The King's Convenient Bride / The Illegitimate Prince's Baby: The King's Convenient Bride

Oh, boy.

In all of the years she’d studied in preparation for this marriage, she had learned about things like etiquette and social graces, bloodlines and royal custom, but no one ever taught her about this kind of stuff. Sure, it had been drilled in her head that she would be expected to produce at least one heir, preferably more, but all advice stopped outside the bedroom door.

And to say she was a novice was a gross understatement.

Though her high school girlfriends and college sorority sisters often questioned her sanity, she had made the decision a long time ago, even before the arranged marriage, that she would save herself for her husband on their wedding night.

She and Phillip had never kissed. Never so much as held hands. Not that she hadn’t wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been proper. Right now, here in this room, there wasn’t a single thing to stop them.

The idea made her both excited and terrified at the same time. The truth of the matter was, she barely knew him, and that had never been more evident to her than at this very moment.

He leaned forward a fraction and she just about jumped out of her skin. With an amused grin, he asked, “Do I make you nervous, Hannah?”

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to gnaw her lip. “You’re a king. It is a tad intimidating.”

“I’m just a man.”

Yeah, kind of like The Beatles were just a rock-and-roll band or the Mona Lisa is just a painting.

“I’ve been anticipating this day for a really long time,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as wobbly to his ears as it did to her own.

“Well then, I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.” His eyes searched her face and she wondered what he was looking for. What did he see when he looked at her? Did he know deep in his heart, just as she did, that they were perfectly suited? Was he as excited about the future as she was?

Though her parents insisted she wait until she was eighteen before making the decision to marry Phillip, from the day she met him, she knew that she would someday be his wife. Had he felt it, too?

With all of her dedication and careful planning, how could their life together not be storybook perfect?

“You are beautiful.” He lifted one hand to her face, brushed the backs of his fingers across the curve of her jaw. Her skin warmed and tingled and a funny tickle rippled through her belly. “Does it strike you odd that we’ll be married in two weeks, and yet I’ve never even kissed you?”

“It would have been difficult with the chaperone watching our every move. Of course, that was the point of the chaperone, I guess.”

He leaned in the tiniest bit and her heart went berserk. “There’s no chaperone here.”

“Well,” she said, with a confidence she’d dredged up from God only knew where. “I guess now is your big chance.”

A grin curled his mouth. He slipped his fingers across her cheek, cupped her face with one large but gentle hand, and goose bumps broke out across her skin. “I guess it is.”

Two

Maybe it wasn’t proper, but as he leaned in she felt herself tipping forward to meet him halfway. Since she was sixteen years old, she had imagined kissing him, so sue her if she was more than a little enthusiastic.

Her eyes slipped closed and she felt the whisper of his breath, then his lips brushed hers…

Across the room the doors flew open and Hannah was so startled, she shot to her feet.

Phillip sighed and sat back on his heels. Leave it to his sister, Sophie, to kill a moment.

Sophie merely smiled.

He rose to his feet to stand beside his fiancée. She was red-faced with embarrassment, or maybe arousal. Or perhaps a bit of both. “Hannah, you remember my sister, Princess Sophie?”

“Of course,” Hannah said, executing a flawless curtsy. “It’s so nice to see you again, Your Highness.”

“As I’m sure my brother will tell you, I don’t care much for titles.” She offered Hannah her hand for a firm, very unroyal shake. “From now on, it’s just plain old Sophie, okay?”

Hannah nodded, her lip clamped between her teeth. A habit he found rather charming. If it weren’t for his sister and her most inconvenient timing, he might be the one chewing that plump, tender flesh.

“I wanted to let you know that the receiving line has been moved to the foyer,” Sophie told him. And added with a wry grin, “If you’re ready, of course.”

He turned to his bride-to-be. “Hannah?”

“Is there a powder room I could use first? I have the feeling I gnawed off the last of my lipstick.”

“Of course.” He gestured to the door. “Right through there.”

“I’ll try to hurry.”

“Take all the time you need.”

He watched her cross the room, noting that in spite of her apprehension, she carried herself with the utmost grace and dignity. It was hard to believe it had been two years since their last meeting. And the fault was entirely his own. Since his father’s death he had been too busy to give his impending marriage much attention. There wasn’t even supposed to be a marriage for at least another year. Not that he would be any less opposed to the idea then, as he was now.

If it were up to him, he would never tie the knot. The idea of being chained to a single woman for the rest of his life sounded so…claustrophobic. But he had a duty to his country. One that he did not take lightly.

And unlike his father, from whom Phillip had inherited his restless nature, he intended to be faithful to his wife.

“You certainly don’t waste any time,” his sister said. “Although, in the future, you might want to lock the door.”

He shot her a warning look.

“It’s a good thing the powder room has only one exit,” she said. “Or I fear your betrothed might just make a run for it.”

He wouldn’t even justify that with a response. “Surely you have something better to do.”

Sophie grinned. There was nothing she loved more than ruffling his feathers. From the time she was old enough to form words, she had been the consummate, bratty younger sister.

“Your intended is quite lovely,” she said.

“Yes, quite,” he agreed. Everything a king could want or expect in a wife.

Though at first the idea of an arranged marriage had been archaic even to him, at the insistence of his mother—who had rejected the concept of the word no, unless, of course, she was the one speaking it—he had flown to the States to meet the young woman.

It had been clear to him immediately that at the age of sixteen Hannah already possessed great potential. Despite the eight-year age difference, he found her undeniably attractive. And he could see that the feeling was mutual. And even better, were he to acquiesce, it would keep his parents off his back. At his own request, future meetings were arranged, and plans for a courtship were set in motion.

By eighteen she had blossomed into a woman of exceptional beauty and poise, and their feelings had matured from ones of sexual curiosity to intense physical attraction.

She was everything a king could want in a mate, and right now her innocence, her eagerness to please, appealed to him. Sadly, he was easily bored and quite sure that the novelty would soon wear off.

“Do you think she has the slightest clue what she’s getting herself into?” Sophie asked.