Cordina's Royal Family Collection

by Nora Roberts

  Armand drew out a cigarette and shifted his gaze to Hannah. “How?”

  “The payoff.” She felt herself on solid ground again. It helped to have Malori there, sharp-eyed and just a bit disapproving. “When Deboque is convinced I’ve completed the job, he’ll pay me off. As soon as money changes hands, we’ve got him.”

  “He’s not a fool. You agree?”

  “No, Your Highness, he’s not a fool.”

  “But you will convince him you have murdered my family.”

  “Yes. If you would look at this diagram, sir?” She rose and waited for him to accompany her to a table. With Reeve’s help, she stretched out a long roll of paper. “The blueprints I smuggled to Deboque show this wing as occupied by Prince Alexander and his family. I gave Deboque the information that Princess Gabriella and her family would also be staying here during the days before the Christmas Ball.”

  “I see. In truth, my son’s family’s wing is here.” He skimmed his finger to the opposite side of the drawing.

  “The night before the ball, I’ll set some charges here, and here.” She laid a fingertip on the areas. “They’ll be much smaller than what Deboque assumes, but with Reeve’s special effects added, it should be quite a show. There will be some damage, sir, but it will appear much worse, particularly from the outside, than it really is. You’ll need to do some replastering and painting.”

  He lifted a brow, but she couldn’t tell if he was amused. “There are areas of the palace that could do with some redecorating.”

  “It will be imperative, of course, to clear this wing. Discreetly.”

  “Of course.”

  “Ten minutes before the explosion, I will leave to meet with Deboque or his agent. The payment will be made after he considers the job done.”

  “Have you considered that he would want to have the deaths verified before he pays you?”

  “Yes.” Hannah straightened away from the diagram. “To some extent we’ll use the press. In addition, I’m making it clear that payment must be made that night, as well as arrangements for my passage out of the country. Deboque has invited me to sail with him. I shall accept.” She pressed her lips together as Malori grumbled. “The money will change hands because he’ll believe I’ll be easily accessible if anything has gone wrong.”

  “And will you be?”

  “I’ll be with him.”

  “The ISS will be covering both Deboque’s villa and his yacht,” Reeve cut In. “The moment we have Hannah’s signal, we move.”

  “There is no other way?”

  Again there was concern. This time Hannah found herself laying a hand on the prince’s arm. On the arm of Bennett’s father. “We could perhaps tie him to other crimes. With the information I’ve been able to dig up in the last two years, we would have something, but it would take months, even years and we would have no guarantee. This is the only way, Your Highness, to stop him once and for all.”

  With a nod, the prince looked over at Reeve. “You agree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Malori?”

  “It is more dramatic, and certainly more risky than one would like, but yes, Your Highness.”

  “Then I will presume that you two will see to whatever details have yet to be seen to. I will expect reports every four hours.”

  Recognizing dismissal Malori bowed. Even as Reeve rolled up the diagram again, Hannah was preparing to curtsy.

  “Hannah, I’d like another moment, please.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” She stood by the table, stiff and tense as the two other men left them alone. He would know of her feelings for Bennett, Hannah thought. Even in the brief time she’d been in Cordina, she’d learned that Armand was both astute and observant. He didn’t merely rule from a throne, but behind a desk and in boardrooms. If his country was at peace and prosperous, it was largely because he knew how to govern, how to make choices and how to remain objective.

  Yes, he would know, she thought again. And he would not approve. She was European. She was an aristocrat. But she was by choice and by profession a spy.

  “You’re uncomfortable,” Armand began. “Sit, please.”

  In silence she took a seat and waited.

  She looked like a dove, he thought. A small gray dove who expected and accepted the fact that she was about to be mauled by a fox. Studying her, he had difficulty believing she would be the one to end the turmoil that had haunted his family for more than a decade.

  “Reeve has confidence in you.”

  “I can promise it’s not misplaced, Your Highness.” She nearly relaxed. It wasn’t about Bennett, but Deboque.

  “Why did you agree to take this assignment?”

  Her brow lifted because it seemed such a simple question with such a simple answer. “I was asked.”

  “And had the right to refuse?”

  “Yes, sir. In such matters an agent always has a choice.”

  A prince didn’t. He understood the difference, yet still didn’t envy her. “You took the assignment because your superiors requested it.”

  “Yes, and because what Deboque does here has affected and could continue to affect my country and the rest of Europe. A terrorist, in whatever garb he chooses, remains a terrorist. England wants Deboque’s hands tied, tightly.”

  “Your first consideration is country.”

  “It always has been.”

  He nodded again, knowing this could bring both joy and misery. “Did you choose your profession because you looked for adventure?”

  Now she relaxed completely and laughed. The moment she did, Armand saw what had captivated his son. “Pardon, sir, I realize that the word ‘spy’ conjures up all sorts of glamorous images: foggy docks, Parisian alleyways, nickel-plated revolvers and fast cars. In truth, it’s often tedious. In the past two years, I’ve done more work on telephones and computers than the average secretary.”

  “You wouldn’t deny the danger involved.”

  “No.” She sighed a little. “No. But for every hour of danger, there’s a year of legwork and preparation. As for Deboque—Reeve, Malori, the ISS, have taken this plan step-by-step.”

  “Still, in the end, you’ll be alone.”

  “That’s my job. I’m good at it.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. Under normal circumstances, I would worry less.”

  “Your Highness, I assure you everything that can be done is being done.”

  He was aware of the truth of it and that, for the moment, his hands were tied. “And if a mistake is made, how will I comfort my son?”

  She locked her fingers together. “I know, I promise you whatever happens, Deboque will be punished. If you—”

  “I’m not speaking of Deboque now, but of you, and of Bennett.” He held up a hand before she could speak again. “It is a rare thing for me to be able to speak as only a father. I ask you to allow me that luxury now, here in this room.”

  She drew in a breath and tried to be clear. “I realize Bennett is angry and upset because he wasn’t told the reasons for my being here. I believe he feels a certain responsibility toward me because I’m here to protect his family.”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  “No.” The panic set in again, along with the shame and the desperate desire for it to be true. “That is, he thought, before when he believed me to be . . . At one time he began to feel a certain affection, but when he learned who—what I was, that changed.”

  Armand settled his hands on the arms of his chair. The ring of his office glinted in the lamplight. “My dear, are you any more clear on your feelings for him?”

  She looked up. The dark eyes that watched her were kinder than they had been. Hard yes, he could be hard. But she could see now why his family and his country loved and trusted him. “Your confidence, sir?”

  “You have it, of course.”

  “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. If I could change things, if I could go back and be what he thought I was, and only that, I swea
r to you I would.” There were no tears. She had shed them once and had sworn not to do so again. Instead she looked down at her hands. “Of course, I can’t.”

  “No, we can’t change what we are. When we love, and love deeply, we can accept a great deal. Bennett’s heart is very generous.”

  “I know. I promise you, I won’t hurt him again.”

  His lips curved. She was so young, so valiant. “I have no fear of that. When this is done, I ask that you remain in Cordina for a few more days.”

  “Your Highness, I think it would be best if I returned to England immediately.”

  “We wish you to remain,” he said again, and he no longer spoke as a father. He rose then, extending a hand. “You may want to rest before dinner.”

  Left without a choice, Hannah stood and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  * * *

  Dinner was long and formal. Hannah was introduced to the Minister of State and his wife, as well as a German businessman who had interests in shipping and an ancient Frenchwoman who was some vague connection of the Bissets’ and was visiting Cordina for the holidays. The Frenchwoman spoke in a husky grumble that kept Hannah straining to hear enough to make polite answers. The German spoke in short, loud blasts and was obviously delighted to have an invitation to the Royal Palace. Hannah was grateful that he was across the table so that she could avoid direct conversation with him.

  Bennett wasn’t there at all. A late board meeting at the museum had edged into a dinner for the Equestrian Society. Hannah tried to remember that Claude had been joined by two more guards who would keep Bennett annoyed and protected throughout the evening.

  As the Frenchwoman hissed in her ear again, Hannah could only think Bennett the fortunate one.

  Across the table, Eve sipped sparkling water and listened with apparent fascination as the German regaled her with stories of his business. Only when she turned to pick up her dessert spoon did her eyes meet Hannah’s long enough for the humor to come through. Answering a question in low, polite tones, she rolled her eyes once, quickly, in a gesture that said everything. Then she was smiling at the German again and making him feel fascinating.

  Hannah had to lift her glass to hide the grin. The royal were human after all. Not the same, not ordinary, but human. The child Eve carried might one day rule, but he would also laugh and cry and feel and dream.

  She herself had loved a prince. Hannah picked up her spoon and began to toy with the elegant chocolate and cream concoction in front of her. She’d given her heart to a man who was second in line to one of the few remaining thrones in Europe. In a few days, she could very likely give her life for him.

  For that was the truth of the matter, she thought as the woman beside her droned on. It might have started as duty, to her country and to the organization she had chosen, but when it ended, what she did would be for Bennett.

  It would never be possible to tell him, just as it hadn’t been possible to say as much to his father earlier that evening. If she admitted what she felt to a superior, even with all the planning, all the time lost, she could very well be pulled out.

  So she would say nothing, but she would feel. And feeling as she did, she would see Deboque finished, if she lived. . . . And then, Hannah admitted, it would be a choice between her captaincy and retirement. Fieldwork would be all but out of the question now. She didn’t believe that she could ever maintain the pose of quiet, unassuming Lady Hannah again. Not now that she had loved and been loved by a prince.

  * * *

  It was nearly midnight before escape could be politely made. Hannah deliberated over a hot bath or quick oblivion in bed as she stepped into her room. Eve was insistent about returning to the Center the next day, so she would have no choice but to go along. Would the message come the next day, or would Deboque take her right down to the wire?

  She’d walked into the center of the bedroom when the warning signals began to throb at the base of her neck. There was no one in the room. A quick glance showed her nothing had been disturbed. But . . .

  Hannah took a cautious step back and opened the drawer of the bedside table. She took out her weapon. The light was low and at her back as she began to move toward the adjoining room. The door was slightly ajar, but that could have been done by one of the maids. Her feet were silent on the carpet as she crossed to it. With one hand she pressed on the panel so that it opened slowly and without sound.

  There was nothing in the room beyond—nothing except the neat sitting room that smelled of the gardenias that lay moist and lovely in a bowl.

  So it had been a maid, she thought, relaxing gradually. One of them had set fresh flowers in the sitting room, and—

  It was then she heard a sound, material against material, and tensed again. Keeping the gun secure in her hand, she slid against the wall and into the room.

  The little settee faced away from the door so she didn’t see him until she was fully inside. Bennett lay sprawled on it, his tie unknotted and hanging, his shoes off and his face buried in a blue velvet pillow.

  Hannah swore, but softly, as she lowered the pistol. He looked exhausted, and very much at home, she thought as she lifted a brow. Her first instinct was to tuck a cover around him, but there was still enough of the proper Lady Hannah in her to know that it would never do for Bennett of Cordina to be found snoozing in her sitting room. She started to bend down to him, then remembered the gun in her hand.

  Almost curiously, she turned it over in her hand. It looked like a toy, but had already proven itself lethal. A part of her job, she thought. A part of her life. Yet she knew it was a part Bennett would find unpalatable. Moving back into her bedroom she secured it. She had to wake him and send him on his way, but she didn’t have to keep a physical reminder of their differences close at hand.

  She went back to him, and kneeling by the settee put a hand to his shoulder. “Bennett.” She shook gently and received a mumbled response. Her lips curved. She had to resist the urge to brush at the hair tumbling over his forehead. In sleep, the energy, the amusement and the temper were put to rest. He looked as though he would be perfectly content to cuddle there, half on, half off the little sofa for days. Hannah bent closer and raising her voice gave him a quick, brisk shove. “Bennett, wake up.”

  He half opened his eyes, but Hannah noted that they focused quickly. Reaching up, he grabbed her earlobe. “Haven’t you any respect for a dead man?”

  “Ow!” She grabbed his wrist in defense, but she was already several inches closer. “If it’s respect you want, I’ll call a couple of the servants and have them carry you out, in state. Meanwhile, let go or I’ll have to show you how easy it is to cause unconsciousness by applying pressure to certain nerves.”

  “Hannah, you’ve got to learn not to be so flighty and romantic.”

  “It’s in the blood.” She sat back on her heels to massage her ear. “Bennett, why are you sleeping on my settee instead of in your own bed?”

  “I don’t know who designed this thing. Another foot longer and a man could be comfortable.” He dragged himself up a bit so that his feet dangled over the arm. “I wanted to talk to you.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “When I got in, I saw that we still had guests. I took the coward’s way and used the back stairs.”

  “I see. And Madame Beaulieu spoke so highly of you.”

  “Madame Beaulieu doesn’t speak, she hisses.”

  “I know. I sat next to her at dinner.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “How gallant.”

  “You want gallant?” With one swing, he had her off the floor and stretched on top of him. He cupped the back of her neck with his hand, pressing as his mouth took hers quickly, completely.

  “What does that have to do with gallantry?” she managed after a moment.

  He smiled and ran a finger down her nose. “All the other women I’ve known have been impressed by it.”

  Hannah drew back another inch. Smiling, she ran a finger down his throat, the
n up again. “About those nerves I mentioned.”

  He caught one wrist, then the other. “All right then, tomorrow I’ll look for a puddle to toss a cape over.”

  “A safe enough promise since it hasn’t rained in days.” She started to shift, but he brought her close again.

  “Stay. I haven’t seen you at all today.” His lips were warm and coaxing against her cheek. “Do you know, Hannah, a man has to have you in his arms, has to have his lips against your skin before he catches your scent. Do you do that on purpose?”

  She wore no perfume. It had to do with leaving no traces behind. “You said you . . .” He moved his lips to her ear. “You wanted to talk to me.”

  “I lied.” His teeth closed gently over her earlobe. “I wanted to make love with you. In fact, I had a devil of a time keeping my mind off that thought throughout a long and frustrating board meeting and a noisy dinner.” He drew down the zipper at the back of her dress. “I had to give a speech.” He found silk, thin, fragile silk, beneath the linen. “It was difficult not to babble when I kept imagining myself here, with you.”

  “I don’t want to interfere with your official duties.” With her eyes closed, she pressed her lips to his neck and let herself enjoy the gentle stroking of his hands.

  “But you do, ma mie. I sat listening to the huffing and puffing of ten stuffy men who are more interested in paintings than people, and I imagined you sitting there with your hands neatly folded and your eyes solemn. And you were wearing nothing but your hair.”

  She’d slipped off his tie, but paused now on the third button of his shirt. “In the boardroom?”

  “In the boardroom.” Would he ever stop being fascinated by that dry, serious tone and those dark eyes? “You can see why I had such a problem concentrating.” He didn’t tell her he’d also dealt with unexpected tingles of fear as he’d pictured her with Deboque, at his mercy, helpless, alone. It was an image he hadn’t been able to drown out in innumerable cups of coffee or glasses of wine. “So I came in here to wait for you.”