fine. Very healthy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I find it somewhat coincidental that she looks very much like the DeLoria family. Is there any relation?”
“Of course not,” Kate snapped, probably to her own detriment. “Why would you think that?”
“I suppose you could say that I’ve noticed how the king looks at you. Are you lovers?”
Are you a jackass? “No, we’re not lovers. We attended the same university in America. We’re friends.”
“Only friends?”
“Yes. I need to go.”
He moved in closer like a snake in the grass. “First, I would like to say I am pleased you are working with me. Running this clinic can present quite a challenge. At times I wish that I had pursued my goal to become a surgeon.”
No one wished that as much as Kate at the moment. “You would’ve made a good surgeon, I imagine.”
“I am flattered, but why would you believe this about me since you have not seen me in action?”
Kate was going to enjoy the heck out of this. “Your hands are made for surgery. Small. Easy to fit into tight spots. And you know what they say about small hands and feet. Guess that’s why you tend to overcompensate in other areas.”
She headed out the door, smiling all the way down the hall as she reflected on the shock and chagrin on Renault’s face.
Little man, big ego, bigger mouth.
After exiting through the service entrance, Kate was surprised to find Mr. Nicholas hadn’t arrived to take her back to the palace. When she’d called a few minutes before, he’d said he was on his way. She decided to check the main entrance in case she’d misunderstood his instructions.
She crossed the hospital’s vestibule and pushed through the double doors leading outside. Suddenly, hordes of reporters surrounded her, led by one balding, rotund gentleman holding a tape recorder. “Miss Milner, I have a few questions.” His English was impeccable but his clothing was not. He looked as though he’d slept in his suit, but then Kate probably didn’t look much better.
“Doctor Milner,” she corrected, craning her neck in hopes of finding the Rolls waiting at the curb to rescue her, but it wasn’t to be.
Cameras flashed and videotape rolled when the man said, “Could you please state your relationship with King DeLoria?”
Not again. Why couldn’t everyone mind their own business? She had no idea how to handle this situation, but decided honesty would be her best course. After all, she had nothing to hide—except her feelings for the king. She hoped her face wouldn’t give her away. “We’re former university colleagues.”
“Are you lovers?” another man asked.
First Renault, and now this. Where was Marc when she needed him? “We’re friends and nothing more.”
“Then you deny the rumor that your child was fathered by the king?” one woman shouted from the center of crowd.
Where had that come from? She suspected she already knew the answer. Dear Dr. Renault. “Yes, I deny that,” she snapped, then added more sedately, “Before three days ago, when I arrived in Doriana to accept the hospital position, I had not seen King DeLoria in almost a decade.”
The bald guy shoved the recorder close to her mouth. “But are you not staying at the palace with him?”
“I’m staying at the inn.” Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw the Rolls pull up. “I have to go now.”
She tried to shove her way through the crowd, which was larger now, since several villagers and tourists had stopped to check out the commotion. The crush of people seemed to close in on her with every step, threatening to steal her oxygen as she struggled to reach the bottom of the stairs. Then a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, while a contingent of bodyguards moved in and attempted to push the onlookers and press corps away.
Marc.
She’d never been so grateful to see anyone in her life. But she didn’t reach the safety of the car before one man swung around to capture the king on film and, in doing so, whipped his video camera into Kate’s forehead. Her head snapped to one side. Pain shot from the place of impact, bringing tears to her eyes and clouding her vision. Yet she could see well enough to witness Marc drawing back his fist and then landing a punch in the cameraman’s nose, sending the man backward into the arms of two guards.
Marc wrapped his arm around Kate’s shoulder and herded her through the stunned crowd toward the car where Nicholas stood by, holding open the door and sporting a satisfied smile. “Good show, Your Manliness.”
A regular sideshow, Kate thought as Marc ushered her into the car. Only three days spent in this quaint country and she’d already started a riot. Well, she’d wanted some adventure and it looked like she’d gotten it.
Once they were settled into the seat side by side and the door had been closed, Marc leaned forward and told Nicholas, “Take the back route to the palace.” Then he hit a button on the console that raised the smoky tinted glass, concealing the rear seat from the driver’s view.
Marc turned to Kate, a mixture of anger and concern flaring in his cobalt blue eyes. “How badly are you hurt?”
Kate touched her fingertips to her forehead, right above her left eye. The spot was only slightly tender. “I’m okay. I’ll probably just have a bruise for the next few days.”
“I’ll have Louis come to the palace to examine you.”
“I’m a doctor, Marc. Nothing’s cracked. No indentation. Just a bump. I have a very hard head.”
“Obviously. I will have Dr. Martine examine you regardless,” he repeated.
Kate was simply too tired and too rattled to argue. “Suit yourself.”
He shifted in his seat and leveled a serious stare on her. “Why were you not waiting at the service entrance?”
Kate bristled at his severe tone. “I went there first. When I didn’t find Mr. Nicholas, I decided to check the front in case I was wrong about the location. I had no idea I’d be bombarded with questions.”
Marc sighed. “This is my life, Kate. Your connection with me opens you up to scrutiny. What did they ask?”
Kate didn’t want to anger him more, but he deserved to know the truth, at least about the impromptu press conference. She would tell him about Renault’s speculation later. Much later. “They asked about our relationship. Then they insinuated Cecile is our child, yours and mine, if you can believe that.”
Marc reached into the briefcase resting at his side and withdrew a newspaper, then handed it to Kate. “This is where they came up with that theory.”
Kate couldn’t read a word of the print, but the somewhat blurry photograph of the king carrying a baby into the hospital, a woman by his side—in this case Kate—needed no interpretation.
She
