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

“They were there, in the apartment when you got home?”

“They’re staying here.”

That was met with a short silence.

“What did you say their names were again?”

“Dominic and Anastazia St. Sebastian. She’s just finished med school and he does something in security. Grandmama didn’t get the specifics.”

She caught a flash of sunlight as the terrace doors opened and Zia rejoined the group.

“Oh, there’s Anastazia. I’d better go, Jack.”

“Gina...”

“Yes?”

“About this weekend—”

“It was just me,” she interrupted quickly. She hadn’t had time to sort through everything that had happened during their days together. And the nights! Dear God, the nights.

“Chalk it up to hormones run amok. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

She blew out a breath and hit the end button, but some of the emotions Jack had stirred must have shown in her face when she walked into the sitting room. She couldn’t hide them from the duchess. Her faded blue eyes locked onto to Gina’s.

“Who was that, dearest?”

“Jack.”

“Hmm.”

The odd inflection in that murmur snared the interest of both guests. They were too polite to ask, however, and the duchess left it to Gina to elaborate.

“Jack Mason. He’s an ambassador-at-large with the U.S. State Department in Washington.”

Dominic’s expression of casual interest didn’t change but just for a second she thought she saw something flicker in his dark eyes. Like the duchess, he must have sensed there was more to the call than she wanted to reveal.

Oh, hell. Might as well let it all hang out.

“He’s the father of my baby.”

* * *

After Gina disconnected, Jack spent several long moments staring at the slice of the Mall viewable through his office windows. Their brief conversation ricocheted around in his mind.

Two of them. From Hungary. They surprised her. Chest-to-chest.

He wanted to believe it was his recent showdown with the Russian Mafia thugs who’d spilled across the borders of Eastern and Central Europe that prompted him to reach for the phone. Yet he couldn’t get that chest business out of his head.

His chief of staff answered the intercom. “What’s up, boss?”

“I need you to run a check on a pair from Hungary. They say they’re siblings and are going by the names Dominic and Anastazia St. Sebastian.”

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

The next few days flew by. Gina got caught up at work. During her spare hours she showed Zia and Dominic the best of New York. She also delighted in the slow unfurling of her grandmother’s memories. Prompted by her guests’ presence and their gentle probing, the duchess shared some of her past.

She’d kept it locked inside her for so long that each anecdote was a revelation. Even now she would only share those memories that gave glimpses of a girl born into a wealthy, aristocratic family, one who’d grown up with all Europe as her playground. A fascinated Gina learned for the first time that her grandmother might have qualified as an Olympic equestrian at the age of fifteen had her family allowed her to compete. She’d retaliated for their adamant refusal by insisting she be allowed to study Greek and Roman history at Charles University in Prague.

“Prague is such a romantic city,” the duchess mused to her audience of three over a dinner of Hungarian dishes prepared by Zia and Dominic as a small thank-you to their hostess.

Candles flickered in tall silver holders. The remains of the meal had been cleared away but no one was in a hurry to leave the table. A Bohemian crystal decanter of pálinka sat within easy reach. Double-distilled and explosively potent, the apricot-flavored brandy had been a gift from Zia and Dom. The duchess and her guests sipped sparingly from balloon-shaped snifters. Gina was more than content with a goblet of diet cranberry juice and the dreamy expression on her grandmother’s face.

“That’s where I first met the duke,” the duchess related with smile. “In Prague. There’d been talk off and on about a possible liaison between our families but nothing had come of it at that point.”

“So what was he doing in Prague?” Gina asked.

“He’d evidently decided it was time to take a wife, and came to find out if I was scandalously modern as the rumors said.”

She took a sip of brandy and a faraway look came into her eyes.

“When he walked into the café where my friends and I were having dinner, I didn’t know who he was at first. All I saw was this tall, impossibly handsome man with jet-black hair and the swarthy skin of his Magyar ancestors. Even then, he had such a presence. Every head in the café turned when he walked over to my table,” she murmured. “Then he bowed, introduced himself, and I was lost.”

The duchess paused, drifting on her memories, and Gina’s gaze drifted to Dominic. His olive-toned skin and dark eyes indicted Magyar blood ran in his veins, too.

A nomadic, cattle-herding tribe that swept into Europe from the Steppes, the Magyars were often depicted in art and literature as the early Hungarian equivalent of America’s Wild West cowboys. Gina was back in the 8th or 9th century, picturing Dominic riding fast and low in the saddle, when the intercom sounded.

She returned to the present with a start. The buzz brought the duchess out of her reverie, as well. A small frown of annoyance creased her forehead.

“I’ll get it,” Gina said.

She crossed to the intercom’s wall unit and saw the flashing light signaling a call from the lobby. “Yes?”

“It’s Jerome, Lady Eugenia. There’s a gentleman to see you. Mr. John Mason.”

Jack! Surprise and pure, undiluted delight flooded her veins.

“Send him up! Excuse me,” she said to the three interested parties at the table. “I need to get the door.”

She rushed to the entryway and out into the hall, wishing she’d spiffed up a little more for this evening at home. Oh, well, at least she still fit into her skinny jeans. And her crab-apple-green stretchy T-shirt did accent her almost-nursing-mother boobs.

When Jack stepped out of the elevator, Gina forgot all about her appearance and devoured his. Ohmanohmanohman! Hungarian cowboys had nothing on tall, tanned Virginians.

The sight of him erased last weekend’s awkward moments. Her hurt and indignation over learning that his father had hired a P.I. evaporated. Ditto the poisonous little barbs planted by his obnoxious chief of staff. Double ditto the ache in her heart when she’d spotted the pictures of Catherine at his home. Like the duchess had so many years ago, all Gina needed to do was look at this man and know she was lost.

“What are you doing here?”