Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous (20 page)

Heart thundering in her ears, she wavered on the precipice. As melodramatic as it seemed, she knew their future waited on her decision.

“I’m only sorry we made love because I cannot offer you anything more now than I could then. I am a prince without a nation, a grand duke with responsibilities, and they will not go away with our reunion. I will never be that boy in college who shared an apartment and made do with a hodgepodge of furniture and a miniscule budget—enjoying water instead of wine because it was cheaper. I’m still the man you left before.”

Beneath the churning surface of his fury and ice echoed a sad wistfulness. Setting her wineglass on the coffee table, she walked over, wrapped her arms around his middle and leaned her head against his back. His skin seemed hot and cold. His rigid muscles loosened the longer she stood there, just holding him. He finally settled a hand atop hers on his belly.

“I’m not sorry,” she murmured against his back. “I’m not sorry we made love—I can’t be. It was like being where I belonged and I won’t regret it—even if you decide I’m not worth the trouble.”

He sighed. “You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t demanded you come see me.”

“I’m here because I want to be here.”
Doesn’t he love me just the least little bit?

“Anna—”

“No. You don’t have to say anything or mean anything or even promise anything.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but she meant them. She loved him enough for both right now—if it took her the rest of her life to earn his forgiveness, well, then that was what she would do. “I’m here. You’re here. We can talk—we can make love—we can play video games.”

The lightness in the last fell flat, but he turned in her arms and wrapped her in his embrace. He tucked his chin against her head and she hid there, the illusion of safety better than any rejection. “It’s not fair to you...” he began.

“I don’t care. I just told you I’m not leaving.”
Not again.

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “Then let me at least send for supper.” He pulled free of her arms and walked over to the phone. This—a good portion of this—was her fault.

She wouldn’t let the prince push her away—not when she’d run from Charlie because of the prince before. They could fix this—she didn’t know how, but they had to be able to fix it. They’d just found each other again.

Chapter Thirteen

He flipped through the newspaper, barely reading any of the words. Waking with Anna in his arms was the sweetest ache he’d ever experienced. Slipping out of the bed while she still slept, he’d showered, dressed and settled himself in the dining room. They’d talked for hours, not that he recalled much of the conversation after setting her on the bed and—

He cut off the line of thought.

His body hummed to awareness, seemingly experiencing no conflict between physical desire and the right thing to do.

The door opened down the hall and he kept his gaze focused on the newspaper. Taking advantage of her vulnerability, assuming a future they didn’t have—these were not the best choices he could have made. Hell, of late, he only seemed to make foolish, impulsive decisions—decisions that left her open to danger. The crosshair-framed snapshots of her scrolled through his mind when her sweet scent wrapped around him. She poured herself coffee and joined him at the table, but instead of taking a seat at the end, she pulled out the chair next to his.

“Good morning,” she murmured in a voice still husky from sleep. The low, throaty whisper went right to his groin.

“Morning.” He glanced at her over the paper once. The image of her seared itself to his brain. Damp curls, freshly showered and rosy cheeks because she liked her water boiling. She wore a thin sweater top in the deepest shade of blue—a perfect contrast for her skin.

“You can’t ignore me forever,” she murmured, taking a sip of her coffee.

He kept his gaze affixed to the business column in front of him. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Charlie—”

“However.” He folded the paper shut abruptly. Calling him Charlie provoked a longing for what they could never have and he’d been an idiot—a foolish, irresponsible idiot to think otherwise. Unlike George and Sebastian, he did not have even the illusion of freedom to indulge in a “normal” life. “I have meetings today that can’t be avoided, so it may be late before I return.”

“I thought you took time off to work with me on the fund.”

“Unfortunately, clearing my schedule is not a simple prospect. Emergencies come up. You will be working on the fourteenth today?” He rose, his coffee not even half-finished.

“Sure.” The single-syllable response wasn’t like her. He pushed the chair in and turned to find her standing in front of him. Blocking his path.

“Yes?”

She planted a hand against his chest and his heart shuddered. Up on her tiptoes she came and her lips brushed his mouth. With a low groan, he slid his arms around her and returned the kiss, deepening it until she melted in his arms. The sweet taste of her toothpaste added a crisp bite to the hint of coffee. Her arms glided around his neck and she opened to the invasion of his tongue. Sweet. Soft. Perfect.

It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to let her go. Her kiss lingering on his lips, he couldn’t ignore the drowsy desire in her half-lidded eyes. And while he couldn’t ignore it, he could not afford to take advantage of her again. Anna’s time with him was limited—they would solve the issue of the death threats and she would be free to go. Safer—far, far away from him.

He had no intentions of letting her life end. It would destroy him to lose her. It would end him to mourn her.

“I’ll see you later?” She straightened his tie, adjusting the knot and smoothing the silk down.

“Don’t wait up for me, I might be very late.” Time to go. Releasing her took effort and he spared her a quick smile. Five steps to the door and he was out. He punched the elevator button and stepped inside. She didn’t follow him—thankfully. The elevator paused on the next floor and his security chief stood there.

“You’re going out today, Your Highness?”

Of course, he failed to notify security of his rather abrupt change in plans.

“Yes, I have some appointments that must be kept. We’ll start with the FBI field office and get a report on their investigation.” He was certain the FBI wouldn’t be enthusiastic about the visit, but it was the first thing to come to mind—after those photos, he didn’t want anyone forgetting the threat to Anna.

“Very well, Your Highness.” Peterson motioned to two men behind him and they stepped into the elevator. “I’ll call down for the car. If you wouldn’t mind giving the driver your full itinerary, we’ll do our best to accommodate it.” The man didn’t quite chastise him, but he also didn’t bother to veil the disapproval in his voice.

His security, circumspect as always, made no comment on the descent to the garage. A black SUV and two sedans awaited his arrival. In addition to the two men riding down with him, six more waited on the ground floor.

Peterson wasn’t taking any chances with his charges. His thoroughness and attention to detail were two of the main reasons he earned his position as head of the family’s security. In the backseat, Armand pulled out his phone and sent a text to Richard. In minutes, he arranged a game of racquetball.

He needed to slam something around.

“Destinations, sir?”

“FBI field office, and then we’ll meet Mr. Prentiss at the club.”

The driver was silent, but Armand knew the information would be communicated to Peterson. “Yes, sir. Mr. Peterson is sending a car ahead to the club.” He slid his sunglasses on and the cars rolled out.

At the FBI field office, Armand stood in a lounge that had definitely seen better days. The agents weren’t prepared for his arrival, but the office’s senior agent in charge arranged for coffee and walked in with a file in one hand and the other outstretched for a firm handshake.

“We’ve eliminated another four suspects and we think we have another lead that may interest you.” The man began without preamble and gestured for Armand to take a seat. Americans rarely stood on ceremony and while some seemed to worry that would upset him, he actually enjoyed the normal treatment.

The sofa was hard, lumpy and desperately unforgiving. He chose to sit on the edge. The agent flipped open a file and turned it around to show him a picture. The first thing that struck him were the dead eyes. The second were the tattoos. The symbols inscribed to the man’s neck and arms came directly from prison.

A Russian prison.

“His name is Yuri Markov, he’s a Russian citizen and we believe he entered the United States illegally about six months ago.” Six months—was that before or after George was in Belaria? Did it matter? His timing couldn’t have been a coincidence, he’d arrived...

Just in time for a princess’s wedding.

“Now, Markov—he’s a foot soldier. His sheet is one long list of larceny, assault, battery and three attempted murder charges and four alleged murders, but he was never prosecuted on those. The interesting part is that Markov has ties to the Kachusov family in Belaria. He handles some business for them, but he’s a foot soldier.”

Belaria
. Ice dripped down his spine.

“I see you are familiar with the country.”

Armand nodded once. “Yes. It has been in dire straits in the last few years, but shale leases in the mountains may provide a key to turning their economy around if they do not destroy the environment first.” A number of companies competed for the leases—leases held by the Kachusov family. Zuran Kachusov served as Belaria’s first president and his sons were all generals in the tiny country’s military—but beyond that, they were suspected of multiple ties to mob families in St. Petersburg.

“The threats are coming from the Kachusovs?” Cool and impersonal—it was the only way to handle the rage building inside.

“Well we can’t say that for sure, sir. What we can tell you is that as of three days ago, Yuri received three payments totaling half a million dollars and three photographs.”

Amazing how the FBI seemed to know all this. Did they have Markov in custody?

“Unfortunately, Markov seemed aware of the surveillance and gave us the slip. We believe that the money represents deposits or payoffs for targets. Currently, we have several to choose from here in the city—your cousin, her husband, yourself and your brothers.”

“And Miss Novak.” Armand did not want the FBI to ignore the credible threat to her.

“Yes, sir—Miss Novak is considered a lower risk because while we have threats targeting her, we believe it’s a decoy designed to stretch your resources thin.”

“I appreciate your candor, Agent. However, Miss Novak has been targeted because of her association with me—so you will not lower her ‘risk.’ My cousin and her husband are leaving on a long-overdue second honeymoon this afternoon.” He would speak to Daniel about it. The software programmer could work anywhere and his company was on solid footing. He could afford to take Alyx away to the islands—such as the isolated one the Andraste family owned. It wouldn’t take long to make the arrangements.

“As for my brothers, George will return to Europe within a day or two. He can stay at the family compound in Norway, it has as much security as here, if not more. Sebastian can return to the Mediterranean.” While Norway was closer to Belaria, it was farther than the current threat.

“Prince Armand, you’ll forgive me, but I do have a couple of questions for your youngest brother before he leaves.” The statement caught Armand off guard. He wasn’t sure he could convince Anna to take a long vacation—perhaps in Australia, halfway around the world from these issues.

“Why do you need to question George?” No one was touching his brother, not even the federal authorities.

The older man looked uneasy, his mouth compressed, his jaw tightened, and he smoothed his tie—a nervous habit he repeated twice since Armand had sat down. “Were you aware of Prince George’s visit to Belaria last year?”

Armand knew his brother’s itineraries. They were always filed with his office, Gretchen kept updates in the calendar so he knew what country and time zones his brothers were in. “This is related to his work with the Pulshkyn Party?” For all of George’s jet-setting ways, he did occasionally become passionate about a cause. The Pulshkyn Party in Belaria was a small political movement seeking to preserve Belaria’s cultural and environmental heritage—and stop foreign companies from plundering them.

“Washington thinks so.” The agent flipped the file to another page. “During his time in Belaria, Prince George attended a dozen rallies, thirty-two coffee meetings, and donated in excess of one million dollars to the Pulshkyn Party’s movement. He was photographed with Bogdan Zhabin, the head of that movement.”

George’s growing notoriety in the region was the primary reason Armand ordered him to leave Belaria. They couldn’t afford the press coverage or the backlash—particularly the two bombings of Andraste factories on the border.

“Your Highness, in the last six months, the Pulshkyn platform and rallying cry has become a return to their roots—to their monarchy. They want to put you back on a throne.”

Rumors had filtered through the reports about that wrinkle—rumors Peterson confirmed the day before. Armand had instructed his executives and agents to play it down—particularly since he had no intentions of accepting a throne his great-grandfather was deposed from. “Yes, I am aware. These movements crop up from time to time in the destabilized areas of the former Soviet Union. It will pass.”

“That’s the rub, sir. Our analysts don’t see it passing anytime soon. At nearly every appearance of the Kachusov family in the last six weeks, Pulshkyn supporters have picketed and staged demonstrations—and the banner they are using features you.” As if he’d been waiting for this moment, the agent gestured to the television and a series of images played out. The demonstrations seemed to begin peaceful, but always ended in violence. Armand’s face plastered to banners. The Russian placards read “Long Live Andraste,” “Bring the Andraste Home,” and even more disturbingly, “Belaria Needs Her Czar.”