The Prince's Secret Bride

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

She looked up, startled once again. Straightening, she pushed at her damp hair, leaving wet strands plastered to her forehead. “It’s none of your business.”

She’d been crying. Once he saw the tears on her cheeks, he knew he was a goner. It was none of his business, but there was no way he could stay out of it now. She was far too vulnerable. Only a cad would leave a woman like this to fend for herself in the night.

Still, his impulse was to growl and start ordering her about. He restrained it. He knew enough about women to know that wasn’t going to work out well. Taking a deep breath, he said carefully, “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing. What’s wrong?”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “Please, just go. I’m really busy here. I’ve got to find…” Her voice trailed off and she went back to trying to move the huge plastic bag.

Instead of leaving, he moved closer. “You’ve got to find what?”

She shook her head and threw a hand out as though covering the waterfront. “My bag. My things.”

He frowned. She could hardly be talking about this big plastic bag she seemed to be so intent on moving out of the way. He reached around her and moved it for her, revealing only more, smaller plastic bags, all filled with suspicious substances. It was obviously trash someone had stacked there, along with things that had washed up on the shore.

“What sort of bag?” he asked her. “What did it look like?”

She straightened and looked around, her bottom lip caught by her teeth, her eyes worried. “I…I’m not sure…”

He resisted the impulse to throw up his hands. “Then how are you going to find it?”

Tears welled in her dark eyes and she turned her head away, her damp curls flopping limply against her neck in a way that somehow touched him. He could see her finely cut profile against the lights from across the river. Her features were delicate, yet strong in a determined sort of way. Her body was slender despite the pregnancy. Her legs were long and exotic, like a dancer’s, and her short skirt showed them off in a way that would turn any man’s head. She moved like a dancer, smooth, fluid motion, like a song brought to life. But that thought made him want to laugh at himself for thinking it. He wasn’t usually quite so sentimental.

Then she turned and his gaze dropped to her full breasts and the way they strained against the soft sweater she wore under her jacket, and he felt a reaction so quick and so hard, it threw him off guard for a moment.

“I don’t need help,” she said, but her voice quavered and the tears were still in her eyes.

Something caught in his chest and he grimaced. No, he wasn’t going to let her get to him. At the same time, she obviously couldn’t be abandoned here. He’d already noticed someone skulking farther down along the river. No, he was going to make sure she got to safety—wherever that might be.

But he wasn’t going to care. Never again. That part of him was gone—and good riddance.

“Just go away,” she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Just go.”

“I’m afraid to leave you here,” he shot back. “You might try another shot at river-rafting.”

She glared at him. “I was not trying to jump into the river.”

“Really? Then what were you doing? Practicing high-bar techniques for Olympic trials in gymnastics?”

She didn’t answer, turning away instead.

“I’ll admit it seems unlikely for someone in your condition….”

“Condition?” she asked. Then she looked down and gasped softly, her hands going protectively to her rounded belly. “Oh. I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

He stared at her. Females didn’t “forget” pregnancy. There was something very odd about this woman. But something distracted him from the subject. For the first time he noticed there was something dark and shiny in her hair. He touched it and drew back his fingers. Blood.

“Hey. What’s this?”

She reached up but didn’t quite touch it herself. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Maybe I hit my head when I fell. Or…or…” She looked up at him questioningly. “Maybe it’s where he hit me.”

Her words sent a blinding flash of outrage slashing through him. The thought of someone deliberately hurting her made him crazy for an unguarded moment.

“Who?” he demanded. “Where? What did he do to you?”

A look of regret for having mentioned it flashed across her face and she turned away. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”

“Wait.” He grabbed her arm to stop her from starting off. “This is serious. I’m taking you to the police.”

She jerked from his grip and began to back away, her eyes wide. “No, I can’t do that. No.” She glared at him, shaking her head, looking fierce. “I can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated, looking past him.

He frowned. He could think of only two reasons why someone wouldn’t want to go to the police, neither of them good.

“Look, I’ll be with you. I’ll handle things. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She flashed him a scathing look. “It must be nice to be so sure and cavalier about other peoples’ lives,” she said. “Who do you think you are, anyway? King of Carnethia?”

He looked at her sharply, but no, she really didn’t seem to know she was talking to someone pretty close to that mark.

“Just someone trying to help you,” he said softly.

“Really?” She tossed her damp hair and sent him a penetrating look. “And what do you expect to get out of it?”

He gave her a half shrug and a well-practiced look of pure boredom. “I was hoping for a simple thank you, but even that seems to be out of the question.”

For just a moment, her gaze faltered. “Why should I trust you?” she asked, pushing hair back out of her eyes.

“You don’t seem to have a lot of choice, do you?” he grumbled, moving restlessly. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the police, there must be somebody I can call to come get you or something.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it poised. “Give me a number.”

She shook her head and looked away.

“Come on. We’ve got to get you out of this drizzle, at least.” He looked back at the store-fronts along the riverside. It was late and most of the shops were closed. “How about that little café there? It’ll be warm and dry.”

She looked up. He could see she was tempted.

“A nice hot cup of coffee? Come on. I’m buying.”

She glanced at the café and a look of longing came into her face. “I’m so hungry,” she admitted softly.

He snapped the cell phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “That does it. Come on. Let’s go.”

Turning, she looked searchingly into his face. He wondered what she saw there—a helpful new friend or the hard-bitten man he knew he’d become? It seemed she hadn’t recognized who he was. That was a relief. So she wasn’t particularly political. Good.