Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

Instead of answering, he gave her another hard look. “Any idea who was shooting at you? And why?”

“No. I think it’s more likely we got caught in the middle of someone else’s troubles.”

“Troubles?”

She waved her hand. “You know. Gang war or something. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Princess—”

“My name is Sydney.”

“Sydney, then. They shot at you. No one else. You. Your car exploded. Of course this was aimed at you.”

Lifting her chin, she considered his words. He was right. “Why? Why would anyone want to harm me?”

Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, he took the exit that led to the airport. “You claim to be carrying the crown prince’s child. You know there’s a political firestorm going on now with those democracy advocates. That’d put you right in the middle of it.”

“True. But Reginald and I aren’t married. My baby is no threat to anyone.”

“Yet,” he said.

“Ever.” Closing her mouth before she said too much more, Sydney caught sight of the Welcome to Silvershire International Airport sign. “Where are you taking me? Why the airport?”

For the first time since appearing in her doorway, he looked surprised. As though she should have known. “The royal jet is waiting.”

“The royal jet?” A tentative spark of hope filled her. “Has he asked you to bring me to him?”

“Who?”

Impatient, she shifted in her seat. “Reginald, of course. My baby’s father. Are you taking me to see him?”

There was no pity in the hard glance he shot her now.

“No,” he said. Nothing more.

But then, what else could he say? Reginald had made it plain he didn’t want her or the unplanned baby she carried. She’d even learned he’d gotten engaged to a beautiful princess from Gastonia. He’d moved quickly, proving his words of love had been nothing but lies.

The knowledge shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. Mostly, she thought with a wry smile, because she’d unintentionally done the one thing she’d always sworn not to. She’d inadvertently mimicked her mother’s life.

When she looked up she realized Chase watched her and most likely had misinterpreted her smile. No matter, she was going home to Naessa soon. Then what he or anyone else in the country of Silvershire thought wouldn’t matter a whit. Not at all.

She’d managed to do as her mother had done, but unlike her mother, she wouldn’t ever call her baby a mistake. From now on, Sydney had a child to think of. From now on, her baby would always come first.

A quick glance at the handsome man beside her told her nothing. Chase Savage had protected her, but what were his real intentions?

They pulled up to an iron gate marked Private. Chase pushed a button on his console and the barricade swung open. Driving slowly through the rows of hangars, he punched in a number on his cell phone, a razor-thin model which looked like something out of a James Bond movie. He spoke a few terse words—not enough for her to glean the gist of the conversation, and snapped the metal phone closed.

“All settled,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve gotten us emergency clearance.” They turned right, into the airport’s private section. Sydney had flown out of here before, as most of her friends’ families were wealthy. Here, in various hangars, the rich kept their personal jets. No doubt the royal family had several.

“Emergency clearance for what?” she asked, as they pulled up in front of a nondescript, gray metal hangar. “If Reginald—” she swallowed tightly as she spoke the name “—didn’t send for me, then why’d you bring me here at all?”

He frowned. “I had to take you somewhere safe.”

“Not really.” Studying him, she wished she could read his closed expression. “I’m not your responsibility. As a matter of fact, why are you—head of Silvershire’s public relations department—here to begin with?”

For the first time since he’d appeared in her hotel room, cool, confident Chase Savage appeared at a loss for words.

She pressed her advantage. “You started to say something earlier, before the shooting started. You said you’d been authorized to do something. What was it?”

“Not now.” He shook his head. “We’ll discuss that later, once we’re in the air.”

“In the air to…?”

“I’m taking you home, to Naessa. You’ll be safer there than here.”

“Home?” Exactly where she wanted to go. Except…“I need my cello.” The Strad could never be replaced.

“I’ll send someone after your instrument,” he promised. “The police should be there by now. They won’t let anyone mess with it.”

“I need to see a doctor and make sure everything is all right with the baby.”

“You can do that once you get home. It’s only a forty-five-minute flight to Naessa.”

Something still bothered her, though she wasn’t sure what. He’d addressed her every concern smoothly. Too smoothly. Maybe that was the problem.

She glanced around them. “This doesn’t look like the royal hangar. Where’s the Silvershire crest?”

Expression implacable, he shrugged. “The king won’t allow that because of the danger from terrorists. The royal crest could act as a huge bull’s-eye for undesirables.”

He had a point, though she hated the word he’d used. Undesirables. In Naessa, as the king’s unacknowledged daughter, she’d been called that and a lot worse. Bastard had been her mother’s particular favorite. For a while Frances had adopted it almost as a nickname, referring to Sydney as her bastard spawn, reminding her at an early age how she’d ruined her mother’s life.

Sydney vowed her child—son or daughter, whichever—would only enrich hers.

Chase got out of the car and crossed around the front to Sydney’s side, opening her door and holding out his hand. She slipped her hand into his larger one, noting the calluses on his long, elegant fingers, and allowed him to help her from the low-slung car.

Staring up at his rugged face, Sydney wondered about his ancestry. Though he wore a well-cut, conservative suit, his shaggy hair and hawklike features made him appear dangerous. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had a trace of pirate in him.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he smiled, stunning her. He really was, she noted abstractly, struggling to find her breath, quite beautiful. In a hard, rugged, utterly masculine way.

She reminded herself that beautiful men were bad news. Reginald had provided her with living proof of that.

Once Chase had closed the door behind her with a quiet thunk, she had another round of misgivings and tugged her hand free. While private jet was always more comfortable than commercial, she barely knew this man.

“We don’t have time for this.” He consulted his Rolex, shooting her a look of pure male exasperation.

The watch looked familiar. Ah, yes. Reginald had gifted all his staff with similar watches for Christmas.

“Shall we go?”

Finally she nodded.

Up the steps into the waiting jet they went. A short, blond man greeted them. Evidently, he was one of the pilots. He pulled the door closed before disappearing into the cockpit.

Sydney had time to note the jet’s plush interior before one side of the hangar opened like a giant, automatic garage door.

Chase barely glanced at her. “Buckle your seat belt.”

His cell phone chirped. Immediately, he answered, turning away from her to try and conduct his business with a measure of privacy.

The plane began to taxi forward.

Chase closed his phone and then powered off. When he looked at her, the dangerous mercenary had returned, full-force.

“What is it?” she asked. Something, some wild suspicion, an absurdly ridiculous hope, made her ask. “Was that call from Reginald?”