So much had happened during her stay here that she hadn’t had enough time to think or to sort out her thoughts. She was eager to visit the palace and observe the royal family where they lived and governed.
A change of scenery, the formality of the palace, should help to put her relationship with Nicholas on a more reserved footing. Just who was she kidding? After that kiss, he probably thought she’d come here to accept her part in the marriage contract. He might even be thinking she wanted to be his queen.
The thought had once amused her. Now it terrified her. She had to talk to Nicholas, tell him she’d made a huge mistake. Kissing him had been wonderful and terrible, and heat rose to her cheeks every time she remembered how close he’d held her, how she’d responded to him with a mindless passion.
Oh, damn, what had she done?
The king of Vashmira was a man of contrasts who both attracted and confused her, and marrying the man was out of the question. Sure, he could be warm and playful, as he had been when he’d pretended to be her taxi driver. He could be arrogant, as he had been when he’d asked her if she intended to obey their law and marry him. And he could be the most exciting of lovers, as he had been when he’d kissed her. But she had no intention of remaining in such a combustible situation.
They needed to talk, and then she would leave. Flee. She needed to tell him that their kiss hadn’t meant anything, that she had no intention of remaining in Vashmira and fulfilling the marriage contract. Someone else could investigate. Someone else could cover the story. It had been a mistake to come here. A bigger mistake to kiss him.
She needed to tell him she would forget about writing the story, if he’d just allow her to leave. She shouldn’t even stay until the coronation ceremony. So what if the newspaper fired her? Maybe she could get a teaching job somewhere, write her novel.
While she still didn’t believe Ira Hanuck’s assertion that the boat bomb had been aimed at her, it gave her the perfect excuse to leave. After all, Nicholas believed that her life was in danger. What rational woman wouldn’t get the heck out of Vashmira?
ERICKA HAD ASSUMED SHE would ride to the palace with Nicholas, but she’d ended up in a car with Alexander and Tashya. As much as she wanted to set things straight between Nicholas and herself, she couldn’t help appreciating the inside look at the royal family and intended to type up her impressions the first chance she got. Meanwhile she filed away mental notes of Tashya’s and Alexander’s teasing of one another and how easily they brought her into their conversations. Either they hadn’t spent much time around the press or they were very naive. However, Ericka had already made up her mind to write their stories by casting them in a good light. She just couldn’t believe that Alexander had it in him to murder his father and then his brother, and she planned to keep the ugly suspicion to herself. Brother and sister acted as if they had absolutely nothing to hide. If they wouldn’t censor themselves, she would take care to protect them.
The drive took less than an hour, and the palace loomed out of the mist like some storybook castle atop a mountain, hovering in the clouds. With a moat, a drawbridge and turrets, the castle had a whimsical appeal, but served as a daunting fortress. No wonder Nicholas had wanted to return here where the perimeter would be easier to secure. Palace guards in bright scarlet uniforms stood watch at the gates, but she also noted modern security cameras, voiceprint identification systems, and for the guards, headsets with mouthpieces and earphones and bulging jackets which indicated they were fully armed.
However professional palace security looked, they’d failed to prevent Zared I’s assassination, which had taken place right inside the royal office. She recalled Nicholas’ telling her they suspected an inside job and wondered if the person who had killed his father could now be gunning for Nicholas. In small countries, when the firstborn son was ruling and became a target, the second son had to be the primary suspect since he had the most to gain. She’d thought about this carefully.
After studying Alexander, however, after seeing his concern for his brothers, she just couldn’t believe he’d plotted first his father’s and now his brother’s murder. He didn’t seem power hungry or terribly ambitious. In fact, he seemed to be just what the press said he was, a handsome playboy mostly interested in women and partying.
However much she’d like to cross Alexander off her list of suspects, she couldn’t unless he had an irrefutable alibi. But there were other people on her list of suspects, possibly even Ira Hanuck, the palace chief of security. Who would have better access, know the chinks in the protection he himself had arranged, than the man in charge of protecting the king? But as far as Ericka knew, Ira had no motive unless he was working with someone else—someone like Alexander?
No, the thought was too horrible. She’d rather not think it. She knew that military coups took place with regularity in third-world countries and they were often carried out by the general in charge of the military. After they reached the palace, Ericka planned to speak with General Vladimir and take her measure of the man.
The inside of the palace which was decorated with a combination of contemporary and antique furnishings delighted Ericka. She knew that castles, while having glamorous images, tended to be drafty places, difficult to heat in winter. But Tashya had informed her on the way over that before his death their father had modernized the place, installing central heating, air-conditioning and new plumbing, as well as luxury appliances.
Ericka’s room was in the west wing, a spacious suite of rich emeralds and golds including a domed ceiling painted by Russian masters, mosaic floors warmed with Turkish carpets and a canopy bed big enough to hold a sultan and half his harem. Servants had neatly put away her belongings in closets and drawers. Her laptop waited on a gleaming wooden desk with graceful curving legs that looked as if it belonged in a museum.
She plugged in her computer, recharging the battery, and began to work. Her fingers flew over the keys, typing her impressions of Vashmira, its royal family and especially its king. As usual, she lost track of time while she worked, finally stopping when her neck ached.
She reread the story, editing her words, mostly going with her first impressions. Long ago she’d rewritten every word. She’d since trained herself to write cleanly on the first draft and hence didn’t require much of an edit. When she finished she saved and backed up her work onto two floppy disks. One she kept with her computer, the other she placed in her purse—an old habit that had saved her when the Chinese military had confiscated her computer on the way out of Beijing and again when her computer was stolen in India.
Tashya had informed Ericka dinner would be formal and at nine. Nicholas had invited his inner circle so she would meet the people he relied on to run his country. Although she was still determined to leave, she would make the most of the opportunity. She wanted to meet General Vladimir and those cabinet members closest to Nicholas. And hopefully she’d have a chance for a private moment with Nicholas to ask him to allow her to leave.
She got her opportunity sooner than she expected. Nicholas arrived at her door to escort her to dinner. Wearing a black vest with gold embroidery over a black silk shirt with a black tie and slacks, he looked every inch the king of his country. But it wasn’t the clothes that made the man, it was the confident set of his shoulders and the powerful air of command that he radiated when he entered her suite.
His eyes widened with heat as he took in her emerald spaghetti-strapped gown. “Nice dress.”
“Thanks. Nicholas, could I have a minute of your time?” she asked, a bit nervous now that it was time to tell him of her intention to leave.
“You can have as many minutes as you like.” His words were accompanied by an easy smile, but his eyes gave nothing away.
“I don’t think I should stay to cover the coronation ceremony.”
He didn’t say a word, simply raised his brow, crossed to her fully stocked wet bar and fixed them both a drink. He handed her a glass of chilled white wine, and she wasn’t t
he least surprised to find he’d stocked her favorite—which simply underscored her concern. Staying would be too easy.
She sipped, hoping the wine would give her the courage to get through the next part of the conversation—especially since she hadn’t believed one word of Ira Hanuck’s story that the boat had been aiming for her.
“Your security chief believes I was the target on the beach today. If he’s right, someone doesn’t want me here. They could try again—and my presence here could be putting your family at risk.”
“You believe that?” he asked with a perceptiveness that made her feel like cornered prey.
“I don’t know what to believe, but I do know our kiss this afternoon…”
“Yes?”
“Was a mistake.”
“I won’t apologize for it.”
“I’m not asking you to.” Her fingers clenched the wineglass stem so tightly she feared it might break. “But—”
“In fact, I’d like to kiss you again.”
Oh, God.
She wanted to kiss him again too, had to use every ounce of willpower not to say so.
What had he done to her? One kiss and she was ready to throw away her career and do it again. She had to be out of her mind.
He advanced and she retreated, until her calves knocked into a sofa. Abruptly she sat, avoiding the opportunity for kissing him again, avoiding his heated gaze, avoiding the need for her shaking knees to hold her up.
“My reputation is shot to hell because of our kiss.”
“No one’s here, now.”
“Damn you. That’s not the point. I’ve worked for years to build my reputation, and in one thoughtless moment, I’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked so hard to attain.”
“You haven’t.”
“Once that kiss is splashed across the front page of a newspaper, my credibility is gone.”
“So you aren’t afraid for your life—just your reputation?”
“My reputation is my life.”
“How do you Americans say it? No problem. I’ve taken care of it.”
“You took care of it all right. Did you think I’d agree to stay here and marry you if I lost my job?”
“I didn’t explain correctly.” He knelt before her, took the glass from her shaking fingers and placed it on a table cozily next to his own. “I asked the press not to show your face or reveal your name.”
“You did?” Surprise shot through her at his unexpected kindness. Not that she thought his request would do any good. But he’d done more than she’d expected.
All on his own he had recognized her problem and done his best to set things right. And she’d berated him for it, which made her feel lower than pond scum.
She’d like to believe this was all his fault, but she knew better. He’d given her time to avoid that kiss and she hadn’t turned away. On, no, she’d responded like some sex-starved teenager. She could only imagine the look on her face when she’d kissed him, cringed at that image flashing across the world.
“Usually, I don’t ask the press for favors, but this is also state business. I asked the reporters to give me privacy until after the coronation. I explained that the pictures would be worth more if you agreed to become my bride but that might not happen if you felt threatened by the paparazzi.”
Surely he couldn’t be so naive as to believe those pictures wouldn’t be sold within the hour. “And you expect them to honor your request?”
“Certainly.”
He sounded so sure his “request” would be obeyed that her reporter’s instinct kicked in. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Chapter Eight
He’d threatened to lock up any reporter who disobeyed his “request” to keep Ericka’s face and name out of the paper, but he had no intention of telling her that. He already knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t take kindly to his royal threats. Since he didn’t want her to hit him over the head with her freedom-of-the-press argument again, he didn’t respond to her question, but he didn’t lie to her either, clearly recalling how that strategy had backfired after he’d tried to tell her the boat’s explosion was an accident.
He admired a woman with a keen mind. He did. He even admired her gumption when she stood up for her own beliefs. However, he also recognized the inherent problems of allying himself with a woman so conscious of her freedoms. She would fight for freedom of the press even if those so-called freedoms ruined her career. Americans were big on liberty—but they didn’t share a border with Russia and Moldova or with Turkey, whose inflation rate would soon destabilize its government. Americans didn’t live in the turbulent Middle East where terrorism often arrived with breakfast and the morning paper.
Too many Vashmiran citizens still longed to return to communism. While Ericka might understand his concerns on an intellectual level, in her gut, she didn’t yet accept the delicate balance of social and political maneuvering required just to maintain the precarious freedoms they’d already won.
Ericka shook her head at him. “And Tashya said you don’t keep secrets.”
“I’ve taken extra security precautions.” He changed the subject to what he wanted to discuss, a useful negotiating technique. “You should be as safe in the palace as anywhere else. So, there’s no reason for you to go home.”
“There are so many errors in that statement, I don’t know where to begin.”
Pointedly, he checked his watch, then he offered her his arm. “I shall enjoy rebutting each and every one of your objections on the way to dinner.”
She didn’t move or say a word. She just speared him with a razor-sharp look that penetrated his composure and his defenses. He had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that she knew he had no intention of allowing her to leave, but had the good sense not to press the issue.
Rarely did a woman read him so well. Damn. Now that she was so suspicious, he vowed to place another guard in the west wing—not to protect her—he believed that angle was already covered, but to prevent her from attempting to escape, a political embarrassment he couldn’t afford so close to the coronation ceremony.
For now, she covered her irritation with an ease and skill that any queen would need to survive in Vashmira. Ericka had a fiery spirit wrapped up in an elegant package. She had courage—had risked her life to help him save the children—but perhaps she had too much courage, she certainly had no problem standing up to him.
Nicholas hated to admit it, but his father had chosen brilliantly. If he didn’t love Ericka, he could live with that. She was one fine woman, and he hoped they might eventually love one another, but right now, politics must take precedence. There was only one problem—she wanted to leave. He could see the flash of rebellion in her eyes for just a moment before she’d lowered her gaze. She might be fragile and feminine but beneath that soft and lovely exterior was a warrior-woman’s heart that he would have to win over. Because no matter how much he wanted her to become his wife, he wouldn’t force her against her will.
Luckily he still had a few cards to deal. Tashya had told him about Ericka’s dream of writing a novel. Perhaps he could convince her to stay in Vashmira, become his queen and write the book of her dreams.
Ericka stood and slipped her hand through his elbow. “Who have you invited to dinner?”
“Family and my inner circle. Alexander and Tashya and Sophia, of course. I thought it time for you to meet those people who help me run Vashmira. General Levsky Vladimir is in charge of our military and was one of my father’s oldest friends. Peter Surak is my brilliant economic advisor. His wife Janna, however, is overly ambitious and quite disagreeable.”
“Then why keep him?” she asked, clearly back in reporter mode.
As much as he wanted to speak of more personal matters, he knew she would need this information for her articles. He responded as diplomatically as he could. “Peter’s conservatism keeps me from changing things too quickly and is a constant reminder that not all my people wish to go forward. And every on
ce in a while, he comes up with extraordinary ideas.”
“Who else will be there?”
“My secretary of state, Anton Belosova, his wife Natalie and daughter Larissa, whom you’ve already met at the beach house.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
She could be amazingly perceptive. “Anton is a good man. And I suppose I owe Natalie, who often fills in as royal hostess when my sister’s out of town as Sophia is in mourning. Besides, without Natalie’s ambition, Anton might still be a fisherman.”
He had to admire her restraint. Although she obviously still had many more questions about his staff, she didn’t voice them. Instead, she held her head high, almost floating down the hallways, and he marvelled at how gracefully she managed the winding staircase in her long gown and high heels.
He’d considered having a private dinner for just the two of them, but after the intensity of their kiss and her panicked reaction to the Vashmiran paparazzi, he felt she needed some room. Besides, he needed to see how she would react to his inner circle. Although Tashya, Alexander and Sophia adored her for her unselfish act of bravery on the beach, he wanted to test her diplomatic skills. The thought didn’t sound very nice, but too often Nicholas had to put the needs of his country before his own needs or even Ericka’s for that matter. He couldn’t forget that the woman he chose as his queen needed the tactfulness of a skilled diplomat. He wasn’t sure the oh-so-honest Ericka Allen had that ability. On the other hand, her kisses might more than make up for the lack.
She conducted herself with immense dignity, entering the room with a warm expression as though she truly enjoyed formal dinners with strangers. But, of course, she didn’t know about the sometimes ferocious debates—not yet. Perhaps he should have warned her, but she’d find out for herself soon enough. Besides, he suspected Ericka Allen could hold her own with the best politicians, which was why she was such a respected journalist, and why it would be difficult to convince her to give up that career.
Royal Target Page 11
