The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

“Raoul,” she said softly, waiting.

“And yes,” he admitted. “It was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and withdrew a silver flask, spun off the cap, and took a long drink of whatever was inside—most

likely the brandy he’d mentioned before. He grimaced and replaced the cap, but then belatedly handed it over to her, offering her a drink.

“No thank you,” she said quietly.

He leaned back on the bench. “So you and Diego. Interesting match.”

“He told me you are aware of our . . . relationship.” Her heart pounded with something that wasn’t quite fear but was definitely anxiety.

“Do you love him, Miss Walters?”

It was a complicated question, but she answered simply. “Yes, I do.” At Raoul’s silence, she swallowed and added, “But I haven’t been comfortable with it. I am here to care for Emilia and Max. It wasn’t anything I intended to happen.”

“I know that.” He swiveled his head in her direction, his chin dropping as if his head were heavy on his neck. “I have never seen my brother like this. It is good for him, I think. He’s happy.”

“But I’m . . . nobody.”

“And you think that will create problems?”

“And the children have to come first. Oh, Your . . . Raoul,” she corrected, “they are such sweet children, and they still miss their mother. I would not sacrifice their well-being for my own selfish fancies.”

His gaze hardened. “Is that what Diego is to you? A selfish fancy?”

The knot of nerves hardened into a heavy ball, settling right in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, no, of course not. He is . . .”

She hesitated. Thought of how he smiled at her. Held her as they danced. Sat with his arm around her as they talked in the dark.

The way he’d made her feel like the only woman in the world only an hour ago.

“He’s everything,” she admitted quietly.

When she looked at Raoul again, his jaw was clenched tightly. At first she thought he was angry, but one look in his eyes told her he was simply trying to hold back his emotions.

Raoul, it seemed, was a sad drunk. And it wouldn’t do for him to be seen in this condition.

“Sir,” she said softly, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm. “We can discuss all this at another time, can’t we? Let me help you inside. You need a chance to rest. Rehydrate.” She tried a small smile. “The children will want to see you tomorrow, without the smell of brandy, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry I got maudlin.”

“Entirely understandable,” she answered briskly. She stood and held out her hand. “How steady are you? How long have you been sitting out here, sipping from your flask?”

He grinned up at her, looking as goofy as it was possible for the very proper prince to look. “Long enough.”

Raoul put his hand on the arm of the bench and pushed himself upright, but she saw him reel unsteadily as he found his feet. The last thing he needed was to be seen staggering into the palace, or wandering through the gardens and taking a wrong turn on the paths. She slid up beside him and linked her arm with his. “Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Upsy daisy and on we go.”

He laughed, took a misstep, and stumbled on the path. Rose smiled secretly, and put her arm around his waist, for once not worrying about protocol around him. With Diego she forgot about it all the time. But not with Raoul or his father.

“I apologize,” he said soberly. “This isn’t like me at all.”

“I certainly didn’t have you pegged as a drinker,” she replied easily. “But everyone is entitled to a weak moment or two, Raoul. You’ve earned yours. And there’s no one to see but me, and I won’t breathe a word.”