Undercover Princess

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Rich had approached her in that easygoing manner of most Americans, and asked her to take his picture with his camera. They’d started talking and something had sparked. He was breathtakingly handsome and very charismatic, and she had been woefully young and easily smitten. Particularly since he seemed so equally charmed by her. She’d agreed to have dinner with him—in part, because it had seemed so unlikely he knew she was a princess. In retrospect, she’d realized that he wasn’t exceedingly intelligent, and he spent an awful lot of time talking about himself. But he looked like a scruffier, younger version of Tom Selleck, and she’d loved the way he’d gazed into her eyes, the way he’d made her feel as if she were the only woman on the planet.

  They were both on holiday for two long weeks. She’d spent each day, all day, with him, and it hadn’t been long before they spent a good portion of their nights together, in his extremely low-rent hotel room.

  Katherine had felt wonderfully carefree and bold—until she found out that Richard had known precisely who she was all along. He’d taken that first tour after following her from her hotel. He’d pursued her because she was royalty, not because he particularly liked her.

  He’d proposed marriage and she’d turned him down, too badly hurt by his deceit. He didn’t love her. His intentions were only to snare himself a rich royal wife, or, barring that, at least to carve a royal celebrity notch into his belt.

  In retrospect, Katherine knew she had used him just as completely as he’d used her. She hadn’t spent all that time with him because he was clever and witty and brilliant. No, she was ashamed to admit it, but she’d been with him because of his handsome face, his hard, lean body, and his powerful charisma.

  And after the initial hurt had worn off, she’d realized she was in fact quite relieved to have had such a good excuse not to marry the boy.

  Still, since then, she’d dreamed of finding a man who would love her purely for herself. Not for her title or her wealth or the power she had, simply for being the daughter of the ruler of such an influential little country.

  And—as long as she was dreaming—she wanted that man to have a face like Trey Sutherland’s. And a body like Trey Sutherland’s. And she wanted him to be intensely brilliant, and dryly funny, and sweetly warm and hopelessly kind deep down inside.

  Like Trey Sutherland.

  Katherine sighed.

  And then sat up, listening hard.

  Was that…?

  Yes, definitely. That was the sound of crying she heard. Coming faintly from the direction of the children’s wing.

  Katherine scrambled to her feet and ran for the playroom.

  “It’s open.”

  Katherine pushed open the door to Stacy’s bedroom and peeked inside.

  The girl was sitting on her bed, clarinet in her lap, music scattered about her. “So,” she said. “Now I’m in big trouble, right?”

  “May I come in?”

  “What, am I supposed to say no, and then you won’t come in?”

  “If you say no,” Katherine told her, “then I’d ask you to come down to my room so that we can talk there.”

  “And what if I don’t want to talk?” Stacy stood up and put her clarinet in its stand with a savage thrust. “What if it’s the talking I object to, not you coming into my room, huh?”

  “Then we talk later,” Katherine said evenly. “But you know as well as I do that this isn’t going to go away until we talk about it, so we both might as well just grit our teeth and get it over with right now, instead of dragging it out until Lord knows when.”

  “What did I do that was so awful?”

  “May I come in?”

  Stacy rolled her eyes. “Yes. God. Come in. Most people wouldn’t even knock—they’d just barge right in.”

  “Why should I show you any less respect than I’d wish for you to show to me?”

  “Because I’m a kid.”

  “That’s a load of crap,” Katherine said briskly, watching Stacy’s eyes widen. Good, she’d gotten the girl’s full attention. “One of the things I’m going to be helping you do over the next few days is to compile a list of characteristics you and Douglas absolutely require in a caretaker. And I think—because you value your privacy so highly—that finding someone who believes that younger people should be treated with as much respect as adults should be prioritized rather highly on that list. Don’t you think?”

  “Well,” Stacy said. “Yeah.”

  “What you need to keep in mind as well,” Katherine told her, “is that any person worth hiring will have their own list of requirements as well—things they’ll expect from you and Doug.”

  “Well, good luck for that, because neither of us are exactly angels.”

  “No one will expect you to be angels. But they will have other expectations. Do you want to know mine?”

  Stacy shrugged.

  “I expect honesty and kindness,” Katherine said quietly. “The two things I will not tolerate—ever—are cruelty and dishonesty. Now, dishonesty is very straightforward. I’ll expect the truth from you at all times, no matter what, no exceptions. Cruelty’s a little bit harder to draw boundaries around, because there are times—and I believe that’s what happened today—when a person may be unintentionally cruel.”

  Stacy’s posture was instantly defensive. “Yeah, well, you know that old song, ‘You’ve gotta be cruel to be kind…?’”

  “There are times when that might be true,” Katherine countered, “but I’m certain the songwriter wasn’t thinking in reference to a six-year-old, and I think you know that as well.”

  Stacy was silent and staring fixedly at the floor.

  Katherine sighed. “Stacy, I know that you love Doug. Why would you possibly have told him those awful things about your father and…is her name Diane?”

  “Diana.” Stacy’s mouth was a grim line. “St. Vincent. The royal bitch. Grandma Sutherland wants Trey to marry her. I thought it was time for Doggie to know, that’s all.”

  “By telling him that Diana was going to be your wicked stepmother?” The only movie Doug watched nearly as much as Lady and the Tramp was Cinderella. Katherine was still amazed at Stacy’s lack of sensitivity. She’d just spent forty-five minutes trying to calm Doug down and convince him that no stepmother would ever lock him in the tower.

  “If somebody doesn’t do something soon, Trey’s going to marry her!”

  Katherine kept her voice low and even to counter Stacy’s shrillness. “Don’t you think your father would come and talk to you first if he were even thinking about getting remarried?”

  “No.” Stacy slumped into a chair that was in the corner of the room in a fluid move that was so reminiscent of her father. “I think he would tell us after the fact. He thinks I’m a baby—at least he treats me like one.” She ran her hands over her face—another very Trey-like move. “God, she was over here again tonight. I hate her. It’s so gross the way she rubs herself against him.”

  Katherine sat down on the edge of Stacy’s bed. “And you think that makes it all right for you to frighten your brother?”

  “I had no idea Doggie would go ballistic that way.”

  Katherine just looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

  “Well, all right, maybe I sort of knew—but maybe this is worth screaming about. You know, if Trey does marry her, we’re both going to be shipped off to boarding school before the flowers in the wedding bouquet even wilt,” Stacy added fiercely.

  “Your father would never do that.”

  “My father doesn’t want us around, he just doesn’t want to admit it,” Stacy countered. “He’d be relieved to have someone else make that decision for him.”

  “Your father has never let anyone make a decision—especially not a major decision like that—for him in his entire life.”

  “He married my mother because his parents wanted him to. That’s pretty major, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Stacy, I simply can’t believe that. I’m sorry, but in this day and
age, most people don’t get married just because their parents want them to.” Katherine quickly corrected herself. “At least not in America.”

  “Some do. My two grandmothers were best friends. They were both loaded, and they told Trey and Helena that if they got married, they’d give them about a ton and a half of money. I’ve heard Trey tell this story, and he always says, ‘So I conveniently fell in love with Helena.’ He admits it. Just ask him. Diana the Ice Bitch is loaded, too, but he doesn’t need the money anymore.” Stacy sat up, leaning forward in her intensity. “I figure what he needs this time is the sex.”

  Katherine was glad she was sitting down. “Stacy, this is hardly an appropriate conversation for a thirteen-year-old to be having about her father.”

  “He’s a guy, right?” Stacy said. “I’ve read magazines and books—I see movies. Guys need sex, and he’s been alone for a really long time. It’s got to be on his mind.”

  “Women need sex, too, but I don’t think we should be talking—”

  “I figure he’s going for the convenience again.” Stacy wouldn’t let up. “Grandma Sutherland’s practically shoving Diana into his bedroom. Unless we do something, he is going to marry her. I’ve told her about the ghosts, but I think she thought I was just trying to scare her.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t make the ghosts any less real. I can feel ’em sometimes, usually in the hallways at night. I can just picture Diana marrying Trey, moving in here, then freaking out when she realizes the place is haunted. She’ll want to move, and Trey won’t and…” She shrugged. “They’ll end up divorced after only a few years. I’m just trying to save them the future aggravation.”

  Oh, was that what she was doing now? “I thought that the ghosts of Ford and all the other various Sutherlands were resting easier since Trey bought back this house.”

  “Ford’s around some of the time,” Stacy said, completely seriously. “But he’s just hanging out. He’s not doing any of the haunting. Helena’s ghost handles that department.”

  Helena. Her mother.

  “She died in this house, you know,” Stacy told her.

  “I…didn’t.”

  “Part of her’s still here—that happens a lot with the spirits of people who’ve left the world suddenly. Violently.”

  Suddenly and violently?

  Stacy was sitting back in the chair again, but she’d pulled her knees up to her chest and encircled them with her arms. She looked very small and very vulnerable, despite the fact that her words were clearly meant to make Katherine uncomfortable.

  And instead of asking the girl exactly how her mother had died, Katherine soft-pedaled the question. “That must have been very hard for you, when your mother died.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” Stacy sat up. “I want to figure out how we’re going to keep Trey from marrying the Ice Bitch.”

  Katherine wouldn’t give up. “If you ever do want to talk about—”

  “I know.” Stacy sprang out of the chair. “You could seduce him.”

  What? “Excuse me, but I don’t think I—”

  “Yeah,” Stacy said. She started pacing, unable to sit still. “Of course. That’s it. If he’s looking for convenience, well, you’re even more convenient than Diana St. Vincent. I mean, you’re here all the time—”

  “Let me make one thing perfectly clear right now, miss. I have absolutely no intention of seducing your father at your behest!”

  “Oh, come on, it’s not like you don’t like him. I’ve seen you looking at him, you know, checking out his butt.”

  Katherine couldn’t hold her laughter in any longer. “I beg your pardon! I have never, ever checked out his butt!” At least, not while Stacy and Doug were in the room.

  Stacy was laughing, too. Katherine took that to mean the girl wasn’t completely serious, thank goodness.

  “What if he invited you to one of his stupid business parties?” she asked Katherine. “Would you at least go with him?”

  “If I did, who would be here with you and Doug?”

  Stacy didn’t hesitate. “Anita. She stays late every now and then.”

  Katherine stood up. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Would you or wouldn’t you?”

  “The question is moot,” Katherine told the girl. “He’s not going to ask me, because he’s dating Diana.” She moved toward Stacy, enveloping her in her arms, giving her a swift hug and releasing her before she had the chance to go all stiff and unresponsive. Everybody did need a hug at least once a day, even Stacy. Katherine believed that absolutely. “Good night, you raving lunatic.”

  Stacy laughed. “Kathy, it’s a good plan. You’re just too—”

  “Sane?” Katherine finished for her. “You bet I am. See you in the morning.”

  She shut the door behind her, leaning back against it for a moment.

  Yes, indeed, it definitely had been a bona fide three-aspirin night.

  And it wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter 6

  “See you Tuesday night, darling,” Diana St. Vincent said after brushing her lips against Trey’s, as she stepped inside her seven-and-a-half-million-dollar, very modern, architectural train wreck of a house.

  “Tuesday night?” Trey repeated, but the door was already closed. “I don’t think so.” He turned to the street, where the driver of his mother’s car was waiting attentively.

  What had his mother signed him up for now?

  Cursing silently, he headed toward the car. His head was aching, the food had been far too rich, and that plus the company tonight had given him total indigestion.

  The driver opened the back door, and Trey climbed inside. “No,” he said to his mother. “Whatever you’ve got planned for Tuesday night, no. I can’t make it.”

  “You’ve got to,” she said, slipping a compact back into her evening bag and snapping the bag shut. “It’s that reception for Bill Lewis, remember? He’s being awarded Benevolent Businessman of the Year for his work with the Big Brother organization. Since he’s dropped off the face of the earth—again—you’ve got to be there to accept his award.”

  Trey swore pungently. “What time?”

  “The dinner starts at seven. Cocktails at six.”

  “What time will they be giving the award?”

  “Well, last year it wasn’t until quarter to nine, but—”

  “Then I’ll be there at eight-thirty,” Trey told her.

  “I’ll tell Diana—”

  “Alone,” Trey said very firmly.

  His mother sighed. “Trey. You know what it will look like if you show up without a date.”

  “I don’t give a damn what it will look like. Diana’s definitely getting the wrong idea,” Trey said. “She seems to think we’re just short of announcing our engagement. And something tells me you’re not helping any.”

  Penelope crossed her elegant legs as she made a face pooh-poohing his concerns. “Relax and go with it, dear. She’s perfect for you.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Oh, don’t be that way. You’ve got to admit I called it right with Helena, didn’t I?”

  Trey was silent. He had fallen in love with Helena, but she had married him for his money. Or maybe, more accurately, she wouldn’t have married him if he hadn’t had money. He’d had this conversation with his mother before, and she hadn’t understood why he’d been so upset when Helena had told him the truth—that their marriage had been more of a business merger than he’d ever imagined. Of course Helena would have taken his wealth into consideration before agreeing to marry him, his mother had said. No woman in her right mind wouldn’t have allowed herself to be swayed by a fortune of that size. Trey should be grateful he’d had all that money in his favor—it had helped him win a woman as lovely as Helena.

  He’d dealt with the hard, cold truth—that his marriage to Helena hadn’t been the purely emotional, irrational love ma
tch that he’d believed. He’d come to accept the fact that Helena had loved him in her own way. He couldn’t have left her—he loved her too much, and besides, they’d already had Stacy. So he’d tried his best to make the marriage work.

  But it had always hurt just a little—knowing that Helena never would have married him if he hadn’t been rich.

  “I’m not marrying Diana,” he finally said. “I’m not marrying anyone. So just back off. Please.”

  Penelope sighed again, deeply, dramatically. “I know you don’t care, but…people start gossiping whenever you’re seen out alone.”

  Gossiping. Speculating whether or not he’d actually killed the wife that he’d adored. It was so absurd. He could ignore it, most of the time, but Trey knew that even though the rumors were in part his mother’s own fault, the talk bothered her immensely.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll bring someone. Don’t worry about it.”

  Like a pit bull, Penelope wouldn’t let the conversation go without tearing it totally to shreds. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Someone.” It came to him in a flash. “Kathy.”

  God, that was brilliant. He could get Anita to stay late. Kathy was sweet enough. She would gladly do him a favor to save his butt, and she’d probably appreciate an evening out of the house as well. They could have dinner at home with the kids and then…

  “Oh.” His mother had gone into heavy drama queen, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with two delicate fingers.

  “Oh,” she said again, “no. Trey, dear Lord, please, please, please don’t tell me you’re doing something as tacky and unoriginal as having an affair with the new nanny.”

  Trey laughed aloud as the driver pulled up in front of his house.

  “What is she? Eighteen and buxom? From Sweden?”

  “Twenty-five. And from Wynborough. And relax. I find her about as sexually stimulating as Mary Poppins.” He paused. “Although, now that I think of it, under those starched dresses, Mary Poppins probably dressed like a dominatrix.”

  Trey got out of the car fast—before his mother could smack him. But then he turned back.