A Royal Proposition

A Royal Proposition
Marion Lennox

As in a fairy tale, Penny-Rose O'Shea has been rescued from poverty by a handsome prince who wants to marry her!But this royal marriage is purely for convenience. Prince Alastair must marry a woman of unimpeachable virtue for one year, or his estate will be forfeited and his people will lose their homes….Penny-Rose can't refuse to help, and agrees to become Alastair's temporary princess - not suspecting that she's about to fall for a man who isn't hers to fall in love with!

The kiss grew deeper.

Neither could break the moment—break the contact. It was too precious. Too infinitely valuable.

It was as unexpected as it was magical.

Then Penny-Rose broke away. For one long moment the prince still held her, his hands on her arms and his gaze locked with hers. Their eyes reflected mutual confusion—mutual need.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he managed, and Penny-Rose shook her head.

“Don’t be. I had no business to kiss you.”

“I never meant—”

“Don’t explain things to me, Alastair,” she said gently. Because he couldn’t. And she had to let him off the hook. He was confused and angry with himself. She could see that. He’d broken his unwritten rule….

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories!

In her nonwriting life Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories. Her stories allow her to travel, and if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!

A ROYAL PROPOSITION

Marion Lennox

To David, who took my heart to Paris.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘ALASTAIR, I know you and Belle are planning to marry, but you must marry Penny-Rose first.’

Silence. Marguerite de Castaliae looked as unruffled as if she’d just talked of the weather, but Alastair and Belle were staring at her as if she’d dropped a bomb.

‘What are you saying?’ It was Alastair who first found his voice. His Serene Highness, Alastair, Prince de Castaliae dug his hands deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. His dark eyes closed. What now? He didn’t need his mother making crazy propositions. Not when he had so much else to think of…

If this inheritance didn’t go through, the village faced ruin. After months of effort, he’d found no way to save it. His own fortune couldn’t save this place. Nothing could.

Today he’d reached a final, joyless decision. He’d been up since dawn inspecting the cattle with stock agents, working out how much they’d make at market. He’d come in to make a final bleak phone call to his accountants. They’d given him their verdict and it was all looking futile.

The banks would never finance such a venture. The estate would have to be sold.

So Alastair was exhausted, and he didn’t need this.

‘Marry someone else? That’s ridiculous.’

‘It’s not ridiculous.’ His mother was wearing her I’m-about-to-solve-all-your-problems smile. ‘My dear, you do want to be a prince?’ She was probing, fishing for a reaction.

She found it. ‘No!’ Alastair turned to stare out the window, over the castle’s lush gardens to the river beyond. ‘No,’ he said again. His voice was surer still, and there was revulsion in his tone. ‘It was Louis who was supposed to inherit all this. Not me.’

‘But Louis is dead, dear,’ Marguerite reminded him. ‘And I won’t even pretend I’m sorry, because he would have made a very bad prince. If he’d inherited…’

‘It was his right to inherit.’

‘He drank that right away,’ his mother retorted. ‘He was a wastrel and a fool, and now he’s dead. So now the title is yours. And the responsibilities.’

‘I never wanted it.’

‘But it’s yours for the taking.’ Marguerite’s gaze shifted from her son to her future daughter-in-law, and her probing eyes were thoughtful. ‘If you want it badly enough,’ she said gently. ‘And if Belle wants it.’ Her voice became questioning again. ‘I’d imagine Belle would rather like to own this castle and be your princess?’

‘Belle doesn’t care about titles,’ Alastair said shortly. ‘Just as I don’t.’

Marguerite wasn’t as sure of that as her son was, but she kept her face deliberately expressionless. This tiny Castaliae principality, tucked between France and the rest of Europe, might be a very small player on the world stage, but it was a lovely place to live—and maybe a wonderful place to rule?

Wealth and position might very well appeal to Belle, she thought, but she’d have to use other ways to persuade her son.

‘Alastair, the people here need you,’ she told him. ‘The country is depending on you.’

‘We’ve been over this.’