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

“I don’t know about that,” Lorenzo replied wryly, “but if the king does choose me, I hope you’ll be one of my advisors. I’m not much of a diplomat. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Desmond replied smoothly, delighted with his brother’s words. He kept his glee, however, carefully hidden behind an easy smile. “Haven’t I helped King Marcus all these months since poor Lucas was lost? I’ll do the same for you. More, in fact. You’re my brother. I can’t imagine being anywhere else but at your side.”

He spoke with a sincerity that was well practiced, and he wasn’t surprised when Lorenzo swallowed it whole. His brother was nobody’s fool, but Desmond had come into his life when Lorenzo was young and vulnerable and feeling lost, and it hadn’t taken much effort on Desmond’s part to win his trust. At the time, Desmond had to use his brother to get close to the king. That, it turned out, had been a stroke of genius on his part. Because now it was his brother who would be king. As his trusted advisor and closest family member, Desmond intended to take full advantage of his new position. After all, Desmond was the son of a duke, just like Lorenzo—a bastard son, but a son nonetheless. It was about time he came into his royal due.

What a shame that Prince Lucas had foolishly crashed his plane into the side of a mountain, Desmond thought snidely. Maybe one day, he’d summon up the strength to shed a tear for him…after he celebrated his own good fortune.

First, however, the king had to name Lorenzo his successor, something he should have done ten minutes ago. Troubled by the delay, Desmond frowned at the closed door where the king was expected to make his entrance. “I don’t understand the king’s tardiness. Maybe you should see if there’s some kind of problem,” he suggested. “Something isn’t right.”

Knowing how his uncle grieved for his son, Lorenzo wasn’t surprised that Marcus wasn’t his usual punctual self. With the announcement of a new heir to the throne, he was publicly admitting that he was accepting the fact that his son was dead. That would be difficult for any parent.

Wondering how he would find the strength to deal with such a situation himself, Lorenzo said quietly, “He probably just needs a little more time to come to terms with everything. I’ll go check on him.”

Whatever Eliza was expecting when she caught a cab at the Montebellan airport and went directly to the royal palace, it wasn’t the mob of reporters that crammed the front gates, trying to gain admittance. Surprised, she asked the cab driver, “What’s going on? Nothing’s happened to the king, has it?”

“Oh, no, miss,” he assured her as he took the fare and tip she held out to him. “He’s fine. Or at least he’s as fine as any father can be when he announces his son is dead.”

“What?!”

“It’s true,” he said sadly. “It’s been a year since Prince Lucas’s plane crashed and he went missing. No one wants to believe he’s dead, but there hasn’t been much hope for a long time now. I guess that’s why the king decided to name a successor. Like it or not, the living have to keep on living.”

Horrified, she hurriedly collected her Notebook computer and pushed open her door. “Oh, my God! I have to stop him. He can’t do this!”

Puzzled by her reaction, the cabby laughed. “Sure he can, lady. He can do anything he likes. He’s the king!”

Struggling with her things as she rushed toward the crowd at the gate, Eliza didn’t hear him. This couldn’t be happening! She should have tried to contact the palace the second Willy showed her the scarf. But she’d known she wouldn’t be allowed to speak to the king and queen, and the news she had wasn’t the kind that should be relayed over the phone. Besides, would anyone believe her without seeing the evidence?

She should have called anyway, she thought as she fought her way through the mass of reporters. She could have convinced someone to listen to her, and the king would have been spared the agony of picking someone to succeed his only son. Now, she had to convince the guard at the gate that she needed an immediate audience with the king and what she had to say to him was more important than the hundreds of other reporters who wanted the same thing.

“Hey, watch it!”

“What do you think you’re doing, lady? Get at the back of the line. We were here first.”

“Too bad,” she snapped. “I’m in a hurry and you guys are in my way. Move it, will you? I’ve got to talk to the king.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late. All around her, her fellow reporters mimicked, “Move it, I’ve got to talk to the king.”

“You can wait, just like the rest of us, mademoiselle,” a skinny Frenchman told her, looking down his nose at her. “And you can forget about talking to the king. His press secretary will tell us whatever he wants us to know.”

Eliza knew he was right, but his attitude irked her, and she didn’t even bother to respond. Quickly stepping around him, she told the guard at the gate, “It’s very important that I see the king. I have some information he needs…”

Surrounded by competing reporters, she didn’t dare tell him what that information was, but he wasn’t interested, anyway. “Nice try,” he drawled, “but I’ve got my orders. No reporters allowed inside the palace. You’ll have to wait, just like everyone else.”

Frustrated, she swore softly. So much for trying to go through channels. She liked to play by the rules, but sometimes it just didn’t pay. Now it was time to follow her gut and do what she should have done when she’d first seen the crowd of reporters fighting to get inside—find another way in.

“Fine,” she retorted, pretending to pout as she let herself be pushed to the back of the crowd. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

The front door of the palace opened then, distracting the crowd at the gate, and that was just the opportunity Eliza was looking for to slip away. As the press secretary informed the crowd that the king’s announcement would be released momentarily, she quietly hurried along the palace wall hoping to find some place to scramble over now that the guard was distracted. As luck would have it, she saw a delivery truck enter the service gate at the far end and before it could close automatically behind the vehicle, she slipped inside.

After getting over her initial shock at suddenly finding herself within mere yards of the royal palace, she quickly made her way around the corner of the stone and marble building, looking for a way in. But every door she came to was locked!

“I can’t believe this!” she muttered, continuing around the building. An entire staff of people took care of the daily operation of the palace. Surely someone had mistakenly left a door open somewhere!

Frustrated, she was about to give up hope when she rushed around another corner and suddenly found herself at the rear of the palace, facing the sea. And there, right in front of her, were the royal gardens…and a veranda with a set of French doors that looked like they’d been placed there just for her.

“Yes!” she whispered triumphantly. Now, if they were just unlocked.

Her heart thundering wildly, she dashed up onto the veranda and turned the doorknob, half expecting an alarm to blare at any second. But the door opened effortlessly, silently, and just that easily, she found herself standing inside what appeared to be the ballroom of the royal palace of Montebello.

Take notes! a voice in her head ordered sharply. But there was no time. The room was deserted, and she took advantage of that to quickly stow her computer and overnight bag behind the drapes at the window. Hopefully, they would still be there when she got back. If she got back, she silently amended. She’d just broken into a king’s palace. In some countries, they threw you into the dungeon for that if you got caught.

“So don’t get caught,” she told herself. “Act like you have a right to be here and no one will even spare you a second glance.”

It was a simple plan, one that had worked well for her in the past. Over the years, her job—and curiosity—had led her into any number of places where she had no business being, and she’d discovered that she could go practically anywhere if she acted like she knew what she was doing. So she smoothed her hair, slung her purse over her shoulder, and strode out of the ballroom like she owned the place.

Just as she’d hoped, it worked. Stepping into a wide, impressive corridor lined with a collection of paintings the likes of which she’d only seen in a museum, she passed several members of the staff, and they didn’t even blink at the sight of her. Relieved, she would have laughed, but she didn’t dare. The less attention she drew to herself, the better.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue where she was going. She knew nothing about the layout of the palace or where the king planned to meet with the guests he’d invited to witness the naming of his new successor. Logic told her that the announcement would be made in one of the palace’s public rooms, but that was strictly a guess on her part. For all she knew, they could be meeting in the family quarters, which could be anywhere.

Frowning, she reached an intersection of hallways and hesitated, not sure which way to turn. And just that easily, she made her first mistake. Suddenly, a door on her left opened, and before she could summon the look of confidence that had gotten her that far, she was caught.

“Who the devil are you?”

Swearing softly under her breath, she silently told herself to bluff her way out of this. But then she turned to face her captor and whatever she was going to say next flew right out of her head as she gasped in recognition. His Grace, Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani, the man everyone had been speculating for months might one day be named king!

They’d never met, of course, but she would have known him anywhere. Over the years, she’d lost track of the number of stories she’d written about him—first as a military hero who was rewarded with the title of duke by the king, then as head of the Montebello Royal Intelligence—and she’d enjoyed writing every one of them. There was just something about the man that had always struck her fancy. He was tough and smart and loyal, and his pictures hadn’t begun to do him justice. Lean and well-muscled, his sandy-brown hair streaked with golden highlights, and his green eyes dark with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t begin to understand, it was easy to see why he, like the rest of the Sebastiani men, was one of the heartthrobs of Europe.

“Your Grace! Thank God! I need you to get a message to the king—”

“You’re an American,” he cut in, frowning in puzzlement. “How did you get in? There are no tours today.”

“No, sir, I’m sure there aren’t. I’m not a tourist. My name is Eliza Windmere. I’m with the Denver Sentinel—”

That was as far as she got. “A reporter,” he said with a grimace of distaste. “I should have known. The palace is crawling with them. C’mon. You’re out of here.” And before she could begin to guess his intentions, he grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward the nearest exit.

“Wait! You don’t understand. I have information about Prince Lucas.”

His jaw set, he didn’t so much as spare her a glance. “Yeah, right. Let me see if I can guess. You found him waiting tables in L.A., and for the right price, you’ll tell King Marcus where he is. Save your breath, sweetheart. I’ve heard it all before. The king gets a hundred letters a week from people just like you. I don’t know how you all live with yourself. Don’t you have any conscience?”

“Of course I do,” she retorted, stung. But heat burned her cheeks and deep inside, she had to wonder if he was right. The king and queen had lost a son, and though she had come to give them news they longed to hear, she also wanted an exclusive when they learned he was alive. So how was she any different from the con men trying to cash in on the Sebastianis’ grief?

Uncomfortable with the question, she reminded herself that she wasn’t trying to extort money from the king or keep his son’s whereabouts from him. Of course she wanted the story, but she had that already. At this point, she was just doing the right thing and bringing the king news of his son. “Look, I know how this must look, but I’m serious. I have vital information—”

“And I’m the tooth fairy,” he retorted. “Put that in your paper and smoke it. It’s probably one of those scandal rags, anyway.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Stopping abruptly, she jerked free of his grasp and drew herself up to her full five foot seven inches and gave him a narrow-eyed look that should have reduced him to the size of an ant. “For your information, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing that kind of trash, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”

She’d caught him off guard, and for a moment, he had the grace to look embarrassed. But then he obviously realized that he’d just been brought to task by a reporter, of all things. “That was good,” he told her dryly. “For a moment there, I actually forgot that you broke in here.”

“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked—”

“So you thought you’d just walk right in,” he finished for her. “I wonder how you’d feel if I did the same at your house.”

“Dammit, I just need to talk to the king!”

“Not a chance,” he growled, and grabbed her arm again.

Indignant, she tried to jerk free, but this time, the duke had a firmer grip, and there was no escaping him. Still, she had to try. Struggling, uncaring that she’d probably have bruises on her arms tomorrow, she cried, “You’re the most irritating man. I don’t know why I ever thought you were charming.”

Before she could say another word, they were interrupted by a servant, who hurried forward with a worried frown. “Is there a problem, Your Grace?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” he said flatly. “Show this lady to the door, will you, Rudolpho? She’s a reporter. And make sure she doesn’t get back in.”

“Of course,” the older man replied, and took Eliza’s arm in a grip that was surprisingly firm.

“No! Wait! At least talk to the king for me,” she called after the duke, but it was too late. Without sparing her a glance, he turned and walked away.

Chapter 2

“Please don’t give me any trouble, Miss,” the servant said quietly. “I don’t want to call a guard.”

Trapped, Eliza considered her options. Old enough to be her grandfather, Rudolpho seemed a gentle soul, but she knew better than to mistake him for a soft touch. The duke wouldn’t have turned her over to him if he hadn’t felt he could trust the old man to throw her out. And that could only mean one thing. She had to talk fast.

“I know you’re only doing your job, Mr. Rudolpho—”

“Sabina,” he interjected with a half smile as she fell into step beside him. “The name is Rudolpho Sabina. I’m the king’s personal servant.”

“And not easily snowed, I’ll bet,” she replied solemnly.

His lips twitched, but he only said, “No, Miss, I’m not.”

That made it more difficult. Falling back on the truth and praying it didn’t let her down, she said earnestly, “Then I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you I didn’t fly all the way from America just to get a scoop on the king’s announcement.I didn’t even know he planned to name a new heir today. If I had, I would have tried to call to convince him he doesn’t need to do this. You have to believe me, Mr. Sabina. That’s why I’m here. I have news of the prince.”

For a minute, she thought he was going to listen to her. He hesitated, but just when she began to hope that he would help her, he continued his pace steadily toward the nearest exit. “You seem like an intelligent woman,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you must realize that over the course of the past year, the king has been hounded by dozens of fortune hunters who claimed they’d found the prince. None of them could produce him. Can you?”

Just that easily, he had her neatly cornered. “No,” she sighed in defeat. “No, not yet. But I’m sure I’ll be able to with time.”

“The world is full of people who might be able to do that, Ms. Windmere. That’s not a good enough reason to see the king.”

His decision made, they reached an exit then, but before he could show her out, they were joined by a woman who hurried toward them with a frown, scolding Rudolpho all the while. “Rudy, thank God! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been? The king is about to greet his guests—”

“Oh, please, you must stop him!” Eliza said quickly, interrupting. “There is no need for him to announce a new heir. Prince Lucas is still alive! I have proof!”

“She’s a reporter, Josie,” Rudy said when his wife gasped. “She broke in—”

“Because the guard at the gate wouldn’t let me in. I was desperate.”

Josie Sabina, to her credit, didn’t dismiss her out of hand. “Well, I suppose I might do the same thing if I was desperate,”she said with a slight smile. Studying her speculatively, she suddenly held out her hand and introduced herself. “I’m Rudy’s wife, Josie. And you’re…?”

“Eliza Windmere.” Sensing a kindred spirit, she took her hand with a sigh of relief. “It’s very important that I talk to the king, Mrs. Sabina. His son wasn’t killed in the plane crash. I live in Colorado. I wouldn’t have flown halfway around the world for a hoax. I’m not that kind of person. I really do have proof.”

When Josie glanced at her husband for guidance, Eliza felt her heart sink. This was her last chance. If Josie didn’t help her, she was going to be tossed out on her ear, and she could forget getting a message to the king. Duke Lorenzo would spread the word that she was a crazy American reporter and nothing she said would be taken seriously.

“Duke Lorenzo said to show her out,” Rudy told his wife. “I’m just following orders.”

That was her clue to do the same, but just when Eliza felt sure Josie was going to tell her she couldn’t help her, the older woman hesitated. “If there’s the slightest chance the prince is alive, you know I have to tell the queen, Rudy,” she told her husband finally. “She would want to know.”

“But what if this is nothing but a scam?” he argued. “The king won’t be happy that you upset the queen for nothing.”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” she said simply. “If the prince was my son and there was the slightest chance he was alive, I would want to know.”

Put that way, Rudy knew when he was beaten. “All right,” he sighed. “We’ll wait here for you.”

Thrilled, Eliza wanted to hug them both. Finally, someone was listening to her! Now, if only the queen would! Sending up a silent prayer as Josie rushed off to talk to her, she waited with Rudy and tried not to be concerned when one minute turned into two, then three, then ten. It wasn’t easy. She didn’t like letting other people speak for her, and her too-active imagination was jumping to all sorts of conclusions, none of them good. What was taking so long?

Impatient, worry eating at her stomach, she would have gone looking for Josie and the queen if Rudy hadn’t been watching her like a hawk. And he obviously knew that. Standing nearby, he had the patient look of a man who had no intention of letting her out of his sight, even if that meant watching her for the rest of the day.

Trapped and hating it, she was looking around for a way to distract him so she could slip away when she spied Josie quickly approaching from the far end of the hall. Her heart in her throat, she stepped toward her. “Well? Will she see me?”

“You have ten minutes,” she replied solemnly, only to laugh when Eliza pulled her into a hug. Patting her, she smiled. “Come. You don’t have any time to waste.”

With Josie now as her escort, they made their way through a maze of corridors before they finally reached a small solarium at the back of the house. Stopping outside the elegantly panelled double doors, Josie gave her a quick lesson in royal etiquette.

“You wait for the queen to speak first, and you curtsy when you are introduced. And don’t worry. The queen isn’t a stickler for such things, but it is the polite thing to do, and she will appreciate it.” Amusement glinting in her dark eyes, she added, “Smooth your hair, dear. That’s it. Ready?”

No! Eliza almost cried. She was about to meet the queen of Montebello. Of course, she wasn’t ready! Too late, she realized she should have taken time to freshen her makeup and clothes at the airport before rushing to the palace, but there was no time for that now. The queen was waiting and the clock was ticking.

Drawing in a calming breath, she nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Without a word, Josie knocked lightly on the door and pulled it open. A heartbeat later, she found herself ushered into a beautiful room with pale green walls, mosaic floors and the most gorgeous plants and flowers Eliza had ever seen. And there waiting for her was not only Queen Gwendolyn, but King Marcus, as well.

Her heart pounding crazily in her breast, Eliza told herself there was no reason to be nervous. They weren’t ogres. In fact, according to all accounts, they were amazingly friendly and down to earth, considering they lived in a palace. And even though Eliza had never met them, she’d written about them and their children and extended family so much over the years that she almost felt like she knew them.

But even as she went over all the reasons why she should be perfectly at ease in the presence of royalty, she curtsied awkwardly before Josie had a chance to announce her. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, blushing as red as her hair. “I was supposed to wait until I was introduced—and you spoke first.”

Queen Gwendolyn smiled with understanding, and it was easy to see why she was still considered one of the most beautiful women in Europe. In her early sixties, her porcelain skin was clear and virtually unlined, her eyes sparkled, and her figure was as trim and slender as a girl’s in a blue silk suit that exactly matched the color of her eyes.

Extending her hand, Queen Gwendolyn said, “For the most part, we don’t stand on ceremony in our home, Ms. Windmere. Please…may I call you Eliza?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Your Highness.”

Liking her immediately, Eliza shook her hand and could have easily sat down and chatted with her like they were old friends. The king, however, stood protectively at his wife’s side and looked every inch the royal. The past year had not been easy for him. Regal and aristocratic, his once dark hair was now nearly completely white and there were lines at the corners of his dark eyes that had not been there last year before his son’s plane crashed in Colorado.

Quietly greeting her, he got right to the point. “Josie tells us you have news of our son.”

“Yes, sir, I do. I believe he is alive.”

“According to Josie, you have proof,” Queen Gwendolyn said, her eyes dark with entreaty. “You don’t look like a cruel woman, Eliza. If this was all just a trick on your part so you could gain an audience with us, please admit it now, and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

When she took her husband’s hand and they stood side by side, their pain was visible. Eliza could have cried for them both. She’d never been married, never had children, so she couldn’t begin to imagine the extent of their hurt. Royalty or not, they were parents and they obviously loved their son, and if she could help them in any way, she would.

“I know this past year had to be extremely difficult for you, and I know that you’ve had people coming out of the woodwork claiming they had found the prince,” she said huskily. “I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t found him, either, and right now, I don’t have a clue where he is. But I truly believe he’s alive. Because of this.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the scarf Willy had found and held it out to the queen. “I believe this belongs to Prince Lucas, doesn’t it?”

Her gaze locked on the dirty, tattered scarf, Queen Gwendolyn gasped softly. Tears flooded her eyes, and when she reached out for the scarf with trembling fingers, it was almost as if she was afraid to touch it. “Oh, Marcus, look!”