The Princess's Bodyguard

by Beverly Barton

  "Yes, they are, aren't they? And wasn't it breafhtak-ingly romantic—" Dia laid her hand over her heart ''—the way Matt swept you away from both of them and took you to the beach to be alone?"

  "It wasn't exactly romantic. It was overwhelming. You know, Dia, if you and Theo hadn't shown up when you did, I'm not sure what might have happened."

  "Well, catching you and Matt in such a passionate em­brace certainly let the wind out of your two new admirers' sails. Stavros and Antonio couldn't leave fast enough." Dia placed her hand on Adele's shoulder. "Are you falling in love with your bodyguard?"

  Adele gasped. "What a silly question. Most certainly not. No. Matt O'Brien has a certain earthy, animal mag­netism that. . .interests me. As it would any woman. And I think he finds me attractive."

  Dia blew out a long whistle. "I'll say he finds you at­tractive. The way you two were going at it last night on the beach, in another five minutes he'd have had you on the ground with your dress hiked up to your waist."

  "Dia! How vulgar! I was about to put a stop to things just as you and Theo showed up."

  "Sure you were."

  "I was!"

  "If he agrees to marry you, he's going to expect sex."

  "Then, I'll have to make him understand it's out of the question. We can hardly have the marriage annulled if we—"

  "No one would know if you did. Just you and Matt." "Dia!"

  "Are you going to ask him tonight?"

  "Ask him to marry me? Yes, I hope to find a few mo­ments alone with him."

  "Perhaps you should suggest he take you for another walk on the beach."

  "Absolutely not. I don't want to give him the wrong impression."

  "Too late. You gave him quite an impression last night, and right or wrong it's the one that he'll remember."

  "I'll simply have to correct any mistaken assumptions." Adele lifted the sheer silk shawl off the hanger and put it on, draping the edges over her arms on either side so that they flowed loosely atop the skirt of her gown. ' 'Maybe I can speak to Matt and we can clear things up before the party. If he agrees to marry me, we can announce our engagement at the party. Do you think Theo would make the announcement for me?''

  "I'll persuade Theo." Dia grasped Adele's arm. "But now isn't a good time to speak to Matt."

  "I thought you said he was still in his room dressing."

  "He is, but. . ." Dia pulled Adele closer and whispered, "Theo has invited a special guest tonight, a man who is an old acquaintance. This man, Mr. Khalid, is internation­ally infamous."

  "Theo always invites interesting people to his parties. But what does this Mr. Khalid have to do with my not talking to Matt before the party?''

  "Theo has arranged for Matt to speak to Mr. Khalid about the Royalists, and Dedrick in particular. Theo agreed that I could tell you about Matt's meeting with Mr. Khalid."

  "I must confess that I'm confused. How does—?"

  "Mr. Khalid knows people. All sorts of people. Theo believes that he can find out the information you need about Dedrick."

  "Is this man some sort of spy? Or is he a criminal?"

  "Both, I suspect. And I'm certain Khalid is an alias. I have no idea how Theo knows the man, but he seems to trust him. He has told me very little and warned me not to mention Mr. Khalid to anyone. He made an exception for you, of course."

  "And Matt is going to meet with him tonight?''

  "Before the party. In private. Mr. Khalid is already here. In the library. Waiting."

  Matt followed Theo into the room, then stood aside while Theo closed and bolted the door to his private do­main within the villa. A lone man sat in a darkened corner of the library, his face half in shadows. Matt held back and waited while Theo crossed the tile floor and spoke quietly to his guest.

  "It is good of you to come tonight," Theo said. "And I appreciate your arriving early to speak to my new friend, Matthew O'Brien. As I've told you, Matt works for the Dundee Agency and is presently employed as Princess Adele's bodyguard. I explained the circumstances."

  The man rose from the chair, his movements quick and precise, like a large, black panther responding to the scent of nearby prey. Theo motioned for Matt, and when Matt came up beside the other two men, he realized how tall this mystery man was. A good four inches taller than Theo and probably two or three inches taller than Matt. So that would make him at least six-four. A large man. Muscular and lean in his black tuxedo. His thick black hair hung past his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed black mustache and goatee added to his ruthless appearance despite his formal attire. A white scar, the width of a pencil, marred the perfection of one bronze cheek.

  Matt held out his hand. "Thank you for meeting with me."

  The man took Matt's hand and they exchanged a firm, solid shake. "You may call me Khalid."

  The guy's accent sounded upper-class British, but Matt caught another underlying accent. English probably wasn't his native language, but he had mastered it to perfection. Almost. What was Khalid's nationality? Matt wondered. It was hard to tell by just looking at him. His physical ap­pearance hinted of a Middle Eastern heredity, perhaps Greek and Turk. And a hint of something else. British, maybe? Or at least Anglo-Saxon.

  "Mr. Khalid, I need information about a group who call themselves the Royalists," Matt said. "I need to know who in Orlantha are members of this organization, and—'' Matt glanced at Theo, double checking to make sure Theo trusted this man completely and Theo nodded ''—if De­drick Vardan, Duke of Roswald, is a member of this group, I need some sort of proof that he is."

  "Proof that will hold up in court?''

  Khalid's black eyes studied Matt, as if he were a spec­imen under a microscope. Hell, this guy was giving him the heebie-jeebies. And it took a lot to unnerve Matt O'Brien. An aura of danger and indescribable power em­anated from Theo Constantine's mysterious guest. Matt had run into a lot of different kinds of people over the years, in the air force and since joining Dundee, so he'd learned how to judge others and divide the good from the bad. But he was getting some mighty confusing vibes from this guy. Matt's instincts warned him that this was a man who was both good and bad, and more than capable of destroying any enemy in his path. And doing it with a certain amount of satisfaction.

  Matt cleared his throat. "If you can get that sort of proof, it would be good."

  "That type of proof might be impossible to find," Khalid said.

  "I understand. What I have to have is enough proof to convince King Leopold of the duke's treachery."

  "As you know, the duke is betrothed to Princess Adele," Theo said, "and the wedding is set for a few weeks from now."

  "You are doing this with Princess Adele's knowledge and approval," Khalid said to Matt.

  "Yes," Matt replied. "And if it's a matter of money—" When Matt heard Theo's indrawn breath, he realized he'd made a really stupid mistake. "Sorry. I assumed you'd need a reason to do such an enormous favor. I realize it won't be easy coming up with this kind of information. I already have a couple of Dundee agents working with Orlantha's vice chancellor."

  "No offense taken, Mr. O'Brien." Khalid clamped his large hand down on Theo's shoulder. "I will do this as a favor for an old and trusted friend."

  "Thank you," Matt said. "I'll be in your debt."

  "Yes, thank you," Theo said. "The princess is very dear to my wife."

  The corners of Khalid's lips lifted ever so slightly, but he did not smile. Matt wondered if this guy had ever smiled. He looked as if he might be made out of stone. Or at least some hard, unbendable material. Steel? Or some­thing even more sturdy? Some new high-tech material that was indestructible? Matt wasn't sure. But he sensed he could trust this stranger to get the proof he needed.

  Dedrick and his comrade shared a private talk after their secret meeting with the handful of other royalists who re­sided in Erembourg. Sitting across from each other in a local tavern, Dedrick flirted with the waitress while his friend scowled at him.

  "Bring our drinks, girl," t
he man ordered, and the wait­ress scurried away to fetch their ale. He turned his heated glare on Dedrick. "Your scandalous womanizing will be the ruin of you."

  "At least I do not have ice water flowing through my veins as you do."

  "Humph! I do not want to have to jerk you out of some woman's bed in the morning when Princess Adele is re­turned to the palace. You are to go straight home from here and get a good night's sleep, so that when your bride is returned to you and King Leopold summons you, you will arrive at the palace fresh and with your wits about you."

  "How can you be certain that this man—this merce­nary—you hired will be able to bring Adele home?"

  "He is a professional. He will use whatever means nec­essary."

  "He'll probably have to kill the agent the king hired," Dedrick said. "His Majesty informed me only today that he trusts this man to protect Adele and bring her safely home."

  "We cannot take any chances. We need the princess home now. I do not trust this Mr. O'Brien. Nor do I trust the princess. The marriage must take place, and she must be persuaded that you are not a Royalist. Once she is back in Erembourg, I think you should suggest moving up the date of the wedding. The sooner she is your blushing bride, the better."

  "I agree." Dedrick smiled wickedly. "I rather like the fact that she will be an unwilling bride. She will learn quickly that I am not a man who will abide her hysterics."

  "You will do nothing to anger the king." He reached across the table and grabbed Dedrick by the throat. ' 'Mar­rying the princess is only the first step in our plan, you fool!"

  Dedrick gasped for air. His comrade released him.

  "One day I shall make you pay for every insult." De­drick rubbed his throat.

  "But until that day, you will follow my instructions. Once you and Princess Adele are husband and wife, you will give her no reason to go crying to her father. Is that understood?"

  "You take all the fun out of it."

  His comrade growled.

  Dedrick huffed. "I understand. I will handle Adele with kid gloves. Until I rule Orlantha and Balanchine."

  Adele didn't even see Matt until after the party had al­ready started. Dia had joined Theo downstairs to greet their guests, and Adele stood on the landing with Phila and Faith Sheridan as they watched the early arrivals. Adele could remember when she'd been allowed to spy on her father's guests when she was Phila's age. She'd taken great delight in being a voyeur, and dreamed of the day when she would be old enough to attend the grand affairs at the royal palace.

  "All the ladies look so beautiful," Phila said.

  "Yes, they're lovely," Faith agreed, a wistful look in her eyes.

  Adele wondered if the plain, shy Miss Sheridan had ever attended an elegant gala. Probably not. Such a shame. Everyone, even quiet, shy little nannies should get a chance once in their lives to be Cinderella at the ball.

  "There's Mr. O'Brien," Phila said. "He is very hand­some. Almost as handsome as my papa."

  When Adele saw Matt, her heart skipped a beat. He was very handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, classically good-looking in a very Black-Irish sort of way.

  "Who is that talking to Mr. O'Brien?" Phila asked.

  Adele hadn't noticed anyone except Matt. Devastatingly attractive in his black tuxedo, he had gained and held her complete attention. Her gaze traveled from Matt to the man beside him. Adele gasped. Taller than Matt. Dark skin. Long black hair. Mustache and goatee. And a vicious white scar on his right cheek. Just looking at this man from a distance made Adele's blood run cold. Was this the mys­terious Mr. Khalid? Of course it was. Who else could it be? The infamous Mr. Khalid who might be a spy or a criminal. And what else was he? Adele decided that she was probably better off not knowing.

  "I have no idea who he is," Adele lied. "He's probably a business associate of your papa's." No, Mr. Khalid was no ordinary businessman, Adele thought.

  "Phila, we can stay only a few more minutes," Faith told the child. "Your mama said fifteen minutes of ob­serving and that was all."

  Phila groaned. "Yes, I know."

  Adele patted Phila's cheek. "Don't be sad, sweetheart. Before you know it, you'll be old enough to wear a beau­tiful gown and join your parents at their parties."

  Phila shook her head. ''That will be ages and ages from now. I'm only seven, and Mama says I must be sixteen before I can attend one of their parties, and then I can stay only until midnight."

  "Well, I must join the festivities now," Adele said. "I'll see you in the morning."

  "Good night, Aunt Adele."

  Adele kissed her godchild, then smiled at Faith Sheridan who returned the smile.

  When she began her descent from the landing, she looked down to see Matt waiting alone at the bottom of the staircase. He was gazing up at her, watching her closely. A scene from an old American movie flashed through her mind. Rhett Butler at the bottom of the stairs, smiling devilishly at Scarlett O'Hara.

  When she reached the foot of the stairs, Matt took her arm and draped it over his. "Good evening, Your High­ness."

  "Good evening, Matt."

  "You look beautiful," he told her quietly.

  "So do you," she said.

  He grinned.

  As he led her through the throng of guests, she leaned over and whispered, "Did Mr. Khalid agree to help us?"

  Matt stopped dead still and glared at her. "How did you know?"

  "Dia told me."

  "Theo shared that information with her?"

  "Of course. She's his wife."

  "You are aware of the fact that Khalid probably isn't his real name and that even meeting him could prove to be dangerous if you—"

  "Is he a spy?"

  "Is that what Dia thinks?" Matt asked.

  "Either that or some sort of international criminal."

  Matt groaned.

  "What's wrong? Why that reaction?"

  "You don't need to know who or what he is," Matt told her. "Theo made it perfectly clear that the man's true identity is none of my business."

  "How does Theo know him?"

  "Did anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?'' Adele made a face at Matt, who promptly led her out onto the dance floor. Theo had flown in a small orchestra from Athens and they played modern renditions of clas­sical and semiclassical music, tunes suitable for dancing.

  Matt swept her along with the rhythm, his strong arms holding her, his talented feet quite adept, never once mak­ing a misstep.

  "You're a very good dancer," she said.

  "So I've been told."

  "I'll bet. And from more than one woman, no doubt." Matt shrugged. "Lots of women?"

  Matt grinned. "What did I tell you about curiosity?''

  "Sometimes you can be rather aggravating." Tilting her chin, Adele turned up her nose in a haughty manner.

  Matt chuckled. "If that's not the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is."

  "The pot calling the kettle. . .?" Adele looked at him, puzzled by his comment. What an odd thing to say. It must be some sort of Americanism, she thought. "Is that your way of telling me that I, too, can, on occasion, be aggra­vating?"

  "Princess, since the moment I met you, you've been nothing but aggravating."

  "Is that so? Well, I seem to recall that last night you didn't find my company all that unpleasant. On the con­trary—"

  Adele gasped when Matt hurriedly danced her across the room, through a set of open French doors and out onto the upper terrace. Several people strolled on the terrace, a few were sitting and one couple was huddled in a dark corner. Matt pulled her to a halt near the edge of the bal­cony.

  "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "What will people think?"

  "They'll think I wanted to be alone with you." He glanced around at the other people on the terrace. "Looks like we might have to find another place for privacy."

  "Why do we need privacy?" Her heartbeat thumped loudly, sending a pulsating cadence through her body.

  "To talk," he rep
lied.

  "Oh." Why did she feel disappointed by his answer? she wondered. What had she hoped he would say?

  "Hey, honey, if you want a repeat of last night, then we should head down to the beach."

  She knew he was joking with her. It was easy enough to see that he could barely keep from laughing. "You're right. We need to talk. About last night, for one thing."

  "What's to talk about?" he asked. "What happened seems self-explanatory to me."

  "I can assure you that I'm not in the habit of—"

  "Yeah, that was pretty obvious."

  Adele huffed loudly. "How dare you!"

  "How dare I what?"

  "How dare you imply that my kissing technique was amateurish. I'll have you know that I've kissed doz­ens. . . hundreds of men. And no one has ever complained."

  "I wasn't complaining," he told her. "Just making an observation."

  "That my kisses are less than adequate?"

  "I wouldn't put it that way. I enjoyed our kissing, even if I could tell you haven't had a great deal of practice."

  "I told you that—"

  "Yeah, I know. You've kissed hundreds of men." Matt shook his head, feigning sadness. "Undoubtedly these men didn't teach you very much."

  Adele spluttered. She saw red. Literally. A red rage that colored everything around her. Okay, so she had exagger­ated the number of men she'd kissed. Not hundreds. A couple of dozen. And at least half of those had been rel­atives and close friends whom she had kissed on the cheek. Dedrick had kissed her once, and she'd been so disgusted by his actions that she'd refused to allow him near her again.

  "There's a lot I could teach you," Matt said.

  "I do not want you to teach me anything. All I want is for you to agree to—''

  "There you are, Princess." An elderly gentleman walked toward them, and she immediately recognized him as Theo's uncle, Milo Spaneas. "I hope your young man can spare you for a dance."

  "Of course, Mr. Spaneas. I'd love to dance with you."

  "Uncle Milo," he corrected her. "You are like a sister to our dear Dia, therefore I am Uncle Milo to you. Al­ways."

  Adele lowered her voice, smiled sweetly at Matt and said, "We'll finish this discussion later."