Code Name: Prince

by Valerie Parv

  Courteous, courageous and commanding—these heroes lay it all on the line for the people they love in more than fifty stories about loyalty, bravery and romance.

  Don’t miss a single one!

  AVAILABLE FEBRUARY 2010

  A Vow to Love by Sherryl Woods

  Serious Risks by Rachel Lee

  Who Do You Love? by Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano

  Dear Maggie by Brenda Novak

  A Randall Returns by Judy Christenberry

  Informed Risk by Robyn Carr

  Five-Alarm Affair by Marie Ferrarella

  AVAILABLE MARCH 2010

  The Man from Texas by Rebecca York

  Mistaken Identity by Merline Lovelace

  Bad Moon Rising by Kathleen Eagle

  Moriah’s Mutiny by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Have Gown, Need Groom by Rita Herron

  Heart of the Tiger by Lindsay McKenna

  AVAILABLE APRIL 2010

  Landry’s Law by Kelsey Roberts

  Love at First Sight by B.J. Daniels

  The Sheriff of Shelter Valley by Tara Taylor Quinn

  A Match for Celia by Gina Wilkins

  That’s Our Baby! by Pamela Browning

  Baby, Our Baby! by Patricia Thayer

  AVAILABLE MAY 2010

  Special Assignment: Baby by Debra Webb

  My Baby, My Love by Dani Sinclair

  The Sheriff’s Proposal by Karen Rose Smith

  The Marriage Conspiracy by Christine Rimmer

  The Woman for Dusty Conrad by Tori Carrington

  The White Night by Stella Bagwell

  Code Name: Prince by Valerie Parv

  AVAILABLE JUNE 2010

  Same Place, Same Time by C.J. Carmichael

  One Last Chance by Justine Davis

  By Leaps and Bounds by Jacqueline Diamond

  Too Many Brothers by Roz Denny Fox

  Secretly Married by Allison Leigh

  Strangers When We Meet by Rebecca Winters

  AVAILABLE JULY 2010

  Babe in the Woods by Caroline Burnes

  Serving Up Trouble by Jill Shalvis

  Deputy Daddy by Carla Cassidy

  The Major and the Librarian by Nikki Benjamin

  A Family Man by Mindy Neff

  The President’s Daughter by Annette Broadrick

  Return to Tomorrow by Marisa Carroll

  AVAILABLE AUGUST 2010

  Remember My Touch by Gayle Wilson

  Return of the Lawman by Lisa Childs

  If You Don’t Know by Now by Teresa Southwick

  Surprise Inheritance by Charlotte Douglas

  Snowbound Bride by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  The Good Daughter by Jean Brashear

  AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2010

  The Hero’s Son by Amanda Stevens

  Secret Witness by Jessica Andersen

  On Pins and Needles by Victoria Pade

  Daddy in Dress Blues by Cathie Linz

  AKA: Marriage by Jule McBride

  Pregnant and Protected by Lilian Darcy

  VALERIE PARV

  CODE NAME: PRINCE

  VALERIE PARV

  With 25 million copies of her books sold internationally, including many Waldenbooks bestsellers, it’s no wonder Valerie Parv is known as Australia’s queen of romance and is the recognized media spokesperson for all things romantic.

  Valerie lives in Australia’s capital city of Canberra, where she is a volunteer zoo guide. She draws on this and other aspects of her life for many of her novels, having spent almost thirty-eight years happily married to her romantic hero, Paul. As she says, “Love gives you wings—romance helps you fly.”

  To Sandy, Barry and Phyllis

  with love and thanks for your friendship and support.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Ben Lockhart’s first waking thought was how much he would like to get his hands on whoever was using a jackhammer inside his head. He opened his eyes then snapped them shut again. Letting the light in was a really bad idea. So was moving.

  He made himself lie still and think. As a navy man he wasn’t anybody’s idea of an angel, but he could usually remember what he’d done to get this hungover, especially when the party was as spectacular as last night’s must have been. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t recall a single detail.

  Then it came back to him. He couldn’t remember the party because there hadn’t been one. He had been doubling for his cousin, Prince Nicholas Stanbury, Prince Regent; acting for the king of Edenbourg while King Michael was missing and believed kidnapped.

  The pounding in Ben’s head reminded him painfully that his last memory was of being dragged into a limousine that had infiltrated the royal cavalcade. Falling for the pretense that he was Prince Nicholas, his captors had blindfolded and bound him then injected him with a knockout drug, leaving him to wake up here, wherever here was.

  Ben felt a frown start, wishing that his headache had been due to over-indulgence. It would have been easier to deal with than the task ahead of him. Now he had to find out who was behind these attacks on the royal family.

  Easy enough if you said it quickly, Ben thought, wincing as movement sent a fresh wave of pain surging through his skull. What in the name of Edenbourg had they given him? He opened his eyes more cautiously, hoping he could get a look at his watch and try to work out how long he’d been unconscious, only to find his hands were securely tied to the white wrought-iron bedstead on which he lay. A battered teddy bear sat on the pillow beside his head.

  Teddy bear? What sort of kidnappers kept a teddy bear? Ignoring the urge to close his eyes again, he waited until the room stopped spinning, then made himself take stock. He was lying on a diminutive bed. His feet overhung the end by a good six inches, the bed evidently being meant for someone a lot smaller than his six-foot frame.

  Beside the bed stood a white-painted dresser. On it sat a stuffed dog, a homemade rag doll and a water glass that made him lick his dry lips, wishing he could reach it. Above the dresser was a multi-paned window hung with dainty floral curtains that matched the frilled coverlet beneath him. On the opposite wall were two doors. One he presumed led to a closet and the other into the rest of the house. Right now, both doors were closed.

  Twisting his body to try to see out the window and get an idea of where he was only resulted in making the rope bite deeper into his wrists, adding to his discomfort. He made himself lie still. His captors hadn’t gone to this much trouble to let him die of starvation or thirst. Sooner or later somebody was bound to come in and check on him. Until then it made more sense to rest and let the drug work its way out of his system.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  After what he judged to be about half an hour he saw the china handle on one of the doors begin to turn. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing with the idea of buying himself a few minutes to assess his captor.

  He heard tentative footsteps on the polished wood floor as someone approached the bed, but the first thing that hit him was the scent of roses. It struck him as being as incongruous as the teddy bear. He was so startled that he almost opened his eyes to get a look at the source of the delicious scent teasing his nostrils like a breath of spring.

  “I know you’re awake.”

  The soft, musical voice so exactly matched the scent that another shock wave rippled through him, as well as somethi
ng much more basic. He schooled himself to resist it. Obviously, his captor was a woman, but that didn’t mean he had to react like a man. The problem seemed to be convincing his body. This time he did open his eyes, barely remembering to do it slowly to create the impression that he was only now coming around.

  What met his eyes was so unexpected that he would have jerked upright if not for the ropes binding him to the bed. Leaning over him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Tall and willowy, she had hair the color of ripe corn scattered with paler highlights, over eyes as blue as a summer sky. He saw that they were clouded now with something—fear? It seemed odd, given that he was the captive.

  He reminded himself again that she was one of the kidnappers. Not one of those who had abducted and drugged him. If she had been, he knew he would have noticed her scent even as he was going under. So she hadn’t been part of that scene. But she was here and despite the naked fear he read in her eyes, she made no move to untie him.

  “How did you know I was awake?” he asked, hearing his voice rasp as an aftereffect of his rough treatment.

  She heard it too, because she picked up the glass of water from the dresser and lifted it to his lips. With her free hand, she supported his head so he could drink. Her fingers felt like the caress of velvet against the back of his neck. When some of the water dribbled down his chin, she put the glass down long enough to brush the droplets away with the back of her hand. He felt a strong urge to capture those delicate fingers in his mouth.

  What was he thinking? She was the enemy, remember? Probably chosen precisely because his captors expected her golden good looks to soften him up so he’d tell them whatever they needed to know. Well, to perdition with that idea. He’d tell them nothing. Nor would he think of her as an angel, when she was in league with whoever had captured him.

  “Your eyelids were moving just the way Molly’s do when she wants me to think she’s asleep,” the woman answered his question.

  “And Molly is?”

  She hesitated, then said, “My daughter.”

  Molly must be the child who normally slept in this room, he concluded. At the same time he wondered what kind of woman allowed her child to become involved in criminal activities.

  He turned his head to one side and she took the hint, replacing the glass on the dresser. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The haunted look that had disappeared when he asked about Molly returned to her eyes, but he hardened his heart against it. “I can’t tell you,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Who was she afraid might hear her?

  “At least tell me your first name.” It came to him that he wanted to know as much to satisfy his own curiosity as to help his mission.

  Her frightened glance flew to the door then back to him. “Meagan,” she said. “You can call me Meagan.”

  “Meagan who?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I mustn’t say any more.”

  Her use of the title jarred him with its harsh reminder of his purpose. Of course, she thought he was Prince Nicholas, acting ruler of Edenbourg. “If you know who I am, you must know that what you’re doing is high treason,” he said in what he hoped was a royal tone of command.

  She bit her full lower lip and he saw a mist spring to her eyes. “I’m aware of that, Your Highness.”

  He strained at the ropes. “Then release me at once.”

  She glanced over her shoulder as if to satisfy herself that the door was securely closed. “I can ease the bindings a little, but I dare not do more.”

  Why not? he wondered. For someone who was involved in the kidnapping of a prince, as she thought him to be, she didn’t seem very sure of herself. In fact she seemed scared out of her wits. He caught himself before he murmured the words of reassurance that sprang to his lips, instead making his nod as imperious as if he truly were Prince Nicholas. “Anything would be an improvement on being trussed up like meat for the table.”

  Her fingers worried at the sturdy knots near his wrists. He was surprised to feel a rush of response as her cool touch whispered over his skin. “Is that better?” she asked in a barely audible tone.

  As the strain on his arms eased fractionally, he released his breath in a relieved sigh. “Better would be untying me altogether, and telling me what’s going on.”

  She shook her head, her hair falling in a silken curtain around her face. Such delicate features, he thought. Such a beautiful mouth, mobile and generously shaped. As a man it disturbed him to see such beauty marred by distress, until he reminded himself that she had brought her troubles—whatever they were—on herself.

  “I was only supposed to make sure you were awake, and offer you food if you’re hungry. Are you?”

  “Yes, now that you mention it.” He wasn’t, but he wanted to keep her in the room while he learned all he could from her. She turned to go and he said quickly, “How long was I unconscious?”

  “Not long. They didn’t want you to be harmed.”

  “They?”

  “My…” She stopped herself. “I can’t say any more.”

  He allowed a strangled breath to escape and saw her frown in concern.

  “Are you ill or in pain?”

  “Both, not surprisingly,” he lied, knowing he should exploit her compassion while he had the chance. The notion felt uncomfortable, but he could see no other option. Now that the drug was wearing off, he felt his strength returning rapidly. The pain in his head was also fading, thank goodness. About the ache in his arms he could do nothing, so he ignored it. “Having you talk to me is taking my mind off how I feel,” he said, not entirely untruthfully.

  She chewed her full lower lip. “I suppose a few minutes longer won’t hurt.”

  Just don’t go, he urged inwardly. He told himself it was because he needed information, but knew that the room would feel much more like a prison when she was no longer in it.

  She looked panicky enough to flee if he said the wrong thing. “If you can’t tell me where I am or why I was brought here, then tell me what the weather is like.”

  “The sun is out,” she said carefully. “It’s warm, and there’s a light breeze blowing.”

  He had worked out all but the breeze for himself. “Are you always so literal?” he asked.

  He had the satisfaction of seeing color seep into her cheeks. “You did ask about the weather.”

  “If I asked about you, would you answer as frankly?”

  Her color deepened but she didn’t look away. Courage as well as beauty, he concluded with a sense of gratification.

  “Depends what you ask,” she said.

  He decided to try something harmless. “How old are you?”

  Her lovely eyes widened, as if his question had caught her off guard. “Twenty-seven, why?”

  “You look too innocent for twenty-seven. I’d have said no more than twenty.”

  He had expected her to be flattered. Most women were, if you underestimated their ages. Instead, she looked irritated. “I left innocence behind long ago, when I had Molly.”

  Reminded that she was probably married, since she had a child, he felt something like disappointment stab through him. Maybe she wasn’t so innocent after all, even of her role in his kidnapping. He was usually a fairly good judge of character, but in this instance, it seemed he couldn’t have been more wrong. “I suppose your husband is one of the kidnappers, and that’s why you’re involved,” he said, hearing bitterness color his tone.

  Her long lashes swept down over eyes he could swear had turned moist. “Molly’s father is married to someone else.”

  “Then it’s his loss.”

  Ben’s sympathetic comment, made almost before he could prevent it, caught her by surprise. He saw it in the look she gave him.

  “You’re every bit as kind as I’ve read you were,” she said.

  Ben knew that his cousin’s reputation hadn’t always been entirely positive. For many years Prince Nicholas had been known as a playboy, until true love had tamed his
wilder side. Now he was an exemplary husband and father, protector of the oppressed, and supporter of too many charitable causes to count.

  Yes, Ben guessed, you could call his cousin kind. In his own way, Ben liked to think of himself as kind, too. Who didn’t? But as a very minor royal with only one titled parent—his mother, Princess Karenna—he didn’t get as much publicity as Nicholas. Ben would have hated it if he did, especially if his current ordeal was the reward one could expect for having a high profile.

  The thought reminded Ben that as far as Meagan knew, he was Prince Nicholas. As such, he couldn’t very well flirt with her to get her to tell him more, tempted though he was.

  Tempted for a lot of reasons, not all to do with his situation, he realized to his chagrin. “How old is Molly?” he asked.

  Her expression became dreamy and he knew he’d found her key. Whatever part she might play in this sorry scheme, she was a devoted mother. “Molly is three,” she admitted. “She’s very bright for her age.”

  “Probably takes after her mother.”

  Her bleak gesture encompassed the small room. “I hope she’ll do better than I’ve done with my life.”

  It was too soon, and she was obviously too on edge, for Ben to ask the questions that sprang to his mind. What was her life like that she found it so disappointing? Was it because of Molly? Her own involvement with the kidnappers? What? Instead, Ben asked, “Is this Molly’s room?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry the bed’s so small, but the only alternative was mine.”

  She had denied being innocent, but her remark so lacked guile that he had trouble believing she was genuine. No one could be that ingenuous in this day and age. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, testing her.

  Her face flooded with color. She drew herself up with what looked like real indignation. “It is nothing of the sort, Your Highness.”

  She gave the title an emphasis that he found puzzling, until he reminded himself that as Prince Nicholas, he was supposed to be happily married and therefore above flirtatious behavior. Too bad Ben Lockhart wasn’t half as lucky.