Rory peeked at the headlines of the other articles. They speculated on whether Marielle Dupont’s death was an accident, a suicide or manslaughter.
She’d read enough. Her fingers were devoid of feeling. “Heinrich, could you please wait outside? I need a moment alone with Prince Laurent. Several moments, in fact. You have time to go for coffee.”
Sebastian’s, or rather, Laurent’s head snapped up as he swiveled around and pegged her with a steely gaze. He swore under his breath in German. “Rory—”
She held up a hand, stopping him. “Please.”
Rory followed Heinrich to the door on rubbery sea legs and locked it after him, checking to make sure the closed sign was facing out. Not that it mattered. Heinrich stood sentinel in front of the door, blocking the sign with his massive body. She glanced back at Laurent and her stomach lurched.
Oh, God, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation. He looked so intimidating. She wasn’t sure she wanted answers to the wariness that streaked his inky eyes like jagged flashes of lightning.
Then she remembered that although he was a prince, he was still a man.
He ran his thumb along his jaw. “How did you know?”
“These.” She fanned out the articles. “They were in the envelope at the door. They’re articles about Marielle Dupont’s death. There’s a picture of the two of you together. Someone obviously believed they contained information I needed to know.” She laughed uneasily. “They were right.”
“Claude, no doubt.” Laurent blinked. Rory recognized it for a wince of pain—an attempt to maintain rigid control of his emotions. “We had words at Marielle’s funeral, but he was grieving. I didn’t take them seriously.”
Rory rattled the articles warningly. “I’m waiting for an explanation as to why you lied to me.”
He took a step toward her.
“I would really prefer you stay where you are,” Rory said, her voice shaking. “Now, enlighten me.”
He sighed and Rory felt a deep penetrating chill as if the California sun would never warm her again. “Much of it you already know. Your brother and I were concerned about your safety in light of the treaty. Marielle’s death was very odd. She did not abuse her body with drugs.”
“The article says you’d had an argument that night.”
He nodded, his eyes stark with grief. “I severed our relationship. She was beginning to have expectations that I knew I could never fulfill. It wasn’t fair to let her hope that I would propose. I told her I was already betrothed. I felt she deserved to know the truth.”
Rory stared at him in disbelief. “You loved her and you ended your relationship, anyway?”
“Yes.”
“But you loved her,” she protested.
He swallowed, his posture as inflexible as a bronze statue. “Love has little to do with a royal marriage.”
Ah, yes. Duty. Rory finally understood. He’d severed his relationship with Marielle out of duty. And he intended to go through with the marriage treaty with her out of the same sense of duty.
She felt sick. “The article suggests she may have committed suicide.”
“Newspaper and magazine articles suggest many things. Marielle was understandably upset, but I don’t believe she would take drugs—or deliberately commit suicide.”
“What do you think happened that night?”
“I think someone put the Ecstasy in her drink without her knowledge.”
Rory hugged herself. “Why?”
“Either one of my own countrymen viewed her as a threat to my commitment to the treaty or an Estairian wished to discredit me in your brother’s eyes and hoped that he would call off our marriage. I had no proof—only suspicions. But my suspicions grew last year when a fashion designer whom I was dating was assaulted by a woman with a knife in the ladies’ room of a club we were visiting. Fortunately Nathalie did not suffer serious injury, but her attacker was never caught.”
“Oh, my God!”
His eyes bored into her, fiercely determined. Primal. “You could see why I was concerned for your safety. Olivier and I thought it would be safer if I traveled to meet you as part of his staff. We kept our plans as secret as possible, but obviously there is a leak in our security.”
Rory decided now was not the time to mention the theft of the necklace. She wanted to know the whole truth first. “That still doesn’t explain why you passed yourself off as your deputy secretary.”
“I should think that would be obvious.”
“Humor me. Spell it out.”
He inclined his proud head. “You’d just discovered that you had a brother and a family history of which you were unaware. I thought it more important for you to establish a relationship with him and gain confidence in your status as a princess. You were under enough pressure without the added stress of being courted by a fiancé.” He moved toward her, his eyes softening. “And while I had not anticipated this benefit, meeting you as Sebastian has allowed us to know each other as individuals. That is the basis of any partnership.”
Rory held her ground. “I would think honesty is the foundation of any partnership,” she said flatly.
“I had every intention of telling you when I felt you were ready.” His tone gentled with the intimacy that she’d longed for this morning when he’d greeted her. “And I assure you that I have answered the questions you have posed to me about Prince Laurent with the utmost honesty. You know me as no one else ever has.”
“But I said things... I did things—” She halted abruptly, blushing, as she remembered the way she’d begged him to take off her clothes and make love to her.
Huskiness seeped into his European accent. “I found nothing you said or did in any way offensive, Lorelei.”
Lorelei. Goose bumps rasped over her arms. Laurent’s gaze swept to her mouth as if he intended to kiss her.
She stepped back. He was two yards from her, but that was two yards too close. It was hard to think rationally when her heart was fluttering as if it wanted to escape her rib cage. She wet her lips, hungry for the taste of his mouth and the feel of his arms around her.
But no, she couldn’t forget that he’d given up the woman he’d loved because of his obligation to marry her. Did she really want to give her heart to a man who didn’t believe love had a place in their marriage?
“Somehow I’m not comforted being compared to a siren who lures men to their doom.”
He chuckled.
It was the most dangerous sound Rory had ever heard.
“Ah, but you do lure me with your mind—and your body—and I am helpless to resist.”
Her scalp prickled. A bonfire of warmth ignited in her belly, threatening her resolve. But misgivings crowded her heart. He was attracted to her. But he would never allow himself to love her, just as he’d never allowed himself a future with Marielle. She knew his duty to his crown would always guide his actions.
Could she really spend the rest of her life with a man who would never love her?
FOR THREE DAYS, Rory felt the tension crackle between her and Laurent. Now that his secret was out, she addressed him formally in front of the staff, though he had asked her to continue calling him Sebastian, which was his second name, in the few moments when they were alone. Just as she had asked him to call her Rory to remember who she was, he’d told her that he felt the same need to be called Sebastian.
She suspected it was a trick to court her. He needed this marriage. His father had been quoted as saying that he would not allow his son to take over the monarchy until he was married and settled with children.
But as angry as Rory was at Laurent for lying to her, for arrogantly making decisions on her behalf, a part of her craved to know him more intimately. Craved to share his pain and the inner workings of his mind. Craved to call him by a name that no one else had the privilege to use—especially not Marielle.
It ate at her that Laurent had loved the shipping heiress. She’d read the articles in the envelope many times over
. Heinrich had wanted to check them for fingerprints, but Rory only gave him the envelope.
Heinrich had a passport photo of Claude Dupont. His hair was cut short, but Rory was sure it was the same man who’d entered her store. She’d gone down to the beach with Heinrich on Thursday morning and showed the photo to the two Windansea rats who’d ousted the rogue surfer from the beach. The rats thought it could be the same man, but weren’t one hundred percent certain.
Rory hoped the police would find where Claude Dupont was staying and arrest him soon. Even when she’d been down at the beach with Heinrich, she’d felt as if someone was watching her.
Working at the Book Nook on Thursday had been so nerve-racking that she’d handed in her notice, effective immediately, at the end of her shift. She’d told Tom that she’d learned she had a brother in Europe and she was going to meet him. But the truth was, she felt like a sitting duck in the store and she was terrified an innocent customer might get hurt in the crossfire.
She still hadn’t told her brother or Laurent about the necklace. She’d hoped to enlist Otto’s assistance in purchasing an exact replica on Thursday when he came into the bookstore, but Franz was in the store when Otto arrived and she couldn’t talk privately. She’d have to figure out another way to talk to Otto.
So instead of working on Friday, Rory took self-defense lessons in the morning, learning how to evade grabs and block blows with her arms until her bones throbbed and her skin bore bruises. She spent the afternoon at a firing range learning how to fire an assortment of loaded guns. She learned how to hold her body in the Weaver stance and verify if a firearm had a safety before she pulled the trigger. But she couldn’t even hit the target. The noise and the smell of gunpowder made her sick. She hoped she would never have to shoot someone.
That night Heinrich informed her that the police had lifted fingerprints from the envelope that matched the fingerprints they had found on her neighbor’s fence after the shooting. Unfortunately, Interpol didn’t have Claude Dupont’s fingerprints on file. But the police had issued a warrant for Claude’s arrest.
Saturday morning she was given a break from her lessons. She took Olivier and their entourage of bodyguards skating at Mission Beach. It was fun. She bought her new sister-in-law a California bikini with a matching sarong, board shorts and a T-shirt for Olivier, and muscle shirts for the bodyguards. Spending the morning laughing with Olivier made her realize how much they’d missed out on over the years. She was reluctant to see him go on Wednesday, but she didn’t want him to miss his appointment at the fertility clinic.
Once her brother left, she’d be alone with Laurent. Would he court her? Or would he continue to maintain his distance? He’d held himself aloof the past three days.
Rory endured more self-defense lessons on Saturday afternoon. Her arms were black-and-blue, and she tripped herself more frequently than she tripped her attacker, but Heinrich was relentless. With enough practice, he assured her the movements would become instinctive and she would feel more sure of herself.
That night Rory had a nightmare. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder during a walkabout. Without thinking, she gripped her attacker’s arm and slammed them onto the hard sidewalk, only to realize she’d assaulted an arthritic elderly woman wanting an autograph.
By 5:30 a.m. Sunday, she was wide awake and dreading the defensive-driving lessons on her schedule for this morning. She had images of crashing the car. She wished she could go surfing, but with Claude Dupont still at large, she settled for fifty laps in the pool. She was taking her vitamin with a glass of orange juice when Pierce announced that Prince Laurent had arrived.
Rory told herself to breathe and went into the great room. She hadn’t seen Laurent yesterday.
She greedily took in his appearance. For the first time since they’d met, Prince Laurent was dressed casually in jeans and a navy-blue polo shirt. But even beneath the casual clothes she sensed his rigid control.
Her heart jolted with uncertainty as she met his inky gaze. “I wasn’t expecting you this morning.”
“Since I’ll be staying with you for a few weeks, I thought I might benefit from the instruction, too.”
“A few weeks?” This was the first she’d heard of it.
“You still have much to learn. And I had hoped that we could spend more time together. I would like to see more of your home through your eyes. Just as I hope to show you more of my home.”
Rory wondered how his words could melt her defenses as if she were made of wax. He was offering her a partnership built on mutual understanding and respect. It was the most irresistible offer she’d ever been made.
Without realizing it, Laurent was giving her glimpses into his mind, into his heart, into his soul. It wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted so much more from him. But she foolishly let herself hope this might be a beginning.
THIS WAS INSANE. Rory sat behind the wheel of the Beemer and waited for the next simulation to begin. The driving school had a test area that was similar to a movie set. Building facades lined a Main Street that was several blocks long. There were signal intersections and four-way stops, parking lots, even a highway and something called a skid pad.
Rory felt strangely shaky. They’d begun the lesson with how to get into her vehicle. The most vulnerable time for a carjacking was upon entering or leaving a car. When she’d climbed into her assigned car, a man had risen out of the back seat and pressed a phony gun to her head.
And some people thought being a princess was all about wearing a tiara.
In the second lesson, a car bumped her rear bumper when she was driving down a side street. Her heart jumped at the unexpected impact. Instead of stopping, she drove to the phony town’s police department and earned high praise for avoiding being the victim of a bump and rob.
In the last simulation a car had come up close behind her, weaving dangerously. She’d pulled over to let the car pass, but the instructor told her via the headset she wore that she should have made a right turn as soon as possible to get out of harm’s way.
Rory closed her eyes, overwhelmed by fatigue. Having cars come at her from all directions and attackers popping out of the back seat was unnerving and exhausting.
A peculiar pressure built in her chest as the instructor told her to turn onto the test highway and accelerate to forty miles per hour.
God, what next?
Rory soon discovered what came next.
A car approached her on the highway test strip from the opposite direction. To her dismay, the car crossed the center line and barreled toward her.
Rory jerked the wheel to the right to avoid a collision, but her fingers weren’t functioning properly.
“That’s it,” she heard the instructor coach her in her ear. “Pull off the road steadily without losing control—”
“I can’t—” Rory experienced sheer horror as her body quit obeying her brain. She couldn’t brake. Her mind went black as the BMW swerved out of control and started to roll.
“RORY!” LAURENT’S HEART pitched in horror as her car went off the pavement and flipped over in slow motion, raising a cloud of dust. Once. Twice.
He heard the ominous crunch of steel and crackling glass and saw smoke billow from the engine.
“Call an ambulance!” He ran toward the car, praying it wouldn’t explode. It came to a groaning stop on its roof, its wheels spinning crazily in the air. They had to get her out of there.
The track’s techs beat him to the car with a stretcher. They had the door open. Rory hung like a rag doll from her seat belt, pinned in place by the airbag. Her eyes were closed. Blood trickled down her left arm and dripped from her fingers.
The techs eased her out of the car and laid her on the stretcher. Laurent helped them carry her a safe distance from the vehicle.
A tech leaned over her. “She’s not breathing.”
Laurent squeezed her lifeless hand as one of the techs began artificial respiration. “Breathe, Lorelei. We are not finished yet.”
/> The techs exchanged worried looks. Tears slid onto Laurent’s cheeks. “Stay with me, Lorelei. I can’t lose you, too.” He pressed her hand to his mouth and kissed it, tasting her blood on his lips.
He saw Marielle’s body in a satin-lined coffin.
Not again. Please, not again.
Chapter Twelve
Laurent rode in the ambulance with Rory to the hospital, the sirens clamoring in his ears. He reluctantly surrendered her into the care of the emergency room personnel, demanding that she receive the best care available. The top specialists. Whatever was required. Cost was no object. And he insisted that Heinrich remain with her for protection.
A nurse gave him forms to fill out. He did his best, but he didn’t know her medical history or whether she was on any medications. He’d clenched the pen so tightly it snapped in his grip.
He and Olivier had pushed her too hard, expected too much. They should have waited to tell her about the marriage treaty until after she’d grown accustomed to the shock of learning she was a princess. It was too much pressure. Although how else would they have explained the threats to her life?
When Olivier rushed into the waiting room accompanied by Renald and two bodyguards half an hour later, there was still no news from the doctors. Olivier was pale beneath his tan. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe? What’s happening? I want to see her.”
Laurent massaged the tight muscles in his neck. “I haven’t been told anything.”
“She is breathing on her own, non?”
Laurent shared the stark fear he saw in Olivier’s eyes. “I don’t know.”
Olivier frowned and wiped his face with his hand in an impatient gesture. “You said she lost control of the car? I should never have allowed her to take such a course. It was too dangerous—”
“Sebastian Guimond?”
Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love Page 39