Taming The Prince (Crown & Glory Book 8)

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Yes, I realize that, sir,” she was saying apologetically. “But you have to understand that… What? Yes, but… I know, but… But you see, sir, it wasn’t… I know that, but… But there wasn’t any time to… But I had no way of knowing that….” She sighed heavily in defeat and, for several moments, surrendered to the angry male voice buzzing through the line.

  Shane could only imagine what it must be costing her to stay silent, and he made a promise to himself to let the big boys of the RII know she’d done all she could with what she’d had to work with. Not that she’d probably welcome his intervention, because he’d seen for himself that she liked to do things her way, but he’d do it anyway.

  And then what? a little voice piped up at the back of his head.

  I’ll think about that later, he immediately replied.

  Because, hey, that was Shane’s philosophy when it came to things of a personal, i.e. romantic, nature: Why do today what you could put off until tomorrow? Then again, if he’d put off making love to Sara until tomorrow he never would have known how incredible the two of them would be together.

  Yeah, said the voice. And you wouldn’t be standing here not knowing what the hell you’re supposed to do, either.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah, Shane thought. He was about to say something snippy to the voice when Sara began to talk again, and he returned his attention to what she was saying.

  “As I tried to tell you, sir,” she began again, “I had little reason to think that was a possibility. I was told this was going to be a routine assignment, escorting Mr. Cordello to Penwyck. And I’ve nearly got him there,” she added. “If you can just send someone to Maria Lupe, Spain, we’ll be waiting in the lobby of the Hotel Magnífico, which is two blocks east of the police station on Calle Norte. How soon can you have someone here? Oh, lovely. Yes, we’ll be fine until then. Thank you. We’ll be waiting in the bar.”

  Or a room, Shane wanted to say. They could get a room instead. Hey, why take chances, right?

  Before he could make the suggestion, however, Sara hung up the phone with ferocity, then growled under her breath and spun around to lean against the wall. Evidently her altercation with her superior had squashed whatever discomfort she’d felt being with Shane, because now she spoke readily and to his face.

  “What a stupid git,” she said. “They act like I did this on purpose. As if I wanted the two of us to be hijacked and kidnapped and imprisoned. Oh, yes. There’s nothing I enjoy more than running through the brush during the cold night with no provisions and a big gorilla hot on my trail.”

  Shane forced a smile. “And even though I did that stick thing I promised, you never even invited me up for a nightcap,” he said.

  She sobered at that, meeting his gaze levelly. “I am truly sorry to have gotten you into this,” she said. “Had I suspected for a moment that the Black Knights would try something like this, I never—”

  “You don’t owe me an apology, Sara,” Shane interrupted. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  “But it was, don’t you see?” she objected. “I was entrusted to bring you safely back to Penwyck, and I failed miserably.”

  “You didn’t fail,” he said. “You’re taking me safely back to Penwyck. It’s just going to take a little longer than we thought, that’s all.”

  She shook her head. “No, I won’t be taking you safely back to Penwyck,” she said softly. “The RII will.”

  Oh, now that didn’t sound good at all. “What do you mean?”

  “Not surprisingly, they tracked us very well,” she said. “They have operatives working right here in Maria Lupe, and they’ve already apprehended two of the kidnappers. Alas, Fawn and the other are still eluding them, but perhaps with our help, those two will be rounded up shortly, as well. But the RII agents will be here momentarily. They’ve been working with the local police and are right up the street. And they’ll be escorting you back to Penwyck today. They’ll hand you over personally to Queen Marissa in just a few hours, I imagine.”

  “But you—”

  “I’ll stay here for a debriefing and return to Penwyck shortly,” she finished for him. “I’m sure Admiral Monteque himself will want to talk to me. If for no other reason than to tell me what a failure I am,” she muttered in conclusion, not quite under her breath.

  Her expression changed not one iota as she told him all of this, but Shane knew she wasn’t nearly as calm and collected as she was letting on. Her eyes were too bright, her chin too fiercely angled, her mouth too grim. She was no happier about this development than he was. Though for her, he had to admit, it might just have been because her career was in trouble, and not necessarily because she wanted to stay with Shane.

  No, he immediately contradicted himself. Oh, sure, her job was on the line, but that wasn’t the only thing upsetting her. “Sara—” he began.

  “Everything will be fine, Shane,” she said, cutting him off. “In a few hours, you’ll be with your brother and the queen, and you can get this switched-at-birth thing settled once and for all and move on with your life. Whatever direction it winds up taking.”

  “But you—”

  “And I’ll be able to move on with my life, as well,” she said before he had a chance to finish. “Whatever direction it winds up taking.”

  In other words, Shane translated, It’s over between us.

  And in realizing that, he felt like a Mack truck had just mowed him down. How could she say that? he wondered. How could she even suggest that the two of them should just go on with their lives after what had happened last night? After everything that had happened this week?

  Well, what did you expect, Cordello? that annoying voice piped up again. It’s not like the two of you made any promises to each other. You sure as hell never made any to her.

  But that was only because he hadn’t had the chance, he told the voice. When was he supposed to have made promises? While they were being hijacked? While they were being kidnapped? While they were being held for ransom? While they were running for their lives?

  How about when you made love to her? the voice asked. That might have been a good time.

  Had he told her he loved her? he wondered again. He honestly couldn’t remember now. If he had, it certainly hadn’t been with any real conviction. Certainly Sara offered no indication that he’d said anything to her then.

  But he hadn’t made any promises to her, that was certain. Not even when he’d realized he was the first man she’d allowed inside—literally and figuratively. Last night had to have been important to her, he thought. She wouldn’t have made love with him if she hadn’t cared. She wasn’t the kind of woman to hold on to her virginity and then give it away carelessly to some guy who wasn’t going to stick around. Shane had realized that even as he accepted her gift last night. In doing so, he had acknowledged, whether consciously or not, that he knew she cared for him. A lot.

  But he’d said nothing to her to make her think he felt the same way, had offered her no indication that last night had meant anything more to him than other nights—with other women—had. Even an avowal of love could be misconstrued. People said things when they made love. That didn’t mean they meant them. Even if Shane hadn’t ever said those words to any other woman before. Sara had no real reason to think he wanted her to stay around. And this was her way of letting him off the hook.

  “Sara—” he began again.

  “Oh, look,” she interrupted him again, “they’ve broken their own record. They’re here already.”

  She was looking at something over his shoulder, so Shane turned to follow her gaze. He saw two middle-aged men dressed in what might have passed for vacation wear on other men: loose-fitting linen trousers and pastel-colored guayabera shirts. But the government-issue sunglasses and the listening devices each wore in his ear sort of spoiled the image. It took them no time to locate Sara and Shane, and they moved swiftly and with much purpose across the lobby toward them.

  “Wallington,” the first man said as
they approached, his voice completely lacking inflection, “we’ll take it from here. Morrisey is waiting for you outside in the car.”

  Sara nodded with clear resignation, then turned to Shane. “Good luck,” she said blandly. “I hope everything works out the way you hoped it would.” And although her voice may have been empty when she spoke, her eyes…

  Oh, God, her eyes, Shane thought. They were filled with regrets and wants and needs that he wished like hell he could stay and repair. There was so much he wanted to tell her in that moment, so much he wished he’d said the night before. But he couldn’t say those things now. Not with two strangers looking on. Not when Sara’s career might have been jeopardized with what he had to say.

  “Be happy,” she told him.

  As if that would be possible without her, he thought. But all he said in response was, “Yeah, thanks.”

  And then he was being escorted across the lobby and out the door, where not one, but two, nondescript, British-manufactured sedans idled at the curb. The back door of one swung open in a ghostly fashion, and one of Shane’s escorts directed him inside before following. The other man took a seat in the front, and a woman drove them away. He turned to look out the back window and saw Sara climbing into the back seat of the other car, but not before she glanced one last time in his direction. Without thinking, he lifted a hand in farewell, even though he wasn’t sure if she would see him. But he thought she smiled sadly before she crawled inside the other vehicle.

  And then, just like that, Sara was gone.

  Ten

  The palace at Marlestone, Penwyck’s capital and largest city, surpassed even what Shane had been sure were his own wildly exaggerated misconceptions. Even the city surpassed his expectations. He’d never traveled outside the United States, but he’d seen enough James Bond movies in his time to have a grasp on most of the major European capitals. Seeing Europe in person, however, he realized what a grave disservice he’d done in picturing the Old World way of life. As he and his RII companions drove through the streets of Marlestone, he saw that the city was aged like a fine antique, elegant and regal and distinguished, loaded with character and much like what he’d seen of London on the screen—only bigger and more three-dimensional. And where he’d figured the palace at Marlestone would be grand and refined, it was actually glorious and opulent.

  As the car made its way through vast wrought-iron gates that were opened by formally attired guards, Shane saw that the palace bore little resemblance to a castle with moats and turrets and a drawbridge, and instead looked more like a massive stately home. Three stories high, the gray limestone gleamed in the early-afternoon sun, its scores of windows glittering like fine gems. An immense stone reproduction of the family crest was fastened on an arching vault at the center of the building’s front, and the vast arching doorway reached nearly to the second floor.

  Must be one hell of a foyer, he thought. Then again, why was he surprised? It was one hell of a palace, too. As a construction worker, he could only admire the craftsmanship and skill and hard labor that had obviously gone into creating such a structure. Especially since he’d been told that the main part of the place had been built more than four hundred years ago.

  The car rolled to a halt at the front entrance, and a half-dozen people stepped forward to meet it. Shane searched the faces to see if one belonged to his brother, but everyone was a stranger. Introductions flew as he was hurried into the palace, and although Shane caught none of the names, he noted some of the titles, especially of the men and women associated with the RII. One woman was attached to the queen somehow, and a man, Shane thought, was one of her advisers. Frankly, his head was buzzing with information overload by then, so he only followed where they directed him.

  Gradually, he lost much of his entourage, until only a group of four people escorted him through the innards of the palace. None were the RII agents who had accompanied him from Maria Lupe, however. Still, all of his current companions seemed to be of the same worker-bee level as the others, because none expressed or exuded any kind of authority. Which probably meant they were taking Shane to the people who did have authority, when the only person he really wanted to see was Sara. Or his brother. Someone who could help keep him grounded when he felt like everything around him was flying apart.

  As he was led through what seemed like dozens of rooms and down dozens of corridors, past dozens of pieces of lavish furniture and paintings of dead nobility, Shane could only shake his head in wonder that there were people on the planet who actually lived this way. And the realization that there was some small possibility that he and Marcus might very well have been born to it, that, in other circumstances, they might very well have spent their entire lives in these very glorious, opulent surroundings was just…

  Well, kind of gross, actually, Shane thought. Hell, the last kind of life he wanted was one like this—filled with material excesses and unearned privilege and bowing and scraping from the general population. After all, he’d gone out of his way to avoid a life like this.

  Oh, he could have grown up in a situation like this. Okay, not quite like this, he conceded, as he and Marcus wouldn’t have been princes or living in a palace. But their mother and father had been very wealthy when they were kids. The house on Chicago’s Gold Coast that Shane recalled from his early childhood had, in many ways, been a minipalace, so ostentatious had both of his parents been. Their lifestyle had been that of the idle rich—he and Marcus had attended a posh private school and mixed with all the right families and they’d had anything and everything their little hearts desired. Except, of course, two parents who loved each other.

  But even after the divorce, when Shane had been split up from his twin, his life had continued in much the same fashion. His mother had remarried six months later, to a man very much like her first husband—wealthy, well connected, idle, willing to do anything for a buck. Although they had moved from Chicago to upstate New York, Shane’s lifestyle hadn’t changed at all. He’d still lived in a minipalace and attended the best schools and run around with boys from other rich families. He’d still been given everything he wanted, whether he worked for it or not. He’d still missed his parents’ involvement in his life. Things had been the same with his second stepfather. And his third.

  In fact, by the time Shane graduated from prep school, he was on the fast track to becoming a man just like the men who had raised him: wealthy, well connected, idle. And corrupt, too, because most of his mother’s husbands after his father had been men who hadn’t cared where their money came from or how it appeared, so long as it was at their disposal in great piles. Few had worked for a living. None had cared about anything other than themselves—and their money—which had become evident every time one of Shane’s mother’s marriages failed. The male role models he’d had throughout his life had left a lot to be desired. Oh, they’d been rich, to be sure. But they hadn’t much been human. Certainly not the kind of human that Shane wanted to be.

  Fortunately, he had been smart enough to realize that early on, and he’d made a pact with himself not to become one of them. Marcus had helped keep him centered, even though Marcus, too, grew up in the lap of luxury. Marcus had even worked hard to make sure he stayed rich and moved in the right circles to the point where he’d made his first million in real estate at the age of nineteen. But that had been the point—Marcus had worked. Marcus had earned his wealth. He hadn’t rested on what he had and let others do the work for him. Marcus had taken the initiative.

  So Shane had, too. Unfortunately, Shane didn’t have his brother’s head for business. Nor, truth be told, had he wanted it. Shane had always liked working with his hands, had liked performing physical labor more than mental tasks. And when he’d walked away from his mother’s lifestyle and journeyed into his own, he hadn’t really missed the riches and privilege. There had been something uniquely gratifying about making his own way in the world. For the first time in his life, he’d felt proud of himself, satisfied with himself.
He’d felt useful and purposeful and important. The first time he’d completed a construction job, and watched the building rise from ground to the sky, he’d felt an enormous sense of pride. He had a physical manifestation of his hard work, and it was one that would provide scores of other people with shelter.

  Whatever Shane had in his life, he’d earned it. All by himself. Working with his own two hands. And that made him feel proud. It made him feel worthy. It made him feel like he made an important contribution to the human race. Walking through the palace at Marlestone, however…

  Well, all Shane felt was uncomfortable. There was too much wealth here, in his opinion. Too much privilege. And none of it had been earned by the Penwyck family, other than being born to it. Which, okay, was probably perfectly acceptable in this country, but to his own way of thinking, hard work provided far greater rewards.

  After what felt like days of walking, Shane and his escorts finally halted by a door on the second floor of the palace. He assumed it would lead him to the throne room, or wherever the hell kings and queens did their business. Instead, he entered what looked like a bedroom—a really big, really luxurious bedroom—and his brother, Marcus, was standing by the window on the other side.

  “Shane!” he exclaimed by way of a greeting when he spun around at the sound of the opening door.

  As usual, Marcus’s dark brown hair managed to look both shaggy and stylish, and his green eyes were lit with genuine happiness. Likewise, as usual, he was dressed in a dark power suit, a discreetly patterned silk tie knotted at his throat. The entire ensemble had probably set him back more than Shane made in a month, he couldn’t help thinking with much amusement. At five-foot-ten, Marcus was a couple of inches shorter than Shane, but he carried himself in such a way as to make himself seem actually taller.