by Cara Colter
It’s his job to protect her...
...not to tempt her!
The last thing Sophie wants is to be stuck under the professional eye of Connal Lancaster, the man she shared that mistake of a kiss with two years ago. Only, she has no choice. Her life is threatened as the princess of Havenhurst’s best friend. And when a storm forces Sophie and Connal to spend one night in a secluded cabin, this time Connal’s kiss feels nothing like a mistake...
Connal Lancaster had moved to the bottom of the stairs.
His expression was bland, an annoyingly professional mask in place, ready to do his duty and assist her if need be.
Not knowing that she would not accept assistance from him if he was the last man in the universe.
Which was, of course, precisely the kind of vow the universe liked to play havoc with.
Because as Sophie descended the narrow gangway, on the third step from the tarmac, her oversize bag caught on a metal rivet in the handrail. She lurched forward and probably would have fallen down the remaining few steps if not for Lancaster, who was always aggravatingly ready for anything, including, it seemed, a woman falling into his arms.
She hit him with enough force that it should have knocked them both over, but he was rock steady. She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart and a sensation welled up in her of pure and unadulterated longing, and something even more unsettling. Homecoming.
As if this was the only place she had ever wanted to be, in the circle of Lancaster’s arms.
Dear Reader,
I suspect there is a law, somewhere, that writers are not supposed to pick favorites. It would be like a mother choosing a favorite child!
I fall in love with all my heroes: princes, billionaires, businessmen, tycoons.
But I do have a confession to make. I have favorites. And they are the soldiers, the cowboys, the cops. They are the men who have been on the front lines of life and death, and who have emerged from their experiences—events that might have destroyed lesser men—scarred and wary, unwilling to trust anything they cannot control.
From the moment that Lancaster strode into His Convenient Royal Bride, I felt the same thunk that Sophie felt the first time she ever laid eyes on him. I knew he would have to have his own story, and that Sophie would be the one who rescued him from his self-imposed prison of solitude and self-reliance. It would be Sophie who helped him to see how his experiences had made him stronger than ever before.
I hope you’ll enjoy every second of Sophie and Lancaster as they tackle the greatest loss of control of all, the incredible roller-coaster-ride adventure of falling in love.
With warmest wishes,
Cara Colter
One Night with Her Brooding Bodyguard
Cara Colter
Cara Colter shares her life in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, with her husband, nine horses and one small Pomeranian with a large attitude. She loves to hear from readers, and you can learn more about her and contact her through Facebook.
Books by Cara Colter
Harlequin Romance
A Fairytale Summer!
Cinderella’s New York Fling
Cinderellas in the Palace
His Convenient Royal Bride
A Crown by Christmas
Cinderella’s Prince Under the Mistletoe
The Vineyards of Calanetti
Soldier, Hero...Husband?
Housekeeper Under the Mistletoe
The Wedding Planner’s Big Day
Swept into the Tycoon’s World
Snowbound with the Single Dad
Tempted by the Single Dad
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
With deep gratitude for the power, beauty and mystery of sisterhood. Avon. Collette. Anna.
Forever joined.
Praise for Cara Colter
“Ms. Colter’s writing style is one you will want to continue to read. Her descriptions place you there.... This story does have a HEA but leaves you wanting more.”
—Harlequin Junkie on His Convenient Royal Bride
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Excerpt from A Will, a Wish, a Wedding by Kate Hardy
PROLOGUE
“LANCASTER, I’VE RARELY seen that look on your face.”
It reminded Connal Lancaster that Prince Edward Alexander of Havenhurst was one of the few people who could truly read him.
Though Edward and Lancaster were more like brothers than a prince and his protector, few people, including the prince, ever addressed Lancaster by either his rank, which was major, or his first name. Prince Edward had never used it, not even when they had traveled incognito to Mountain Bend, Oregon, four years ago.
The trip that had changed everything and brought the island kingdom of Havenhurst their beloved princess.
“What look, sir?” Lancaster asked, comfortable with formality between them despite the closeness of their relationship.
“Fear,” Prince Edward said, after a moment’s consideration. “Make that I’ve never seen that look on your face. You said you had to see me on an urgent security matter this morning.”
Lancaster, ever the warrior, felt insulted by the use of that particular word to describe anything about himself.
“Not fear, Your Highness,” he said, firmly, and then after just a moment’s hesitation, “but certainly apprehension.”
“All right,” the prince conceded, “apprehension. It reminds me of that time in Mountain Bend when I was recognized at the Ritz concert. Something battle-ready about you. What’s going on?” He gestured at the chair in front of his desk, and Lancaster took it.
“I had a call from Interpol this morning,” Lancaster said, without preamble. “A very concerning call. A shadowy group has appeared on their radar. They’ve intercepted threads of some disturbing internet chatter. It involves Havenhurst.”
“A threat to Havenhurst?” Prince Edward asked, and a ripple of shock crossed his face. Havenhurst was little more than a speck in the North Atlantic, two hundred kilometers from the North Channel. Except for ancient scuffles with nearby islands, there had never been a risk to the kingdom. “A danger worthy of a warning from an international police organization?”
The prince’s marriage to Madeline Nelson, an ordinary American woman, had brought an abundance of publicity to the Havenhurst, relatively unknown to the world before that. The birth of their son, Prince Ryan Lancaster—named, to Lancaster’s great pride, after both Maddie’s father and himself—had cemented the royal couple’s celebrity status.
Now, with Maddie pregnant with the second royal baby, Lancaster was uncomfortably aware of the whole world watching them endlessly and obsessively. That obsession made his job more difficult, though he certainly recognized the celebrity was both a gift and an annoyance. The gift was that it had benefited the economies in both Maddie’s home town of Mountain Bend, Oregon, and this small is
land nation. The newfound fame meant both places could barely keep up with the demand for their exports, and that tourism had exploded.
The annoyance was the cameras, the media attention, the stories and articles—sometimes true, sometimes false—were constant intrusions on the family’s privacy. For Lancaster, it had created a need to come up with increasingly complex ways of shielding the royal family from a celebrity-besotted world.
For the most part Lancaster, unflappable, took the new complexity of his duty to protect Edward and his family in stride.
Until now.
After Edward’s mention of the word fear, he had stripped his features of emotion. He was pretty sure he looked, as always, as if his expression had been cast in stone, and gave away nothing. And yet he had to admit, despite his denial, there was some uncomfortable truth to the prince’s observation.
But then Edward had known Lancaster since they both were children. He would read what others would not: the brows lowered, the downturn of the mouth, the hand resting a little too close to the hilt on his belt. All spoke an unusual tension—apprehension—in a man who took extraordinary pride in his ability to remain calm.
Lancaster took pride, too, in the fact that Edward and his family felt so safe precisely because Lancaster never did. No matter how peaceful the island might seem, he never let down his guard, never stopped training, never stopped watching, never relaxed his attitude toward his responsibilities to the royal family.
“It’s not precisely a threat to Havenhurst,” Lancaster said, his tone deliberately measured. “What’s come to the attention of Interpol is what appears to be a series of kidnapping plots.”
“Kidnapping? Ryan?” Edward asked, his tone strangled, his understanding of the apprehension he had seen in Lancaster’s face suddenly solidified.
Lancaster gave him a dark look that assured him of the safety of his family. He would lay down his life to protect them, and an enemy would never meet a more formidable opponent.
“There is no direct threat to any member of your family, Your Highness,” Lancaster said. “That is the diabolic brilliance of these plots that are unfolding. Whoever is perpetrating them knows they can’t go after an actual member of a royal family, a high-profile politician, a famous musician or movie star. These people are too well protected.
“What came to Interpol’s attention were fragments of a list. It had a dozen names on it of very prominent people, in a code, which they broke. At first they could make no sense of it. Because it would have a target’s name in code—for example, Henry Hampton—” he named a famous concert pianist who had been recently knighted by the British queen “—and then a name appearing beside that name, not in code, that no one had ever heard of.
“But good police work unveiled this—those unheard of people have strong ties to the rich and famous. They are childhood friends, or a favorite aunt or uncle, trusted confidants, sometimes secret lovers, people who are close but well outside the circle of protection.”
“Who?” Edward asked.
“It was Princess Madeline’s name that was decoded.”
Edward blanched. “Who have they targeted in her circle?”
Frowning, Lancaster handed him a folded piece of paper.
Edward unfolded it, and saw it had written on it a single name.
Sophie Kettle
“Sophie,” Edward said, softly. “Maddie’s best friend. Godmother to Ryan.” His eyes went to Lancaster and the rest of what Sophie was in their shared history remained unspoken between the two men.
Lancaster cleared his throat. “She’s very much on the loose around the world since she does PR for that rock band, the Ritz. Sophie Kettle would make an unfortunately easy target.”
“She was fired last week.”
Something flickered in Lancaster, uncomfortable and alien. That very thing he claimed never to feel? Fear? “Which probably makes her an even easier target.”
“I can’t tell Maddie this. She’s just been so unwell. I can’t add an additional stress right now.”
The prince’s great love for his wife—and how appalled he was at the idea of keeping a secret from her—was evident in his face. Lancaster quickly quelled the sharp awareness of his own solitary existence that the prince’s devotion to Maddie created in him.
“Agreed. It would be best not to share the details with the princess. And not with Miss Kettle, either. You know her. She will decide she doesn’t need protection, at all.”
“Unless we made it clear that you were to be her protector,” Edward said, a slight teasing note to his voice.
“She’s engaged,” Lancaster said, his tone flat, making his eyes hard with a warning that there were places even a prince should fear to go.
“Apparently she’s not that anymore, either.”
This was news to Lancaster, and he was not sure what dangerous emotion tickled along his spine, though he made sure his expression did not reveal it, and he refused to ask the question When did that happen? He got back to his point.
“I’ve got someone en route to keeping an eye on Sophie. If we can get her to Havenhurst, we can contain the situation. The fact that she’s just lost her job—and her engagement—plays straight into our hands. So does Princess Madeline’s having a difficult pregnancy—sorry, sir, the palace staff has been talking about rather epic bouts of morning sickness, and Prince Ryan is being particularly fractious of late.”
“A holy terror,” Prince Edward agreed, wearily. “His nanny tells me it is quite normal for a two-year-old, but it’s being exacerbated by his mother not having her usual amount of energy and time for him, I’m sure.”
“Wouldn’t it be the most natural time in the world for Maddie to ask her friend to come and support her?” Lancaster suggested softly. “Sophie is excellent with the prince.”
“You’ve thought this out,” Edward said gratefully. “It would be the perfect time for Sophie to come for an extended visit. I will go plant the seed.”
“If you can insert a sense of urgency, sir—”
“Understood,” Edward said.
“Your Highness?”
“Yes?”
“If either of these two women were ever to find out we’ve left them out of the loop on this thing, even though it is for their own good, I’m afraid it won’t go well for us.”
“You’ve always had a gift for the understatement, Lancaster.”
And then both men enjoyed a quiet, comradely chuckle born of the intricacies of dealing with strong-willed American women in delicate situations.
CHAPTER ONE
THUNK.
Sophie Kettle gripped the deep leather armrests of her seat. Logically, she knew she had just heard the engagement of the landing gear on the private royal jet she was a passenger on. But it felt more as if she had heard the sound of her own heart falling.
Nonsense, she told herself, firmly. She was a freshly scorned woman. Her heart, what was left of it, was curled up in a protective little ball, behind the walls of a newly buttressed fortress. It was certainly not falling.
And yet when Maddie had said, “Lancaster will meet you,” why had Sophie wanted to protest? And strenuously?
She had wanted to ask Maddie to send someone—anyone—else. But that would have been like broadcasting that her feelings for Lancaster—her recent heartbreak not acting as any kind of cautionary tale—were the very same as her feelings for him had always been. As soon as Maddie had mentioned his name, Sophie’s emotions had started dancing just out of the range of her control, like a high-strung Pomeranian refusing to be caught. Or tamed.
“Your feelings are like a badly behaved Pomeranian?” she scoffed at herself. It was a measure, really, of what bad shape she was in.
As she gazed out the window, the plane began its descent, and the island of Havenhurst came into view. It wasn’t the first time she had been here, bu
t this time it seemed different. The lush forests, the rolling hills, the green fields, the village, the castle, it all felt altered because, this time, this place was going to be home for as long as Maddie needed her.
And really, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Except for—the jet landed with a gentle tap, and coasted down the runway—him.
Out the oval of her window, Sophie saw Lancaster, as the plane glided to a complete halt. There was the thunk again, no landing gear to blame it on this time.
He was on the tarmac, standing in front of a black, sleek car that flew the royal flags on each side of it. He was wearing his everyday uniform, his beret tucked under the epaulet on the shoulder.
As ordinary as it was, that knife-pressed uniform, the alert calm in the way he held himself, made Lancaster look exactly like what he was: a warrior, and a Celtic warrior at that. Tall, strong, fit...ready, somehow, for the things regular people were not ready for.
A whisper of a breeze drew Sophie’s eyes to his hair. It was the beautiful red-gold of fall leaves and longer than she had seen it before. As she watched, the breeze teased it slightly, lifting strands off the wideness of his brow.
Really, Sophie chided herself, he was just an ordinary man, in a drab green working uniform. It wasn’t even the resplendent dress uniform—goodness, that man could rock a kilt—she had seen him in at Prince Ryan’s christening, where he had been godfather and she had been godmother.
Not that she wanted to think about that event. Ever again. The godmother/godfather thing had made her feel unrealistically connected to Lancaster. At the reception, after just a touch too much wine—
Good grief! It was two years ago. Was she still embarrassed?
Yes.
As Lancaster lifted his eyes to the plane, scanning the windows, Sophie felt herself sinking down in her seat. She did not want him to catch her watching him! He might surmise she was studying him, unchanged from the obsessive teenager she had been the first time she had seen him.
