BEVERLY BARTON - The Princess's Bodyguard

“What good reputation?” Adele said teasingly. Yves Jurgen was known internationally as “The Playboy of Europe.” Impossibly arrogant and a heartbreaker extraordinaire, Yves had tried unsuccessfully to woo her when she was twenty. But once he’d realized she was one woman he would never bed, he graciously accepted her friendship. If he had been her lover, Yves would have moved on to other women long ago, but as a friend, oddly enough, he was steadfast and loyal.

“You do have a point, my sweet Adele.”

When the guards glanced into the car, Adele slunk lower in the seat and pretended to be engrossed in straightening her short, leather skirt. Yves smiled, waved and spoke to the uniformed guards. When the gates opened, Adele breathed a sigh of relief.

“The first hurdle passed,” Yves said as the gates closed behind them. “And once we’re over the border, we should be safe. I’ll have you in Vienna before dawn.”

Adele laid her head back and closed her eyes, wondering how long she would be safe at Yves’s estate outside Vienna. A week, two at the most? Sooner or later someone would leak the information to the press. One of his servants or an acquaintance. She needed to call Dia in a few days to let her know what was going on, that if necessary she might have to seek sanctuary in Golnar, where not even her father’s powerful influence could touch her.

Come morning, her disappearance would disrupt the palace. The king would be outraged, and no one, not even his wife or his chief advisor, Lord Burhardt, would be able to calm him. She wasn’t sure exactly what her father would do, but she knew one thing for certain—he would do whatever necessary to bring her home in time for the wedding. But she was equally determined to elude her father’s search and find a way to prove to him not only how unsuitable Dedrick was for her but how dangerous Dedrick was to Orlantha.

K ing Leopold crushed the letter in his meaty hand as he paced back and forth in his private chambers. With a mane of steel-gray hair and hypnotizing dark eyes, the ruler of Orlantha was still a handsome man at sixty. Six feet tall, with wide shoulders and thick chest, he emitted an aura of regal power. The willowy blond Queen Muriel, the king’s second wife and twenty years his junior, wrung her hands as she watched her husband and kept repeating the same caution. “Now, dear, don’t upset yourself.” Lisa waited, as she’d been instructed, her back ramrod straight and her chin tilted upward. Princess Adele had trusted her to keep her whereabouts a secret, and she intended to do just that. But considering how upset His Majesty was she wished that she had not been the one to deliver the letter.

The king’s health had been failing for the past several years, after his heart attack and bypass surgery. Only last year he had made a monumental decision—to abdicate the throne in favor of Princess Adele, upon her marriage to the duke. This decision was made when his doctors advised the king to reduce the stress in his life, and when it became apparent that the queen, after ten years of marriage, would not be giving the king a son to rule the kingdom.

Princess Adele was greatly admired and loved by the citizens of Orlantha. Poised, graceful, intelligent and charming, she was seen by her people as the ideal princess. A reformer and progressive thinker at heart, Adele worked diligently to help improve conditions in Orlantha, and her participation in social and charity organizations was legendary. Lisa knew that Orlantha would welcome Adele as queen with great celebration. The elected members of the council, who coruled the country with the monarch, also respected the princess, who supported the continuation of joint leadership. Pippin Ritter, vice chancellor of the council, had come to Princess Adele months ago with the information that Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald, was a suspected member of a secret society called the Royalists, with ties to Balanchine. The Royalists’ objective was to reunite Orlantha and Balanchine under one monarch, who would be the supreme ruler after abolishing the elected council. Balanchine’s King Eduard was nearly eighty and had no heir. By a suspicious coincidence, Dedrick Vardan’s mother was King Eduard’s cousin.

“How dare Adele make such a demand! She says that she will not return home unless I call off her wedding to Dedrick. The very idea. I will not allow her to get away with blackmail.” King Leopold stopped, glared at Lisa and asked, “Do you have any idea where she went?”

Lisa swallowed hard. “No, Your Majesty. She simply commanded me to give you the letter.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop her?” the king asked.

“Sire, you must know that once the princess makes up her mind, no one can persuade her otherwise.”

Attired in a tailored navy-blue suit, Lord Sidney Burhardt, the king’s chief advisor—and some said second only in power to the king—clicked his heels after entering the room. All eyes turned to Lord Burhardt. He had the bearing of a soldier, which he had once been, and an air of superiority that immediately put others in their place. Add to those qualities his white-blond hair, cut conservatively short, and icy-blue eyes, and the chief advisor had the appearance of a Nazi SS officer as depicted in American films about World War II.

“Miss Mercer,” Lord Burhardt said. Lisa trembled. “Why did you not come directly to the king…or to me…before the princess left? If you had warned us, we could have prevented her from leaving.”

“As you well know, my first loyalty is to the princess.” Lisa looked directly at the king, judiciously avoiding eye contact with the chief advisor.

“Yes, yes, of course your loyalty is to the princess, as it should be.” The king looked at Lord Burhardt. “Just as your first loyalty is to me. So, do not badger poor Lisa. I’m thankful that Adele at least left a letter. Otherwise I might have continued thinking she had been kidnapped.”

“Yes, of course. We’re all thankful that the princess left the palace of her own accord,” Lord Burhardt replied. “But if the news is leaked to the press…if the people discover that she has fled only weeks before her wedding… I do wish Miss Mercer had tried to persuade the princess to stay—”

“How could we expect Adele’s secretary to be able to control her when I, her father, am unable to do anything with her? She’s a stubborn, willful girl. But in this matter she will comply with my wishes. She will marry Dedrick one month from this Saturday!”

“Then, Your Majesty, I suggest we—” Lord Burhardt said, but was quickly cut short by the king.

“Send for Colonel Rickard immediately,” the king commanded.

“My dear, why send for the chief of security now that Adele has already slipped past his guards?” Muriel asked.

King Leopold glared at his wife, who shrank away from him and cast her gaze to the floor.

“I’ll call for Colonel Rickard,” Lord Burhardt said.

King Leopold walked over, placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders and hugged her affectionately. She lifted her face and smiled at him.

Lisa’s stomach knotted painfully. Would Colonel Rickard question her? Would he figure out that the princess had left the palace disguised as her?

Within five minutes the tall, slender chief of palace security stood before the king, an embarrassed flush on his pale face. Lisa felt sorry for Colonel Rickard. After all, it had been on his watch, so to speak, that the princess had managed to leave the palace grounds without detection—and without her palace guards.

“The princess has not been kidnapped,” the king said.

Colonel Rickard sighed; his lips twitched with a grateful half smile. “Then you’ve heard from her, Your Majesty?”