by Linda Turner
Before she could say another word, they were interrupted by a servant, who hurried forward with a worried frown. "Is there a problem, Your Grace?"
"As a matter of fact, there is," he said flatly. "Show this lady to the door, will you, Rudolpho? She's a reporter. And make sure she doesn't get back in."
"Of course," the older man replied, and took Eliza's arm in a grip that was surprisingly firm.
"No! Wait! At least talk to the king for me," she called after the duke, but it was too late. Without sparing her a glance, he turned and walked away.
Chapter 2
Please don't give me any trouble, Miss," the servant said quietly. "I don't want to call a guard."
Trapped, Eliza considered her options. Old enough to be her grandfather, Rudolpho seemed a gentle soul, but she knew better than to mistake him for a soft touch. The duke wouldn't have turned her over to him if he hadn't felt he could trust the old man to throw her out. And that could only mean one thing. She had to talk fast.
"I know you're only doing your job, Mr. Rudolpho—"
"Sabina," he interjected with a half smile as she fell into step beside him. "The name is Rudolpho Sabina. I'm the king's personal servant."
"And not easily snowed, I'll bet," she replied solemnly.
His lips twitched, but he only said, "No, Miss, I'm not."
That made it more difficult. Falling back on the truth and praying it didn't let her down, she said earnestly, "Then I hope you'll believe me when I tell you I didn't fly all the way from America just to get a scoop on the king's announcement. I didn't even know he planned to name a new heir today. If I had, I would have tried to call to convince him he doesn't need to do this. You have to believe me, Mr. Sabina. That's why I'm here. I have news of the prince."
For a minute, she thought he was going to listen to her. He hesitated, but just when she began to hope that he would help her, he continued his pace steadily toward the nearest exit. "You seem like an intelligent woman," he said quietly. "I'm sure you must realize that over the course of the past year, the king has been hounded by dozens of fortune hunters who claimed they'd found the prince. None of them could produce him. Can you?"
Just that easily, he had her neatly cornered. "No," she sighed in defeat. "No, not yet. But I'm sure I'll be able to with time."
"The world is full of people who might be able to do that, Ms. Windmere. That's not a good enough reason to see the king."
His decision made, they reached an exit then, but before he could show her out, they were joined by a woman who hurried toward them with a frown, scolding Rudolpho all the while. "Rudy, thank God! I've been looking for you everywhere. Where have you been? The king is about to greet his guests—"
"Oh, please, you must stop him!" Eliza said quickly, interrupting. "There is no need for him to announce a new heir. Prince Lucas is still alive! I have proof!"
"She's a reporter, Josie," Rudy said when his wife gasped. "She broke in—"
"Because the guard at the gate wouldn't let me in. I was desperate."
Josie Sabina, to her credit, didn't dismiss her out of hand. "Well, I suppose I might do the same thing if I was desperate,"she said with a slight smile. Studying her speculatively, she suddenly held out her hand and introduced herself. "I'm Rudy's wife, Josie. And you're...?"
"Eliza Windmere." Sensing a kindred spirit, she took her hand with a sigh of relief. "It's very important that I talk to the king, Mrs. Sabina. His son wasn't killed in the plane crash. I live in Colorado. I wouldn't have flown halfway around the world for a hoax. I'm not that kind of person. I really do have proof."
When Josie glanced at her husband for guidance, Eliza felt her heart sink. This was her last chance. If Josie didn't help her, she was going to be tossed out on her ear, and she could forget getting a message to the king. Duke Lorenzo would spread the word that she was a crazy American reporter and nothing she said would be taken seriously.
"Duke Lorenzo said to show her out," Rudy told his wife. "I'm just following orders."
That was her clue to do the same, but just when Eliza felt sure Josie was going to tell her she couldn't help her, the older woman hesitated. "If there's the slightest chance the prince is alive, you know I have to tell the queen, Rudy," she told her husband finally. "She would want to know."
"But what if this is nothing but a scam?" he argued. "The king won't be happy that you upset the queen for nothing."
"That's a risk I'll have to take," she said simply. "If the prince was my son and there was the slightest chance he was alive, I would want to know."
Put that way, Rudy knew when he was beaten. "All right," he sighed. "We'll wait here for you."
Thrilled, Eliza wanted to hug them both. Finally, someone was listening to her! Now, if only the queen would! Sending up a silent prayer as Josie rushed off to talk to her, she waited with Rudy and tried not to be concerned when one minute turned into two, then three, then ten. It wasn't easy. She didn't like letting other people speak for her, and her too-active imagination was jumping to all sorts of conclusions, none of them good. What was taking so long?
Impatient, worry eating at her stomach, she would have gone looking for Josie and the queen if Rudy hadn't been watching her like a hawk. And he obviously knew that. Standing nearby, he had the patient look of a man who had no intention of letting her out of his sight, even if that meant watching her for the rest of the day.
Trapped and hating it, she was looking around for a way to distract him so she could slip away when she spied Josie quickly approaching from the far end of the hall. Her heart in her throat, she stepped toward her. "Well? Will she see me?"
"You have ten minutes," she replied solemnly, only to laugh when Eliza pulled her into a hug. Patting her, she smiled. "Come. You don't have any time to waste."
* * *
With Josie now as her escort, they made their way through a maze of corridors before they finally reached a small solarium at the back of the house. Stopping outside the elegantly panelled double doors, Josie gave her a quick lesson in royal etiquette.
"You wait for the queen to speak first, and you curtsy when you are introduced. And don't worry. The queen isn't a stickler for such things, but it is the polite thing to do, and she will appreciate it." Amusement glinting in her dark eyes, she added, "Smooth your hair, dear. That's it. Ready?"
No! Eliza almost cried. She was about to meet the queen of Montebello. Of course, she wasn't ready! Too late, she realized she should have taken time to freshen her makeup and clothes at the airport before rushing to the palace, but there was no time for that now. The queen was waiting and the clock was ticking.
Drawing in a calming breath, she nodded. "Let's do it."
Without a word, Josie knocked lightly on the door and pulled it open. A heartbeat later, she found herself ushered into a beautiful room with pale green walls, mosaic floors and the most gorgeous plants and flowers Eliza had ever seen. And there waiting for her was not only Queen Gwendolyn, but King Marcus, as well.
Her heart pounding crazily in her breast, Eliza told herself there was no reason to be nervous. They weren't ogres. In fact, according to all accounts, they were amazingly friendly and down to earth, considering they lived in a palace. And even though Eliza had never met them, she'd written about them and their children and extended family so much over the years that she almost felt like she knew them.
But even as she went over all the reasons why she should be perfectly at ease in the presence of royalty, she curtsied awkwardly before Josie had a chance to announce her. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, blushing as red as her hair. "I was supposed to wait until I was introduced—and you spoke first."
Queen Gwendolyn smiled with understanding, and it was easy to see why she was still considered one of the most beautiful women in Europe. In her early sixties, her porcelain skin was clear and virtually unlined, her eyes sparkled, and her figure was as trim and slender as a girl's in a blue silk suit that exactly matched the color of her eyes.
&nb
sp; Extending her hand, Queen Gwendolyn said, "For the most part, we don't stand on ceremony in our home, Ms. Windmere. Please...may I call you Eliza?"
"Oh, yes, of course, Your Highness."
Liking her immediately, Eliza shook her hand and could have easily sat down and chatted with her like they were old friends. The king, however, stood protectively at his wife's side and looked every inch the royal. The past year had not been easy for him. Regal and aristocratic, his once dark hair was now nearly completely white and there were lines at the corners of his dark eyes that had not been there last year before his son's plane crashed in Colorado.
Quietly greeting her, he got right to the point. "Josie tells us you have news of our son."
"Yes, sir, I do. I believe he is alive."
"According to Josie, you have proof," Queen Gwendolyn said, her eyes dark with entreaty. "You don't look like a cruel woman, Eliza. If this was all just a trick on your part so you could gain an audience with us, please admit it now, and there'll be no hard feelings."
When she took her husband's hand and they stood side by side, their pain was visible. Eliza could have cried for them both. She'd never been married, never had children, so she couldn't begin to imagine the extent of their hurt. Royalty or not, they were parents and they obviously loved their son, and if she could help them in any way, she would.
"I know this past year had to be extremely difficult for you, and I know that you've had people coming out of the woodwork claiming they had found the prince," she said huskily. "I'll be honest with you. I haven't found him, either, and right now, I don't have a clue where he is. But I truly believe he's alive. Because of this." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the scarf Willy had found and held it out to the queen. "I believe this belongs to Prince Lucas, doesn't it?"
Her gaze locked on the dirty, tattered scarf, Queen Gwendolyn gasped softly. Tears flooded her eyes, and when she reached out for the scarf with trembling fingers, it was almost as if she was afraid to touch it. "Oh, Marcus, look!"
The king didn't say a word. His expression as hard as granite, he shot Eliza a look that would have had a lesser woman shaking in her shoes. "We gave this to our son for Christmas last year. Where did you get it?"
"From a man named Willy Cranshaw," she replied. "He found it in the woods in Colorado.. .near an abandoned campsite about five miles from the crash site."
"You think Lucas dropped it there?" the queen asked, brushing away the tears that spilled from her eyes. "That he somehow survived the crash? All this time when we thought he was dead, you think he's been wandering around the mountains? Is that what you're saying?"
Eliza would have bet everything she owned that that was exactly what happened, but she couldn't prove it. And until she could, she wouldn't give the queen false hope. "I don't know, Your Highness. I just know that the scarf didn't walk away from the crash site on its own."
She was trying to be cautious, but she might as well have saved her breath. The king and queen exchanged a long look, and suddenly they were in each other's arms, laughing and crying and dancing with joy.
"He must be alive, Gwen!" the king laughed joyfully. "Can you believe it? After all this time, he's really alive!"
Ecstatic, he whirled her around, then kissed her soundly, not caring who saw. "I have to tell Lorenzo," he exclaimed, "so he can reopen the investigation. And the girls! They're going to be thrilled. Rudy?" he yelled, all dignity gone as he glanced around for his personal servant. "I need you, man. Where are you?"
"Here, Your Highness," the older man said quietly as he stepped into the room.
Surprising the older man, the king embraced him like a brother. "Lucas is alive, Rudy!"
To his credit, Rudy admitted that he'd already heard the news. "Ms. Windmere said that he was, Your Highness, but I thought she was another fortune hunter. Forgive me, Miss," he told her solemnly. "But I couldn't take any chances."
"It's okay," she replied with an easy smile. "I know you were only doing your job."
Pleased by both his old friend's honesty and Eliza's response, the king patted him on the shoulder. "Go get Lorenzo for me. He needs to know about this so we can reopen the investigation."
At the mention of the duke's name, Eliza stiffened. No! she wanted to cry. Don't Bring Him In On This! But even as she bit back the words, she knew she was going to have to deal with the duke whether she liked it or not. He was, after all, the head of Royal Intelligence and had been in charge of the search for the prince from the moment his plane had gone down. Of course the king would want him to know about the scarf.
"Please sit down, Eliza and tell us everything," the queen said, motioning her over to the pretty cream-colored couch and wing chairs that flanked the marble fireplace, which was the focal point of the room. "I know you said Mr. Cranshaw found Lucas's scarf near a campsite in the mountains, but can you give us all the details you know?"
"Did he find anything else?" the king asked as he joined his wife on the couch and Eliza sank into one of the comfortable chairs. "Was there any way to tell if Lucas was hurt? Where has he been all this time? Why hasn't he called? Doesn't he know we're worried about him?"
Hesitating, Eliza didn't quite know how to answer that. As far as she was concerned, the very fact that Prince Lucas hadn't notified his family that he was alive said a lot about his mental state, but that was strictly her opinion. She wasn't a doctor and wasn't about to comment on the prince's mental or physical condition to his worried parents. So she avoided the issue and turned the conversation back to what she did know.
"Willy found the scarf at an abandoned campsite in a remote area up in the mountains. He couldn't tell how long the prince stayed there—if it was just overnight or possibly longer, but someone had stayed long enough to build a campfire. As for the scarf, we don't know if the prince dropped it or just forgot it, but it was on a log near the campfire."
"Do you trust this Cranshaw fellow?" the king asked with a frown. "What do you know about him? Could he have found the scarf at the crash site and just made this all up so we would think Lucas is still alive? There are sick people out there who get their kicks doing that kind of thing, you know," he told her grimly. "Gwendolyn and I found that out after Lucas turned up missing. Unfortunately, we live in a twisted world."
"Willy has his moments," she said honestly, "but I trust him. He's not lying about where he found the scarf. He wouldn't do that."
She would have said more, but Duke Lorenzo arrived then, and the second he saw her sitting with the king and queen, he stiffened, his sharp green eyes dark with irritation as they locked with hers. Ignoring his aunt and uncle, he growled, "I don't know what the devil you think you're doing, but you're not getting away with it." Striding over to the chair where she sat, he grabbed her arm. "C'mon, you're leaving. And this time, I'll make sure you don't sneak back in."
Shocked, Queen Gwendolyn cried, "Lorenzo! What in heaven's name has gotten into you? Eliza has brought us news of Lucas. Stop that!" she cried when he hauled Eliza to her feet. "Have you lost your mind? You know better than to treat a guest that way!"
"She's just a reporter looking for headlines," he retorted with a scowl. "Don't believe anything she says. I caught her wandering the halls earlier and had Rudy escort her out of the building, but I guess she found a way to break back in."
"She didn't break in," his uncle said, frowning. "We invited her in. She has news of Lucas. He's alive. Look." Holding out the scarf to him, he made no attempt to blink back the tears that pooled in his eyes. "This was found five miles from the crash site, Lorenzo. At an abandoned campsite," he added huskily. "Can you believe it? He must be alive!"
Seeing the hope in his uncle's and aunt's eyes, Lorenzo wanted more than anything to believe that his cousin had somehow survived the plane crash. But how could he? It had been a year. If Lucas had walked away from the crash, where had he been for the past year? Where was he now? And even though he knew in a glance that the scarf Marcus held was Lucas's, how much stoc
k could he put in the word of an American reporter who no doubt lived and died by the outrageous headlines she wrote?
"I think it's a little too early to jump to that conclusion," he told Marcus stiffly. "This woman is a reporter. She's just looking for a sensational story."
"I am not!"
"She writes a gossip column about royalty," he continued, ignoring her indignant cry. "I thought her name sounded familiar when I ran into her in the hall, so I did a little investigating. She writes for the Denver Sentinel, and she prides herself on beating the competition to a story. She'll go to any lengths to get material for her column."
"I don't lie!"
"No? So you're going to stand there and say Count Baldwin really had a child with his governess?" he taunted, referring to a twenty-five-year-old English count who had a reputation for being as pious as a monk. "That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. The woman's fifteen years his senior!"
"And a paternity test proved the child was his," she retorted. "If you don't believe me, I have a copy of the test results back in my office in Denver. I'll send it to you when I get back home."
Her blue eyes sparking fire at him, she dared him to top that, and with nothing more than that little act of defiance, she set his teeth on edge. And for the life of him, Lorenzo didn't know why. He liked women and enjoyed their company. He didn't usually get short with them, let alone hostile, especially with someone he didn't even know, but there was something about this little redhead that rubbed him the wrong way.
"The point is," he said through his teeth, "that that was a private situation that you had no business exposing. You have no boundaries, and neither does the paper you write for."
"Oh, really?" she snapped. "Then if I'm the monster you think I am, why did I even bother to come all this way in the first place? I certainly didn't need anyone's permission to write this story. I had the scarf and knew where it came from. I could have splashed pictures of it all over the front page and let the wire services pick it up. Wouldn't that have been a nice way for the king and queen to find out their son was alive? They could have read all about it in the papers."
