The Illegitimate Prince's Baby

One

She couldn’t believe she was really doing this.

Lizzy Pryce climbed the palace steps, feeling as if she was walking into a dream. Through the open, gilded double doors she could see a throng of guests milling about the foyer, dressed in sparkling gowns and tailored tuxedos. Waiters carried trays of mouthwatering hors d’oeuvres and champagne in delicate crystal flutes. From the ballroom she could hear the orchestra—the one she herself had chosen—playing a waltz. She could just imagine the couples dancing, swirling across the floor, so graceful and light they looked as though they hovered an inch above ground.

Everything in her wanted to turn around and run, but she’d come this far. She had to see this through.

Gathering her courage, she approached the guard posted at the door and handed him her invitation. Normally palace employees were strictly forbidden from attending royal parties, but this was the gala celebrating Morgan Isle’s five hundredth anniversary. The party of the century. And because she held one of the highest positions—the queen’s personal assistant—her name had been included on the guest list.

Her married name, that is. She didn’t want people to recognize her. It was silly, but just for tonight, she wanted to feel as if she was one of them. The beautiful people. She certainly looked the part.

The golden-blond hair that she normally kept pinned back and fastened primly at the base of her neck now tumbled in loose tendrils across her shoulders and down her back. She’d ditched her glasses for contacts. And she’d abandoned her usual shapeless, dull—but proper—business suit for the formfitting, shimmering gold, Carlos Miele gown she had rented.

At the risk of sounding arrogant, she looked damn good.

The guard compared the name on the invitation to his list then motioned her through without a second glance.

As Lizzy stepped through the door into the foyer, one by one heads began to turn her way until what must have been a hundred pairs of curious eyes fixed right on her.

Don’t get too excited, she told herself. They’re only looking because they don’t know who you are. But she couldn’t help noticing some of those looks, particularly the male ones, conveyed more appreciation than curiosity.

Head held high, she made her way through the crowd to the ballroom, nodding graciously and returning polite greetings with people she’d only read about in the papers or seen on television. Heads of state, Hollywood film stars and business moguls.

She was way out of her league. The value of the jewelry alone would probably feed an entire Third World country for a year. She hadn’t even made it out of the foyer and she was a nervous wreck.

Lizzy, you have just as much right to be here as anyone else.

She swiped a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a generous swallow, the bubbles tickling her nose. She was only a few steps from the ballroom doors.

Just do it, walk in, her conscience taunted. So she took a deep breath and forced her feet to propel her forward.

Stepping through the doors and into the ballroom was like entering some ethereal, fairy-tale fantasyland where everything sparkled and shimmered. Handsome couples swished across the dance floor while others congregated in small groups, sipping their champagne and chatting, nibbling on decadent treats.

It was just as she had imagined. And for an instant she felt swept away.

Excuse me, a male voice said from behind her, and the first thing that struck her was the very distinct American accent.

Taking another fortifying sip of her champagne, she turned and nearly spit it right back out.

Not only was he American, he was the Prince of Morgan Isle. Illegitimate half brother to the king. Half brother-in-law to the queen, Lizzy’s boss.

Georgeous, rich, undeniably arrogant but charming to a fault. Of all the men who could have approached her, the one who was by far the most off limits, did.

I don’t believe we’ve met, he said.

She thought he was toying with her, then she realized, by the look on his handsome, chiseled face and the curiosity in his charcoal-gray eyes, he honestly had no idea who she was. And why would he? The few times he had passed her in the halls of the palace, he hadn’t given her more than a fleeting glance. And why would he? She was an employee.

I don’t believe we have, she said.

He offered his hand. Ethan Rafferty.

When she took it, instead of shaking her hand, he bent at the waist and brushed a gentle, and dare she say seductive, kiss across the top. No big surprise there. She didn’t know a lot about the prince, only that he was a confirmed bachelor and a shameless womanizer. She had overheard the queen countless times commenting on the rather scandalous state of his very public personal life. She had also heard the king complain of Ethan’s lack of respect for their royal customs and policies. Which would explain why Ethan was dressed in a tux and not the royal uniform. The dark hair was slicked back away from his face. A face that bore an uncanny resemblance to his brother’s.

Ethan’s recent acceptance into the royal fold, and his new business partnership with the family, was all anyone at the palace talked about these days.

Though she couldn’t deny that seeing him like this, watching the way his eyes raked over her, was the tiniest bit thrilling. He was the epitome of male perfection, and he smelled absolutely delicious. Just as a prince and a multimillionaire should, she supposed.

Her ex-husband had been gorgeous, too, and smelled just as nice, though he was lacking the millions of dollars or the motivation to earn even a fraction of that. And like the prince he was also an arrogant, womanizing, philandering dolt.

But because Ethan was royalty, she curtsied and replied, It’s a pleasure, Your Highness.

He actually cringed. I’m not much into titles. I prefer just Ethan.

She was pretty sure that if he knew who she really was, he wouldn’t be so gracious. And while this had been kind of fun, it was time to move on. Find a guest who wasn’t quite so far out of her league. And against policy. Palace employees were strictly forbidden from intimate relationships with the royal family.

Well, it was nice to meet you. She nodded and curtsied—force of habit—then turned and headed in the opposite direction.

I didn’t catch your name, Ethan said from behind her, and her heart sank.

Bugger. Couldn’t the man take a hint? She set her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink. That’s because I didn’t tell you my name. She tossed the quip back over her shoulder.

And why is that? he asked, right beside her now.

She took a long swallow for strength. A smart person was not rude to royalty. Even though the last documented beheading had been well over two hundred years ago.

Of course, he had no idea who she was, so really, what did she have to lose? And who knew, maybe it was time someone put Mr. Wonderful in his place.

Because you’re not my type, she told him, and he had the gall to laugh.