Searching For Her Prince

by Karen Rose Smith

  She remembered their first night together and sharing a steak. “That sounds good. Maybe I can make something for dessert if you buy a basket of fresh apples.”

  “You can really cook?”

  “Of course I can cook. All I have to do is follow the recipe. I’m not a hothouse flower, Brent. I might have advantages others don’t, but no one waits on me hand and foot.” It ruffled her feathers to have him think she wasn’t just like everyone else, like all the other women he dated or had attracted him before. When he looked at her as an oddity she didn’t like it at all.

  “Did I strike a nerve?” he asked, brows arched.

  “Sometimes I feel as if you’re looking at me as if I’m some kind of specimen. I don’t live on another planet.”

  He fought back a smile. “No, you just live in a palace.”

  She was beginning to wish she didn’t. She was beginning to wish she lived in Chicago.

  “It’s a building,” she said feebly.

  Brent rolled his eyes. “A building with a throne room,” he teased.

  For some reason she was sensitive to all of it right now, and she felt silly tears prick at the back of her eyes. Not wanting him to see, she started for the living room. “Yes, it has a throne room…and a throne…and a king and a queen. Are you satisfied?”

  She didn’t know where she was going, but her bedroom seemed like a good idea.

  Brent caught her before she made it to the stairs. Holding her by the shoulder, he nudged her around. “What’s wrong?”

  She bit her lower lip, then decided to tell him how she felt about his attitude. “I never minded being part of a royal family until I came here. You’re acting as if it’s something to ridicule, something that doesn’t mean anything at all. It means a lot to me and to our country.”

  Gently he brushed her hair away from her cheek and looked deep into her eyes. “I’m not ridiculing you. Your life is very different from ours. You’ve got to admit that. I’m sorry if I poked fun at it. I never meant to upset you.”

  Amira realized she was more upset about the way Joanie had looked at Brent. “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

  His gaze was penetrating and questioning as if he could see something deeper was bothering her. “What made you decide to stay here with me? Spending time with the kids…meeting Jared’s sister?”

  She could tell him those were the reasons, but those wouldn’t be honest. “I’d like to do both. The reason I’m staying though, is because I care about being with you.” She remembered what Brent had told Jared about his dreams—that holding on to them wasn’t enough. He had to do something about them. She was doing something about her dreams by staying with him.

  Brent must have seen her dreams evident in her eyes because he suddenly became very serious. “Amira, I like having you here with me. You know that. And I want you. You know that, too. But don’t get starry-eyed about me. It’s not practical. We do live in different worlds with an ocean between us, and that’s not going to change.”

  She wanted to tell him it could change. She wanted to tell him that she might consider moving her whole world for him. But she knew he didn’t want to hear it. She knew if she even broached the subject of love, he’d back off and send her packing.

  “I think we can change whatever we want to change if it’s important enough.”

  The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. After a dark glance at it, he went over and checked the Caller ID. “Not anyone I know, so it must be for you. I’ll go to the general store and give you some privacy. I won’t forget the apples,” he added, as he picked up the receiver and handed it to her.

  By the time she greeted the caller, Brent had closed the kitchen door.

  “It’s Cole Everson,” the man on the phone stated.

  She took a trembling breath. “Hello, Mr. Everson. You have more information for me?”

  “Some. I wanted to make contact with you to make sure I had the proper number. We discovered that Cordello’s brother’s name is Shane, and he’s living in California. I decided to go about this one brother at a time. It has to be handled delicately or the whole world will know how upside down everything is in Penwyck. We want to prevent that from happening. Once you make contact with Cordello, I’d like you to convince him to ease our path to his brother.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to see Marcus Cordello before he jetted away somewhere.”

  “That’s not your fault. From what I understand, this man is as elusive as they come. As I mentioned before, unlike most wealthy men, he stays out of the limelight, no pictures in the newspapers or anything like that.”

  “Have you found out his home address?”

  “Not yet. Apparently no one’s fetched his mail from his post office box. If they have, they’ve been damn good staying out of sight. I should have that picture soon and a few more details. I can overnight everything to you.”

  When Brent had given her a tour of the house, she’d noticed a fax machine in his office. “There’s a fax here. Would that help?”

  “That would help a great deal. The photo won’t be as good, but you’ll get the idea. You have the number?”

  “Hold on a minute.”

  Going into Brent’s study, she found the number on the handset of the fax and told Cole what it was.

  “We’re all set then,” he said. “I’ll fax it as soon as I have it.”

  When Amira hung up the phone, she thought about what the next prince of Penwyck might look like. Would he be tall and handsome, befitting the prince’s stature?

  In a day or two she’d know.

  Then again, in a day or two her feelings for Brent Carpenter might overtake her heart completely and she might not even care about the prince of Penwyck.

  She’d only care about loving Brent.

  Chapter Eight

  Bang! Rustle, rustle.

  The loud noise awakened Amira with a jolt. She began to tremble.

  Rustle, rustle. Bang.

  Someone was climbing the wall. He was coming to kill her and her mother.

  Automatically, from fear, panic and practice drills in the palace, Amira dropped to the floor as she’d been taught, seeking cover…seeking refuge. Disoriented, she tried to peer through the blackness all around her. She couldn’t see a thing. How close was the assassin? This time her father was gone. He couldn’t protect the king or her, her mother…

  Still lost in fear, Amira cowered when she heard the rapping on the door.

  “Amira? Are you awake?”

  She knew that voice. It wasn’t the voice of a stranger or anyone in the Royal Guard. It was—

  It was Brent. Her heart was pounding so fast she couldn’t speak.

  The doorknob turned and the banging started again.

  Light from the hall streamed into the room through the open door. Brent saw Amira crouched on the floor between the nightstand and the bed. Immediately he hurried to her, hunkering down. “Amira, what’s wrong?”

  Relief flooded through her, and tears burned in her eyes as she realized she was safe. She wasn’t in the palace. She wasn’t even on the island. “I…I…nothing’s wrong,” she finally managed in a whisper.

  Reaching out, he clasped her shoulder. “Like hell, it’s not. You’re trembling.”

  “It’ll pass. It always does.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t going to wait for it to pass, because he helped her to her feet and led her to the bed. After she was seated, he sat beside her, his arm tight around her.

  She took a few steadying breaths. “Really. I’m all right.”

  “You’re still trembling,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to her temple.

  During the years when she was a child and she’d had a nightmare, her mother had held her. They’d come often after her father’s death. Since her teen years, she’d handled the panic and the fear herself. She didn’t let anyone see her fear of having an assassin kill her the way he had killed her father.

  “Why were you on the floor?” Bren
t asked gently.

  “That’s what I was taught to do.”

  “Taught?” he looked totally perplexed.

  “There have been assassination attempts on the king.”

  “At the palace?”

  “Yes. At night, if I hear anything strange or running in the halls, shouting or alarms going off, I’m supposed to take cover…find someplace to hide until someone can take me to safety.”

  “Are you telling me security at the palace has actually been breached?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat, fighting off the remnants of her fears.

  “What happened, Amira? Why are you so scared?”

  That night was what she didn’t want to remember, but apparently blocking it during her waking hours pushed it into her dreams.

  “My father was major of the Royal Guard and part of the king’s personal contingent. He died intercepting an intruder climbing the wall beneath the king’s bedroom window.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Ten. But I wasn’t living in the palace then. I remember a soldier coming in the middle of the night. I heard him tell my mother what happened. She went white…she…”

  Tears welled up in Amira’s eyes and she tried to blink them away. But there were too many of them.

  “What happened to the man who killed your father?”

  “For years we thought he’d gotten away. After my father was shot, the queen offered my mother the position of lady-in-waiting, and we moved to the palace. The nightmares began then. When the queen learned about my fear, she moved us as far away from the king’s chamber as possible. My mother used to hold me at night, and I think she was as afraid as I was that the assassin would climb the wall again and somehow get into our rooms, murdering us like he’d murdered my father.”

  “You said for years you thought he’d gotten away. Were you wrong?”

  She studied Brent for a long moment and then knew she could confide in him. “I still don’t know the whole story, though I think my mother and her new husband do. While I was away on holiday in the Scottish Highlands in August, Owen, one of the royal twins was kidnapped. My mother and Harrison Montague, Admiral of the Navy, got very close and fell in love. He told her the man who killed my father had been wounded the night of the assassination attempt and later died.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell you that before?”

  “I don’t know. It has to do with state secrets and conspiracies. When I learned the man who murdered my father had died, I thought my nightmares would be gone for good. But even after Owen was returned unharmed, I still had them.”

  “That’s because you’re living at the palace. You’re still involved in all of it.”

  “With Mother married now, I’m going to find a place of my own. I just hadn’t found anything suitable before I left.”

  “The sooner you move out, the better.”

  She shook her head. “The palace has been my home. The royal family has been my family. When the king bestowed the title of lady-in-waiting on my mother for her position with the queen, he bestowed the title of lady on me, too. I was companion to the princesses. Of course, the titles were also given to us because my father gave his life for King Morgan. It’s not easy to leave them all.”

  Brent’s gaze was filled with compassion for her. He brought her into his body, holding her, rocking her. “Here I thought you were a privileged lady with not a care in the world.” The wind blew outside, and the banging began again. Amira started and Brent stroked her hair. “It’s just the shutter,” he said. “It came loose in the storm. The only way I can get to it is through the window in this room.”

  “It’s storming?”

  Earlier tonight, after dinner, Brent had gone to his study to work, and Amira had come up to her room to read and to write in her diary about all the feelings she was having for him. She’d gone to bed early around ten o’clock.

  “It started raining about eleven. But the wind just picked up not so long ago.”

  Amira’s cheek lay against Brent’s bare chest. She loved the feel and the scent of his skin, the taut strength of his muscles, the deepness of his voice. She loved everything about him.

  His breath was warm against her temple as he murmured, “I don’t want to ever see you afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid while you’re holding me,” she confessed.

  “Then maybe I should hold you all night.”

  Amira realized she would like nothing better. Brent’s hold on her became less comforting and much more sensual. His lips nudged her hair aside as he kissed from her temple down to her ear. She moaned softly at the scalding-hot flickers of his tongue.

  “Brent.” It was a plea. All the fear was gone and all she could think about was Brent’s smell and his taste and his heat.

  With erotic care, he tickled her earlobe with his tongue and then sucked it into his mouth. The sensation started a keening ache inside of her. She ran her hand over his chest, sifting through his chest hair, feeling the muscles underneath. When he groaned, she felt power she’d never felt before.

  He laid her back on the bed, kissing her face, her eyes, her nose, her lower lip. She laced her fingers in his hair to bring his mouth to hers—

  The phone rang.

  She went still, and Brent lifted his head. “That better not be the wrong number,” he grumbled. Then he pushed himself away from her. After he stroked her hair away from her brow, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Amira could hear Brent on the phone, but not what he was saying. She rebelted her robe and went to sit in the cane rocker.

  He returned in a few minutes. “It was Marilyn. She’s having trouble with Jared.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Jared’s sister didn’t arrive as planned. Her foster mother had car trouble and they won’t get here until tomorrow evening. Jared’s afraid she won’t come at all, and he won’t settle down for the night. Marilyn thinks I might be able to talk him into a calmer mood. I’m going to head over there now.”

  She thought about the nightmare, about what had just happened with Brent, Jared’s eyes as he’d asked her—“Can I come with you?”

  “Are you afraid to stay here by yourself?”

  Standing, she squared her shoulders. “No. I’ve been dealing with these nightmares since I was ten. It’s over now and I’m fine. Thank you for comforting me.” She knew she sounded formal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  “Comfort was the least of it,” he admitted wryly.

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I needed to be held. No one has held me for a very long time. But now it’s over, and if I can help with Jared in any way, I’d like to.”

  Taking Amira’s hand, Brent tugged her into his arms and hugged her. His kiss was light, but the look in his eyes wasn’t, and she knew if the phone hadn’t rung, they’d be making love right now. Instead, they were going to reassure a little boy that he wasn’t alone.

  “Is he upstairs?” Brent asked Joanie without preamble when he and Amira stepped inside Reunion House.

  She frowned. “Yes, and he has everyone else awake, too. I don’t know what Marilyn thinks you can do when neither of us can get him to settle down.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  Ever since she’d met Jared, Amira didn’t like Joanie’s attitude toward the boy. It was as if she’d written him off as a troublemaker and didn’t even intend to try to help make things better. Amira had noticed she was quite competent and related to the other children well. Maybe it was just a personality clash.

  “They’re in the playroom upstairs,” Joanie explained and then glanced at Amira as if she didn’t belong there.

  Brent was already intent on his mission and started up the stairs.

  When Amira reached the second floor, she saw the children gathered in the playroom with Marilyn. The housemother was reading them a story. When Amira listened, she realized it was a passage from Treasure Island.

  Jared was sitting in a chai
r, his knees pulled up on the seat, his arms circling them. He was hunched up as if he’d withdrawn into himself, not caring about what was going on around him.

  Crossing to Jared, Brent capped the boy’s shoulder with his hand.

  Marilyn closed the book. “Why don’t we all get ready for bed, again.”

  Jared still didn’t look up as Marilyn ushered the boys into their bedroom and Joanie ushered the girls into theirs.

  “I think we should talk,” Brent told Jared.

  “There’s nothin’ to talk about,” the boy mumbled.

  “I think there is. You’re upset about Lena not arriving and you’re taking that out on everybody else. Do you think that’s a good way to handle it?”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Jared asked defiantly.

  “You can start by telling me what’s going through your head,” Brent suggested.

  Jared’s gaze met Amira’s, and she got the feeling he didn’t want her to leave. Sinking down on the floor beside Jared’s chair, she crossed her legs. “Sometimes talking helps,” Amira offered softly.

  “Talking’s not going to help. It won’t bring Lena here.”

  “She’ll be here tomorrow, Jared,” Brent assured him.

  “No, she won’t! They’re just telling me that. I know she’s not coming.”

  “Her foster mother had car trouble. That’s all. They’ll be here tomorrow around dinnertime.”

  Jared’s eyes met Amira’s. “When our pop left, they told us they’d keep us together. They didn’t. Why should I believe you?”

  “Mr. Carpenter wouldn’t lie to you,” Amira responded with a certainty she felt.

  Jared thought about that for a little while. Then he asked, “I’m supposed to believe she’s coming and hold on to it like one of those dreams you told me about?”

  She nodded. “Just like that.”

  After a few moments of silence, he asked, “You really think she’ll come?”

  “I think she will,” Amira assured him.

  “Tomorrow night’s far away,” he mumbled, sounding younger than ten.