The Prince's Secret Bride

“Your Highness,” she said, purposefully using his rank as a way to distance herself from him. “I may not remember my name at the moment. And I may not be too clear on where I came from.”

She paused for a moment as a picture swam into her mind, a hazy, misty picture that wouldn’t quite come into focus. She blinked, thinking the clouds would clear in a second or two and she would see it perfectly.

“Are you remembering something?” he asked, stepping closer.

She drew in a quick breath as the picture evaporated before her eyes. Looking at him, she twisted her mouth slightly. “Not anymore,” she said coolly.

He nodded. “Let me know if you do,” he said, searching her face as though he thought the answers might appear there.

She sighed. Here was the problem. He saw her as a victim, someone who needed to be taken care of. She’d been through a lot today and taken some hard knocks, but she knew one thing for sure—she was no victim. She could take care of herself. She was going to have to pull herself together enough to show him that inner toughness before it was too late.

“Get some sleep,” he told her, starting to turn away. “We’ll discuss your situation tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Not if I see you first,” she muttered to herself as she listened to the sharp sound of his boots on the tiled floor of the hallway.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARISA stared at what she could see of the flowered canopy above her. Not much moonlight slipped in around the heavy drapes. She’d slept for an hour or so, but something was gnawing at her and she was completely awake now. If she was going to try to find a way out of this place, now was the time. She had to go. She didn’t feel right being here in the first place. This memory thing was driving her crazy. She was so sure she would remember everything if only she could find her missing bag. There was a compulsion driving her. She had to hurry back to the river and find her bag before anyone else did. And the most chilling thought of all. If she never found it, would she ever remember who she was?

Sitting up, she leaned against the headboard and tried to make a plan. She was in the palace. There were guards. There were probably alarms on the windows and doors. So how was she going to get out of here?

Well…how about a bold walk right out the front door? Why would a guard even want to stop her? She was a guest in this house and she wanted to leave. What could be simpler?

Slipping out of bed, she went to the wardrobe, bypassing the pink sweater for a light training suit in more earthy tones. The pants were stretchy and fitted just fine around her belly. The top was a little snug around her bust. She was ready to go.

In moments she was making her way carefully down the wide staircase and into the dimly lit marble foyer. Catching sight of the front-door guards through the glass, she stopped and chewed on her lip. Now that she was down here, coming face to face with a couple of men likely to have overly aggressive authoritarian complexes didn’t seem like such a good idea. Maybe she ought to try a side door or window first, something in one of the rooms that opened off the foyer. Turning she dismissed first one doorway, then another. A semi-dark room appeared to her left. It seemed to be a library of some sort, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Light from the moon cast a silver aspect across the floor that was almost inviting. She slipped inside, heading for the windows. Surely she would be able to open at least one of them, and if she could get through into the garden without triggering the alarm…

Prince Nico sat in semi-darkness, sunk in the depths of a huge leather chair in the palace library, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The night was stretching out long and lonely ahead of him. He wished there was a switch that could turn his mind off. It was running like a rat in a wheel. At this rate, he was never going to be able to sleep.

The cause was plain enough. Marisa. Marisa with her amnesia and her adorable bewilderment and her strangely vulnerable eyes and her determined bravery. And most of all, with the mystery child she carried. For some reason she had appeared out of the mist and walked into his life, conjuring up all his old ghosts and setting them free to torture him once again. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be able to sleep for a long time.

And why was that? What had she done to him? There was no real reason for it. Marisa looked nothing like Andrea. Her personality was very different as well. So why had she captured his imagination like no other woman had done for a long, long time?

Throwing back his head, he groaned softly. He knew exactly what it was—he just had to face it.

First, she was pregnant and at just about the same stage Andrea had been when she’d been killed. That just naturally reached out and twisted his heart in ways not much else could. He wanted to protect her, to keep the world and all its ugliness away from her, to make sure nothing happened before she delivered her baby. His own baby had died with Andrea. A double tragedy. A double outrage. The pain had been unbearable. If he had the power, he would make sure that never happened to anyone again.

Okay, was that enough? Did that answer the questions roiling inside him? He lifted his glass and looked at the way a shaft of moonlight turned the drink inside to liquid gold and knew he hadn’t begun to give a full answer.

Ah hell. He took another long sip and put the glass down on the table at his elbow. Maybe he’d had enough to drink now to be honest with himself.

“She turns me on.”

There. He’d said it. And now he hated himself.