“You must forgive me, but I couldn’t resist.” His voice was smug and self-satisfied. Apparently, the attempted smack pleased him far more than anything else Lauren could have done. Had she known that?
Dimitri suspected she did.
“You scared me to death!” Lauren seemed to relent, then leaned in for a brief hug as her mother kept spluttering. “I made an absolute fool of myself looking for whatever you’d sent in the box, only to realize you’d never intended to send anything at all.”
“My sincere apologies.” Henry Smithson spoke in sharp angles, much like the man himself. Smithson was tall and pale, as blond as the Grants. He was built well—slender, but hard. Someone who took care of himself with diligence. His eyes were dark and intense, and he swept the space every few moments, as if he expected trouble. When none came, he turned to continue his introductions. He shook Stefan’s hand as if it was a competition, and Stefan, being Stefan, showed no expression at the firm hold. “Stefan Andris, yes? Royal cousin, diplomat, general man about town. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Hopefully not in its entirety,” Stefan said smoothly, to another round of polite laughter. When he turned to escort Lauren up the stairs, Henry moved in swiftly, taking her by the arm. Lauren betrayed none of the fear—the terror—that she had the day before while talking about Smithson. She was laughing, happy, actually appearing a little charmed by Smithson’s high-handedness in taking her away from Stefan. Dimitri and the security team had planned for this, but not so soon in the evening, not when the remainder of the entourage had yet to arrive.
The small contingent moved up the stairs toward them, Mrs. Raptis leading the way as—thank God—the next vehicle turned into the gate at the bottom of the hill. Not an official limo, but the plant they’d had idling nearby. “Oh!” Lauren said, turning. “Is that Emmaline and Kristos?”
“We shall all greet them!” Raptis neatly solved the awkward moment by keeping the limelight on himself, and Lauren played her hand by disengaging from Henry’s hold to turn back toward the parking plaza. As her gaze found Dimitri’s, he tensed.
She was still scared to death.
The glance lasted only a breath, and then she was trotting down to the car, which, of course, didn’t contain Emmaline but another friend of the family’s. Then the royal caravan did show up, and all was set to rights.
In the soft light of the setting sun, however, Henry Smithson’s gaze remained on Lauren as she greeted her friends. Hungry. Self-assured. Resolute.
It’d be Dimitri’s pleasure to permanently kick this asshole to the curb.
With the arrival of the royal family, the rest of the party followed in short order, and soon the house was full to bursting. Dimitri skirted the perimeter of the main reception room, with its miniature stage for pontificating and wide dance floor. The Americans seemed too subdued to his eyes, but anyone who did not know them well wouldn’t necessarily guess. And Lauren, for her part, kept up appearances the best she could. She’d already danced with Smithson twice, laughing and blushing as if she were bowled over by the attention. She’d danced once with her father, another time with Stefan, and once with Kristos.
Now, finally, the evening was drawing to a close, and Dimitri could practically feel the air crackle with tension. With a celebutante’s unerring sense of timing, Lauren astutely guessed the musicians were embarking on their last dance of the evening, a traditional Greek celebratory number. Smithson was engaged in a lively conversation with King Jasen, so she slipped out of the room without anyone noticing her. Whether she legitimately needed air or she was merely bored, her absence likely wouldn’t be noticed as anything other than a capricious escape. She wouldn’t be back until well into the speechmaking, he was certain, while the rest of the party would be trapped by their own politeness, listening to Raptis ramble on about the future of Garronia.
Dimitri’s gaze swept the floor, alighting first on Stefan, who was also scanning the room, and then on Lauren’s parents, cheerfully drunk and looking…far too happy with themselves.
He double-checked Smithson’s position.
Gone. Dammit.
King Jasen was making his way to his seat of honor, but Smithson had vanished.
Stationed by the door as he was, it was easy for Dimitri to blend back into the shadows toward the corridor, but before he could turn away, he felt a small, strong hand on his arm.
He looked down into the fierce face of Nicki Clark. “Where’s Lauren?” she hissed. Dimitri looked up and saw Stefan bearing down on him as well, his normally impassive face now bent into a scowl. “I saw that creep leave right before I realized she wasn’t in the room anymore. That’s no good. You have no idea what her parents are planning for her, seriously. I want to find her.”
“Miss Clark.” Stefan reached them and laid a hand on Nicki’s shoulder, staying her as Dimitri shrugged off her hold. “Creating a scene is not to our advantage. Not here.”
“Well, it sure as hell—”
Their argument dissipated into a fierce whisper as Dimitri exited the reception room. The Raptis manor house featured expansive rooms and narrow corridors, but Lauren, he suspected, would behave the way most stalking victims would. She would head outside, someplace that wasn’t closed in, so she couldn’t be trapped. Somewhere there would be some people, but not too many, so she could be alone without being isolated.
Front or back veranda?
The front afforded the parking crew, but the back would have the staff setting up for the fireworks display Raptis had announced so proudly earlier in the evening. That was where she would be, he thought. Easier to explain away.
As he walked, he checked in with his men, each new report causing him to lengthen his stride. No, no, no. Smithson, it seemed, remained one step ahead of them. Time to change that.
He’d been to the Raptis home enough times on detail with Ari that he knew the layout. Moving quickly, he signaled a few of the house staff, men and women he’d seen before and so knew were hired by Raptis and not planted, to accompany him. His orders were precise, easy to understand. These people were not fools and knew the value of accommodating the royal family’s security team. They hustled out ahead of him toward the back of the house, their momentum giving him easy cover.
By the time he stepped out onto the veranda, however, he could see he was already too late.
Smithson had found Lauren.
The older man leaned into the cool, sophisticated blonde as she stood facing the large house, her body plainly in sight. As she’d no doubt suspected, the veranda was not at all abandoned, with quiet staff members moving chairs into place and lighting sparking torches at the perimeter of the space. Between the spitting crackle of the flames and the flickering lights, the torches gave him a greater opportunity to approach the couple, but he went slowly, easily. Smithson would not do more than talk, not here. He wouldn’t harm Lauren, not with this many witnesses.
But sometimes words could wound far more effectively than a blade. Not often, but it happened. And it was happening now.
“—fascinated with you since the moment I saw you, dangerously, emphatically so. You know that.”
Dimitri’s eyes widened. Was this a marriage proposal? Here?
“Mr.—” Lauren faltered, tilting her head artfully. “Henry, I’m flattered, you know that I am. But with your wealth and position, you could have any woman in the world. You don’t truly want me.”
“You’re wrong.” The words were spoken quietly, but there was such steel behind them that Dimitri paused, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. Lauren also seemed to realize her mistake.
“Then—if you do, which again, I am desperately flattered by, give us time to work through a relationship like two normal people. With my studies, I haven’t had a chance to breathe.”
“Your degrees were completed a year ago, and you’ve not remained long enough in one place since then until now. Don’t think I’m not aware as to why. You knew of my interest, Lauren. You did
n’t reach out, when you easily could have.”
“I’m only twenty-three—”
“And I have loved you for easily half your life. First, yes, as an uncle, a friend. But you have grown into the woman I always knew you could be. And I can’t bear to be apart from you any longer. I won’t bear it.”
“But—”
“I know your hesitation, Lauren. I do.” The sudden admission appeared to take Lauren by surprise, and Dimitri stiffened as well, alert. He had circled to the right of the pair so he could see them both clearly. Lauren’s flustered nerves and fear, some of which he suspected was artifice, some of which he knew wasn’t. Smithson’s hard triumph at having cornered his prey. “Your parents have explained how much freedom they’ve given you—too much freedom. No, no,” he lifted a hand to stay whatever protest or agreement Lauren was about to share.
At that moment, Dimitri’s earpiece crackled, and he instinctively looked toward the door, as if he could picture the wide front veranda atop the circular drive, and the third new vehicle that was now idling there, low and sleek and belonging to Smithson. The bastard was going to move tonight.
“But freedom is not for everyone, Lauren. What have you done with yours? Dashing around the world, playing at running a business, playing at having a life. It is time you live your life in earnest. I can show you how.”
“Then perhaps we should wait until I know I can be the mature wife you need?” Lauren sounded a little desperate now, and Smithson seemed to react to it, a wolf heading in for the kill. “I’d be better able to handle the duties and responsibilities of your social calendar—and know for certain what business I would want to pursue—in a few more years. I can get focused, make decisions.”
“I will not wait another year, certainly not three. I’ve everything already prepared to leave tonight.” He reached out, cupping her chin to lift it. “I get what I want, Lauren. I’ve always gotten what I wanted. You know that perhaps more than anyone. And now what I want is you.”
“Oh my Gawd!” The strident voice of Nicki Clark, sounding like she was cheering on the last goal in the World Cup, caterwauled over the space, causing both Smithson and Lauren to jump. “Stefan, will you look at all the sparklers!”
Chapter Seven
Lauren wheeled around, shocked to see Nicki stumbling forward as if she’d downed an entire bottle of tsipouro. Which would have been a trick, because the girl barely drank enough to give herself a buzz. But you’d never know it given the way she plowed forward, knocking into a small collection of chairs before Stefan reached her. As usual, the unflappable diplomat was fast and efficient, but Nicki seemed to be overmatching him with her sheer physicality. She flailed her fist, cracking him in the jaw, and even Stefan seemed surprised at the force of the blow. He bent to gather her up, and she sprawled forward, halfway down the stairs, barely keeping her feet.
“Ms. Clark!” Stefan gasped, reaching for her, and his sharp gaze swept to them. “A hand, if you would, Smithson,” he called to Henry. “She’ll hurt herself if she keeps it up.”
“Of course.” Henry didn’t hesitate, but Lauren was so grateful for the reprieve from his touch that she shamefully didn’t move forward to help recover Nicki, who’d begun singing at the top of her lungs—Nicki, who was the worst singer she’d ever met. By the time Henry reached her, Lauren finally recovered her wits. She surged forward as Nicki took her first remarkably well-aimed swing toward Henry, but someone grabbed Lauren’s hand and stopped her cold.
Then Dimitri was right up in her face, the shock of his nearness and the surge of his touch overbalanced only by the intensity of his gaze as he squeezed her arm hard enough to bruise. “Come with me, now. Don’t argue.”
She didn’t so much agree as breathe in his general direction, but that was apparently enough for Dimitri. He yanked her off the veranda and through the torches so quickly, she barely got her skirts up in time to run, and then they were off through the darkness, his hand locked on her wrist and his legs pumping so hard, she was pretty sure he would have dragged her bodily down the lush lawn if she tripped and fell. Luckily, she didn’t.
“Where—where!” was all she could manage as they crested another rise and then were into the trees, the thick knot of forest she’d so admired around Raptis’s mountain home. Dimitri didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. In another hundred feet, the trees cleared enough that she could see the bright moonlight pick out a strip of dirt tracks, the four-wheeler perched atop those tracks barely more than a golf cart.
“Get in,” he said, thrusting her forward, and she moved automatically, responding to the command in his voice. But as she settled into the vehicle and he turned the key—it was a golf cart of sorts, no sound whatsoever emanating from its engine—her brain switched on again.
“I’ll be missed—Nicki!”
“Nicki knew you were in trouble. She created a distraction.” Dimitri’s voice was a harsh growl. It didn’t sound like him at all.
“Stefan…?”
“He would not have let her do it if he’d known. He was surprised.” He flashed a grin, the first emotion she’d seen on him other than furious intent. “He doesn’t do well with surprises.”
“But they’ll look for me.”
“Most reasonable place you could have gone was back inside to get help. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes. That’s more than enough time to get you off the mountain.”
Lauren flopped back in her seat. “No, this is all too much, Dimitri. You’ll just piss Henry off, and he’s not a man who likes to be pissed off. Better for me simply to face him.”
“Not going to happen.” The golf cart intersected with a larger road, closer to the main highway that had brought them here, and another vehicle stood there, a hulking heavy-duty truck. “Into the truck.”
“No! I have to—”
“Into the truck or I’ll put you there, princess. I do not have time to fuck around here.” He lunged for her, and she jumped back, but her options were pretty limited. It was the truck or the forest, and Dimitri was her assigned bodyguard. She had to trust him, though he was making things so much worse. By the time she’d hauled herself up into his monster truck and buckled in, he’d already gunned the engine to life and they were off again, bouncing onto the road and shooting forward at high speed.
Dimitri started talking again. “Smithson had additional vehicles here tonight. They showed up as the party went on. All three of them alike. There is no doubt he would have left with you and possibly your parents in one of those vehicles, or, more likely, you and him together and your parents in a second limo, under some pretext of a drink back at the hotel or a tour of his yacht or some other bullshit that would sound perfectly polite and reasonable. We would have lost track of you, and then you’d be in the wind.”
“But you’re overreacting—you’re doing this all wrong!” Desperation rocketed through her. “You can’t simply stick me in some sort of mountain château the way you did with Emmaline. These are my parents! They’ll be looking for me. Henry will be looking for me. If he suspects the royal family had anything to do with my disappearance, he’ll create the biggest media crapstorm you could possibly imagine until I’m released.”
“He won’t suspect the royal family. They didn’t order me to follow you outside. They didn’t order Nicki and Stefan to create a distraction. As far as anyone will know, you ran away and hid, and someone is either harboring you or you’re using your own considerable connections to escape an unpleasant situation. Your parents will not make a public stink about it until they understand the fallout back to them.”
“But I can’t truly hide, Dimitri. That’s not reasonable. Which means sooner or later, this is going to end very badly for me.”
“Maybe. But it beats the alternative.” Dimitri yanked his phone out of his pocket and tossed it into her lap. “Scroll through the pictures.”
She picked up the device. There was no pass code, and a simple swipe showed her he’d already been in the text app. Th
e first pic was a snapshot of a document, and she frowned, brushing the screen with her fingertips to stretch it wide.
She flinched. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Marriage certificate, prenup, all your asset-transfer paperwork. Everything that’s yours, now and in the future, will be his. Neatly done. We found that in your parents’ suite aboard the Smithson yacht. There’s another copy in Henry’s.”
“Do I want to know how you got past Smithson’s security?”
“You do not.” Dimitri angled onto another road, and she got the sense they were heading away from the capital city and down, toward the sea. “So far, no one has seen these documents except me. Cyril and the king will receive copies if and when it’s appropriate.”
“Plausible deniability.” Lauren shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d need that in a monarchy.”
“It’s never a bad policy. Brace yourself.”
Without more warning, Dimitri braked hard and cut the wheel, and they slid off the main road and down a path that was little more than a goat track. Trying not to squeal like a six-year-old girl, Lauren grabbed on to the door, the ceiling bar, anything she could get her hands on as they bounced and roared over skittering rocks and precipitous drops. Eventually the road evened out again, but she was swimming with vertigo by the time the trees opened up onto a narrow strip of sand. Ahead, she could see a legitimate road feeding onto the beach, a few picnic tables scattered around. Off into the water was a boat, its prow lit up with a single light.
“What was wrong with the road?” she asked, unsurprised that her voice was shaking.
Dimitri shrugged. “Shortcut. We get out here.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer but got out of the truck. For a moment, however, Lauren froze. She had no phone. She had no money. She had nothing to wear but the clothes on her back, and no one to trust but this brute of a bodyguard who listened to absolutely nothing she said, despite the fact that she was the one speaking reason and he was the one hustling her into a boat to go God only knew where.
Captured (Gowns & Crowns #2) Page 7
