when the estate was open to the public. Right now wasn’t one of them; the house and gardens were supposed to be completely private. Yet the woman in the shapeless black trousers and tunic top was brazenly walking through the grounds with a camera slung round her neck, stopping every so often to take a picture of something that had caught her eye. At that precise moment she was photographing the lake.
Strictly speaking, this was none of his business and he should just let it go.
But then the woman turned round, saw him staring at her, and snapped his photograph.
Enough was enough. He’d insist that she delete the file—or, if the camera was an old-fashioned one, hand over the film. He was damned if he was going to let a complete stranger make money out of photographing him in the grounds of Edensfield, on what was supposed to be private time. A couple of weeks to get his head together and prepare himself for the coronation.
Lorenzo walked straight over to her. ‘Excuse me. You just took my photograph,’ he said, not smiling.
‘Yes.’
At least she wasn’t denying it. That would make things easier. ‘Would you mind deleting the file from your camera?’
She looked surprised. ‘What’s the problem?’
As if she didn’t know. Lorenzo Torelli—strictly speaking,