Celeste’s grip on the footman tightened until she was almost choking the small man.
“Of course, I do not believe it,” the footman wheezed, struggling for air. “You are our most beloved and beautiful queen.”
“And I’m about to give birth to a boy,” she said, panting slightly. “A boy who will be the king. Go now. Fetch Dr. Mellion. Get him and no one else. You understand?”
Henri nodded so fast his footman’s cap almost fell off.
“And tell no one what you have heard about Luc,” Celeste continued. “It is all a lie, a conspiracy by that dotty old woman and her crazy prime minister. Remember, Henri—” she released her grip on him and patted his arm as she smiled her famously charming smile “—I will reward those who are loyal to me. Reward them greatly.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. My only aim is to serve you.”
Her smile slipped as another contraction hit. “Then go get Dr. Mellion and be quick about it!”
Chapter Three
“Have you heard the news?” Juliet asked Luc the next morning. She’d come to his office first thing. They were alone, and with the office door closed, assured of some privacy.
Unlike her own working space, his was spacious and possessed every modern convenience—computer, fax machine, a bank of telephones. His desk held a blotter, a penholder and a lamp. No mess, no pile of papers. Everything was neatly in its place, under control. Even the chairs in his office possessed a firm practicality that didn’t make them particularly nice to sit in, but she plopped into the nearest one anyway.
“What news?” Luc barely looked up from the file he was studying.
“Celeste had a baby boy at four this morning.”
“Oh, that news,” he said absently. “Yes, I heard.”
He’d reverted back to his usual working attire of a perfectly-fitted black suit and light blue shirt with a burgundy tie. He looked very classy…and very much like a “hottie” to quote her sister Jacqueline’s favorite terminology.
Wishing she could just sit here and admire the view—him—Juliet realized she should try to keep her mind on court business and not funny business, like making out with Luc on his smooth desktop. “Did you hear she’s proclaiming he’s the next King of St. Michel?”
“Celeste has proclaimed a number of things over the past few months. It doesn’t mean any of them are true.”
Too jumpy to sit still for long, Juliet abandoned the chair for the corner of his desk, where she perched. Luc clearly hadn’t noticed the flowing floral skirt she was wearing, nor the gauzy pink camisole top that had required all her nerve to put on. After all, she was visiting the future king. She’d almost put on the nunnish gray dress she wore to chapel. But some spark of rebellion had prompted her to stick to her present attire. “Did you tell her that you’re the real heir to the throne?”
“No.” Luc closed the file he’d been studying. “She was rather busy last night.”
“When do you plan on telling her?”
Getting up to come around his desk and join her on the front edge of the desk, Luc replied, “As late as possible.”
Juliet nodded understandingly. “She’s not going to be pleased.”
“Now there’s an understatement,” he noted dryly.
“When is the announcement going to be made about you being the true heir? How did the dowager queen and prime minister take the news? And…”
“One question at a time.” Luc placed a teasing finger over her lips, effectively silencing her questions while sending her heart into overdrive. His skin was warm against hers. She was suddenly assailed with the urge to draw his finger into her mouth, to taste his skin.
She leapt away as if burned, almost falling from the desk. What kind of wanton was she to have such thoughts? Especially about the future king! She should never have worn this camisole top. It gave a girl ideas, ideas that she was far sexier than she really was, far more confident.
“Something wrong?” Luc asked.
She frantically shook her head, her dark hair tumbling down into her eyes. A pencil wasn’t the best hairclip, but it’s what she usually used to wrap her hair up into a knot on top of her head, and she’d somehow misplaced all of hers, which wasn’t surprising. She often got so engrossed with her research that she lost track of things like pencils. So she’d had to leave her hair loose this morning.
“No, nothing.” She wanted to sit down, but now felt awkward doing so while he still stood. All of a sudden the realization that he was the king was overshadowing everything else. “Go on with what you were saying, please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“I don’t care if you interrupt.”
“It isn’t polite.”
“Which brings me to my next topic.”
He still hadn’t answered her previous questions, but she wasn’t about to point that out now. Instead she tried to look properly attentive and respectful and not as if she secretly longed to kiss him.
“I want you to do a favor for me,” Luc said.
“I’ll do whatever I can.”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I want you to give me royalty training.”
She stared at him blankly. “Excuse me?”
“I want you to teach me all the kingly things I’ll need to know.”
When she just blinked owlishly at him, he put it another way. “I’d like you to tutor me on protocol, customs and traditions of the royal family.”
“I’m sure the protocol minister would be glad to help…”
Luc cut off her words. “No way am I going to that toady fellow. I dealt with him when I first arrived at the palace and he had the effrontery to tell me not to chew gum in front of the king. What are you smiling at?”
“Your use of the word effrontery. A very regal term.”
“I don’t feel regal,” he confessed. “It feels so strange to think of King Philippe as my…father.”
“I imagine it does. I know none of this has been easy for you.”
“And it’s not going to get any easier. Which is why I need you to help me quickly learn my way about. You and no one else.”
If only that were true. If only he did need her, as a woman rather than as a friend. And if only he wasn’t the future king. And if only she were more beautiful and confident. And had bigger breasts. Hey, since she was making wishes here, she might as well wish for the entire package.
“So what do you say?” Luc asked.
“I’m honored that you’d ask me, but I truly don’t feel I’m the best person for this job.”
“I feel you are.”
“There, you’re already sounding like a king. You don’t need me.”
“You’re doing it again,” he warned her.
“Doing what?”
“Going all strange on me. All distant.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You used to take great joy in offending me.”
“I did not!” she vehemently denied. “Name one time when I did that.”