The Princess's Bodyguard

“My God! Unhand the princess!” Yves stepped forward, bringing himself directly in front of Adele and Matt. “Do you hear me? I will not allow you to—”

Matt shoved Adele aside, then confronted the pretty boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mr. Jurgen, but if I have to, I will.”

“Hurt me?” Yves laughed. “I assure you that if you persist in this matter, you will be the one hurt.”

“Look, buddy boy, I’m walking out of here in about a minute, and the princess is going with me. I advise you not to try to stop us.”

“Do something, Yves,” Adele said.

When Adele tried to rush toward Yves, Matt grabbed her arm. “Stay put.”

When he tried to walk her toward the door, she balked. And if that wasn’t enough trouble, Yves came barreling toward him and grasped his shoulder. Without releasing Adele, he turned to face Yves just in time to see the man’s fist coming toward him. Matt adeptly avoided the blow, but when Yves came at him a second time, Matt drew back his fist and coldcocked Yves with one blow to his jaw. The minute Yves hit the floor, the butler yelled something about the polizei. Matt just ignored the man. Adele began fighting him again and calling him names, first in French and then in German and finally in English.

“My, my, Princess, where did you learn such filthy language?”

And as he’d threatened, Matt hoisted her up and over his shoulder. She let out a loud screech and wiggled.

“Put me down!”

Mumbling several obscenities under his breath, Matt marched out of the drawing room, through the marble-floored entrance hall and outside to his rental car. And all the while Adele threatened him with everything from a public flogging to a beheading.

Matt opened the front passenger door of the car, deposited Adele inside and closed the door. She opened the door and tried to get out. He shoved her back inside, held her in place until he fastened her seatbelt, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs—which he’d brought with him, just in case. After manacling her wrist with one cuff, he pulled her hands behind her back and snapped the second cuff on her other wrist.

“Now, you sit there and behave yourself.”

Adele screamed again, then said, “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything, pay you anything, if you’ll let me go. I can’t go back to Orlantha. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Save your breath,” he told her. “I’m just doing my job. When you get home, you can work this out with your father.”

“My father is as unreasonable as you are. I hate him. I hate you. I hate all men.”

Just what he needed—to listen to her bellowing and bellyaching all the way back to Orlantha. He jerked out a handkerchief from his other pocket and effectively gagged her. Adele’s eyes widened in shock.

“Sorry, Princess, but I have no intention of listening to you carrying on like that while I’m driving.”

Matt got in on the driver’s side, started the engine and headed down the brick driveway toward the main road. With a little luck, they’d cross the border in a few hours and by morning he’d be on a plane headed back to Paris. Occasionally he glanced at the princess. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way. She sat there, with her hands cuffed behind her and his handkerchief tied over her mouth, staring straight ahead into the dark night, her entire demeanor regal and unflinching. He knew she had to be uncomfortable, but no one would ever guess by the way she acted.

An hour and forty minutes later they were halfway to the Austrian border, traveling along a back road, just in case Yves Jurgen had been foolish enough to try to follow them. The weather quickly turned nasty. An autumn storm created heavy streaks of lighting and rolling booms of thunder. Then came the downpour. The rain became so heavy that Matt couldn’t see two feet in front of the car, leaving him no choice but to pull off to the side of the road.

He killed the motor and turned to Adele. “Will you promise to behave yourself if I remove the gag?”

She didn’t respond immediately, just glowered at him. Then finally she nodded.

Matt reached out to untie the handkerchief. “If you start up again, the gag goes back in place. Understand?”

She nodded. He undid the knot and removed the gag. She took a deep breath, then licked the sides of her mouth where the handkerchief had chafed her skin.

“Mr. O’Brien, I didn’t run away simply because I find Dedrick personally offensive.”

“Look, honey, it doesn’t matter to me why you ran off. Can’t you get it through that pretty little head of yours that I’m just doing my job?”

“And I’m trying to do mine!”

Realizing she was probably going to give him some sad sob story, Matt didn’t respond. The wind beat against the car, whistling around them as the rain continued pouring. He wondered how long they’d be stuck here. The sooner he got this woman off his hands, the better.

“Mr. O’Brien?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Do you know anything about the politics in Orlantha and Balanchine?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Are you aware that there are factions in both countries that wish to see the two reunited as one country?”

“I think I heard something to that effect.”

“Have you also heard about a group called the Royalists?”

“Can’t say that I have, but something tells me that I’m about to.” Matt turned in his seat so that he faced Adele. “If you promise not to do anything stupid, I’ll undo the handcuffs.”

“Do you want me to promise that I will not try to run from you?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then I promise.”

Matt stared at her for a moment, trying to discern her credibility. What the hell, he’d take a chance. After all, how far could she go if she did try to run?

After taking the key from his pocket, he gave her back a gentle shove forward, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.

She brought her hands slowly around to the front and rubbed first one wrist and then the other. Repeating the process several times, she said, “Thank you.”

Matt wasn’t sure which princess he preferred. The quiet-spoken, accommodating lady or the other—the defiant, hostile spitfire. He definitely trusted the spitfire more. This sweet act she was putting on now worried him. Was she up to something? Or had she simply changed tactics thinking honey attracted more than vinegar?

“About the Royalists,” she said. “They are a secret society that is active in both Orlantha and Balanchine. Their goals are to reunite the two countries under one king and for the combined nations to be ruled solely by the monarch. They want to turn back the clock two hundred years.”

“What does this have to do with your marriage to the duke?”

“I believe that Dedrick is a Royalist.”

“Got any proof?”

“Not yet, but soon, we hope.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brien, but I cannot explain further. I simply do not know how trustworthy you are. Considering the fact that you’re working for my father, I—”

“How does Dedrick being a Royalist have any effect on your marriage? You’re a princess. Your old man is the king. I’d say your whole family are Royalists.”

“No, we are not!” Adele huffed. “You do not understand. My father rules Orlantha in conjunction with an elected council, headed by a chancellor and a vice chancellor and we do not want Orlantha reunited with Balanchine under any circumstances, and most definitely not as a monarch-ruled country. We suspect…I suspect that if Dedrick becomes the prince consort, he will try to usurp more and more power, especially in the event of my father’s death someday. As my husband, he would have almost as much authority over the government as I do.”

“Interesting story,” Matt said. “Why don’t you tell it to your father when you return to Orlantha?”

“I have told my father, but he refuses to believe me.”

“Because you don’t have any evidence against the duke.”

Adele sighed. “No, I don’t have any evidence, and my father won’t postpone the wedding and give us…give me time to prove Dedrick is not only an unsuitable husband for me but an unsuitable prince for Orlantha.”

“So you ran away to buy time for your unnamed cohorts in Orlantha to gather evidence against Dedrick?”

“That’s right.” Adele smiled. “So you see, I cannot go back, not yet. If I return to Orlantha, my father will force me to marry Dedrick next month.”

“Why don’t you marry someone else?” Matt gazed through the Opel’s side window. “Looks like the rain’s letting up.” He started the engine and shifted gears.

“Marry someone else… You mean marry another man before my father can force me to marry Dedrick?”

Matt pulled the car back onto the road and headed southwest. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. If you’re already married to another guy, your father can’t force you to marry Dedrick.”

“It would have to be a marriage in name only,” she said. “A marriage of convenience that could be easily annulled once we have the proof we need against Dedrick.” She grasped Matt’s arm. “Mr. O’Brien, that’s a wonderful idea. Yves would probably marry me, but I’m not sure I could trust him 100 percent. He’d want to remain the prince consort. And I’m sure Pippin would marry me, but he’d have to leave Orlantha and meet me somewhere.”

“Who’s Pippin? Sounds like some cartoon character.”

Adele laughed. “Vice chancellor Pippin Ritter is a fine man and rather handsome. And he’s a good friend.”

“Then when you get home, marry the vice chancellor. Problem solved.”

“We’d never be allowed to marry in Orlantha. But if I could get a message to Pippin, he could meet me—”

“Princess, I’m taking you to Orlantha tonight.” When she gasped and started to speak, he went on, “Once you’re back in your own country, you and this Pippin can figure out a plan. But I’m finishing the job I started.”

“I thought you understood. I thought I could reason with you.”

“I’m sorry, okay? But the internal politics in Orlantha really aren’t any of my business.” Matt caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. There was that sad little face again, the one he’d seen in the Paris newspaper announcing her engagement. What was it about this woman that made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right? He didn’t know her. Didn’t want to know her. She was an assignment. If he were smart, he wouldn’t get involved.

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Why should you care about me or my country?”

There was nothing else to be said, so Matt kept quiet. For the next thirty minutes the only sounds were the car’s engine and the renewed strength of the storm. They seemed to be heading directly into even more turbulent weather. Once again it became impossible for Matt to see more than a couple of feet past the hood of the car. When he came to a crossroads, marked with a signpost, he stopped so that the headlights hit the sign. Gerwalt Inn. Not a town marker, but a welcome to the local hotel.

“We’re going to have to stop,” Matt said. “I’ll see if I can find Gerwalt Inn, and we’ll stay there until this storm passes.”

He could tell that the princess was trying not to smile, but it was obvious she was pleased with the brief reprieve.

“Whatever you say, Mr. O’Brien.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. She was being much too accommodating, which meant she was up to something. He’d have to make sure he kept close watch over her.

Adele said a silent prayer of thanks for sending such a hostile storm on this very night when she needed it so badly. Once they stopped at the inn, she would find a way to escape from her American captor. There had to be a way to get away from him or to persuade him to let her go. Perhaps at the inn, she would find someone to help her. After all, she was bound to be recognized as the princess of Orlantha.

While Matt O’Brien drove slowly, being extra careful because of the rain, Adele studied the Dundee agent. The man needed a shave and a haircut. His thick black hair was tousled, his jeans faded and his leather bomber jacket worn with age. He was rather good-looking, if you liked the big, macho type. When he had grabbed her at the chateau, she had surmised that he was nearly a foot taller than she and about twice her size. And, going by his surname, she assumed he was of Irish descent. She guessed his age to be somewhere around thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. There was no gray in his jet-black hair or his beard, but he had tiny wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and shallow furrows in his forehead.

When the car stopped, Adele looked out the window, but the downpour was so heavy that all she could make out were blurry lights. Matt turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and looked at Adele. The man had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bright, summer-day sky blue.

“We’ll have to make a run for it,” he told her. “We’ll get drenched, but there’s nothing else to do.”

She nodded. Matt flung open the door and jumped out. Adele did the same. Matt grabbed her arm and together they ran toward the two-story inn. By the time they made it inside to the reception area, they were both thoroughly wet to the skin.

The inn’s proprietor came out from behind the front desk to greet them.

“Güten abend,” the man said in German. “Willkommen zum gasthaus.”

“Güten abend,” Adele replied.

Although he understood that they’d said “good evening” to each other and the innkeeper had welcomed them, Matt’s guess was that the princess’s command of the German language was far better than his. He didn’t want to take any chances that she might start rattling off a spiel in German and he wouldn’t be able to keep up.

“Do you speak English?” Matt asked.

“Yes, I speak English,” the man said. “You are Americans?”

“I’m an American,” Matt replied.

“And I am Prin—”

Matt reached out, draped his arm around her shoulders and hauled her up against him. “This is my bride, Priscilla. We’re honeymooning here in Austria.”

“We are not—” Adele said, but was cut short when Matt kissed her.

How dare he kiss her! How dare he… Oh, heaven help her. His mouth was warm, moist and commanding. She didn’t think she’d ever been kissed quite so thoroughly in her entire twenty-eight years. She gripped his shoulders to steady her wobbly legs, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, all thoughts of a protest vanished. The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and for a split second Adele felt oddly adrift.

When he eased his mouth from hers, she glared at him. He whispered softly against her lips, “Don’t try to pull anything, or I’ll be forced to play dirty.”

Adele nodded, only now understanding just how devious her captor could be. Matt turned to the proprietor who stood waiting, a broad smile on his face, apparently delighted by the honeymooners’ ardor.

“We’d like a room, please,” Matt said. “We’ll be staying until the storm passes.”

Matt pulled out his wallet, removed his credit card and handed it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper scurried behind the front desk, scanned the credit card, then retrieved a key and handed the key and the card to Matt. “What about your luggage, Mr. O’Brien?”

“It’s in the car, but considering the way it’s raining, I think we’ll do without it tonight.”

The innkeeper nodded. “I will have Hilda bring robes for you and your wife. With my compliments. And if there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know. I am Franz Gerwalt.”

“Thanks,” Matt replied. “We’ll let you know if—”

“Herr Gerwalt?” Adele spoke softly, a warm, friendly smile on her damp face.

“Yes?”

“We would also like some brandy brought to our room, and I require two extra pillows,” Adele said. “I assume there’s a fireplace in our room.” Franz Gerwalt nodded. “If there isn’t a fire in the fireplace, please, see that one is prepared immediately.”

Matt tugged on her arm. “You’re being terribly demanding, dear. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” she replied. “I am simply requesting adequate treatment, nothing more.”

The innkeeper frowned as he looked back and forth from Adele to Matt. “A lovers’ quarrel on your honeymoon? You must not argue. We will be happy to accommodate Mrs. O’Brien’s requests.”

“Thank you,” Adele said. “I have one more request.”

“Certainly,” the innkeeper replied.

“Will you please call the police and tell them that this man has kidnapped me?”

Chapter 3

H oly Moses! Matt thought. He’d have to do something and do it quickly, before Herr Gerwalt had a chance to comprehend and believe the princess’s accusation.

Matt grabbed Adele, hauled her up close to him and grinned sheepishly at Franz Gerwalt. “Such a kidder.” Matt forced laughter. “Always joking around about my kidnapping her because we ran off to get married and her father accused me of kidnapping his baby girl.”

Herr Gerwalt offered Matt and Adele a weak smile. “You Americans. I do not understand your odd sense of humor.”

“I’m not—” Adele said, but before she could complete her sentence, Matt kissed her again.

She bit his lip, then stomped on his foot. Huffing loudly, she turned to the innkeeper. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m—”

Matt swept her off her feet. Literally. This assignment was turning into a royal pain in the butt. If he didn’t have a sore foot, a stinging lip and wasn’t pissed off as hell, he might find humor in the situation. But as it was, he was about two seconds away from strangling the princess of Orlantha.

Turning around so Herr Gerwalt couldn’t see that he’d covered Adele’s mouth with his hand, Matt said, “We’ll just go on up to our room. Thanks for everything.” With a wiggling Adele squirming in his arms, Matt headed for the stairs, then paused. “By the way, I can make a long-distance call from our room using my calling card, right?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see to the fire at once and have those robes brought up to you. And if you need anything else, please—”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The minute Matt reached the second floor of the inn, he bent his head to whisper in Adele’s ear. “Unless you want me to handcuff you to a chair and gag you again, then I suggest you behave yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

She glared at him, her big brown eyes narrowed to angry slits. She ceased squirming but didn’t respond to his warning.

He made his way down the corridor, looking for room 204, which turned out to be the third door on the left. After readjusting Adele in his arms, he inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. He switched on the lights in a quaint room, filled with what he assumed were European antiques. The low ceiling, small windows and heavy, dark furniture exuded an old-world charm. After closing and locking the door, he set Adele on her feet but kept a tight rein on her and continued holding his hand over her mouth.

“What’s it going to be, Your Highness? Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?” He looked her right in the eyes. “Are you going to cooperate and act your part as the blushing bride? Are you going to be a good girl?”

She nodded agreement. Matt eased his hand away from her mouth.

They stared at each other. Matt grinned. Adele frowned.

Matt manacled her wrist and dragged her across the room with him, straight toward a door he figured was the bathroom. After opening the door and finding the light switch, he shoved her inside the tiny bath that had one small window above the old bathtub. Thick lace curtains blocked out the night sky.

“Take off your wet things, and as soon as the maid brings our robes, I’ll throw one in here to you.”

Adele nodded, but when she started to close the door, Matt stuck his foot in the narrow opening. “Leave it partially open,” he told her, pushing it open halfway.

“If you think that I’m going to undress in front of you, then you had better think again.”

“Get real, honey, you aren’t my type,” Matt said, then when he saw the serious expression on her face, he grinned. “I thought you royals were used to having people dress and undress you.”

“I have a lady’s maid. But I can assure you that I am not accustomed to undressing in front of men, certainly not a man who is a total stranger to me.” She clicked off the light in the bathroom.

Matt turned around, putting his back to her. “I won’t look. I promise. But do not close that door.”

“Why? What do you think I’m going to do, escape through the drainpipes?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to give it a try.” His shoulders quivered as he chuckled silently. He could barely keep from laughing out loud.

“Has anyone every told you that you’re obnoxious?” Adele asked.

With his back still to her, he responded, “No, ma’am. People usually tell me that I’m smart, good-looking, fun to be with, loyal, good-humored—”

Adele huffed loudly. “Obnoxious and conceited!”

Matt chuckled. A loud knock at the door gained his attention. He glanced over his shoulder toward the half-open bathroom door and caught sight of a slender, naked shoulder, part of a naked back, a round hip covered with silk panties and a long naked leg. He sucked in a deep breath. Holy Moses! He snapped his head back around before the princess caught him spying on her.

“You behave yourself,” he told her. “That’s probably the maid at the door with our robes.”

“Please, let her in,” Adele said. “And ask her to prepare a fire in the fireplace. Also, make sure she’s remembered my extra pillows and—”

“I thought you were kidding. Damn, you really are a spoiled brat, aren’t you?” Matt muttered the last sentence under his breath as he opened the door.

“Güten abend. Wie sind Sie?” the maid said good evening and asked how they were, then she continued speaking to Matt in her native German, which he struggled to understand because the gray-haired, middle-aged woman spoke rapidly. He caught several words. Honeymoon. Robes. Pillows. Something about being wet. And he understood the word for fire.

She handed him the white terry cloth robes, then laid the two fluffy goose down pillows at the foot of the canopied four-poster bed. Matt eased sideways toward the bathroom and tossed one of the robes to Adele, who stood behind the door. She caught it in midair.

“Did she bring—”

“Two extra pillows. And she’s building the fire now.”

“May I come out? I have on my robe.”

“Just wait until she leaves,” he told Adele. “No point in being tempted to tell the maid—in German this time—that I’ve kidnapped you.”

Adele pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. Matt allowed himself a quick perusal. Why couldn’t this woman have been as homely as her fiancé? Why did she have to be so damn pretty? And small, delicate and well-rounded? He looked away hurriedly.

The maid rose from where she had knelt on the hearth, smiled at Matt and said something about dinner. She must have asked him if they wanted dinner served in their room.

“Want some dinner, honey?” Matt asked.

“She didn’t bring the brandy I requested, did she?”

“Do you or do you not want something to eat?”

“May I put in an order for both of us?” Adele asked. “That is if you trust me not to—”

“I understand enough German to figure out if you’re ordering dinner or asking for help, so go ahead, order away.”

Adele took several tentative steps into the room, looked directly at their maid and ordered dinner in German. The maid replied. The best Matt could make out, they’d be getting some kind of stew, homemade bread and the brandy Adele wanted. The maid curtsied and left the room.

Why did the maid bow to them? Had the woman recognized Adele? Or was she so used to being a servant that the bow came naturally to her?

“Before you accuse me of revealing my identity to that woman, let me tell you that it’s not unusual for servants to bow like that to anyone they consider their superior.”

“You royals are big on superiority, aren’t you?” Matt headed straight toward Adele, intending to go into the bathroom. But for some reason she apparently thought he planned to manhandle her again, so she inched along the wall, moving away from him as he neared.