Searching For Her Prince

by Karen Rose Smith

  What had Amira done to him? Cast some spell?

  No, that was something out of those fairy tales she spoke of. She’d simply gotten under his skin and he had to do something about that. A jog would do it.

  Checking his watch, he saw it was already nine-thirty. If he ran hard enough and long enough, maybe he could actually get some work done when he returned.

  Marcus left his building and took to the streets in turmoil about the past two days, in turmoil about the past two years. Since Rhonda had died, he’d done nothing but work, and it had paid off. At twenty-three he was considered one of the hottest tycoons in the country.

  Yet what did that mean?

  He could make any deal, turn the tables in negotiations to his benefit, invest in an Initial Public Offering and watch it soar. The last forty-eight hours with Amira, thinking about her, fantasizing about her, seemed to make all the rest pale in comparison. Damn it to blazes, she was a lady and lived on an island across the Atlantic! To complicate matters more, she was looking for him, to try to prove he was a prince. He’d been out of his mind to think he could have a fling with her without any repercussions.

  Yet when he thought about not seeing her again…

  He ran. His sneakers hit the pavement hard as he pounded up and down streets that he knew as well as the back of his hand. He didn’t even feel the chill in the air. Concentrating on the impact of each downward thrust of his athletic shoes, he tried to wipe all thoughts from his mind, all guilt from his soul, all feeling from his heart. It hurt too much to have bonds. He’d never had a bond that hadn’t been broken in some way. He certainly wasn’t going to go seeking an involvement that was surely going to be disastrous.

  Yet as he ran, Amira’s face appeared before his eyes. He couldn’t block it, and he slowed his pace knowing he couldn’t run away from his memory of her. All he could do was work and let time pass, then he’d forget.

  He’d been running for forty-five minutes. Now he decided to walk to cool down. Still seeing the expression in Amira’s eyes as she’d looked up at the Sears Tower, as she tried her first soft pretzel and gotten mustard on her chin, as she’d leaned over the bathtub while Cocoa splashed her with water droplets, he was hardly aware of the man he’d passed lounging in a doorway. Lost in thought, Marcus didn’t sense the stranger following him or realize the danger.

  Suddenly the mugger was upon him. There was a flash of the blade of a knife. One moment Marcus was walking, the next he was fighting off a mugger, holding his arm up in a defensive move to protect himself from the blade. It missed his neck and went into his shoulder. In spite of the shock of the burning pain, he managed to knee the man in the groin. He felt the knife again, this time in his arm, and he went down on the pavement on one knee.

  Then there was a shout. Someone yelled, “Grab him.” Marcus didn’t know if the voice was talking about him or the mugger.

  Everything went fuzzy and gray. He was on the ground. Someone was putting pressure on his shoulder. He was hot and then cold. Finally there was a ringing in his ears that turned into the wail of a siren.

  When the phone rang in Amira’s hotel room, she glanced at the luminous dial in the darkness. She hadn’t been able to sleep. All she could think about was Brent and how he’d dismissed her. What had she done wrong? He’d become so remote…

  The phone rang a second time, and Amira wondered who would be calling her at 1:00 a.m. She sat up in bed, suspecting someone had the wrong room. It couldn’t be the queen. It would only be 7:00 a.m. in Penwyck. Unless—What if the king’s condition had worsened? He’d still been in a coma the last time she’d talked with the queen. What if something had happened to her mother or Harrison?

  Fully awake now, she snatched up the receiver and switched on the bedside lamp. “Hello?”

  “Lady Amira?”

  The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t the queen or her private secretary.

  “It’s Flora. Mr…. Mr. Carpenter’s housekeeper. I know it’s terribly late, but I’m worried about Mr. Carpenter.”

  “What’s happened, Flora?”

  “He went for a jog tonight and was mugged. The mugger had a knife.”

  For a moment she remembered the night her father had been killed, the member of the royal guard telling her mother what had happened. She could hardly get her words out past the lump in her throat. “Is Brent all right?”

  “That’s why I phoned you. He called Fritz to pick him up at the hospital, and he got home about ten minutes ago. He looks terrible. The doctor wanted to keep him overnight, but he insisted they let him come home. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “What do you need, Flora? What does he need?”

  “That’s just it, Your Ladyship, I don’t know. He’s closed his office door and says he doesn’t want to be bothered. But he should be in bed. He doesn’t have anyone here. His father’s in Minneapolis. Since he won’t let me near him, I thought maybe he’d let you help. I thought if you came over, maybe you could talk some sense into him.”

  After what had happened this afternoon, Amira didn’t think he’d listen to her any better than Flora, but she could give it a try. “I’ll get dressed and catch a cab.”

  “No need for that, Your Ladyship.”

  “It’s Amira,” she said gently. The housekeeper had been impressed with her title ever since Brent had introduced them. But the title was an encumbrance now. She had a feeling her title and her connections to royalty were one of the reasons Brent had backed off.

  The housekeeper went on, “I spoke to Fritz about what I was going to do. He’ll be on his way to fetch you as soon as I hang up. You shouldn’t be out in a cab alone at night.”

  “Thank you, Flora. If you think that’s best.”

  “I do, Your…I mean, Amira. Thank you so much for helping. Mr. C-Carpenter shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  The housekeeper’s words ringing in her ears, her heart pounding, Amira quickly dressed in black flannel slacks and a white pullover sweater. Hurriedly she brushed her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, clipping it with a gold barrette. She tried not to think about what had happened to Brent tonight. Certainly the doctors wouldn’t have let him come home if he was seriously hurt. Yet, on the other hand, she suspected his determination would have convinced any doctor to let him go.

  When Amira reached the lobby, the hotel doorman was holding the door for Fritz. The chauffeur had a grim expression on his face. “I’m glad Flora called you, miss.”

  “I’m glad she did, too. Let’s go.”

  The doorman at Brent’s building recognized Amira and tipped his hat to her. Apparently in Chicago everyone came and went at all hours of the night.

  Amira stepped into the elevator, beginning to worry about her decision to come here. What if Brent didn’t want to talk to her? What if he thought she was meddling?

  She was meddling, but she cared about him more than she wanted to admit. After the way she’d left tonight, she thought she would never see him again.

  Flora was waiting for her and opened the door before Amira could knock. Her brows were creased with worry as she let Amira inside. “He’s still in his office. I offered to bring him tea or soup, but he says he doesn’t want anything.”

  Amira dropped her purse and sweater on the foyer chair. “I’ll see what I can do.” Then she crossed the living room and went down the hall to his office. For a few moments she stood at the door listening. She could hear nothing inside.

  She knocked softly.

  Brent’s gritty voice came from within. “I told you, Flora, I don’t need anything.” He sounded strained, as if talking was an effort.

  Instead of waiting for permission to enter, which he’d probably deny, she opened the door and stepped inside. “It’s not Flora, Brent, it’s me.”

  He was seated at his desk and had a glass in his hand. It was half-full of amber liquid. Whiskey, she suspected. He was shirtless, and his left shoulder was swathed in gauze and tape. There was another patch of ga
uze farther down his arm. His hair was disheveled and his face was ashen.

  Staring at her, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Four

  Amira realized that, in a sense, she was seeing Brent naked. He looked like death warmed over and probably felt like it, too. That’s why he’d ordered Flora to go away. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. If he felt vulnerable and weak, he was the type of man who would fight against that and hide it until his last breath.

  Afraid for him, caring so deeply that she hurt along with him, she tried to keep her voice light. “I’m making the rounds of businessmen who got mugged tonight. A sixth sense told me you might not be listening to doctor’s orders.”

  He scowled at her. “Sixth sense my foot. If Flora called you, I’ll fire her.”

  His threat lacked conviction, but she still protested, “No, you won’t. She did the right thing. She’s worried about you, Brent. You should be in a hospital. All she had to do was take one look at you and know that. I know that. Why didn’t you stay?”

  He took a sip of the amber liquid as if to fortify himself before he set down his glass. “They insisted I had to wear a hospital gown. I don’t wear hospital gowns.”

  Any other time she was sure she would have seen sparkles of amusement in his eyes with the words. Now he was just trying to make her believe he wasn’t as hurt as he was.

  He looked at the glass sitting on the desk, then picked it up again and took another swallow. “You didn’t tell me why you’re here.”

  “Once Flora told me what happened, I was worried, too.”

  She approached him slowly, not sure she did belong here. Standing at the side of his desk, she saw he was wearing running shoes and red jogging shorts. Wasn’t he cold sitting there like that? Then she realized the whiskey was probably making him hot as well as dulling the pain.

  She nodded to the glass. “Did the doctor prescribe that?”

  “No,” he drawled. “He prescribed pills. They might dull the pain, but they make everything else fuzzy, too. I need to be able to think straight.”

  He needs to be in control, she thought to herself. “What were the doctor’s orders?”

  He gave her a narrowed glance. “Something about not moving around too much.”

  “You should at least be in bed.”

  “I have work to do,” he grumbled.

  “You can’t work in your condition!”

  “You have no idea what condition I’m in,” he muttered.

  “Yes, I do. I can see the lines around your mouth and on your forehead. They’re telling me you’re in pain. Your color isn’t good, either. And from the size of that gauze patch, I’d say you were hurt more than you want to admit.”

  “What were you, a nurse in a previous lifetime?”

  She kept telling herself his gruffness was a protective shield. “I might live in a palace, but I’m not a stranger to the human condition. I know you don’t want me here, but I think you need me here.”

  This time he merely glared at her in stony silence.

  “At least let me help you to the sofa.”

  “I don’t need a nurse.”

  “Then consider me a friend.” Worrying that the heat coming from his body emanated from more than the whisky he’d drunk, she put a hand to his forehead.

  He leaned away. “I might not be taking the pain pills, but I am on antibiotics. I’m not so foolish as to disregard the possibility of infection. The doctor made sure of that.”

  “I’m glad to see you have some common sense,” she returned. She knew if she didn’t stand up to him, she might as well go back to her hotel.

  “What happened to the proper, demure lady I had dinner with the other night?”

  “She came up against a stubborn male who doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

  His gaze locked on hers, and then he closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. “Go away, Amira.”

  Instead of doing as he commanded, she knelt by his side and covered his hand with hers. “What are you going to accomplish by trying to make yourself work tonight? If you rest, if you give your body what it needs, you’ll get better faster.” She motioned to the glass. “Or have you already drunk too much of that to see reason?”

  Silent for a very long time, he finally responded, “This is my first glass, and I haven’t even had half of it.”

  “Will you let me help you to the sofa?” she prodded gently.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my legs. It’s my shoulder that feels as if it has a branding iron on it.”

  Rising to her feet, she stood, watching him expectantly.

  When he pushed himself up from the desk, he winced. She imagined any movement would hurt right now. Avoiding her gaze, he moved slowly over to the leather sofa.

  Before he got there, she hurried ahead of him, propping a pillow against the arm.

  He gave her a long look, then sank down heavily onto the camel leather.

  “I’m going to get you something to drink. Would you like anything to eat?”

  “I don’t need anything—”

  “Liquids will help you heal.”

  “All right,” he gave in with a sigh.

  Before he could change his mind, she hurried to the kitchen.

  Flora had already boiled water for tea and had a tray ready with apple juice and a scone.

  After Flora poured the tea, Amira picked up the tray. “I need a cover for him, too.”

  “I’m just glad he’s listening to you.”

  “I’m being persistent about it. At least if he lets me watch over him and he needs further medical attention, we can call Emergency Services.”

  “I hope that’s not necessary. He’d hate that.”

  “I know he would.”

  The two women exchanged a look that said they knew the man better than he thought they did.

  Flora hurried ahead of Amira. When Amira was at Brent’s door, the housekeeper handed her a light blanket.

  “Thanks, Flora. Why don’t you go to bed. If I need anything, I promise I’ll come get you.”

  “Are you sure? I’ll be glad to stay up.”

  “I’m sure. Where’s Cocoa?” She’d forgotten all about the dog in the commotion.

  Flora smiled. “Curled up at the bottom of my bed. She’s been asleep for a while now.”

  “I’m hoping Brent will sleep, too. That will be the best thing for him.”

  The housekeeper nodded and headed for her suite on the other side of the kitchen.

  Pushing the door open, Amira entered Brent’s office again and set the tray on the desk. Glancing at him, she saw that his eyes were closed. With a shake of her hand, she unfolded the blanket and covered him with it. Then she unlaced his sneakers and pulled them off, one by one.

  When she was finished, he looked up at her. “Why did you come?”

  She decided to tell him the blatant truth. “Because I care about you.”

  “Don’t,” he rasped.

  “Caring is just something that happens,” she said simply as she pulled a chair close to the sofa and offered him the glass of apple juice.

  He didn’t take it, but instead gestured to the chair. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to watch over you for a while. I told Flora to go to bed. She needs her sleep.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Would you rather have the tea?” she asked sweetly when he didn’t take the glass of apple juice.

  “Juice is fine,” he said with a dark look.

  While he drank, she sat down beside him.

  After he finished it, she took the glass from him and set it on the floor next to her chair. “Did they catch the man who did this?”

  “Yes.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “Brent, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” And she was so very grateful his injuries hadn’t been worse. She’d never forgotten the look on her mother’s face the night she’d been told her husband was dead. Amira k
new it wasn’t the same at all because she’d only known Brent a short time, but she would have known terrible anguish, too, if his wounds had been fatal.

  Brent gazed at her, the expression in his green eyes undecipherable. But then, as if he could no longer put up resistance, he covered her hand on his arm with his. “You’re a special woman, Amira.”

  “Not so special. Anyone could bring you juice and tea.”

  “I wouldn’t let just anyone be in here right now.”

  She knew that was true.

  When he closed his eyes, she didn’t know if it was because of the pain or because he was tired. “Try to rest,” she said softly.

  “You can’t sit there all night,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

  “I’ll sit here until you fall asleep.”

  His fingers remained covering her hand as if he needed the contact with her, but she felt the pressure ease a bit as he seemed to relax. “Thank you, Amira,” he said huskily.

  She didn’t want his thanks. She impossibly wanted a whole lot more.

  The first rays of light streamed in the office windows when Amira awakened the next morning. Brent had stirred and she was concerned he needed something. As she’d sat beside him last night, making sure he was asleep, she’d been so tempted to brush his hair from his brow and put her lips to his cheek. But she didn’t feel the freedom to take such intimacies. What would he think of her if he’d awakened? So she’d satisfied herself with watching him, making sure his chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. Only when she couldn’t keep her eyes open a moment longer had she tucked herself into the corner of the sofa by his feet.

  The weight in her lap made her smile. Sometime during the night, she’d heard Cocoa’s paws on the parquet floor right before she jumped up and settled down with her. It had been comforting to have her there, keeping watch, too.

  Now Amira’s gaze met Brent’s in the early-morning shadows. “Good morning,” she said, her voice still fuzzy from sleep.

  She was grateful that Brent’s color looked better. His dark beard stubbled his chin, and he looked roguish and altogether too sexy. She suspected any bruises he’d gotten in the scuffle last night would make themselves even more known today.