Her Royal Baby. Marion Lennox

his hands and there was a soft golden teddy bear. He smiled at the expression on Tammy’s face and her confusion tripled.

      ‘How…how did you know that’s what he needs?’

      ‘I’m not totally insensitive,’ he said gravely. ‘No matter what you think of me.’

      Whatever she’d thought of him had suddenly changed. This was a sure-fire way to defuse anger.

      ‘It’s perfect.’ She took the stuffed toy from Marc’s hands and eyed the bear with wonder. There were teddies and teddies, but this one… He was small, and built so he was deliberately sort of scraggy. His stuffing was soft. His arms and legs were a bit loose and skinny—just perfect for a little one to hold on to. He had a lopsided grin and already he had a much loved look about him. For the first time since she’d met Marc, Tammy felt herself smiling.

      ‘Where did you find him?’ she asked.

      ‘On my twenty-second toy store,’ he told her. ‘Or maybe not that many but it sure felt like it. Did you know there are a whole heap of very unsatisfactory teddies in the world?’

      ‘There are indeed,’ she said unsteadily, trying to swallow her emotion. She carried the teddy across the room and placed it next to the sleeping Henry. ‘He’s just perfect. Oh, Marc…’

      But Marc was distracted. The room he’d entered wasn’t to his liking.

      ‘Suites have separate bedrooms,’ he said, looking round in disapproval. This room had a bed and a cot, and a tiny table and chairs tucked into an alcove by the window. As a dining room it was hardly satisfactory. ‘The phone call I made…I thought I made it clear to the management that you needed a suite.’

      ‘I changed the booking,’ she said brusquely. ‘I want this one.’

      ‘But I’m paying.’

      ‘No.’ She bit her lip, her pleasure from the teddy fading as the conflict re-emerged. ‘I told you. I’m paying. I’m not being any more beholden to you than I need to be.’

      He stared at her as if he’d never met her like in his life. She met his look head on, unflinching, and tilted her chin in an almost unconscious gesture of defiance.

      And a glint of laughter flashed behind those deep grey eyes. Prince Marc of Broitenburg was amused. The peasants were clearly revolting, and royalty was pleased to indulge such idiosyncratic ways.

      ‘Um…maybe we could get a hotel babysitter and go down to the dining room?’

      His laughter only had the effect of increasing her tension—making anger surge. ‘I’m not leaving Henry,’ she told him, and watched his smile die. It was all very well for the peasants to revolt, it seemed, as long as it didn’t interfere with this man’s plans.

      ‘The dining room would be more sensible,’ he told her.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Miss Dexter…’

      ‘You’re not taking him,’ she whispered, and they were no longer talking about where they intended eating dinner. ‘I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care how many teddies you buy him. He’s staying with me.’