had wonderfully thick brown hair. At the moment it had an unusually rumpled look about it, due to his shoving impatient fingers through it. “You assume correctly. I was referring to the missing heir.”
“And you still haven’t told me who he is.”
“I know. It’s just I’m finding this entire thing a little hard to accept.”
“What entire thing?”
“Well, finding out that my father isn’t really my father at all for one thing.”
Her exasperation instantly melted away. “Oh, Luc.”
He tried to shrug it off, but she could tell he was more disturbed than he was letting on.
“My life is turning into one of those American soap operas,” he growled in disgust.
“Did your father tell you this news while you were visiting him?”
“No. I went to see him to get to the bottom of this mess.”
She was confused. “What mess?”
“I had reason to believe that Albert Dumont might not be my real father. He confirmed it. My mother was married before. And not just once, but twice.”
“Did Albert know who your father is?”
“He didn’t know at the time, no. All he knew was that my mother was unhappy with Robert Johnson, her previous husband, and that she divorced him. Apparently the lout cheated on her. Albert did business with the corporation Robert Johnson worked for, and he met my mother at some official function. Albert was also divorced and once my mother was free, the two of them married and settled down in France. I was all of two or three at the time. I know my mother’s father died shortly thereafter, leaving her with no relatives in America.”
“So Albert thought that you were this Robert Johnson’s child?”
“Well, apparently not. Apparently Albert knew that my mother was pregnant with another man’s child when she married Robert. She asked Albert to let me believe Albert was my father, even going so far as to arrange for a fake French birth certificate for Luc Dumont, listing Albert as my father and Katherine as my mother.”
Juliet could see why he felt betrayed. The man he thought was his father turned out not to be his father after all. So many lies.
His voice was harsh. “Luc Dumont doesn’t really exist.”
“Of course you do. I’m looking at you, pacing my office like a caged lion.”
“Why did you have to set up shop down here anyway?” He dropped onto the empty chair and fixed her with an aggravated glare. “We could have found you a bigger office in the north wing.”
“I love it here.” She waved a hand at her small but cozy surroundings. The grey stone walls dated back to the 16th century, their irregular surface still showing the marks where they’d been chiseled by hand. Aside from the oak table she’d retrieved from the royal storage room, she had a pair of mismatched Chippendale chairs, a mahogany bookcase and a lady’s Victorian chintz armchair all squeezed into the tiny space. A tattered Oriental rug covered the stone floor. “You can see the gardens right outside my window.”
She paused a second to enjoy the climbing pink roses that grew along the tower walls, framing her view of brilliant-colored flowering shrubs beyond, including luscious rhododendron and some late-blooming azaleas, graced by a trio of white butterflies dancing in the air. In the distance were the beds of sweet-smelling peonies and vibrant poppies and irises in colors ranging from deep purple to palest white.
She never tired of looking outside and drinking in the natural beauty. It fed her soul. Not that she’d ever tell anyone that. They already thought she was a little strange, a bookish oddity.
“The tower is one of the oldest parts of the palace,” she continued. “Since I’m researching the history of St. Michel for my postgraduate work, this is the perfect place for me.”
“Close enough to the boiler room that you can hear the pipes clang in the winter.”
“True, but it’s spring now. And you’re trying to sidetrack me.” She returned her gaze to him. “It won’t work, you know. I have a one-track mind. It’s why I’m so good with research. Once I get an idea into my head, I carry it through. So let’s get back to you and your family. You said earlier that it all started with Prince Philippe’s wedding to Katie. How so? Did Katie know your mother?”
“You don’t understand. Katie was my mother.”
Juliet was stunned. “But…but…” she sputtered. “That would make you…”
“The missing heir.” Luc nodded. “Bingo. Now you see why I said I was having a bad heir day. Here I’ve been chasing all over Europe and America and it turns out I’m the missing heir. How ironic is that?”
She didn’t know about ironic, but it was certainly freaking her out. She could only imagine how Luc must feel.
When he’d said that his father wasn’t really his father, she’d never made the connection between his royal search and his family life. Luc had always been like her—an outsider to the inner circle of royalty, someone with regular rather than royal blood.
But not anymore. Now even that link between them was being broken.
“You’re the missing heir,” she repeated slowly. “Your father was…”
“King Philippe, who, when he was still a prince, married my mother Katherine, whom he called Katie. I should have made the connection.” He was on his feet and pacing again. “I’m a trained investigator, for heaven’s sake. But it never even occurred to me. She died when I was so young, I don’t remember much about her. The only thing I have is a book on St. Michel she used to read to me. I kept it for sentimental value.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Sometimes it feels like everyone knew but me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“How should I know? I’m still trying to absorb it all.”
“Queen Celeste will not be pleased.” Celeste was King Philippe’s fourth and most recent wife, now widow. When King Philippe had died of a heart attack, the country had grieved, but those in power had panicked.
For one thing, according to ancient St. Michel law, the throne couldn’t be passed to a female. And when the dowager queen had made her startling declaration that the king had married secretly at the age of eighteen and that a child had resulted…well, the palace had been turned upside down.
“Celeste is still maintaining that the child she’s carrying is a boy,” Juliet said.
“And I suppose she’s still refusing to have an ultrasound to determine the baby’s sex, right?” Luc asked.
Juliet nodded. “Correct.”
“What a mess.”
“You’re
