Dancing with a Prince (Matchmakers in Time Book 3)

by Kit Morgan

  She had a busy section, sort of. People went in and out, often checking to see if Empire was worth bothering with. The younger crowd usually didn’t stay, but the old folks loved it. And why not? The café was cheap, the atmosphere retro and they liked the antique machines Empire still kept in order.

  After several hours, she was bored. She wondered if Albert really would swing by, or be so caught up with the crawl he wouldn’t have time. Regardless, she had work to do. She made a particular effort to watch for younger folks targeting older ones. Though some slippery senior might find Empire easy pickings and try to get away with stealing a wallet or two. Well, not on her watch …

  “Stop! Thieeeeef!”

  Mitzi jumped and looked for the source of the cry. A woman that reminded her of Audrey Hepburn pointed at a man heading straight for the exit near the bathrooms. He had a purse in his hand.

  At last! Mitzi took off after him, almost knocking several people over in the process. “Stop!” But he kept going.

  As soon as she had a clear path, she broke into a run and burst through the door leading outside. She thought she heard someone call her name, Fred maybe, but she kept going. If he’d been patrolling outside, he could’ve intercepted, but he wasn’t, so she had to.

  She caught sight of the man, tall and long-legged, rounding the corner into the alley. Someone else had to be coming, but she didn’t have time to wonder who. Catching the thief was more important. She entered the alley, where for some reason the music was deafening. And what was with the weird light show on the back of the building up ahead? Didn’t matter, she had the thief trapped! She pulled out her taser as she ran, following protocol. “Stop! Stay where you are!”

  Because of the strange white light, she was having a hard time seeing, but spotted a shadowy figure up ahead. He was running into the brightness of the light show, probably hoping it blinded her enough that she couldn’t pursue him. Fat chance.

  She shaded her eyes, felt the ground shake and wondered where the speakers were. The music was deafening. “Stop!” she ordered again and moved forward.

  The beautiful, unearthly music crescendoed, getting louder still as the light brightened. She could barely see now, but she’d run into her thief soon enough. There was nowhere for him to go – she had him boxed in. She just hoped he didn’t run past her, hoping the lights were so bright she couldn’t see him slip by. She stumbled forward, the music egging her on. She’d run into the wall of the back part of the building next to the casino any time now … “Stop! Freeze!”

  She tried looking to one side or the other, but now the light was everywhere. She hoped a bunch of spectators didn’t come into the alley to see it. It had to be aimed at something happening in the street, but what? Disoriented, she felt a wave of dizziness hit. For crying out loud, she should have run into a wall by now.

  Mitzi hit something, but it felt more like a tree, and the concrete beneath her feet was suddenly … grass? That was the final straw for her brain, which overloaded. She hit the grass in a dead faint. Her last thought was that maybe she wasn’t cut out for this, if she passed out on her first shot at corralling a purse-snatcher …

  Chapter Five

  The Royal Dalrovian Forest, 1889

  Mitzi gasped for breath and bolted upright. The last thing she remembered was chasing a purse snatcher down the side alley of Empire Casino, around the corner of the building and into the back alley. A rooftop light show or something was going on … the music crawl … and … “Where am I?”

  Her eyes went wide. She was clearly no longer in Las Vegas, but in a forest somewhere. Her hand went to her gun, but it wasn’t there. In fact, none of her equipment was – her duty belt was gone. And her clothes! She grabbed at the dress she wore. “What the … what the heck?” She glanced wildly about. If she wasn’t so panicked, she’d take in her surroundings with a different eye, but terror could blind a person. All she saw was moonlight illuminating the trees and plants around her by a nearby stream. Even terrified, she noted the beauty of the place.

  Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it. She got to her feet and took another look. There was no sign of anyone or anything else, including her uniform and duty belt. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out. There’s got to be a logical explanation.” She looked around some more. “I’ve been kidnapped.” She nodded – that was plausible.

  She turned a full circle, then looked at the dress she wore. “And my kidnappers are into Renaissance fairs.” She couldn’t tell the exact color in the dark, but it was full-length, had a tight bodice with laces up the front, a full skirt and some sort of blouse underneath. Was she wearing a bra? She checked – no. And it felt like she had multiple … petticoats? … under the skirt.

  Out of curiosity she lifted the dress and looked at her feet. “What the …?” She was wearing an odd-looking pair of shoes too. And … stockings? Like leotards or something else? So … whoever had abducted her had not only dragged her to this place, hundreds of miles from Vegas (which, after all, was in the middle of a desert, not a deciduous forest), but stripped her naked and re-dressed her like she was in a period historical drama with enough cloth to make a hot air balloon?! This made no sense at …

  A twig snapped, and Mitzi dropped into a crouch, not easy in that ridiculous outfit. Was it the kidnappers? Well, who else could it be? Should she make a run for it? And where was she?

  A rustling in some far-off bushes, from the same direction she’d heard the snapping twig. Mitzi was off like a shot, almost tripping over her hem before remembering a skirt like that had to be lifted a little to avoid breaking her neck. Even having done that, running in the dark wasn’t easy – no streetlights, flashlights, or even sidewalks, just unfamiliar foliage. There was enough moonlight to make out large obstacles, thankfully, but she could only hope she didn’t trip over small ones.

  She stopped and hid behind a large tree. Was she being pursued? She heard another twig snap and took off again, along the grassy bank of the stream. The night was warm, but that just meant it was still summer. She could still be anywhere south of the Arctic Circle.

  She heard another sound and ran faster. Was there more than one pursuer? It sounded like it. She stopped and looked frantically around, then at the stream. Without thinking she lifted her skirt and stepped into the water to cross – that would hopefully get them off her trail. How deep could it be?

  Thankfully, not very – the water only reached her knees at one point. When she got to the other bank she darted into the brush and trees and studied the opposite side. The night had gone still. No sign of whoever was chasing her.

  Mitzi sighed in relief, turned, tripped and fell on her face.

  “Good evening.”

  She gasped as she realized what she’d tripped over – and who she was on top of. “Oh!”

  “Out for a stroll?”

  Mitzi scrambled off the lap of the man she’d landed on. “I’m … I’m sorry.” She crouched again and looked around. “Who are you?”

  “I might ask you the same.” He brushed his pants off. “You do realize where you are, don’t you?”

  He had an accent, but she couldn’t place it – German or Scandinavian or Dutch, somewhere in there. “Why don’t you tell me.”

  He heaved an impatient sigh. “You’re in the Queen’s forest, of course. Any fool would know that.”

  “Queen?” she said with a laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. So what is this, some kind of joke? Where am I really?”

  He stood and she noticed the odd clothes he wore. Not Renaissance – Victorian, maybe? “The Royal Dalrovian Forest, if you wish to be technical. My question is, what are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” He seemed harmless enough, but one couldn’t be too careful. “So is this some kind of initiation?” She stood and studied her surroundings, including the starry sky. It was beautiful, but she didn’t have time to admire it. How big was this place? “Is this Mr. Hammer’s doing?”

  “Who is Mr. Hammer? And aga
in, who are you?”

  “I asked you first,” she shot back.

  He sighed again and stepped into a moonbeam.

  Her eyebrows rose. He was talk, dark-haired and handsome, nice to look at – “dashing” came to mind. “What is this place?”

  “I already told you, now if you’ll kindly tell me who you are, perhaps I can steer you out of here.”

  “I’d like nothing better.” She thought of her pursuers, then glanced at the stream and back.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Someone was chasing me earlier.”

  He too looked at the stream. “Do tell.” To her surprise he turned, bent to the tree and straightened up with a sword in his hand. “Where did you see them?” he asked, his eyes on the opposite bank. “Did they try to accost you? Are you hurt?”

  She blinked a few times. “No, I … I’m just confused. I don’t know where I am.”

  He stepped closer. He was much taller than she was, but then, wasn’t everyone? “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked gently.

  “Okay. Just … shook up. I don’t know how I got here, someone took my duty belt and uniform, I …”

  “Your what?”

  “My belt and uniform.”

  “Uniform? What sort of uniform?”

  “Security guard.”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Guard?” He looked her up and down and started to smile.

  “Don’t even go there, buddy.” She looked across the stream. There was still no movement in the woods beyond.

  He noticed it too. “There’s something out there.” His voice was low, which only made it seem quieter.

  “Someone,” she corrected. “And they were chasing me.”

  “If it was the Queen’s Guard, they’d have you in chains already.” He stepped away. “Come.” He turned to the tree, picked up something, then faced her. “I’ll get you out of here.”

  “Where is here?”

  “Shh, keep your voice down. It might be poachers. I pity them when they come across the Guard patrolling these woods.”

  Mitzi stared at him. He was a good actor – he must do this sort of thing a lot. “Okay.” She watched him fasten a belt around his waist, then realized it was for his sword. He sheathed it, took her hand and headed into the woods.

  As soon as Asger took her hand, a jolt of electricity raced through him. It was the strangest sensation – he couldn’t remember feeling anything quite like it before. She was also a wonderful distraction. He’d been thinking about Princess Velta and reports of her shrewish behavior. Not rumors – his sources said every word was true.

  How did his parents expect him to marry a stranger, let alone one with the personality of an angry badger? Hal could tell him otherwise, but Asger knew it was true. Was she beautiful? Absolutely. Did she appear kind-hearted, generous and of good moral character to her subjects? Another yes. But behind closed doors …

  “You still haven’t told me where I am,” the young woman next to him said.

  “Yes, I have. But you still haven’t told me who you are. Are you new here? Do you work in the palace?” That would explain a lot if she did, but not her lack of recognition – how could she not know he was the crown prince if she worked within the palace? Something else occurred to him and he stopped. “Are you a spy?”

  “What?!”

  He looked her over. Her clothes were finer than most, but not highborn. Her accent was flat, and she was speaking English, not French or Danish or German. British? But the United Kingdom and Dalrovia were on excellent terms – partly because the English wanted to keep Dalrovia out of the Kaiser’s talons. “Where are you from?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are we really going to play this game?”

  “Game?”

  “Yes, this endless bantering that gets us nowhere.”

  “I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”

  “Good. Then I’m from Las Vegas. Now where are we?”

  He sighed. Las Vegas – that sounded Spanish, but her speech didn’t. “We are in the Kingdom of Dalrovia, in the southwest section of the queen’s woods.”

  “Dalrovia? I’ve never heard of it.” She turned her head and looked around. “Are we in California somewhere?”

  He cocked his head. “California?” He knew where that was – he’d studied his geography, as an heir to a throne must – but that was almost halfway around the world.

  “Is there an echo? Yes, California, though this place doesn’t look like …” she shook her head. “And Las Vegas doesn’t have a park like this anywhere.”

  “Las Vegas …”

  “Stop that! It’s annoying.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? I find strange women landing in my lap in the dark of night troublesome as well.”

  She stared at him, then smiled. “Oh, my gosh, you are hilarious. Okay, really, where are we? And who’s behind this?”

  He studied her. “I think I’d better take you to see the royal physician. Did you bump your head?”

  “No!”

  “Well, something’s wrong with you. Why else would you be asking silly questions?”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  He set off again, her hand still in his. He didn’t know why he hadn’t let go of it, but so long as he didn’t, he felt better. Would it reverse if he let her go? He should’ve let go when they stopped. But then, she didn’t pull her hand away either. Hmm …

  “Do you have a fohn?”

  He stopped again. “A what?”

  “Oh, c’mon, I’ve had enough of this. Either you have a fohn or you don’t.”

  Well, considering he didn’t know what she meant … “I don’t.”

  “You could’ve just said so.”

  He looked at their hands. She did too. His eyes slowly met hers and they stared at each other. Moonlight illuminated her features, her blonde hair. He wondered what color her eyes were and decided they must be light. Her hair was pulled back in a chignon at the nape of her neck. Not piled on top of her head as so many women in the kingdom styled theirs. He wondered what it would look like down, how long it was, whether it was wavy or straight …

  “What are you staring at?” she asked, snapping him out of his musings.

  “Nothing. Let’s go.” He set off again. She didn’t at first, so he gave her a gentle pull and she got moving.

  He didn’t think she was a spy – she was too frightened when she splashed through the stream. At first he’d thought it was a deer, but once she reached the side of the stream he’d picked to do some thinking, so much for that. He’d stayed quiet, as she was obviously scared. She acted as if someone were chasing her; he believed that much. Why else would she have gone running through the water the way she did? There was nothing stealthy about that.

  But everything else coming out of her was gibberish, and she still hadn’t told him her name. Maybe she’d been abducted and hit her head when she escaped. And where was this Las Vegas? If it was in Spain, it wasn’t very large or he’d have heard of it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, trying to pull her hand away.

  He held it tighter. “The palace. Their Highnesses can help you.” He hoped they didn’t toss her in the dungeon.

  “Palace? Are you kidding me?” She laughed. “Is this Disneyland?”

  He glanced at her. More gibberish. He switched her hand to his other, putting his free one at her back to spur her on. Either she was addled (probably), a spy (doubtful) or a very good actress who knew exactly who he was. A merchant’s daughter, perhaps, doing her best to trick him with her feminine wiles. No, that seemed far-fetched, since she wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “You’re not talking,” she said.

  “I’m concentrating on getting you help.” He slowed his pace, not wanting her to trip again. “You need it.”

  She was quiet for once. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. Was she remembering what happened to her? A bump on the head was the most reasonable explanation for
her strange behavior. Out of curiosity, he stopped and faced her. “Who am I?”

  “Excuse me?” she said in shock. “How should I know? Other than you’re dressed up for a renfair.” She cocked her head. “Are you a re-enactor?”

  He shook his head. “You poor thing. You must have hit it hard.”

  “Hit what?”

  “Your head. Let’s go.” He urged her forward.

  She planted her feet this time. “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute!”

  “A what?” Cotton-picking? By her accent she wasn’t local, so she probably didn’t deal with Dalrovia’s meager cotton crop. Where would she learn … hm. Maybe she was American. His parents had lived in America once – he could ask them.

  “You heard me!”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’ve already told you where we are, and you obviously don’t know who I am –”

  “You right on that one, bucko. Show me your license.”

  His eyebrows rose again. “For what?”

  “AAACK! Your driver’s license, what else!”

  More nonsense. He looked her over. “Are you from Lacona?” Good heavens, was she working for Princess Velta? Maybe she really was a spy! But again the accent, and her confusion, argued against it.

  “I told you, I’m from Las Vegas. I was at work at the casino when this perssnatscher grabbed this lady’s bag and took off. I gave pursuit, as is my job, and wound up here.” She glared at him. “Wherever here is. Speaking of which, how do I know you’re not some rapist or achsmerderer?”

  His jaw went slack. “Madame, you wound me. I’m no villain.”

  “Really? Then prove it! Take me to a fohn!”

  This again. Well, there was nothing he could do but play along until he got her to the palace. “Fine, I’ll take you to a … fohn.”

  “Finally.” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.” Now she set off first. Why didn’t he think of doing this before? Oh well, it was working and that’s all that mattered. But he still couldn’t let her go, and she still hadn’t asked him to. They were strangers. and any dumbhead knew you didn’t hold the hand of a maiden unless you were interested. Not that he was – he was betrothed, after all. He grimaced at the thought and kept moving.