she thought dismally. Most likely Marcus still thought of her as a young schoolgirl. No doubt he probably believed the crush she’d had on him for a while had died since her time away at university. It didn’t matter that she looked less than her best.
The thought was hardly out of her head when a tall shadow appeared across the glass tabletop. Looking up, she squinted against the bright morning sun streaming around his silhouette.
“Prudence didn’t tell me you were still having breakfast,” he said in that deep voice she remembered so well. “I should have waited until a later hour to see you.”
Shaking her head, Dominique motioned for him to take the chair opposite her.
“You’re not interrupting anything. I think I’ve forced down three bites in the past half hour.”
He frowned with disapproval. “That’s hardly the way to start your day.”
The sight of his dark handsome face had already fed her more than the food on her plate, she realized with sudden shock. Then quickly pushing the unbidden thought away, she said, “I’m not sure when my days start and end now, Marcus. Since the morning of the accident, everything has seemed surreal.”
Settling back in the wrought-iron chair, he propped his ankle against his knee. Dominique’s gaze slid discreetly over the light gray suit that was perfectly cut to fit his broad shoulders, then on to the strip of pale pink shirt against his tanned neck and the burgundy striped tie lying against his chest. From what she knew of Marcus, his looks or clothing were not that important to him. Seeing to the needs of his king and his country were always first and foremost. Yet he was a man who could throw on an old rugby shirt and a pair of jeans and still manage to look impressive.
Watch it, Dominique, she silently scolded herself. As a teenager, she’d allowed the image of Marcus Kent to put stars in her eyes. But she was a grown woman now and he was a man who would never see her as anything more than a friend or princess. He’d made that clear years ago. And besides, she’d already made a fool out of herself over one man. There was no way she was going to make a second mistake.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by and—offer my condolences before now,” he said. “But as you might guess, things have been hectic with the ongoing investigation of the accident and getting Nicholas settled in as the new acting king.”
Dominique latched on to one word and quickly tossed it back at him. “Condolences? Does that mean—” She swallowed as her throat threatened to close around the words. “Has Father’s body been found?”
Shaking his head he started to speak, then stopped abruptly as a maid, dressed in a gray-and-white uniform and carrying a loaded ornate silver tray, appeared on the balcony.
After depositing the tray on the table, the plump older woman stood waiting to serve them. Dominique quickly dismissed her, saying, “Thank you, I’ll do it.”
With a quick curtsy she left them, and Dominique looked at Marcus. “Would you like coffee or juice?”
“Coffee. With a dollop of cream. No sugar.”
She reached for a cup and saucer. The thin, gold-encrusted china rattled loudly in her shaking hands.
Quickly, Marcus leaned forward and took the dishes from her. “Here, let me,” he said gently. “You’re in no shape to be handling hot liquid.”
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” she apologized as she watched him pour the coffee. “I guess my nerves are a little frayed.”
His smile was indulgent. “I would hate to think of you not being upset at a time like this.”
She was a mess. A total mess. And Marcus was the one person she’d always wanted to impress with inner strength and dignity. Instead, she seemed to break down with emotion at the very sight of him. Her behavior toward him made no sense at all.
He lifted a second cup in question and she nodded for answer. After he’d filled it and passed it to her, she said, “Getting back to the accident, just what have you discovered? Anything new?”
Carefully, he sipped the hot coffee, then lowered the wafer-thin cup to its saucer. An odd mixture of apprehension and attraction shot through Dominique as his golden-brown eyes settled on her face.
“You are aware that the police have been combing the cliffs where the accident took place and also searching the sea below?” he asked.
She nodded stiffly. “The television news and all the newspapers have been full of pictures and theories as to what might have occurred the day of the crash. But none of it means much. Nothing will—until my father and his driver are found.”
He studied her for a moment longer and Dominique got the impression he was trying to decide whether she was strong enough for any sort of revelation. The idea knotted her already queasy stomach.
“A call from the police came in less than an hour ago. They’re still trying to extricate the driver’s body from the car. Apparently the metal—at least what was left after the fire—was a mangled mess. And I’m sure they’re going slowly so as not to destroy any clues. Apparent or otherwise.”
Dominique sucked in a fearful breath. “What about my father? If the driver—”
Marcus lifted one hand to halt her tortured thoughts. “King Michael’s body has still not been found. The chief investigator believes he must have been tossed from the car, and from that point his body rolled down the cliff and into the sea. The next step is to bring in divers and search the waters just off the island.”
Dominique shuddered with imagined horror. “But wouldn’t the body have already washed up to the shoreline? The prevailing winds over the North Sea would push the tide toward us, not away.”
“That’s true, however—”
She darted a questioning frown at him. “But what? What are you not telling me?”
His gaze dropped to her slender fingers and the cup lightly clutched in their grasp. She was so soft and vulnerable. He wanted to shield her from the awful truth and the pain it was bound to bring her.
“Drink your coffee,” he suggested quietly.
Her frown deepened, drawing her delicate eyebrows together to create one thin slash above her eyes. “Don’t stall, Marcus. Tell me what else you’re thinking.”
His lips formed a grim line, then he sighed. “You don’t really want to think of all the hazards out in the sea.”
The stiffness went out of her shoulders and her whole upper body sagged forward with reluctant defeat.
“You mean sharks,” she said in a low, raw voice. “Well, you are right. A body wouldn’t last long once a scavenger found it. But Father might not have been dead. He might have been dazed and hurt.” Her tone suddenly took on a fresh burst of hope. “It’s possible he could have wandered off before anyone came upon the wreckage!”
Thoughtfully, Marcus rubbed a thumb along the slight cleft in his chin. “Possible. But not likely. Eventually he would have had to stagger onto someone. There isn’t a soul in this city who wouldn’t recognize King Michael and carry him to the hospital.”
Although the
