Free Her Royal Baby by Marion Lennox Page B

themselves.
    â€˜Tammy, the royal palace of Broitenburg is a wonderful place to live,’ he told her. ‘All your living expenses would be covered. We could find a really good woman to help look after Henry—you could help me choose her—and you could spend as much time with Henry as you liked. You could choose to be a lady of leisure…’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Or not,’ he said smoothly. ‘And if you wanted to work I’d be willing to pay you double your current hourly rate. More.’
    She was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. ‘You mean I’d live in the castle?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜That’s crazy.’ She’d seen plenty of castles in her time in Europe, and she’d been fascinated by them, but they weresomething out of the past—a lifestyle she had nothing to do with. She looked down at the hands Marc was gripping and winced. Her hands were scratched and worn, weathered by the elements and by sheer physical work.
    Marc followed her glance and his hold on her fingers lessened. He released his grip but traced the veins on the back of her hand up to her wrist. The feel of his finger moving with such delicacy over her roughened skin was somehow compelling. As if she was moving into a dream. Cinderella beneath the fairy godmother’s wand. She was being drawn into fantasyland whether she willed it or no.
    â€˜It would work,’ he told her, his voice growing more urgent. ‘You could even enjoy yourself.’
    â€˜For how long?’ She was so stunned she could hardly speak.
    â€˜For as long you want. For ever, if you wish it. Until Henry turns twenty-five and I’m no longer in charge.’
    â€˜And if I change my mind? Once Henry’s in Broitenburg I’d never get him out.’ There was no disguising the bitterness in her voice. She didn’t trust him—why should she?
    There was a long silence while he thought about it. He was still tracing the lines on her hand. He’d turned her hand over and was fingering the lifeline—as though he could read the future written there. As if he could read the decision hanging over them both.
    â€˜I’ll make you a deal,’ he told her at last.
    â€˜What sort of deal?’ Her tone was still laced with suspicion. She was trying to block out the sensation of his hand—the sensation of his touch. She was using suspicion to camouflage it but she wasn’t sure if she was fooling anyone. The way he made her feel…
    But he seemed impervious to the ripples of warmth. The ripples of… In truth she didn’t know what they were. She hadn’t experienced anything like this—ever.
    â€˜I’ll buy you both return tickets to Australia,’ he was saying. ‘First class. If I don’t make you happy then you can come home any time you want.’
    If he didn’t make her happy? What sort of promise was that?
    â€˜Over there you’ll have different laws,’ she managed. ‘You’ll have Henry where you want—’
    â€˜I can give you solid assurances.’
    â€˜How?’ She was being rude, but there was no option. She was fighting for Henry’s future and she was the only person to do it. Despite the way this man made her feel…
    He watched her for a moment longer and then he sighed. ‘You won’t trust my word?’
    â€˜No.’ That was blunt.
    â€˜I guess in your circumstances neither would I.’ He grinned, and his grin was as unexpected as it was gorgeous. ‘Okay, then, Miss Doubter.’ He hauled out his wallet and produced a couple of cards.
    â€˜I have legal contacts,’ he told her. ‘So far they’ve been useless for anything but telling me I wasn’t able to take Henry home without your permission. But this card is for Paule Tarome—he’s Broitenburg’s Chief Magistrate—and this card is for Angela Jefferson, an Australian expert in