around curiously. The peace wouldn’t last but she was grateful for the respite.
Before the door closed, she saw the soldier take up a post outside—to keep her in, or others out? Then the heavy door swung completely shut and the sounds of the reception hall melted into silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing. Plush carpeting masked the tentative steps she took into the room.
“Please come in and take a seat.”
She hadn’t been imagining things, the intriguing man from the customs hall had paid her special attention. He was doing it now, she saw as she approached the massive antique desk he was seated behind. A leather folder lay open in front of him and she was alarmed to see that her photo lay on top of a thick sheaf of papers. Not her passport photo, either. This one showed her with Christophe in the park opposite their apartment. What was it doing here, and how did this intriguing stranger come to have it in his possession?
She perched on the edge of a leather sofa in front of the desk, settling Christophe on her knee where he began to play with the amber beads around her neck. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”
“First I need to confirm a few details. May I see your passport, please? The baby’s, too.”
She handed them to him. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I assure you. This will only take a moment.”
In spite of his assurance, her apprehension grew as he studied the documents. She told herself that his manner was pleasant enough. Surely if there was a problem, he wouldn’t keep glancing from the passports to her, as if she intrigued him for some reason.
Her peace of mind wasn’t eased by the awareness that he was more startlingly good looking up close than he had seemed from a distance. His eyes were the gold-flecked blue of a stormy sea, and his skin was lightly tanned, emphasizing her first impression of him as the athletic type. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on the bridge of a yacht, fighting the helm for mastery of the waves. His commanding presence suggested he would win.
Since she was studying him she could hardly feel insulted at finding herself on the receiving end of an equally thorough inspection. If she didn’t feel so uncertain as to why he had singled her out, she would have been flattered.
“Your full name is Sarah Maureen McInnes, and your baby is Christophe Charles…McInnes?” he said.
Hearing the slight upward inflection in his voice, she frowned. “I’m a single mother, if that’s what you mean,” she said.
“I’m merely checking facts. No judgment is implied,” he said.
She immediately regretted reacting so defensively. Just because other people had drawn unflattering if inaccurate conclusions about why she was single with a baby, didn’t mean everyone was the same. “I’m tired. Christophe is tired. We’ve had a long flight,” she said by way of mitigation. “I’d like to know what’s going on, Mr.—” she read the brass nameplate at the front of the desk “—Mr. Sancerre.”
The corners of the man’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me for not introducing myself right away. My name is Josquin de Marigny. The airport director, Leon Sancerre, kindly permitted me the use of his office for this meeting.”
Iced water skittered along her spine, as she recalled a fragment of information from the tourist brochures. “De Marigny? Isn’t that…aren’t they…”
“The royal house of Carramer,” he supplied.
She was glad she was already seated. Her knees felt as if they would buckle if she tried to stand. No wonder everyone had deferred to him. What on earth was going on here? “Are you the king?” she asked in a strangled voice.
He shook his head. “By tradition, Carramer has no king. Our present ruler is Prince Lorne de Marigny, my cousin,” he added before she could frame the question. “I serve as an adviser to Prince Henry de Valmont, ruler of Valmont Province. According to these documents, Valmont is your destination.”
She was too busy dealing with her confusion, to absorb the details. “Look, Mr….that is, Your Highness, I won this vacation in a contest, and the destination was Valmont Province. I had no say in it, although from all accounts it’s one of the most beautiful parts of Carramer. But I’d still like to know what you want with me.”
“Ah yes, the contest. Did it not occur to you to wonder how you came to be so fortunate?”
“When you haven’t had a vacation in two years, and a radio station calls to say a computer has awarded you a trip to a fairy-tale South Pacific kingdom, and all the documentation arrives in your mailbox as promised, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
She felt her heart sink as the obvious thought occurred to her. “Are you trying to say I didn’t win a contest? Was it some kind of hoax? Is that why you had me removed from the line?”
He shook his head. “You’re right, there was no contest. I arranged for the call to be made as a way to bring you to Carramer.”
Clutching Christophe tightly to her, she struggled upright, so disappointed that she hadn’t won a trip after all that she didn’t care whom she offended. Prince or not, he had no right to play with her life. “I don’t know what’s going and I don’t care anymore, but I’m calling the police. I’m sure this is against some law or other even in Carramer.”
With all the grace and speed of a leopard, the prince moved to her side, urging her to sit down again. This time, he took a seat beside her, keeping his hand on her arm. “Hear me out first, then you may do whatever you feel you must, although the American police won’t be much help now you’re on Carramer soil.”
“Am I a prisoner here?”
“The opposite in fact. You belong here as much as I do.”
She felt the floor drop away beneath her feet and was glad of his touch to anchor her in reality. She had dreamed of this moment for nearly two years, yet suddenly she felt afraid. “Do you know who I am?”
He paused long enough for her heart to begin a frantic tattoo. “I believe so.”
She could hardly breathe for the tension coiling through her. She tightened her hold on Christophe. “Tell me,” she implored in a voice barely above a whisper.
The prince’s firm grip on her other arm sent a silent message of support. “My searches suggest that you are a citizen of Carramer.”
“You mean I was born here?”
“No, you were born in America.”
“Then how can I…”
“There are a few minor details to be confirmed, but I’m already sure I have the right woman.”
“The right woman for what?” She may not be who she had grown up thinking she was, the child of James McInnes, the well-known Californian property developer, and his artist wife, Rose, but she didn’t think she was from anywhere like Carramer, either.
“You do know you were adopted soon after your birth?” the prince prompted.
Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. “I
