The Unlawfully Wedded Princess

CeCe ceased her pacing and leaned down until she was eye to eye with Amelia. “You said he was your husband, when he called to say he was on his way to New York.”

“I’ve since consulted our lawyer. The marriage wasn’t legal—no way, no how.”

“He obviously means something to you.” CeCe went to the walk-in closet and threw open the door. “Don’t you want to at least put on a dress, maybe some lipstick?”

“Nick has seen me without lipstick. It won’t kill him.” Actually, Nicholas Standish had seen her looking a lot worse than she did now. Almost a year ago, in the former Soviet state of Palemeir, he’d seen her covered with dirt and bug bites, which was how she tended to get when she became deeply involved with a relief effort for the International Children’s Foundation. She’d been busy feeding hungry children, doling out medicine and helping them find a safe place to sleep at night. Her own fastidiousness was low on her priority list, even in the presence of the handsomest, most charismatic man she’d ever met.

Amelia abandoned her nail file and turned to look out the window of the penthouse, which offered a magnificent view of Central Park. The city was in the middle of a dreary late-winter rain, but the park still looked inviting even though still wrapped in winter’s browns. Amelia wished she could go for a run in that park, just lose herself. She’d rather be anywhere than here, about to face the man she’d lied to, then abandoned.

When Amelia turned back to see what her sister was up to, she was met by a bombardment of clothes. CeCe was pulling dresses out of the closet and tossing them at Amelia.

“Put one of those on. Any of them will do.”

Amelia hid a smile as she stripped down to her bra and panties. CeCe, with her sleek, chin-length hair, which she recently dyed reddish-blonde, and her peach silk suit, looked every inch the princess she was—much more so than Amelia, whose curly blond hair was always out of control, and whose wardrobe leaned toward jeans, T-shirts and simple dresses. CeCe’s nervous energy made her a whiz in the corporate boardrooms of DeLacey Shipping, where she was second in command to their mother, Lady Charlotte. In Amelia’s mind, that was just one step away from running a small country like Korosol.

But Amelia was the princess destined to inherit the throne of the tiny principality nestled between Spain and France. Though CeCe at twenty-nine was older than Amelia by two years, their grandfather, King Easton, had chosen Amelia after CeCe had politely declined the throne. Amelia was both honored and terrified by the prospect, amazed she would be trusted with such an awesome responsibility, and worried she wouldn’t live up to the king’s lofty expectations.

But she intended to do her best, to earn the trust her grandfather had in her—if this recent scandal didn’t cause him to disown her. CeCe’s unplanned pregnancy had made tabloid headlines around the world a few scant weeks ago, causing the king a lot of sleepless nights. Fortunately, CeCe had worked things out with the baby’s father, Shane O’Connell, and they were now happily married.

Amelia wasn’t sure her own scandal would have such a satisfying conclusion. It was entirely possible King Easton would change his mind about his latest choice of heir to the throne. He still had one more Carradigne sister available, twenty-six-year-old Lucia. Though Amelia’s younger sister was a free spirit, at least she hadn’t stirred up any scandals.

“So why didn’t you tell us about Nicholas Standish?” CeCe wanted to know, tugging a dress over Amelia’s head as if she were a doll and pulling up the zipper. “I’d have thought you would at least mention it to Ellie.”

Eleanor Standish was Nick’s younger sister and, proving it was a small world, a member of the king’s personal staff who had traveled with him to New York to find an heir among his three granddaughters here. Amelia hadn’t even realized Nick and Ellie were related until recently.

“I thought I’d never see Nick again,” Amelia said, finally ending her self-imposed silence about her matrimonial misadventure. “We were desperate. Marrying him was the only way he could get those two kids out of—”

“Oh, yes. Ellie told us about her brother adopting two orphans.” CeCe automatically put a protective hand to her tummy bulge, which even her expertly tailored suits could no longer disguise. Pregnancy had softened CeCe around the edges. Once known as “the barracuda,” she now melted at the mention of children.

Amelia sighed. “We—Nick and I—ended up responsible for the children after their father died in a foreign embassy blast in Palemeir. Their mother was very sick at the time, and Nick promised her before she died, too, that he would personally care for the kids. But the only way for him to do that was to adopt them. And the only way the Palemeir government would push through the paperwork was if Nick was married. So we got married.”

“That’s extraordinary,” CeCe said, pawing through Amelia’s drawers for a half slip and stockings. “I mean, didn’t you say he’s a mercenary? Such a selfless act doesn’t sound like the act of a guy who makes war for money. He must be something.”

“He is,” Amelia agreed. When she realized how dreamy she sounded, she straightened her spine and frowned. “I’m not wearing stockings.”

“So why is he coming here?” CeCe asked, tossing the underthings at Amelia as if she hadn’t heard her.

“I have no idea.” They’d said their goodbyes at the airport in Palemeir after she’d surprised him by announcing she had to leave right away. The ICF was pulling out, and so was she. But tempted though she’d been, there was no way she could live as a mercenary’s wife in a small town, even if it was in the country of her heritage. She was destined for bigger things—like inheriting a throne. Maybe being queen wasn’t her first choice, but it was her duty.

“I’m fascinated by the whole thing,” CeCe pronounced. “Not just the secret marriage, but the physical risks you took. I knew you were traveling to dangerous areas, but I didn’t picture you right there on the front lines.”

“There were no front lines in Palemeir,” Amelia said. “War was all around us. That’s why I was using the pseudonym, Melanie Lacey, so I could move around without people gawking or the press interfering with my work.”

CeCe brushed an errant curl from Amelia’s cheek. “I know you’re not happy the king put a stop to your activities. But he couldn’t allow the future queen of Korosol to risk her life in war zones.”

Amelia understood. But she missed her adventurous life.

Still, she recognized that with the privilege of her birth came responsibilities, and she was not turning her back on them.

“What are you going to do with this guy when he gets here?” CeCe asked, digging through Amelia’s jumble of shoes in the closet. She selected a pair of white espadrilles, and probably would have shoved them onto Amelia’s feet if Amelia hadn’t willingly stepped into them.

“I don’t know that, either.” But she’d better figure it out fast, because the door chimes were ringing impatiently.

CeCe dragged Amelia toward the bedroom door. “Come on. I’m dying to meet your Nick.”

“Don’t call him ‘my Nick.’ And don’t leave me alone with him,” Amelia implored.

“No, never,” CeCe replied with rippling laughter.

Hester Vanderling, the Carradignes’ housekeeper, met Amelia and CeCe at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, Amelia, there’s a gentleman here to see you. I’m not sure how he got past the downstairs security—”

“It’s all right. I told the guards to let him in,” Amelia said, soothing Hester with a pat on the shoulder. The spry, gray-haired woman was more than a servant. She’d been a part of the family for twenty-five years, serving as nanny to the three Carradigne princesses.

“Is this, um, the one?” Hester asked in a whisper. “The not-quite husband?” Hester’s feelings had been a bit injured when she learned of Amelia’s pseudo-marriage, splashed all over page seven in the Manhattan Chronicle by notorious gossip columnist Krissy Katwell. The princesses had always confided all their secrets in Hester, trusting her with things they never would have told even their mother.

Amelia wished now she could get Hester’s advice on how to handle the situation. But there was no more time for wishful thinking, because there he was, standing in the foyer, looking even more large and masculine than Amelia remembered, especially with the Carradignes’ delicate antiques and pastel silk wall coverings as a backdrop.

“Hello, Nick.” Her voice came out a squeak.

“Amelia.”

In a heartbeat time melted, taking Amelia back to a year ago, when this man had been her lifeline, her protector, her hero. Her skin prickled with awareness just at the sight of him, and he’d only said her name.

Once her tunnel vision returned to normal, Amelia realized Nick had the children with him, clinging to him like burrs. What were they doing here? Oh, how she’d hated saying goodbye to them a year ago, almost as much as she’d hated leaving Nick.

Amelia opened her arms. “Josie! Jakob! No kisses for your auntie Mellie?” Jakob, who had to be three now, squirmed away from Nick and ran to her like a friendly puppy. But Josie held back, her blue eyes full of caution.

Amelia gave Jakob a bear hug, smiling warmly at Josie over his head. Josie didn’t smile back, her expression carefully neutral.

The expression on Nick’s face was anything but neutral. His blue eyes seemed to devour Amelia inch by inch. She could tell he was angry—perhaps dangerously so. She’d seen those veiled blue eyes looking just like that whenever anyone got in his way.

His gaze shifted to CeCe just as CeCe nudged Amelia.

“Oh, excuse me. Nicholas Standish, this is my sister, Cecelia O’Connell. And Hester Vanderling, who practically raised us.”

Nick gave CeCe a suitably pleased-looking nod. “Princess Cecelia. Congratulations on your recent marriage.”

“Thank you.”

“And Mrs. Vanderling.” He shook Hester’s hand, and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Amelia was amazed Nick had the capacity to be so…so civilized, but she supposed their situation in Palemeir hadn’t called for much in the way of manners.

“Who are these cute little munchkins?” CeCe asked, her adoring gaze focused on the children.

“I’m Jakob,” the little boy said proudly. “Jakob Standish!”

The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted at the mention of his own surname tacked onto Jakob’s. The last time Amelia had seen them, Jakob had not been at all sure he wanted to go anywhere with large, gruff Nick, much less accept him as his father. Things must have improved a great deal since then, and all without her assistance. Certainly the children looked better. Jakob’s light brown hair had been cropped close, much like Nick’s, and his blue eyes sparkled with health. He’d gotten some color, too, and a few more freckles on his nose from being out in the sunshine. Josie’s hair, which had been dull and matted in Palemeir, was now a halo of shiny, golden curls.

Amelia felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t been part of this almost miraculous transformation and that she hadn’t helped the children settle into their new home.