Читать книгу The Prince's Stolen Virgin - Maisey Yates - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

PRINCE FELIPE CARRIÓN DE LA VIÑA CORTEZ had yet to lose sleep over any of his actions. As long as he steered clear of covert murders to further his political status, he was better than his father.

A low bar, certainly. But Felipe liked a low bar. They were so much easier to step over.

And while this might be the lowest he’d stooped, it was also going very well. Surely if he wasn’t supposed to have Princess Talia she wouldn’t have delivered herself quite so beautifully to him.

Well, the part where she was hit by a taxi was perhaps not ideal, but it had certainly made the second half of his scheme easier. Because she was now confined to a hospital bed, being wheeled through an empty corridor—something he was pleased he’d arranged, because she was yelling for help, and it was much nicer to not have to deal with anyone trying to come to her aid—and he was going to have her undergo a quick check by a privately hired physician before having her loaded onto the plane.

He was covering all his bases, and truly, being quite generous.

Though he supposed the kiss hadn’t been wholly necessary. But remembering the way she had jolted when she’d seen him on the street, he had wondered. Wondered if there was enough electricity between them to shock her awake.

It had worked, apparently.

Other men might feel some guilt over kissing an unconscious woman. Not this man.

Not with this woman.

She was owed to him. Owed to Santa Milagro. She should be thankful that he was the one who had found her. Had it been his father...

Well. Yet more reasons Felipe would be losing no sleep over this. Life with him would be a kindness by comparison.

Though it was clear to him that his princess did not see it now.

“Are you insane?” She was still shouting, and he was becoming bored with it.

“As previously mentioned, it is entirely possible that I’m crazy. However, hurling it around like an epithet is hardly going to help.”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes blazing, the confusion from earlier cleared from them. Even now—in a hospital gown—she was beautiful. Though her rich skin tone would be better served in golds, colors like gems. Not the sallow, white and blue cloth her slight curves were currently covered by.

No, he would see her dressed like a queen, which she soon would be. His queen. Once his father died and Felipe assumed the throne.

He had a feeling his father would be distinctly unhappy to know that Felipe had managed to track down the quarry his father had spent so many years searching for. Good thing the old bastard was bound to his bed.

Though, even if he was not, Felipe had the support of the people, and at this point, the support of the military. He supposed considering treason in the form of dispatching his own father was probably not the best course of action.

Though, if the old man was healthier, the likelihood of him considering it would be much higher.

There would be no need to do that. No. Instead, he would bring Talia back to the palace, and he would parade her before his father like a cat might deliver a bird to its master. Except the old king was not Felipe’s master. Not anymore.

He passed the nurse a large stack of US dollars after she helped load the princess into the back of the van he had hired. He would not be paying anyone with anything traceable. No. He wanted all of this to go off without a ripple in the media.

Until he decided to make the tidal wave.

This would be one of his grandest illusions, and he was a master of them. Sleight of hand and other trickery so that he would be consistently underestimated on the world stage. Because it suited him. It suited him endlessly.

Well, that wasn’t true. The end was coming.

Talia was a means to it.

“To the airport,” he said to his driver as the van was secured.

“The airport?” She was sounding quite shrill now.

“Well, we aren’t swimming to Santa Milagro. Not in your condition, anyway.”

“I am not going with you.”

“You are. Though I appreciate your spirit. It’s admirable. Particularly given that you’re currently in a hospital bed. I will have you undergo a preliminary examination before we get on the plane.”

The physician he’d hired moved from his seat over to where Talia was. He proceeded to examine her, taking her blood pressure, looking at her eyes. “You may want to order a CT scan once you get back to your country,” the older man said. If he was feeling any compunction about being involved in this kidnapping, he was hiding it well.

But, considering the amount of money that Felipe was throwing at him, he should hide it well.

“Thank you. I will make sure she has follow-up appointments. I do not want her broken, after all.”

She did not look relieved by that news, though in his opinion she should.

“If you have any integrity at all,” she said, reaching out and grabbing the doctor by the arm, “then you’ll tell somebody where I am. Who I’m with.”

The older man looked away from her, clearly uncomfortable, and withdrew his arm.

“Talia,” Felipe said, “he has been paid too well to offer you any help.”

“You keep calling me Talia. And I’m not Talia. I don’t know who Talia is.”

Well, that was certainly an interesting development. “Whether or not you know who Talia is—and that I question—you are her.”

“I think maybe you’re the one who hit your head,” she said.

“Again, sadly for you, I did not. While I may not be of sound mind, I certainly know my own mind. This... Well, this has been planned for a very long time. You think it accidental that I encountered you on a busy street in New York City? Of course not. The most random of encounters are always carefully orchestrated.”

“By some sort of higher power?” she asked, her tone wry.

“Yes. Me.”

“I have no idea who you are. I have never heard of you, I have never heard of your country, so I can only imagine that it is the size of a grain of rice on a world map. While we’re talking size, I can only assume that plays a factor in a great many things, since you seem to be compensating.”

He chuckled. “If I were not so secure I might be offended by that, querida. Anyway, while I am a believer in the idea that size matters in some arenas, when it comes to world events, often the size of the country is not the biggest issue. It is the motion of the... Well, of the cash flow. The natural resources. And that, my country has in abundance. However, we are going through a few structural changes. You are part of those changes.”

“How can I be part of those changes? I’m a doctor’s daughter. I’m a university student. I don’t have a place on the world stage.”

“And that is where you’re wrong. But we’re not going to finish having this discussion here.”

He had paid the good doctor for his silence, that much was true, but he did not trust anything when a larger payday had the potential to come into play. And when news of Briar Harcourt going missing hit the media, there was a chance that the man would go forward with his story.

That meant that the details revealed in the van needed to be limited. Soon, however, they arrived at the airport, and the vehicle pulled up directly to Felipe’s private plane.

“Don’t we have to go through customs? I don’t have... Well, I don’t have a passport.”

“Darling. You’re traveling with me now. I am your passport. Does she need the IV any longer?” He posed that question to the doctor.

“She shouldn’t,” came the grave reply.

“Then remove it,” Felipe commanded.

The doctor did so, carefully and judiciously, putting a Band-Aid over where the needle had been.

“She is not hooked up to anything else?”

“No,” the doctor replied.

“Excellent.” Felipe reached down, wrapping his arms around Talia and hoisting her up out of the bed. “Good help is all very well and good, but in the end it’s always better to do things yourself.”

She clung to him for a moment, clearly afraid of falling out of his arms and getting another head injury, and continued to hold on to him while he got out of the van and began to stride across the tarmac toward the plane.

And then she began to struggle.

“Please do not make this difficult,” he said, tightening his hold on her, not finding this difficult at all, though he would rather not end up with a bruise if it could be helped. If he was going to be marred, he preferred for it to happen in the bedroom. At least then, there would be a reward for his suffering.

Hell, sometimes the suffering was just part of the reward.

“The point is to make this difficult!”

“I have never had a woman resist getting on my private plane quite so much.”

“But you’ve had them resist. That says nothing good about you.”

He sighed heavily, taking them both up the steps and into the aircraft. His flight crew immediately mobilized, closing the door and beginning the process of readying for takeoff. As they had been instructed prior to his and the princess’s boarding.

“You say that as though it should bother me,” he said, setting her down in one of the plush leather chairs on the plane before sitting down in the chair across from her. “Don’t bother to try and get up and unlock the door. It can only be unlocked from the cockpit now. I made arrangements for some high-security additions to be added to the plane before coming to get you.”

“That seems stupid,” she said. “What if we need to get out and the pilots can’t let us out?”

He chuckled, reluctantly enjoying the fact that she seemed so comfortable running her mouth even though she had absolutely no power in the situation. “Well, I can actually control it from my phone, as well. But don’t get any ideas about trying to do it yourself. It requires fingerprint and retina recognition.”

“Fine. But if the plane catches fire and we need to get out and somehow your fingerprints have melted off and you can’t open your eyes and we die a painful death because of your security measures...”

“Well,” he said. “In such a case I will feel terribly guilty. And, I imagine continue the burning in hell.”

“That’s a given.”

“Are you concerned for the state of my eternal soul?”

“Not at all. I’m concerned for the state of my present body.” She looked around, and he could tell the exact moment she realized she had nothing. That she was wearing a hospital gown, that she had no identification, no money and no phone.

“I do not intend to harm you,” he said, reaching down and straightening his cuffs. “In fact, that runs counter to my objective.”

“Your objective is to...improve my health?”

“Does it need improving? Because if it does, I most certainly will.”

“No,” she laid her head back, grimacing suddenly. “Okay. Well, right now it needs slight improvement because I feel like I was hit by a taxi.” She sat upright, slamming her hands down on either side of her, her palms striking the leather hard, the sound echoing in the cabin. “Oh, yes! Because I was hit by a taxi!”

“Regrettable. While I orchestrated a great many things, that was not one of them. I would never take such a risk with you.”

“Maybe now is a good time for you to explain yourself. Since we’ve established I’m not going anywhere. And I assume that Santa Milagro is not a quick and easy flight. I suppose we have the time.”

“In a moment.” The engines fired up on the plane, and they began to move slowly. “I like a little atmosphere. And I don’t want to be interrupted by takeoff.”

The aircraft began to move faster and he reached across to the table beside him, opening the top and pressing a button. An interior motor raised a shelf inside, delivering a bottle of scotch, along with a tumbler.

As the plane began to ascend he opened the bottle and poured himself a generous measure of the amber liquid. He did not spill a drop. That would be a mistake. And he did not make mistakes.

Unless he made them on purpose.

“And now?” she pressed.

“Do you want to change first?” He took a sip of his drink. “Not that the hospital gown isn’t lovely.”

Her face contorted with rage. “I don’t care what I’m wearing. And I really don’t care what you think of it.”

“That will change. I guarantee it.”

“You don’t know very much about women, do you?”

He set his glass down on the table. “I know a great deal about women. Arguably more than you do.”

“You don’t know anything about this woman. I don’t know what kind of simpering idiots you normally capture and drag onto your plane, but I’m not impressed by your wells, by your title, by your power. My father did not raise a simpering, weak-willed idiot. And my mother did not raise a fool.”

“No, indeed. However, they were raising a princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“You are. The Princess of Verloren. Long-lost. Naturally.”

“That is... That is ridiculous.”

“It is the subject of a great many stories, a great many films... Wouldn’t you think that something like that, a story so often told, might have its roots in reality?”

“Except this isn’t The Princess Diaries and you are not Julie Andrews.”

He chuckled. “No, indeed.” He took another sip of his scotch. Funny, alcohol didn’t even burn anymore. Sometimes he missed it. Sometimes he simply assumed it was a metaphor for his conscience and found amusement in it. “A cursory internet search would corroborate what I’m telling you. King Behrendt and Queen Amaani lost their only daughter years ago. Presumed dead. The entire nation mourned her passing. However, in Santa Milagro it was often suspected the princess had been sent into hiding.”

“Why would I be sent into hiding?”

“Because of an agreement. An agreement that your father made with mine. You see, sometime after the death of his first wife, the king fell on hard times. His own personal mourning affected the country and led the nation to near financial ruin. And so he borrowed heavily from my father. He also promised that he would repay my father in any manner he deemed acceptable. He more than promised. It is in writing.” Felipe lifted a shoulder then continued, “Of course, at the time King Behrendt felt like he had nothing to lose. His wife was dead. His heir and spare nearly grown. Then he met a model. Very famous. Originally from Somalia. Their romance stunned all of Europe for a great many reasons, the age gap between them being one of them.”

“I know this story,” she said, her voice hushed. “I mean, I have heard of them.”

“Naturally. As they are one of the most photographed royal couples in the world. What began as a rather shocking coupling has become one of the world’s favorites.”

“You’re trying to tell me that they are my parents.”

“I’m not trying to tell you that. I am telling you that. Because when it came time to collect on the king’s debt... My father demanded you.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. Verloren, and indeed the world, was captivated by your birth. And when you finally arrived, a great party was given. Many gifts were brought from rulers all over the world. And my father—not in attendance because he was any great friend of yours, but because your father was obligated—came, but it was not with a gift. It was a promise. That when you were of age he would come for you. And that you would be his wife.”

Her skin dulled, her lips turning a dusky blue. “Are you... Are you taking me to your father? Is that what this is?”

He shook his head. “No. I am not delivering you to my father. For that, you should be thankful. You will not be his wife.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I will not be.”

He looked up at her then, his eyes meeting hers. She looked fiery, determined. Anger glittered in those ebony depths, and perversely he ached to explore that rage. Sadly, it would have to wait.

“You will not be my father’s wife,” he repeated, pausing for just a moment. “You will be mine.”