Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna: The Man Who Would Be King / The Princess And The Mercenary

Across the phone line, he sighed in relief. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Even though Eliza had been to Willy’s cabin several times before, she was amazed every time she managed to find the place. Located high up in a deserted canyon that was far off the beaten path, the cabin was all but lost in the thick stand of snow-covered trees that surrounded it on all sides. Anyone who hadn’t known where it was could have driven right past it without even seeing it.

Pulling up before it in her red Jeep, she knew better than to knock at the front door. She didn’t know what had happened to him in Vietnam—he shut down at the very mention of war—but he’d been living in seclusion for the past thirty years. He only allowed a select few people into his life, and even then, it was on his terms. He never talked to anyone who knocked on his front door.

She could feel his eyes on her, and wasn’t surprised that he was watching for her. He might have withdrawn from the world, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know everything that was going on around him. If anyone invaded his space, he knew it.

Striding through the snow around the side of the house to the back door, she knocked twice, waited a beat, then knocked again. She knew from past experience that even though he was expecting her and was well aware of the fact that she had arrived, he wouldn’t answer the door if she didn’t knock correctly…because she might be an imposter sent by the government to arrest him.

And this was the man she trusted to give her the story of a lifetime.

Amused at the thought, she watched the door slowly open and wasn’t surprised when he glanced past her to the forest of trees behind her to make sure no one had followed her. “It’s all clear,” she assured him. “There’s no one here but you, me and the squirrels.”

Not taking her word for it, he checked behind her and was apparently satisfied. Opening the door further, he motioned her inside. “I thought you’d never get here. Look at this.” And before she could thank him for inviting her in out of the cold, he shoved something soft into her hands.

Surprised, she frowned down at what appeared to be a dirty rag. Then her eyes focused on the embroidered patch that was sewn onto it. A lily with crossed swords. The Sebastiani family crest. It was grimy and weathered, but she still would have recognized it anywhere.

Her heart slamming against her ribs, she glanced up sharply at Willy. “Where did you get this?”

“In the woods about five miles from the crash site. It’s the prince’s, isn’t it?”

Without a word, Eliza spread out the cloth and saw it was a scarf. A light blue cashmere scarf that she had seen around the prince’s neck in a picture of him taken just days before his plane crashed last year. According to published reports, his mother, Queen Gwendolyn, had had it specially made for him and there wasn’t another one like it in the world.

It was then that it hit her. Willy hadn’t lied. There was no way a scarf belonging to the prince would have ended up five miles from the crash site unless it had been around his neck. Dear God, he really was alive!

Light-headed with excitement, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Prince Lucas was alive. And thanks to Willy, she had the story, she thought, stunned. Who would have thought it?

Given the chance, she would have given him a bear hug, but she had a feeling that probably would have sent him into apoplexy. So she smiled at him instead and said, “It certainly appears to be. Let’s sit down, Willy, and you can start from the beginning. When did you find this? Did you find anything else that belonged to the prince? Who else have you told?”

“Stop the presses! Prince Lucas is alive.”

Striding into Simon Maxwell’s office, Eliza wasn’t surprised when her boss responded to her announcement with a snort of disbelief. Gruff and cynical, with a personality that was as caustic as sandpaper, Simon didn’t believe anything until the facts were laid out before him in black and white. “Yeah, right. And I’m the queen of England. I thought you were working on a real story, Red. You don’t get paid to write fairy tales.”

At any other time, Eliza would have snapped at the hated nickname he invariably used to tease her, but not today. Not when she was walking on air and feeling so darn good about herself and her job. Thanks to Willy, her position at the paper had never been so secure. She had a story to kill for and Ms. Nepotism was nowhere in sight. Life didn’t get any better than that.

Beaming with triumph, she reached into her oversize purse, pulled out the scarf, and dropped it on his desk. “The way I see it, LaGree, there’s nothing better than a happy ending. Take a gander at that if you don’t believe me.”

Simon hated his nickname as much as she did hers, but he hardly noticed. His eyes on the scarf and its golden crest, which he was as familiar with as she was. Motioning to the lone chair in front of his very messy desk, he growled, “Sit down. It looks like you’ve got something to tell me.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Plopping down into the chair, she immediately launched into the story, leaving nothing out. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the happy ending—yet. “I know he’s alive, Simon. He’s got to be! This is proof he walked away from the crash site.”

“Not necessarily,” he argued, playing devil’s advocate. “An animal could have dragged it away.”

“And built a campfire?” she tossed back. “Willy said he found the scarf near the remains of a campfire five miles from the crash.”

Put that way, Simon couldn’t argue with her. “Who else knows about this?”

Not surprised that he’d asked the same question she had, she grinned broadly. “Just you and me and Willy. The king and queen don’t even know yet. Willy was afraid to tell the authorities.”

She didn’t have to tell him why. Willy’s reputation with the cops was well known by every reporter in Denver. A slow smile sliding across his chipmunk cheeks, Simon leaned forward just to be sure he’d heard her correctly. “Are you telling me that the king and queen don’t know there’s new evidence that their son is alive?”

Her blue eyes sparkling, she nodded. “You got it in one, LaGree.”

“Then you’ve got to go to Montebello and tell them!”

Whatever Eliza was expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?! But don’t you think we should tell the police?”

“And let them leak the story to every Tom, Dick and Harry who writes a gossip rag? Hell, no! Go home and pack your bags. I’ll make the airline reservations and get you some spending money. You’ve got to move fast. I want a play-by-play of everything that happens. Everything!” he stressed. “The king and queen are going to wig out when they find out the Prince is alive—”

Throwing instructions at her like darts, he never noticed that Deborah Jones had stepped into the open doorway until she demanded, “What prince? Who are you talking about? My God, is this about Prince Lucas? Are you saying you’ve found him?!”

Caught off guard, they both looked up and swore. From the look on Deborah’s face, it was obvious that she’d heard more than either one of them wanted her to.

Shooting her a hard look, Simon growled, “You’re barging in on a private conversation, Missy. Your daddy may own this place, but that doesn’t give you the right to just waltz in here without so much as a by-your-leave.”

He might as well have saved his breath. Ignoring his lecture on etiquette, she retorted, “If you have proof that Prince Lucas is alive, then I should be the one who goes to Montebello. I’ve traveled all over the world with my father. I have connections that will not only get me in the front door of the palace, but an audience with the king and queen. She doesn’t.”

Furious with the younger girl for trying to steal her thunder, Eliza felt her heart sink. She couldn’t summon a single word in her own defense. Deborah was right—she’d never been to Europe and didn’t have a clue how she would get in to see the king and queen. All she had were her wits and the Prince’s scarf. That might or might not get her anywhere, and what was important here was that Prince Lucas’s grieving parents be told that there was a very good possibility that he was alive. If Deborah could do that and get the story, Eliza couldn’t blame Simon if he sent her. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Not only did he have to do everything he could to put out a good paper, he had to keep the owner happy. That meant keeping Deborah happy.

But this was her story, dammit! Hers! And she didn’t want to give it up…especially to a little blond-headed twit who used her father’s money and influence to get whatever she wanted. Glancing at Simon, she braced for disappointment. “It’s your call. Who gets to go?”

He didn’t even blink. “You do. It’s your story.”

For a moment, Eliza couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. But then Deborah started to sputter in protest, and she knew she’d won. Thrilled, she jumped to her feet and impulsively launched herself at Simon. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she sang, giving him a bear hug. “You won’t regret this. Wait’ll you see the finished story. It’s going to be great!”

Patting her shoulder, he tried and failed to hide a crooked grin. “Don’t get sappy on me,” he said gruffly. “Go on and get out of here. You’ve got a plane to catch.”

“But I want to go!” Deborah cried. “This isn’t fair!”

“I’ve got a more important assignment for you,” Simon said as Eliza hurried out the door. “I need someone to go to Hollywood and interview Brad Pitt. You’re just the girl for the job.”

The throne room at the royal palace of Montebello was seldom used for official business anymore. Years ago, the coronation ceremonies for King Marcus and Queen Gwendolyn had been held there, but most palace guests who visited the room were usually interested in viewing the mosaics on the walls that depicted the country’s history. Not today. King Marcus had called his family together, as well as Kyle and Tyler Ramsey, two American allies assigned to protect his interests, and the ruling family of Montebello’s neighboring country, Tamir. Both royal families had long-awaited King Marcus’s decision, especially now that the two long-feuding countries had been united by the marriage of King Marcus’s eldest daughter, Princess Julia, to Sheik Ahmed Kamal’s son, Rashid, the crown prince of Tamir. Recently, Julia and Rashid had given King Marcus and Sheik Ahmed their first grandchild and as a result, the ruling family of Tamir was concerned about who would take over the Montebellan throne and how this might affect future relations between the two countries.

Now as the guests mingled about and talked among themselves in hushed voices, their eyes lifted time and time again to the clock on the wall. And with good reason. King Marcus was late to his own meeting. Speculation rippled around the room like heat lightning on a summer day. Where was the king? Had he decided not to make a decision today, after all? What was going on?

“Maybe you should go see if something is wrong,” Prince Rashid told his wife, Julia. “This can’t be an easy decision for your father. He doesn’t want to admit Lucas is dead.”

Julia could well understand that. Her brother had always been so full of life. She couldn’t imagine him dead at thirty-six. But it had been a year since his plane had crashed, and even though his body had never been found, what choice did she and the rest of the family have but to accept the fact that he must have died during the winter storms that blanketed the Colorado Rockies after the crash? If he had survived both the crash and the storms, surely he would have found a way to return to them by now.

It was the not knowing that was killing her parents. She’d watched them struggle with hope and despair and, finally, resignation, and her heart ached for them. Now that she and Rashid had their own baby boy, Omar, she didn’t even want to think about what it would be like to lose him. How did a parent handle the death of a child?

“Father just needs some time,” she said huskily, blinking back tears. “He’ll be here in a moment.”

Standing nearby, Rashid’s father, Sheik Ahmed, and Rashid’s brother, Hassan, surveyed the crowd with the sheik’s advisor, Butrus Dabir. There had been a time in the not too distant past when the Kamals wouldn’t have been caught dead anywhere near the Sebastianis or Montebello. A broken betrothal between the two families in the late 1800s had caused a century-long feud that might have gone on indefinitely if Princess Julia and Prince Rashid had not fallen in love. With their wedding and the birth of their baby, everything had, thankfully, changed, but no one had forgotten the past.

“I was hoping the king would name Princess Julia and Rashid as heirs to the throne, but the word on the street is that he’s leaning toward Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani,” Butrus said quietly.

“That’s understandable,” Sheik Ahmed replied. “The Sebastianis have ruled Montebello since the 1880s. King Marcus will protect that heritage by guaranteeing that the monarchy remains in Sebastiani hands. Julia is now a Kamal …as is her son,” he added proudly. It went without saying that Omar was the apple of his eye. “I have no issue with his choice of Lorenzo, if that is, in fact, Marcus’s choice.”