Cordina's Royal Family Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “All right. For a minute.”

  Though his flow of words never faltered, Alexander saw Eve move with his brother through the terrace doors.

  “Better,” Bennett said immediately.

  “It was a lovely dinner.”

  “It was fine, but sometimes I’d prefer pizza and beer with a few friends.” He walked to the edge and leaned on a low stone wall. “The older I get, the less time there is for it.”

  “It isn’t easy, is it?”

  “What?”

  “Being who you are.”

  He swung an arm around her waist. “It has its moments.”

  “No, don’t shrug it off. You always do that.” Eve drew back to study him. He was wonderful to look at and tougher, a great deal tougher, than he allowed himself to seem.

  “You want a serious answer.” He dipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s difficult to give you one. I’ve always been who I am, what I am. No, it isn’t always easy to know that wherever you go there’s a bodyguard not far behind or the press not far ahead. I deal with it in my own way. I’m permitted to, as Brie is, to a certain extent. We’re not the heir.”

  “Do you wish you were?”

  “God, no.”

  He said it with such speed and force she had to smile. “There’s not a jealous bone in your body, is there?”

  “It’s hardly a matter of envy. As long as I can remember, Alex has had to work harder, study harder. Be harder. No, I wouldn’t step into his shoes. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The American fascination with royalty, I suppose.”

  “You’ve known us too long to be fascinated.”

  “I’ve known some of you.” With a shake of her head, she walked to him. “Do you remember that first night, the night of the ball, when we walked out on one of those high, dark balconies?”

  “That’s hardly a night I’d forget.”

  “I was fascinated then. I thought you were going to kiss me.”

  He grinned and twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “I never got around to it.”

  “No, you ended up getting shot, instead. I thought you were very heroic.”

  “I was.” He linked his arms loosely around her waist. “You know, if I tried to kiss you now, I’d feel as though I were making a pass at my sister.”

  “I know.” Relaxed, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re friends, Ben.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a cousin, a half sister, an aunt, who looks anything like you?”

  “Sorry.” Smiling, she tilted her head back to look at him.

  “Me, too.”

  “Bennett.”

  It only took Alexander’s voice to have Eve springing back like a child caught in the cookie jar. She cursed herself for it, then balled her hands into fists at her side.

  “Excuse me.” Coolly regal, he stood just outside the terrace doors where the moonlight didn’t reach. “The ambassador is leaving.”

  “So soon?” Untouched by the biting tone, Bennett squeezed Eve’s shoulders. “Well, we should make our goodbyes. Thanks for the air.”

  “Of course.” But as he walked through the doors, she stayed where she was, hoping Alexander would follow him.

  “If you’d come back in for a moment, the ambassador would like to say goodbye. He was quite charmed by you at dinner.”

  “All right.” She walked to the doors, but found her way blocked. This time she didn’t step back, but angled her chin so she could see his face. It was in shadows, and only his eyes were clear. “Was there something else, Your Highness?”

  “Yes, it seems there is.” He caught her chin in his hand, surprising both of them. It was soft, with the pressure still a threat or a promise. It wasn’t a lover’s touch. He refused to allow it to be. “Bennett is a generous man, a compassionate one, but a man who has little discretion with women. You should take care.”

  From someone else, from anyone else, the comment would have made her laugh. Meeting Alexander’s eyes, she didn’t feel like laughing. “It appears you’re warning me I might get burned again. It wasn’t necessary this afternoon, and it isn’t necessary now.” Her voice was slow and sultry, but somehow managed to take on the sheen of ice. “You might have observed, Your Highness, that American women insist on taking care of themselves and making their own choices.”

  “I have no desire to take care of you.” There was a sting in his voice that might have made her shrivel if she hadn’t been so angry.

  “We can all be grateful for that.”

  “If you’re in love with my brother—”

  “What right do you have to ask me that?” Eve demanded. She didn’t know why the temper had come or why it was so fierce, but with every word it grew. “My feelings for your brother are my feelings and have nothing to do with you.”

  The words twisted inside him hatefully. “He is my brother.”

  “You don’t rule Bennett and you certainly don’t rule me. My feelings for your brother, or for anyone, are my business.”

  “What happens in my home, in my family, is mine.”

  “Alex.” Brie came to the door, her voice subdued to indicate theirs weren’t. “The ambassador’s waiting.”

  Without a word he dropped his hand and strode inside.

  “Your brother’s an idiot,” Eve said under her breath.

  “In a great many ways.” Sympathetic, Brie took Eve’s hand. “Take a deep breath and come in and speak to the ambassador and his wife a moment. Then you can go up to your room and kick something. That’s what I always do.”

  Eve set her teeth. “Thanks. I believe I will.”

  Chapter 3

  PRINCE BENNETT COURTS AMERICAN HEIRESS

  Eve read the headline with her morning coffee and nearly choked. Once she managed to swallow and take a second look, she began to giggle. Poor Ben, she thought, all he had to do was look at a woman and there was a romance. Ignoring her croissant, Eve read the text:

  Eve Hamilton, daughter of millionaire T. G. Hamilton, is the guest of the royal family during her visit to Cordina. The long and intimate connection between Prince Bennett and Miss Hamilton began seven years ago …

  The article went on to describe the events that took place in the palace resulting in the abortive kidnapping of the princess and Bennett’s subsequent injuries. She couldn’t help but smile when her own part was played up heroically. Amused, she read that she and Bennett had enjoyed periodic rendezvous over the years.

  Rendezvous, she thought with a snicker. Well, it was true that Bennett had come to Houston to help her celebrate her twenty-first birthday. One of her closest friends had fallen madly in love with him for about a week. Because of the connection, she’d been asked to accompany him on a tour of Washington a few years before. And she had visited Cordina a few times with her sister. Then there was the time she and Bennett had hooked up in Paris quite by accident. It was difficult to think of one lunch in a public café as a rendezvous, but the press needed to print something.

  “Will another member of the royal family choose an American?”

  The article ended with the question. Don’t hold your breath, she answered silently, then set the paper aside. What would the press have to talk about when Bennett did meet the right woman and settle? Laughing to herself, she picked up her cooling croissant. By then it was very likely Brie’s children would be old enough to marry.

  “Interesting reading?”

  Eve glanced over at the entrance of the little solarium. She should have known he wouldn’t let her have breakfast in peace. “I enjoy a joke, Your Highness.” She started to rise, when he waved her back into her seat.

  “You consider this funny?”

  “I got a laugh out of it, though I imagine Ben gets tired of having every woman he smiles at added to the list of prospective wives.”

  “He thinks little of it.” As, under most circumstances, Alexander did himself. “Ben enjoys a scandal.”

  Because it was said wit
hout heat, she smiled. If he wanted to let the words exchanged the night before be forgotten, she was more than willing. She’d spent long enough stewing about them. “Who doesn’t?” At a closer glance he looked tired, and more than a little strained. Sympathetic, she softened. “Have you had breakfast? I can offer you coffee and croissants.”

  “Yes, a few hours ago. I could use the coffee.”

  She rose and took another cup and saucer from the server. “It’s barely ten, but you look as though you’ve had a difficult day.”

  For a moment he said nothing. Such was his training. Then he relented. It would be on the radio and in the papers soon enough. “There was news from Paris this morning. A bomb at the embassy.”

  Her fingers tightened on the handle of the coffeepot. “Oh, God, your father.”

  “He’s not hurt. His secretary was injured slightly.” He paused, but his voice was calm and even when he continued. “Seward, the assistant to the minister, was killed.”

  “I’m sorry.” She set down the pot to put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. Do they know who did it?”

  “No one’s taken the credit. We have only suspicions.”

  “Is the prince coming home?”

  He looked through the glass to where the sun was bright and the flowers blooming. Life would never be just that simple, he reminded himself. Never just that ordinary. “The business in Paris isn’t completed.”

  “But—”

  “He’ll come home when it is.” He lifted his cup and drank the coffee, black and steaming. “Cordina, like many other countries, takes a strong stand against terrorism. They will be found.”

  “I hope so.” She pushed the flaky croissant aside and found the headline no longer amused her. “Why is it so many innocents pay for the politics of others?”

  His fingers tightened on the cup, part in fury, part in frustration. “There is no politics in terrorism.”

  “No.” There was a great deal she didn’t understand and more she would have liked to close her eyes on. But she knew that burying one’s head in the sand did nothing but put grit in one’s eyes. “No, you’re right, of course.”

  “Seward leaves a wife and three children.”

  “Oh, how awful. Have they been told?”

  “I have to go tell them now.”

  “Can I help? I could go with you.”

  “It’s not your affair.”

  Eve retreated, calling herself a fool for being hurt. When he rose, she stared down into her coffee and said nothing.

  Why had he come here? Alexander asked himself. He’d needed to tell her, to share his frustration, his anger, his grief. It wasn’t wise for a man who had to rule to need comfort, a soft word, a hand to hold. He’d been taught to rely on himself, yet he’d come to her. And he still needed.

  “Eve.” It wasn’t easy for him. She couldn’t know that a simple request set off a violent tug-of-war inside him. “It would help if you went with me. I think she could use a woman.”

  “I’ll get my purse,” was all she said.

  * * *

  The Sewards lived in a pretty pink stucco house with a small, neat lawn bordered by white flowers. Eve saw a red bike in the drive. It was that more than anything that clutched at her heart. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, and that the hurt and grief never completely healed over.

  Alexander offered his hand after he stepped from the car. Eve accepted it, then let hers remain there.

  “If you’re uncomfortable—”

  “No. No, only sad.” She walked with him to the door, aware that the driver watched them, but unaware that members of the security staff were stationed up and down the quiet street.

  Alena Seward opened the door herself. She was a dark, plump woman of early middle age with lovely eyes and mussed hair. It was obvious they had caught her in the middle of cleaning. Her mouth dropped open the moment she saw Alexander, but she recovered quickly.

  “Your Highness.”

  “Madame Seward, I apologize for coming to your home unexpectedly. May we come in?”

  “Of course.” Eve saw her eyes shift to the furniture that had yet to be dusted, to toys that had yet to be tidied. “May I offer you coffee, Your Highness?”

  “No, thank you. May I present Miss Eve Hamilton.”

  “How do you do?” The woman offered a hand. “Please sit down.”

  Alexander took a chair, knowing the woman would remain standing if he did. “Madame Seward, there was news from Paris this morning.”

  Seated beside Alena on the sofa, Eve felt the other woman tense. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Two bombs were planted at our embassy. One detonated before it was discovered.” He knew from experience that bad news, the worst news, was best given quickly. “Your husband was killed.”

  “Maurice?” Her fingers tightened on Eve’s hand, though she was unaware that it had been offered. “Dead?”

  “He was killed instantly, madame. My father sends his grief and his condolences, and I and the rest of my family give ours.”

  “There is a mistake?” There were no tears, but the fingers around Eve’s hand were like clamps.

  He hated the helplessness more than anything else. He could give her no hope, and sympathy was such an empty gift. “No, madame. He was alone in the office when it exploded.”

  “Brandy.” Eve forced Alena’s attention to her. “Madame Seward, where is your brandy?”

  “Brandy?” Her voice was as blank as her eyes. “There is brandy in the kitchen.”

  Eve only looked at Alexander. He rose and went to find it himself.

  “But I spoke to him just yesterday,” Alena murmured. “He was well—tired. The meetings drag on so long. He’d bought a little jeweled pin for our daughter. Her birthday is next month.” On this her voice began to quiver. “There’s a mistake. Mademoiselle?”

  Then the tears came. Eve did the only thing she knew how. She held. When Alexander entered the room again Eve had the widow’s head on her breast. Her own eyes were overflowing as she stroked Alena’s hair. Grief filled the room, replacing disbelief. In a movement that had nothing to do with protocol and everything to do with compassion, he knelt in front of them and urged the brandy on Alena.

  “You have a sister, madame,” he said gently. “Would you like me to phone her now?”

  “My children.”

  “I’ll have them brought home.”

  She took a shaky sip of brandy. “I would like my sister, Your Highness.”

  “Where is your phone?”

  “In the office. Maurice’s office, down the hall.” She turned back into Eve’s shoulder and wept.

  * * *

  “You were very kind,” Alexander said when they were back in his car.

  Eve shut her eyes, leaning her head back against the seat. “Kindness often doesn’t seem to be enough.”

  He could say nothing to that. He’d felt the same. Why, when he carried the burden of power, was there so little he could do?

  “What will happen to her?”

  “She and her children will be provided for. We can do that.” He pulled out a cigarette. The taste in his mouth was already harsh. “We can’t heal the wounds.”

  She heard it in his voice, the bitterness tinged with frustration. For the first time, she thought she really understood. “You want to punish someone.”

  He lit the cigarette, then turned to see her eyes open and on him. “I will punish someone.”

  The way he said it had Eve’s mouth going dry. He had the power, not only in his title, not only in his birthright. If he’d been born a peasant, he’d have had it still. Maybe it was this above everything else that kept her drawn toward him even as she inched away.

  “When you were on the phone, Alena asked me who had done it. I had to tell her I didn’t know, but I know she’ll ask again, when the grief eases.”

  “When the grief passes there comes a hunger for revenge.”

  “You want that.”

  “It c
ould have been my father.” For the first time, she saw his control slip. It dangled dangerously a moment, showing in the heat and fury of his eyes, before he ripped it back. “We are responsible to our country, to our people. Seward’s death will not be ignored.”

  “You believe the bomb was planted for your father?” She reached out to take his wrist. “It was meant for him?”

  “It was planted in his office. It was only coincidence that he was called away moments before the explosion. Had he not, he would have died with Seward.”

  “Then that’s all the more reason he should come home.”

  “That’s all the more reason he must stay. If a ruler is intimidated, his country is intimidated.”

  “Damn it, he’s your father.”

  “He is Armand of Cordina first.”

  “You don’t believe that. You don’t really feel that way.” The intensity was in her voice, in her fingers as they gripped his flesh. “If your father’s in danger, you have to convince him to come back.”

  “If he were to ask my advice, I would tell him that to return to Cordina before his business is completed would be a mistake.”

  She withdrew slowly until they were no longer touching. “Bennett said you were hard, had to be hard. I wonder if he meant this much.” When the car pulled up at the palace steps, she was out before him. “For a moment back at that house, I thought I saw something in you, warmth, humanity. I should have known better. You have no feelings, because you have no heart.”

  He caught her arm before she reached the door. “You understand nothing. I’m under no obligation to explain myself to you or to anyone.” Yet he had a need to. The man inside the title desperately needed her understanding. “A man is dead, a good man, an honest man, a man I hunted with, gambled with. His wife is left with her grief and the grief of her children and I can do nothing. Nothing.”

  He tossed her arm aside, then strode back down the stairs. Eve watched him disappear into the side garden.

  For a moment she stood where she was, breathing hard, close to tears. She took a deep breath, another, then went after him.