by Nora Roberts
“Let her go,” Armand ordered when Reeve was halfway across the room. “She’s looked after. I tell you she’s looked after,” he repeated when Reeve continued toward the door. “Let her go.”
The words wouldn’t have stopped him, but the tone did. There was pain in it, the same vibrant pain Reeve had heard in Armand’s voice that day in the hospital waiting room. Because of it, he paused at the doorway and looked back.
“Don’t you know her every movement is watched?” Armand said quietly. “So closely that I know where she spent last night.” Weariness exposed, he sat.
Reeve stayed where he was, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t missed how often servants busied themselves near Brie, but he’d thought it Alexander’s doing. “You have her spied on?”
“I have her looked after,” Armand said very slowly. “Do you think I’d leave her safety to chance, Reeve? Or even in your very capable hands alone? I needed you for all the reasons I’ve stated, but with my daughter’s life I use everything available to me.” Armand ran his hands over his face briefly, but the gesture was his first outward sign of tension. “Please, close the door and stay. It’s time you know more than I’ve told you.”
A man had to trust his instincts. He could live or die by them. Reeve shut the door quietly and came back to the desk. “What game are you playing, Armand?”
“One that will keep my country, my people at peace. One that will, God willing, bring my child back, safe and whole. One that will bring those who wish it differently punished.” He picked up the smooth white rock. “Well punished,” he whispered as he squeezed his hand tight. He’d vowed it already to the wife he’d loved and lost.
“You know who took her.” Reeve’s voice was quiet, but the anger still vibrated beneath. “You’ve known all along.”
“Know of one, suspect another.” Armand’s hand opened and closed on the rock. “You suspect, as well.” His eyes, hard and cold, stayed on Reeve’s. “I’m not unaware that you’ve looked into matters, studied the facts, have certain theories. I’d expected no less. However, I hadn’t expected you to share your thoughts with Gabriella.”
“Who had a better right?”
“I’m her father, but her ruler first. Her rights are mine to give, mine to take.” The arrogance was there, the cold, hard power Reeve recognized, even admired.
“You’ve used her.”
“And you,” Armand agreed. “And others. The picture’s too large, too complex to bring it down to the kidnapping of my daughter. Her Serene Highness Gabriella de Cordina was abducted. My actions are as a result.”
“Why did you ask me here?”
“Because I could trust you, as I told you in the beginning. Because I was aware that you’d soon tire of sitting on the sidelines. You’d think, you’d assimilate, and eventually you’d act. I had no intention of allowing you to act until the time was right. It nearly is.”
“Why in hell are you leaving her in the dark?” Reeve demanded. “Don’t you know how she suffers?”
“You think I don’t know how she suffers?” Armand’s voice rose, his eyes flared. In his youth he’d been known and feared for his lethal temper. For a moment, the control of twenty years nearly slipped away. “She’s my child. My first child. I held her hands as she learned to walk, sat by her bed when she was restless with fever, wept with her by her mother’s grave.”
Rigid, Armand rose to stride to the window. There he leaned out, his fingers digging into the wood of the sill. “What I do,” he said more calmly, “I do because I must. I love her no less.”
If he believed nothing else, Reeve believed that. “She needs to know it.”
Pride and regret moved through the prince, but above all, was responsibility. “The mind is a delicate thing, Reeve, and we’re still so ignorant of it. Gabriella, for all her strength, all her will, isn’t able to overcome her mind’s decision not to remember. If you thought differently, why haven’t you told her what you suspect? Who you suspect?”
“She needs time,” Reeve began, and Armand turned back to him.
“Yes. I can do nothing more than give it to her. I’m advised, strongly advised, by Dr. Kijinsky that if Gabriella is told everything before her mind is ready to hear it, understand it, accept it, the shock might cause a breakdown. Her mind might refuse ever to remember.”
“She’s begun to remember bits and pieces.”
“A button’s pushed and the mind reacts.” Armand continued to move the white rock in his palm. “You’ve studied enough to know. But if I were to tell her everything I know or suspect, it might be too much, an avalanche. As a father, I have to wait. As ruler of Cordina, I have ways of learning or discovering what I need to know. Yes, I know who took her, and why.” Something fierce came into his eyes. The hunter, or the hunted, would understand it. “But the time isn’t right. To have them, I need time. As someone who worked closely with—shall we say, governmental intrigue in Washington—you understand. No need to deny,” he went on before Reeve could form a response. “I’m well aware of the work you did.”
“I was a cop.”
“And more,” Armand said with a nod. “But we’ll leave it at that. You understand that as a ruler I must have absolute proof before I make an accusation. I can’t show the weakness of a father in rage over his child; I must be a judge seeking justice. There are some close to me who believe that because of my position I’m not aware of the maneuvers, the bribes, the false loyalties that swim under the surface of my reign. I’m content that they stay unaware. There are some who might think because I have Gabriella back that I wouldn’t look further into the motive for her kidnapping. One of the ransom demands was the release of several prisoners. All but one was camouflage. There was only one—Deboque.”
The name struck a chord. It was a name Reeve had heard often in his less publicized work in law enforcement. Deboque was a businessman, a successful one who’d exported drugs, women, guns. He’d dealt in everything from controlled substances to explosives, selling to the highest bidder.
Or he’d been successful, Reeve amended, until a concentrated three-year investigation had unmasked and convicted him. It was widely believed that during the two years Deboque had served so far, he’d continued to pull the strings in his organization.
“So you think Deboque’s behind it?”
“Deboque kidnapped Gabriella,” Armand said simply. “We have only to prove through whom.”
“And you know?” Reeve paused, at last thinking coolly. To accuse anyone close would cause an uproar. Only clear-cut proof would dim it. Only precise proof could tie Deboque in and stop what maneuvers and political machinations he’d already begun. “Can Deboque pull the strings of power in Cordina even from a cell?”
“He believes he’s already begun. I think with this”—Armand turned his hand toward the thermos—“it should be a simple matter to twist his string and name one. The other is more difficult.” He looked down at his hands a moment, at the ring only he could wear. Some emotion ran quickly over his face. Reeve thought it was regret. “I told you I know where Gabriella spent the night.”
“Yes. With me.”
Emotion flared again, and was just as quickly controlled. “You’re the son of an old friend and a man I respect for himself, but it’s difficult to be calm even though I know she went to you. Intellectually, I accept that she’s a woman. However …” He trailed off. “Tell me your feelings for Gabriella. This time I ask as her father.”
Still standing, Reeve looked down into Armand’s face. “I’m in love with her.”
Armand felt the break, bittersweet, that a parent feels when a child gives love and loyalty to another. “It’s time I told you what has been done. And time I asked for your advice.” Armand gestured to a chair and waited. There were no more questions. This time Reeve sat.
They talked quietly, calmly for twenty minutes, though each of them fought his own personal emotional war. Once Armand went to a cabinet and poured two snifters of brandy. The plan was solid. O
ne more of the reasons he’d maneuvered to have Reeve in Cordina was to have the advantage of Reeve’s mind, his experience.
The suspects were closely watched. The moment Brie began to remember, the next move would be made. If all went accordingly, Brie would never be in danger.
But things don’t always go according to plan.
* * *
Brie swept into her office, temper bubbling, to find Janet filing. Immediately, the papers still in her hand, Janet turned and curtsied.
“Your Highness. I didn’t expect you back today.”
“I need to work.” Going straight to her desk, she began to flip through papers. “Do we have the personal menu for the guests who attend the dinner before the ball?”
“The calligrapher sent one for your approval.”
“Yes, here.” Brie took out the heavy, cream-colored paper and skimmed over the exquisite scroll. Each of the seven courses was complemented by a different wine. She’d selected each herself. Every dish that would be served had been of her choosing. It was a meal even the most rigid or fussy of gourmets would applaud. It wasn’t merely flawless, but a work of art, both on paper and in reality. It made her temper boil over.
“I won’t tolerate it.” She slammed the menu down and sprang up to pace.
“The menu isn’t suitable, Your Highness?”
“Not suitable?” With a laugh Brie dug her hands in her pockets. “It’s perfection. Call the calligrapher and tell him to go ahead with them. The fifty who dine with us on the evening of the ball will have a dinner they won’t forget. I’ve seen to that, haven’t I?” Passion brimming in her eyes she whirled back. “I’ve arranged a lasting memory for a select few.”
Unsure how to respond, Janet remained by the file with the papers still in her hand. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Yet even my father denies me the same courtesy.”
“I’m sure you misunderstand,” Janet began. “Prince Armand—”
“Has chosen to make decisions for me,” Brie finished in a rush. “To play games, to conceal. I know that. I know that, though there are hundreds of other things I don’t know. But I will know.” Brie curled her hands into fists. “And soon.”
“You’re upset.” Janet set the papers aside, neat and orderly, to be dealt with later. “I’ll order you some coffee.”
“Wait.” Brie took a step forward. “Who sees to my coffee, Janet?”
Thrown off by the demand in Brie’s tone, Janet set the phone down again. “Why, the kitchen, of course, Your Highness. I’ll just ring down and—”
It ran through Brie’s mind that she had no idea where the kitchens were. Had she ever? “Does the kitchen also prepare a thermos for me when I require one?” Her pulse had begun to beat too fast as she took the next step. “On an outing, Janet.”
Janet made a flustered little gesture with her hands. “You prefer your coffee very strong. Habitually the old retainer brews it for you. The old Russian woman.”
“Nanny,” Brie murmured. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“I’ve often heard you joke that her coffee could stand firm without the thermos.” Janet gave a little smile as if to lighten the mood. “She brews it in her room and refuses to give the cook the recipe.”
“So she brings me the thermos before I go out.”
“Traditionally, Your Highness. In the same way Prince Bennett will take her, rather than his valet, a shirt if the button’s loose.”
Nausea came and was forced away. “A very old and trusted member of the family.”
“She would consider herself more than staff, yes, Your Highness. The Princess Elizabeth would often take her rather than a personal maid when she traveled.”
“Was Nanny with my mother in Paris? Was she with her when my mother become ill?”
“I’ve been told so, Your Highness. Her devotion toward Princess Elizabeth was complete.”
And distorted? Brie wondered. Somehow twisted? How many people would have had the opportunity to doctor that thermos of coffee? Forcing herself to be calm, Brie asked the next question. “Do you know if Nanny brought me a thermos of coffee on the day I went to the little farm? The day I was abducted?”
“Why, yes.” Janet hesitated. “She brought it to you here. You were taking care of a few letters before you left. She brought you the coffee, scolding you about taking a jacket. You laughed at her, promised her you wouldn’t leave without one and hurried her along. You were impatient to begin, so you told me we’d see to the rest of the correspondence later. You took the thermos and left.”
“No one came in?” Brie asked. “There were no interruptions from the time Nanny brought in the thermos to when I left with it?”
“No one came, Your Highness. Your car was waiting out front. I walked down with you myself. Your Highness …” Cautiously Janet held out a hand. “Can it be wise for you to dwell on such things, to pressure yourself with details like this?”
“Perhaps not.” Brie accepted the hand briefly before she turned to the window. God, how she needed to talk, to talk to a woman. How she needed to trust. “I won’t need you any more today, Janet. Thank you.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Should I order your coffee before I go?”
“No.” She nearly laughed. “No, I’m not in the mood for it.”
But she couldn’t stay inside, within the walls. Brie discovered that almost from the moment Janet left her. Thinking only that she wanted air and sun, Brie went out of her office. Though she hadn’t realized she’d planned it, she found herself drawn to the terrace where she’d walked with Reeve that first night. Where he’d first kissed her. Where she’d first begun to test the feelings sleeping, not too quietly, inside her.
It was different during the day, she thought as she walked to the stone wall and leaned out. Different, but it wasn’t any less lovely. She could see the mountains—stacks of rock, really—that sheltered Cordina from the rest of Europe. They had been a formidable defense in earlier centuries when foreign powers had lusted after the tiny country by the sea.
Then there was the sea itself, banked by sturdy stone walls. Here and there were cannons still at strategic points in the embankment, reminders of pirates and swift-sailing frigates and other threats from the sea.
Closer was the capital city itself, serene in its antiquity, content with its label of “quaint.”
She loved it. Brie didn’t need facts or details of the past to feel. Cordina was home and a refuge. It was past and future. Every day she lived there, she felt the need to be able to reach out and hold what was hers increase. Every day she lived there, her resentment at the block that prevented her from doing so grew.
“Your Highness.” Loubet stepped onto the terrace, favoring his hip only slightly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
He was, but her manners were too ingrained. Brie smiled as she held out her hands. In any case, she had discovered over the dinner they’d shared that she liked Loubet’s young, pretty wife very much. And she’d found it sweet that the stuffy, practical minister of state should be so obviously in love.
“You look well, Monsieur.”
“Merci, Vôtre Altesse.” He brought her hand up, giving it an avuncular brush of lips. “I must say, you’re blooming. Being home is the best medicine, oui?”
“I was thinking”—she turned back to her view of Cordina—“that it feels like home. Not always inside, but out here. Have you come to see my father, Monsieur Loubet?”
“Yes, I have an appointment with him in a moment.”
“Tell me, you’ve worked with my father for many years. Are you also his friend?”
“I’ve considered myself so, Your Highness.”
Always so conservative, Brie thought with a flash of impatience. Always so diplomatic. “Come, Loubet, without the amnesia, this is certainly a question I wouldn’t have to ask. And after all,” she reminded him with a slow lift of brow, “it is on your advice that my problem remains a discreet one. So tell me, has my father friends, and
are you one of them?”
He didn’t hesitate, but paused. Loubet was a man who would always gather his thoughts together, sift through them meticulously, then put them into words. “There are few great men in the world, Your Highness. Some of these are good, as well. Prince Armand is one of these. Great men make enemies, good men draw friends. Your father has the burden of doing both.”
“Yes.” With a sigh, she rested against the wall. “I think I understand that.”
“I’m not Cordinian.” Loubet smiled as he looked out over the city with her. “By law, the minister of state is French. I love my own country. I can tell you frankly that I would not serve yours but for my feelings toward your father.”
“I wish I were so sure of my feelings,” she murmured.
“Your father loves you.” He said it gently, so gently Brie had to close her eyes or weep. “Have no doubt there is nothing more important to Prince Armand than your welfare.”
“You make me ashamed.”
“Your Highness—”
“No, rightly so. I have a great deal to think about.” Straightening from the wall, Brie held out her hand again. “Thank you, Loubet.”
He bowed formally, making her smile. Then Brie forgot him as she turned back to the view and thought of her father.
Neither of them had paid any attention to the young man arranging pots of flowers farther down the terrace. Or the sturdy maid dusting glass just inside the doors.
Armand was keeping something from her. Of that she was certain. She knew nothing, however, of his reasons. Perhaps they were good ones. Yet even as she conceded this, the resentment didn’t fade. Whatever her father or anyone else thought she should or shouldn’t do, she’d have to find out.
Reeve found her there—after looking everywhere else he could think of. He had to control both his impatience and his relief as he stepped onto the terrace. Armand had assured him Brie was looked after—and he noticed the two people going about their business not too close to the princess, but close enough. But the prince had been cautious enough to enlist his help from the beginning, as well.
