The Improperly Pregnant Princess

“Nothing happened,” CeCe said. “Didn’t we agree on that?”

“If nothing happened,” came her mother’s voice, “why are you shouting about it?”

Shocked, CeCe came to a dead stop. How much had Charlotte heard?

The president of DeLacey Shipping glided into the room. The Duchess of Avion—who had received the title upon her marriage, although no one called her that outside of Krissy Katwell’s gossip column in the Manhattan Chronicle—moved with natural grace.

“Good to see you, Shane,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure, Lady Charlotte.” As they shook hands, Shane’s manner became subtly more polite and restrained. Like everyone in New York except Charlotte’s own daughters, he was a little in awe of her.

She could do things that nobody else got away with. Take, for instance, her short hair, which had turned completely white as she approached her fiftieth birthday. The unfashionable hue looked so attractive that a lot of people assumed she’d bleached it, and hairdressers had hurried to follow the trend.

As for her clothing and grooming, they were always immaculate and perfect for the occasion. Today she wore a blue wool jacket that brought out the color of her eyes, over a gray silk blouse and winter-white skirt.

“Discussing the Wuhan account?” Charlotte asked. “What have you decided?”

She didn’t sit down, so Shane and CeCe kept their recital brief. The company president nodded approval when they finished. “Let me know when you’ve finalized the presentation.”

“Before we submit anything formally, a trade representative has invited CeCe and me for brunch day after tomorrow,” Shane said. “He seems thrilled at the idea of meeting a princess.”

“Good. She’ll be there.” Charlotte didn’t bother to ask CeCe whether the engagement fit her schedule. “Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Of course.” Shane closed his laptop. CeCe felt his gaze linger on her as he said goodbye.

After closing the door behind him, Charlotte said briskly, “Well, well. That man likes you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not his type, of course,” her mother continued with maddening certainty. “A man like him needs a lady who builds her life around him. Someone compliant, which no one has ever accused you of being.”

Although she didn’t consider Shane O’Connell to be her type, either, CeCe bristled at her mother’s words. She knew better than to say anything, though. Revealing one’s feelings to Charlotte meant turning them over for inspection and rearrangement.

“Linzy said you dropped by earlier. What’s going on?” she asked.

“Your grandfather is coming to visit,” said Charlotte. “How’s that for a bombshell? Arriving tomorrow, no less. I suppose it’s a royal prerogative not to give much advance notice.”

To CeCe, who hadn’t seen King Easton of Korosol since she was nine, the king was both a stranger and a legendary figure. A thrill of excitement ran through her.

“Why?” she asked. “He never travels this far.”

“He refused to say anything except that the trip is secret,” Charlotte said. “He’ll be staying with us. The rest of his staff will reside at the embassy, except for the bodyguards. As it turns out, the apartment below ours is vacant, so they’ll be housed there.”

CeCe’s head spun. She wasn’t sure she could deal with a royal visit while her personal life was in such an uproar. Still, what choice was there? “What can I do to help?”

“He’s expressed a desire to spend time with you,” said her mother. “You’ll accommodate anything he requests. The king expects to get his way, and he shall.”

“But my work—”

“If you need to take time off, then do it,” her mother said. “You’ll attend that brunch with Shane. There’s nothing like a princess to impress the customers. Otherwise, I’ve run this business since your father died and I can handle it without you just fine.”

Her words hit CeCe like a slap in the face. Since earning her master’s degree in business five years earlier, she had worked long hours to reorganize and modernize DeLacey Shipping’s corporate structure. It appeared none of that meant anything to her mother.

She had to speak up on her own behalf. She didn’t, however, want to sound like a little girl whining to an all-powerful parent, so CeCe chose her words carefully. “I’m sorry you don’t value my contributions more than that.”

“Don’t get all worked up over nothing.” Charlotte waved her hand dismissively. “You’re a big help, most of the time. Now, remember, the king is arriving tomorrow afternoon, so you’ll need to leave the office early. We’ll discuss the rest of the arrangements at home.”

Then she was gone, leaving CeCe steaming. Sometimes it was hard to tell who infuriated her most, Shane or her mother.

A roiling sensation in her stomach brought her back to reality. The delicate matter of her pregnancy would have to be kept secret, even within the family, until the king departed.

Thank goodness she hadn’t told Shane. No one must know and there must be no risk of scandal in front of King Easton, or CeCe would never be able to face her mother again.

Chapter Two

Shane had his cell phone clamped to one ear as the cab halted in front of his Madison Avenue office building. O’Connell Industries occupied an entire floor of the sleek high-rise.

“We’ll see you Thursday morning,” he confirmed to the Chinese trade representative. They had already agreed to eat at a French restaurant near Central Park, convenient to CeCe’s apartment. “The princess looks forward to meeting you.”

The cab driver turned and gave him a hurry-up look. On the sidewalk, a man tugged at the door and called, “You getting out or what?”

Mindful of the Chinese sensitivity to protocol, Shane said a polite goodbye into the phone while paying the driver. After hanging up, he pocketed the phone, collected his laptop and hurried across the sidewalk into the lobby.

Other people jostled him as Shane bolted for the elevator and wedged himself inside. The first thing he would do when he owned his own building was to designate a private elevator, he vowed.

On the thirty-first floor, Shane stepped into the East Coast headquarters of O’Connell Industries. He always relished passing through the vast outer office filled with desks and ringing phones. What a contrast to the shabby hole-in-the-wall where he’d begun his career!

“Mr. O’Connell? Ferguson is here,” said Tawny Magruder, Shane’s secretary, when he reached his office suite. A tall, dark-skinned woman who took no guff from anyone, she nodded toward the man sitting outside Shane’s office.

His personal assistant and valet, Ed Ferguson, rarely came to the headquarters. His domain included Shane’s apartments on both coasts, his vacation cottage, his yacht and his corporate jet.

Today, Ferguson’s purpose was evident from the tuxedo, encased in a plastic cleaner’s bag, draped over his arm. “I thought you might not get home in time to change for tonight,” he said.

“What would I do without you?” Shane asked. Ed, a former foster child with whom he’d shared a group home, had been first a friend, then his devoted employee. Slight of build and modest of manner, the man might appear colorless to others, but Shane valued his steadfastness and honesty.

“You sure do need him. Don’t anybody ask me to fetch their dry cleaning,” said Tawny.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Shane said.

His secretary smiled. Like him and Ed, Tawny had had a difficult past, including a stint as a welfare mother. She’d turned out to be a real tiger, quick to defend her boss and untiring in her work.

Her loyalty, like Ferguson’s, was intense. Shane’s willingness to hire people with troubled backgrounds—as long as they adhered to his high standards—was, he believed, one of his company’s strengths.

“You’re expected at the Foster Children’s College Fund dinner at six-thirty,” Ferguson reminded him.

“He knows that,” Tawny said. “I entered it into his organizer.”

“A busy man has other things to do than look up lists,” the personal assistant retorted stiffly.