Taming the Royal Beast (Royal House of Leone Book 6)

by Jennifer Lewis

  He responded with a raucous cry.

  “Really?” She looked at Suki. “Is he fibbing?”

  Suki shook herself, her big ears flying.

  “See, Pepe? She says she was good.”

  Her phone rang, and she put Pepe gently down on the back of the sofa. Her heart soared when she saw who it was. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Sweetheart.” His deep voice always sent a wave of emotion through her. Possibly because she didn’t hear it all that often. “Did you go to the palace like I asked?”

  “Yes.” She leaned down and stroked Ari, who writhed between her legs. “I was interviewed by five different people.”

  “Did you dress appropriately?”

  “I wore my prettiest dress.”

  “Good. And you made sure they knew who you are?”

  “I didn’t have to. I think they knew everything about me. I was at day school in the village with half of the Leone kids anyway.” She loved that the royal family sent their children to the local school. At least until they were old enough to be packed off to respectable boarding schools like she was. “I got the job.”

  “Excellent. Your mother would be so proud of you.”

  Would she? Her mom had been gone so long now she could barely remember her face or the sound of her voice. “Thanks. I hope I won’t screw it up. I’m not all that great in an office.”

  “You’ll do fine, just smile and be nice to everyone.”

  “I think I can pull that off.” She’d learned that she tended to do best in jobs like retail and customer service rather than the prestigious jobs her father would admire. She had a gift with animals, but her science grades weren’t good enough to pursue veterinary studies so her employment history was checkered at best. At least now he’d be proud she was at the palace.

  “It’s only a ten-minute walk from my house so it should work out really well.”

  “Excellent. And don’t forget to update me daily with what you’re working on.”

  “Apparently they’re going to have me going through a lot of papers.”

  “What kind of papers?”

  “I have no idea. But why would you care?” Her dad had been friends with Prince Emil and had hunted with him regularly, but after his death he hadn’t been near the place except for King Darias’s coronation, which had been attended by almost everyone in the country.

  “They’re still casting around looking for whoever murdered the queen and her son.” She heard the flick of the lighter for one of his cigars. “I want to help the investigation however I can.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep you posted.” Tintin jumped up on her and landed his fluffy white paws near her knees. She laughed at his serious expression.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Little Tintin. If he were a bigger dog he’d have knocked me right—”

  “Got to go. Call me after your first day.” He hung up before she could finish her sentence. Her dad was always busy and in the middle of something, though she didn’t have much of a clue what he did all day.

  Maybe telling him about her job would bring them closer together. It was refreshing to have him show an interest in her activities. She picked up Tintin and kissed him on the nose. “I’ll do my best to make him proud.” Tintin licked her face enthusiastically.

  Early the next morning, Rigo summoned Gibran into his office—his dad’s study—and asked him to sit down. “As you pointed out to me, Ms. Beauvoir’s father is a member of the infamous Cross of Blood. Beatriz is convinced she’ll be good for the role but I want to keep an eye on her in case she’s been sent here as a mole, or even to disrupt our investigation.”

  Gibran nodded. “We must watch her carefully. I have a camera set up in here, also in the billiard room and the yellow dining room, all places she could set up and work. Let me know if you need cameras anywhere else.”

  “Give me a day or so to feel her out and figure out what I’m going to do with her. I love the idea of being able to watch her zero in on the useful material in the piles of papers we’re drowning in.” Rigo leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “None of the family knows our suspicions about her?”

  “No. As you suggested, the less they know, the safer they are. They’re aware that we tried to call the Cross of Blood members in for questioning and that each of them was able to avoid the summons due to a legal technicality of one sort or another.”

  “Which only raises my suspicions. The main reason I flew here from New York is to comb through Altaleone law, going back to the Roman Empire if I have to, to find a way to subpoena them. I’m close. I found a good precedent in the 1600’s when a group of aristocrats were accused of treason. Give me time and I’ll find a way to get them all in here.”

  A knock on the door made them both turn. Gibran rose to his feet.

  “Come in.” Rigo shot Gibran a meaningful glance. If it was Bella she was fifteen minutes early, perhaps hoping to overhear something.

  The door opened, and she entered with a smile on her face. Her long, dark curls still sprawled carelessly over her shoulders, and today’s dress had large flowers and a lace petticoat. “Hello. I came early.”

  Rigo hated it when people stated the obvious. “This is Gibran Al Nazariyah, head of security at the Palace.”

  She thrust out a hand and shone her bright smile on Gibran, who returned his usual stony gaze along with a grudging handshake.

  “Are you ready for me or should I come back in fifteen?” She looked cheerfully from one to the other.

  “Gibran and I are finished talking. Today, I’d like you to organize some paperwork by date.” Gibran slid out noiselessly. Rigo picked a big marbled cardboard filing box off the floor and heaved it onto the desk. “These are tax filings from the Altacord Trading Group, from the 1950s and ’60s. I had the revenue service pull them, but they’re jumbled in the box without rhyme or reason. I’d like you to arrange them with the most recent in the front, and also create a database file with the amount of gross earnings declared, the net earnings declared, and the amount of taxes paid in each calendar year.”

  He watched her face closely, looking for signs of interest. Her father was a principal partner in Altacord, which was the second-largest diamond broker in Altaleone, a position he’d inherited from his father and grandfather and great-grandfather—going back many generations.

  She looked mildly horrified, which sent a teeny ripple of excitement up his spine. “Is there a problem?”

  “Um, the database software. Is it Excel?”

  Rigo stared. Was she too incompetent even to do such a simple task? “I’d imagine so.” He handed her a small laptop that had been stripped back to the operating system and basic software. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Worst-case scenario he’d have someone redo the work if these files were of real interest, which he doubted. His goal today was to watch her and get a bead on both her goals and her competencies.

  She picked up the laptop, opened it, and pressed the power button. She frowned slightly while it loaded.

  “You look nervous.” He wanted to see how she’d react.

  She looked up fast, big eyes wide. “Oh, no.” That quick, flashy smile again, pearly white teeth that were no doubt the result of expensive orthodontistry. Then she turned her attention back to the laptop and licked her lips. The sight of her pink tongue flashing out of her soft mouth sent of bolt of utterly inappropriate heat to his groin, and he tugged his gaze to the wood trim near the ceiling.

  She was toying with him. And he was weak enough to respond. “Let me carry the box of files to the billiard room for you,” he said gruffly. He wanted her out of there.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m in your way.” She rose to her feet in a flurry of loose curls and lace petticoats. “I can carry it.”

  “That’s okay.” He wanted to make sure she didn’t wander off course and end up somewhere outside the view of their high-powered cameras and sound-recording devices. “I’ve got it.” He heaved the file box into hi
s arms.

  Bella brought the still-open laptop, as well as her leather satchel. As she stood up he could swear he heard a squeaky noise.

  He waited while she exited the door ahead of him and heard it again, followed by a strangled cry for help that tore at his nerves. “What was that?”

  “I didn’t hear anything.” She turned that pearly smile on him again.

  As they walked through the door a high-pitched screech made his hair stand on end. She simply tossed her hair and marched ahead.

  “Ms. Beauvoir. I believe something is trapped in your bag and screaming to be let out.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bella walked along the corridor without looking back. Her long floral skirt swished about her legs. “Oh, that’s my ferret, Squiggles. He won’t be any trouble, I promise. He gets upset if I’m away from him too long, but he’ll be quite happy in my bag all day.”

  Rigo stared, speechless for a moment. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

  “He doesn’t much like moving. He’s more of a staying-in-one-place ferret.”

  “In here to the right.” Rigo refused to be sidetracked by a ferret. “You can sit at this table.” He knew where the hidden cameras could get the best view. “And spread the papers out while you get them in order.”

  “Great.” She turned, curls flying, and shone her pearly smile on him. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Accuracy is more important than speed,” he said sternly. “And I’d like you to take a look at each tax return and make notes about it in the database. Add a longer column to the far right for that.” He’d improvised this last instruction to gauge both her level of interest in her father’s affairs and her own intelligence—or lack thereof.

  “Sure.” She pulled out the chair, set her bag carefully on the table in front of her, and pushed up the lace-trimmed cuffs of her dress.

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  “A cup of tea would be lovely.” She said it innocently. Then laughed. “But you’re a prince so you don’t get tea. Is there somewhere I can make myself some?”

  Rigo stared at her for a moment. “No.”

  “Oh. Okay then.” Her smiled faltered. Good. “I’ll get down to work.”

  Rigo turned and left, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Her behavior in the airport showed that she was used to using men to fill her needs with no thought for their feelings. Just because she had big eyes with long eyelashes and a curvy body beneath all the roses and petticoats, she thought she could wrap him around her little finger.

  She couldn’t be more wrong.

  “That was a close one, Squiggles. Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” Bella unlatched the satchel and let him poke his inquisitive nose out. “Not everyone appreciates having a member of the mustelid family in their home. Now don’t distract me, or I’ll forget what I’m supposed to be doing.” The lady who’d rescued Squiggles told her his hair had only just grown back after all falling out due to stress when his owner died. She didn’t want to risk a recurrence.

  She opened the laptop, mildly curious to see what was on a royal laptop—did it have the family crest as a screensaver? All she found was the basic software package, which included—thank heaven—the same version of Excel she’d had the misery of using to catalog expenses at the law firm.

  She’d created the basic table and headers when she noticed Rigo standing in the doorway again. He was very tall, with a countenance as chiseled as the mountain peaks of his ancestral homeland. His brown eyes smoldered with an intimidating intelligence, and she was sure he could see right through her. It was awkward that she’d kissed him. Yes, it had been an emergency and had saved her a lot of drama, but she wished she didn’t remember how soft and warm his mouth felt under hers or what taut muscles he had.

  Why wasn’t he saying anything? He stood there, watching her. Her attempt at a friendly smile froze on her lips, and she fixed her eyes on her database program. “Does this look right?”

  He frowned and walked slowly over, then leaned to look at her screen—he smelled like the mountains on an icy winter morning—and she felt her heart beat faster. Probably sheer terror.

  His eyes narrowed for an instant, causing her gut to clench. “Looks fine. Then he turned and swept out the door.

  She collapsed into her chair and heaved a sigh.

  Goodness, he made her tense! Rigo Leone was worse than all the stuffed shirts at the law firm put together. She’d have to do an amazing job so she didn’t get fired and lose this opportunity to earn money and make her dad happy.

  Though she still didn’t understand why her dad was so keen for her to work there. Bragging rights, maybe. “My daughter’s at the palace.” She could here him murmuring the news to his friends through a cloud of cigar smoke. Maybe he saw her as a way to maintain his royal connections.

  Maybe he wants me to marry one of the Leone brothers.

  The thought occurred to her with thunderclap suddenness.

  Not Rigo, though. Definitely not Rigo. And Darias and Sandro were already spoken for. None of the others even lived in Altaleone, as far as she knew.

  Sorry, Dad.

  She’d count this whole adventure a success if she could stay there six months without getting fired. That would beat her two and a half months before the final straw at the Paris PR firm—she’d spilled wine on an important client—and nearly five months at the Zurich law firm before the baby rat she was fostering had escaped from her backpack, chewed through the top layer of meeting minutes, and drawn some blood-curdling screams from the head admin.

  She pulled the first file from the pile and suppressed a groan. Tax returns from 1964. Focus. You can do it.

  “Do you think her father sent her here to spy on us?” Gibran was back in Rigo’s office. He’d called him as soon as they’d picked it up on the mic and—now that she’d left for the day—had just played it for him.

  “I suspect so but I’m not sure she knows it.” Rigo knew that the staff was under heavy surveillance after at least one member had proven to be an enemy in their midst. “He may have something specific in mind that he wants her to accomplish. I want to figure out what that is.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Maybe she’ll tell her ferret about it.”

  Gibran didn’t smile. He reminded Rigo of his favorite prosecutor in New York. The one who never let go, who kept turning up rocks and finding some new evidence to prevent a case from collapsing—tireless, unsmiling, and always successful in the end.

  Rigo planned to spend the midnight oil going back through the tax returns Bella had studied that day and looking for anything she’d missed or deliberately ignored or misrepresented in her database.

  He looked up at Gibran, who sometimes appeared to have superhuman patience. “I know you’ve been frustrated by your inability to nail down the murderers, but it’s obvious from events of the last year that the motivations of the family’s enemies are largely financial, or related to feeling cheated out of an inheritance.”

  “Who’s been cheated out of an inheritance?” His sister Beatriz opened the door and walked in.

  “Your fiancé, for one,” said Rigo drily. “Or so his family contends.”

  “If Lorenzo is still a suspect I’m going to throttle you with my bare hands.”

  “He fits the profile nicely—disgruntled aristocrat with an ancient ax to grind—but he made a smart move in proposing to you. It’ll likely keep his head off the chopping block.”

  There was an actual chopping block in the courtyard of the old castle in Casteleone.

  “Ha ha.” Beatriz tilted her head. “I just saw Bella Beauvoir walking out of here talking to her satchel. Doesn’t seem like she’s changed much since we were at school together. She was always a bit eccentric. I’m glad she took the job so Mama will have someone to help her while I’m busy in Milan.” Beatriz had recently started a fashion line and would no longer have time for the kind of tiresome royal duties Rigo had always prided himself on avoiding.

&nbs
p; “If she ever comes back.” Their widowed mom had surprised them all by meeting an old flame and marrying him suddenly in Paris.

  “She’ll be back next week, with Amadou. They’re going to stay until after the wedding. She’s especially excited to see you. She says she hasn’t seen you in Altaleone for years apart from Papa’s funeral.”

  Rigo stiffened as guilt and misgivings soaked through him. His last words with his father had been harsh ones and more than four years ago. Now they’d never have a chance to make up.

  He’d hoped that Gibran would solve the mystery of the murder, and Rigo could keep himself buried in his important legal work in New York. He’d left several hot cases burning a hole in his desk, and while he trusted his associates, he didn’t want to stay here one minute longer than he had to. For all its natural beauty Altaleone reminded him too much of things he wished he didn’t know.

  “Darias and Emma are coming for dinner. Lorenzo’s here talking to Sandro and Serena in the living room.”

  “Isn’t that festive,” growled Rigo. “Don’t you people have work to do?”

  “Even you have to break to eat, brother dearest.” Beatriz left and closed the door behind her.

  “Everything has to be a damn social occasion with this family. Would you care to join us?”

  “No, thanks.” Gibran’s expression didn’t move.

  “A man after my own heart.”

  Rigo marched into dinner, determined to eat and run as fast as possible. Not that he didn’t appreciate his family, but he needed to go through the paperwork Bella had organized today.

  Sandro sat next to him and clapped him on the back. “Rigo, we need to find you a date for my wedding.”