The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I’m hoping you’ll provide.”

“Well!” The brow shot up another notch. “For a career diplomat, you’re very frank.”

“I’ve found being frank works better than tiptoeing around tough issues.”

“And that’s how you categorize my granddaughter?” the duchess said haughtily. “A tough issue?”

“Ha!” Jack didn’t bother to disguise his feelings. “Tough doesn’t even begin to describe her. To put it bluntly, your granddaughter is the toughest, stubbornest, most irritating issue I’ve ever dealt with.”

Oh, hell. The frozen look on his hostess’s face said clearer than words that he’d overshot his mark. He was just about to apologize profusely when the facade cracked and the duchess broke into somewhat less than regal snorts of laughter.

“You do know,” she responded some moments later, “that Gina says exactly the same thing about you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Still chuckling, she lifted her glass and tossed back the remainder of the amber liquid.

“Shall I pour you another?” Jack asked.

“Thank you, no. My doctor insists I limit myself to one a day. He’s a fussy old woman, but he’s kept me alive this long so I suppose I can’t complain. Now, what do you want to know about Gina?”

Feeling as though he’d managed to negotiate a particularly dangerous minefield, Jack relaxed. “Whatever you feel comfortable sharing. Maybe you could start when she was a child. What kind of mischief did she get into?”

“Good heavens! What kind didn’t she get into?” A fond smile lit the duchess’s clouded blue eyes. “I remember one incident in particular. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. Maria had taken her and Sarah to the park. Gina wandered off and threw us all into a state of complete panic. The police were searching for her when she showed up several hours later with a lice-infested bag-lady in tow. She’d found the woman asleep under a bush and simply couldn’t leave her on the cold, hard ground. I believe the woman stayed with us for almost a week before Gina was satisfied with the arrangements we worked out for her.”

Charlotte’s wry tale added another piece to the mosaic that was Gina St. Sebastian. Jack was trying to assemble the varied and very different sections into a coherent whole when the front door slammed.

“It’s me, Grandmama. Is Jack here yet?”

The question was accompanied by the thud of something heavy hitting the table in the hall. Wincing, the duchess called out an answer.

“He is. We’re in the salon.”

With a kick in his pulse, Jack rose to greet her. His welcoming smile faltered and came close to falling off his face when she waltzed into the salon.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Eugenia!” the duchess gasped. “Your hair!”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Gina patted her ruler-straight, bright purple locks and shot her grandmother a mischievous grin. “We’re doing a manga-themed birthday party tomorrow afternoon. I’m Yuu Nomiya.”

“I don’t have the faintest idea who manga or Yuu are, but I sincerely hope that color isn’t permanent.”

“It’ll come out after a few washings.” With that blithe assurance, she gave Jack an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. We haven’t missed our dinner reservation, have we?”

“We’ve plenty of time.” He struggled to keep his eyes on her face and off the neon purple framing it. “Would you like something to drink? I’m doing the honors.”

“God, yes!”

She dropped onto the sofa in an untidy sprawl and caught the suddenly disapproving expressions on the two faces turned in her direction.

“What? Oh! I don’t want anything alcoholic. Just tonic, with lots of ice.”

Jack delivered the tonic and listened while Gina tried to explain the concept of Japanese manga comics to her grandmother. In the process, she devoured most of the contents of the appetizer tray.

To her credit, the duchess appeared genuinely curious about the phenomenon now taking the world by storm. Or perhaps she just displayed an interest for her granddaughter’s sake. Whatever the reason, she asked a series of very intelligent questions. Gina answered them with enthusiasm...at first. Gradually, her answers grew shorter and more muddled. At the same time she slipped lower against the sofa cushions. When her lids drooped and she lost her train of thought in midsentence, the duchess sighed.

“Eugenia, my darling. You’re exhausted. Go to bed.”

The order fell on deaf ears. Her granddaughter was out like a light.

“I warned her,” Charlotte said with affectionate exasperation. “The first few months especially sap a woman’s strength.”

“Dr. Martinson said the same thing.”

“We’ll have to forego dinner, Jack. She needs to rest.”

“Of course.”

When the duchess grasped her cane and aimed the tip at her sleeping granddaughter, he pushed out of his chair.

“Don’t wake her.”

Bending, he eased her into his arms. She muttered something unintelligible and snuggled against his chest. The scent and the feel of her tantalized Jack’s senses. His throat tightening, he growled out a request for directions.

“Which way is her bedroom?”

Six (#uf787832a-bba3-5d25-8934-389f8b91f761)

Gina was having the best dream. She was cradled in strong arms, held against a warm, hard chest. She felt so safe, so secure. So treasured. Like something precious and fragile, which even in her dream she knew she wasn’t. Savoring the sensation of being sheltered and protected, she ignored a pesky pressure low in her belly and nuzzled her nose into something soft and squeezy.

The soft and squeezy, her hazy mind determined a moment later, was her pillow. And that irritating pressure was her bladder demanding relief. She pried up an eyelid and made out the dim outlines of her bedroom. The faint glow of the night-light always left on showed she was tucked under the satin throw she normally kept folded at the foot of the bed. She was also fully dressed.

Grunting, she got an elbow under her and sat up. Her slept-in clothes felt scratchy and twisted and tight. Long strands of purple hair fell across her eyes. She brushed them back and tossed aside the throw. Still groggy, she made her way to the bathroom. Once back in the bedroom she shed her clothes and slid into bed, between the sheets this time.

Sleep tugged at her. She drifted toward it on the vague remnants of her dream. Those strong arms... That steady pulse of a heartbeat under her cheek...

“Jack?”

She sat up again, suddenly and fully awake, and flipped onto her other hip. The covers on the other side of the bed lay smooth and flat. Intense and totally absurd disappointment made her scrunch her face in disgust.

“Idiot! Like the man’s going to crawl into bed with you? Right here, in the apartment? And Grandmama only a snore away?”

She flopped back down and yanked the sheet up to her chin. In almost the next breath, her disappointment took a sharp right turn into thigh-clenching need. The hunger shot straight from her breasts to her belly. From there it surged to every extremity, until even her fingernails itched with it.

She stared at the ceiling, her breath coming hot and fast. Images fast-forwarded in her mind. Jack leaning over her, his muscles slick and taunt. Jack laughing as she rolled him onto his back and straddled him. Jack’s hands splayed on her naked hips and his jaw tight while he rose up to meet her downward thrust.

Oh, man! She should have expected this. One of the pamphlets Dr. Martinson had provided specifically addressed the issue of heightened sex drive during pregnancy. The rampaging hormones, the supersensitive breasts, the increased blood supply to the vulva— Taken together they could brew up a perfect storm of insatiable physical hunger.