Sebastian.
Rory’s body sagged with a different kind of unease. Sebastian looked as fierce as a warrior en route to the battlefield, his brows bold strokes of charcoal on the tense planes of his face.
Uh-oh, this wasn’t good, she thought as his gaze swept over her. She flushed, remembering that she’d snatched her Hawaiian print capris and halter top from the floor before she’d dashed out of the house to the vet’s. And she hadn’t bothered to comb her hair or put on lipstick.
Her hair. Rory cringed. She’d driven with the top down on the convertible. Okay, she was not going to punish herself by picturing a mental image. Sebastian had no right to show up without calling first.
Suppressing a sigh of annoyance she marched toward him. “What are you doing in my house?”
Sebastian bowed to her. “Your Serene Highness. I was concerned about your welfare. I phoned several times—”
“So you just came dashing over with your bodyguards? Didn’t it occur to you that I might not have felt like talking?” She rudely nudged him out of the way so she could enter her home. Why was he glowering at her? “What did you do, have your muscle men pick the lock?”
“No, I—the door was unlocked when I arrived.” He glanced down at the carrier, his expression puzzled. “Someone saw you load a suitcase in your car and drive away like a madwoman this morning. I thought—” he faltered.
She glared at him. “You thought what, that I’d run away?”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Quite honestly, yes.”
Rory told herself that she shouldn’t feel hurt. Sebastian was a stranger to her. His opinion was irrelevant. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, teacher.”
“You evaded the two guards I’d posted on the house.”
“You posted guards on the house when I specifically told you I didn’t want them? I don’t believe this!” Rory whirled away from him. Her purse slipped off her shoulder and slapped against her legs.
“It was necessary. For your protection.”
“Argh!” Rory clenched her teeth and marched through the foyer to the kitchen, Brontë’s carrier still in her arms. Oh, she knew exactly why he thought it was so necessary that she had protection! That little snippet of conversation she’d overheard last night between Heinrich and Sebastian was proof they thought someone was trying to kill her.
But first things first. She wanted to get Brontë settled on the windowseat. The vet had told her that her pet needed plenty of rest.
Heinrich was in the kitchen, studying her address book and her calendar, which he’d spread out on the soapstone-topped island. He jerked up guiltily.
“Don’t mind me, Heinrich, you go right ahead and invade my privacy,” she snapped. “I’ve got nothing to hide.” But apparently Sebastian and her brother did.
Sebastian dogged her into the kitchen. “Leave us, bitte,” he said to Heinrich, snapping his fingers.
“That’s a neat trick, Mr. Secretary. I’ll have to try it. Snap my fingers and watch people disappear. Will it work on you?” She gently set Brontë’s animal carrier on the cushioned windowseat and opened the door.
“Here, we go, girl. Home sweet home,” she said, settling Bronteë in her favorite sunny spot on the pillows. The cat purred contentedly and swished her tail.
“What happened to her?” Sebastian leaned over her shoulder. Rory inhaled the distinctively rich scent of sandalwood combining with his clothes, with him.
She swallowed hard and gazed out the window. A stiff breeze ruffled the broad fronds of the palm trees. A kidney-shaped pool, its form softened by silvery mounds of ornamental grasses, dwarf evergreens and flamingo-pink geraniums, was tucked close to the house in the cobbled rear courtyard. Beyond the pool, the exotic orange flowers of birds of paradise and sprays of blue plumbago created pockets of color against the glossy dark-green leaves of lemon, orange and grapefruit trees. Ruby-red impatiens blazed in the shelter of an enormous avocado tree.
Rory let her gaze travel to the spot at the back of the garden where her swing had once stood.
“Rory?” Sebastian prodded gently, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder.
Her heart pulsed with an acknowledgment of him that was overwhelming. Her gaze remained rigidly fixed on the spot where her swing had once stood. The spot where her mother had died.
Hot, stinging tears blurred her vision. Rory told herself she was not going to cry. She was too angry and horrified by the suspicion that was fraying the edges of her control. She wanted to know the truth.
She rubbed Brontë behind the ears. “According to the vet she was kicked, Sebastian,” she said tightly. “It happened last night—after I left for dinner. I think there was an intruder in my home who fiddled with the chandelier. That’s really what my brother was trying to warn me about last night, isn’t it? You’re not just worried about the paparazzi. You think someone wants to kill me, which explains the bodyguards and sneaking into the hotel through the back entrance—and the tense words you had with Heinrich when you were cleaning up the glass. Admit it.”
Her intelligence was commendable. He cupped her bowed shoulders. “It’s a possibility,” he admitted.
“Why?” she asked. “Because of the feud?” She tilted her head back, her fragrant curls tumbling over his hand, her blue eyes sharp. “Don’t even think about lying to me, Sebastian.”
Laurent was relieved to see the firmness surfacing through the wounded visage that her body language projected. “Ahh, the truth. ‘It takes two to speak the truth—one to speak and another to hear,’” he quoted.
“That’s Thoreau.”
“Yes. For far too many years the people of Estaire and Ducharme have been unwilling to truly speak to one another, and to listen. They compete against each other in a world market rather than working together to foster opportunities that would benefit both countries. Had you grown up in Estaire, your marriage to Prince Laurent might have been viewed with more tolerance. A Romeo and Juliette story.
“But your long absence from Estaire and your brother’s inability to provide Estaire with an heir complicates matters considerably.”
Laurent allowed an amber curl to twine around his finger. “Estaire has been independent from Ducharme for three hundred years. I’m sure they view the prospect of being forced back under Falkenberg rule in much the same way that Americans would embrace the concept of accepting Queen Elizabeth as their sovereign.”
“What if I just refused to marry Prince Laurent?” Rory asked. “The worst that could happen is he would be insulted and the feud would continue.”
Laurent frowned, but he didn’t take her comment personally. One of his tasks was to teach her to evaluate the repercussions of her actions. “Your brother views this treaty as a means of preventing the worst from happening. If he were to die before you were properly trained to rule Estaire, your country could be plunged into political unrest. Prince Olivier has trained since birth to be a ruler. It would be strategic on his part to see you married to Prince Laurent who has been similarly trained.”
Tension bunched in her shoulders, giving away her emotions. “You don’t think I can do it on my own?”
“It is too soon to tell, madame. It is a formidable undertaking.”
“Rory,” she reminded him softly, her voice choked.
“Rory,” he corrected. He caressed her shoulders, fighting the urge to hold her and reassure her that he would be with her every step along the way. She needed to find her own core strength, her own confidence. “You will have to win your people’s hearts and earn their loyalty.”
“Provided someone doesn’t kill me first.” Her gaze remained rigidly fixed on the horizon. Beneath her fingertips, her cat licked at the cast covering her paw.
“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe,” Laurent promised, trying to interpret her thoughts. Was she scared? Would she run from her responsibilities as her mother had? He hoped she would commit herself to her duty, and to him.
“Then
stop shielding me from the truth. Do you think whoever tried to kill me last night killed my mother?”
He stilled. Her mother? “What do you mean?”
“Didn’t my brother tell you? She died eight months ago.” Rory touched the windowpane. Laurent saw a tear course down her golden cheek. “Out there. On my swing. At the rear of the garden—overlooking the ocean. It was set back from the cliff by six or eight feet. It was my favorite place for dreaming and reading. My mother never sat there, but that day she did and—”
A shudder racked her thin shoulders. “The cliff gave way beneath her and she fell. The police said it was erosion, but now I don’t know what to think. How could a swing be a murder weapon? But then I never thought of a light fixture as a weapon, either.” She twisted around to look at him, the horror in her eyes reminding him of the sleepless nights he’d lain awake questioning Marielle’s death. “Sebastian, do you know something I don’t?”
“Mein Gott.” His heart filling with compassion for her, Laurent lowered himself onto the windowseat and pillowed her head against his chest. The fragrant cloud of her hair tickled his nose.
She felt as soft and vulnerable as a child in his arms.
“I am so sorry. I was not made aware of this.” But gut instinct was clamoring that it might have been staged—just like the light fixture that had fallen last night. No questions. Just another tragedy on the evening news. He had to protect Rory no matter what the cost.
Rory sniffed, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Maybe my brother didn’t know. Maybe my mother’s lawyer didn’t tell him.” She choked back a sob. “I loved her so much. If she was killed, I want to know.”
Laurent caressed her back. “I’ll find out,” he promised.
“Do you have evidence the fixture was tampered with?”
Laurent told her the truth. “I have someone looking into it. I’ll inform you of the results.” When the bodyguards had called to say that the princess had evaded them, his first priority had been to find her. He hadn’t checked with Odette yet.
Guilt pricked his conscience that he was withholding his identity from her. But telling her now would only apply more pressure and make the situation more awkward. She had so much to learn before she could decide what was best for her, and for her country. And he hoped, too, that by then she would see what a partnership their marriage could be, based on common goals and concerns.
“Would it upset you too much to show me where the swing was located?”
She drew away from him, moisture glistening on her cheeks as she wiped at her face. “I can handle it. If someone killed my mother, I want them punished.”
He handed her his handkerchief. “I’ll get Heinrich. He trained with Interpol.”
By the time he had returned to the kitchen with Heinrich, Rory had washed her face. A resolute air was stamped on her delicate features.
He remained close by her side as she unlocked the sliding glass door and walked out into the courtyard.
The blistering heat of the July afternoon seared his head and shimmered like stars on the surface of the pool. The surf clapped like sporadic applause as Rory silently led them to the back of the garden where the ocean and the sky merged into an enormous canvas of azure. The vegetation ended abruptly where soil became rock. Laurent’s stomach knotted when he saw the jagged scar in the sandstone cliff that resembled a bite taken from a cookie.
Sunbathers dotted the boulder-dotted beach below, and Laurent prayed that her mother’s end had been swift, without suffering. It could have been Rory.
Keeping a tight rein on his emotions, he cautiously took a step closer to the edge of the cliff.
But Rory restrained him, fear riddling her eyes. “Be careful,” she pleaded.
Laurent tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Whether she knew it or not, they had a destiny together. “I promise. You wait here.”
He joined Heinrich, who was examining the rock face below the edge of the break.
After a few moments Heinrich pointed out a horizontal gouge in the cliff about three meters down at one end of the bite mark. Then pointed to a similar gouge another meter below that. When Laurent looked carefully, he detected more gouges on the rock face at the other end of the bite mark.
Heinrich shook his head. “It’s ingenious. A professional job. If I’m not mistaken, those are drill marks, though the stone is so crumbly you’d need to know what you were looking for to spot them. He probably lowered himself over the cliff with a rope attached to one of the trees in the garden and used a drill to start cracks along the section he wanted to fall off, then let gravity do the rest. The combination of her mother’s weight and the vibrating motion of the swing probably set it off.”
“What do you mean ‘a professional job’?” Rory said from behind them. Despite the intense heat, she was shivering.
Heinrich deferred to Laurent.
Laurent had never felt so angry. So without power. First he had lost Marielle. He was not going to lose his princess. “It is what you would call a hit man, madame. Someone was hired to do this.”
LAURENT STUDIED THE KNOBS on the gas range. He had never used a stove before, but Rory was huddled with her cat on the windowseat with a glazed look in her eyes. She needed a cup of tea. And he’d much prefer the bodyguards attend to their duties and keep his princess well protected.
He selected a knob. With a clicking sound, a flame appeared in the front left burner. He moved the kettle to that burner. Then he opened kitchen cupboards searching for a teacup and saucer. There were none. But he found some large mugs with ghastly surfboards and seagulls on them.
It was easier to locate a teaspoon, although the drawer in which it resided was in need of tidying. The kettle was whistling by the time he unearthed the tea bags in a canister on the counter. The princess most definitely needed a household staff, as well as a dresser and a lady’s maid. Except that Laurent had no intention of allowing her to remain here. It was too dangerous.
He’d already notified Prince Olivier that the princess would be taking up residence in the hotel.
He poured water into the mug and added the tea bag. The scent of strawberries steamed from the mug. He had no idea what to do with the tea bag once he deemed the tea properly brewed. For lack of a better solution, he set it on the rim of the sink beside a bottle of vitamins. He had not seen any trays in the cupboards so he carried the tea to her on a sandwich plate.
“Drink this,” he ordered.
Rory pulled herself out of her fog of grief and saw the mug of tea on the plate and the concern on Sebastian’s darkly handsome face and felt less alone. She was still wrestling with shock and guilt that her mother had died in her place. She was shaking too much to drink the tea so she set it on the cushion beside her. “Thanks.” Her hand sought the comforting sleek softness of Brontë’s flank. “So, how do we go about finding out who killed my mother?”
Sebastian frowned at her disapprovingly. “We leave the matter in Heinrich’s capable hands, because that is his job, and we begin the business of teaching you your duties, which is our job. Heinrich will make inquiries through the proper government channels and get a copy of the police report and request that experts examine the drill marks. There may be some evidence that he can connect to intelligence gathered by Estaire’s or Ducharme’s police agencies. In the meantime, our priority is to keep you safe. Your brother is making arrangements for you at the hotel. It’s not safe for you here.”
Rory dug in her heels. In the past thirty-six hours she’d experienced enough upheaval. Even though she was scared, she was not going to be chased out of her home. The hit man had worked his booby trap with the light fixture and was probably long gone by now. And if he decided to come back he’d be caught by Heinrich and his band of bodyguards, which suited Rory just fine.
“Well, you should have consulted me first. Brontë has a cracked rib and a broken leg. The vet told me she needs a tranquil environment to recuperate in. It would be too stressful to move her to an u
nfamiliar environment.”
She’d annoyed him. Even though his face was carefully composed, she knew by the pulse that throbbed just above his starched collar that he expected her to do whatever he said. Too bad. She had a mind of her own.
“May I point out that the assassin may have rigged other booby traps.”
“You think I haven’t thought of that? I’m sure Heinrich is itching to search the house to find them—if he hasn’t already. I’m not leaving.”
Two indentations dug into the corners of his mouth. Rory sighed inwardly, wondering what it would be like to kiss the firmness of Sebastian’s lips. Would he be as controlled as he appeared? Or was there a dark untamed passion lurking beneath the surface?
“Then you will consult with Heinrich to secure your residence and your person with suitable protection?”
“Just because I don’t want to be run out of my home, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid. It feels like I’m consigning myself to jail, but yes, I’ll consent to some security. However, I’m not going to walk around in public surrounded by Heinrich’s merry men. If I have to have bodyguards, I don’t want them to look like undertakers.” She reached for her mug of tea. “It would be nice if one of them was a woman.”
Amusement—or it might have been respect—flickered warmly in his inky eyes. “Now that that is settled, I should like to discuss your schedule. With your permission, we will start our lessons first thing in the morning.”
She inhaled the soothing scent of strawberries from her mug. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to schedule the lessons for the afternoons. I work at the Book Nook weekday mornings.”
“Of course. You haven’t had time to hand in your notice.”
Rory jerked her head up. Tea splashed over the rim of her mug and spotted her skirt. She rubbed at it. Fortunately, the multicolored Hawaiian print would hide the stain. “Who said I was quitting?”
Sebastian bowed his dark head. “My apologies. Given the circumstances, I assumed you would be handing in your notice. You have a great deal to learn and very little time. Your brother was hoping for a formal announcement of your engagement in the beginning of September, with the ceremony to be held in February. It’s impossible to plan a royal wedding in under six months.”
Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love Page 30
