“Yes?” Laurent, Olivier and Renald turned simultaneously. A doctor, finally!
The doctor eyed the three men. “Are you family?”
Laurent took charge. “I am Ms. Kenilworth’s fiancé and this is her brother. Mr. Dartois is a family retainer.”
“She’s very lucky to be alive. She’s alert and breathing on her own.”
Relief sapped the strength from Laurent’s body.
Rory was alive!
“She says she blacked out while she was driving,” the doctor continued. “We’re running some tests. We suspect she may have overdosed on narcotics as her pupils were very small when she arrived. Other than the scalp laceration, there are no other internal injuries to cause her to be unconscious. Has she taken any medications this morning? Or eaten anything?”
Laurent was stunned. Drugs again? He instructed Renald to call the house and ask the servants what Rory had eaten.
Renald discreetly stepped away to make the call.
“We’re running some tests,” the doctor continued. “We’ve stitched up the head wound. The stitches will need to be removed in about a week.”
“May we take her home soon?” Olivier asked.
The doctor hesitated. “We’d prefer to observe her overnight to make sure she has no other injuries.”
Renald returned. “Ms. Kenilworth had a glass of orange juice, two slices of whole wheat toast and a vitamin this morning. She takes a vitamin every morning. Pierce didn’t know if it was important, but he felt he should mention that Ms. Kenilworth noticed the bottle was missing after the dinner party the other night. He found it in a kitchen cupboard after a thorough search.”
Laurent knew Olivier was thinking the same thing he was. The vitamins had been tampered with. It wasn’t safe for Rory to remain in her home.
The doctor frowned. “I’d like to see this bottle of vitamins.”
Renald nodded. “I’ll have it delivered immediately.”
“May we see her?” Laurent demanded, unable to control his anxiety.
“Of course. Only two of you, for a few minutes.”
They followed the doctor into an exam room. Heinrich stood guard at the foot of Rory’s bed.
“Tu m’as fait peur, ma petite soeur,” Olivier scolded gently, approaching Rory’s hospital gurney. He kissed her affectionately. “You gave us a scare. But Laurent assures me the car looks worse.”
Rory laughed, the sound of her laughter immediately lifting Laurent’s spirits. “Is he here?”
“Where else would I be?” Chaotic emotion stirred in his chest at his first sight of her.
Her blue eyes were enormous in her pale face. She looked frail, her body tucked beneath a yellow blanket. Her amber curls fanned over the white pillow and a bandage was taped to her left temple. The nurse had not done a proper job of cleaning the blood from her face.
Laurent threaded his fingers through hers as he tenderly kissed her brow.
Rory caught her lower lip between her teeth. Tears swam in her eyes. “I was so scared I was going to die! The doctor said I’d been drugged. But how?”
Laurent gathered her in his arms and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. She was shaking. “We think it was your vitamins.”
His throat ached. Despite all the security precautions and the bodyguards, he’d failed to keep her safe. Cold dread surfaced in his thoughts like scum on a pond. The killer wouldn’t stop until Rory was dead. If he didn’t call off the marriage treaty, his princess might die.
But Laurent couldn’t bring himself to say the words that would sever their relationship, and his reasons had nothing to do with politics or the feud. His father had not raised him to be a servant to fear. Even though he knew that Prince Olivier would ensure that Rory received the highest level of protection, Laurent couldn’t walk away from his sense of personal obligation to her. “We’re relocating you and Brontë to other quarters until this person is caught. And we’re not accepting any objections. You are outvoted two to one. Is that clear?”
Rory recognized a command when she heard one. She withdrew from the comforting strength of Laurent’s shoulder. The shaking stopped when he held her. He gave her a strength she’d never known she possessed. “Absolutely clear,” she stated quietly. “But my vote is the only one that counts.”
She looked from Laurent to her brother and set her chin mulishly. Her head hurt, her body throbbed and she felt nauseous, but she was determined. Someone close to her brother or to Laurent had stolen her necklace and was probably in league with her assassin. Rory preferred to catch the mole on her own turf. “I’m not going to be chased out of my home.”
Her gaze shifted to Heinrich. “Throw out everything consumable in the house—medicines, food, even the cleaning supplies and paper products. And search every square inch of the place for more booby traps. I want everything in the house cleaned—from the doorknobs down to the last spoon. Whoever is trying to kill me is obviously very clever.”
As soon as she was released, Rory was going to see Otto. He was fluent in French and German. He could help her purchase a copy of the necklace from the Swiss jeweller. Then she would set her own trap.
RORY HAD TO WAIT until Tuesday morning to execute her plan. She’d been released from the hospital Monday morning and had spent the day resting and supervising Pierce and Alice as they carried out her orders to thoroughly cleanse her home, room by room.
Her blood tests had shown traces of opiates. The hospital lab had examined her vitamins for the presence of opiates but came up empty. Heinrich wasn’t surprised. He didn’t think a professional hit man would leave evidence behind. The doctor had told him that a large dose of morphine hidden in a gel capsule would be strong enough to make her lose consciousness.
Rory was glad for another reprieve from her lessons—even if only for a day. Her temple was swollen and her stitches still throbbed. Laurent and Olivier had hovered over her protectively, the two of them making a tour of the house and grounds with Heinrich. Rory felt guilty for plotting to deceive them. But she didn’t change her mind.
When Laurent arrived Tuesday morning to review her schedule for the day, she told him that she would like to skip her French lesson to go and buy her brother a painting of La Jolla as a parting gift, since he was leaving the next day.
Laurent was hesitant. “I’ll grant your request and advise Heinrich of the change in plans. In future, you might wish to give your staff more advance notice. The French tutor will be compensated for the inconvenience.”
“I’m sorry,” Rory said, uncomfortably meeting his gaze. “I only thought of it this morning.”
His inky eyes narrowed on her, warm and appraising. “I’m glad you’re forming ties to your brother. Would you mind if I accompanied you? I would like to select something that will remind you of home when you visit me at Schloss Hohenheim.” His palm cupped her cheek, and Rory’s world tilted off centre as he claimed a whisper-soft kiss from her lips. “I want you to know there is a place for you there.”
Goose bumps tingled over her suddenly hot skin like the sparks from a brushfire. How could one gentle kiss from this man who had deceived her be so incredibly erotic?
Even though a cautious voice inside her warned against letting herself be seduced, Rory touched her fingers to his firm mouth, delighting in being able to touch him like this. “Are you courting me, Sebastian?” she asked warily.
He smiled down at her, a confident male smile that made her heart race. “That was most assuredly not courting.” He touched his tongue to her fingertips and nibbled gently. “Nor was that courting,” he murmured against her fingers.
His strong hands slid around her waist and tugged her toward him until her pelvis was cradled against the hardness of his body and the ridge of his arousal. His eyes twinkled with virile amusement. “When I am courting you, my princess, you will have no doubt as to my intentions.”
To her shock, he kissed her again. This time coaxing her mouth open with a mastery that had her sighing in surrender. His kiss took
her in the most sensual way Rory had ever known. His tongue seduced her, teased her, gratified her. She clung to his shoulders as his hands cupped her bottom and fitted her more closely, more exquisitely against his arousal.
Rory gasped, gripped by a need so strong she forgot they were in her great room and anyone could walk in.
Until someone did walk in. Odette.
“My apologies. Excuse me,” Odette murmured.
Rory nearly slid to the floor in a lump of rampaging hormones as Laurent reluctantly broke the kiss and released her. Odette looked as mortified as Rory felt.
While Prince Laurent explained the schedule change to Odette, Rory informed Heinrich that she and Prince Laurent were going into the cove on an errand.
There’s no turning back now, she told herself, suppressing guilt as they got into the limo. Heinrich took the front passenger seat beside the driver.
Still dazed and sexually charged from Laurent’s unexpected kiss, Rory jumped when Laurent took her hand and stroked the pulse point in her wrist with his thumb.
He frowned. “You’re nervous of me, yes?”
Rory shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. Maybe.”
He tucked a curl behind her ear, making her shiver in reaction. “I’m sorry we were interrupted. I look forward to the time when there will be no interruptions. I find you very beautiful, mein Lorelei.”
Heat rushed up Rory’s neck to her face. He’d used that name for her again. She imagined what it would be like to have him naked, inside her. Her pulse throbbed against his thumb. She had no doubt that he would be an experienced lover. But would he be restrained with her in bed?
Rory was a mass of unsettled nerves by the time they arrived at the gallery on Prospect Street.
She gave herself a pep talk. She could do this. She pasted on a smile as they entered the swank interior. “I’m sure we’ll both find something here,” she told Laurent confidently. “This was my mother’s favorite gallery.”
Joffre Wells, the gallery’s owner, greeted them with a gentlemanly Southern accent that made Rory think of antebellum mansions and private country clubs. Rory explained what they were looking for, and Joffre immediately guided them toward a collection of oil seascapes.
Rory picked out an oil painting of Windansea Beach for her brother while Laurent chose a large seascape of the ocean at dawn. “Someday I will make love to you at dawn,” he whispered silkily in her ear as they proceeded to the cash register.
Stunned by his promise, Rory dropped her purse on the floor, then bumped heads with Laurent as they both bent to retrieve it.
Knowing she had to act now, Rory paid for her purchase and excused herself to use the ladies’ room while Laurent paid for his painting. As she had expected, Heinrich shadowed her to the rear of the gallery. Her heart thundering rapidly, Rory entered the bathroom and spent a few moments examining the double-hung window with its Cubist-inspired stained-glass panes over the toilet. It unlocked easily. She anxiously waited another minute, then flushed the toilet and opened the door.
She gestured furtively at Heinrich, feeling her face heat with embarrassment. “I’m having a female problem. I need tampons.” She handed him twenty dollars. “There’s a drugstore down the street, would you mind?”
Heinrich reluctantly took the money. His thick neck reddened. “I will send Franz.”
She smiled in genuine relief. “Thank you!”
Rory didn’t have a second to lose. She turned the tap on to mask sounds and opened the window. Then she contorted herself like a pretzel and dropped to the ground behind a Dumpster.
Now came the tricky part. Prospect Street curved into Prospect Place, which was crowded with little boutiques, international shops, restaurants and retail outlets. There were plenty of nooks and crannies and arcades where she could hide. Rory figured that as soon as Heinrich realized she was gone, he’d concentrate his search for her in that area.
Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, she walked to the Cave Store on Cave Street where tourists paid a fee to climb down 145 steps to the famous Sunny Jim Cave. She’d call a taxi from the store.
The place had a laid-back atmosphere and tempted tourists to comb the shelves for starfish, sand dollars, pink murex, tiger cowries and other shells after viewing the cave. Rory ducked behind a postcard rack and studied the street through the window to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of the limo or her bodyguards. She was alone.
HE HAD HER. Claude couldn’t believe his good fortune. Because of the heightened security around the princess, he had not ventured onto her street in the past few days. Instead he had noted that the cross streets that led to her neighborhood intersected with La Jolla Boulevard, a main arterial route. He’d taken to sitting outside a little pizza shop on La Jolla Boulevard, reading the newspaper and keeping an eye out for her limo or her car.
He had finally spotted the limo this morning and had jumped onto his motorcycle to follow it. He was disappointed when Prince Laurent exited the limo with Princess Charlotte Aurora outside the gallery. He had hoped that the newspaper clippings would have been enough for the princess to send Prince Laurent packing.
Apparently not.
But Claude still had the gun.
He’d taken up a position in the shade of a magnolia tree and was debating the risks of shooting Prince Laurent on a public street when he’d glanced into his side mirror and saw the princess crossing the street behind him. Opportunity had knocked again and Claude was driving through full throttle.
He parked outside the Cave Store and bided his time.
THREE MINUTES AFTER he had dispatched Franz to the drugstore, Heinrich noticed that the sound of the water running in the bathroom was too constant. He knocked on the door. No man felt at ease dealing with a woman’s monthly female problems. “Franz will return shortly, madame,” he said.
There was no reply.
Heinrich tried the door. It was locked, but he defeated it with a tool from the pick set he carried.
As he feared, the bathroom was empty. The princess had run away. For the first time since his appointment as Prince Laurent’s royal protection officer, Heinrich feared his position was in jeopardy.
OTTO’S HOUSE was a board-and-batten bungalow painted a soft, silvery sage. The shrubs and grass had the well-tended look of being painstakingly trimmed by hand. A car was in the driveway, giving Rory hope that Otto was at home. She walked up the cement driveway and smiled at Otto’s next-door neighbour, an elderly woman in a peacock-blue muumuu, who was carrying a poodle to her car.
“Don’t bother ringing the bell,” the woman said, depositing her poodle and her handbag on the passenger seat. “Otto’s showing his nephew the garden around back. He never hears the doorbell. Just go through the gate.”
Rory thanked the woman, but she hesitated as she reached the gate. Otto had company and she didn’t want to intrude. Maybe they could arrange to meet later in the day.
She opened the cedar gate and walked down a flagstone path edged with variegated hostas and pink-plumed astilbe. She could hear low voices speaking in French.
As she rounded the corner of the house, Rory spotted Otto and his nephew. Their backs were to her as they stood examining a waterfall feature in the small garden. Otto’s nephew wore a flint-gray suit.
Rory was about to call a greeting when the nephew turned his head toward Otto and she saw him in profile.
Her heart jolted in instant recognition of the thin beard that framed his angular jaw. Instinctively she dropped to her knees behind the arching branches of a plumbago. She’d been wrong to come here. The world of political intrigue was small and very treacherous. Otto’s nephew was her brother’s secretary: Renald Dartois.
Chapter Thirteen
Rory had run away.
Laurent’s despair and guilt increased as the minutes ticked by and Heinrich and Franz failed to find her. She’d been under so much pressure. He’d seen the fear in her eyes when she’d l
ain in that hospital bed after the accident. He understood her need to escape. Laurent had often felt the same.
But Rory was out there alone, unprotected, and there was a killer after her. Laurent had to find her.
He turned to the owner of the art gallery. “Ms. Kenilworth has experienced emotional episodes since her mother’s tragic death. I’m afraid our visit here today may have triggered one. She told me that this gallery was her mother’s favorite. I’m not sure where she has gone—perhaps to a place where she feels close to her mother. I wonder if I might trouble you to call the taxicab company and inquire if anyone matching her description has been picked up in this area in the last hour.”
“Of course, sir,” Joffre replied. Laurent had no doubt that the gallery owner would be able to get the information out of the taxi company. Laurent had just purchased a thirty-five-thousand-dollar painting. “You might wish to tell the taxi company that there will be a substantial reward for the information,” he added. “It is very important that I find her before she hurts herself.”
After fifteen minutes of phone negotiations, Joffre gave Laurent an address on Playa del Norte Street and directions. “The driver remembered that his fare had a bandage.”
Laurent tipped Joffre one thousand dollars in cash and raced to the limo. He didn’t know why Rory would go to this address. He just hoped his Lorelei was safe.
“I CANNOT ALLOW ESTAIRE to fall into Ducharme’s hands, mon oncle,” Rory heard Renald tell Otto as she was trying to extricate herself from the plumbago branches. She froze in her movements. Was Renald about to confess he’d hired the assassin? Was Otto involved, as well?
“You have met Princess Charlotte Aurora,” Renald continued dismissively. “She is not our future.”
Otto folded his arms over his chest, his head bent over a flower bed. “I see. And you believe that you have the right to change history? How is it that you are so confident that only you know what is best for Estaire? What of Prince Olivier? It is his decision is it not?”
“Pfft! Olivier is weak. He does not consider all his options. You have been in America twenty years. You do not know the full situation, mon oncle.”
Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love Page 40