Her Unforgettable Royal Lover

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Her Unforgettable Royal Lover Page 12

by Merline Lovelace


  “I’ll treat every page with care and reverence,” he promised solemnly.

  She flushed at little at the teasing but stood her ground. “You’d better. We archivists don’t take kindly to anyone who desecrates our files.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take Dom long to realize Natalie could land a job with any investigative agency in the world, including Interpol. She hadn’t just researched facts about lost cultural treasures. She’d tracked every rumor, followed every thread. Some threads were so thin they appeared to have no relation to the object of her research. Yet in at least two of the files he dug through, those seemingly unrelated, unconnected tidbits of information led to a major find.

  “Jesus,” Dom muttered after following a particularly convoluted trail. “Do you remember this?”

  She swiveled around and frowned at a scanned photo depicting a two-inch-long cylinder inscribed with hieroglyphics. “Looks familiar. It’s Babylonian, isn’t it? About two thousand years old, I’d guess.”

  “You’d guess right.”

  “What’s the story on it?”

  “It went missing in Iraq in 2003, shortly after Saddam Hussein was toppled.”

  “Oh, I remember now. I found a reference to a similar object in a list of items being offered for sale by a little-known dealer. Best I recall, he claimed he specialized in Babylonian artifacts.”

  She rubbed her forehead, trying to dredge up more detail. Dom helped her out.

  “You sent him a request for a more detailed description of that particular item. When it came in, you matched it to a list the US Army compiled of Iraqi antiquities that were unaccounted for.”

  “I can’t remember…did the army recover the artifact?”

  He flipped through several pages of notes and correspondence. “They did. They also arrested the contractor employee who’d lifted it during recovery efforts at the Baghdad Archeological Museum.”

  “Well! Maybe I’m not so pathetic after all.”

  She turned back to the laptop with a smug little smile that crushed the last of Dom’s doubts. Those two inches of inscribed Babylonian clay were damned near priceless. If Natalie was into shady deals, she wouldn’t have alerted the army to her find. The fact that she had convinced Dom. Whatever screwup had led to her arrest, she was no hacker or huckster.

  He dug into the next folder and soon found himself absorbed in the search for a thirteenth-century gold chalice studded with emeralds that once graced the altar of an Irish abbey. He was only halfway through the thick file when he glanced up and saw Natalie’s shoulders drooping again, this time with fatigue. So much for his anticipation of another lively session under the featherbed. He closed the folder, careful not to dislodge any of its contents, and stretched.

  “That’s it for me tonight.”

  She frowned at the remaining files. “We’ve still got a half dozen to go through.”

  “Tomorrow. Right now, I need bed, sleep and you. Not necessarily in that order, although you look as whipped as I feel.”

  “I might be able to summon a few reserves of energy.”

  “You do that,” he said as he headed for the bathroom.

  His five-o’clock shadow had morphed into a ten-o’clock bristle. He’d scraped Natalie’s tender cheeks enough the first time around. He better shave and go a little more gentle on her this time. But when he reentered the bedroom a scant ten minutes later, she was curled in a tight ball under the featherbed and sawing soft, breathy Z’s.

  Taking advantage of the opportunity, he settled at the desk. His conscience didn’t even ping as he powered up her laptop. Forty minutes later he’d seen everything he needed to. His skills weren’t as honed as those of the wizards in Interpol’s Computer Crimes Division, but they were good enough for him to feel confident she wasn’t hacking into unauthorized databases or shifting money into hidden accounts. Everything he saw indicated she’d lived well within her salary as an archivist for the State of Illinois and was now socking most of the generous salary Sarah paid her into a savings account.

  Satisfied and more than a little relieved to have his instincts validated, Dom shed his clothes and slid in beside her lax, warm body. He was tempted to nudge her awake and treat himself to a celebration of his nonfindings. He restrained himself but it required a heroic effort.

  * * *

  Natalie woke to bright morning sunshine, the distant clang of cowbells and a feeling of energy and purpose. She ascribed the last to a solid night’s sleep—until she tried to roll over and realized she probably owed it more to the solid wall of male behind her.

  God, he felt good! What’s more, he made her feel good. Just lying nested against his warmth and strength generated all kinds of wild possibilities. Like maybe waking up in the same nest for the next few weeks or months. Or even, her sneaky little subconscious suggested, years.

  The thought struck her that Dominic St. Sebastian might be all she needed to feel complete. All she would ever need. Apparently, she had no family. Judging by the dearth of personal emails on her laptop, she didn’t have a wide circle of friends. Yet lying here with Dom, she didn’t feel the lack of either.

  Maybe that’s why the details of her personal life were so slow returning. Her life was so empty, so blah, she didn’t want to remember it. That made her grimace, which must have translated into some small movement because a lazy voice sounded just behind her ear.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

  Sheets rustling, she angled a look over her shoulder and sighed. “It’s not fair.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “My eyes feel goopy from sleep, my hair’s probably sticking out in all directions and I know my teeth need brushing. You, on the other hand, look fresh and wide-awake and good enough to eat.”

  Good enough to gobble whole, actually. Those black eyes and hair, the golden-oak hue of his skin, the square chin and chiseled cheekbones…the whole package added up to something really spectacular to start the day with. Only the nicks and scars of his profession marred the perfection.

  “In fact,” she announced, “I think I’ll have you for breakfast.”

  She rolled onto her side, trying not to treat him to a blast of morning breath, and wiggled down a few inches. She started with the underside of his jaw and slowly worked her way south. Teasing, tasting, nibbling the cords in his neck, dropping kisses on alternate ribs, circling his belly button with her tongue. By the time she dragged the sheets down to his hips, he was stiff and rampant.

  Her own belly tight and quivering now, she circled him with her palm. The skin was hot and satin smooth, the blood throbbing in his veins. She slid her hand up, down, up again, delighted when he grunted and jerked involuntarily.

  “Okay,” she told him, her voice throaty with desire, “I need a little of that action.”

  All thought of ratty hair and goopy eyes forgotten, she swung a leg over his thighs and raised her hips. Dom was straining and eager but held her off long enough to tear into another foil package.

  “Let me,” she said, brushing his hands aside.

  She rolled on the condom, then positioned her hips again. Together they rode to an explosive release that had him thrusting upward and her collapsing onto his chest in mindless, mewling pleasure.

  * * *

  Natalie recovered first. Probably because she had to pee really, really bad. She scooped up her jeans and the green-and-white-striped rugby shirt she now claimed as her own on the way to the bathroom. When she emerged, she found Dom dressed and waiting for his turn.

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Since she wasn’t sure whether they would return to the gasthaus, she stuffed the files and laptop back into her briefcase and threw her few miscellaneous items into her weekender. The sight of those plain, sensible, neatly folded blouses made her wrinkle her nose. Whatever happened when—if—she regained her memory, she was investing in an entire new wardrobe.

  Dom agreed that it was probably
better to check out of the gasthaus and head back to Budapest after going up to the castle. “But first, we’ll eat. I guarantee you’ve never tasted anything like Lisel’s bauernfrühstück.”

  “Which is?”

  “Her version of a German-Austrian-Hungarian farmer’s breakfast.”

  Their hostess gave them a cheerful smile when they appeared in the dining room and waved them to a table. She was serving two other diners, locals by the looks of them, and called across the room.

  “Frühstück, ja?”

  “Ja,” Dom called back as he and Natalie helped themselves to the coffee and fresh juice set out on an elaborately carved hutch.

  A short time later Lisel delivered her special. Natalie gaped at the platter-size omelette bursting with fried potatoes, onions, leeks, ham and pungent Munster cheese. The Hungarian input came from the pulpy, stewed tomatoes flavored with red peppers and the inevitable paprika.

  When their hostess returned with a basket of freshly baked rolls and a crock of homemade elderberry jam, she lingered long enough to knuckle Dom’s shoulder affectionately.

  “So you leave us today?”

  His mouth full, Dom nodded.

  “You must come again soon.” The blonde’s amethyst eyes twinkled as she included his companion in the invitation. “You, as well. You and Dominic found the bed in my front room comfortable, yes?”

  Natalie could feel heat rushing into her cheeks but had to laugh. “Very comfortable.”

  * * *

  With a respectable portion of her gargantuan breakfast disposed of and the innkeeper’s warm farewells to speed them on their way, Natalie’s spirits rose with every twist and turn of the road that snaked up to the mountain pass. Something had drawn her to the ruins dominating the skyline ahead. She felt it in her bones, in the excitement bubbling through her veins. Impatience had her straining against her seat belt as Dom turned off the main road onto the single lane that led to what was left of Karlenburgh Castle.

  The lane had once been paved but over the years frost heaves had buckled the asphalt and weeds now sprouted in the cracks. The weedy approach took nothing away from the dramatic aspect of the ruins, however. They rose from a base of solid granite, looking as though they’d been carved from the mountain itself. To the west was a breath-stealing vista of the snow-covered Austrian Alps. To the east, a series of stair-stepping terraces that must once have contained gardens, vineyards and orchards. The terraces ended abruptly in a sheer drop to the valley below.

  Natalie’s heart was pounding by the time Dom pulled up a few yards from the outer wall. The wind slapped her in the face when she got out of the car and knifed through the rugby shirt.

  “Here, put this on.”

  Dom held up the jacket he’d retrieved from the backseat. She slid her arms into the sleeves and wrapped its warmth around her gratefully.

  “Watch your step,” he warned as they approached a gap in the outer ring of rubble. “A massive portcullis used to guard this gate, but the Soviets claimed the iron for scrap—along with everything else of any value. Then,” he said, his voice grim, “they set charges and destroyed the castle itself as a warning to other Hungarians foolish enough to join the uprising.”

  Someone had cleared a path through the rubble of the outer bailey. “My grandfather,” Dom explained, “with help from some locals.”

  Grasping her elbow to guide her over the rough spots, he pointed out the charred timbers and crumpled walls of the dairy, what had been the kitchens in earlier centuries, and the stables-turned-carriage house and garage.

  Another gate led to what would have been the inner courtyard. The rubble was too dense here to penetrate but she could see the outline of the original structure in the tumbled walls. The only remaining turret jutted up like a broken tooth, its roof blown and stone staircase exposed to the sky. Natalie hooked her arm through Dom’s and let her gaze roam the desolation while he described the castle he himself had seen only in drawings and family photographs.

  “Karlenburgh wasn’t as large as some border fortresses of the same era. Only thirty-six rooms originally, including the armory, the great hall and the duke and duchess’s chambers. Successive generations of St. Sebastians installed modern conveniences like indoor plumbing and electric lights, but for comfort and luxury the family usually wintered in their palazzos on the Italian Riviera or the Dalmatian Coast.” A smile lightened his somber expression. “My grandfather had a photo of him and his cousin dunking each other in the Mediterranean. They were very close as children, he and the last Grand Duke.”

  “Except,” Natalie said, squeezing his arm with hers, “he wasn’t the last Grand Duke.”

  For once Dominic didn’t grimace or shrug or otherwise downplay his heritage. He couldn’t, with its very dramatic remains staring him in the face.

  “I’ve told the duchess she should come back for a visit,” he murmured almost to himself. “But seeing it like this…”

  They stood with shoulders hunched against the wind, Dom thinking of the duchess and Natalie searching the ruins for something to jog her memory. What had drawn her here? What had she found among the rubble that propelled her from here to Győr and onto that damned boat?

  It was there, just behind the veil. She knew it was there! But she was damned if she could pull it out. Disappointment ate into her, doubly sharp and bitter after her earlier excitement.

  Dom glanced down and must have read the frustration in her face. “Nothing?” he asked gently.

  “Just a sort of vague, prickly sensation,” she admitted, “which may or may not be goose bumps raised by the cold.”

  “Whichever it is, we’d best get you out of the wind.”

  Dejected and deflated and feeling dangerously close to tears, she picked her way back through the rubble. She’d been so sure Karlenburgh Castle was the key. So certain she’d break through once she stood among the ruins.

  Lost in her glum thoughts, her eyes on the treacherous path, it took a moment for a distant, tinny clanging to penetrate her preoccupation. When it did, her head jerked up. That sound! That metallic tinkling! She’d heard it before, and not long ago.

  Her heart started pumping. Her mouth went dry. Feeling as though she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, she followed the clanging to a string of goats meandering along the overgrown lane in their direction. A gnarled gnome of a man trailed the flock. His face was shadowed by the wide brim of his hat and he leaned heavily on a burled wood staff.

  “That’s old Friedrich,” Dom exclaimed. “He helped tend the castle’s goats as a small boy and now raises his own. Those are cou noirs—black necks—especially noted for their sweet milk. My grandfather always stopped by Friedrich’s hut to buy cheese when he brought Zia and me back for a visit.”

  Natalie stood frozen as Dom forged a path through the goats to greet their herder. She didn’t move, couldn’t! Even when the lead animals milled inquisitively around her knees. True to their name, their front quarters were black, the rest of their coat a grayish-white. The does were gentle creatures but some instinct told Natalie to keep a wary eye on the buck accompanying them.

  A bit of trivia slipped willy-nilly into her mind. She’d read somewhere that Alpine goats were among the earliest domesticated animals. Also that their adaptability made them good candidates for long sea voyages. Early settlers in the Americas had brought this breed with them to supply milk and cheese. And sea captains would often leave a pair on deserted islands along their trade routes to provide fresh milk and meat on return voyages.

  Suddenly, the curtains in her mind parted. Not all the way. Just far enough for her to know she hadn’t picked up that bit of trivia “somewhere.” She’d specifically researched Alpine goats on Google after… After…

  Her gaze shot to the herder hobbling alongside Dom, a smile on his wrinkled walnut of a face. Excitement rushed back, so swift and thrilling she was shaking with it when Friedrich smiled and greeted her in a mix of German and heavily accented English.

/>   “Guten tag, fraülein. Es gut to see you again.”

  Eleven

  Natalie had spent all those hours soul- and mind- and computer-searching. She’d tried desperately to latch on to something, anything, that would trigger her memory. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that trigger would consist of a herd of smelly goats and a wizened little man in a floppy felt hat. Yet the moment Friedrich greeted her in his fractured English, the dam broke.

  Images flooded the empty spaces in her mind. Her, standing almost on this same spot. The goatherd, inquiring kindly if she was lost. These same gray-white does butting her knees. The buck giving her the evil eye. A casual chat that sent her off on a wild chase.

  “Guten tag, Herr Müller.” Her voice shook with excitement. “Es gut to see you again, too.”

  Dom had already picked up on the goatherd’s greeting to Natalie. Her reply snapped his brows together. “When did you and Friedrich meet?”

  “A week ago! Right here, at the castle! I remember him, Dom. I remember the goats and the bells and Herr Müller asking if I was lost. Then…then…”

  She was so close to hyperventilating she had to stop and drag in a long, hiccuping breath. Müller looked confused by the rapid-fire exchange, so Natalie forced herself to slow down, space the words, contain the hysterical joy that bubbled to the surface.

  “Then we sat there, on that wall, and you told me about the castle before the Soviets came. About the balls and the hunting parties and the tree-lighting ceremony in the great hall. Everyone from the surrounding villages was invited, you said. On Christmas Eve. Uh…Heiliger Abend.”

  “Ja, ja, Heiliger Abend.”

  “When I mentioned that I’d met the duchess in New York, you told me that you remember when she came to Karlenburgh Castle as a bride. So young and beautiful and gracious to everyone, even the knock-kneed boy who helped tend the goats.”

  She had to stop and catch her breath again. She could see the scene from last week so clearly now, every detail as though etched in glass. The weeds poking from the cracks in the road. The goats wandering through the rubble. This hunched-shouldered man in his gray felt hat, his gnarled hands folded atop the head of his walking stick, describing Karlenburgh Castle in its glory days.

 

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