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The Princess's Bodyguard
BEVERLY BARTON
This arrogant, ill-mannered American was hardly the sort of man Princess Adele of Orlantha was used to encountering in her world of wealth and privilege.And yet Matt O'Brien was all that stood between her and the deadly conspiracy that threatened everything she held dear. Her only hope was a marriage - in name only - to her self-appointed "protector."But to be so very intimate with this infuriating yet dangerously compelling man was almost more than she could bear - because their masquerade was turning into a passion that was all too real.



“Will you do it, Matt?” Princess Adele asked anxiously. “Will you marry me?”
Matt leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. “I’ll probably regret it, but…yeah, I’ll marry you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll be in your debt forever.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He opened his eyes just a fraction. “Six months after the annulment, you’ll barely remember my name.”
“That’s not true. I’ll always—” She stopped abruptly.
From across the room, Matt kept watching her. He simply couldn’t take his eyes off her. And the more he tried to push aside thoughts of her, the more vivid those thoughts became. He could taste her lips, feel her body, hear her soft whimpers.
She kept telling him no, but the look in her eyes said something else. That look said, I want you. Even though I know we’re all wrong for each other, I want you….
Dear Reader,
Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments starts its month off with a bang, thanks to Beverly Barton’s The Princess’s Bodyguard, another in this author’s enormously popular miniseries THE PROTECTORS. A princess used to royal suitors has to “settle” for an in-name-only marriage to her commoner bodyguard. Or maybe she isn’t settling at all? Look for more Protectors in On Her Guard, Beverly Barton’s Single Title, coming next month.
ROMANCING THE CROWN continues with Sarah’s Knight by Mary McBride. An arrogant palace doctor finds he needs help himself when his little boy stops speaking. To the rescue: a beautiful nanny sent to work with the child—but who winds up falling for the good doctor himself. And in Candace Irvin’s Crossing the Line, an army pilot crash-lands, and she and her surviving passenger—a handsome captain—deal simultaneously with their attraction to each other and the ongoing crash investigation. Virginia Kantra begins her TROUBLE IN EDEN miniseries with All a Man Can Do, in which a police chief finds himself drawn to the reporter who is the sister of a prime murder suspect. In The Cop Next Door by Jenna Mills, a woman back in town to unlock the secrets of her past runs smack into the stubborn town sheriff. And Melissa James makes her debut with Her Galahad, in which a woman who thought her first husband was dead finds herself on the run from her abusive second husband. And who should come to her rescue but Husband Number One—not so dead after all!
Enjoy, and be sure to come back next month for more of the excitement and passion, right here in Intimate Moments.


Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor

The Princess’s Bodyguard
Beverly Barton



BEVERLY BARTON
has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated book of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker, aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of over thirty-five books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and has made the Waldenbooks and USA TODAY bestseller lists.
To LJ, Linda, Gayle and Leslie, thanks for all the fun and laughter, all the shared moments, the shared confidences and the friendships I treasure.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue

Prologue
W hat he needed was some fun, Matt O’Brien decided. A week of wine, women and song. And what better place to enjoy himself than here in Paris. He’d checked into the hotel the night before, arriving from Switzerland on an evening flight. His latest assignment had left him in bad need of a vacation, so he hoped to spend a week in France, seeing the sights and enjoying the company of at least one or two lovely mademoiselles. When he opened the door to allow room service to roll in the breakfast cart, he lifted his index finger to his lips in a silent request for the waiter to enter quietly. Matt nodded toward the man sleeping in one of the double beds. The waiter bobbed his head up and down and smiled. Matt signed for the meal. As soon as the waiter left, Matt poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to take a look at the latest edition of Le Monde, the Paris newspaper he’d requested.
Being able to speak several languages—adequately if not fluently—was a plus in his business. He’d been an agent for the Dundee Security and Investigation Agency, based in Atlanta, Georgia, for several years now, after serving his country in the Air Force for more than ten years. Since the agency’s reputation as “the best in the U.S.” had become known worldwide, more and more requests were coming in from foreign countries. That’s how he and Worth Cordell, his fellow Dundee agent, had wound up in Switzerland investigating the disappearance of a wealthy Swiss banker. They’d been hired by the man’s daughter, who hadn’t been satisfied with the way the local authorities had dealt with her father’s case. In the end, Matt had risked his life to protect Maura Ottokar, whose stepmother had arranged the murder of her husband and had intended to kill Maura, too, as she was the only other heir to the man’s fortune.
Matt propped his feet on the ottoman, flipped open the newspaper and scanned the headlines. He had discovered that reading foreign newspapers was a great way to practice his language skills. As he sipped the coffee and indulged in a delicious pastry, a headline caught his eye. The engagement of Princess Adele of Orlantha to Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald, was announced by King Leopold. Matt chuckled. Why any modern-thinking people would allow themselves to be ruled by a monarchy seemed implausible to him. It was one thing for the monarchy to be a figurehead and another if they were part of the governing power, as they were in the Rhode-Island-size country of Orlantha. In the equally small neighboring principality of Balanchine, the monarchy was the absolute governing body. From time to time news about these two little squabbling countries that had been one country two hundred years ago became a front-page item.
“What’s so damn funny?” Worth Cordell rolled over in bed, opened his eyes and glared at Matt.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Matt grinned. Worth didn’t. The Switzerland assignment had been the first the two men had shared, and Matt had found out rather quickly that his comrade-in-arms wasn’t the friendly good-ol’-boy type like Jack Parker, a former Dundee agent who’d been a hell of a lot of fun when they’d shared assignments. Worth was a quiet, withdrawn man, with a deadly stare that could destroy an opponent a good twenty feet away. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t gamble and, as far as Matt could tell, didn’t womanize. And he didn’t share war stories or personal confidences with his co-workers. All Matt knew about the big, rugged loner was that he stood six-four, had originally come from Arkansas and had once been a Green Beret Ranger.
Worth rolled out of bed wearing only a pair of cotton boxers, but quickly slipped into the faded jeans he’d hung across the back of a nearby chair.
“Hey, are you sure you don’t want to stay on in Paris with me?” Matt called as Worth disappeared into the bathroom. “Couldn’t you use some R & R before your next assignment?”
Worth didn’t respond. Matt shrugged. The guy could be downright unfriendly. After finishing off the pastry and coffee, Matt refilled his cup and returned his interest to the newspaper. He glanced at the picture of the princess and her betrothed. The guy was gangly, with a long, narrow face and a bored expression. A real toad. He had the appearance of a guy whose gene pool included a little inbreeding. On the other hand the princess looked like…well, like a princess. Petite, small-boned, fragile. And lovely.
But there was something else about her. She didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked more like a condemned woman than a bride-to-be.
Worth emerged from the bathroom, his auburn hair damp and his dark eyes wide open. “How’s the coffee?”
“Not bad.”
Worth poured himself a cup and sat across from Matt in the chair at the desk. “Are you about finished with the paper?”
“Just started looking,” Matt said. “This—” he held up the page to show Worth “—caught my eye.”
“I didn’t know you were a royal watcher.” Worth brought the cup to his lips.
Matt chuckled. “I’m not. I just happened to notice the headline.” Matt folded the paper in two and tossed it to Worth, who caught it midair.
“My French isn’t too good,” Worth admitted.
“Why don’t you call the front desk and have them bring up a copy of the—”
“Nah.” Worth flopped the paper down on the desk, opened it and scanned the page. “Am I reading this right? These two have been engaged since they were kids?”
“Politics,” Matt said. “Makes you wonder what century those people are living in, doesn’t it?”
Worth turned the page. “I’m catching the next flight back to Atlanta,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “While you were down in the bar last night, I called Ellen and she already has my next assignment lined up.”
What was it with this guy? Matt wondered. Ever since he’d joined the Dundee Agency over a year ago, he’d gone from one assignment to the next, without a break. Didn’t he ever rest? Ever have any fun?
“Have you got something against taking a day off?” Matt asked. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Worth didn’t glance up from the paper. “I prefer working.”
“Yeah, well, to each his own. I for one plan to whoop and holler a little while I’m in Paris.”
Worth continued glancing through the paper, for all intents and purposes ignoring Matt. Hell, with an attitude like that, Matt was glad Worth wasn’t going to stay on. The guy was a real stick-in-the-mud. Matt leaned back, folded his hands behind his head and slowly closed his eyelids. Instantly a pair of dark eyes set in a sad little face appeared in his mind. The unhappy princess. Maybe here in Paris he’d meet someone half as pretty as Princess Adele. But a tempting little tidbit of Parisian fluff wouldn’t be able to compare to the princess. Her full, pouting mouth materialized in his mind. Damn, he could almost taste her.
Matt’s eyelids flew open. What was the matter with him, daydreaming about a rich, snobbish woman who would never give a guy like him the time of day? But there was something about her that made her unforgettable. Was it the beauty or the sadness? Or a combination of the two?
Matt grunted. He knew two things. One, no woman was unforgettable. Two, if he was the princess’s fiancé, she’d be smiling.

Adele Reynard, heir to the throne of Orlantha, packed quickly, intending to take only the bare necessities and one change of clothes. She could buy whatever she needed once she and Yves were safely across the border. Ordinarily Adele wasn’t the type to run away; she believed in standing up against tyranny and fighting to the finish. But in this case her father had taken away all other options. If she remained in Orlantha, she would be forced to marry Dedrick—which was a fate worse than death. Not only did she personally dislike the pompous ass, she had recently come to distrust him. And even to fear him.
“Yves is here,” Lisa Mercer said. “He is parked at the back entrance. He told the guards that he’s here to pick me up for our date.”
Lisa, Adele’s secretary for the past seven years, handed her the red wig styled in an identical fashion to Lisa’s short, stylish hairdo. “Here, put this on. It’s the finishing touch.” Adele took the wig, slipped it over her short, curly locks that she’d dampened slightly and combed as flat as possible against her scalp. Lisa surveyed Adele from wig to chunky sandals. “Perfect. With my clothes, shoes and now the wig, you could easily pass for me. Well, at least from a distance. You’re not quite as tall and your eyes are brown where mine are green, but—”
“Once I’m gone, do not give away anything about where I’ve gone or with whom. Swear to my father and to Lord Burhardt that you have no idea where I went,” Adele said. “Give my father this.” Adele picked up the envelope off her bed and handed it to Lisa. “I’ve written him a very brief letter telling him that I refuse to marry Dedrick and that I will not return home until he agrees to call off the wedding.”
“If King Leopold suspects that I helped you—that I’m the one who contacted Yves for you—then when you return you may find me exiled or in prison.” Lisa’s lips curved into a smile.
Adele hugged Lisa. “If Father finds out that you helped me, you have my permission to assure him that you had no idea what I planned to do and you were simply following my instructions.”
“Please, Your Highness, be careful.” Lisa followed Adele out into the hallway. “If what you suspect about the duke is true, your life could be in danger.”
Clutching her small suitcase, Adele paused, glanced over her shoulder and said, “I won’t be able to contact you for a while, but please tell Pippin that I can be contacted through Dia Constantine in Golnar. Any important messages can be sent through her. I hope he is able to unearth some solid evidence against Dedrick that I can take to my father.”
Lisa nodded. “I’ll send a message to him as soon as I can.”
Adele hurried up the hallway and down the back stairs. At this time of night the entire kitchen staff would be in bed, so she felt relatively safe going through the kitchen and out the back way. Her heart beat erratically as she made her way outside to the service lane behind the castle. A black Ferrari waited, the lights off, the motor running. A tall, lanky blond jumped out of the sports car, grabbed Adele’s small case, tossed it into the trunk, then opened the passenger door for her. Once inside, Yves Jurgen leaned across the console and kissed Adele’s cheek.
“Chère, what a marvelous disguise,” Yves said. “Who would ever suspect that underneath those funky clothes and boyish hairdo is the ultrachic and very traditional princess?”
“Did the guards buy your story?”
“But of course.” Yves revved the motor. “I am a consummate actor, am I not?”
“You’re what the Americans call a big ham.” Adele fastened her seat belt.
Yves clutched his shirt where it lay over his heart. “You wound me, my dear princess.”
“Enough of this,” she told him. “We must leave now. If my father finds out that I’m trying to escape, he’ll lock me away and put guards at my door until the wedding.”
Yves changed gears and headed the Ferrari toward the long drive that took them to the tall, imperial gates that separated the royal grounds from the city of Erembourg.
“Your papa will be furious when he discovers you have fled,” Yves said. “It is a good thing for me that there is nothing he can do to harm me or ruin my good reputation.”
“What good reputation?” Adele said teasingly. Yves Jurgen was known internationally as “The Playboy of Europe.” Impossibly arrogant and a heartbreaker extraordinaire, Yves had tried unsuccessfully to woo her when she was twenty. But once he’d realized she was one woman he would never bed, he graciously accepted her friendship. If he had been her lover, Yves would have moved on to other women long ago, but as a friend, oddly enough, he was steadfast and loyal.
“You do have a point, my sweet Adele.”
When the guards glanced into the car, Adele slunk lower in the seat and pretended to be engrossed in straightening her short, leather skirt. Yves smiled, waved and spoke to the uniformed guards. When the gates opened, Adele breathed a sigh of relief.
“The first hurdle passed,” Yves said as the gates closed behind them. “And once we’re over the border, we should be safe. I’ll have you in Vienna before dawn.”
Adele laid her head back and closed her eyes, wondering how long she would be safe at Yves’s estate outside Vienna. A week, two at the most? Sooner or later someone would leak the information to the press. One of his servants or an acquaintance. She needed to call Dia in a few days to let her know what was going on, that if necessary she might have to seek sanctuary in Golnar, where not even her father’s powerful influence could touch her.
Come morning, her disappearance would disrupt the palace. The king would be outraged, and no one, not even his wife or his chief advisor, Lord Burhardt, would be able to calm him. She wasn’t sure exactly what her father would do, but she knew one thing for certain—he would do whatever necessary to bring her home in time for the wedding. But she was equally determined to elude her father’s search and find a way to prove to him not only how unsuitable Dedrick was for her but how dangerous Dedrick was to Orlantha.

Chapter 1
K ing Leopold crushed the letter in his meaty hand as he paced back and forth in his private chambers. With a mane of steel-gray hair and hypnotizing dark eyes, the ruler of Orlantha was still a handsome man at sixty. Six feet tall, with wide shoulders and thick chest, he emitted an aura of regal power. The willowy blond Queen Muriel, the king’s second wife and twenty years his junior, wrung her hands as she watched her husband and kept repeating the same caution. “Now, dear, don’t upset yourself.” Lisa waited, as she’d been instructed, her back ramrod straight and her chin tilted upward. Princess Adele had trusted her to keep her whereabouts a secret, and she intended to do just that. But considering how upset His Majesty was she wished that she had not been the one to deliver the letter.
The king’s health had been failing for the past several years, after his heart attack and bypass surgery. Only last year he had made a monumental decision—to abdicate the throne in favor of Princess Adele, upon her marriage to the duke. This decision was made when his doctors advised the king to reduce the stress in his life, and when it became apparent that the queen, after ten years of marriage, would not be giving the king a son to rule the kingdom.
Princess Adele was greatly admired and loved by the citizens of Orlantha. Poised, graceful, intelligent and charming, she was seen by her people as the ideal princess. A reformer and progressive thinker at heart, Adele worked diligently to help improve conditions in Orlantha, and her participation in social and charity organizations was legendary. Lisa knew that Orlantha would welcome Adele as queen with great celebration. The elected members of the council, who coruled the country with the monarch, also respected the princess, who supported the continuation of joint leadership. Pippin Ritter, vice chancellor of the council, had come to Princess Adele months ago with the information that Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald, was a suspected member of a secret society called the Royalists, with ties to Balanchine. The Royalists’ objective was to reunite Orlantha and Balanchine under one monarch, who would be the supreme ruler after abolishing the elected council. Balanchine’s King Eduard was nearly eighty and had no heir. By a suspicious coincidence, Dedrick Vardan’s mother was King Eduard’s cousin.
“How dare Adele make such a demand! She says that she will not return home unless I call off her wedding to Dedrick. The very idea. I will not allow her to get away with blackmail.” King Leopold stopped, glared at Lisa and asked, “Do you have any idea where she went?”
Lisa swallowed hard. “No, Your Majesty. She simply commanded me to give you the letter.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop her?” the king asked.
“Sire, you must know that once the princess makes up her mind, no one can persuade her otherwise.”
Attired in a tailored navy-blue suit, Lord Sidney Burhardt, the king’s chief advisor—and some said second only in power to the king—clicked his heels after entering the room. All eyes turned to Lord Burhardt. He had the bearing of a soldier, which he had once been, and an air of superiority that immediately put others in their place. Add to those qualities his white-blond hair, cut conservatively short, and icy-blue eyes, and the chief advisor had the appearance of a Nazi SS officer as depicted in American films about World War II.
“Miss Mercer,” Lord Burhardt said. Lisa trembled. “Why did you not come directly to the king…or to me…before the princess left? If you had warned us, we could have prevented her from leaving.”
“As you well know, my first loyalty is to the princess.” Lisa looked directly at the king, judiciously avoiding eye contact with the chief advisor.
“Yes, yes, of course your loyalty is to the princess, as it should be.” The king looked at Lord Burhardt. “Just as your first loyalty is to me. So, do not badger poor Lisa. I’m thankful that Adele at least left a letter. Otherwise I might have continued thinking she had been kidnapped.”
“Yes, of course. We’re all thankful that the princess left the palace of her own accord,” Lord Burhardt replied. “But if the news is leaked to the press…if the people discover that she has fled only weeks before her wedding… I do wish Miss Mercer had tried to persuade the princess to stay—”
“How could we expect Adele’s secretary to be able to control her when I, her father, am unable to do anything with her? She’s a stubborn, willful girl. But in this matter she will comply with my wishes. She will marry Dedrick one month from this Saturday!”
“Then, Your Majesty, I suggest we—” Lord Burhardt said, but was quickly cut short by the king.
“Send for Colonel Rickard immediately,” the king commanded.
“My dear, why send for the chief of security now that Adele has already slipped past his guards?” Muriel asked.
King Leopold glared at his wife, who shrank away from him and cast her gaze to the floor.
“I’ll call for Colonel Rickard,” Lord Burhardt said.
King Leopold walked over, placed his arm around his wife’s shoulders and hugged her affectionately. She lifted her face and smiled at him.
Lisa’s stomach knotted painfully. Would Colonel Rickard question her? Would he figure out that the princess had left the palace disguised as her?
Within five minutes the tall, slender chief of palace security stood before the king, an embarrassed flush on his pale face. Lisa felt sorry for Colonel Rickard. After all, it had been on his watch, so to speak, that the princess had managed to leave the palace grounds without detection—and without her palace guards.
“The princess has not been kidnapped,” the king said.
Colonel Rickard sighed; his lips twitched with a grateful half smile. “Then you’ve heard from her, Your Majesty?”
King Leopold held up the crushed letter and pointed it at Colonel Rickard as if it were a weapon. “The damn fool girl has run off and says in this message—” he shook his clenched fist “—that she will not return until I call off her wedding to Dedrick.”
“This information is strictly confidential.” Lord Burhardt offered first the colonel and then Lisa a deadly, warning glare. “It is to go no further than the people in this room.”
“Quite right,” the king said. “Colonel, I want the princess found and brought home as soon as possible. How do you suggest we go about accomplishing this without alerting the press in any way? Things must be handled discreetly. A scandal must be averted!”
“I understand, Your Majesty,” the colonel said. “I suggest hiring a private firm to track down the princess and, with your permission, bring her home even if it means taking her against her will.”
“A private firm? Hmm.” The king rubbed his chin. “A firm outside of Orlantha? Yes, yes. A trusted firm with operatives who know how to keep their mouths shut.”
“I will make some discreet inquiries, sire, and have suggestions for you within the hour.” The colonel bowed.
King Leopold waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, go. Now. And hurry. We have no time to lose.” The minute the colonel bowed again and then exited the chambers, the king turned to Lord Burhardt. “Issue a statement that the princess has the flu and is confined to her quarters. Contact Dr. Latimer and instruct him to come to the palace this morning.”
Lord Burhardt bowed, clicked his heels and left. Lisa waited, praying the king would dismiss her. She needed to contact Pippin Ritter as soon as possible to tell him where the princess was and to pass along the information she’d left for him.
The king slumped down on a huge, ornate chair by the fireplace. The queen came to him, leaned over the chair and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Please rest, my dear.” Queen Muriel patted her husband tenderly. “Adele will be found and returned home. All will be well.”
The king glanced at Lisa. “She told me that she didn’t love Dedrick. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Some romantic nonsense. I assured her that she would grow to care for Dedrick. The man has several sterling qualities. He’s intelligent, quick-witted, charming, and his bloodlines are pure. I refuse to believe that it’s anything more than prewedding jitters with Adele.”
Lisa remained quiet, aware that she had no right to voice an opinion. She thought Dedrick was only fairly intelligent, and he was seldom charming except when in the king’s presence. Those who knew him well were aware that he drank to excess, gambled and womanized. Hardly sterling qualities.
“Adele told me some ludicrous story about suspecting Dedrick of treason,” the king said. “She thinks he’s one of those damn Royalists who wants us to reunite with Balanchine. I told her there was no point in her fabricating lies about him.”
“Sire, what if…what if they aren’t lies?” Lisa expected an outraged cry from the king, but instead he simply stared at her as if she were speaking in an alien tongue.
“You’re dismissed,” the king said. “If you hear from Adele… Never mind. She won’t telephone the palace.”
Lisa curtsied, then fled as quickly as possible. Once securely locked in her private quarters in the princess’s wing of the palace, she used her cell phone to contact Vice Chancellor Ritter. He needed to know what had happened and that the princess would be sending and receiving messages through her friend, Dia Constantine.

Adele sipped at the pink champagne as she lounged in the drawing room of Chateau Gustel thirty kilometers outside Vienna. The house and grounds would be considered large by most people’s standards, but in comparison to the palace and royal grounds in Erembourg, the estate was rather small. But it was quite comfortable, with an adequate staff. And Yves had been utterly charming these past three days. They’d had such fun flying off to Paris yesterday for a divine shopping spree. No one had had any idea that the kooky redhead on Yves’s arm was actually the princess of Orlantha. Being incognito was proving to be amazingly exciting. But she couldn’t hide out here with Yves indefinitely. It was only a matter of time before someone discovered her whereabouts. But for now she was safe. Living outside Orlantha, there wasn’t much she could do to help Pippin and his trusted colleagues in their quest to find evidence against Dedrick. But she could buy them all some time by stopping the wedding or at least postponing it until she could show her father hard proof of Dedrick’s disloyalty.
Yves breezed into the room, a newspaper under his arm and a quirky smile on his handsome face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You have a silly expression on your face.”
“We’ve been found out,” he replied.
“What?” Adele spilled a drop of champagne on her silk trousers as she rose from the settee.
Yves opened the paper and read to her, “Rumor has it that Princess Adele of Orlantha, reported to be in bed with the flu at the palace in Erembourg, is in actuality cavorting about Paris with none other than that bon vivant Yves Jurgen. Now, why would the engaged princess be traveling with a man other than her fiancé, Dedrick Vardan, Duke of Roswald?” Yves sighed dramatically. “The article goes on and on, but you get the idea. I’m afraid we’ve blown your cover, chère.”
“That means it’s only a matter of time before someone figures out I’m here in Vienna with you.”
“We can pack our bags and head out for the Riviera whenever you say. This evening. Tomorrow.”
Adele shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. Everyone in Europe knows you. And apparently they recognize me, even in a red wig. I’m less likely to be recognized if I’m alone.”
Yves tsk-tsked. “I hate the idea of your being out there alone. What will you do if—”
“I’ll make arrangements to fly to Golnar in the morning,” Adele said. “I’ll phone Dia to let her know I’ll need sanctuary with Theo and her a little sooner than I’d planned.”
“I’ll be sad to see you leave, dear heart. You’re such an entertaining companion.” Yves popped Adele gently on the nose. “I had made plans for us to meet some trusted friends for an intimate dinner tonight, but—”
“Don’t change your plans,” she told him. “I’ll be busy packing and preparing for my trip to Golnar.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? If you’d rather I stay here with you, I’ll be more than glad to cancel.”
“I’ll be perfectly all right here,” she told him. “At least for tonight. I doubt that anyone on my father’s staff will be able to come up with the information about this estate in the next twenty-four hours. After all, the place still belongs to your cousin Jules, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but how did you know the chateau wasn’t mine?”
“Because, Yves, my wicked friend, we both know that you have no money of your own and depend on relatives and wealthy older ladies to support you.”
Yves clutched his chest and groaned. “I have shared too many of my secrets with you, chère.”
“And I with you.”
Grinning, Yves lifted her hand and kissed it. “Then it is good that we trust each other, is it not?”

Dedrick rolled over in bed and stretched. The loud banging on the door had awakened him from a peaceful sleep. The voluptuous creature lying next to him roused, eased out of bed, slipped on a silk robe and headed for the door.
“Ask who it is,” Dedrick told Vanda. “I can’t have anyone finding me here.”
“Don’t worry,” Vanda said, a devilish smile on her pretty face. “You can hide under the covers.”
She cracked the door a fraction and peered through the opening. Before she could stop the man, he shoved the door open wide and knocked her aside as he entered her room at Madame Pellonia’s, the most exclusive brothel in all of Orlantha.
“You fool!” the man shouted at Dedrick. “What if someone sees you here? Then the whole world will know why the princess doesn’t want to marry you.”
Dedrick rose from the bed leisurely, totally unconcerned with his friend’s outrage. “You worry too much.”
The intruder glowered at Vanda. “Leave us!”
Vanda frowned and looked to Dedrick for instructions.
He waved a dismissal. “Go. Go.”
Vanda huffed, then stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
Dedrick dressed, taking his time as his friend glared at him, his arms crossed over his chest.
“We must go to the palace immediately. The king has hired an American private detective to find the princess and return her to Orlantha. You should be at King Leopold’s side, showing your support and concern. If he becomes the least bit suspicious—”
“Ah, but that’s your job, isn’t it? To waylay any suspicions.”
“Princess Adele actually told her father that she believed you were a Royalist.”
Dedrick laughed. “I’m sure dear papa didn’t believe her. Why would anyone suspect me?”
“If your wedding to the princess is canceled, we will have no choice but to eliminate her and leave the king without an heir. We prefer to take over Orlantha by peaceful means. The Balanchine army is half the size of Orlantha’s army. Once you become the prince consort, you will wield great power and can put many of our people in strategic positions within the government. And in time we will see to it that you become king of both Orlantha and Balanchine.”
“I would hate to lose the chance for a wedding night with Adele. She’s such a delicious little creature.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“I think about many things,” Dedrick said. “I think that once I am king of both Orlantha and Balanchine, you will not speak to me in such a manner.”
“Once you are king, no, I will speak to you with due respect. But until that day—” the intruder grabbed Dedrick’s lapels and glared directly into his eyes “—I am in charge. You will do as I say. Is that understood?”
Dedrick took a deep breath, clutched the other man’s hands and removed them from his coat. “I understand perfectly.”
“Good. Then go to the palace and assure King Leopold that you adore Adele and want nothing more than to be her husband.”
Dedrick grinned. “What if this American detective can’t find Adele?”
“My sources tell me that his firm is the best in the business. He will find her. It seems the princess was spotted with Yves Jurgen in Paris yesterday. This detective’s agency is tracking her down as we speak. And when he leaves Orlantha to go after her, two of our men will follow him and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Matt’s flight landed at the Vienna International Airport Holzbauer with only a twenty-minute delay. His rental car, a four-door silver Opel Omega, was ready and waiting for him. He’d spent enough time on airplanes these past few days to rack up quite a few frequent-flyer miles. Of course, Dundee picked up the tab for his flights, since all of them were work related. Ellen Denby, Dundee’s CEO, had shot to hell his plans for a week of R&R in Paris. She’d phoned him only hours after Worth Cordell had taken a flight out of Roissy Charles de Gaulle, winging his way home to the good old U.S.A. Ellen had pointed out to Matt that he was already in Europe, only a short flight from Orlantha, so it would be foolish to send another agent to take the assignment. He’d tried to beg off. He should have known better. Ellen wasn’t the type who could be persuaded or pressured; she was the type who expected her orders to be obeyed without question.
He had to admit that, even though he really hadn’t wanted this assignment, he was curious as to why the lovely Princess Adele had flown the coop only a month before her wedding. During his interview with King Leopold, His Majesty had cited a case of premarital jitters as the reason his daughter had run away. But after sizing up the situation—and meeting the Duke of Roswald—Matt had drawn his own conclusions. Dedrick Vardan was a horse’s ass. Pompous. Arrogant. Condescending. And come to think of it, the wannabe prince looked a bit like a horse. Or maybe more like a mule. But the guy sure knew how to play the king like a fiddle. And Lord Burhardt had sent cold chills up Matt’s spine. His gut instincts warned him that the man would be dangerous if crossed. Then there was Colonel Rickard, who seemed to resent the fact that he hadn’t been put in charge of returning the princess to the fold. The king had told Matt he wanted his daughter returned to the palace, and gave him permission to use whatever means necessary to bring her home.
After taking a look at faxed photos of Yves Jurgen that Dundee had sent, along with more information on the man than Matt actually needed, it was easy to see why the princess had run away from Dedrick and straight into Yves’s waiting arms. Hell, Yves Jurgen was a damn pretty boy, and from his “rap sheet” he knew everything there was to know about women—how to please them and keep them coming back for more. Matt’s guess was that Princess Adele had run away for one last fling with her former lover before tying the knot with old mule face.
It really didn’t matter to him why the princess had run away. She was nothing more than an assignment to him. Dundee contacts in Austria had tracked Yves and her to an estate outside Vienna, so it was only a matter of time before he knocked on the door, introduced himself and told the princess that she’d been caught. He hoped she didn’t put up a fuss or that her lover didn’t do something stupid. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so he could return to Paris and pick up where he’d left off with a delectable blonde named Chantel.

Adele ate dinner alone at the chateau after making reservations to fly to Golnar in the morning. She had already packed, except for toiletry items, her pajamas and the outfit she’d wear tomorrow. When she’d phoned her best friend, Dia Constantine, Dia had told Adele that she and Theo would gladly provide a sanctuary for her. Dia was an old boarding school classmate who had become her best friend despite the differences in their backgrounds. Dia was the product of a marriage between a stodgy English barrister and his free-spirited Greek wife. A statuesque beauty with jet-black hair and luminescent silver eyes, Dia had captured the attention and then the heart of Greek tycoon Theo Constantine when they’d met at a party at the royal palace in Erembourg. The two had been married for eight years and had one child. Adele was Phila’s godmother and she adored the seven-year-old with a passion.
Adele would have gone straight to Golnar when she escaped from the palace, but it would have been the first place her father would have thought of when he discovered her missing. If he’d caught her en route, he would have forced her to return to Orlantha, and no government would have dared offend the king. Of course, if she made it to Golnar, he would be powerless to force her to return. Golnar, a small island nation between Greece and Cyprus, had no diplomatic ties to Orlantha, and since Theo’s wealth gave him unlimited power over local politics, the authorities would hardly allow a guest of his to be taken against her will.
No matter what, she simply had to give Pippin and his friends time to gather evidence against Dedrick. If that meant staying in Golnar for a year, then so be it.
As Adele listened to a tape of Tchaikovsky’s concertos and drank her after-dinner demitasse, she heard a ruckus at the front door.
“Please, sir, no!” the butler called out in his native German language. “Stop right now, or I shall be forced to call the police.”
“My German’s a little rusty,” a man’s voice said. “But I understand that you’re threatening to call the police. Go right ahead. Be my guest.”
Adele tensed. The doors to the drawing room swung open. A tall, black-haired man wearing faded jeans and a weathered leather bomber jacket stormed into the room, the butler on his heels. Adele’s heartbeat accelerated. Who was this stranger? Whoever he was he spoke English, not German or French.
Adele rose from the sofa and confronted the unwanted guest.
“I tried to stop him,” the butler said. “Should I call the police?”
The last thing Adele wanted to deal with was the local authorities. If she involved the police, there was no telling what tomorrow’s headlines would read. And she’d certainly be shipped home immediately once it was discovered that King Leopold expected her to return.
“No, don’t telephone the police.” She shook her head, then turned to her uninvited guest. “Who are you and what do you want?”
He stared at her, surveying her from head to toe. A shiver of uneasiness fluttered up Adele’s spine. There was something sensual about the way he looked at her with those incredible blue eyes.
“I’m Matt O’Brien, with the Dundee Security and Investigation Agency.”
Adele’s stomach tightened. “What business do you have here at Chateau Gustel? If you want to see Yves, I’m afraid he’s out for the evening. If you’ll leave your card, I’ll—”
“My business is with you, Princess.”
He knew who she was. This didn’t bode well for her. “And what business do you have with me, sir?”
“I’m here to escort you home to Orlantha.”
“I see.” So, who had hired this private investigator—her father or Dedrick? And how was she going to get herself out of this predicament? She’d been so sure that no one would find her here at the chateau, at least not for several days.
The butler cleared his throat. “Your Highness, is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you. That will be all. I can take care of this matter.”
Once the butler left, Adele smiled warmly at Matt O’Brien. “Won’t you take a seat, Mr. O’Brien?”
“No, ma’am, thank you.”
“For whom are you working, my father or—”
“King Leopold retained the Dundee Agency, and since I was the only agent already in Europe, I drew this assignment.”
“I’m surprised that my father used an American firm. You are American, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what will you do if I choose not to return to Orlantha with you?” Show this hired henchman that you’re not afraid of him, she told herself. Let him know that taking you back to your father will not be something easily accomplished.
“I’m hoping you won’t put up a fuss.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. “But my orders are to take you home, even if I have to hog-tie you, put you in a sack and toss you over my shoulder.”
Adele gasped. Apparently, this American had not been taught the proper respect for someone in her position—a princess, the heir to the throne of Orlantha. “If you lay one hand on me, you…you brute, I shall see that you’re—”
He laughed. A loud, boisterous laugh. Adele cringed. Damn insolent cretin! How dare he treat her in such a manner.
“Look, Little Miss Royal Runaway, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. But you can be sure of one thing—I’m taking your highfalutin fanny home to Daddy.”

Chapter 2
M att had figured this wouldn’t be an easy job and he’d been right. He should have known she would put up a fuss. Princess Adele stared at him, her big brown eyes glaring, and her full, pink lips clenched. With a defiant stance, her hands on her hips, and an I’m-not-going-anywhere-with-you expression on her face, she seemed to be daring him. Matt rubbed his jaw and chin. He wore two days’ worth of beard stubble because he hadn’t taken time to shave since he’d been rushed to Orlantha and put on this case. She probably thought he looked rather scruffy. He thought she looked incredible. Her shiny chestnut-brown hair curled about her ears in a soft, wavy bob. A pair of shimmery diamond studs—probably three carats each—glittered in her earlobes and a thin diamond-studded watch graced her wrist. Her petite body—he guessed she stood about five-two—was nicely rounded in all the right places. An hourglass shape, with a tiny waist. The outfit she wore—red cashmere sweater and gray wool slacks—had probably been purchased on her recent shopping spree in Paris and no doubt had cost a month’s salary for the average person. Oh, yeah, she was one gorgeous woman, but she had “Spoiled Rotten” written all over her.
“The way you’re looking at me is quite insulting,” she told him with an air of snobbery.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he replied. “I was just appreciating the scenery.”
A slight flush stained her cheeks. “Mr. O’Brien, I don’t know how much my father is paying you, but I will match his offer and raise it by…let’s say, five thousand American dollars.”
“Let me get this straight—you’re willing to pay me five thousand more than your father if I don’t take you back to Orlantha?”
“That’s correct.” The tension in her body drained away, and she relaxed a bit.
“It’s my understanding that your father holds the purse strings, that you aren’t independently wealthy.”
She huffed, then pursed her lips and glowered at Matt. “I have some capital at my disposal, certainly enough to buy you off.”
Barely able to control his amusement, Matt grinned. “Look, Ms. Reynard or Princess or whatever you prefer to be called, I work for the Dundee Agency. We’ve got rules and regulations we have to follow, and a solid reputation to uphold, not to mention the fact that I’ve got a boss who can put the fear of God into any of her agents if we even think of doing anything disreputable.”
“I take that to mean you’re refusing my offer.”
“Yes, ma’am, you can take it that way.”
“Then we seem to be at an impasse, don’t we?”
“How’s that?”
“Well, you expect me to go back to Orlantha with you, and I refuse to return to the palace tonight or anytime in the near future. Not until my father calls off the wedding.”
“Look, I can’t say that I blame you for not wanting to marry old mule face. If I were a lady, I’d sure run in the opposite direction to get away from him. But my job isn’t couples counseling. I was hired to take you back to the palace in Erembourg and that’s what I intend to do.”
Adele tensed again, her small body stiffening and her chin tilting upward slightly. She was half his size, yet even her body language challenged him. “You do not intimidate me.”
No doubt about it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.
“My orders are to use whatever means necessary to secure your return.”
“Use whatever means… Are you saying that my father really did give you permission to force me to come with you?”
“Yep, that’s exactly what he did. And Lord Burhardt, Colonel Rickard and your ever-loving fiancé all went right along with the order. Looks like it’s you against the world, or at least your little world in Orlantha. I’d say unless you can talk your daddy out of it, you, Princess Beauty, are going home to marry the beast.”
“You’re the beast, Mr. O’Brien!” Adele’s eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. “I’m not leaving with you, and that’s final.” She stomped her foot.
“I should have just walked in, chloroformed you and been done with it. But no, I had to give you a chance to be reasonable. Stupid of me, I know, but that’s just the kind of guy I am.”
Matt reached out to take her arm, but she sidestepped him and began backing slowly toward the double doors behind her. “If you touch me, I’ll scream.”
“Then start screaming now because I’m going to touch you.”
Adele opened her mouth, but before she got out more than a mild screech, Matt dashed forward, grabbed her and slammed his hand over her mouth. She wriggled and squirmed, trying to free herself. He held fast.
“We’re going to march out of the chateau and straight to my car that’s parked outside,” Matt told her. “If you’re a good little girl, I won’t have to handcuff and gag you.”
Her movements became frantic as she struggled against him. When he tried to walk her out of the room, she kicked him several times. Damn, why him? Why had he been the lucky guy to draw this assignment?
“Stop that right now,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to carry you out of here in a fireman’s lift.”
Somehow she managed to maneuver her mouth so that she could bite him. Ouch! He let out a yelp as her teeth chomped down into his hand. And within two seconds, her ear-splitting scream echoed through the chateau. Suddenly the butler ran into the drawing room, followed by a tall, blond man wearing evening attire.
“What is going on here?” Yves Jurgen demanded.
The butler jabbered ninety-to-nothing in German, while Adele continued struggling and calling out for help. Obviously confused, Yves glanced back and forth from the butler to Adele.
“Silence!” Yves called.
The butler hushed immediately.
With Matt’s arm around her waist, holding her body in front of his, Adele looked pleadingly at her friend. “Yves, this man is a private detective my father hired to find me and return me to Orlantha. Will you please tell him that he cannot force me to leave the chateau with him.”
“My God! Unhand the princess!” Yves stepped forward, bringing himself directly in front of Adele and Matt. “Do you hear me? I will not allow you to—”
Matt shoved Adele aside, then confronted the pretty boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mr. Jurgen, but if I have to, I will.”
“Hurt me?” Yves laughed. “I assure you that if you persist in this matter, you will be the one hurt.”
“Look, buddy boy, I’m walking out of here in about a minute, and the princess is going with me. I advise you not to try to stop us.”
“Do something, Yves,” Adele said.
When Adele tried to rush toward Yves, Matt grabbed her arm. “Stay put.”
When he tried to walk her toward the door, she balked. And if that wasn’t enough trouble, Yves came barreling toward him and grasped his shoulder. Without releasing Adele, he turned to face Yves just in time to see the man’s fist coming toward him. Matt adeptly avoided the blow, but when Yves came at him a second time, Matt drew back his fist and coldcocked Yves with one blow to his jaw. The minute Yves hit the floor, the butler yelled something about the polizei. Matt just ignored the man. Adele began fighting him again and calling him names, first in French and then in German and finally in English.
“My, my, Princess, where did you learn such filthy language?”
And as he’d threatened, Matt hoisted her up and over his shoulder. She let out a loud screech and wiggled.
“Put me down!”
Mumbling several obscenities under his breath, Matt marched out of the drawing room, through the marble-floored entrance hall and outside to his rental car. And all the while Adele threatened him with everything from a public flogging to a beheading.
Matt opened the front passenger door of the car, deposited Adele inside and closed the door. She opened the door and tried to get out. He shoved her back inside, held her in place until he fastened her seatbelt, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs—which he’d brought with him, just in case. After manacling her wrist with one cuff, he pulled her hands behind her back and snapped the second cuff on her other wrist.
“Now, you sit there and behave yourself.”
Adele screamed again, then said, “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything, pay you anything, if you’ll let me go. I can’t go back to Orlantha. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Save your breath,” he told her. “I’m just doing my job. When you get home, you can work this out with your father.”
“My father is as unreasonable as you are. I hate him. I hate you. I hate all men.”
Just what he needed—to listen to her bellowing and bellyaching all the way back to Orlantha. He jerked out a handkerchief from his other pocket and effectively gagged her. Adele’s eyes widened in shock.
“Sorry, Princess, but I have no intention of listening to you carrying on like that while I’m driving.”
Matt got in on the driver’s side, started the engine and headed down the brick driveway toward the main road. With a little luck, they’d cross the border in a few hours and by morning he’d be on a plane headed back to Paris. Occasionally he glanced at the princess. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way. She sat there, with her hands cuffed behind her and his handkerchief tied over her mouth, staring straight ahead into the dark night, her entire demeanor regal and unflinching. He knew she had to be uncomfortable, but no one would ever guess by the way she acted.
An hour and forty minutes later they were halfway to the Austrian border, traveling along a back road, just in case Yves Jurgen had been foolish enough to try to follow them. The weather quickly turned nasty. An autumn storm created heavy streaks of lighting and rolling booms of thunder. Then came the downpour. The rain became so heavy that Matt couldn’t see two feet in front of the car, leaving him no choice but to pull off to the side of the road.
He killed the motor and turned to Adele. “Will you promise to behave yourself if I remove the gag?”
She didn’t respond immediately, just glowered at him. Then finally she nodded.
Matt reached out to untie the handkerchief. “If you start up again, the gag goes back in place. Understand?”
She nodded. He undid the knot and removed the gag. She took a deep breath, then licked the sides of her mouth where the handkerchief had chafed her skin.
“Mr. O’Brien, I didn’t run away simply because I find Dedrick personally offensive.”
“Look, honey, it doesn’t matter to me why you ran off. Can’t you get it through that pretty little head of yours that I’m just doing my job?”
“And I’m trying to do mine!”
Realizing she was probably going to give him some sad sob story, Matt didn’t respond. The wind beat against the car, whistling around them as the rain continued pouring. He wondered how long they’d be stuck here. The sooner he got this woman off his hands, the better.
“Mr. O’Brien?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Do you know anything about the politics in Orlantha and Balanchine?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Are you aware that there are factions in both countries that wish to see the two reunited as one country?”
“I think I heard something to that effect.”
“Have you also heard about a group called the Royalists?”
“Can’t say that I have, but something tells me that I’m about to.” Matt turned in his seat so that he faced Adele. “If you promise not to do anything stupid, I’ll undo the handcuffs.”
“Do you want me to promise that I will not try to run from you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then I promise.”
Matt stared at her for a moment, trying to discern her credibility. What the hell, he’d take a chance. After all, how far could she go if she did try to run?
After taking the key from his pocket, he gave her back a gentle shove forward, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.
She brought her hands slowly around to the front and rubbed first one wrist and then the other. Repeating the process several times, she said, “Thank you.”
Matt wasn’t sure which princess he preferred. The quiet-spoken, accommodating lady or the other—the defiant, hostile spitfire. He definitely trusted the spitfire more. This sweet act she was putting on now worried him. Was she up to something? Or had she simply changed tactics thinking honey attracted more than vinegar?
“About the Royalists,” she said. “They are a secret society that is active in both Orlantha and Balanchine. Their goals are to reunite the two countries under one king and for the combined nations to be ruled solely by the monarch. They want to turn back the clock two hundred years.”
“What does this have to do with your marriage to the duke?”
“I believe that Dedrick is a Royalist.”
“Got any proof?”
“Not yet, but soon, we hope.”
“We?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brien, but I cannot explain further. I simply do not know how trustworthy you are. Considering the fact that you’re working for my father, I—”
“How does Dedrick being a Royalist have any effect on your marriage? You’re a princess. Your old man is the king. I’d say your whole family are Royalists.”
“No, we are not!” Adele huffed. “You do not understand. My father rules Orlantha in conjunction with an elected council, headed by a chancellor and a vice chancellor and we do not want Orlantha reunited with Balanchine under any circumstances, and most definitely not as a monarch-ruled country. We suspect…I suspect that if Dedrick becomes the prince consort, he will try to usurp more and more power, especially in the event of my father’s death someday. As my husband, he would have almost as much authority over the government as I do.”
“Interesting story,” Matt said. “Why don’t you tell it to your father when you return to Orlantha?”
“I have told my father, but he refuses to believe me.”
“Because you don’t have any evidence against the duke.”
Adele sighed. “No, I don’t have any evidence, and my father won’t postpone the wedding and give us…give me time to prove Dedrick is not only an unsuitable husband for me but an unsuitable prince for Orlantha.”
“So you ran away to buy time for your unnamed cohorts in Orlantha to gather evidence against Dedrick?”
“That’s right.” Adele smiled. “So you see, I cannot go back, not yet. If I return to Orlantha, my father will force me to marry Dedrick next month.”
“Why don’t you marry someone else?” Matt gazed through the Opel’s side window. “Looks like the rain’s letting up.” He started the engine and shifted gears.
“Marry someone else… You mean marry another man before my father can force me to marry Dedrick?”
Matt pulled the car back onto the road and headed southwest. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. If you’re already married to another guy, your father can’t force you to marry Dedrick.”
“It would have to be a marriage in name only,” she said. “A marriage of convenience that could be easily annulled once we have the proof we need against Dedrick.” She grasped Matt’s arm. “Mr. O’Brien, that’s a wonderful idea. Yves would probably marry me, but I’m not sure I could trust him 100 percent. He’d want to remain the prince consort. And I’m sure Pippin would marry me, but he’d have to leave Orlantha and meet me somewhere.”
“Who’s Pippin? Sounds like some cartoon character.”
Adele laughed. “Vice chancellor Pippin Ritter is a fine man and rather handsome. And he’s a good friend.”
“Then when you get home, marry the vice chancellor. Problem solved.”
“We’d never be allowed to marry in Orlantha. But if I could get a message to Pippin, he could meet me—”
“Princess, I’m taking you to Orlantha tonight.” When she gasped and started to speak, he went on, “Once you’re back in your own country, you and this Pippin can figure out a plan. But I’m finishing the job I started.”
“I thought you understood. I thought I could reason with you.”
“I’m sorry, okay? But the internal politics in Orlantha really aren’t any of my business.” Matt caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. There was that sad little face again, the one he’d seen in the Paris newspaper announcing her engagement. What was it about this woman that made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right? He didn’t know her. Didn’t want to know her. She was an assignment. If he were smart, he wouldn’t get involved.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Why should you care about me or my country?”
There was nothing else to be said, so Matt kept quiet. For the next thirty minutes the only sounds were the car’s engine and the renewed strength of the storm. They seemed to be heading directly into even more turbulent weather. Once again it became impossible for Matt to see more than a couple of feet past the hood of the car. When he came to a crossroads, marked with a signpost, he stopped so that the headlights hit the sign. Gerwalt Inn. Not a town marker, but a welcome to the local hotel.
“We’re going to have to stop,” Matt said. “I’ll see if I can find Gerwalt Inn, and we’ll stay there until this storm passes.”
He could tell that the princess was trying not to smile, but it was obvious she was pleased with the brief reprieve.
“Whatever you say, Mr. O’Brien.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. She was being much too accommodating, which meant she was up to something. He’d have to make sure he kept close watch over her.

Adele said a silent prayer of thanks for sending such a hostile storm on this very night when she needed it so badly. Once they stopped at the inn, she would find a way to escape from her American captor. There had to be a way to get away from him or to persuade him to let her go. Perhaps at the inn, she would find someone to help her. After all, she was bound to be recognized as the princess of Orlantha.
While Matt O’Brien drove slowly, being extra careful because of the rain, Adele studied the Dundee agent. The man needed a shave and a haircut. His thick black hair was tousled, his jeans faded and his leather bomber jacket worn with age. He was rather good-looking, if you liked the big, macho type. When he had grabbed her at the chateau, she had surmised that he was nearly a foot taller than she and about twice her size. And, going by his surname, she assumed he was of Irish descent. She guessed his age to be somewhere around thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. There was no gray in his jet-black hair or his beard, but he had tiny wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and shallow furrows in his forehead.
When the car stopped, Adele looked out the window, but the downpour was so heavy that all she could make out were blurry lights. Matt turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and looked at Adele. The man had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bright, summer-day sky blue.
“We’ll have to make a run for it,” he told her. “We’ll get drenched, but there’s nothing else to do.”
She nodded. Matt flung open the door and jumped out. Adele did the same. Matt grabbed her arm and together they ran toward the two-story inn. By the time they made it inside to the reception area, they were both thoroughly wet to the skin.
The inn’s proprietor came out from behind the front desk to greet them.
“Güten abend,” the man said in German. “Willkommen zum gasthaus.”
“Güten abend,” Adele replied.
Although he understood that they’d said “good evening” to each other and the innkeeper had welcomed them, Matt’s guess was that the princess’s command of the German language was far better than his. He didn’t want to take any chances that she might start rattling off a spiel in German and he wouldn’t be able to keep up.
“Do you speak English?” Matt asked.
“Yes, I speak English,” the man said. “You are Americans?”
“I’m an American,” Matt replied.
“And I am Prin—”
Matt reached out, draped his arm around her shoulders and hauled her up against him. “This is my bride, Priscilla. We’re honeymooning here in Austria.”
“We are not—” Adele said, but was cut short when Matt kissed her.
How dare he kiss her! How dare he… Oh, heaven help her. His mouth was warm, moist and commanding. She didn’t think she’d ever been kissed quite so thoroughly in her entire twenty-eight years. She gripped his shoulders to steady her wobbly legs, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, all thoughts of a protest vanished. The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and for a split second Adele felt oddly adrift.
When he eased his mouth from hers, she glared at him. He whispered softly against her lips, “Don’t try to pull anything, or I’ll be forced to play dirty.”
Adele nodded, only now understanding just how devious her captor could be. Matt turned to the proprietor who stood waiting, a broad smile on his face, apparently delighted by the honeymooners’ ardor.
“We’d like a room, please,” Matt said. “We’ll be staying until the storm passes.”
Matt pulled out his wallet, removed his credit card and handed it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper scurried behind the front desk, scanned the credit card, then retrieved a key and handed the key and the card to Matt. “What about your luggage, Mr. O’Brien?”
“It’s in the car, but considering the way it’s raining, I think we’ll do without it tonight.”
The innkeeper nodded. “I will have Hilda bring robes for you and your wife. With my compliments. And if there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know. I am Franz Gerwalt.”
“Thanks,” Matt replied. “We’ll let you know if—”
“Herr Gerwalt?” Adele spoke softly, a warm, friendly smile on her damp face.
“Yes?”
“We would also like some brandy brought to our room, and I require two extra pillows,” Adele said. “I assume there’s a fireplace in our room.” Franz Gerwalt nodded. “If there isn’t a fire in the fireplace, please, see that one is prepared immediately.”
Matt tugged on her arm. “You’re being terribly demanding, dear. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
“I’m doing no such thing,” she replied. “I am simply requesting adequate treatment, nothing more.”
The innkeeper frowned as he looked back and forth from Adele to Matt. “A lovers’ quarrel on your honeymoon? You must not argue. We will be happy to accommodate Mrs. O’Brien’s requests.”
“Thank you,” Adele said. “I have one more request.”
“Certainly,” the innkeeper replied.
“Will you please call the police and tell them that this man has kidnapped me?”

Chapter 3
H oly Moses! Matt thought. He’d have to do something and do it quickly, before Herr Gerwalt had a chance to comprehend and believe the princess’s accusation.
Matt grabbed Adele, hauled her up close to him and grinned sheepishly at Franz Gerwalt. “Such a kidder.” Matt forced laughter. “Always joking around about my kidnapping her because we ran off to get married and her father accused me of kidnapping his baby girl.”
Herr Gerwalt offered Matt and Adele a weak smile. “You Americans. I do not understand your odd sense of humor.”
“I’m not—” Adele said, but before she could complete her sentence, Matt kissed her again.
She bit his lip, then stomped on his foot. Huffing loudly, she turned to the innkeeper. “Don’t you recognize me? I’m—”
Matt swept her off her feet. Literally. This assignment was turning into a royal pain in the butt. If he didn’t have a sore foot, a stinging lip and wasn’t pissed off as hell, he might find humor in the situation. But as it was, he was about two seconds away from strangling the princess of Orlantha.
Turning around so Herr Gerwalt couldn’t see that he’d covered Adele’s mouth with his hand, Matt said, “We’ll just go on up to our room. Thanks for everything.” With a wiggling Adele squirming in his arms, Matt headed for the stairs, then paused. “By the way, I can make a long-distance call from our room using my calling card, right?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see to the fire at once and have those robes brought up to you. And if you need anything else, please—”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The minute Matt reached the second floor of the inn, he bent his head to whisper in Adele’s ear. “Unless you want me to handcuff you to a chair and gag you again, then I suggest you behave yourself. Do I make myself clear?”
She glared at him, her big brown eyes narrowed to angry slits. She ceased squirming but didn’t respond to his warning.
He made his way down the corridor, looking for room 204, which turned out to be the third door on the left. After readjusting Adele in his arms, he inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. He switched on the lights in a quaint room, filled with what he assumed were European antiques. The low ceiling, small windows and heavy, dark furniture exuded an old-world charm. After closing and locking the door, he set Adele on her feet but kept a tight rein on her and continued holding his hand over her mouth.
“What’s it going to be, Your Highness? Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?” He looked her right in the eyes. “Are you going to cooperate and act your part as the blushing bride? Are you going to be a good girl?”
She nodded agreement. Matt eased his hand away from her mouth.
They stared at each other. Matt grinned. Adele frowned.
Matt manacled her wrist and dragged her across the room with him, straight toward a door he figured was the bathroom. After opening the door and finding the light switch, he shoved her inside the tiny bath that had one small window above the old bathtub. Thick lace curtains blocked out the night sky.
“Take off your wet things, and as soon as the maid brings our robes, I’ll throw one in here to you.”
Adele nodded, but when she started to close the door, Matt stuck his foot in the narrow opening. “Leave it partially open,” he told her, pushing it open halfway.
“If you think that I’m going to undress in front of you, then you had better think again.”
“Get real, honey, you aren’t my type,” Matt said, then when he saw the serious expression on her face, he grinned. “I thought you royals were used to having people dress and undress you.”
“I have a lady’s maid. But I can assure you that I am not accustomed to undressing in front of men, certainly not a man who is a total stranger to me.” She clicked off the light in the bathroom.
Matt turned around, putting his back to her. “I won’t look. I promise. But do not close that door.”
“Why? What do you think I’m going to do, escape through the drainpipes?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to give it a try.” His shoulders quivered as he chuckled silently. He could barely keep from laughing out loud.
“Has anyone every told you that you’re obnoxious?” Adele asked.
With his back still to her, he responded, “No, ma’am. People usually tell me that I’m smart, good-looking, fun to be with, loyal, good-humored—”
Adele huffed loudly. “Obnoxious and conceited!”
Matt chuckled. A loud knock at the door gained his attention. He glanced over his shoulder toward the half-open bathroom door and caught sight of a slender, naked shoulder, part of a naked back, a round hip covered with silk panties and a long naked leg. He sucked in a deep breath. Holy Moses! He snapped his head back around before the princess caught him spying on her.
“You behave yourself,” he told her. “That’s probably the maid at the door with our robes.”
“Please, let her in,” Adele said. “And ask her to prepare a fire in the fireplace. Also, make sure she’s remembered my extra pillows and—”
“I thought you were kidding. Damn, you really are a spoiled brat, aren’t you?” Matt muttered the last sentence under his breath as he opened the door.
“Güten abend. Wie sind Sie?” the maid said good evening and asked how they were, then she continued speaking to Matt in her native German, which he struggled to understand because the gray-haired, middle-aged woman spoke rapidly. He caught several words. Honeymoon. Robes. Pillows. Something about being wet. And he understood the word for fire.
She handed him the white terry cloth robes, then laid the two fluffy goose down pillows at the foot of the canopied four-poster bed. Matt eased sideways toward the bathroom and tossed one of the robes to Adele, who stood behind the door. She caught it in midair.
“Did she bring—”
“Two extra pillows. And she’s building the fire now.”
“May I come out? I have on my robe.”
“Just wait until she leaves,” he told Adele. “No point in being tempted to tell the maid—in German this time—that I’ve kidnapped you.”
Adele pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. Matt allowed himself a quick perusal. Why couldn’t this woman have been as homely as her fiancé? Why did she have to be so damn pretty? And small, delicate and well-rounded? He looked away hurriedly.
The maid rose from where she had knelt on the hearth, smiled at Matt and said something about dinner. She must have asked him if they wanted dinner served in their room.
“Want some dinner, honey?” Matt asked.
“She didn’t bring the brandy I requested, did she?”
“Do you or do you not want something to eat?”
“May I put in an order for both of us?” Adele asked. “That is if you trust me not to—”
“I understand enough German to figure out if you’re ordering dinner or asking for help, so go ahead, order away.”
Adele took several tentative steps into the room, looked directly at their maid and ordered dinner in German. The maid replied. The best Matt could make out, they’d be getting some kind of stew, homemade bread and the brandy Adele wanted. The maid curtsied and left the room.
Why did the maid bow to them? Had the woman recognized Adele? Or was she so used to being a servant that the bow came naturally to her?
“Before you accuse me of revealing my identity to that woman, let me tell you that it’s not unusual for servants to bow like that to anyone they consider their superior.”
“You royals are big on superiority, aren’t you?” Matt headed straight toward Adele, intending to go into the bathroom. But for some reason she apparently thought he planned to manhandle her again, so she inched along the wall, moving away from him as he neared.
“If you try to go out that door while I’m taking off my wet clothes, then you’ll wind up tied to that chair—” he glanced at the straight-back wooden chair near the fireplace “—for the rest of the night. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” She tilted her pert little nose haughtily and walked past him toward the fireplace.
He watched her for a couple of minutes as she bent over so her head was near the open fire. She speared her fingers through her short hair, fluffing it as the warmth began to dry the shiny, dark curls. One well-shaped calf peeked out from beneath her robe. Matt’s body tightened. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. Don’t go getting all hot and bothered over that one. She thinks you’re a beast, a brute and socially inferior. He knew her type. Rich, pampered, snobbish. But he’d never come face-to-face with a real princess, not until this assignment had thrown him smack dab in the middle of a true-life episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A good ol’ boy from Louisville, Kentucky, was definitely out of his league with Her Highness.
Forcing himself to stop drooling, Matt went into the bathroom and, leaving the door partially open so he could keep an eye on his charge, he yanked off his shirt.

Adele tossed back her head, then shook her curls as she stretched her neck. She was in a fine mess, wasn’t she? Captured and held captive by an American barbarian who couldn’t be bribed. The big brute seemed to respond better when she didn’t fight him, so perhaps charm might work where rebellion and chicanery had failed.
Taking a seat by the fire, she glanced toward the bathroom, and what she saw took her breath away. Matt O’Brien was drying himself off. The white towel moved over his muscular arms, his hairy chest and his lean belly. Thank heaven he’d left on his boxer shorts. Damp, short black hair curled over his chest, arms and legs. Adele stared at him, hypnotized by his beautiful, powerful body. He certainly wasn’t the first attractive man she’d seen in such a complete state of undress. After all, she’d grown up in Europe, had vacationed on the Riviera. Nudity wasn’t the least bit shocking to her. But she wasn’t accustomed to having a partially naked man in her bathroom. Well, technically, the bathroom was theirs since they were posing as newlyweds.
With Matt’s back to her, he continued drying himself. Adele watched in utter fascination, unable to remove her gaze from his magnificent body. What was wrong with her? What was it about this man that mesmerized her so? Oh, be honest with yourself, Adele. The man is very handsome and has a fantastic body. You would have to be dead not to notice.
The maid knocked on the outer door and asked permission to enter. Reluctantly Adele took her eyes off Matt, stood and walked across the room to open the door. The maid carried a large tray laden with food. A bottle of brandy and two snifters graced the center of the tray.
With Matt preoccupied in the bathroom, now might be a good time for her to whisper something to the maid, to ask the woman for help. The maid busied herself placing the items from the tray on an antique table by the windows. Just as Adele approached the maid, Matt walked out of the bathroom. Adele jumped, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. Damn, why hadn’t she acted sooner? She’d let the moment—and that was all she’d had—pass. She’d been too engrossed in staring at Matt’s body to think straight.
The maid took first one chair and then another and placed them on either side of the table where she’d set their evening meal. After laying his wet jeans, shirt and underwear out in front of the fireplace, Matt tossed his jacket on the sofa, then reached into the wide pocket of the white terry cloth robe, pulled out his wallet and handed the maid a sizable tip. Adele groaned. Having received such a generous tip, the maid would hardly be inclined to believe that Matt was a bad man, certainly not a kidnapper.
The maid thanked Matt, then glanced at Adele and said in German to Matt, “Your wife is very beautiful. She reminds me of Princess Adele of Orlantha. Herr Gerwalt mentioned that he, too, noticed the resemblance.”
Adele opened her mouth to announce her true identity, but before she could speak, Matt rushed to her side, slid his arm around her waist and said in rather crude German, “Yes, we’ve heard that a lot lately, since we’ve been in Europe. But you know, I think my wife is prettier than the princess.”
The maid giggled, then hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck with lamb stew. The chef has gone home for the night.” Adele jerked away from him and went over to their makeshift dinner table. “By the way, your German is terrible.”
“Yeah, I know, but I do well enough to get by.” Matt joined her, pulled out her chair and seated her. He sat across from her, poured hot tea from a carafe into her cup then his before sniffing the thick, dark lamb stew. “Your English is almost perfect. You barely have an accent. Why is that?”
Adele sipped on her tea. “English was taught as a second language at the boarding school I attended. And I perfected the language when I attended college in England.”
“Which college?”
“Cambridge.”
“You actually went to Cambridge?” Matt lifted his spoon and delved into the stew.
Adele tore off a couple of pieces from the crusty loaf of bread.
“Why do you find that so amazing? I will one day be queen of Orlantha. My education was very important to my father. I must be prepared to lead my country.”
Matt shook his head.
“You don’t approve of educating women, Mr. O’Brien?”
“Oh, honey, if you only knew. I was raised by a tough, hardworking, give-’em-hell woman. My aunt Velma. She wouldn’t take kindly to your thinking I’m some sort of chauvinist. Women’s rights is one of the many things she drilled into me. Actually Velma O’Brien believed strongly in human rights and equality for all. So you see, Ms. Reynard, I believe in educating everybody. Male and female, regardless of race, color, creed, national origin or socioeconomic background.”
“How very democratic of you.”
“Something you apparently know very little about,” he countered.
“On the contrary. Orlantha is quite progressive and in many ways we’re similar to Great Britain. We have a governing council, with a chancellor and vice chancellor.”
“Yeah, but unlike the Brits, y’all still have a ruling monarch who possesses a great deal of power. If your old man said ‘Off with their heads,’ then heads would roll.”
Adele’s lips twitched. Although she found his statement humorous, she didn’t dare laugh. The very thought of her father ordering people’s deaths was ludicrous. She didn’t know Mr. O’Brien’s feminist Aunt Velma, but he didn’t know King Leopold, whose bark was much worse than his bite.
Adele leaned slightly forward, smiled sweetly and looked soulfully into Matt O’Brien’s spellbinding blue eyes. “Is there anything—” she emphasized the word anything “—I can say or do that would persuade you not to take me back to Orlantha?”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and stared at her. “You wouldn’t be propositioning me, would you, princess?”
She should reprimand him for his impertinence, but wisdom bade her to remain calm. Reminding herself that this man held her fate in his hands—in his big, strong hands—she glanced at his taut biceps where his arms crisscrossed his chest, and she continued smiling at him.
“I’m willing to do almost anything.” She caressed her neck, then slid her hand slowly downward, spreading her robe apart and laying her open palm in the center of her chest, her pinky finger slipping between her breasts.
What would she do if he took her up on her offer? Was she really willing to have sex with this man in order to gain her freedom? The thought sobered her instantly. Just as she started to speak, Matt reached across the table and grasped her chin.
“You’re pretty desperate, aren’t you, to even contemplate such a thing?”
Damn, she felt like crying, could actually feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She glanced away, not wanting him to see her weak and uncertain. After releasing her chin, he continued staring at her for a few minutes, long enough to embarrass her. A heated flush colored her cheeks.
“Let me make things easy for you,” Matt told her. “There’s nothing you can say or do that will keep me from returning you to your father. Unless…”
“Unless?” Adele’s heartbeat boom-boomed in her ears.
“Unless I believe that taking you home would put your life at risk. But I hardly think you’ll be in any danger from your own father.”
Adele shook her head. “No, not from Father. But both he and I are in danger from Dedrick.” When she saw the doubting expression on Matt’s face, she said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Matt admitted.
“Why would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know that, either. Not for sure. But let’s just say that before I’d believe you—or anyone I don’t know— I’d need to see some sort of proof.”
Adele sighed. “I don’t have any proof. And that’s the problem. If I had proof, I could take it to my father and he would call off my wedding to Dedrick and throw Dedrick in prison for treason.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but—”
Adele reached across the table, grabbed one of Matt’s hands and squeezed it pleadingly. “You can help me. Call my father and tell him that you couldn’t find me, that I wasn’t with Yves. I need more time. Pippin and his people need more time.”
“Look, honey, why don’t you just tell your father that you are not going to marry the duke? He can’t force you to marry him, can he? After all, it’s a free country and…” Realization dawned. “Sorry, princess. Orlantha isn’t a free country, is it? Your father could force you to marry old mule face, couldn’t he?”
Now she was getting through to him. Finally. She squeezed his hand again and gave him a pathetic little look of total helplessness. “Please, help me, Mr. O’Brien. Matt…”
He jerked his hand free, squinted as he glowered at her and then grinned, a rather cocky, smug grin that gave Adele a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“You’re good, honey. You’re very good. You almost had me, there. I was this close—” he indicated how close with his thumb and forefinger “—to buying your act.”
Adele clenched her teeth. Trying to fight Matt O’Brien didn’t work. But neither did trying to charm him. And getting any help from the innkeeper or the maid apparently wasn’t possible. So, that left her with only one option—she had to escape. But how? He watched her every minute. The man had even made her leave the bathroom door halfway open when she’d undressed. The bathroom! The bathroom window. It was small and would be a tight squeeze, but she thought she might be able to slip through it and out onto the inn’s roof. After that she’d find a way to get down to the ground. If only she could steal the car keys first, she would have transportation and wouldn’t have to telephone Yves to meet her and then strike out on foot in the middle of the night. But if necessary, that’s exactly what she’d do. She’d slip out the window, get down to the ground, go back inside the inn and call Yves.
She would have to bide her time. Her bodyguard would have to sleep eventually. All she had to do was wait.

After Matt had seen through her little ruse, the princess had foregone any more pleasantries. They had eaten in relative silence, then she had gone to bed. Although he was nearly a foot taller and twice her size, he was forced to take the sofa, which was too short for his length and probably damn lumpy to boot. He gathered up his still-damp clothes from the floor and hung them over a couple of chairs he positioned in front of the fireplace. Her Highness went to sleep almost immediately after Matt turned off the lights. He stoked the fire before bedding down for the night.
Unable to find a comfortable position on the sofa, he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Finally he closed his eyes and relaxed. He’d been trained to go days without sleep if necessary, and his gut instincts told him that tonight would be one of those you’d-better-stay-awake nights. The princess had gone to sleep too quickly, had given up her persuasive tactics too easily. She was definitely up to something, probably no good. If he knew women—and he did know women—this stubborn, contrary lady would attempt an escape before daybreak.
Hours later—he wasn’t quite sure of the time, but figured it was well over into the morning—Princess Adele slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door. Matt didn’t move. He’d give her a few minutes. Maybe she had to use the facilities. Matt listened. Sometime in the past few hours, it had quit raining. The minutes ticked by, then he heard the creaky groans of a window opening. He shot straight up. She was going to try to escape through the bathroom window. She was probably just small enough to fit through the narrow opening. He figured she’d changed into her damp clothes that she’d laid out on the bathtub. Why, God, why had he gotten stuck with this assignment?
Matt grabbed his own still-damp clothes and dressed hurriedly. When he thought he’d given her just enough time to make it through the window, Matt opened the bathroom door. The room was empty; the window was open. He sighed, shrugged and then turned around and headed toward the door leading into the dimly lit hallway. Only the faint moans of an old building intruded on the predawn quiet. He took his time going down the stairs, through the small lobby and out the front door. The best thing to do was station himself in the corner and wait for her to descend from the roof. He hoped she didn’t break her fool neck in the process.
Suddenly in his peripheral vision Matt caught a glimpse of movement about twenty feet away. He leaned back against the stone wall and held his breath. Had Adele gotten down that quickly? He stared out into the darkness, lit only by hazy moonlight barely visible after the storm. That’s when Matt saw them. Two men, average size by the looks of their dark forms. They were speaking quietly. Too quietly for Matt to hear what they were saying. Then one of them pointed up, toward the roof. Both men moved forward. Matt eased slowly, carefully along the front porch until he reached the side of the inn, then he dashed off the porch and straight toward the nearest tree. He slid behind the huge tree, then looked up where he saw another dark form, small and curvy, as it climbed down a trellis attached to the side of the inn. Princess Adele. The two men waited, one on either side of the trellis.
Damn, they were waiting for Adele. But who the hell were they? And how had they known where Adele was? Unless they had followed her, followed them, to the inn. He hadn’t paid much attention to the traffic once he’d felt certain that Yves Jurgen hadn’t followed them. It had never crossed his mind that someone might be stalking the princess.
Matt watched while Adele descended—right into the arms of her waiting captors. Hell, he’d have to go get her, and that probably meant roughing up a couple of tough guys. He just hoped there wouldn’t be any gunplay involved. He hated like the devil to deal with the foreign police.
Adele let out a piercing scream. Matt checked his 9 mm gun, sucked in a deep breath, then marched forward, like the calvary to the rescue.

Chapter 4
A dele didn’t recognize her attackers, but it was dark and she was scared to death. Although it was possible that these men were muggers, her instincts warned her that they were somehow connected to the Royalists and thus connected to Dedrick. There was no way anyone could have known where she was unless she’d been followed—or unless Matt O’Brien really wasn’t working for her father.
She didn’t have much time to think about what was happening to her. A sweaty hand clamped over her mouth seconds after she screamed. If Matt was on the up-and-up, maybe he’d heard her cry for help. Adele tried to fight off the assault, but she didn’t have the strength to struggle against two men intent on subduing her.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, another man appeared. Taller and bigger than the two holding her. With the swift, deadly ability of a trained soldier, the man attacked, ripping her from captivity and shoving her to freedom. Then when the two culprits surged toward him, he used his entire body as a weapon. His hands. His feet. His head. He landed blow after blow, outmaneuvering and outsmarting his opponents. Adele stood to the side of the action scene and watched in silent amazement. She’d never seen anything like it outside a big-budget adventure movie. Even without being able to see him clearly in the semidarkness, she knew her rescuer was Matt O’Brien. She recognized his hard, lean physique.
When her two attackers lay on the ground, one apparently unconscious and the other moaning in agony, Matt grabbed Adele’s arm and dragged her away from the inn and toward the rental car they had abandoned hours ago during the rainstorm.
“Where are we—” she tried to question him, but he pulled her with him to the car, then opened the door and shoved her inside. She didn’t protest. Not this time.

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