The Christmas Love-Child

“It’s beautiful,” Grace said in a low voice.

“It used to belong to the prince’s great-aunt, the Grand Duchess Olga.” Elena pulled back to see the effect in the mirror then nodded her approval. “Now I’ll send that wretched woman away,” she added, “and I’ll be right back.”

“No,” Grace blurted out, her mouth suddenly dry. “Send her up.”

The Russian woman looked at her dubiously. “Are you sure, princess?”

No. “Yes.”

A moment later Lady Francesca was escorted into the drawing room beside Grace’s bedroom.

The pale redhead was as beautiful as Grace remembered. Petite and very thin, she wore a pink tweed Chanel skirt suit and white peep-toe shoes with flashy red soles. In her perfectly manicured hands, she carried a white quilted bag with a gold chain handle.

She glanced around the pretty, elegant, feminine room. “I see you’ve set yourself up nicely,” she said with a sniff.

“Please sit down,” Grace said nervously, indicating the blue high-backed chair. “May I order some tea?”

“No, thank you.” Francesca’s cold, kohl-lined green eyes looked right through her scornfully. “This isn’t a friendly visit.” She set her handbag on the tea table, all business. “I’ve come to ask you how much money I have to pay you to divorce your husband.”

Grace stared at her in shock, speechless.

“Oh, come on,” she said impatiently. “You were clever enough to get pregnant. You are hoping to profit from your child. I don’t blame you. I’m sure I would do the same if I had no money, skills or beauty. So just tell me how much you expect.”

Grace tried to speak, but still couldn’t.

Francesca pulled her checkbook and an expensive-looking pen out of her wallet, then looked up at her. “Well?”

“I’m not trying to profit from my child!”

“Because you’re a decent mother?” Francesca’s red lips twisted. “Can we please skip your fervent protestations? We both know that Maksim should belong to me. Tell me how much it will cost to be rid of you.”

Remembering all that she’d suffered because of this woman, Grace clenched her hands into fists.

“I gave up one man to you without a fight,” she said in a low voice. “I won’t do it again.”

“So you did have a desperate little crush on Alan,” Francesca drawled, glancing down at her flawless scarlet nails. “I wondered. My dear, don’t you realize that a woman like you cannot possibly compete against a woman like me?”

Every word was like a stab to Grace’s heart. “I never loved Alan,” she said in a trembling voice. “You can have him. But I’ll die before I give Maksim up to you!”

“You poor fool. I understand Maksim in a way you never will.” Francesca tilted her head. “He doesn’t love you. If you were any sort of decent woman, you would let him go. If you won’t, you’re not a decent woman. You’re a gold digger who deliberately got pregnant to trick Maksim into marriage.”

Grace’s insides twisted. “I never tried to get pregnant. I never asked him to marry me,” she whispered. “He insisted.”

Francesca nodded. “So you didn’t want to marry him in the first place. Perfect. Then take my check and leave him. Find some other man to marry.” She stared at Grace with false sympathy. “Someone more at your level.”

“He’s my husband and father of my child. Now we’re married, I won’t give him up.” She narrowed her eyes, looking up at the other woman as her shoulders shook with emotion. “Not to you or anyone.”

With a sigh, the beautiful redhead closed her checkbook. “Fine. Have it your way.” She leaned forward across the tea table. “You’re not a bad person. I can see that. So if you love him, let him go.”

Grace looked up at her rival. “You love him?”

Francesca’s green eyes were clear and direct. “And I can help him. In life. In business. I thought a fake engagement would prod him into setting a date to marry me. But he plays the game even better than I do. He actually married you.” She gave a thin red smile. “I told my father about the fake engagement to save Maksim’s merger. I can make him the richest man in the world. What can you ever do for him…except be a burden?”

“Izvenitche, pojhowsta.” Elena suddenly appeared in the door, scowling. “It’s time for the princess to make her entrance at the reception.”

Francesca rose gracefully to her feet. She paused at the door, her eyes narrowed and her red lips pulled back to reveal her sharp white teeth.

“If you love him, Miss Cannon,” she said softly, “you’ll leave him.”

After her parting shot the beautiful redhead swept away, leaving pain and regret racking through Grace in waves.

Maksim had told her the truth. Francesca was the one who’d told her father about the fake engagement. Maksim had tried to tell her he didn’t betray her. He’d seduced her, yes, but he hadn’t been able to use her words against her. He’d protected her honor at the expense of his own. He’d given up what he wanted most—for her.

But she hadn’t believed him.

Instead she’d insulted him. She still winced to remember the horrible words she’d thrown at him when he’d followed her to California.

She’d done everything she could to push him back into Francesca’s arms. Could he ever forgive her lack of faith?

He has to, she thought. Even if I have to beg him for forgiveness.

But what difference would begging make—if he was in love with another woman? She closed her eyes as a stabbing pain went through her heart. Why would he ever choose her over Francesca, after the way she’d treated him?

“Are you ready, Grace?”

She turned to see Maksim standing in the doorway. She sucked in her breath. He looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, her dark Rostov prince, strong and powerful and very, very dangerous.

“She’s ready,” Elena said approvingly. She adjusted the tiara over Grace’s high chignon, adding pins to hold it as she said softly, “And the most beautiful princess the house of Rostov has ever seen.”

Maksim slowly looked her over and then nodded. “You are beautiful.”

Grace’s heart fluttered in her chest. “You are, too. So handsome, I mean.”

His dark eyes were inscrutable as he held out his arm. “Come.”

He led her out of the room to the top of the elaborate limestone staircase where they’d made love with such intensity two days before. At the bottom of the stairs, she heard the noise and voices of their guests, the clinking of crystal. She couldn’t face them as Maksim’s wife.

Not without knowing their marriage had a chance.

She stopped in her tracks, pulling on his hand with urgency to pull him back into the hallway.

He looked down at her impatiently. “What is it?”

“I should have believed you all along. I’m so sorry, Maksim.” Her eyes filled with tears as the words spilled out, rushing over each other. “You never betrayed me. Francesca said she told her father about the engagement. Oh, Maksim. Can you ever forgive me?”

His eyes narrowed. “You have spoken with Francesca?”

“She was here.”

His eyebrows rose. “Here? What was she—”

She placed her hand over his. “I don’t want to fight,” she pleaded. “I want to start fresh. To go back to how we were in London. I believe you now. I’m sorry I didn’t have faith—”

“It’s easy to believe me now, isn’t it?” he interrupted coldly. “You believe Francesca’s words, when you wouldn’t believe mine.”

This was all going wrong. She’d apologized, begged him to forgive her, pleaded for a fresh start. What else was left? What hadn’t she said?

Only one thing, and it terrified her. She couldn’t possibly lay her soul bare before him, not when his face was so cold, his body so tense and unyielding.

“Come.” He turned away, drawing her once more toward the wide sweeping stairs and the marble-floored foyer where she knew hundreds of society guests were waiting.

She grabbed his tuxedo sleeve, pulling him to her, forcing him to listen.

“Maksim, I…” Her heart pounded in her throat. She licked her lips. “I…I love you.”

His steel-gray eyes widened, became deep pools of some emotion she couldn’t identify, but it caused yearning and fear to spread through her veins.

“I love you,” she repeated, her mouth utterly dry. “And I have to know. Can you ever love me?”

She waited for his answer, and as the seconds ticked by, they seemed to last for eons.

Then his handsome face slowly turned to ice. He shook his head grimly. “It’s too late.”

“How can it be too late?” she gasped.

“I’ll always take care of the child, Grace.” He looked away, tightening his shoulders. “But I’ll never love you again.”

Again?

He’d loved her?

He’d loved her—and she’d thrown his love away!

“No!” she cried. “It can’t be too late! I love you. And if you once loved me…”