It had been too long. Far too long.
Rafaelâ¦
She was kissing him back, as fiercely as he was kissing her, taking as well as giving, quenching her own desperate needs.
Needs sheâd told herself didnât exist.
Only of course they did. Six long years of nothing. Isolation and loneliness and betrayal.
Rafaelâ¦
The kiss went on and on. Neither wanted it to end. Neither could conceive of it ending. The night was still and warm. There was no movement in the forecourtâthe castle staff had long gone to bed. There was only this man and this woman, taking what they both desperately needed.
Marion Lennox is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved onâmostly because the cows just werenât interested in her stories! Married to a âvery special doctorâ, Marion writes Medical⢠Romances as well as Mills & Boon® Romance. She used a different name for each category for a whileâif youâre looking for her past Mills & Boon® Romances, search for author Trisha David as well.
In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, and she fights her rampant garden (sheâs losing) and her house dust (sheâs lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, sheâs now stepped back from her âotherâ career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally sheâs reprioritised her life, figured out whatâs important, and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!
Dear Reader
Palaces, princes, and the sheer indulgence of having someone else run the bath can be the basis of a fabulous indulgent read. Butâand here I confess to a sad lack of first-hand knowledgeâsome aspects of royalty arenât all theyâre cracked up to be. My heroine knows this first-hand. She marries one prince in haste, and it takes another, the fabulous, sexy Prince Rafael, to transport my lovely princess and her child to her own personal happy-ever-after.
I do love a royal romance, and Iâm hoping you do, too. Iâm sorry if youâre forced to run your own bath, but needs must. Hop in and do what I doâbe a truly royal princess within the pages of this book.
Enjoy.
Marion
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS the end of a long day in the goldfields, and Kelly had personally found almost a teaspoon of gold. The slivers of precious metal were now dispersed into scores of glass vials, to be taken home as keepsakes of a journey back in time.
Her tourists were happy. She should be, too.
But she was wet. She was dressed in period costume and raincoats hadnât been invented in the eighteen-fifties. As the day had grown colder Kelly had directed her tour groups down the mines, but sheâd been wet before sheâd gone down and the cold had stayed with her. Now she emerged from underground, desperate to head to her little cottage on the hill, strip off her dungarees and leather boots and sink into a hot bath.
She might be a historian on what was the recreation of a piece of the Australian goldfields but, when it came to the offer of a hot bath, Kelly was a thoroughly modern girl.
The park horsesâa working team that tugged a coach round the diggings during the dayâlumbered up the track towards the stables and she stood well back. Horses⦠Once sheâd loved them, but even now, after all this time, she hated to go near them. She waited.
Once the horses passed she expected her way home to be clear, but there were always one or two tourists lagging behind, as eager to stay as she was eager to leave. She had to manoeuvre her way past a last couple. A man and a child. They seemed to have been waiting for the horses to pass so they could speak to her.
Who were they? She hadnât seen them on the tour and sheâd surely have noticed. The guy was strikingly good-looking: tall, tanned, jet-black hairâaristocratic? It was an odd description, she thought, but it seemed strangely appropriate. He was lean and strongly boned. Almostâ¦what was the word⦠aquiline?
The little boyâthe manâs son?âwas similarly striking, with olive skin, glossy black curls and huge brown eyes. He looked about five years old, and the sight of him made Kellyâs gut clench as it had clenched countless times over the past five years.
How many five-year-old boys were there in the world?
Could she ever move on?
* * *
Could this be her?
Rafael stared across the track at the slip of a girl waiting for the horses to pass. Princess Kellyn Marie de Boutaine of Alp de Ciel? The thought was laughable.
She was wet, bedraggled and smeared with mud. She was dressed like an eighteen-fifties gold-miner, only most eighteen-fifties gold-miners didnât have chestnut curls escaping from under their felt brimmed hats.
Heâd read the report. This had to be her.
But this was harder than heâd thought.
Back home it had seemed relatively straightforward. Heâd been appalled when heâd received the investigative report. Like the rest of the population of Alp de Ciel, heâd thought this woman was aâ¦well, no fit mother for a prince. Heâd thought sheâd left of her own free will, as unwilling to commit to her new baby as her royal husband had been.