The Disenchanted Duke

by Marie Ferrarella

  All Cara acknowledged was the woman's very shapely body and her very friendly smile toward Max.

  "The silverware hints. Where I come from, we never had any more than two forks. One, usually." There hadn't always been that much to eat, either. Certainly not seven courses with side dishes arranged in an incredible array that teased the appetite and pleased the eye.

  He thought of the tedious indoctrination process he and his brother had been forced through as children so that they wouldn't prove to be "an embarrassment to the house of Sebastiani."

  "I always found a legion of forks and spoons a nuisance to keep track of." He smiled, remembering. "My mother always said that as long as you don't lower your head and eat off your plate like a starving vulture, you were ahead of the game."

  Cara laughed, unmindful of the fact that her warm breath skimmed his face or that it aroused him. "Sounds like I would have liked your mother."

  He found himself wishing that the two could have met. He had a feeling that Helen Sebastiani would have liked this unorthodox bounty hunter fate had led him to stumble across.

  "Everyone did," he told her. "With the exception of my father."

  She didn't waste time with polite protests that he was probably mistaken, the way some of his far more sophisticated guests might have. She'd seen the underbelly of life and knew a great deal about unhappiness. Life was too short for wasted breath. "Why did he marry her?"

  The reason was as superficial as Max later found his father to be. "Because she was thought to be one of the most beautiful women in the world in her day. My mother was a beauty queen and then a top model. Her face was on every major magazine cover in the world and he claimed to have fallen in love with it."

  How like his father to fall for a two-dimensional image, never taking the woman beneath into account. That was far too troublesome for Duke Antonio, too disturbing. That would have required, Max thought with some bitterness, a heart.

  "He swept her away like a fairy-tale prince—or like a duke, as the case was." Max's jaw became rigid. "Once my father conquered something, he lost interest, went on to more exciting pursuits. It was no different when it came to my mother."

  How sad, Cara thought. No happy endings in this fairy tale. "Why did your mother remain, then?"

  Life was so modern now, people tended to forget what things were like even a mere twenty-five years ago.

  "It's not so easy to get a divorce when a good portion of the world is watching you. Besides, my mother believed in marrying forever." Max danced Cara passed his uncle. The king, dancing with his wife, smiled broadly at them in approval. "And she had two children she knew she would never be allowed to take with her. Two children she would never abandon. She said that my father loved us, but he never spent any time with us. She wanted us to grow up feeling loved. So she stayed and threw herself into charity work to ease the pain."

  Helen Sebastiani sounded like a wonderful woman. "Did it?"

  The tempo slowed and so did he. Desire moved through him like an ever swelling army.

  "She never complained. But I suspect it didn't. There was a pain in her eyes she couldn't mask." He looked down at Cara. He'd said far more than he'd intended, finding her easy to talk to. Talking wasn't a luxury he usually allowed himself. "Why are you asking all these questions about my family?"

  For once, the look she gave him was completely devoid of guile.

  "Because I have no family of my own to talk about." And then the reason that was probably behind his question hit her. "Don't worry." She winked. "This isn't being reprinted in the Trashy Tabloid of the Week."

  Her wink went straight to his gut, wreaking havoc. His hand tightened around hers.

  "Old news anyway." He forced himself to loosen his fingers from about hers. "You look exceptionally beautiful tonight."

  "But?" Cara waited for the inevitable qualification, hoping it wouldn't sting too badly.

  "No 'but." ' Try as he might, he didn't quite understand her. "Why do you always expect something bad to follow something good?"

  "Because it usually does," she said simply. "And I like being prepared."

  The orchestra began playing another song, its rhythm slightly faster than the last. He ignored the increased tempo. He liked swaying gently with her. It suited his mood. "Maybe it would do you more good to expect something good."

  Cara shrugged, looking away for a moment. "Those kinds of surprises I don't need to be prepared for. I can handle them just fine."

  But avoiding eye contact was for cowards and she had vowed a long time ago never to be a coward again. Instead she changed the topic to something safer and less close to her heart, which was in jeopardy of being breached.

  "So, any news?" she asked, changing the topic. "When can I take our mutual creep back to Colorado with me?"

  He'd been hoping that wouldn't come up tonight. Max didn't want to talk shop, didn't want anything to spoil the evening. An evening that he was hoping would end in her room.

  But since she'd asked, he couldn't lie to her. "I'm afraid that it's going to be awhile."

  Her pace slowed until she stopped dancing entirely. "Oh? And why is that?"

  His hand still wrapped around hers, he forced her to move to the tempo he set. He didn't want any attention drawn to the argument he suddenly saw brewing.

  "Because his list of offenses here is far more extensive than the one in the U.S. Salim is thought to be responsible for several bombing raids and the king thinks he might have had a hand in bringing down the prince's plane."

  She vaguely remembered hearing the story about a year ago. Something about a prince's plane crashing in the Rockies. The name of the country hadn't registered until now.

  She looked at him in surprise. "That was your prince?"

  "More than that," Max clarified. "That was my cousin."

  The news stunned her into silence for a moment. His cousin. She wondered if they'd been close and if this was all really a personal matter. She could feel sympathy rising inside her, but quickly banked it down. She couldn't afford that, not now. There was too much at stake. She had given her word to the sheriff as well as making a promise to Phil, who was technically out a large amount of money until things got squared away in a court regarding the extradition.

  "Look, I'm very sorry about your cousin, I really am, but still, I can't—"

  Max couldn't quite read her tone, but there was an edgy look in her eyes. As if she was waiting for a trap to snap, or to be pushed out of a plane without benefit of a parachute.

  "There's no need to be upset. I've already covered the bounty money," he reminded her.

  She could feel her hackles going up. Did he think he could just buy her off like some strolling hostess of the evening that had given him a good time? She'd thought he'd understood her better than that. Obviously she was giving him too much credit.

  It figured. "It's not just about the bounty money."

  What was she getting so annoyed about? "You said the other day that it was. That you didn't care what the sheriff and I did with the prisoner as long as you got the bounty money. I believe dancing was mentioned," he said in an effort to get her to smile and drop the subject.

  So now was he laughing at her? He was certainly making her sound callous and greedy. Was that what he thought of her? Was she just someone to buy off?

  Well, why shouldn't he think of her that way? Look at the world she came from. Look at where he came from. The mountains and flatlands, that's what they were. And the mountains looked down at the flatlands.

  She gritted her teeth together, enunciating every word. "It's about giving my word to the sheriff that I'd bring Weber back."

  "It's Salim," he reminded her. "Jalil Salim, not Kevin Weber. And as I remember, your word was rather twistable."

  Incensed, she pulled her hand away from his. "Not to the people who count."

  He read between the lines and her tone. "And I don't count."

  Cara's chin shot up. "Now who's twisting things around?
"

  The woman blew hot and cold at the same time. He was getting very weary of this dance of words. "You tell me."

  Right, big joke. Cara's eyes narrowed, pinning him.

  "I don't think anyone can tell you anything. You seem to have the answers to everything." Afraid that she was going to say something that might offend the people around her, she gathered up her skirt, preparing to go. "If you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough old world charm for one evening."

  There was a huge pain in the middle of her chest that was working its way up her throat and seriously campaigning against her eyes. She could feel tears forming. Alarmed, she began to plow her way off the dance floor, brushing passed Lorenzo.

  "Is something wrong?" the duke asked.

  She stopped only long enough to be polite. "I suddenly have a splitting headache. If you'll excuse me, I need to lie down."

  Lorenzo turned toward his older brother, glad that Max had finally found someone. "Looks like you have a regular spitfire on your hands."

  As far as Max was concerned, the old-fashioned term described Cara Rivers to a t. She was spitting fire all right.

  And he felt fire burning through him every time he took her into his arms.

  "Not at the moment," he corrected his younger brother, indicating his empty hands. "But I—"

  The king came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Max, would you mind giving me a moment? I'd like you to take a walk with me in the garden."

  Max hesitated, torn. He wanted to go after Cara, to smooth over whatever it was that had gotten wrinkled. But maybe it would do her some good to have a few minutes to herself. To get whatever bur had gotten under her blanket out and become civilized again.

  He turned toward his uncle and inclined his head. "Of course."

  Max gestured for the king to lead the way.

  * * *

  "I know you're here for only a short while, Max, but I have to confess I have always valued having you as my sounding board." They were in the garden now, away from the lights of the palace and from prying ears. The king relaxed, looking at his nephew fondly. "You, above anyone, have always demonstrated that you have no ulterior motives when it comes to the affairs of this country, no dark side behind your opinions."

  His uncle looked so serious. Max pushed aside his own concerns, placing himself completely at his uncle's disposal. "What's on your mind?"

  "As you know, we believe now that Lucas survived the plane crash. The fact that he is most likely alive is being kept a secret from everyone except those who are closest to me. When I initially renewed my search for Lucas, very few people were informed." Agitation caused him to pace as he spoke. "Only those within the family and what I believed were a trusted few members of Sheik Ahmed's family knew." His expression grew grim as he thought of the information his agents had brought him. "We have confirmed that Salim knew we were searching for Lucas, that we had new evidence that he was alive." Marcus looked at his nephew. "I have received news that Salim's mission was not only to set up a front for the Brothers of Darkness in America, but to track down my son and to kill him."

  The king drew a deep breath, the very thought wounding his heart. "How could he, a member of the Brothers of Darkness, have known any of this unless someone from the Kamal family told him?" To believe it was someone within his own family was unthinkable and he refused to even remotely entertain the idea. That only left his new son-in-law's family.

  The new peace was fragile. He had to tread carefully. If he was wrong...

  Max was piecing things together as quickly as they were being thrown at him. "Then you suspect

  Marcus waved one hand helplessly in the air. "I don't know who to suspect."

  The king sighed, hating the intrigue which had once seemed to spark his adolescent heart. Now he longed for only peace. Peace that insisted on eluding him.

  "I have asked Gage Weston—another duke who refuses to assume his title," he interjected with a smile as he looked at Max, "to investigate this matter for me. To that end he will be attempting to work his way into the Kamals's trust."

  Max was still unclear on why the revelation was being made to him at this time. "And you are sharing this with me because?"

  The king smiled, knowing he could be both blunt and honest with his nephew the way he couldn't with others. "Because I want you to tell me if you think I am seeing boogie men where there are only harmless shadows in the night."

  When it came to the family members he cared about, Max felt that it never hurt for them to be too cautious. "We both know that the Brothers of Darkness are a force to be reckoned with and to be wary of. No, I don't think you're being unduly cautious." For his uncle's sake, he bent the truth a little. "In your position, I would do exactly the same thing."

  But Marcus knew him too well. "No, in my position, you would have tried to find things out on your own, gone into the heart of the clan and taken it on, one member at a time," Marcus pointed out. "Because, at your age, I would have toyed with the same thought. However, with age comes wisdom— and slowness. I cannot say which it is that is the deciding factor."

  Max smiled at the man he had often wished fate had made his father instead of his uncle. "You will never grow old, Uncle, only wiser."

  Marcus laughed heartily. "I knew there was a reason you were always my favorite." He slipped his arm around the other man's shoulders. "Come, we have kept your young woman waiting long enough. I saw the way your brother was looking at her."

  Max knew that it was just harmless teasing on his uncle's part. The friendly rivalry that had existed between them as boys had never extended to the women in their lives. It was as if, without saying a word about it, out of a respect for their mother, both of them were trying not to emulate their father's life.

  "She's not waiting, she's gone."

  "Gone?" Marcus stopped walking. "Gone where?"

  Max upbraided himself silently. He hadn't meant it to sound as melodramatic as that. "To her room, probably. To cool off."

  Relieved, Marcus shook his head, doling out friendly advice. "Oh, I don't think you would want that one too cool, Max. She reminds me of someone who would warm your heart for many decades to come."

  Max thought of the look on Cara's face just before she'd spun on her heel and stormed away. And if ever a woman had stormed, it was Cara Rivers. "I don't think she sees things in that light."

  They'd had a tiff, an argument, Marcus thought. Good. What was affection without adversity? Bland.

  "You were always a negotiator, Max. Negotiate. Unless you have no feelings for her." Marcus pretended to peer into his eyes. "But you do."

  Max didn't like having his thoughts invaded this way, even by a beloved uncle. Especially when he didn't feel as if he had sorted any of this out himself.

  "I don't know."

  "I do. You have your father's eyes."

  Marcus stiffened just a little. "I'd rather you didn't compare me to him."

  Marcus understood perfectly. They were alike in their regard for Antonio. Death had allowed them to commiserate. "Your father had magnificent eyes. It was the condition of his soul we questioned." Marcus touched Max's face fondly. "You have your mother's soul. Beautiful, sensitive and enormous." He patted Max's shoulder and then gave him a little push. "Go to her, Max, make things right. For both

  of you."

  Max shrugged. He didn't want to rush things. "Maybe in a little while."

  "The stubbornness you exhibit is your grandfather's," Marcus told him. "Have it your way. But

  don't let too much time pass."

  Slipping an arm around the younger man's shoulder again, the king turned back toward the palace.

  * * *

  Cara moved around the luxurious room like someone confined to a prison cell.

  There was no point in her remaining.

  If the king had no intention of releasing Weber-Salim, or whoever the creep was, to her any time soon, she couldn't just hang around here like some bump on a log, waiti
ng indefinitely.

  Maybe Max could afford to do nothing with his time, but she couldn't. She had a living to make. The ten thousand dollars would tide Bridgette over for just so long. And they both knew that Bridgette's health was not what it used to be. Cara wanted to be prepared to help if Bridgette needed it.

  Besides, staying here was awkward and just plain painful. Everywhere she looked reminded her of how different she and Max really were.

  She looked in the mirror, seeing the dress that had been left for her. As if whoever left it already had known that she couldn't have packed anything remotely suitable for this evening. No one asked. It was a given.

  There wasn't a future for them.

  Hell, there wasn't even a present. She'd seen the way some of the other women had looked at Max during dinner. As if he was a prize that they meant to win. She couldn't compete against women like that and she wasn't about to lower herself by trying.

  She'd had enough humiliation in her life, she didn't need any more.

  It was nice while it lasted, she thought, but all fairy tales ended. And if she remembered her Hans Christian Anderson, they didn't all end with "And they lived happily ever after." Some didn't live happily at all.

  That would be her, she thought.

  But she had her pride and, no matter what Max seemed to think to the contrary, her honor. She was leaving with those intact. If she stayed, it might turn out to be another story.

  Cara abruptly stopped pacing before her closet. The maid had already hung everything up and placed the suitcase in the recesses. Cara pulled it out. What she needed to do was to get her things together and leave before Max knew anything about her plans to go.

  They had to have some flight leaving here for the States, didn't they? The airport wasn't far from the palace. She could just have someone drive her to the airport and take it from there.

  It was a viable plan.

  Her head jerked around as she heard a noise on the terrace.

  Ryker.

  Her heart began to hammer. Had he snuck onto her terrace to try to get her to go back to the party? Maybe it had been rude of her to leave that way, she thought, guilt nibbling at her conscience. After all, it wasn't the king's fault that she'd fallen in love with Max.