by Linda Turner
She didn't expect him to understand—he'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and couldn't possibly know what it was like to have to scrimp and save to buy something like a Notebook computer—but he didn't question her about it. Instead, he said, "I'll remember that," and opened the door of the SUV for her.
He'd done it before when they rented the vehicle at the airport, and this time, as before, the courteous gesture caught her off guard. She liked to think she was an independent woman who didn't need a man to open her door for her or carry her groceries or anything else for her. But he had a way of treating a woman that she found incredibly flattering. And he didn't even seem to be aware of it—his good manners were just ingrained.
Don't be too flattered, a voice in her head drawled. He's way out of your league, and he doesn 't like reporters. Remember that, and you'll get along just fine.
Jerked back to reality, she felt heat climb into her cheeks as she realized where her thoughts had wandered. What in the world was wrong with her? Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd wanted to shake the king for forcing her to work with the man, and now she found herself flattered that he'd opened the door for her? She had to be losing her mind.
Thankfully, she didn't have time to dwell on that. They reached the diner in a matter of moments, and once again, Lorenzo was opening a door for her, only this time, it was to the diner. "A table for two," he told the hostess who greeted them with a smile. "Non-smoking."
"This way," the woman said, only to glance at him again and frown. "Hey, don't I know you? You look awfully familiar."
At his side, Eliza felt him stiffen ever so slightly, but his smile was easy when he said, "Sorry, but I've never been here before. You must have me mixed up with someone else."
"Oh. Sorry. It's just that I'd swear I've seen you before," she said. Then it hit her. "Oh, my God, you're that duke, the one who's looking for Prince Lucas! I saw your picture in the paper this morning."
Beaming, she said, "Oh, this is wonderful! I was telling my husband, Fred, not even an hour ago, that I bet someone kidnapped the prince and is hiding him out at Elk Canyon. It's a box canyon and you've really got to know where you're going or you'll lose all sense of direction.
"I could take you up there," she offered eagerly, her eyes shining at the sudden thought. "Of course, I'd have to take off from work, and I don't have any leave, so I'd need some kind of compensation, but we could work that out. I wouldn't be unreasonable or anything. I just want to help find the prince.' Cause it's the right thing to do, ya know."
"I appreciate that," Lorenzo said with the inbred politeness that royalty always seemed to possess when it came to dealing with the public, "but I have some other leads to run down at the moment. If those don't pan out, I'll get back with you. Do you normally work the morning shift?"
With that simple enquiry, he dazzled her right out of her shoes. "Every morning," she said, beaming. "Oh, wow! Wait'll I tell Fred! He's going to drop his teeth!"
"I'm sure he will," Lorenzo said dryly. "Now...if we could have a table? We're really in a hurry."
"Oh, my gosh, what an idiot I am! I'm so sorry, Your Highness. Right this way."
Grabbing a couple of menus, she rushed them over to a booth next to the window, apologizing all the while and promising Lorenzo that he was going to have the best breakfast he'd ever eaten. "Your waitress will be right with you. Just ask for the special, and I promise you won't regret it."
Gracious, Lorenzo thanked her, his smile never wavering, but Eliza was starting to recognize that particular look on his face. He already had regrets, and she didn't doubt that if he had it all to do over again, he would have gone through a McDonald's drive-thru. As it was, just about everyone in the place was shooting him covert glances and whispering among themselves, and it was obvious that they, too, had seen the morning paper.
Coming to the same conclusion, Lorenzo swore softly, his expression grim. "I was afraid of this. It's that damn picture! How the hell am I going to conduct a search when the whole world is watching and offering their opinion?"
He didn't, thankfully, blame her, but Eliza wouldn't have blamed him if he had. If it hadn't been for her and her overzealous boss, he could have been well into the search and might have even found the prince before anyone knew what he was about.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly as soon as they'd given their order to the blushing young woman who rushed forward to wait on them and deliver two steaming cups of coffee to their table. "The damage is done. It won't do any good to retract the story—people have already seen your picture. They're going to recognize you unless you grow a beard or something. Of course, that takes time. It won't do you any good now."
In the process of stirring cream into his coffee, he glanced up sharply. "What did you say?"
Surprised, she blinked. "About what? The beard? It's not going to do you any good today."
"No," he said thoughtfully, "but a disguise isn't a bad idea. I'll change my clothes, put on some sunglasses, even wear a hat. How do you think I'd look with a cowboy hat? I could get some jeans and boots and pass myself off as a cowboy."
If he hadn't been so serious, Eliza would have laughed at the very suggestion that Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani pass himself off as a cowboy. He looked and dressed like he'd just stepped out of the pages of GQ. She didn't care what he wore, it wasn't going to change the sophistication that was as much a part of him as the green of his eyes.
"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "Cowboys are a pretty rugged lot. It's more than just the clothes."
"Are you saying I'm not rugged?"
Put on the spot, she said, "No!" But then she immediately changed her mind. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. You're a duke, for heaven's sake! Dukes and cowboys are as different as day and night."
Lorenzo appreciated her honesty, but his title had been granted to him by the king in appreciation of his military service for Montebello. Just because he'd been raised by Marcus and Gwendolyn after his parents died and the palace had become his home didn't mean he was some kind of pampered royal who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He hadn't received any special treatment when he was in the military; he'd carried his own weight.
"We'll see," he said as the waitress arrived with a breakfast fit for a king. "You just might be surprised."
She had her doubts and she didn't make any effort to hide them, but Lorenzo wasn't worried. Digging into the ham and eggs and hashbrowns he'd ordered, he could already see himself dressed as a cowboy. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mission was a serious one, but he had to admit, this was going to be fun.
"The mall is the other direction," Eliza told him thirty minutes later when he pulled out of the diner parking lot and turned left. "I thought you wanted to get some western clothes."
"I do," he said. But instead of turning around, he drove slowly down the street, reading the signs of every business they passed. "Here we go," he said suddenly, grinning as he turned into the parking lot of a used-clothing store.
Eliza took one look at it and said, "You can't be serious."
"Oh, ye of little faith," he teased, and got out to open her car door for her.
The shop was everything he'd hoped it would be. Crowded and musty, it was packed full of everything from used Levi's jeans to old prom dresses from the fifties. And somewhere in all those old castoffs was his disguise.
"I can't believe you're doing this," Eliza said when he moved to a rack of used jeans and started going through them. "I thought you'd buy something new."
"And look like a drugstore cowboy? I don't think so. I want to look like the average John Wayne on the street, and I can't do that in new clothes." Glancing up from the jeans he was checking out, he arched a brow when he saw her smile. "What's so funny?"
"There was nothing average about John Wayne. That's why he was John Wayne."
He couldn't disagree with that. "Okay, poor choice. Let's try for a hired hand who doesn't have two nickels to rub together. That m
eans I need worn jeans and faded shirts that are frayed at the cuffs."
"And something to drive around in besides a brand-new Tahoe SUV," she pointed out dryly. "It doesn't fit the image."
"Good point," he replied. "We'll take care of that later. Right now, let's work on the clothes."
With her help, it didn't take long to find exactly what he was looking for. The shop even had an old, scuffed pair of cowboy boots that were just his size. When Eliza looked aghast at the idea of him wearing someone else's used boots, he laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not going to ruin my feet. I just want to see how they look."
He disappeared into the small dressing area, only to emerge a few minutes later in his disguise. Settling the used and abused black Stetson hat he'd picked out on his head, he opened the dressing room door to find Eliza waiting for him outside. "Well?" he asked, spreading his arms wide. "What do you think?"
Stunned, she blinked, wide-eyed. "I don't believe it."
She'd always heard that the clothes made the man, but she'd never quite understood what the phrase meant until now. She'd covered the Sebastianis for years in her column, and during that time, she must have seen dozens of photos of Lorenzo in his military uniform tuxedos, and suits that came right out of Saville Row. And in each of those pictures, he'd always looked every inch the duke.
There was no sign of that man now. She didn't know how he'd done it, but even his posture had changed. With the scarred cowboy hat set low on his head, concealing his sandy-brown hair, the pointed old boots on his feet and the faded clothes molding his lean body, he looked like he'd just walked in off the range.
"Incredible," she said, amazed. "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes."
Pleased, he grinned and tipped his hat back slightly, and just that easily, he changed the image again. He still looked like a hardworking cowboy, but now he had the look of a rogue, a flirt. With nothing more than a crooked grin, he set Eliza's heart pounding.
Shocked, she pressed a hand to her heart before she realized it, drawing a curious look from Lorenzo. "Are you all right?" he asked with a sudden frown. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, and blushed to the roots of her hair. "You just surprised me. I never thought you'd be able to pull it off."
"I told you I could," he said with another grin that made her heart trip. "Now, what about you?"
She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You can't dress like that when I look like I just walked off a roundup," he explained. "You're too citified. We don't look like we belong together."
Eliza wouldn't have described her black wool slacks and black and white sweater as citified, but she had to admit, he had a point. "I've got jeans in my suitcase. I'll change."
"You need a flannel shirt," he insisted, grabbing one off the rack. "And a sheepskin coat. It's cold out."
Eliza had never had a sheepskin coat in her life—the western style had never suited her. But even as she started to tell him no, she made the mistake of touching the one he held out to her. "Oh! It's so soft!"
"C'mon," he urged, grinning. "Try it."
Her eyes met his, and she couldn't resist the sparkle of fun she saw there. This was a side of him she hadn't even known existed. "Oh, all right. But I probably won't buy it. After we find the prince, I'll have nowhere else to wear it."
"So wear it to the grocery store," he said with a grin as he held it open for her to slip her arms in. "It's a used coat, Eliza. Have fun with it."
"Easy for you to say," she retorted sassily. "You look like the Marlboro man. I look like..." She glanced in the mirror and groaned ".. .a redheaded Olive Oyle being hugged by a sheep."
Any other man would have laughed, but Lorenzo was truly amazed that she thought she looked anything like Pop-eye's girlfriend. Did she truly not see how pretty she was?
"Why do you do that?" he asked in puzzlement, stopping her when she would have turned away and shrugged out of the coat. "Look at yourself." And not giving her time to object, he turned her back to the mirror, then stepped behind her, holding her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders.
"Look at you," he said again, this time huskily. "You're not skinny like Olive Oyle. You have the slenderness and grace of a young Katharine Hepburn. Can't you see it? Can't you see the passion and fire in your eyes? Look at your bone structure, the line of your throat. You're beautiful and you don't even know it. Look."
In the mirror, she watched as he pulled her fiery curls up off her neck, then cradled her face between his hands. His eyes met hers, and with nothing more than a look and the touch of his hands, he made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life.
And it shook her to the core.
Who was this man? she wondered wildly. How could he make her feel pretty when no one else ever had? For as long as she could remember, she'd been in that gangly stage where she was all arms and legs, angles and planes. Most girls outgrew that by the time they were sixteen. At twenty-seven, she never had.
He was a magician, she thought, dazed. A sorcerer with supernatural powers who painted images with words. Nothing had changed—she was the same person she'd always been—but when she saw herself through his eyes, images of the old Eliza Windmere fell away. And just that easily, she was pretty.
She wanted to laugh and cry and turn and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn't do any of those things. She didn't dare. Her heart was already pounding, her senses in a whirl, and it was all because of him. If she made the mistake of touching him now, she would be in serious trouble.
And that was the last thing she needed right now, she reminded herself. She wasn't looking for a man, especially one like Lorenzo. Not when her breakup with Robert was still an open wound. He'd been jealous of her job and the time she gave to it, and that had destroyed their relationship. And now, here she was, attracted to another man who didn't approve of what she did for a living. She wasn't going there again. She couldn't.
"I don't know that I'd go so far as to use the word beautiful," she said with a forced laugh as she took a step away from him, freeing herself from his touch. "But thanks for the compliment. Maybe I'll buy the coat, after all. It's really warm."
The magic mood shattered between them, she hurried to the checkout counter and could feel his eyes on her every step of the way. He let the moment pass, however, and she told herself she was relieved. Unfortunately, she'd never been very good at lying to herself.
* * *
True to his word, Lorenzo was nothing if not thorough. From the used-clothing store, they went straight to a used car dealership and bought a ten-year-old pickup truck that looked like it had seen better days. It had a good motor, though, so they turned in the rented Tahoe without fear that they were going to break down in the middle of nowhere, then headed up into the mountains where Willy lived. Anyone seeing them in their new old clothes and the battered pickup would have never guessed that Lorenzo was a duke or she was a city girl who interviewed kings and queens and wrote for the Sentinel.
Smiling at the thought, she was just about to tell him how much she was enjoying going undercover with him when he ruined everything by saying, "When we reach Willy's, I want to do the questioning. I know you're friends and he trusts you, but he may know more than he realizes he does. He's going to have to talk to me."
Everything he said made perfect sense—to Eliza. It wouldn't mean a hill of beans to Willy. "If we were talking about an average man on the street, I'd agree with you. But as I've told you before, Your Grace, Willy dances to the beat of a different drummer. He doesn't have to do anything, and he knows it. He won't talk to you."
"Of course he will," he said stubbornly. "You said yourself how upset he was at the thought of the king naming another heir when his son was still alive. He obviously wants to help find Lucas. To do that, he's going to have to talk to me."
Eliza could have told him that Willy wouldn't even talk to her if she didn't call him ahead of time and make arrangements to me
et him, but what was the point? His mind was made up, and Eliza only had to look at the stubborn set of his jaw to know that nothing she could say was going to make a difference. He was determined to do things his way. He'd find out for himself that wasn't going to work.
"Turn left at the next four-way stop," she told him. "Then just keep going straight for ten miles until we reach a dirt road. After that, it gets a little tricky."
Tricky was, in fact, an understatement. When they reached the dirt road that led to the box canyon where Willy lived, Eliza knew from experience just how easy it was to lose your way. Off-road drivers had carved out dozens of tracks that intersected the main road and it was very confusing.
Frowning, she leaned forward to study the terrain and said suddenly, "Turn left here...I think."
A quarter of a mile later, the road turned as rough as a washboard, just as it should have, and Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. "This is it. Watch the odometer. His house is exactly two miles from the cattle guard we're coming up on."
Because of the roughness of the drive, they were forced to go slowly, and it was another ten minutes before they actually reached the trees that surrounded Willy's house on all sides, completely concealing it from the untrained eye. When Eliza told him to pull over and park, Lorenzo looked around in confusion. "Here? I thought we were going to his house."
"We are," she said, nodding toward the trees. "It's back there."
When he lifted a brow in surprise, Eliza had to smile. Willy's cabin was only a hundred yards from the road, but from where they were parked, it looked like there wasn't another living soul for a hundred miles. "I told you he likes his privacy. C'mon."
Leading the way, she picked her way through the trees to a small log cabin that had to have been built by one of the original settlers in the area. Not quite plumb, it leaned to the left and had a front porch that appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. There were only two windows, which were dark and locked tight, and a formidable wooden door. Dark and dusty and less than welcoming, the place didn't encourage visitors any more than Willy did.