The Improperly Pregnant Princess

716—A REAL-LIVE SHEIKH

734—THE COWBOY AND THE SHOTGUN BRIDE

763—LET’S MAKE A BABY!

791—ASSIGNMENT: GROOM!

804—MISTLETOE DADDY

833—I DO! I DO!

855—DADDY, M.D.

875—KISS A HANDSOME STRANGER

889—SURPRISE, DOC! YOU’RE A DADDY!

913—THE IMPROPERLY PREGNANT PRINCESS

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

435—AND THE BRIDE VANISHES

512—HIS SECRET SON

550—CAPTURED BY A SHEIKH

Contents

Prologue (#ua13d4d2c-754c-5b27-b3a9-78e14de0c50b)

Chapter One (#ued8331a9-c496-5290-bfb2-c2038f0c98e4)

Chapter Two (#u14974376-d094-5e2c-b9f6-c339d72b9820)

Chapter Three (#u5c59a96b-6caa-50d2-98df-cb3ecf21ff74)

Chapter Four (#u5fdfb0ff-428a-59a9-b3f7-8466fcd7f04d)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

King Easton Carradigne clicked off the phone with a sense of relief. He had just set in motion events that should secure the future of the tiny kingdom of Korosol.

He gazed fondly around the high-ceilinged, tapestry-hung office on the second floor of his palace. Perhaps his successor, after she was crowned, would allow him to occupy this room a little longer…but no. When he handed over the reins of power, he must do so completely.

Feeling restless, the seventy-eight-year-old monarch sprang to his feet and strode to the high, multipaned window. From here, his gaze swept the beloved scene he was about to hand over to a virtual stranger.

Although it was evening, the king could fully appreciate the sweep and splendor of the landscaped grounds, having long ago memorized every inch of the gardens and ponds. Even in February, they were free of snow because of the mild, Mediterranean climate.

To his right, the royal-blue-and-silver flag of his homeland flapped as a groundsman lowered it for the night. A semitame deer raised its head at the sound. Seeing nothing to fear, it resumed grazing.

There was nowhere else in the world quite like Korosol, Easton thought. Tourists flocked to this refuge, which sloped from the mountains to the sea between France and Spain. They prized the beaches and mountain hot springs, the good weather and the rare wines.

He knew that his people credited him with much of Korosol’s affluence and stability. Easton, who had performed his duty for over fifty years to his hundred thousand subjects out of love, only hoped his successor would do as well.

Until last year, the obvious heir had been his eldest son, Byrum. Then, while on safari in Africa, Byrum and his wife, Sarah, had died when their Jeep exploded.

Although by tradition Easton’s choice should have fallen to their son, Markus, terrible rumors had reached him. A few of his grandson’s acquaintances believed Markus was somehow involved in the death of his parents. Even if they were mistaken, Markus’s drinking and dark moods made him unsuited to ruling.

Grieving for Byrum, Easton had let the matter slide until this month, when his intermittent weak spells had intensified to the point that they alarmed his physician. The doctor had sent him to Paris for secret medical tests.

The verdict: Easton suffered from a rare blood disease of unknown origin. The doctors said he would grow frailer over the coming months and had at most a year to live.

The need to choose an heir became urgent. While it was true that, in its eight-hundred-year history, Korosol had rarely been ruled by anyone not in a direct line of father-to-eldest-surviving-child descent, the law allowed the king to name his own successor.

That was what he planned to do.

A discreet knock at the door heralded the entrance of General Harrison Montcalm, Easton’s royal adviser. A thoughtful man with erect military bearing, Sir Harrison stood six feet tall, the same height as the monarch.

At age forty-five, however, the retired general was considerably more muscular. A good man to lean on in a crisis, in more ways than one, the king reflected.