Julie Miller - The Duke's Covert Mission

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Julie Miller attributed her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher had published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.

Cadence St. John, Duke of Raleigh—A royal in name only. Once one of the finest covert operatives in the Korosolan Army. He’s never had any qualms about breaking the rules to get the job done—including kidnapping a princess.

Eleanor Standish—Plain and proper secretary to King Easton of Korosol. All this Cinderella ever wanted was one night as a princess. Now she has to see the masquerade through to its end, and choose whether to betray her country—or her heart—in order to survive.

Jerome Smython—He liked his money, his women and his smokes—and there’d be hell to pay for anyone who got in his way.

Leonard Gratfield—A thug for hire? Or a man with a hidden agenda?

Paulo Giovanni—The chauffeur was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Winston Rademacher—A professional power broker. Who is he working for this time?

Tony Costa—He said he’d gone to Connecticut to fish.

Remy Sandoval—Leader of the Korosolan Democratic Front. Has he really given up his opposition to the monarchy?

Bretford St. John—He left nothing for his son but a legacy of shame—and a list of business associates who want to collect the debt owed them, one way or another.

Princess Lucia Carradigne Montcalm—Ellie’s fairy godmother. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon.

King Easton of Korosol—Ellie adored him like a grandfather. But not everyone loved the aging monarch.

For the valiant soldiers, firefighters, police officers and citizens who do what needs to be done to take care of this country every day. Thank you.

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

“I am Princess Lucia Carradigne of Korosol.”

Liar. Eleanor Standish shook her head at the reflection in the compact mirror she held in her left hand. She didn’t feel particularly princesslike at the moment.

A head-to-toe makeover, courtesy of her new friends—CeCe, Amelia and Lucia Carradigne, the American granddaughters of Ellie’s employer, King Easton of Korosol—had done nothing to change the woman inside.

CeCe’s hairdresser had added highlights to Ellie’s mousy brown curls and swept them up into an elegant French roll. Amelia had hired the staff from a trendy New York spa to paint her fingernails and toenails, and massage and loofah body parts in between. Lucia, the youngest Carradigne sister, had lent Ellie a smashing gown of beaded red silk so that Ellie could attend the Inferno Charity Ball in her place. Meanwhile, Lucia planned to be whisked out of town on her honeymoon with her brand-new husband.

Princess for a night. A dream come true.

Ellie huffed a sigh through her clenched teeth and tugged at the low-cut bodice of her gown. “Some Cinderella I turned out to be.”

She might look like a princess on the outside, but inside Ellie still felt like that shy secretary who’d grown up on a sheep ranch in the western mountains of Korosol. That quiet country girl who fantasized about life’s grand adventures while balancing accounts and chasing lambs in from the pasture. The dutiful daughter who had put her dreams on hold to keep her family together after her older brother ran away to save the world all by himself.

Her three fairy godmothers might have transformed her outward appearance with stylists and a gown, but no one had waved a magic wand over her self-confidence.

Ellie looked into the compact mirror and repeated her message, wondering if she’d believe it any more the second time around. “I am Princess Lucia Carradigne of Korosol.”

“Miss?”

Startled by the intrusion into her conflicting world of self-talk and self-doubt, Ellie jumped. The compact snapped together and clattered to the sidewalk at her feet. She lifted her fingers to adjust the rims of her glasses and nearly poked herself in the eye.

“Drat.” She’d forgotten. There were no glasses tonight. No pink metal rims weighed down by thick lenses to hide behind. No fuzzy world mere inches beyond the end of her nose. Tonight she wore contact lenses and could see without her glasses.

Tonight the world could see her.

She pushed her way past the billowing skirt of scarlet taffeta and knelt to retrieve the mirror. But the man in the black chauffeur’s uniform beat her to it.

“Sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Ellie froze, bent over, eye to eye with the sandy-haired, middle-aged man. He looked pleasant enough, a tad stout, and his uniform smelled of cigarette smoke. But he possessed the drawl of a native New Yorker. He smiled as his black-gloved fingers brushed against hers. “Here you go.”

Was this the prince she’d fantasized about meeting tonight? One of those rough, rugged Americans she’d seen in movies? An independent scoundrel who owned a fast car and a heart of gold? True, he wasn’t handing her a glass slipper, only the silver compact that had belonged to her godmother, the late Queen Cassandra, wife and royal consort to King Easton.

But he was being polite. He had noticed her when he could have just as well ignored her.

Her heart beat a bit faster at the possibility of her fantasy coming to life. He might really be a prince in disguise. He might whisk her off in his long black limo and serve her champagne or that milk-frothed coffee that Americans seemed to thrive on. He’d twirl her onto the dance floor and they’d waltz, a courtly dance that reflected the elegance of her borrowed gown, and set the romantic stage for a man and woman falling in love.