Читать книгу The Princess's Bodyguard - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 10

M att had figured this wouldn’t be an easy job and he’d been right. He should have known she would put up a fuss. Princess Adele stared at him, her big brown eyes glaring, and her full, pink lips clenched. With a defiant stance, her hands on her hips, and an I’m-not-going-anywhere-with-you expression on her face, she seemed to be daring him. Matt rubbed his jaw and chin. He wore two days’ worth of beard stubble because he hadn’t taken time to shave since he’d been rushed to Orlantha and put on this case. She probably thought he looked rather scruffy. He thought she looked incredible. Her shiny chestnut-brown hair curled about her ears in a soft, wavy bob. A pair of shimmery diamond studs—probably three carats each—glittered in her earlobes and a thin diamond-studded watch graced her wrist. Her petite body—he guessed she stood about five-two—was nicely rounded in all the right places. An hourglass shape, with a tiny waist. The outfit she wore—red cashmere sweater and gray wool slacks—had probably been purchased on her recent shopping spree in Paris and no doubt had cost a month’s salary for the average person. Oh, yeah, she was one gorgeous woman, but she had “Spoiled Rotten” written all over her.

“The way you’re looking at me is quite insulting,” she told him with an air of snobbery.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he replied. “I was just appreciating the scenery.”

A slight flush stained her cheeks. “Mr. O’Brien, I don’t know how much my father is paying you, but I will match his offer and raise it by…let’s say, five thousand American dollars.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re willing to pay me five thousand more than your father if I don’t take you back to Orlantha?”

“That’s correct.” The tension in her body drained away, and she relaxed a bit.

“It’s my understanding that your father holds the purse strings, that you aren’t independently wealthy.”

She huffed, then pursed her lips and glowered at Matt. “I have some capital at my disposal, certainly enough to buy you off.”

Barely able to control his amusement, Matt grinned. “Look, Ms. Reynard or Princess or whatever you prefer to be called, I work for the Dundee Agency. We’ve got rules and regulations we have to follow, and a solid reputation to uphold, not to mention the fact that I’ve got a boss who can put the fear of God into any of her agents if we even think of doing anything disreputable.”

“I take that to mean you’re refusing my offer.”

“Yes, ma’am, you can take it that way.”

“Then we seem to be at an impasse, don’t we?”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you expect me to go back to Orlantha with you, and I refuse to return to the palace tonight or anytime in the near future. Not until my father calls off the wedding.”

“Look, I can’t say that I blame you for not wanting to marry old mule face. If I were a lady, I’d sure run in the opposite direction to get away from him. But my job isn’t couples counseling. I was hired to take you back to the palace in Erembourg and that’s what I intend to do.”

Adele tensed again, her small body stiffening and her chin tilting upward slightly. She was half his size, yet even her body language challenged him. “You do not intimidate me.”

No doubt about it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“My orders are to use whatever means necessary to secure your return.”

“Use whatever means… Are you saying that my father really did give you permission to force me to come with you?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what he did. And Lord Burhardt, Colonel Rickard and your ever-loving fiancé all went right along with the order. Looks like it’s you against the world, or at least your little world in Orlantha. I’d say unless you can talk your daddy out of it, you, Princess Beauty, are going home to marry the beast.”

“You’re the beast, Mr. O’Brien!” Adele’s eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. “I’m not leaving with you, and that’s final.” She stomped her foot.

“I should have just walked in, chloroformed you and been done with it. But no, I had to give you a chance to be reasonable. Stupid of me, I know, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.”

Matt reached out to take her arm, but she sidestepped him and began backing slowly toward the double doors behind her. “If you touch me, I’ll scream.”

“Then start screaming now because I’m going to touch you.”

Adele opened her mouth, but before she got out more than a mild screech, Matt dashed forward, grabbed her and slammed his hand over her mouth. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to free herself. He held fast.

“We’re going to march out of the chateau and straight to my car that’s parked outside,” Matt told her. “If you’re a good little girl, I won’t have to handcuff and gag you.”

Her movements became frantic as she struggled against him. When he tried to walk her out of the room, she kicked him several times. Damn, why him? Why had he been the lucky guy to draw this assignment?

“Stop that right now,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to carry you out of here in a fireman’s lift.”

Somehow she managed to maneuver her mouth so that she could bite him. Ouch! He let out a yelp as her teeth chomped down into his hand. And within two seconds, her ear-splitting scream echoed through the chateau. Suddenly the butler ran into the drawing room, followed by a tall, blond man wearing evening attire.

“What is going on here?” Yves Jurgen demanded.

The butler jabbered ninety-to-nothing in German, while Adele continued struggling and calling out for help. Obviously confused, Yves glanced back and forth from the butler to Adele.

“Silence!” Yves called.

The butler hushed immediately.

With Matt’s arm around her waist, holding her body in front of his, Adele looked pleadingly at her friend. “Yves, this man is a private detective my father hired to find me and return me to Orlantha. Will you please tell him that he cannot force me to leave the chateau with him.”

“My God! Unhand the princess!” Yves stepped forward, bringing himself directly in front of Adele and Matt. “Do you hear me? I will not allow you to—”

Matt shoved Adele aside, then confronted the pretty boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mr. Jurgen, but if I have to, I will.”

“Hurt me?” Yves laughed. “I assure you that if you persist in this matter, you will be the one hurt.”

“Look, buddy boy, I’m walking out of here in about a minute, and the princess is going with me. I advise you not to try to stop us.”

“Do something, Yves,” Adele said.

When Adele tried to rush toward Yves, Matt grabbed her arm. “Stay put.”

When he tried to walk her toward the door, she balked. And if that wasn’t enough trouble, Yves came barreling toward him and grasped his shoulder. Without releasing Adele, he turned to face Yves just in time to see the man’s fist coming toward him. Matt adeptly avoided the blow, but when Yves came at him a second time, Matt drew back his fist and coldcocked Yves with one blow to his jaw. The minute Yves hit the floor, the butler yelled something about the polizei. Matt just ignored the man. Adele began fighting him again and calling him names, first in French and then in German and finally in English.

“My, my, Princess, where did you learn such filthy language?”

And as he’d threatened, Matt hoisted her up and over his shoulder. She let out a loud screech and wiggled.

“Put me down!”

Mumbling several obscenities under his breath, Matt marched out of the drawing room, through the marble-floored entrance hall and outside to his rental car. And all the while Adele threatened him with everything from a public flogging to a beheading.

Matt opened the front passenger door of the car, deposited Adele inside and closed the door. She opened the door and tried to get out. He shoved her back inside, held her in place until he fastened her seatbelt, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs—which he’d brought with him, just in case. After manacling her wrist with one cuff, he pulled her hands behind her back and snapped the second cuff on her other wrist.

“Now, you sit there and behave yourself.”

Adele screamed again, then said, “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything, pay you anything, if you’ll let me go. I can’t go back to Orlantha. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Save your breath,” he told her. “I’m just doing my job. When you get home, you can work this out with your father.”

“My father is as unreasonable as you are. I hate him. I hate you. I hate all men.”

Just what he needed—to listen to her bellowing and bellyaching all the way back to Orlantha. He jerked out a handkerchief from his other pocket and effectively gagged her. Adele’s eyes widened in shock.

“Sorry, Princess, but I have no intention of listening to you carrying on like that while I’m driving.”

Matt got in on the driver’s side, started the engine and headed down the brick driveway toward the main road. With a little luck, they’d cross the border in a few hours and by morning he’d be on a plane headed back to Paris. Occasionally he glanced at the princess. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way. She sat there, with her hands cuffed behind her and his handkerchief tied over her mouth, staring straight ahead into the dark night, her entire demeanor regal and unflinching. He knew she had to be uncomfortable, but no one would ever guess by the way she acted.

An hour and forty minutes later they were halfway to the Austrian border, traveling along a back road, just in case Yves Jurgen had been foolish enough to try to follow them. The weather quickly turned nasty. An autumn storm created heavy streaks of lighting and rolling booms of thunder. Then came the downpour. The rain became so heavy that Matt couldn’t see two feet in front of the car, leaving him no choice but to pull off to the side of the road.

He killed the motor and turned to Adele. “Will you promise to behave yourself if I remove the gag?”

She didn’t respond immediately, just glowered at him. Then finally she nodded.

Matt reached out to untie the handkerchief. “If you start up again, the gag goes back in place. Understand?”

She nodded. He undid the knot and removed the gag. She took a deep breath, then licked the sides of her mouth where the handkerchief had chafed her skin.

“Mr. O’Brien, I didn’t run away simply because I find Dedrick personally offensive.”

“Look, honey, it doesn’t matter to me why you ran off. Can’t you get it through that pretty little head of yours that I’m just doing my job?”

“And I’m trying to do mine!”

Realizing she was probably going to give him some sad sob story, Matt didn’t respond. The wind beat against the car, whistling around them as the rain continued pouring. He wondered how long they’d be stuck here. The sooner he got this woman off his hands, the better.

“Mr. O’Brien?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Do you know anything about the politics in Orlantha and Balanchine?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Are you aware that there are factions in both countries that wish to see the two reunited as one country?”

“I think I heard something to that effect.”

“Have you also heard about a group called the Royalists?”

“Can’t say that I have, but something tells me that I’m about to.” Matt turned in his seat so that he faced Adele. “If you promise not to do anything stupid, I’ll undo the handcuffs.”

“Do you want me to promise that I will not try to run from you?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then I promise.”

Matt stared at her for a moment, trying to discern her credibility. What the hell, he’d take a chance. After all, how far could she go if she did try to run?

After taking the key from his pocket, he gave her back a gentle shove forward, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.

She brought her hands slowly around to the front and rubbed first one wrist and then the other. Repeating the process several times, she said, “Thank you.”

Matt wasn’t sure which princess he preferred. The quiet-spoken, accommodating lady or the other—the defiant, hostile spitfire. He definitely trusted the spitfire more. This sweet act she was putting on now worried him. Was she up to something? Or had she simply changed tactics thinking honey attracted more than vinegar?

“About the Royalists,” she said. “They are a secret society that is active in both Orlantha and Balanchine. Their goals are to reunite the two countries under one king and for the combined nations to be ruled solely by the monarch. They want to turn back the clock two hundred years.”

“What does this have to do with your marriage to the duke?”

“I believe that Dedrick is a Royalist.”

“Got any proof?”

“Not yet, but soon, we hope.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brien, but I cannot explain further. I simply do not know how trustworthy you are. Considering the fact that you’re working for my father, I—”

“How does Dedrick being a Royalist have any effect on your marriage? You’re a princess. Your old man is the king. I’d say your whole family are Royalists.”

“No, we are not!” Adele huffed. “You do not understand. My father rules Orlantha in conjunction with an elected council, headed by a chancellor and a vice chancellor and we do not want Orlantha reunited with Balanchine under any circumstances, and most definitely not as a monarch-ruled country. We suspect…I suspect that if Dedrick becomes the prince consort, he will try to usurp more and more power, especially in the event of my father’s death someday. As my husband, he would have almost as much authority over the government as I do.”

“Interesting story,” Matt said. “Why don’t you tell it to your father when you return to Orlantha?”

“I have told my father, but he refuses to believe me.”

“Because you don’t have any evidence against the duke.”

Adele sighed. “No, I don’t have any evidence, and my father won’t postpone the wedding and give us…give me time to prove Dedrick is not only an unsuitable husband for me but an unsuitable prince for Orlantha.”

“So you ran away to buy time for your unnamed cohorts in Orlantha to gather evidence against Dedrick?”

“That’s right.” Adele smiled. “So you see, I cannot go back, not yet. If I return to Orlantha, my father will force me to marry Dedrick next month.”

“Why don’t you marry someone else?” Matt gazed through the Opel’s side window. “Looks like the rain’s letting up.” He started the engine and shifted gears.

“Marry someone else… You mean marry another man before my father can force me to marry Dedrick?”

Matt pulled the car back onto the road and headed southwest. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. If you’re already married to another guy, your father can’t force you to marry Dedrick.”

“It would have to be a marriage in name only,” she said. “A marriage of convenience that could be easily annulled once we have the proof we need against Dedrick.” She grasped Matt’s arm. “Mr. O’Brien, that’s a wonderful idea. Yves would probably marry me, but I’m not sure I could trust him 100 percent. He’d want to remain the prince consort. And I’m sure Pippin would marry me, but he’d have to leave Orlantha and meet me somewhere.”

“Who’s Pippin? Sounds like some cartoon character.”

Adele laughed. “Vice chancellor Pippin Ritter is a fine man and rather handsome. And he’s a good friend.”

“Then when you get home, marry the vice chancellor. Problem solved.”

“We’d never be allowed to marry in Orlantha. But if I could get a message to Pippin, he could meet me—”

“Princess, I’m taking you to Orlantha tonight.” When she gasped and started to speak, he went on, “Once you’re back in your own country, you and this Pippin can figure out a plan. But I’m finishing the job I started.”

“I thought you understood. I thought I could reason with you.”

“I’m sorry, okay? But the internal politics in Orlantha really aren’t any of my business.” Matt caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. There was that sad little face again, the one he’d seen in the Paris newspaper announcing her engagement. What was it about this woman that made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right? He didn’t know her. Didn’t want to know her. She was an assignment. If he were smart, he wouldn’t get involved.

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Why should you care about me or my country?”

There was nothing else to be said, so Matt kept quiet. For the next thirty minutes the only sounds were the car’s engine and the renewed strength of the storm. They seemed to be heading directly into even more turbulent weather. Once again it became impossible for Matt to see more than a couple of feet past the hood of the car. When he came to a crossroads, marked with a signpost, he stopped so that the headlights hit the sign. Gerwalt Inn. Not a town marker, but a welcome to the local hotel.

“We’re going to have to stop,” Matt said. “I’ll see if I can find Gerwalt Inn, and we’ll stay there until this storm passes.”

He could tell that the princess was trying not to smile, but it was obvious she was pleased with the brief reprieve.

“Whatever you say, Mr. O’Brien.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. She was being much too accommodating, which meant she was up to something. He’d have to make sure he kept close watch over her.

Adele said a silent prayer of thanks for sending such a hostile storm on this very night when she needed it so badly. Once they stopped at the inn, she would find a way to escape from her American captor. There had to be a way to get away from him or to persuade him to let her go. Perhaps at the inn, she would find someone to help her. After all, she was bound to be recognized as the princess of Orlantha.

While Matt O’Brien drove slowly, being extra careful because of the rain, Adele studied the Dundee agent. The man needed a shave and a haircut. His thick black hair was tousled, his jeans faded and his leather bomber jacket worn with age. He was rather good-looking, if you liked the big, macho type. When he had grabbed her at the chateau, she had surmised that he was nearly a foot taller than she and about twice her size. And, going by his surname, she assumed he was of Irish descent. She guessed his age to be somewhere around thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. There was no gray in his jet-black hair or his beard, but he had tiny wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and shallow furrows in his forehead.

When the car stopped, Adele looked out the window, but the downpour was so heavy that all she could make out were blurry lights. Matt turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and looked at Adele. The man had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bright, summer-day sky blue.

“We’ll have to make a run for it,” he told her. “We’ll get drenched, but there’s nothing else to do.”

She nodded. Matt flung open the door and jumped out. Adele did the same. Matt grabbed her arm and together they ran toward the two-story inn. By the time they made it inside to the reception area, they were both thoroughly wet to the skin.

The inn’s proprietor came out from behind the front desk to greet them.

“Güten abend,” the man said in German. “Willkommen zum gasthaus.”

“Güten abend,” Adele replied.

Although he understood that they’d said “good evening” to each other and the innkeeper had welcomed them, Matt’s guess was that the princess’s command of the German language was far better than his. He didn’t want to take any chances that she might start rattling off a spiel in German and he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“Do you speak English?” Matt asked.

“Yes, I speak English,” the man said. “You are Americans?”

“I’m an American,” Matt replied.

“And I am Prin—”

Matt reached out, draped his arm around her shoulders and hauled her up against him. “This is my bride, Priscilla. We’re honeymooning here in Austria.”

“We are not—” Adele said, but was cut short when Matt kissed her.

How dare he kiss her! How dare he… Oh, heaven help her. His mouth was warm, moist and commanding. She didn’t think she’d ever been kissed quite so thoroughly in her entire twenty-eight years. She gripped his shoulders to steady her wobbly legs, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, all thoughts of a protest vanished. The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and for a split second Adele felt oddly adrift.

When he eased his mouth from hers, she glared at him. He whispered softly against her lips, “Don’t try to pull anything, or I’ll be forced to play dirty.”

Adele nodded, only now understanding just how devious her captor could be. Matt turned to the proprietor who stood waiting, a broad smile on his face, apparently delighted by the honeymooners’ ardor.

“We’d like a room, please,” Matt said. “We’ll be staying until the storm passes.”

Matt pulled out his wallet, removed his credit card and handed it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper scurried behind the front desk, scanned the credit card, then retrieved a key and handed the key and the card to Matt. “What about your luggage, Mr. O’Brien?”

“It’s in the car, but considering the way it’s raining, I think we’ll do without it tonight.”

The innkeeper nodded. “I will have Hilda bring robes for you and your wife. With my compliments. And if there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know. I am Franz Gerwalt.”

“Thanks,” Matt replied. “We’ll let you know if—”

“Herr Gerwalt?” Adele spoke softly, a warm, friendly smile on her damp face.

“Yes?”

“We would also like some brandy brought to our room, and I require two extra pillows,” Adele said. “I assume there’s a fireplace in our room.” Franz Gerwalt nodded. “If there isn’t a fire in the fireplace, please, see that one is prepared immediately.”

Matt tugged on her arm. “You’re being terribly demanding, dear. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” she replied. “I am simply requesting adequate treatment, nothing more.”

The innkeeper frowned as he looked back and forth from Adele to Matt. “A lovers’ quarrel on your honeymoon? You must not argue. We will be happy to accommodate Mrs. O’Brien’s requests.”

“Thank you,” Adele said. “I have one more request.”

“Certainly,” the innkeeper replied.

“Will you please call the police and tell them that this man has kidnapped me?”