Marilyn Pappano - Romancing The Crown - Lorenzo and Anna - The Man Who Would Be King / The Princess And The Mercenary

Eliza had no intention of doing that, but she wasn’t going to stand around with in her hands in her pockets while he took charge and scared Willy off, either. Then they would lose the prince and the story!

“And just how am I getting in your way, Your Grace?” she asked archly. “Is it something I said? What I’m wearing? My hair?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“So it’s not me, personally?”

“Of course not.”

“Then there’s no reason why we can’t work together, is there?”

She’d neatly cornered him, and they both knew it. He scowled at her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to tell her exactly what he thought of her. Then a reluctant grin curled one corner of his mouth. “Very clever, Ms. Windmere. I can see right now that I’m going to have to watch myself around you.”

“You certainly are,” she agreed with twinkling eyes. “Don’t underestimate me. You might live to regret it.”

“I’ll remember that,” he promised. “And you’d be wise to do the same with me.”

Blue eyes meeting green, they silently acknowledged mutual respect for each other’s intelligence. It wasn’t peace, but it was a start.

Eliza had often wondered what it must be like to be royal. She found out when Lorenzo pulled up before one of the most expensive hotels in town and flipped the keys to the valet. Before she knew it, she had her own private suite—with a Jaccuzi whirlpool and room service at her disposal—without Lorenzo even bothering to ask the price. He’d even tipped the bellboy to bring up her small overnight bag.

If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she might have enjoyed staying in the lap of luxury. As it was, all she needed was hot and cold running water and a bed. Peeling off her clothes, she stepped into the shower and washed the dirt from what felt like three continents from her body. Fifteen minutes later, she fell in bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Dead to the world, she didn’t know anything until the next morning, when there was a loud banging at the door. Startled, she jumped awake, her heart pounding. “What in the world—”

“Eliza?! Dammit, open this door! I need to talk to you!”

Not what in the world, but who, she thought with a groan. What was wrong with the man? It was barely eight o’clock in the morning and they weren’t supposed to meet in the lobby until nine-thirty since she couldn’t get in touch with Willy until after ten. So what was so important that he had to talk to her now?

Muttering curses under her breath—she and the Duke were going to have to get a few things straight!—she rolled out of bed, grabbed her robe, and marched to the door. Her green eyes blazing, she jerked it open and glared at him. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you even care that you’re waking up everybody on this floor? What is wrong with you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” he growled. Snapping open the morning paper, he held it up right in front of her nose. “This! You’ve got some explaining to do, lady. Where would you like to start?”

Her eyes on the bold headline spread across the front page of the morning edition of the Denver Sentinel , Eliza hardly heard him. Prince Lucas Alive! she read with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Duke And Reporter Follow New Leads In Search.

And there, right below the headlines, was a very flattering picture of Lorenzo.

Chapter 4

“Well, hell,” she sighed. This was just what they needed. They didn’t have a clue what circumstances Prince Lucas was in or what was preventing him from getting in touch with his family, which was why the investigation had to be done quietly. And now with Lorenzo’s picture splashed all over the paper, that was going to be impossible. “This is great. Just great.”

And she knew exactly who to blame. Simon.

Oh, he’d claim he’d just picked up the story from the wire service, but she knew better. She’d been very careful to make sure that she’d told no one about the scarf except the royal family and Simon, and she’d bet the Pulitzer she one day hoped to win that the Sebastianis hadn’t said a word to the press. They wanted their son back and they’d given her their word that she had an exclusive. They wouldn’t have leaked the story.

That left only Simon. The crafty old buzzard had splashed the headline across the front page on purpose. When the prince’s plane had first gone down, the story had been firmly lodged on the front page for weeks. But when there was nothing new to report, interest in the prince’s disappearance had grown stale. It had been months since there’d been any coverage about the search, and the public had a short memory. Simon knew that. Eliza could make a zillion agreements with the Sebastianis, but he was in the business to sell newspapers. And he was making damn sure he did that by stirring up attention about the prince again before she’d even written her feature, let alone turned it in for publication.

The only problem was, by plastering Lorenzo’s picture on the front page and letting the world know he was coming to the States to take up the search, he may have sabotaged the search before they’d even begun.

She was, Eliza decided, going to kill him. The only question was how. If he blew this exclusive for her, she swore she’d be satisfied with nothing less than boiling him in oil.

“Well?” Lorenzo said. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

What could she say? “I didn’t know anything about this, Lorenzo. You have to believe me. Evidently my boss thought he needed to generate a little interest in the Prince again.”

“A little interest?” he choked. “With four-inch headlines? Dammit, every paper in the country’s going to pick this up! Do you know what kind of problems that’s going to cause?”

“It won’t be that bad,” she began.

That was as far as she got. “The hell it won’t! The search is supposed to be on the Q.T. I realize that in your world, that’s probably not in your vocabulary, but this isn’t about you. It’s about the prince, and we don’t have a clue where he is or what kind of danger he could be in. Which is why

I wanted to keep the search for him quiet. Now that we wouldn’t even be able to look for the campsite where Willy found the scarf without every Tom, Dick and Harry dogging our steps!”

He was furious, and Eliza couldn’t say she blamed him. Finding the prince after all this time was going to be difficult enough without God knows who interfering with the search. “I’ll call Simon right now and chew him out,” she promised. “This won’t happen again.”

Silently cursing Simon for putting her in this position, she quickly punched in the number to his direct line. The second he came on the line, she let him have it with both barrels. “You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, LaGree. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Now, Red, don’t get your girdle in a twist—”

“I don’t wear a girdle!”

“Aw, c’mon, you know what I mean,” he said, wheedling. “You want your Pulitzer, don’t you? How’re you going to get it if you don’t advertise?”

“This isn’t advertising, dammit, it’s sabotage! A man’s life is at stake. A prince, for heaven’s sake! From now on, don’t you dare publish anything else about the prince. Understood?”

If anyone else but Simon had been her boss, she probably would have been fired right there on the spot for speaking to him so, but he was a big enough man to admit when he was in the wrong. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Quit your crying. I won’t give away any more information that will put the prince in danger.”

“Yes! As long as you keep the duke’s picture out of the paper. He’s not the story here, Simon. The prince is.”