Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride: Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride

He looked into her face, his own deadly serious.

“I want to go to the ball.”

“Oh, sir!” She threw her hands up to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! Where? How?”

“That’s where you come in. Find me a costume and a nice, secure mask.” He cocked an eyebrow and smiled at her. “Can you do that?”

“Impossible,” she cried. “Simply impossible.” But a smile was beginning to tease the corners of her mouth. “Well, maybe.” She thought a moment longer, then smiled impishly. “It would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

He grinned at her.

“Will you want a sword?” she asked, her enthusiasm growing by leaps and bounds.

He grimaced. “I think not. It might be too tempting to use it on Leonardo.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, nodding wisely.

He got a real kick out of her. She was so ready to join in on his plans and at the same time, she seemed to be thoroughly loyal to the mistress she considered her best friend. It was a helpful combination to work with.

He lifted his head, looking at the ball gown and thinking of how it would look with his favorite woman filling it out in all the right places. “All I want to do is go to the ball and dance with Pellea.”

“How romantic,” Kimmee said, sighing. Then her gaze sharpened as she realized what he might be describing. “You mean…?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Secretly. I want to surprise Pellea.”

Kimmee gave a bubbling laugh, obviously delighted with the concept. “I think Leonardo will be even more surprised.”

He shook his head and gave her a warning look. “That is something I’ll have to guard against.”

She sighed. “I understand. But it would be fun to see his face.”

He frowned, wondering if he was letting her get a little too much into this.

“See what you can do,” he said. “But don’t forget. If Leonardo finds out…” He drew his finger across his throat like a knife and made a cutting sound. “I’ll be dead and Pellea will be in big trouble.”

She shook her head, eyes wide and sincere. “You can count on me, sir. And as for the costume…” She put her hand over her heart. “I’ll do my best.”

Pellea returned a half hour later, bristling with determination.

“I’ve brought you something to eat,” she said, handing him a neatly wrapped, grilled chicken leg and a small loaf of artisan bread. He was sitting at a small table near her fountain, looking for all the world like a Parisian playboy at a sidewalk café. “And I’ve brought you news.”

“News, huh? Let me guess.” He put his hand to his forehead as though taking transmissions from space. “Leonardo has decided to join the national ballet and forget all about this crazy marriage stuff. Am I right?”

She glared at him. “I’m warning you, don’t take the man lightly.”

“Oh, I don’t. Believe me.” He began to unwrap the chicken leg. He hadn’t eaten for hours and he was more than ready to partake of what she’d brought him. “So what is the news?”

“Leonardo talked to his father and we’ve decided to move the wedding up.” Her chin rose defiantly. “We’re getting married in two days.”

He put down the chicken leg, hunger forgotten, and stared at her with eyes that had turned icy silver. “What’s the rush?” he asked with deceptive calm.

The look in his gaze made her nervous. He seemed utterly peaceful, and yet there was a sense in the air that a keg of dynamite was about to blow.

She turned away, pacing, thinking about how nice and simple life had been before she’d found him lurking in her garden that day. Her path had been relatively clear at the time. True, she had been fighting her father over his wish that she marry Leonardo. But that was relatively easy to deal with compared to what she had now.

The irony was that her father would get his wish, and she’d done it to herself. She would marry Leonardo. She would be the first lady of the land and just about impervious to attack. Just as her father so obsessively craved, she would be as safe as she could possibly be.

But even that wasn’t perfect safety. There were a thousand chinks in her armor and the path ahead was perilous. Everything she did, every decision she made, could have unforeseen repercussions. She had set a course and now the winds would take her to her destination. Was it the best destination for her or was it a mirage? Was she right or was she wrong? If only she knew.

Looking out into the courtyard, Pellea shivered with a premonition of what might be to come.

Monte watched her from under lowered brows, munching on a bite of chicken. Much as she was trying to hide it, he could see that she was in a special sort of agony and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. What was her hurry to marry Leonardo? What made her so anxious to cement those ties?

Motivations were often difficult to untangle and understand. What were hers? Did it really mean everything to her to have her father satisfied that she was safe, and to do it before it was too late? Evidence did suggest that he was fading fast. Was that what moved her? He couldn’t think what else it could be. But was that really enough to make her rush to Leonardo’s arms? Or was there something going on that he didn’t know about?

“I suppose the powers that be are in favor of this wedding?” he mentioned casually.

She nodded. “Believe me, everything around here is planned to the nth degree. Public-relations values hold sway over everything.”

“I’ve noticed. That’s what makes me wonder. What’s the deal with this wedding coming on so suddenly? I would think the regime would try to milk all the publicity they could possibly get out of a long engagement.”

“Interesting theory,” she said softly, pretending to be busy folding clothes away.

“Why?” he asked bluntly. “Why so soon?”

“You’d have to ask Leonardo about that,” she said evasively.

“Maybe I will. If I get the chance.” He looked at her sharply, trying to read her mind. “I can’t help but think he has a plan in mind. There has to be a reason.”

“Sometimes people just want to do things quickly,” she said, getting annoyed with his persistence.

“Um-hmm.” He didn’t buy that for a minute. The more he let the idea of such a marriage—the ultimate marriage of convenience—linger in his mind, the more he hated it. Pellea couldn’t be with Leonardo. Everything in him rebelled at the thought.

Pellea belonged to him.

That was nonsense, of course. How could she be his when he wouldn’t do what needed to be done to take that responsibility in hand himself? After all, he’d refused to step up and do the things a man did when making a woman his own. As his old tutor might say, he craved the honey but refused to tend to the bees.

Still in some deep, gut-level part of him, she was his and had been since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d put his stamp on her, his brand, his seal. He’d held her and loved her, body and soul, and he wanted her available for more of the same. She was his, damn it!

But what was he prepared to do about it?

That was the question.

He watched her, taking in the grace and loveliness of her form and movement, the full, luscious temptation of her exciting body, the beauty of her perfect face, and the question burned inside him. What was he prepared to do? It was working into a drumbeat in his head and in his heart. What? Just exactly what?

“You don’t love him.”

The words came out loud and clear and yet he was surprised when he said them. He hadn’t planned to say anything of the sort. Still, once it was out, he was glad he’d said it. The truth was out now, like a flag, a banner, a warning that couldn’t be ignored any longer. And why not? Truth was supposed to set you free.