Her Royal Baby (3 page)

Marc had stood by the phone and had willed—ached—for his cousin to still be alive so he could wring his selfish neck. Then he'd set about doing everything to shore up the country's political stability before he'd come to find his cousin's baby son. Heir to the throne.

And he'd found this.

‘He'll be well looked after from now on,' he said angrily, his fury matching that emanating from the front passenger seat. From Tammy. ‘I promise.'

‘I know he will be,' Tammy muttered, but she was speaking to herself. Not to him.

 

The hotel Henry and his nanny were staying in was one of Sydney's finest, on the Rocks in Sydney Harbour. The limousine nosed into the driveway, a uniformed concierge bowed and opened the door to Marc, then looked askance as Tammy climbed out, too.

There was a plush red carpet leading to the magnificent glass entry. A waterfall fell on either side of the doorway over carefully landscaped rocks. Inside the wide glass doors Tammy could see chandeliers and a vast grand piano. The strains of Chopin were wafting out over the sound of the gently tinkling water.

This
was where Marc had installed Henry and his nanny? Money clearly wasn't an issue with His Highness, Prince Marc.

But she didn't intend to be intimidated. Tammy dumped her pack on the red carpet, wiped a little dust from her overalls and looked about her with every appearance of nonchalance.

‘Will you be all right?' Charles had emerged from the car and was looking at Marc with some anxiety. He seemed to think Tammy might somehow contaminate Marc. ‘You don't wish to stay at the embassy tonight, Your Highness?'

‘I'll be fine here.' Marc glanced at his watch. ‘If you could collect me and the boy at eleven tomorrow…? The flight is at two.'

‘I'll do that.' With a last worried glance at Tammy, Charles disappeared back into the limo—which left Marc and Tammy standing on the red carpet together.

A prince with his princess? Tammy looked Marc up and down, then glanced down at her worn boots and almost smiled.

Almost. Smiling was actually a long way from what she felt like doing.

‘Take me to Henry.'

‘You don't want to clean up first?'

She glared at him then. Really glared. ‘How old did you tell me Henry was?'

‘Ten months.'

‘You think he's going to judge me because of a little dirt?'

‘I…no.'

‘So what's the problem?'

The concierge was still hovering, holding the door for them to enter, but by his expression Tammy could tell that given half a hint he'd grab her and haul her away. She looked the type who'd be annoying the customers, not paying to be here.

‘It's all right,' she told him. ‘I'm not about to mug His Royal Highness. I just want to see my nephew.' She heaved her pack up over her shoulder and stomped through into the plush foyer, leaving Marc to follow.

Marc stared after her for a long moment—and then shrugged and followed.

 

The suite Henry and his nanny were occupying was on the sixth floor. Marc knocked once, knocked again, and the door finally swung wide.

Most people's first instinct would be to glance at the view—from this position it was spectacular—but Sydney's Opera House and the Harbour Bridge beyond held no interest for Tammy. Her eyes were all on Henry. She brushed past Marc and was in the room before he was.

He was just like Lara!

Lara had been the loveliest baby. Tammy's sister had been born with a fuzz of dark curls and huge brown eyes that had seemed to take over her entire face. She'd had a smile that could light up a room.

And here was Henry, and Henry was just the same. The only difference was that this little boy wasn't smiling. He was seated in his cot beside the window, watching the harbour below. His eyes were wide and wary, but there was no trace of the smile his mother seemed to have been born with. As Tammy and Marc came through the door he turned to see who was entering his world, but there was no hint of expectation in his eyes.

He looked like a child who had no one.

The nanny had been reading, Tammy saw. A paperback had been hastily thrust aside and a daytime television programme was blaring. The little boy was wide awake but he was simply sitting in his cot. There wasn't a toy in sight. His only distraction was the window.

And the nanny had been watching television and reading. Dear heaven…

Tammy dropped her pack and was across the room in seconds, gathering the little boy into her arms as if he was her own. As her face nestled into the familiar curls, as she smelled the familiar scent of baby powder and…well, just baby…it was all too much. Until this minute what Marc was telling her had been a fairy tale. But this was real. Henry was real.

For the first time in years she burst into tears.

The child didn't respond. He held himself stiffly against her, his small body rigid. His expression didn't change at all.

Slowly Tammy pulled herself together. She was aware that the other adults were watching her without comment—the nanny, who looked about sixteen, and Marc. Their expressions were wary, as if they didn't know where they'd go from here.

Which was maybe just as well, as Tammy didn't know where she was going either.

There was a vast armchair beside her. She sank into it, perching Henry on her lap so she could look at him properly.

The little boy gazed back up at her, and then his gaze returned to the window. Windows were more important than people, his expression said.

‘Henry?' It was a faint whisper against his cheek, but the child didn't respond.

‘He doesn't answer to his name,' the nanny said, as
if it was something Tammy should know. ‘He's only ten months old.'

That didn't make sense. ‘He's sitting up,' Tammy said. He'd been sitting in his cot as they entered. ‘Is he crawling?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Then surely he should know his name. If he's crawling that means he's developing fine.'

‘I guess,' the nanny said indifferently. ‘He's pretty advanced.'

‘But he still doesn't respond. Does he say anything?'

‘No. Why should he?'

Why should he indeed? The little boy's stare was lack-lustre, as if he was bored with what was before him. Maybe if Tammy had been staring at the same view for weeks on end…

‘Do you play with him?' Tammy asked, and watched as the girl cast a furtive glance at her novel.

‘Of course I do.'

‘Of course nothing.' Her fury was mounting, until she felt like hitting out. She was hugging the little boy to her, and that stopped her raising her voice, but her fury was barely disguised in her whisper. ‘This isn't normal.'

‘I'll get him a proper full-time nanny when we return to Broitenburg,' Marc told her, and Tammy could hear the uneasiness in his own voice. He knew what the problem was. ‘Kylie was employed via an agency and the situation was urgent. I was lucky to get her at short notice.'

‘So he's been with Kylie, or someone like her, since his parents died?' Tammy was stroking the little boy's curls, trying to find some sort of response from him. ‘Or longer. Has he been with nannies since birth?'

‘I'd imagine so,' Marc told her. ‘I don't know.'

‘Does anyone know?' She rose then, standing to her full five feet six inches and glaring at the pair of them. She held the baby against her as if she was prepared to battle the
world on his behalf. ‘Does anyone know anything about how my nephew has been cared for? He's obviously been fed and clothed. Has anything else been done?'

‘I…'

‘Anything at all?' Tammy's rage was threatening to overwhelm her. ‘Have you ever seen anyone give this little boy a hug? Has anyone ever played peek-a-boo with him? Has anyone
loved him
?'

Marc bit his lip. He was on the back foot here, and he knew it. ‘He'll be looked after when he gets home.'

‘No,' she snapped. ‘Or at least not by you he won't. Nor any of your nannies—even if you have nannies by the thousand. If Lara's named me legal guardian then I can only be thankful. Henry's at home right now. He's staying in Australia and he's staying with me. Thank you very much for bringing his situation to my attention, Prince Whatever-Your-Name-Is, but I don't think we need trouble you further. If I can just collect his things, I'll take him now.'

‘But—'

‘I'm his legal guardian. The rest of you can go to hell!'

S
HE
wasn't budging.

Tammy didn't release the child for a moment, almost as if she feared if she put him down Marc would snatch him from her. She held him tight and moved around the room, collecting anything that looked like his and tossing it into a heap on the armchair.

‘Can we talk about this?' Marc demanded and Tammy shook her head.

‘There's nothing to talk about.'

‘You can't take him.'

‘Watch me.'

‘You can't afford to keep him.'

That stopped her. She whirled to face him, her face rigid with fury. ‘No,' she snapped. ‘I can't afford to keep him—like this.' She motioned around her at the five-star luxury and the glorious views. ‘But if you think this is what he needs then you're mistaken. He doesn't need money. He doesn't need nannies and views and Room Service. He needs hugs and cuddles and someone who cares. Which you've shown very clearly that you don't.'

‘I do.'

‘Yeah. Pull the other leg. It plays “Jingle Bells”.'

‘Will you slow down?' She was tossing a packet of milk formula onto her pile with such ferocity that it bounced onto the floor.

‘No.'

‘Please?'

‘No!'

‘Have you thought it through? How can you look after a baby?'

‘I can look after a baby better than you.'

‘You obviously don't have the money for decent childcare.'

‘Who says I don't?' Another formula packet hit the first and suffered a similar fate. Marc leaned over and retrieved both packets, setting them side by side on the chair. Behind them the nanny—Kylie—looked on with wide-eyed wonder.

‘You don't have spare money. I just need to look at you to tell…'

Mistake. Bad tactical error. There was one packet of formula open. Tammy lifted it up, stared at it—and then threw it straight at Marc.

It sprayed out in all directions, covering him with a white misting powder. The parcel hit him mid-chest, and slowly slid to the floor.

The action shocked them all. Tammy stopped dead and stared at the white-dusted man before her—and then she winced.

‘I'm sorry,' she said at last. ‘I shouldn't have done that.'

‘It's my best uniform,' he told her, but was that a slight quiver in his face? Surely not. Surely he couldn't be close to laughter. And why did she suddenly feel she was fighting back the same emotion?

‘I guess you have hundreds more at home,' she managed, and he nodded.

‘Yeah, but they're at home.'

‘Gee, you're going to have to travel home like that, then.'

‘I do have other clothes.'

‘Brocade and velvet and the odd crown and stuff?' she agreed.

‘I'm not always dressed up in this rig.'

‘Bully for you.' She purposefully turned her attention away from his powder-coated form—and the sudden and
unexpected gleam of laughter in his dark eyes—and concentrated on her pile again. Fiercely. ‘Do you have anything I can put these things in?'

‘I have no idea.' He was watching her, fascinated. ‘Kylie, do we have anything we can put these things in?'

‘I dunno,' Kylie said resentfully. The nanny was looking more confused by the minute. ‘If she's taking the kid, does that mean you don't want me any more?'

‘His aunt has authority to care for him. I'll pay you to the end of the month,' Marc told her, and her face cleared.

‘All right, then. I'm fed up with this job anyway.' She beamed at Tammy as if she was releasing her from a life sentence and began to be helpful. ‘There's suitcases in his bedroom. You're not his Aunty Tammy, are you?'

Tammy paused. ‘Yes.' She focused on the girl—sort of. It was actually really hard not to stay focusing on Marc. The dangerous gleam was still in Marc's eyes. He might look ridiculous—a prince with powder coating—but he still packed a lethal punch. Big and handsome and magnetically attractive…

But she needed to concentrate on what the nanny was saying. ‘You knew about me?' she managed.

‘There's this letter addressed to you. It's in one of the suitcases.

‘A letter? From who?'

‘I dunno,' Kylie said. ‘I saw it when I packed away the baby stuff he'd grown out of. It's addressed to a Tamsin Dexter and underneath is written “Aunty Tammy”—in quotation marks, like the title's a bit of a joke. There's no address or I would have posted it.'

‘Fetch it,' Marc told her, his eyes resting on Tammy. He was clutching at straws now. This might buy him some time. Somehow he needed a way of talking this woman into seeing reason, and it was growing less possible by the minute.

Tammy's anger was still firing her actions, and the worst
part of it was that her anger was reasonable. Henry's treatment made him furious himself.

‘Sure.' Kylie cast an uncertain glance at the pair of them and flounced out of the room.

‘Fetch the whole suitcase,' Tammy called after her. ‘I need to pack this stuff.'

‘Okay.' But the girl's voice was muffled. She was already foraging in what must be enormous storage cupboards. This was some hotel.

Marc and Tammy were left glaring at each other, the only thing between them one little boy. Henry gazed back and forth between this unlikely pair of adults, his face showing no emotion at all.

‘You can't just take him,' Marc said conversationally and Tammy raised her eyebrows in polite disagreement.

‘Yes, I can. You said he's an Australian citizen and I'm his aunt. And his guardian. You're not even his uncle.'

‘No, but—'

‘But nothing. Blood counts.'

‘Your mother has given me permission,' he told her, but even he knew he was clutching at straws. The more he saw of Tammy the more he realised that she was intelligent, and she discarded his statement before he could finish saying it.

‘My mother would promise anything if money was involved. If Lara made a will naming me Henry's guardian, surely that's what matters?'

Marc took a deep breath, fighting for words. ‘Look, Miss…'

‘Tammy,' Tammy said pleasantly—and waited.

‘Tammy. Can we at least discuss this?'

‘That's what I'm doing.'

‘You've already made up your mind.'

‘To care for my nephew? Yes, I have. I don't have a choice because I don't see that anyone else is doing it.'

‘I promise you—he'll be looked after in Broitenburg.'

‘By nannies? No.'

‘Kylie isn't a good example.'

‘She's not, is she?' Tammy agreed politely. She picked up the book Kylie had been reading and grimaced. ‘
The Vampire's Slave
. A little bedtime reading for Henry—I don't think. You can see as well as I can that there's been minimal attention paid to Henry. He's had his physical needs met and that's all. And yet you employed her.'

‘I was desperate. I had to find someone fast and I was on the other side of the world.'

‘And it took you weeks to come and check on him. Great. Good worrying. Well, now he's in his aunt's care, so you don't need to worry any more.'

‘You don't understand. I need him.'

She raised her eyebrows at that. ‘You
need
a baby?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘He's the heir to the throne.'

She thought about that for a whole two seconds before rejecting it entirely as a reason for anyone needing a baby. ‘Then he can be heir to the throne right here,' she told him. ‘I'm not giving him back. He can ascend to the throne, or whatever he has to do, when he's old enough to choose for himself. But you—the lot of you—have shown yourselves to be incapable of caring for a baby.'

‘And you're capable?' he demanded, goaded.

‘Strangely enough, yes,' she flung at him. ‘I'm even experienced.'

‘I don't believe you.'

‘Well, there you go, then. Distrust on either side. We make a perfect pair.'

This was getting out of hand. ‘Can we at least talk?' he said urgently. ‘Stay here tonight. I'll pay for a night for you in this hotel.'

Tammy took a deep breath. Anger was threatening to
overwhelm her. ‘Gee,' she said, as if awed. ‘In this hotel! A proper bed, with sheets and everything?'

‘There's no need to be sarcastic.'

‘There's no need to be patronising.'

‘You need to stay somewhere.'

She did. His words made her hesitate. Her fury and her grief made her desperate to be alone, but Henry was cradled against her. His belongings were piled on the armchair, but she needed more than his possessions. She needed to find out everything about the child she intended to take care of. Things like immunizations, allergies… Maybe this man didn't know, but somewhere there must be records. Maybe she couldn't flounce out of his life quite yet.

He could see her weakening and pressed his point. ‘Stay tonight. Kylie can keep the child and we'll talk.'

‘If you call Henry
the child
one more time,' she said carefully, ‘then I'll walk away and never look back. Henry is Henry.' She hugged him closer. ‘He's his own little person and it's time everyone started treating him as such. So, no, Kylie isn't going to look after Henry.
I'll
look after Henry.'

‘But we need to talk.'

‘Then we talk with Henry.'

‘I can't.'

‘Can't incorporate a baby into your busy schedule? Too bad.' She looked around as Kylie appeared with the suitcase. ‘Thanks.' She sat on the floor, perched Henry on her lap and started tossing belongings into the case. She handled Henry as if she coped with a baby all the time.

What on earth was her story? Marc wondered. What was her background? Did she have kids of her own? The investigator had said she was single, but…

He knew nothing about her. She was still in her filthy overalls, but already Henry was relaxing against her, leaning
against her breast as if he'd found himself somewhere that might be home.

And, looking down, Marc felt a tug of something he didn't recognise. This woman was as far from his world as any woman had ever been, he thought. All the values he'd been brought up to hold dear—all the values the women in his world set store by—they simply didn't matter to Tammy.

He had to persuade her to release the baby. He must!

She wasn't going to do it.

The impossibility of the situation crowded in on him, and for a moment he closed his eyes in sheer desperation. When he opened them he found Tammy looking up at him with curiosity.

‘You're in real trouble, then?' she asked, and for the first time there was a trace of sympathy in her voice.

He might as well be honest. He had nothing else to lose. ‘I'm in trouble.'

She regarded him for a long minute, and then seemed to come to a decision. ‘Give me couple of hours alone with Henry now,' she told him, ‘and then I'll stay in this hotel tonight. I'll take a room here, and after I get Henry to sleep we can have dinner together. Is that okay?'

It wasn't okay—it wasn't nearly enough—but it was all he was going to get.

‘Fine.'

‘Great.' She threw the last of the things in the suitcase and jammed it shut, then took the letter Kylie was holding and looked at it with something approaching fear. She stared at it—and then shoved it into her backpack as if it might contain poison.

‘Okay. Let's get me shifted into another room, and we'll go from there.'

‘You can stay here,' Marc said stiffly. ‘There's no need to hire another suite. I'm paying for this place to the end of the month.'

‘I'm not staying in your suite,' Tammy said firmly. ‘I have enough to pay for myself. There's no way I'm being dependent on you, Your Highness. I'll take my own room and I'll see you at seven tonight. Not before.'

And that was that.

 

As seven approached Tammy was more confused than ever.

Confused? That was an understatement. Her head was spinning. Grief and anger and shock were tangling in her mind like some horrible grey web, not letting her go.

But underneath… Underneath there was Henry. Nothing else mattered, she thought. She'd booked herself a bedroom—not the suite Marc had tried to book for her but one she'd chosen herself. Even in her much more modest room the bed was king-sized. Tammy perched herself and the baby in the middle of the bedclothes and simply sat with him. She hugged him and crooned to him, and tried and tried to make him smile.

He watched her with enormous eyes, as if she was a part of his window—something to be regarded with vague interest but not interacted with.

She ordered baby food from Room Service and a grave waiter appeared with a tiny bowl of stewed apple. She sat Henry on her lap and his mouth opened like a little bird. He was obviously accustomed to being fed, but not like this. She played aeroplanes with him, as she'd once played aeroplanes with his mother.

He looked at the spoon she was waving in front of him as if it had betrayed him. He was obviously accustomed to being fed efficiently and fast—nothing more.

Undeterred, Tammy kept right on playing. She turned him around so he was facing her and the spoon was spinning.

‘Nope, Henry, you have to catch the aeroplane. Here it is. Whoooooo…'

The spoon spun in circles in front of his eyes, touched his tongue, darted away again, and then swooped in.

Tammy giggled and Henry's eyes moved to her as if she was the most mysterious creature he'd ever seen.

‘Let's do it again, shall we?' she asked, still laughing, and the aeroplane started its tortuous circle again.

And on the fifth swoop…

Henry's eyes lit with what Tammy hadn't yet seen. A tiny gurgle came from deep within his throat and his rosebud mouth curved up into a smile.