Читать книгу The Princess's Bodyguard - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 8

W hat he needed was some fun, Matt O’Brien decided. A week of wine, women and song. And what better place to enjoy himself than here in Paris. He’d checked into the hotel the night before, arriving from Switzerland on an evening flight. His latest assignment had left him in bad need of a vacation, so he hoped to spend a week in France, seeing the sights and enjoying the company of at least one or two lovely mademoiselles. When he opened the door to allow room service to roll in the breakfast cart, he lifted his index finger to his lips in a silent request for the waiter to enter quietly. Matt nodded toward the man sleeping in one of the double beds. The waiter bobbed his head up and down and smiled. Matt signed for the meal. As soon as the waiter left, Matt poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to take a look at the latest edition of Le Monde, the Paris newspaper he’d requested.

Being able to speak several languages—adequately if not fluently—was a plus in his business. He’d been an agent for the Dundee Security and Investigation Agency, based in Atlanta, Georgia, for several years now, after serving his country in the Air Force for more than ten years. Since the agency’s reputation as “the best in the U.S.” had become known worldwide, more and more requests were coming in from foreign countries. That’s how he and Worth Cordell, his fellow Dundee agent, had wound up in Switzerland investigating the disappearance of a wealthy Swiss banker. They’d been hired by the man’s daughter, who hadn’t been satisfied with the way the local authorities had dealt with her father’s case. In the end, Matt had risked his life to protect Maura Ottokar, whose stepmother had arranged the murder of her husband and had intended to kill Maura, too, as she was the only other heir to the man’s fortune.

Matt propped his feet on the ottoman, flipped open the newspaper and scanned the headlines. He had discovered that reading foreign newspapers was a great way to practice his language skills. As he sipped the coffee and indulged in a delicious pastry, a headline caught his eye. The engagement of Princess Adele of Orlantha to Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald, was announced by King Leopold. Matt chuckled. Why any modern-thinking people would allow themselves to be ruled by a monarchy seemed implausible to him. It was one thing for the monarchy to be a figurehead and another if they were part of the governing power, as they were in the Rhode-Island-size country of Orlantha. In the equally small neighboring principality of Balanchine, the monarchy was the absolute governing body. From time to time news about these two little squabbling countries that had been one country two hundred years ago became a front-page item.

“What’s so damn funny?” Worth Cordell rolled over in bed, opened his eyes and glared at Matt.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Matt grinned. Worth didn’t. The Switzerland assignment had been the first the two men had shared, and Matt had found out rather quickly that his comrade-in-arms wasn’t the friendly good-ol’-boy type like Jack Parker, a former Dundee agent who’d been a hell of a lot of fun when they’d shared assignments. Worth was a quiet, withdrawn man, with a deadly stare that could destroy an opponent a good twenty feet away. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t gamble and, as far as Matt could tell, didn’t womanize. And he didn’t share war stories or personal confidences with his co-workers. All Matt knew about the big, rugged loner was that he stood six-four, had originally come from Arkansas and had once been a Green Beret Ranger.

Worth rolled out of bed wearing only a pair of cotton boxers, but quickly slipped into the faded jeans he’d hung across the back of a nearby chair.

“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay on in Paris with me?” Matt called as Worth disappeared into the bathroom. “Couldn’t you use some R & R before your next assignment?”

Worth didn’t respond. Matt shrugged. The guy could be downright unfriendly. After finishing off the pastry and coffee, Matt refilled his cup and returned his interest to the newspaper. He glanced at the picture of the princess and her betrothed. The guy was gangly, with a long, narrow face and a bored expression. A real toad. He had the appearance of a guy whose gene pool included a little inbreeding. On the other hand the princess looked like…well, like a princess. Petite, small-boned, fragile. And lovely.

But there was something else about her. She didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked more like a condemned woman than a bride-to-be.

Worth emerged from the bathroom, his auburn hair damp and his dark eyes wide open. “How’s the coffee?”

“Not bad.”

Worth poured himself a cup and sat across from Matt in the chair at the desk. “Are you about finished with the paper?”

“Just started looking,” Matt said. “This—” he held up the page to show Worth “—caught my eye.”

“I didn’t know you were a royal watcher.” Worth brought the cup to his lips.

Matt chuckled. “I’m not. I just happened to notice the headline.” Matt folded the paper in two and tossed it to Worth, who caught it midair.

“My French isn’t too good,” Worth admitted.

“Why don’t you call the front desk and have them bring up a copy of the—”

“Nah.” Worth flopped the paper down on the desk, opened it and scanned the page. “Am I reading this right? These two have been engaged since they were kids?”

“Politics,” Matt said. “Makes you wonder what century those people are living in, doesn’t it?”

Worth turned the page. “I’m catching the next flight back to Atlanta,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “While you were down in the bar last night, I called Ellen and she already has my next assignment lined up.”

What was it with this guy? Matt wondered. Ever since he’d joined the Dundee Agency over a year ago, he’d gone from one assignment to the next, without a break. Didn’t he ever rest? Ever have any fun?

“Have you got something against taking a day off?” Matt asked. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Worth didn’t glance up from the paper. “I prefer working.”

“Yeah, well, to each his own. I for one plan to whoop and holler a little while I’m in Paris.”

Worth continued glancing through the paper, for all intents and purposes ignoring Matt. Hell, with an attitude like that, Matt was glad Worth wasn’t going to stay on. The guy was a real stick-in-the-mud. Matt leaned back, folded his hands behind his head and slowly closed his eyelids. Instantly a pair of dark eyes set in a sad little face appeared in his mind. The unhappy princess. Maybe here in Paris he’d meet someone half as pretty as Princess Adele. But a tempting little tidbit of Parisian fluff wouldn’t be able to compare to the princess. Her full, pouting mouth materialized in his mind. Damn, he could almost taste her.

Matt’s eyelids flew open. What was the matter with him, daydreaming about a rich, snobbish woman who would never give a guy like him the time of day? But there was something about her that made her unforgettable. Was it the beauty or the sadness? Or a combination of the two?

Matt grunted. He knew two things. One, no woman was unforgettable. Two, if he was the princess’s fiancé, she’d be smiling.

Adele Reynard, heir to the throne of Orlantha, packed quickly, intending to take only the bare necessities and one change of clothes. She could buy whatever she needed once she and Yves were safely across the border. Ordinarily Adele wasn’t the type to run away; she believed in standing up against tyranny and fighting to the finish. But in this case her father had taken away all other options. If she remained in Orlantha, she would be forced to marry Dedrick—which was a fate worse than death. Not only did she personally dislike the pompous ass, she had recently come to distrust him. And even to fear him.

“Yves is here,” Lisa Mercer said. “He is parked at the back entrance. He told the guards that he’s here to pick me up for our date.”

Lisa, Adele’s secretary for the past seven years, handed her the red wig styled in an identical fashion to Lisa’s short, stylish hairdo. “Here, put this on. It’s the finishing touch.” Adele took the wig, slipped it over her short, curly locks that she’d dampened slightly and combed as flat as possible against her scalp. Lisa surveyed Adele from wig to chunky sandals. “Perfect. With my clothes, shoes and now the wig, you could easily pass for me. Well, at least from a distance. You’re not quite as tall and your eyes are brown where mine are green, but—”

“Once I’m gone, do not give away anything about where I’ve gone or with whom. Swear to my father and to Lord Burhardt that you have no idea where I went,” Adele said. “Give my father this.” Adele picked up the envelope off her bed and handed it to Lisa. “I’ve written him a very brief letter telling him that I refuse to marry Dedrick and that I will not return home until he agrees to call off the wedding.”

“If King Leopold suspects that I helped you—that I’m the one who contacted Yves for you—then when you return you may find me exiled or in prison.” Lisa’s lips curved into a smile.

Adele hugged Lisa. “If Father finds out that you helped me, you have my permission to assure him that you had no idea what I planned to do and you were simply following my instructions.”

“Please, Your Highness, be careful.” Lisa followed Adele out into the hallway. “If what you suspect about the duke is true, your life could be in danger.”

Clutching her small suitcase, Adele paused, glanced over her shoulder and said, “I won’t be able to contact you for a while, but please tell Pippin that I can be contacted through Dia Constantine in Golnar. Any important messages can be sent through her. I hope he is able to unearth some solid evidence against Dedrick that I can take to my father.”

Lisa nodded. “I’ll send a message to him as soon as I can.”

Adele hurried up the hallway and down the back stairs. At this time of night the entire kitchen staff would be in bed, so she felt relatively safe going through the kitchen and out the back way. Her heart beat erratically as she made her way outside to the service lane behind the castle. A black Ferrari waited, the lights off, the motor running. A tall, lanky blond jumped out of the sports car, grabbed Adele’s small case, tossed it into the trunk, then opened the passenger door for her. Once inside, Yves Jurgen leaned across the console and kissed Adele’s cheek.

“Chère, what a marvelous disguise,” Yves said. “Who would ever suspect that underneath those funky clothes and boyish hairdo is the ultrachic and very traditional princess?”

“Did the guards buy your story?”

“But of course.” Yves revved the motor. “I am a consummate actor, am I not?”

“You’re what the Americans call a big ham.” Adele fastened her seat belt.

Yves clutched his shirt where it lay over his heart. “You wound me, my dear princess.”

“Enough of this,” she told him. “We must leave now. If my father finds out that I’m trying to escape, he’ll lock me away and put guards at my door until the wedding.”

Yves changed gears and headed the Ferrari toward the long drive that took them to the tall, imperial gates that separated the royal grounds from the city of Erembourg.

“Your papa will be furious when he discovers you have fled,” Yves said. “It is a good thing for me that there is nothing he can do to harm me or ruin my good reputation.”

“What good reputation?” Adele said teasingly. Yves Jurgen was known internationally as “The Playboy of Europe.” Impossibly arrogant and a heartbreaker extraordinaire, Yves had tried unsuccessfully to woo her when she was twenty. But once he’d realized she was one woman he would never bed, he graciously accepted her friendship. If he had been her lover, Yves would have moved on to other women long ago, but as a friend, oddly enough, he was steadfast and loyal.

“You do have a point, my sweet Adele.”

When the guards glanced into the car, Adele slunk lower in the seat and pretended to be engrossed in straightening her short, leather skirt. Yves smiled, waved and spoke to the uniformed guards. When the gates opened, Adele breathed a sigh of relief.

“The first hurdle passed,” Yves said as the gates closed behind them. “And once we’re over the border, we should be safe. I’ll have you in Vienna before dawn.”

Adele laid her head back and closed her eyes, wondering how long she would be safe at Yves’s estate outside Vienna. A week, two at the most? Sooner or later someone would leak the information to the press. One of his servants or an acquaintance. She needed to call Dia in a few days to let her know what was going on, that if necessary she might have to seek sanctuary in Golnar, where not even her father’s powerful influence could touch her.

Come morning, her disappearance would disrupt the palace. The king would be outraged, and no one, not even his wife or his chief advisor, Lord Burhardt, would be able to calm him. She wasn’t sure exactly what her father would do, but she knew one thing for certain—he would do whatever necessary to bring her home in time for the wedding. But she was equally determined to elude her father’s search and find a way to prove to him not only how unsuitable Dedrick was for her but how dangerous Dedrick was to Orlantha.