it through your eyes.”
She made herself comfortable on leather upholstery that felt like riding on a cloud. One seat held a baby capsule with a pristine lambswool lining. Without waking him, she secured Christophe in the seat, unnerved at this evidence of how thoroughly the prince had prepared for their arrival.
The compartment was fitted with a television screen and a well-stocked bar. As the car glided out of the airport, the prince deftly opened a bottle of French champagne, and poured the golden liquid into flutes. He handed one to her. “To your safe arrival.”
She drank to quiet her screaming nerves, feeling anything but safe. It dawned on her that she had allowed herself to be talked into riding in a car with a complete stranger, just the situation her parents—that Rose and James, she amended mentally—had warned her against when she was growing up.
They had wanted her to be perfect. Perfection had always been paramount to James McInnes, whether in his business or his private life. If he could have adopted a boy so easily, he probably would have done so. As it was, Sarah felt sure he hadn’t told her she was adopted so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what he saw as a shortcoming. He had probably regarded her wish to search for her birth parents as a criticism of himself as a father. He refused to accept that this wasn’t about him or Rose, but about Sarah and her needs. Rose McInnes had been more understanding, but as always, followed her husband’s lead.
Getting pregnant hadn’t been Sarah’s intention, but she had felt so cut adrift by their lack of support, that she had turned to her childhood friend, Jon Harrington, for comfort. Neither of them had counted on compassion turning into passion and then into something beyond their control, but it had.
What a combination. She hadn’t been sure which of them had been the least experienced, little Miss Perfect or Jon, the would-be priest. Inexperience hadn’t stopped them from creating a child between them. Her breath caught as she looked at the baby sleeping, lulled by the limousine’s smooth motion. Christophe was the most precious thing in her life, the only person to whom she truly belonged. She regretted her lack of self-control with Jon, but she could never bring herself to regret the child they had created.
Jon never knew he had fathered a child and he never would, if she had anything to do with it. If he knew, he would insist on taking responsibility, even marrying her if she wanted him to. But he had dreamed of becoming a priest for as long as she could recall, and she was determined not to take his dream away from him. She felt badly enough having her own life in ruins thanks to James McInnes. She wasn’t about to ruin Jon’s life as well.
Soon after she discovered she was pregnant, Jon had entered the seminary, and their contact had been limited to letters every few weeks. In his last letter, he’d told her he was being sent to his order’s mission in South America. She missed his friendship, but the loss was a small price to pay to let him hold on to his dream. When Christophe was old enough, she would tell him about his father, making sure her son understood what a special man Jon was.
She had found herself an apartment, supporting herself through her pregnancy and afterward with money from a trust fund left to her by her maternal grandmother. She and her grandmother had loved one another dearly, and she was glad her grandmother had died without knowing that they weren’t related by blood after all. Sarah hadn’t been in touch with her adoptive parents since she left, and she wondered with some bitterness, if they preferred it that way.
She took a sip of the champagne, feeling the bubbles tease her throat. She felt foolish worrying about what Rose and James would think of her behavior now, when she hadn’t told them about her pregnancy. In any case, the man at her side wasn’t a complete stranger. The soldier at the customs hall had called him Your Highness, and she’d bet that this car wasn’t made available to just anyone. “It occurs to me that I should have asked to see some identification,” she said.
The prince’s deeply carved features relaxed into a look of amusement. “Perhaps my driver’s license will do?”
“I didn’t know princes had them.”
He sighed, suggesting that he had had this conversation more than once before. “We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else.”
Don’t even go there, she warned herself, as images of the prince getting dressed in the morning sprang to her mind. He was a means to an end, finding out who she was. Once he told her what he knew about her background, their paths might never cross again.
Strange how disappointing the notion felt, although she told herself it was to be expected. He was a member of the Carramer royal family, for goodness’ sake. Once he had fulfilled whatever duty he had toward her, he wouldn’t involve himself with the personal concerns of an ordinary citizen, assuming she was one. She couldn’t suppress a feeling of anticipation at the prospect. For nearly two years after finding out that she was adopted, she had wondered where she fitted in. She had never considered that she might belong somewhere other than in America.
“Why are you taking such an interest in me?” she asked, giving voice to the thought she had suppressed since he singled her out for attention. “I’m not some royal love child, am I?”
“Are you always so persistent?” he asked, an edge in his voice.
Her throat dried. She had asked out of a perverse wish to provoke him, not because she thought that it could be true. Now she felt the ground shift under her again. What was so terrible about her background that he evaded her questions?
She twisted sideways, fixing him with her most imperious glare. He might be royal but she had been brought up as the daughter of wealthy parents. She wasn’t intimidated by him, and it was time he knew it. “I insist that you tell me what you know about my background.”
He seemed unmoved by her anger. “You’ll have your answers very soon. We have arrived at your accommodation.”
The car swung past a sentry box, a uniformed guard saluting as they drove between black wrought iron gates bearing enameled crests. The car continued along an avenue of ancient trees, through which she glimpsed palatial houses, suggesting that they had entered an exclusive enclave.
Before she could ask Prince Josquin, the car came to a halt beneath a sandstone portico. The building behind it was enormous, at least four stories high and spreading out in two wings for the length of a city block. By craning her neck she could make out a blue and jade flag fluttering from a mast atop a crenellated tower. Suspicion gripped her. “This doesn’t look like a hotel. It looks more like…”
“Château de Valmont,” the prince cut in smoothly. “Welcome home.”
Chapter Two
She stared at him, feeling her jaw drop. “Home? You can’t be serious?”
“Do I look as if I am joking?”
He looked…he looked amazing, she thought, aware that his bombshell didn’t stop her from thinking about him in those terms. She had a feeling His Highness could dominate any woman’s thoughts without really trying.
But she couldn’t accept his suggestion that she had any claim to this astonishing place. Whoever her birth parents were, if they had belonged here, they wouldn’t have borne a child in America and given her up for adoption. The château and the vast estate around it looked as if they had sheltered generations of one family. Such tradition wasn’t easily set aside.
Before she could voice
