Royal Captive

by Dana Marton

  She sat up and looked at him. “We’ll come back.”

  “Your presence won’t be necessary. I’ll go alone.” She needed rest and healing.

  Her gold-green eyes narrowed. “You still suspect me?”

  He considered what to say, what he believed at this point. She wasn’t what he had expected. There were issues he needed to rethink.

  “I can’t believe you have to think about it,” she accused before he could have said anything, hurt and fury in her voice. “People were shooting at us. I could have been killed!”

  “I noticed.” Yet, he still didn’t like the idea of her around the coronation jewels. Especially because she seemed to want to be near them so badly, which did make her look suspicious.

  She set her glasses in the holders. “You should be grateful I want to help you. It’s no cakewalk, with all your—” She snapped her mouth shut and made a sound of frustration in her throat.

  He turned to her fully, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not difficult to work with.”

  She stuck her chin out. “Like somebody would dare tell you, Your Highness?”

  He turned away from her and dialed the phone again.

  She was obviously in an unreasonable mood. There was no point in talking to the woman.

  “This better be urgent. The runner-up to Miss Valtria is waiting for me in the hot tub out back,” his cousin said in way of a greeting.

  He had cousins only from his father’s side, twelve boys and three girls from the four uncles altogether, all younger than Istvan, mostly in their late twenties and early thirties. The girls were charming, but the boys were rakes, every last one of them. They were removed enough from the throne to escape the worst of public scrutiny and media attention, and they made sure to live the combination of their wealth, title and relative freedom to its full potential.

  “Only the runner-up?” Istvan couldn’t help a jab. “What happened to the winner?”

  “We dukes can’t always get everything that falls so easily to you princes.” Alexander gave a good-natured chuckle. “Want to walk away from wherever you’re digging right now and join us? You could bring the beauty queen. She’d probably come if you called her.”

  “I’m somewhat busy at the moment, but thank you for the invitation. I was hoping for another favor.”

  “Name it and it’s yours if you let me off this phone in the next thirty seconds.”

  “The use of your estate in Cyprus.”

  Alexander, the Duke of Oskut, was in the movie business, one of the main benefactors of Valtrian cinema. He had filmed a documentary at a Cyprus country estate just outside Porto Paphos a few years back, fallen in love with it and purchased it on the spur of the moment.

  “When?” he asked.

  “Right now. I’m there.”

  “Say it’s not so you can dig up my backyard. Tell me there’s a beautiful woman involved. I want confirmation of female companionship.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Alex hooted like a common rodeo cowboy. “I’ll ring the housekeeper to open the gates.”

  “Now will you tell me where we’re going?” Lauryn asked when he hung up.

  And, of course, she found fault with the answer, so the rest of the trip was spent in the same bickering mood that she tended to adopt every time he naysayed her. Clearly she was the kind of woman who expected to get what she wanted or there’d be hell to pay. He was missing soft-spoken Amalia more by the minute.

  He was still unsettled by Lauryn after having arrived at the estate and instructing the maid to show her to a room on the top floor. As a first order of business, he went to see about some more help. He made sure she had immediate medical assistance, food and drink, clothes, whatever she needed. The only restriction he placed on her was that she wasn’t to leave the house without his permission.

  Knowing her as much as he did by now, he was glad he wasn’t there when that bit of news was delivered to her by the twenty-something knockout housekeeper. Leave it to Alexander to fill every position around him with aspiring actresses and models.

  While the doctor applied some local herbal salve on Istvan’s jellyfish stings—after having finished with Lauryn—the prince arranged for money and weapons and an early transport back to the harbor. Then he put down the brand-new, secured cell phone he’d received when the guards from the embassy had arrived and absentmindedly fingered the motion sickness bracelet Lauryn had tied around his wrist. One had come apart when they’d swam to shore and was lost at sea. He’d meant to remove the other one when he’d changed his clothing, but it had slipped his mind.

  “I’ll remain on the premises in case you experience any further discomfort, Your Highness.” The doctor backed toward the door when he was finished.

  “I’m fine. But do keep checking on Miss Steler.”

  He looked around the spacious suite once the door closed behind the man. Alone at last. He called Miklos and filled him in on everything that had happened.

  “Arpad has some state occasion he can’t miss, but Janos and I will be there by morning. Wait for us.”

  “I will.” He wanted to bring in as few outside people as possible for the removal of the crown jewels from the ship. He didn’t even want the royal guard to know what was in those crates, let alone the Porto Paphos Port Authority. Everything would be easier if he had his brothers there.

  Istvan wished good-night to Miklos, then hung up, stretched out on the bed and stared at the Greek fresco on the ceiling. He thought the day over, everything that had happened since the hit on the treasury, trying to come to some conclusions about Lauryn, but didn’t get far before he fell asleep.

  His dreams were dark and hot, prominently featuring a very intriguing ex-thief. He was pursuing her. She had something of his. At times he would almost catch her, touch her, but in the end she always slipped through his fingers.

  He woke to the certain knowledge that he wasn’t alone in the dark room. He wished the weapons the guards had given him were closer at hand, but he’d left them clear across the room on an antique chest of drawers. He stayed still, looked through a slit in his eyes without moving his head. Nothing.

  Then, after a long minute, a shadow shifted toward the bed. A hand reached out, held something. A weapon?

  He reached out and clasped the would-be assassin’s wrist, yanked the arm up and the body forward until the attacker was sprawled on top of him, his free hand holding the other wrist immobile.

  He was ready to roll in a wrestling move he remembered from his college days when he found his nose pressed against a soft neck with a familiar scent. The squirming body on top of his was too light for a man, and the curves, too, were unmistakable. “Lauryn.”

  “That’s not necessary.” They spoke at the same time.

  He flipped her anyway, not willing to let her weapon hand go, but put his body weight on the other one so he could reach for the light on the nightstand.

  The bright light blinded him only for a second, then he could make out the folded piece of paper he’d mistaken for a knife in the dark. She was still wearing the clothes she’d swam to shore in. His gaze slid to hers, to eyes that were calling down the wrath of all the ancient gods of the island upon his head.

  He should have let go right then. But her lithe body stretched below his awakened all sorts of sensations in a remarkably short time. And brought back his dreams where she’d always been a step ahead of him, always slipping out of his hands.

  I caught you now.

  He bent his head and kissed her.

  He’d brushed his lips against hers before on impulse when he’d walled her in behind that metal panel in the ship’s cabin. Afterward, he had no idea why he’d done it, was certain it would never happen again, grateful that she didn’t make a fuss over his lapse of judgment. It proved that she could be sensible when she wanted to be, when she could overcome her argumentative nature.

  But this kiss wasn’t like the one before. This one he meant.

  Few things could
have surprised him more than her kissing him back. Need surged immediately and lust. If the wall behind their bed collapsed to reveal the archaeological find of the century, it couldn’t have drawn his attention from her.

  He let go of her wrist and brought his hand down to tuck her even closer. Her arms went around his neck.

  Her mouth was hot and responsive, every touch of her tongue sending a new wave of desire through him. The strength of the heat between them caught him off guard. He wasn’t the type of man to seduce every hapless female he came across, like his infamous cousins, of which the Duke of Oskut was the mildest.

  Istvan had always been more focused on his work. Even his relationship with Amalia had been a slow and comfortable affair. But at the moment he could barely remember her or anyone or anything else. Lauryn filled his senses and his hands.

  Before he knew it, her shirt was open and his face was buried between her perfect breasts. He drew a nipple in his mouth, the most natural thing in the world, his body—too long denied—growing hard as she arched her back beneath him.

  “Tell me this is what you came for,” he whispered with urgency when he came up for air. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted her full cooperation and agreement.

  But she gave a pained laugh. “I came to leave a goodbye note.”

  That sobered him enough to pull up and look into her face. “You were going to sneak out.” Understanding dawned, disappointment coming close on its heels.

  “Obviously, my sneaking skills are rusty.” She tried to make light of it.

  “I was very specific in my orders that you should not leave without my approval.”

  “That’s exactly why.” She shifted from him. “I want to work with you on getting back what was stolen, but I will not be your prisoner.”

  The air was cooling between them. He didn’t want that. He pulled her back. “Let’s not argue.”

  “You mean, I should just serve your needs like a good little subject of the crown without raising any objections? I have news for you. I’m not a subject of the crown.” She was deliberately misunderstanding him. Her gaze was sharp now, all the softness gone form her mouth.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Although, if she felt in an obedient mood, he wouldn’t have objected. He drew a long, frustrated breath. “You kissed me back.”

  She shrugged. “I figured that might be the quickest way out of here.”

  That stung. “How far would you have been willing to go?”

  “As far as necessary.” She didn’t even blink as she said that.

  His body still ached for her. He had half a mind to put her to the test.

  “Sorry.” She slipped out of his grip, out of the bed. “The gig is up, I’m afraid. What’s this?”

  She was holding a page of his handmade copy of the Maltmore diary. Water had soaked the copy through, so he had laid each page out to dry. The secrets of the Brotherhood of the Crown were set out on every available surface.

  “An old document I’m working on.” He moved to get the page she picked up, but she danced out of reach. “I’ll have that back,” he warned her.

  She studied the writing by the light of the lamp. “What language is this?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s see.” She raised an eyebrow. “Not a natural language. Looks more like code. Who wrote in codes? Secret societies. Let me think of a Valtrian secret society that could have a book that a strapping prince like yourself might be interested in enough to copy by hand and carry in his pocket.” She tapped her forehead theatrically. “I’m guessing it’s some secret book of the Brotherhood of the Crown. How am I doing so far?” She looked pleased as anything with herself.

  On the one hand, he found her quick thinking incredibly sexy, watching her mind work a thing of beauty. On the other hand, he couldn’t say her guessing his secret so effortlessly didn’t annoy him.

  “What is it about?” She tilted her head, a sparkle in her eyes.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can’t decipher it?” The question was put forth with such belittling intonation as if to say she would have broken the code on a single lazy afternoon with a hand tied behind her back if given half a chance.

  “Of course, I can read it,” he said and realized too late that he’d given himself away, which had been exactly her purpose. His mind was still too steeped in lust to follow her quick thinking.

  “Okay, then let’s try this again. What is it about?” she asked with a smirk.

  He decided to tell her. In equal parts because he didn’t want her to leave yet and because none of the diary made any sense anyway.

  “It’s a collection of poems and sayings. Like the Song of Solomon and the Book of Proverbs in the Bible.”

  She held the page out for him. “What does it say here?”

  He let his gaze run across the marks. “The wealth of a nation is in the head of the ruler.”

  “Makes sense. The smarter the king is, the better off the country will be.”

  Yes, in some way, but the gems of wisdom were no help to him whatsoever. When he’d found the diary he’d been hoping that the clues would lead him to the treasure of the Brotherhood.

  The original Brotherhood of the Crown was made up of eight princes who put Casanova to shame. The only thing that outshined their deeds in battle had been their deeds in the bedroom.

  When the country went through a particularly difficult period of foreign invasion, their lovers supposedly gifted the young princes with massive amounts of their jewelry, as love tokens and as support for an uprising. Except, the princes were betrayed and the treasure had disappeared.

  Lauryn held the paper to the light. “Which one is the word for wealth?” she asked.

  He pointed it out.

  “And ruler?”

  He showed her that, too.

  “Then this is the letter E,” she guessed correctly. Then asked a few more words and within minutes, literally, had the entire alphabet decoded, by which time he regretted ever giving her any information.

  “So it says, The wealth of the nation is on the head of the ruler.”

  “In and on were interchangeable in the old language.”

  She nodded. “This is interesting. Can I take these back to my room to read through them?” Her head was tilted, the light playing on her slim neck, reflecting off alabaster skin. Mesmerizing.

  He very nearly fell for it, but in the end came to his senses.

  “Absolutely not.” He held out his hand for the page.

  Her eyes narrowed. He expected one of her biting remarks, but in the end, she stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re no fun to play with.”

  A bolt of desire shot through him. “Didn’t hear you complain a couple of minutes ago.”

  The reference to the passionate kiss they’d shared made her cheeks tinge. Interesting. She hadn’t seemed shy when she was kissing him back. Urgent need resurfaced quickly at the memory. “Lauryn—”

  She backed away from him, an intriguing creature of the night that begged further investigating. “Good night.”

  He hated to see her go, something he needed to consider later. He was going to have to straighten out his thinking and his unexpected attraction to her the first chance he had.

  “Fine. Go back to your room and stay there,” he told her. “How are your stings?” he asked belatedly, more than ready to give her thighs a close inspection.

  Her impertinent response was, “None of your business.”

  As soon as she was gone, he called security to meet her in the hallway, escort her to her room and stand guard in front of her door until he sent for her in the morning. Then he stretched out in his bed, his arms folded under his head.

  He could still taste her on his lips.

  He had a couple of hours left until dawn, but sleep didn’t come easily. It didn’t come at all, in fact. So he got up at five, washed and called for a car and armed escort, then left for Porto Paphos without breakfast. He would wait for his br
others on the ship. It would take hours before he had the whole thing searched anyway. Beyond recovering the royal treasure, he also wanted to find some clues as to who was behind the heist. He wanted the man who’d ordered it.

  He called the estate just as his car rolled into the harbor. Port Authority was already there, waiting for him. He could make out the Turkish ship by one of the loading docks.

  On the phone, he talked to the guard in front of Lauryn’s room, asking him to check on her. He could hear knocking. Knocking again. “Miss Steler?”

  He heard the key being turned in the lock and the door opening. Then silence for a moment.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness. She doesn’t seem to be here. I can’t find her,” came the worried, embarrassed reply from the other end.

  Pretty much what he had expected.

  Chapter Seven

  He hated to be right about her. Right in some ways, in any case. Wrong in others. She’d turned out to be an exceptional woman, possessing a lot more than the criminal brilliance he’d first attributed to her. For a second, as he walked across the shipyard, Istvan imagined what it would be like to work with her on a dig, deciphering ancient messages carved in stone. Her mind would be flying a mile a minute, that rapture of discovery on her face…

  To work with her like that would be nothing short of exhilarating, he thought, and felt guilty. He’d used to do fieldwork with Amalia and he’d never once thought of her in those terms. He appreciated the warm companion ship Amalia had provided, but his head had never been as full of her as it was with Lauryn. Even now, steps from reclaiming Valtria’s royal treasures, she was the only thing he could think of, the way she’d come to his room in the middle of the night, the way her face lit up at the sight of the Maltmore diary.

  The things that could have happened between them under different circumstances…

  He could still feel her lithe body under his, taste her mouth, hear her laugh, hear her repeat some lines of the text. “The wealth of the nation is on the head of the ruler,” she’d said.