Читать книгу Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna - Marilyn Pappano - Страница 8

Chapter 4

“Well, hell,” she sighed. This was just what they needed. They didn’t have a clue what circumstances Prince Lucas was in or what was preventing him from getting in touch with his family, which was why the investigation had to be done quietly. And now with Lorenzo’s picture splashed all over the paper, that was going to be impossible. “This is great. Just great.”

And she knew exactly who to blame. Simon.

Oh, he’d claim he’d just picked up the story from the wire service, but she knew better. She’d been very careful to make sure that she’d told no one about the scarf except the royal family and Simon, and she’d bet the Pulitzer she one day hoped to win that the Sebastianis hadn’t said a word to the press. They wanted their son back and they’d given her their word that she had an exclusive. They wouldn’t have leaked the story.

That left only Simon. The crafty old buzzard had splashed the headline across the front page on purpose. When the prince’s plane had first gone down, the story had been firmly lodged on the front page for weeks. But when there was nothing new to report, interest in the prince’s disappearance had grown stale. It had been months since there’d been any coverage about the search, and the public had a short memory. Simon knew that. Eliza could make a zillion agreements with the Sebastianis, but he was in the business to sell newspapers. And he was making damn sure he did that by stirring up attention about the prince again before she’d even written her feature, let alone turned it in for publication.

The only problem was, by plastering Lorenzo’s picture on the front page and letting the world know he was coming to the States to take up the search, he may have sabotaged the search before they’d even begun.

She was, Eliza decided, going to kill him. The only question was how. If he blew this exclusive for her, she swore she’d be satisfied with nothing less than boiling him in oil.

“Well?” Lorenzo said. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

What could she say? “I didn’t know anything about this, Lorenzo. You have to believe me. Evidently my boss thought he needed to generate a little interest in the Prince again.”

“A little interest?” he choked. “With four-inch headlines? Dammit, every paper in the country’s going to pick this up! Do you know what kind of problems that’s going to cause?”

“It won’t be that bad,” she began.

That was as far as she got. “The hell it won’t! The search is supposed to be on the Q.T. I realize that in your world, that’s probably not in your vocabulary, but this isn’t about you. It’s about the prince, and we don’t have a clue where he is or what kind of danger he could be in. Which is why

I wanted to keep the search for him quiet. Now that we wouldn’t even be able to look for the campsite where Willy found the scarf without every Tom, Dick and Harry dogging our steps!”

He was furious, and Eliza couldn’t say she blamed him. Finding the prince after all this time was going to be difficult enough without God knows who interfering with the search. “I’ll call Simon right now and chew him out,” she promised. “This won’t happen again.”

Silently cursing Simon for putting her in this position, she quickly punched in the number to his direct line. The second he came on the line, she let him have it with both barrels. “You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, LaGree. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Now, Red, don’t get your girdle in a twist—”

“I don’t wear a girdle!”

“Aw, c’mon, you know what I mean,” he said, wheedling. “You want your Pulitzer, don’t you? How’re you going to get it if you don’t advertise?”

“This isn’t advertising, dammit, it’s sabotage! A man’s life is at stake. A prince, for heaven’s sake! From now on, don’t you dare publish anything else about the prince. Understood?”

If anyone else but Simon had been her boss, she probably would have been fired right there on the spot for speaking to him so, but he was a big enough man to admit when he was in the wrong. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Quit your crying. I won’t give away any more information that will put the prince in danger.”

“Yes! As long as you keep the duke’s picture out of the paper. He’s not the story here, Simon. The prince is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided. “Duke Lorenzo would have been named the next king if Willy Cranshaw hadn’t found the scarf. And now he’s out searching for the man he could have replaced. Talk about ironic—of course he’s part of the story! The readers are going to love this!”

Eliza knew he was right—there was nothing readers loved more than a tragic tale of what might have been—but that was beside the point. “They can love it when the feature is published and without having the duke’s picture splashed across the front page,” she retorted. “I mean it, Simon. He’s not as well known as the rest of the family, and he wants to keep it that way. I want your word that there’ll be no more pictures.”

For a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to budge on this. “Okay,” he sighed grudgingly. “No more pictures. I promise. Though I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he muttered. “There wasn’t any harm done.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she told him. “You’re not standing where I am.”

Hanging up, she turned to face Lorenzo. “For what it’s worth, he promised. I should warn you, though, that Simon has printer’s ink in his blood. He lives and dies for a headline, and if he thinks he’s got a good one, he’s going to print it.”

It was the nature of the business, and they both knew it. “You did what you could,” he acknowledged. “I can’t ask for more than that.”

“I’ll do what I can to see that it doesn’t happen again,” she promised. “I have to check in with Simon on a regular basis, but I have no intention of telling him where we are or doing anything that will endanger the prince. This isn’t just a headline for me, Lorenzo,” she added quietly. “I know he’s your cousin and you care about him, but a lot of other people do, too. I’m one of them.”

There was no doubting her sincerity. His eyes searching hers, Lorenzo suddenly felt like a heel. From the moment he’d met her, he’d done nothing but give her a hard time. And he wasn’t proud of that. Yes, she was after a story—what reporter wasn’t?—but she wasn’t one of those piranhas who sold her soul to the devil just to make the evening edition. If she had been, she wouldn’t have cared less about the morning headlines, and she certainly wouldn’t have stood up to her boss the way she had.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said gruffly. “I was just so mad when I saw the paper that I didn’t even look at the clock. I guess I dragged you out of bed.”

Since she was dressed in her nightclothes and her hair was still tangled from sleep, that was obvious, but Lorenzo regretted bringing the subject up the second the words were out of his mouth. With a will of their own, his eyes skimmed the blue nightshirt and robe she wore and he couldn’t help but notice how touchable she looked in the morning. Her skin was soft, her cheeks flushed, her mouth bare of lipstick—

Suddenly realizing where his thoughts and his eyes had wandered, he swore silently and took a quick step back. “I just remembered that I have some calls to make,” he said, taking another step back. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at nine-thirty, just as we planned. Okay? We can eat breakfast at the diner across the street, then go see Willy.”

He was gone before she could say a word, rushing out of her room like a man with a train to catch. Puzzled, Eliza caught sight of herself in the mirror and didn’t have time to wonder what had lit a fire under the duke. If she was going to be ready by nine-thirty, she had to get moving.

Eliza was still brushing her teeth when the bellhop arrived at nine-fifteen to collect her bag, and she had to laugh. Lorenzo was making damn sure she met him on time in the lobby. Hurriedly packing the last of her things in her bag, she gave it to the bellhop, checked the suite to make sure she hadn’t left anything, then carried her satchel—complete with her computer—down to the lobby herself.

“Why didn’t you let the bellhop carry that?” he asked with a frown as he took the bag from her and escorted her outside to where the valet had brought up their rental. “That’s why I sent him up.”

“That’s my livelihood,” she said simply. “I don’t trust it to anyone I don’t know.”

She didn’t expect him to understand—he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and couldn’t possibly know what it was like to have to scrimp and save to buy something like a Notebook computer—but he didn’t question her about it. Instead, he said, “I’ll remember that,” and opened the door of the SUV for her.

He’d done it before when they rented the vehicle at the airport, and this time, as before, the courteous gesture caught her off guard. She liked to think she was an independent woman who didn’t need a man to open her door for her or carry her groceries or anything else for her. But he had a way of treating a woman that she found incredibly flattering. And he didn’t even seem to be aware of it—his good manners were just ingrained.

Don’t be too flattered, a voice in her head drawled. He’s way out of your league, and he doesn’t like reporters. Remember that, and you’ll get along just fine.

Jerked back to reality, she felt heat climb into her cheeks as she realized where her thoughts had wandered. What in the world was wrong with her? Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d wanted to shake the king for forcing her to work with the man, and now she found herself flattered that he’d opened the door for her? She had to be losing her mind.

Thankfully, she didn’t have time to dwell on that. They reached the diner in a matter of moments, and once again, Lorenzo was opening a door for her, only this time, it was to the diner. “A table for two,” he told the hostess who greeted them with a smile. “Non-smoking.”

“This way,” the woman said, only to glance at him again and frown. “Hey, don’t I know you? You look awfully familiar.”

At his side, Eliza felt him stiffen ever so slightly, but his smile was easy when he said, “Sorry, but I’ve never been here before. You must have me mixed up with someone else.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s just that I’d swear I’ve seen you before,” she said. Then it hit her. “Oh, my God, you’re that duke, the one who’s looking for Prince Lucas! I saw your picture in the paper this morning.”

Beaming, she said, “Oh, this is wonderful! I was telling my husband, Fred, not even an hour ago, that I bet someone kidnapped the prince and is hiding him out at Elk Canyon. It’s a box canyon and you’ve really got to know where you’re going or you’ll lose all sense of direction.

“I could take you up there,” she offered eagerly, her eyes shining at the sudden thought. “Of course, I’d have to take off from work, and I don’t have any leave, so I’d need some kind of compensation, but we could work that out. I wouldn’t be unreasonable or anything. I just want to help find the prince.’ Cause it’s the right thing to do, ya know.”

“I appreciate that,” Lorenzo said with the inbred politeness that royalty always seemed to possess when it came to dealing with the public, “but I have some other leads to run down at the moment. If those don’t pan out, I’ll get back with you. Do you normally work the morning shift?”

With that simple enquiry, he dazzled her right out of her shoes. “Every morning,” she said, beaming. “Oh, wow! Wait’ll I tell Fred! He’s going to drop his teeth!”

“I’m sure he will,” Lorenzo said dryly. “Now…if we could have a table? We’re really in a hurry.”

“Oh, my gosh, what an idiot I am! I’m so sorry, Your Highness. Right this way.”

Grabbing a couple of menus, she rushed them over to a booth next to the window, apologizing all the while and promising Lorenzo that he was going to have the best breakfast he’d ever eaten. “Your waitress will be right with you. Just ask for the special, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Gracious, Lorenzo thanked her, his smile never wavering, but Eliza was starting to recognize that particular look on his face. He already had regrets, and she didn’t doubt that if he had it all to do over again, he would have gone through a McDonald’s drive-thru. As it was, just about everyone in the place was shooting him covert glances and whispering among themselves, and it was obvious that they, too, had seen the morning paper.

Coming to the same conclusion, Lorenzo swore softly, his expression grim. “I was afraid of this. It’s that damn picture! How the hell am I going to conduct a search when the whole world is watching and offering their opinion?”

He didn’t, thankfully, blame her, but Eliza wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. If it hadn’t been for her and her overzealous boss, he could have been well into the search and might have even found the prince before anyone knew what he was about.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as soon as they’d given their order to the blushing young woman who rushed forward to wait on them and deliver two steaming cups of coffee to their table. “The damage is done. It won’t do any good to retract the story—people have already seen your picture. They’re going to recognize you unless you grow a beard or something. Of course, that takes time. It won’t do you any good now.”

In the process of stirring cream into his coffee, he glanced up sharply. “What did you say?”

Surprised, she blinked. “About what? The beard? It’s not going to do you any good today.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully, “but a disguise isn’t a bad idea. I’ll change my clothes, put on some sunglasses, even wear a hat. How do you think I’d look with a cowboy hat? I could get some jeans and boots and pass myself off as a cowboy.”

If he hadn’t been so serious, Eliza would have laughed at the very suggestion that Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani pass himself off as a cowboy. He looked and dressed like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ. She didn’t care what he wore, it wasn’t going to change the sophistication that was as much a part of him as the green of his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “Cowboys are a pretty rugged lot. It’s more than just the clothes.”

“Are you saying I’m not rugged?”

Put on the spot, she said, “No!” But then she immediately changed her mind. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake! Dukes and cowboys are as different as day and night.”

Lorenzo appreciated her honesty, but his title had been granted to him by the king in appreciation of his military service for Montebello. Just because he’d been raised by Marcus and Gwendolyn after his parents died and the palace had become his home didn’t mean he was some kind of pampered royal who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He hadn’t received any special treatment when he was in the military; he’d carried his own weight.

“We’ll see,” he said as the waitress arrived with a breakfast fit for a king. “You just might be surprised.”

She had her doubts and she didn’t make any effort to hide them, but Lorenzo wasn’t worried. Digging into the ham and eggs and hashbrowns he’d ordered, he could already see himself dressed as a cowboy. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mission was a serious one, but he had to admit, this was going to be fun.

“The mall is the other direction,” Eliza told him thirty minutes later when he pulled out of the diner parking lot and turned left. “I thought you wanted to get some western clothes.”

“I do,” he said. But instead of turning around, he drove slowly down the street, reading the signs of every business they passed. “Here we go,” he said suddenly, grinning as he turned into the parking lot of a used-clothing store.

Eliza took one look at it and said, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he teased, and got out to open her car door for her.

The shop was everything he’d hoped it would be. Crowded and musty, it was packed full of everything from used Levi’s jeans to old prom dresses from the fifties. And somewhere in all those old castoffs was his disguise.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Eliza said when he moved to a rack of used jeans and started going through them. “I thought you’d buy something new.”

“And look like a drugstore cowboy? I don’t think so. I want to look like the average John Wayne on the street, and I can’t do that in new clothes.” Glancing up from the jeans he was checking out, he arched a brow when he saw her smile. “What’s so funny?”

“There was nothing average about John Wayne. That’s why he was John Wayne.”

He couldn’t disagree with that. “Okay, poor choice. Let’s try for a hired hand who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. That means I need worn jeans and faded shirts that are frayed at the cuffs.”

“And something to drive around in besides a brand-new Tahoe SUV,” she pointed out dryly. “It doesn’t fit the image.”

“Good point,” he replied. “We’ll take care of that later. Right now, let’s work on the clothes.”

With her help, it didn’t take long to find exactly what he was looking for. The shop even had an old, scuffed pair of cowboy boots that were just his size. When Eliza looked aghast at the idea of him wearing someone else’s used boots, he laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin my feet. I just want to see how they look.”

He disappeared into the small dressing area, only to emerge a few minutes later in his disguise. Settling the used and abused black Stetson hat he’d picked out on his head, he opened the dressing room door to find Eliza waiting for him outside. “Well?” he asked, spreading his arms wide. “What do you think?”

Stunned, she blinked, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it.”

She’d always heard that the clothes made the man, but she’d never quite understood what the phrase meant until now. She’d covered the Sebastianis for years in her column, and during that time, she must have seen dozens of photos of Lorenzo in his military uniform tuxedos, and suits that came right out of Saville Row. And in each of those pictures, he’d always looked every inch the duke.

There was no sign of that man now. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but even his posture had changed. With the scarred cowboy hat set low on his head, concealing his sandy-brown hair, the pointed old boots on his feet and the faded clothes molding his lean body, he looked like he’d just walked in off the range.

“Incredible,” she said, amazed. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.”

Pleased, he grinned and tipped his hat back slightly, and just that easily, he changed the image again. He still looked like a hardworking cowboy, but now he had the look of a rogue, a flirt. With nothing more than a crooked grin, he set Eliza’s heart pounding.

Shocked, she pressed a hand to her heart before she realized it, drawing a curious look from Lorenzo. “Are you all right?” he asked with a sudden frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, and blushed to the roots of her hair. “You just surprised me. I never thought you’d be able to pull it off.”

“I told you I could,” he said with another grin that made her heart trip. “Now, what about you?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t dress like that when I look like I just walked off a roundup,” he explained. “You’re too citified. We don’t look like we belong together.”

Eliza wouldn’t have described her black wool slacks and black and white sweater as citified, but she had to admit, he had a point. “I’ve got jeans in my suitcase. I’ll change.”

“You need a flannel shirt,” he insisted, grabbing one off the rack. “And a sheepskin coat. It’s cold out.”

Eliza had never had a sheepskin coat in her life—the western style had never suited her. But even as she started to tell him no, she made the mistake of touching the one he held out to her. “Oh! It’s so soft!”

“C’mon,” he urged, grinning. “Try it.”

Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t resist the sparkle of fun she saw there. This was a side of him she hadn’t even known existed. “Oh, all right. But I probably won’t buy it. After we find the prince, I’ll have nowhere else to wear it.”

“So wear it to the grocery store,” he said with a grin as he held it open for her to slip her arms in. “It’s a used coat, Eliza. Have fun with it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she retorted sassily. “You look like the Marlboro man. I look like…” She glanced in the mirror and groaned “…a redheaded Olive Oyle being hugged by a sheep.”

Any other man would have laughed, but Lorenzo was truly amazed that she thought she looked anything like Pop-eye’s girlfriend. Did she truly not see how pretty she was?

“Why do you do that?” he asked in puzzlement, stopping her when she would have turned away and shrugged out of the coat. “Look at yourself.” And not giving her time to object, he turned her back to the mirror, then stepped behind her, holding her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders.

“Look at you,” he said again, this time huskily. “You’re not skinny like Olive Oyle. You have the slenderness and grace of a young Katharine Hepburn. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see the passion and fire in your eyes? Look at your bone structure, the line of your throat. You’re beautiful and you don’t even know it. Look.”

In the mirror, she watched as he pulled her fiery curls up off her neck, then cradled her face between his hands. His eyes met hers, and with nothing more than a look and the touch of his hands, he made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life.

And it shook her to the core.

Who was this man? she wondered wildly. How could he make her feel pretty when no one else ever had? For as long as she could remember, she’d been in that gangly stage where she was all arms and legs, angles and planes. Most girls outgrew that by the time they were sixteen. At twenty-seven, she never had.

He was a magician, she thought, dazed. A sorcerer with supernatural powers who painted images with words. Nothing had changed—she was the same person she’d always been—but when she saw herself through his eyes, images of the old Eliza Windmere fell away. And just that easily, she was pretty.

She wanted to laugh and cry and turn and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She didn’t dare. Her heart was already pounding, her senses in a whirl, and it was all because of him. If she made the mistake of touching him now, she would be in serious trouble.

And that was the last thing she needed right now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t looking for a man, especially one like Lorenzo. Not when her breakup with Robert was still an open wound. He’d been jealous of her job and the time she gave to it, and that had destroyed their relationship. And now, here she was, attracted to another man who didn’t approve of what she did for a living. She wasn’t going there again. She couldn’t.

“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to use the word beautiful,” she said with a forced laugh as she took a step away from him, freeing herself from his touch. “But thanks for the compliment. Maybe I’ll buy the coat, after all. It’s really warm.”

The magic mood shattered between them, she hurried to the checkout counter and could feel his eyes on her every step of the way. He let the moment pass, however, and she told herself she was relieved. Unfortunately, she’d never been very good at lying to herself.

True to his word, Lorenzo was nothing if not thorough. From the used-clothing store, they went straight to a usedcar dealership and bought a ten-year-old pickup truck that looked like it had seen better days. It had a good motor, though, so they turned in the rented Tahoe without fear that they were going to break down in the middle of nowhere, then headed up into the mountains where Willy lived. Anyone seeing them in their new old clothes and the battered pickup would have never guessed that Lorenzo was a duke or she was a city girl who interviewed kings and queens and wrote for the Sentinel.

Smiling at the thought, she was just about to tell him how much she was enjoying going undercover with him when he ruined everything by saying, “When we reach Willy’s, I want to do the questioning. I know you’re friends and he trusts you, but he may know more than he realizes he does. He’s going to have to talk to me.”

Everything he said made perfect sense—to Eliza. It wouldn’t mean a hill of beans to Willy. “If we were talking about an average man on the street, I’d agree with you. But as I’ve told you before, Your Grace, Willy dances to the beat of a different drummer. He doesn’t have to do anything, and he knows it. He won’t talk to you.”

“Of course he will,” he said stubbornly. “You said yourself how upset he was at the thought of the king naming another heir when his son was still alive. He obviously wants to help find Lucas. To do that, he’s going to have to talk to me.”

Eliza could have told him that Willy wouldn’t even talk to her if she didn’t call him ahead of time and make arrangements to meet him, but what was the point? His mind was made up, and Eliza only had to look at the stubborn set of his jaw to know that nothing she could say was going to make a difference. He was determined to do things his way. He’d find out for himself that wasn’t going to work.

“Turn left at the next four-way stop,” she told him. “Then just keep going straight for ten miles until we reach a dirt road. After that, it gets a little tricky.”

Tricky was, in fact, an understatement. When they reached the dirt road that led to the box canyon where Willy lived, Eliza knew from experience just how easy it was to lose your way. Off-road drivers had carved out dozens of tracks that intersected the main road and it was very confusing.

Frowning, she leaned forward to study the terrain and said suddenly, “Turn left here…I think.”

A quarter of a mile later, the road turned as rough as a washboard, just as it should have, and Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. “This is it. Watch the odometer. His house is exactly two miles from the cattle guard we’re coming up on.”

Because of the roughness of the drive, they were forced to go slowly, and it was another ten minutes before they actually reached the trees that surrounded Willy’s house on all sides, completely concealing it from the untrained eye. When Eliza told him to pull over and park, Lorenzo looked around in confusion. “Here? I thought we were going to his house.”

“We are,” she said, nodding toward the trees. “It’s back there.”

When he lifted a brow in surprise, Eliza had to smile. Willy’s cabin was only a hundred yards from the road, but from where they were parked, it looked like there wasn’t another living soul for a hundred miles. “I told you he likes his privacy. C’mon.”

Leading the way, she picked her way through the trees to a small log cabin that had to have been built by one of the original settlers in the area. Not quite plumb, it leaned to the left and had a front porch that appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. There were only two windows, which were dark and locked tight, and a formidable wooden door. Dark and dusty and less than welcoming, the place didn’t encourage visitors any more than Willy did.

Knowing that, Eliza felt she had to try to talk some sense into Lorenzo one more time. “This isn’t going to work, Your Grace. If you’d just listen to me…”

For an answer, he stepped forward and knocked loudly on the door. Not surprisingly, no one answered.

“Obviously, he’s not home,” he said, scowling.

“Oh, he’s here,” she said, and nodded to a metal loop on the door where it could be padlocked from the outside. “When he’s not here, he padlocks the door.”

“But there’s no vehicle.”

“Not that you can see,” she replied. “He drives an old army jeep that he hides in the woods.”

She didn’t say another word, but she didn’t have to. She’d made her point. Willy was home, and she knew him better than Lorenzo did. If he wasn’t answering his door, it was because he was feeling threatened.

Glaring at the closed door, Lorenzo swore softly and shot Eliza a hard look. “I screwed up, didn’t I? Don’t answer that,” he said quickly. “I know you told me he didn’t trust outsiders. I just thought I could get him to talk to me.”

“Why? Because royal blood flows through your veins? Trust me, Willy couldn’t care less about that. In his eyes, you’re a stranger. You could be the president of the United States, and he still wouldn’t open his door to you.”

“But he will for you.”

She shrugged. “If conditions are right and he wants to.”

Frustrated, Lorenzo knew he had no one but himself to blame for this little setback—she’d warned him that he needed her if he expected Willy to cooperate, but he hadn’t believed her. As head of Royal Intelligence, he didn’t have to go through someone else to get the information he needed. And he didn’t like it, dammit, but what choice did he have?

His pride stung, he said stiffly, “Would you call him, then, and see what you can arrange? We can’t even hope to find the prince without knowing where Willy found the scarf.”

For an answer, Eliza pulled out her cell phone and punched in Willy’s number. When she got a scratchy answering machine, she wasn’t surprised. Willy always retreated when he was upset. Hopefully, he’d surface soon.

“Willy, this is Eliza,” she said quietly when the machine began to record. “I apologize for intruding. Duke Lorenzo and I are leaving now, but it’s very important that I speak to you. Please meet me tomorrow morning at nine at the waterfall. The duke will be with me, but I’m the only one you have to speak to, okay? Please don’t let me down, Willy. We need your help.”

She hung up and found herself face-to-face with a very irritated duke. “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded. “I don’t want to meet him tomorrow. What’s wrong with today? It’s not even eleven-thirty in the morning. We’ve got the whole damn day ahead of us.”

“Willy needs time.”

“We don’t have time! Don’t you get it? Thanks to your boss, the word is out that the prince is alive. And that means he’s in danger. Do you know how many con artists, opportunists and outright thugs read the headlines this morning and saw this as their lucky day? They figured out—like we did—that the prince had to be in some kind of distress or he would have contacted his family by now. And they’re going to go after him.”

The thought sickened Eliza, but there was nothing she could do about it. “I’m doing the best I can, Your Grace,” she replied. “If I could hold Willy’s feet to the fire and make him talk, I would. But all we can do now is wait. Trust me. He won’t talk until tomorrow.”

If they were lucky. She didn’t say the words, but she knew he heard them, nonetheless. His green eyes dark with fury, he struggled with his own impatience, and she knew exactly how he felt. She hated Willy’s phobias, hated the way he called her with a press-stopping story he’d somehow stumbled across, only to retreat like a scared turtle when she needed more information. Sometimes, his tips paid off. Many times they didn’t. She could handle that because she knew whenever she followed up a tip from anyone, there was always a chance it would fizzle into nothing. What drove her crazy, though, was the number of times Willy had left her cooling her heels. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, and she could well understand Lorenzo’s frustration.

To his credit, though, he knew when he was beat. Sighing in disgust, he said, “All right. It looks like we’re going to play this Willy’s way. We might as well go back to the hotel.”