BEVERLY BARTON - The Princess's Bodyguard

“Please, sir, no!” the butler called out in his native German language. “Stop right now, or I shall be forced to call the police.”

“My German’s a little rusty,” a man’s voice said. “But I understand that you’re threatening to call the police. Go right ahead. Be my guest.”

Adele tensed. The doors to the drawing room swung open. A tall, black-haired man wearing faded jeans and a weathered leather bomber jacket stormed into the room, the butler on his heels. Adele’s heartbeat accelerated. Who was this stranger? Whoever he was he spoke English, not German or French.

Adele rose from the sofa and confronted the unwanted guest.

“I tried to stop him,” the butler said. “Should I call the police?”

The last thing Adele wanted to deal with was the local authorities. If she involved the police, there was no telling what tomorrow’s headlines would read. And she’d certainly be shipped home immediately once it was discovered that King Leopold expected her to return.

“No, don’t telephone the police.” She shook her head, then turned to her uninvited guest. “Who are you and what do you want?”

He stared at her, surveying her from head to toe. A shiver of uneasiness fluttered up Adele’s spine. There was something sensual about the way he looked at her with those incredible blue eyes.

“I’m Matt O’Brien, with the Dundee Security and Investigation Agency.”

Adele’s stomach tightened. “What business do you have here at Chateau Gustel? If you want to see Yves, I’m afraid he’s out for the evening. If you’ll leave your card, I’ll—”

“My business is with you, Princess.”

He knew who she was. This didn’t bode well for her. “And what business do you have with me, sir?”

“I’m here to escort you home to Orlantha.”

“I see.” So, who had hired this private investigator—her father or Dedrick? And how was she going to get herself out of this predicament? She’d been so sure that no one would find her here at the chateau, at least not for several days.

The butler cleared his throat. “Your Highness, is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you. That will be all. I can take care of this matter.”

Once the butler left, Adele smiled warmly at Matt O’Brien. “Won’t you take a seat, Mr. O’Brien?”

“No, ma’am, thank you.”

“For whom are you working, my father or—”

“King Leopold retained the Dundee Agency, and since I was the only agent already in Europe, I drew this assignment.”

“I’m surprised that my father used an American firm. You are American, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what will you do if I choose not to return to Orlantha with you?” Show this hired henchman that you’re not afraid of him, she told herself. Let him know that taking you back to your father will not be something easily accomplished.

“I’m hoping you won’t put up a fuss.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “But my orders are to take you home, even if I have to hog-tie you, put you in a sack and toss you over my shoulder.”

Adele gasped. Apparently, this American had not been taught the proper respect for someone in her position—a princess, the heir to the throne of Orlantha. “If you lay one hand on me, you…you brute, I shall see that you’re—”

He laughed. A loud, boisterous laugh. Adele cringed. Damn insolent cretin! How dare he treat her in such a manner.

“Look, Little Miss Royal Runaway, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. But you can be sure of one thing—I’m taking your highfalutin fanny home to Daddy.”

M att had figured this wouldn’t be an easy job and he’d been right. He should have known she would put up a fuss. Princess Adele stared at him, her big brown eyes glaring, and her full, pink lips clenched. With a defiant stance, her hands on her hips, and an I’m-not-going-anywhere-with-you expression on her face, she seemed to be daring him. Matt rubbed his jaw and chin. He wore two days’ worth of beard stubble because he hadn’t taken time to shave since he’d been rushed to Orlantha and put on this case. She probably thought he looked rather scruffy. He thought she looked incredible. Her shiny chestnut-brown hair curled about her ears in a soft, wavy bob. A pair of shimmery diamond studs—probably three carats each—glittered in her earlobes and a thin diamond-studded watch graced her wrist. Her petite body—he guessed she stood about five-two—was nicely rounded in all the right places. An hourglass shape, with a tiny waist. The outfit she wore—red cashmere sweater and gray wool slacks—had probably been purchased on her recent shopping spree in Paris and no doubt had cost a month’s salary for the average person. Oh, yeah, she was one gorgeous woman, but she had “Spoiled Rotten” written all over her.

“The way you’re looking at me is quite insulting,” she told him with an air of snobbery.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he replied. “I was just appreciating the scenery.”

A slight flush stained her cheeks. “Mr. O’Brien, I don’t know how much my father is paying you, but I will match his offer and raise it by…let’s say, five thousand American dollars.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re willing to pay me five thousand more than your father if I don’t take you back to Orlantha?”

“That’s correct.” The tension in her body drained away, and she relaxed a bit.

“It’s my understanding that your father holds the purse strings, that you aren’t independently wealthy.”

She huffed, then pursed her lips and glowered at Matt. “I have some capital at my disposal, certainly enough to buy you off.”

Barely able to control his amusement, Matt grinned. “Look, Ms. Reynard or Princess or whatever you prefer to be called, I work for the Dundee Agency. We’ve got rules and regulations we have to follow, and a solid reputation to uphold, not to mention the fact that I’ve got a boss who can put the fear of God into any of her agents if we even think of doing anything disreputable.”

“I take that to mean you’re refusing my offer.”

“Yes, ma’am, you can take it that way.”

“Then we seem to be at an impasse, don’t we?”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you expect me to go back to Orlantha with you, and I refuse to return to the palace tonight or anytime in the near future. Not until my father calls off the wedding.”

“Look, I can’t say that I blame you for not wanting to marry old mule face. If I were a lady, I’d sure run in the opposite direction to get away from him. But my job isn’t couples counseling. I was hired to take you back to the palace in Erembourg and that’s what I intend to do.”

Adele tensed again, her small body stiffening and her chin tilting upward slightly. She was half his size, yet even her body language challenged him. “You do not intimidate me.”

No doubt about it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“My orders are to use whatever means necessary to secure your return.”

“Use whatever means… Are you saying that my father really did give you permission to force me to come with you?”

“Yep, that’s exactly what he did. And Lord Burhardt, Colonel Rickard and your ever-loving fiancé all went right along with the order. Looks like it’s you against the world, or at least your little world in Orlantha. I’d say unless you can talk your daddy out of it, you, Princess Beauty, are going home to marry the beast.”

“You’re the beast, Mr. O’Brien!” Adele’s eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. “I’m not leaving with you, and that’s final.” She stomped her foot.

“I should have just walked in, chloroformed you and been done with it. But no, I had to give you a chance to be reasonable. Stupid of me, I know, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.”