Royal Protocol (Crown & Glory Book 3)

by Christine Flynn

  For years she’d lived her life through and for her daughter and her queen, and somehow that had always been enough.

  Now she knew it would never be enough again.

  It was with that unsettling realization that she offered a strained smile to the guards in the foyer and started toward the wide stairway that curved upstairs.

  Because she was known to them, the guards at the foot of the stairs let her pass. Since her apartment was down past Princess Ana’s rooms, the upstairs guards knew her, too. It was only when she headed toward the opposite wing that one of them stopped her.

  The lanky soldier appeared to be half her age, a fresh-faced young man life had yet to rob of his innocence. “I’m sorry, ma’am” he said, his voice a few octives from real authority. “This area has been secured.”

  She wondered if Harrison had ever appeared that young.

  The sudden thought gave her pause. She truly doubted that he had. A man robbed of his childhood would have grown up feeling very old inside. Old and unwanted.

  “I need to speak with Admiral Monteque.” She really didn’t need Harrison messing with her heart right now. What she needed was simply to find him. “I understand he’s in Prince Owen’s rooms.”

  “He’s not here, ma’am. He left about half an hour ago.”

  “What about Colonel Prescott?”

  “He left with him.”

  “Then, Duke Logan or Sir Selwyn?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “They aren’t here, either.”

  Behind him, she could see a few men conversing in a knot near the end of the long burgundy-carpeted wing by Prince Owen’s rooms, but without a single member of the RET around, she had no hope of gaining information from any one of them.

  The fact that the entire RET had suddenly left gave her pause.

  “What about a rather-dashing looking gentleman with black hair and green eyes?” she inquired, thinking of the enigmatic man they had turned to for help. “He’s not military.”

  It was doubtful that Duke Gage Weston had been introduced to anyone. Or, that either of the decidedly youthful men respectfully keeping her at bay would know who he was. International spies tended to keep low profiles.

  “I don’t know about the dashing part,” the soldier qualified, frowning at the term, “but a civilian with dark hair left with them, ma’am.”

  “With whom?”

  “The admiral and the colonel.”

  A black gun strap slashed his red jacket. Clipped to it at his shoulder was a small communicating device. She nodded toward it. “Can you reach either one of them on that?”

  “I’d have to go through the security office, but I could get a message to them, ma’am.”

  “Would you do that, please? Just tell Admiral Monteque that the queen has a question.”

  The young man was most obliging. In a matter of minutes a call came back.

  “He sent a message asking you to meet him in the foyer.”

  “Thank you…Corporal,” she said, double-checking his insignia to be sure of his rank. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  Gwen didn’t stop when she reached the foyer. Instead she crossed the expansive space, turned into the alcove and slipped behind the false column obscuring the door to the underground tunnel the royals used. She didn’t know how many relays her call had taken to get through to Harrison, but she had the feeling it had been several. It was doubtful that a cell signal would reach into the depths of the tunnel. Considering all of the high-tech equipment she’d seen behind the glass guard-wall, the signal probably would have been blocked, anyway.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the door gave way with a faint squeak. In the small space separating her from the door ahead of her, she reached for the handle of the second one.

  It opened on its own.

  Her heart gave a startled jerk. It bumped her ribs again when she saw Harrison blocking her path.

  His dark eyebrows jammed together. “How did you know where I was?”

  The craggy lines of his face revealed far more curiosity than displeasure. “It just made sense,” she replied, dropping her hand from her heart. “You were all together with Duke Weston and the tunnel is the closest secure place for all of you to talk.”

  Holding the big door open with one hand, he quietly scanned her face. She studied his just as openly. The light from the overhead bulb was bright and unforgiving.

  “Where do you want to talk?” he asked.

  “Wherever you want,” she replied, curling her fingers to keep from touching the haggard lines carved by his mouth. “The queen just needs to know everything you’ve come up with.”

  “Everything?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Does she want to see me?”

  She shook her head, wishing now that she hadn’t interrupted him. Her request only added to the demands weighing on him. But the reason for her request was to ease the mind of the queen.

  Torn, she murmured, “You can just tell me and I’ll pass it on.”

  He looked as if he were running on nothing but sheer will as he reached for her hand. “Then, let’s talk right here,” he said, and tugged her through the doorway.

  They wouldn’t be overheard here. They wouldn’t even be seen. There were no people. No bugs. No cameras. Considering that, Harrison wearily leaned against the old limestone wall and pulled her to him. He was too tired to wrestle with why he wanted her in his arms. He just knew that he did.

  She came willingly, her body going soft against his.

  “Everything,” he repeated, smoothing his hand over her hair to coax her head to his shoulder. He breathed in her scent, felt himself stir in some places, relax in others. Interesting, he thought, the range of effects she had on him.

  “You were told the wing is secure?”

  “We were.” She nodded against his chest, her voice soft, calming. “But that was all.”

  “I didn’t want to send any more information by guard,” he told her. “We didn’t find any evidence of sabotage, but while the team was searching for planted devices we did discover that the king’s apartments had been searched. By a pro,” he added, more interested at the moment in how good Gwen felt than the unforgivable breach in security. “Nothing appeared disturbed on the surface. That was why the security team that checked the area after the prince’s kidnapping didn’t look further.

  “But we got Selwyn in there with Gage a while ago,” he continued, liking the easy way she snuggled against him. “Since Selywn is the king’s private secretary, he had a good idea of what was kept where. Between the two of them, it was apparent that someone went through pretty much everything looking for something.”

  She tipped her head back, curiosity locking her eyes on his. “Any idea what?”

  “None.”

  Curiosity faded. “I’m sorry.”

  He heard regret in her tone. He could even see it in the fragile lines of her face. But that regret didn’t seem to be so much for the lack of information as it was for the disappointment and frustration that lack brought him.

  He wasn’t accustomed to that sort of caring. The sympathy touched him, but the caring brought a hint of need he forced himself to ignore in order to concentrate.

  “We also might know where they’re keeping Owen. We know Gunther Westbury lives in a villa on Majorco,” he told her, aware that her entire body had just gone on alert. “Gage knows the place, but it’s practically inaccessible because of the way it’s situated above the ocean. We think the Black Knights may have Owen there.”

  “How will you find out for sure?”

  “That’s what we’re working on now. We need surveillance first to see if we can spot him, or anything that looks as if a particular area of the place is being guarded. If we do, we’ll take it from there.”

  Gwen fell silent. She just stood in his arms, her hands flat on his lapels and her eyes searching his face.

  He had no idea why the concern crept into her expression, but he no
w recognized her look as easily as he would his own face in the mirror.

  “Then, you need to get back to your meeting,” she finally said.

  She understood his priorities. She knew that his obligations demanded his attention. He’d never known a woman who’d appreciated how little choice he had when it came to responsibilities. But then, he supposed, she would understand. Duty was her life, too.

  Reluctance had him drawing a deep breath. “I know,” he murmured, and slipped his hand around the back of her neck.

  He’d thought he’d been relieved when the phone had interrupted before. But he realized now that he’d been robbed of this. This chance to simply hold her.

  Edging her closer, he lowered his head. “I should have thought of meeting you here myself.”

  He brushed his lips over hers, thinking just to taste her and let her go. But that small contact wasn’t enough. So he pulled her closer, drank more deeply and felt his body jolt with the memory of being inside her.

  Gwen felt his body harden, felt the muscles in his chest and thighs go deliciously tight. It hadn’t been her intention to seek privacy with him. At least the thought hadn’t been a conscious one. She’d just wanted information to take back to Marissa and she had wanted it as soon as she could get it.

  Any further thought of her purpose dissolved under the gentle assault of his kiss. His scent was familiar to her now. Citrus aftershave and warm male. The combination mingled with the taste of strong coffee and the feel of his hand pressing the small of her back. He fitted her to him like old lovers, seeking her softness, altering her breathing, weakening her knees.

  His own breathing seemed a little ragged when he finally lifted his head and settled his hands on her shoulders.

  “We both need to go,” he murmured.

  Looking sorely tempted to kiss her again, he eased her back. For good measure he dropped his hands and opened the door so she would leave.

  Later, he told himself, as he watched her give him a little nod and murmur, “Good night.” Later, he repeated, when she walked past the door he held and disappeared behind the one beyond. That was when he would think about what he was doing with her.

  Right now he needed to find the prince.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We have a profile shot of the prince through one of the windows on the cliff side. Looks like a storage room. Bars on the window. No balcony. No visible exterior access. The villa is walled and guarded by at least a dozen men. There are probably more, but that’s all we can count in the photographs.”

  Pierce slid the sheets of reconnaissance photographs across the mahogany conference table. Low clouds and fog had hung over the island of Majorco all day, making recon shots impossible until the weather had finally given them a break an hour before sunset.

  Harrison and Sir Selwyn stood shoulder to shoulder, studying what had come off the intelligence satellite feed only minutes ago.

  “Look here.” Harrison pointed to a shot of another storage room. “This second window. You can see racks of guns and boxes of ammo.”

  “Here, too.” Pierce indicated another barred window. “They have a regular arsenal.”

  Harrison scanned the photos, sweeping past some, studying others more closely. “Then, we’ll take an arsenal with us, too. I’ll get an RNS team in here to go over these with you, Colonel.” The Royal Navy SEALs were the only men for the job. “They’re going to need maps of that end of the island. Land and underwater. That shoreline looks too rocky to get in close with an amphibious launch. They can scuba in from an air drop, but they won’t be able to bring him out over those boulders. Especially if he’s injured. We need to coordinate a chopper pickup or stuff a vehicle back in the trees to get them to a pickup point. It’ll depend on the weather and how the team captain sees his options.”

  “Are you going to try for a rescue tonight?”

  Harrison hesitated. In theory the rescue could be put together in a matter of hours. “We have good teams here we could use. But the best of the best is training off the Hebrides.” He glanced at his watch. “If I send for them now, it will be 2:00 a.m. before they can get here. It could be daybreak before they’d be ready to go. We need the cover of darkness for this.”

  Pondering his colleague’s conclusions, Sir Selwyn straightened. “Are you saying you want to wait?”

  “I’m saying I don’t want to blow this. The extra time will allow us to get my best team onboard and put backups in place. We have one shot to rescue the prince. The more contingencies we plan for and the more information we can gather about what’s going on in that villa, the better chance we have at success. If we can get it put together tonight and have time before dawn, then we go for it. If not, we wait.”

  As if starting a mental clock, Selwyn gave a slow, considering nod. “The treaty is being signed at the banquet. Right about eight.”

  No one was more aware of the time factor than Harrison was. “Then, that means if we don’t get in there tonight, we have until just after dark tomorrow.”

  He wouldn’t rush if he had a choice. Mistakes were made when an operation was thrown together. Critical points could be overlooked. Had this information not been discovered until tomorrow, then he would have had no choice but to act with what they had. But there was a choice, and whenever he had options, he inevitably chose the one guaranteed the greatest chance of success—even if success meant taking a calculated risk.

  Selwyn and Pierce both knew how his mind worked. They also knew he was a master of logistics.

  “I’ll get someone on those maps,” Pierce said, tacitly agreeing to the plan as he turned toward the door. “We could use some night-vision shots of the villa, too. That’s the easiest way to get a body count to see how many men our guys will be up against.”

  Running through a mental check list, Harrison absently pushed his hand into his pants pocket. His knuckle rolled over a pea-size metal ball. “I’ll get a jet up.”

  “Will you inform Lady Corbin?” asked Sir Selwyn.

  The metal ball had a stem. Rolling it between his fingers, Harrison considered the question for all of two seconds. “I need to call in the team and scramble another plane to get those night shots,” he replied, letting the stem go. “It would be better if you do that.”

  “I’ll be glad to. It was just that she asked about you when I told her that the surveillance planes had been sent up this morning. Since you’ve been working so closely together, I thought perhaps you might want to see her yourself.”

  Harrison couldn’t imagine Gwen saying anything that would give the king’s secretary reason to look at him with such speculation. Unless, he thought, the curiosity was there simply because of the circumstances. The entire RET knew the two of them had been thrown together a lot lately. They also had to be aware that the initial friction between them no longer existed.

  What they couldn’t possible know was that the relationship had turned into something it shouldn’t have.

  Keeping his tone deceptively disinterested, he stepped toward the phone on the credenza. “She asked about me?”

  “It was actually more of a comment,” the very proper gentleman admitted. “She said she hoped you’d managed to get some rest last night.”

  “We could all use that.”

  “Indeed. Well,” Selwyn said, his speculation fading at Harrison’s less than enlightening response. “I’d best go find her, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. Speaking with Lady Corbin has been one of my more pleasant duties lately.”

  His, too, Harrison thought solemnly, and watched Selwyn follow Pierce from the room.

  The door closed automatically, but he didn’t pick up the telephone as he’d intended. Instead, he pulled the little gold ball from his pocket by its gold stem and held it in his palm.

  He’d found the earring in the center of his desk blotter this morning. The cleaning people had obviously come across it and put it there.

  It was Gwen’s.
He recognized it because he’d noticed her wearing it last night. Thinking he would return it to her when he gave her an update for the queen this morning, he had slipped it into his pocket. But the more he’d thought about seeing her and the more he thought about what had happened between them, the greater had become his need for distance. So, he’d sent Selwyn to see her instead.

  He had no business being with her.

  He had no business wanting her.

  He understood sex well enough. There wasn’t anything terribly complicated about the human sex drive. It was everything else she made him feel that he didn’t comprehend. Or trust. He had never craved softness before, or felt a need like he had in the moments before he’d first reached for her in his office. He’d begun to feel that same need when he’d held her during those stolen moments in the tunnel. He’d felt it again when he’d awakened that morning.

  There was something about her that seemed almost necessary to him. It felt unfamiliar to want anything that badly. Unfamiliar, and more than a little threatening.

  He turned to the phone, punched in a couple of numbers. There was nothing complicated about how he dealt with threat, either. His defenses simply slammed into place. But even with the excuse of a rescue mission allowing him the distance he needed for the moment, he knew he couldn’t put off facing her forever. The problem was that when he did see her, he had no idea what he was going to say.

  Gwen wasn’t the sort of woman for a quick affair. She was a lady with a reputation to protect. Yet he wasn’t prepared to offer her anything more.

  Gwen had fallen asleep on the sofa in the queen’s drawing room sometime after three o’clock in the morning. She awoke a little after seven to the light rap on the main door.

  Her first thought was that it had to be news of Owen. Sir Selwyn had told them that he had been sighted and that there was a slight possibility of a rescue last night. Her second thought was that it would be Harrison bringing that news.