Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly noon. An early morning fog lingered over the bay. He’d been on the beach since seven, and his disposition was not improving as each minute ticked by.
A lone figure appeared out of the mist.
Ah. A smile tipped the corners of his mouth as he recognized the graceful form of Megan, Royal Princess of Penwyck, making her way down the rocky path along the cliffs. Patience was at last rewarded.
She walked with surefooted skill, a slight woman, no more than five feet, four inches, weighing hardly more than a hundred pounds. Her dark hair curled damply around her shoulders in the mist, its auburn highlights dimmed by the fog. She held a long shawl snugly around her to ward off the chill breeze from the ocean.
He decided not to call out to her until she was on the beach so as not to startle her. A thrum of anticipation beat through him like jungle drums from a distant place. He remembered vividly how she had whispered his name in wonder as he’d caressed her.
During those moments, while the storm surged around them, the wildness of the selky had returned to her eyes. She’d been incredibly passionate, responsive to his every touch, until he, too, had felt the call of the sea in his blood, until his heart had pounded with the fierceness of the storm surge, until he’d thought it would burst from his chest…
The next moment he exclaimed in annoyance as the princess skipped lightly over the rocks in the opposite direction from him rather than walking around the cove as he’d thought she would do. Some instinct cautioned him to silence as she approached the water’s edge.
To his astonishment, she tossed off the long shawl and her sandals. Clad only in a swimsuit, she raced into the chill sea and proceeded to swim out into the bay on the morning tide.
Surprise was replaced by a surge of fear so strong he was rendered motionless for a split second. Then he was on his feet, tossing shoes and clothing aside, and diving into an oncoming wave, determined to haul her back to shore.
She was a surprisingly strong swimmer and she knew how to ride the outgoing tide to her advantage. She was almost abreast of a small rocky island centered in the bay when he caught up with her.
Her eyes opened wide in obvious shock upon discovering him when she glanced over her left shoulder. “Wha—” she began. “Who is it?” she demanded in true regal style.
He raised his head and looked at her.
Her eyes, as green as the sea could sometimes be, stared at him as if he were a strange creature she’d never seen before. Anger joined the hunger and fear and all other emotions that filled him.
“Jean-Paul Augustuve,” he informed her sardonically. “Good morning, Your Highness.” He executed a bow.
But Megan had already discerned who he was, had known it instinctively upon spying the dark hair and long, lean figure closing in on her as she neared the island.
“Hello,” she said in confusion.
Being that she was a virgin prior to her encounter with Jean-Paul, she’d never met an ex-lover face-to-face after the crime, so to speak. It was doubly awkward treading water while they spoke, like a couple of merfolk meeting accidentally. She had neither a mermaid’s nor a worldly woman’s wit and nonchalance.
“Hello, indeed.” He stretched out and in two strokes had arraigned himself beside her.
She swam to the rocky shore of the island, Jean-Paul beside her all the way.
“You didn’t answer my note yesterday,” he said when they stood side by side, water sluicing from their bodies.
A bolt like lightning hit her when she realized he wore only underclothes that clung, almost transparent, to him like a second skin. She hurriedly turned and selected a boulder to perch on so she could watch the restless ocean.
“I was busy,” she told him, groaning silently at how haughty she sounded.
“Which is why I waited for you here.”
She shot him an assessing look, not sure of his mood. His manner was calm, but she sensed the danger he could be if he chose.
“How nice to see you,” she said formally.
“Weren’t you expecting me?”
She shook her head.
His laughter was brief. “Did you think I was a callow youth who would flee in the face of fatherhood?”
A gasp tore from her throat, which suddenly seemed too hoarse to speak. She hadn’t had near enough time to prepare herself for this meeting, to find the words to ask what his intent might be, what his wishes were. “I…why do you say that?”
“A cryptic note that you needed to see me, written eight weeks and a day from our night on the sea? I would think it’s fairly obvious what conclusion should be drawn.”
“Oh.”
His hands clenched at his sides. His eyes raked her in anger. She felt like cringing but managed not to.
“Are you expecting a child?”
His voice lashed at her, shocking her as much as the question. “If I am?” she asked to gain time.
“There is no need for panic.” He gestured toward her and the sea. “I will do my duty toward you and the babe.”
The words should have soothed her troubled heart, but she was only more confused. It came to her that he perhaps thought she was considering taking her life and that of the child. Resentment, anger and other emotions whirled through her. She lifted her chin as pride asserted itself. “I am hardly in a panic. I often come out to the island when I wish to be alone and think…about things.”
Her hesitation must have given her away. “Then there is a child,” he concluded.
“No,” she denied.
He was silent while his eyes swept over her figure. “No?”
Her two-piece swimsuit suddenly seemed much too revealing. She opened her mouth, but no lie flowed from her lips. “I haven’t seen a doctor yet,” she confessed.
With a quick move, he caught her shoulders. “You said you didn’t play games. Don’t start with me,” he warned.
She took a deep breath. “Then yes, I think I am…that there is…”
“I’ll go to your father at once.”
She stared into his clear blue eyes. He seemed to have no problem accepting this possibility at all. “Why?”
“To ask for your hand. We must follow protocol. After all, you are a royal princess.”
“Wait,” she said, laying a hand on his chest as if he might dash up the knoll and confront her father on the spot. “I must think.”
Heat pulsed from where she touched him, running up her arm in waves that reminded her of the passion she’d found in his embrace. She pressed a hand to her temple, the world spinning completely out of control.
“We have some time,” he conceded, “but it isn’t infinite. Royal weddings take preparation. Or were you planning to elope?”
Now there was open amusement in his manner, as if he laughed at her expense.
“I wasn’t planning anything,” she informed him sharply, stepping away from his touch.
“I’ve heard pregnant women are often unreasonable,” he remarked, his smile widening.
“I’m not unreasonable! You can’t just waltz in here and start planning a wedding as if…as if…”
“As if we were lovers who’d been unable to wait for official blessings on our union?”
She stared at him aghast. He was twisting everything she said. And confusing her. Drawing courage around her like a cloak,