The Playboy Prince and the Nanny Read online

  His heart hurt. He remembered it being much the same for him and Raoul after Mother died. Mama Mariana had been their saving grace.

  Just like Rose was now. And what he’d wanted to be a fun, pleasant outing had earned her the label of . . . what was it she said? Palace Plaything.

  Ugh. No wonder she’d been cold with him. Even her speech in the salon earlier had been uptight and annoyingly proper, just like that first night by the fountain.

  She was no plaything. She was a godsend to the children and a spark of life in a dreary household.

  He looked over at his brother, at his father. They were discussing some upcoming function and dinner that the palace was hosting and paying very little attention to Emilia and Max. Indeed, Diego was the only one who noticed Max stabbing his potato terrine over and over and over again, a look of supreme boredom on his face.

  “Max,” he said quietly, “don’t play with your food.”

  Max looked up and Diego was startled to see tears in the boy’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” Max blinked a few times and one tear slid down his little cheek. He wiped it away, sat up straight, and dipped his fork into his potatoes, taking a defiant bite.

  Still Raoul didn’t see.

  Five minutes later, when their main course was taken away, Diego motioned for their footman and gave him a quick instruction. Then he smiled at Emilia and Max. “The two of you are excused. You can have your dessert upstairs. One of the maids is going to deliver it to you.”

  The look of utter relief nearly made him laugh. Raoul and Alexander stopped talking long enough to stare in surprise, but Diego didn’t care. He was going to say something and make them listen.

  The children placed their napkins on the table and beat it for the door. While Rose was technically supposed to come to get them, they knew their way back upstairs.

  “They have not had their dessert,” Raoul said, staring at Diego. “We eat as a family. Ceci—”

  “Ceci is not here,” Diego replied, his heart pounding with apprehension. This was not a welcome topic, and he was likely to get slapped down for it. But it was important. “And sitting at this table and being miserable is not eating as a family.”

  Alexander cleared his throat. “Diego,” he cautioned.

  “No, Padré.” Determined, he carried on. “In the offices you are each Your Highness. Here at the table you are Padré or Abuelo. Those two little children are miserable. You didn’t even notice that Max was on the verge of tears. They miss Ceci. They miss Mariana. And I understand the importance of duty and the hours you must work, but Raoul, you need to spend time with your children.”

  Raoul’s eyebrows had lifted and his eyes lit with indignation. “Do you, Diego? Do you know the hours I must work?”

  Diego had put up with being the younger son for many years, and he’d stayed quiet about his feelings. But not tonight. For a few months now he’d picked up the slack without anyone noticing or caring. “You don’t think I put in work, too? Maybe it’s not ‘state’ business, but I’ve been running the stables and the breeding program ever since Lucy married Brody. I sit on the board of several charities that are near and dear to my heart. And in the last month, with few exceptions, I’ve taken hours out of every day to kick around a soccer ball with Max, watch a movie with Emilia, or have tea with them both.”

  “They have their nanny . . .”

  “And she is not family.” It pained him to say it, but he needed to get his point across. “Rose is a wonderful nanny, and thank God they have her. Otherwise they’d be totally alone.”

  He softened his voice. “Raoul, I know you’re grieving. I can’t imagine how painful it is. But your children need you. They have anything a child could want except for your time and your love. Don’t deny them that.”

  Raoul’s face had paled.

  “Yesterday, I took the three of them on an outing. We had a wonderful time. Did you know Emilia is a first-class negotiator? You should have seen her bargaining at one of the market stalls. We had lunch in a taverna. And we got our picture taken. As a result, your very proper British nanny got her picture in the paper and suffered a blow to her reputation because she was there with me and not you.”

  “It’s not my fault you have a reputation of being a . . . playboy.”

  Diego picked up his wineglass, his fingers tightening around the bowl, but he kept his voice smooth. “There are times that my reputation serves you very well, hermano. Remember that.”

  Alexander leaned forward. “Diego, enough.”

  But neither of them denied it. Diego put a human face on what could be construed as a stuffy, outdated institution. He also was a perfect distraction. While he’d been traveling, the press had followed him around, leaving the royal family in relative peace, to grieve. It hadn’t been by accident.

  “You’re the crown prince,” he finished softly, not wanting to cause further tension. “But Ceci brought out other wonderful qualities in you. She made you a better man. A husband and a father. Don’t lose those qualities now, Raoul. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Raoul nodded. “I’ll clear my schedule for a few hours tomorrow. Maybe have lunch outside in the garden.”

  “That’s all it takes,” Diego agreed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go apologize to Rose for this awful position she’s in.”

  He pushed out his chair and put his napkin on the table, leaving his tart untasted.

  But before he went to see her, he went back to his rooms and changed out of his trousers and tie and put on a pair of jeans and a light cotton shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. The evening was warm and he’d had enough of feeling stuffy today. His videoconference had demanded a polished appearance, so he’d been in a suit since ten.

  He wanted to talk to her alone, without the children around. Emilia and Max tended to have big ears, and they had enough to deal with without trying to sort out adult problems.

  He waited until half past nine and then knocked on her door—hers, not the one to the nursery. She opened it halfway.

  “May I come in?”

  She sighed. A big, heavy sigh. “I know,” he added. “Boundaries and all that stuff. I won’t order you to let me in. I just want to talk for a few minutes.”

  She opened it the rest of the way, and stepped back so he could enter.

  Diego had always liked this room. It was less ostentatious than the family suites, and much smaller, and Mariana had always kept little keepsakes around. It was decorated differently now, though. He was shocked to realize that it had been redecorated since Mariana’s death. Was there to be no trace of the maternal figures of this family left at all?

  “You look surprised,” she said quietly. “Surely you’ve been in the nanny’s room before.”

  “It’s been redecorated,” he said roughly. “But this suits you.” The green and pink decor was pretty, steady, calm. Just like her. He swallowed and let his gaze sweep over her. She, too, had changed. Instead of her official-looking pencil skirt and blouse, she wore soft flowy pants and a light pullover shirt. Her feet were bare and her toenails were a dainty shade of pink.

  When she wasn’t in black and white, she did seem to love her pastels.

  “What can I do for you, Diego? I just got the children to sleep.”

  He noticed a glass of wine on an end table, barely tasted. “I need to apologize. For the position I put you in and for not stopping by today. I had an unexpected conference call that I couldn’t reschedule.” Indeed, he was probably going to have to book some travel to Tanzania soon to oversee the implementation of a new education program, which had hit an administrative snag.

  Rose sighed. “I’m sorry too, for being so short with you earlier. It was more Raoul I was frustrated with, and myself.” Her cheeks colored prettily. “I mean, Prince Raoul . . .”

  He waved a hand, dismissing her consternation. “It’s fine. I had a few words with him at dinner, too. Is Max okay? He seemed upset.”

  W
hen Rose sighed again, he realized how tired she sounded.

  “He was crying when he arrived back from dinner,” she admitted. “Emilia was on the verge herself. I finally got it out of them that they miss their mother and also Mariana. Emilia is only a few years older, but she did say something I haven’t been able to dismiss—that no one talks about her mother and it seems as if she never existed.”

  Diego’s heart hurt. “It’s so hard to know,” he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets, “if reminders are helpful or make things worse.”

  “I think right now they’d be helpful. At least in moderation. I think they’d like to talk about their mother without worrying about upsetting their father.”

  “Who isn’t around much anyway,” Diego added.

  She nodded. “I don’t want to overstep.”

  “You’re not. God, you’re not. I don’t know what they’d do without you, Rose.” He stepped closer to her. “Which is why I need to apologize for yesterday. I knew there would be photographers and I ignored it because I wanted to . . .” This was the tricky part. “I wanted to spend the day with you. Show you what our city has to offer. Instead, I just opened things up for speculation and gossip.”

  Rose went to the table and retrieved her wine, then turned back. “You might as well come in and sit down.” She gestured to the sofa in the sitting area of the suite. He tried to ignore the fact that a very plush bed was behind her. This was the whole problem. It wasn’t just that she was good for the children or that he liked her. There was attraction there, too.

  She poured another glass of wine and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, and sat down on the far side of the sofa.

  She took the chair next to him. “I did have a good time,” she admitted, turning the glass in her fingers. “And so did the children. But we can’t keep blurring the line. I like you, Diego.” She looked up at him briefly, but looked away again. He wondered why she was avoiding eye contact. Was she lying? Or simply trying to avoid too much of a connection?

  “I like you too much,” she continued. “And when this job is over, I’m going to need another. No one wants to hire a nanny who’s been involved with the family.”

  “But we haven’t been involved,” he protested, even though he knew in his heart that was a lie. Nothing had been completely platonic between them. Not since that first night.

  “What’s true doesn’t matter. Having us linked in the tabloids would be enough to guarantee I don’t get work again. And I . . .” She looked away and took a drink of wine. “I have my own responsibilities.”

  It was an odd thing for her to say. Not on the surface, but paired with her body language, he got the feeling she was keeping a secret from him. Or at least, she thought she was. There really wasn’t much about her life he didn’t know. Vetting had been thorough. She would do anything for her family, same as he would. It was a trait he admired.

  “Rose,” he said softly, “this job . . . the children need stability, and they already love you. It’s a secure position until they are much, much older. Please don’t worry about your employability.”

  Then he took a deep drink from his glass, because he realized that what he said was absolutely true, and the idea of having her here, in the palace, potentially for years, and being off-limits was a sobering and uncomfortable thought.

  He couldn’t do it. But he couldn’t leave now, not when things were still so unstable within the family. Maybe his father and brother didn’t see it, but for Diego it had always been family first. Even if he really wanted to strike out on his own, he wouldn’t until he was sure things were okay here in Marazur.

  Silence was thick between them, until Rose put down her glass and folded her hands in her lap, incredibly proper and every inch a British lady. Humble upbringing be damned, the woman had poise and presence.

  “Was there something else you wanted to say?” she asked.

  He downed the rest of the wine. “I spoke to my brother tonight after I excused the children. You are a wonderful nanny, Rose, but they also need their father. The atmosphere in the house is so different since Ceci died. Raoul doesn’t laugh anymore or include them. He promised to make some time in his schedule tomorrow to be with them.”

  Relief crossed her face. “Oh, thank you. I mentioned it this morning and he said he was going to try, and then neither of you put in an appearance. That’s why I was so short with you earlier. Well, that and the obvious.”

  “They really were upset, then.”

  “Max only ate half his tart before he started crying for his mother. Emilia got mad and snapped at him, but I think it was because she was also upset and if he kept it up, she was going to cry as well.”

  It was so unfair. “What did you do?” Diego asked.

  “I wiped tears, calmed everyone down, got them in their pajamas, and we sat on Max’s bed and read stories. It took a long time, but I finally got them both settled.”

  She looked up at him, her bluebell eyes wide. “And then I had a little cry myself, and poured a glass of wine.”

  “You care about them.”

  “Of course I do. I hate seeing them hurting. I love them.”

  And just like that, Diego knew he was in trouble. She’d said it so quickly, without thinking, that he knew it was true. Rosalie Walters with her sometimes prim ways, warm smile, and big heart, was sneaking past all his defenses. He loved it and hated it all at once. In this family, marriage meant loss. The king had lost his wife and Diego had lost his mother. Then his sister-in-law, and Mariana, too. He’d rather keep his heart safe and sound than go through that again. It would be ten times worse to lose the woman he loved.

  And yet there was something wonderful about looking at Rose and feeling seen. Recognized. Appreciated.

  “I should go,” he said, standing and putting his empty glass on the table.

  “Yes,” she said softly, “you should. After today’s newspaper, it wouldn’t do for you to be caught coming out of my room late at night.”

  “The staff is discreet.”

  “They’re also human, and I have to work among them.”

  “Right.”

  She walked him to the door, put her hand on the knob. Such small, delicate fingers, he noticed. And such a strong, caring woman.

  He put his hand over hers. “Rosalie . . .”

  He didn’t know why he’d used her full name. She looked up at him, surprised, their hands still clasping the doorknob. He knew she couldn’t possibly be aware of it, but her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and his gaze dropped and clung to her mouth. His head kept a steady chant of It’s a mistake, but nonetheless he reached out with his free hand and pulled her close against his body.

  He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then he dipped his head and kissed her, shutting out the voice in his head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rose’s head swam with the sensations coursing through her body—his hand, splayed against the small of her back, holding her tight against his hips; the breadth of his chest beneath her palm as she put a hand up for balance; and the hard, muscled wall her fingertips encountered through his thin cotton shirt. And oh, his taste—rich and dark and fruity, like the wine they’d just drunk. His lips moved over hers, beguiling, seducing, sweeping her away into a fantasy such as she’d never encountered in her life.

  She was in a palace and she was kissing a prince. A real prince, and for the second time in two days. And while she prided herself on her common sense, another part of her wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. Because once it was, it couldn’t happen again. And if this was all she could have she was going to let it be a moment to remember.

  She expected him to end the kiss, but he didn’t. Instead he seemed to settle into it, enjoying her mouth, adjusting his embrace until she melted into him. Briefly his lips left hers and he dropped kisses at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, while his fingers traced a sensitive part of her neck. She gasped at the light touch, feeling rather un
raveled as he kissed her again, deeper this time. As if he was enjoying himself immensely. As if he liked kissing her. Her, a mousy little middle child from Guildford.

  She found herself pressed against the door to her suite, sandwiched between the hard wood and Diego’s body. He put his hands flat against the door, one on either side of her head, and kissed her in a way no man had ever kissed her before. Like she was the last bit of sweet icing on the cake.

  She was in way over her head, outmatched both sexually and in rank. At this moment she could choose to be swept away and then wake up with a pile of trouble in the morning, or she could put on the brakes and halt the mistake before it got any worse.

  She knew what she wanted, and she knew what the right course of action was. Reluctantly she put her hands on his chest and pushed lightly, and turned her head a little to the side, breaking away from the kiss.

  Diego was breathing heavily, but he didn’t push. Instead he rested his forehead against hers, and her heart stuttered a bit at the tender gesture.

  “Lo siento,” he murmured. “Rose, I’m sorry.”

  “I know what it means,” she replied. “And don’t be. We’ve both been wondering. Wanting. But we can’t, Diego.” She closed her eyes tight and wished it could be different. “We have never been equals. We never will be. Your family has been through enough. I won’t be the cause of another scandal or source of speculation.”

  He backed away, but looked at her with tortured eyes. “You’re a better woman than I deserve,” he said, his voice low. “I know you are right. I just . . .” He stopped, frowned. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I should leave you to your wine and quiet time.”

  As if she could possibly be calm and relaxed after what had just happened.