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

“I think it’s a little too early to jump to that conclusion,” he told Marcus stiffly. “This woman is a reporter. She’s just looking for a sensational story.”

“I am not!”

“She writes a gossip column about royalty,” he continued, ignoring her indignant cry. “I thought her name sounded familiar when I ran into her in the hall, so I did a little investigating. She writes for the Denver Sentinel , and she prides herself on beating the competition to a story. She’ll go to any lengths to get material for her column.”

“I don’t lie!”

“No? So you’re going to stand there and say Count Baldwin really had a child with his governess?” he taunted, referring to a twenty-five-year-old English count who had a reputation for being as pious as a monk. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. The woman’s fifteen years his senior!”

“And a paternity test proved the child was his,” she retorted. “If you don’t believe me, I have a copy of the test results back in my office in Denver. I’ll send it to you when I get back home.”

Her blue eyes sparking fire at him, she dared him to top that, and with nothing more than that little act of defiance, she set his teeth on edge. And for the life of him, Lorenzo didn’t know why. He liked women and enjoyed their company. He didn’t usually get short with them, let alone hostile, especially with someone he didn’t even know, but there was something about this little redhead that rubbed him the wrong way.

“The point is,” he said through his teeth, “that that was a private situation that you had no business exposing. You have no boundaries, and neither does the paper you write for.”

“Oh, really?” she snapped. “Then if I’m the monster you think I am, why did I even bother to come all this way in the first place? I certainly didn’t need anyone’s permission to write this story. I had the scarf and knew where it came from. I could have splashed pictures of it all over the front page and let the wire services pick it up. Wouldn’t that have been a nice way for the king and queen to find out their son was alive? They could have read all about it in the papers.”

Far from impressed, he laughed shortly. “Yeah, right! That sounds good, but I’m not buying it. You saw a bigger story and you came after it.”

Expecting her to deny it, she caught him off guard when she admitted the truth without batting an eye. “Of course I want the bigger story! Unlike you, Your Grace, I don’t have a trust fund or a king for an uncle. I work for a living and I make no apologies for that. That doesn’t make me a bad person…or unprincipled. If I had lost a son, I wouldn’t want to learn that he was alive by reading it in the paper. That’s why I’m here.”

With that, a heavy silence fell, and her sincerity seemed to echo throughout the room. Suddenly realizing what he’d said to her in the heat of his anger, Lorenzo felt like a heel. “If I misjudged you, I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “But I still don’t trust you.”

“Don’t shoot her, Lorenzo,” his aunt said with a smile. “She’s just the messenger, and she’s brought amazing news. Why should we begrudge her a story? What’s important here is that Lucas is alive. We’ve waited a year for this day. Now we have to figure out a way to find him.”

“That’s right,” King Marcus said. “I’m reopening the investigation.”

Relieved, Eliza considered childishly sticking her tongue out at the duke—it was no more than he deserved. If she’d known just how arrogant he was, she wouldn’t have been nearly as complimentary of him as she had been in her columns all these years. Irritating man. It would serve him right if the king gave him a royal dressing-down.

But instead of chastising him, the king said, “Eliza got the scarf from a man named Willy Cranshaw, who found it in the mountains in Colorado. I want you to return to America with her and talk to this man. He may be able to tell you something else that will lead us to Lucas.”

Stunned, Eliza couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. After all the awful things Lorenzo had said to her, the king actually expected her to travel all the way back to Colorado with him? “What? Oh, no! He can’t.”

“He has to, dear,” the queen replied. “He can’t very well carry on the investigation from here. And you did say you wanted to help us find Lucas,” she reminded her. “Here’s your chance.”

“But you don’t understand,” she protested. “Willy won’t talk to him.”

“He’s in charge of the investigation,” the king said with a frown. “He has to talk to him.”

If she’d been dealing with anyone but royalty, Eliza would have laughed. How did she explain Willy to people who only had to snap their fingers to have anything in the world they wanted? They lived in a palace, for heaven’s sake! How could they possibly comprehend a man who avoided other people like the plague and lived in a shack that looked like it was going to fall down about his ears any moment?

“Willy’s different,” she said. “He fought in Vietnam, and it must have done something to his mind. He’s a little squirrelly.”

Queen Gwendolyn lifted a delicately arched brow. “Are you saying he’s crazy?”

“No, actually, I think he’s quite sane,” she replied. “I guess the best way to describe him is eccentric. He doesn’t trust many people. He sees intruders in the shadows, and he’s called the police so many times that they put him on hold whenever they recognize his voice. That’s why he called me when he found Prince Lucas’s scarf. I’m the only one who’ll listen to him.”

“Lorenzo will listen to him.”

“I’m sure he will. The problem is Willy won’t talk to him. He won’t talk to anyone but me.”

“I knew it!” Lorenzo snorted in disdain. “This is nothing but a scam.” Turning to his aunt and uncle, he said, “Can’t you see she’s just stringing you along? How do we know this Willy character even exists? She could have made this all up, bought the scarf over the Internet and trampled it in the dirt to make it look like it had been in the weather.”

Indignant, Eliza snapped, “And why would I do such a thing? For a story? According to you, there is no story. And that would come out soon enough if I tried to slip something so outrageous past my readers. I’d lose my job, and I’m not going to risk that for a story that doesn’t exist.”

“Then tell us more about Mr. Cranshaw,” the queen said. “If he truly does exist, Lorenzo really needs to meet with him. There might be something he didn’t think to tell you about the scarf that could lead us to Lucas.”

She had a point, one Eliza couldn’t disagree with. But they were talking about Willy, for God’s sake! How in the world was she going to get him to cooperate? If he got it in his head that the duke was suspicious of him, he might take off up into the mountains because he was afraid he was going to be arrested or something, and there was no telling how long he’d be gone.

“Willy is a hermit, Your Highness. I can’t predict how he will react to Duke Lorenzo—or me, for that matter, if I introduce them. But I’ll try,” she promised. “I came here because I truly believe Prince Lucas is alive. I’ll do anything I can to help find him.”

“For a price,” Duke Lorenzo said dryly. “You want the story.”

“I already have the story,” she reminded him. “I’ll admit that I would love an exclusive, but whether the king grants me that or not, I’ll do whatever I can to help find Prince Lucas. That’s the real story here.”

“I agree,” King Marcus said in a tone that warned them that he had had enough of their bickering. “The only thing of importance is finding Lucas. You can’t do that from here, Lorenzo. Not when he may be wandering around the mountains of Colorado, lost and confused and no doubt suffering from some serious injuries. So I’m reopening the investigation and sending you home with Eliza.”