by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"Well, yes. The farther I have to travel, either in time or space, the trickier it gets."
"If you were closer to Jessica, then, there would be less danger. You might be able to pick up more." He turned to the others, keeping his hand on her arm as if holding her in place for when he wanted her. "Jessica is probably being held in the U.S. She lives in Colorado, doesn't she?"
"Yes!" For the first time, hope lit the prince's face. "We'll need American currency. I'll take care of that."
"Wait a minute," Lorenzo snapped. "You're not going.
Lucas lifted one eyebrow, every inch the prince. "I don't require your consent.
"Lucas." Drew moved in front of him. "What will she think if you turn up suddenly on her doorstep? Unless you plan to resume the relationship, it will be kinder to let me go in your stead."
Rose couldn't see the prince's face, but when he turned away the movement was jerky, his usual grace destroyed by emotion. He was silent for a long moment. "Very well. Lorenzo, which will be faster— commercial transport? Or should I have the jet readied?
"The jet to London," Lorenzo said crisply. "The Concorde to cross the Atlantic."
Rose's mind was whirling. "Wait a minute.
Drew gave Lucas a level look. "You'll need your father's permission to use the royal jet. You'll have to tell him why."
' T realize that." Lucas's voice was flat. "I've given him and Mother enough grief the last year. I don't want to add to that, but speed may be important.
"Fortunately," Lorenzo said, "Rose's family elected to maintain dual citizenship when Britain granted our independence. She has a British passport, so she won't need a visa to enter the U.S. That will speed things up."
She eyed him without appreciation. "I suppose you know what my grades were like in middle school, too."
"And what kind of profit your business has shown since you opened it," he agreed cheerfully. "Among other things."
Drew turned to her. "Speaking of business, you have a shop to run. Can your aunt and that young woman who works for you take care of it for a week or so?
"Yes—at least, I imagine so, but—"
" Or will you need your aunt with you? You said she helps with the trances."
"Hold on." She pushed to her feet. "Everyone just hold on a minute."
Lucas stood very still and looked at her. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
"I'm willing to go," she said. "That's not the problem. I just don't want you to expect too much. Lord." She shoved both hands into her hair and stood there cupping her skull as if she could force clear thought with the pressure of her palms. She couldn't help thinking of her aunt's warning and the third reason for the rule. "How do I explain? I'll go there, I'll do my best, but I'm not a Finder. You need to notify the U.S. authorities —their police or FBI or something.
Drew and Lucas exchanged a look she didn't understand. Drew spoke. "The American police aren't going to take psychic predictions seriously, and we don't have evidence that anything is wrong with Ms. Chambers. If we contact the authorities, the media are likely to find out."
Lucas raked a hand through his hair. "I don't want to expose her to that."
"That's another reason for you to let Drew handle this," Lorenzo said. "If you go, you'll draw newshounds right to her.
Lucas slanted him an angry glance. "I've already agreed to sit on my hands here. Don't push it." He looked at Rose. "What's that Finder business you mentioned earlier?"
"It's a rare Gift, kind of like being an idiot savant—Finders find things, but they're psychically deaf otherwise. Those of us who aren't Finders can't do what they do, any more than a normal mathematician can multiply five-digit numbers in his head instantly. If Jessica isn't at her ranch, I won't be able to track her like a dog following a scent. My Gift doesn't work that way."
"What will you be able to do?"
"I might see who is with her. Or pick up details about where she is being held.
"You said you can see into the past. Why can't you look back and see what's happened to her?"
"I don't have that kind of control." Rose struggled for patience—but patience wasn't her best thing even when she wasn't so achingly tired. "Think of the cliche' about time being a river. Most people are like twigs floating on that river. They go wherever the current takes them. One who's Fire-Gifted can swim, but the current is strong and tricky. I have more control over where the river takes me than you do, but I'm not a blasted motorboat.
"What the hell good is this Gift of yours if you can't use it better than that? You may be great at starting fires, but I can do that myself with a match!"
"What good is it?" she snapped. "Damned if I know. It's just a trait that runs in my family, like a cowlick or blue eyes. If the Gift made me all-seeing, I'd be sitting here in the palace running things, and you'd' be selling pitchers to tourists."
The beat of silence lasted long enough for Rose to realize she'd just told off the prince of her country.
Then Lorenzo chuckled. "You would at least be amassing an impressive portfolio by predicting the stock market, which I can assure the others you haven't done. We accept that your, ah, abilities have limits, Signorina.
"For heaven's sake, call me Rose." She paused. "Oh, hell. Now I'm telling a duke we should be on a first-name basis."
Lorenzo grinned, his gaze flicking to Drew for a second, then back to her. "I believe I can live without being Your Grace'd constantly. And since you are no longer under arrest, I would be pleased to call you Rose."
She was beginning to think she might end up liking Lorenzo Sebastiani. Amazing. Her gaze, though, had followed his, and she didn't like what she saw. "Drew, you don't look well."
"It's nothing. A headache." He made a dismissive gesture. "We are agreed, then? Lucas will arrange for American currency and the royal jet, and Rose and I will leave in the morning.
Protests rose to her tongue, but she closed her lips on them. Gemma couldn't go with her. Her aunt was earthbound, quite literally. Flying not only made her sick, it disrupted the very tie that let her act as Ground for her niece.
Drew had stopped the fire's call when he held her. Maybe he could take Gemma's place.
Drew started for the door. "Someone should call Rose's aunt, let her know what's going on and ask her to pack a bag for Rose. She'll need the passport you mentioned."
"I can pack my own bag.
One hand on the doorknob, he paused. There was a blurred look to his eyes, as if he was in pain. "You're so tired you're about to fall down. You'll stay at the palace tonight.
"You should call the woman," Lucas said. "You've met her. You'll be able to reassure her."
"Dio!" Rose exclaimed. "Can't you see he's the one about to fall down? I'll call my aunt myself. Drew—"
* * *
He interrupted brusquely. "I have medication for my headache, but I'm afraid it knocks me out. The three of you will have to settle the remaining details among yourselves.
She watched, bewildered, as the door closed behind him. He'd rushed out as if dogs were snapping at his heels.
"He doesn't want you to see him like this," Lucas said. "Hurting, I mean. Male pride."
Turning, trying to master her expression, if not her feelings, she said, "His headaches must be severe if he carries medication for them."
"I didn't know he had headaches," Lorenzo said. "Or any human weaknesses."
"Not ordinary headaches. Migraines," Lucas said tersely. "They've returned. My mother wormed it out of him, or I wouldn't know, either."
Lorenzo snorted. "He's not exactly a confiding sort. This situation has to be hard on him, but he'll never let it show."
The two men exchanged one of those knowing looks. It irritated Rose intensely. Why would the situation be hard on Drew? He didn't even know Jessica Chambers. "He's suffered from migraines in the past?"
"When he was a child. We all thought they'd gone away when.. .well, when he outgrew them."
He'd started to say someth
ing else. Frustrated because she didn't have any right to demand answers, Rose gestured at the phone. "Should I call my aunt or a taxi?"
"No, Drew was right about that. You're exhausted. I'll arrange a room for you as soon as I've spoken with the pilot. My father will have to confirm my orders, of course, but I can set things in motion." Lucas picked up a phone and punched in a number. "Signorina, my apologies for keeping you so late."
"You're worried." That much she was sure of, though she didn't know how deep that worry went. Jessica —it was good to be able to put a name to the woman she knew so intimately in some ways and not at all in others—was in love with the prince. If he was in love with her, too, surely he would have done more than try to call her a few times?
Lorenzo handed her a cell phone. " Does your aunt know where to find your passport?
"If she doesn't," Rose said sourly, "I imagine you could tell her."
He grinned. "You really should keep such important documents in your safety deposit box, you know. The cash drawer of your store isn't terribly secure."
Her part in the arrangements was soon over, and not long after that she stood under the shower in the lushly appointed bathroom connected to one of the many guest chambers. It was far too grand, she thought as she toweled dry, to be called a mere bedroom.
The palace staff had even provided a nightgown—cotton, floor-length, with fine lace trimming the neckline. It had been ironed and smelled faintly of violets. She wondered if she was wearing one of the princess's nightgowns, or if the staff kept an assortment of sleepwear on hand to offer unexpected guests the way hotels stocked toothbrushes.
She also wondered if Drew's cousins had found it odd that he hadn't suggested she stay in his suite, if not his bedroom. They knew he'd been seeing her. Maybe this was the way things were done in a palace, though, and even if they had been sleeping together they would have been given separate quarters. God knew she'd no experience with life lived at this level.
The thought depressed her. She was too tired to pretend it didn't or deny the reason. Drew was comfortable with this life. The palace was like a second home for him.
When she turned off the light and pulled up the covers, she expected to drop off quickly. The bed was comfortable, she was exhausted, and the lightweight comforter added just enough warmth. But her noisy mind wouldn't let her poor body have its way.
Gemma wasn't happy about the trip. She thought Rose was getting in over her head. In the elegant privacy of her temporary quarters, Rose had to agree. She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind.
He hadn't even tried to defend her. When his cousin had placed her under arrest, Drew hadn't said a word.
Her eyes opened.
He didn't know her. That's what it came down to. He didn't know her, didn't believe in her, and he certainly didn't love her. She'd felt the connection between them, but he hadn't...or, if he had, he didn't accept it.
If she hadn't shown up at the palace gate today, he would have left the country without a word to her. Yet he'd insisted on accompanying her to the United States tomorrow.
That was for his cousin's sake, she thought, and rolled all the way over to her other side. It was so quiet, so deadeningly silent in this room—no traffic noise, no voices calling on the street, no sound of a neighbor's television or radio. No windows in this interior chamber. Even the storm couldn't make itself heard, muffled by all this opulence. How did people sleep in such silence?
She sighed. Drew thought she'd need help on the trip. He was probably right about that, though it wasn't the intricacies of international travel that worried her. She'd need him to be her Ground—if he could. If he was willing to try.
She didn't even know that much. How did he really feel about her Gift? He'd left so quickly.. .but it had been a migraine, not her, that had sent him out the door. She'd seen that he was in pain, but she hadn't known he suffered from migraines. Were they connected to his blocked Gift?
His cousin Lorenzo hadn't known about the migraines either. He's not exactly a confiding sort, Lorenzo had said.
No, he wasn't. She stared bleakly out at the darkness. She was in love with him, but knowing his heart was no prescription for bliss when she knew so little else about him. She didn't know his mind or his body, nothing about his childhood or his friends, little about his business. She'd never been to his country. Most of all, she didn't know his world—a monied world, one where people casually flew across continents for a business deal, a party or to help a friend.
Maybe Drew was right to turn his back on what was between them. But if he did...
Her eyes closed. He'd held her so tightly when the fire threatened her control that one of his buttons had dug into her cheek. She remembered the faint scent of starch, the strong arms covered in cotton and the hard beat of his heart.
Oh, how she'd wanted him. In that instant she had been desperate for him. And he'd wanted her, too. His body had made that clear.
But he'd stepped back. Always, always, he pulled back from her.
Follow your heart, her aunt sometimes said. But was that wisdom or a slick cliche'? Women had been falling in love with the wrong men for centuries. Being in love was no ticket to happiness. Rose had always known that, and deep down, had always felt a touch smug. She would recognize her perfect mate if she ever found him.
She hadn't realized that finding a soul mate offered no more guarantees than falling in love the usual way —blind and dizzy and scared, with no promise of a soft landing.
Rose lay awake a long time. Finally exhaustion won, dragging her down firmly as her mind slowed, spinning into silence. Her last clear thought was that it didn't matter what she decided to do. Drew wasn't likely to give her a chance, anyway.
* * *
The alarm jerked him from nightmare into cold.
Drew lay still with his heart racing as if he'd been running. He'd kicked the covers off, he realized dimly. He was damp with sweat, chilled from the air-conditioning... Airconditioning. Not the bitter seep of winter through the walls of an unheated warehouse.
This time he'd brought pieces of the nightmare back with him.
He sat up slowly, as if balance was a precarious negotiation between himself and gravity. But there were no ropes binding his hands or ankles. He could have light whenever he wanted, at the flip of a switch.
God. He rubbed his face and was embarrassed to find it wet, too. But not with sweat.
Well, he'd been eleven when it happened, he thought wearily, reaching out to silence the shrill alarm. And was eleven again, it seemed, when he dreamed of it. Though God knows why, after all these years... No, wait. He could see why the nightmare had returned, he thought with relief as he hit the light switch. He was dealing with a probable kidnapping. Naturally that resurrected some scraps of memory.
He put those scraps away again, mentally packing them up in the past as tidily as he might pack for a trip. He was in the shower, grateful for the heat and steam, when it occurred to him that the nightmare had returned several days before he knew Lucas's lady was missing.
Chapter 13
Twelve hours later Rose was sleeping in yet another bed owned by the king—this time at thirty thousand feet. She awoke all at once and disoriented. A strange woman was smiling down at her.
Oh. Memory returned. It was the stewardess, Mareta.
"We will be hitting some turbulence soon," she said pleasantly. "There's a bit of a storm over London. You'll be more comfortable in the forward section, with a seat belt."
"Of course." Rose sat up and swung her legs off the bed, dragging a hand through her hair. Her fingers hit snarls and she grimaced. "Do I have time to visit the lavatory before I strap down?"
Having been assured that she did and should find whatever she needed to freshen up in the drawers in the vanity there, she stepped into her sandals and headed for the door at the rear of the sleeping compartment.
This bathroom was nothing like the cramped cubbyholes in commercial a
irliners. The water taps were gold. The tub was larger than the one Rose bathed in at home. She grimaced at the sight the mirror over the sink offered. She'd tossed around on the bed as much as she'd slept on it. Her hair looked as if she'd been dragged through a bush backward.
The rest of her was presentable, she thought. She wore black slacks with a full-sleeved black shirt, cinched at the waist by an ornate belt. Her earrings were her favorites, chosen because the tiny gemstones that formed the pattern picked up almost any color she might wear. Both the earrings and the clasp on the belt were her own design, and gave her confidence.
The first drawer she opened held several new toothbrushes, three brands of toothpaste, three kinds of lotion, a small manicure set and two brands of mouthwash. The second drawer contained a surprising assortment of unused cosmetics. The third, deepest drawer held three hairbrushes, two sizes of curling irons, a blow-dryer and various gels, sprays and hair ornaments.
Shaking her head at the courtesies the ultrarich routinely extended their guests, Rose selected a brush and started working on the tangles.
After awhile you reached a point, she thought, when any decision was better than indecision. Besides, she didn't care to let Drew have everything his way. She would make him discuss their relationship and his reasons for ending it. She'd promised herself that over a hasty breakfast before they left for the airport.
But all day he'd been perfectly, infernally pleasant—a lot like the stewardess, damn him. He'd told her about the plane they were flying in, a Gulfstream V the king had had specially fitted. He'd talked about politics, business, music, art.
Had she once thought he wasn't charming? Today he had been. Endlessly charming. She'd never seen such an unscalable wall erected from pure charm. It had proved impossible to intrude on that flawless formality with anything personal. When he'd excused himself—ever so politely—to go to the workstation, where a desk, two phones and a computer made it easy to bring the office along, she'd given up and napped.
A sharp jerk of the brush made her wince, and she used her fingers to tease out one especially large tangle. At least she'd caught up on her sleep.