The Princess and the Billionaire (25 page)

Isabelle did as the woman requested. There was nothing wrong with taking precautions. Given her condition, it was a prudent thing to do. “Everything is all right,” she said out loud as the plane cut its way through the darkness. There was absolutely nothing she could do about the storms. She should be relieved the pilot was exercising a high degree of care. Better to arrive tired and grouchy than to have something dreadful happen.

“Positive thoughts,” she admonished herself. She stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. The glitter of gold from her bracelet made her smile despite her fatigue. Almost seven in the evening. She was hungry and tired and not at all in a party mood.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. Perhaps she’d feel more cheerful after a nap.

* * *

Daniel turned the wheel sharply and made a left into the driveway. The truck screeched to a stop, kicking up dirt and gravel. Immediately he noticed Ivan’s cottage was dark. Leaving the engine running, he sprang from the truck, raced up the path to the front door, and jammed the key into the lock.

“Isabelle!” He swung open the door and switched on the lights. “Princess, are you here?”

No answer. He glanced around the living room. It looked exactly as they’d left it a few weeks ago. The fear that had been building inside him exploded. She wouldn’t do something like this. She wasn’t the kind who got her kicks out of making the people she cared for worry themselves sick.

He searched the rooms, the closets, looked under the beds. Nothing. He was about to check the garage when the telephone blared. He was on it before the second ring.

“Did you find her, Maxine?”

“It’s not Maxine, Danny. It’s your old man.”

For the first time in his life he understood how it felt to be scared to death. Death would be easier than the crushing sense of terror closing in on him. “Whatever the hell it is, Pop, just say it.”

“We’ve got trouble, Danny. She’s been kidnapped.”

Daniel broke all the speed limits between Ivan’s house and the airport where Matty said a private jet would be waiting for him within the hour.

Kidnapped.
He clutched the wheel as beads of sweat broke out along his temples and the back of his neck. What kind of son of a bitch would kidnap a woman in the ninth month of pregnancy? If Matty hadn’t bumped into Joe at the airport earlier, they’d still be beating their heads against a brick wall, trying to figure out where Isabelle had disappeared. Matty had immediately called in a few favors and reached the traffic controller at Teterboro. The plane belonged to Malraux International, and it was a safe bet it was en route to Perreault.

He reached the airport in record time. Matty was waiting for him on the tarmac next to their chartered jet. The plane was small and sharp-nosed. The pilot could propel it across the Atlantic fueled only by Daniel’s rage.

“We’ve got a problem,” Matty said as soon as Daniel joined him. “Interpol’s involved. They want us to stay out of it. We might endanger Isabelle and blow their operation.”

“Fuck Interpol. I don’t give a goddamn about their operation.”

“They can get nasty.”

“Let ’em try. They’ll have to kill me first.”

“Don’t tempt them, Danny. When you get to this level of shit, even the good guys play rough.”

Daniel started up the steps to the plane with Matty on his heels. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not going alone.”

“Do me a favor, Pop. Stay home.”

“I love that woman, too,” Matty said, “and that’s my grandbaby she’s carrying.”

“I don’t have time to waste fighting with you,” Daniel said, entering the cabin. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Once they were airborne, Matty filled Daniel in on the details of Juliana’s death.

“She died two weeks ago?” Daniel stared out the window at the vanishing earth below. “Why didn’t it hit the news?”

“They’re keeping it under wraps, going to claim it was a suicide. Postpartum depression.”

“But it wasn’t?”

Matty shook his head. “Afraid not.”

As far as Interpol could tell, Juliana had been injected with an overdose of barbiturates. A suicide note had been found next to her body. Whether it had been forged or written under duress nobody knew.

“Damn it. This doesn’t make any sense,” Daniel said, dragging his hand through his hair. “Juliana was exactly what Malraux needed. She’s played ball with him from the beginning, right down to marrying his son. What the hell did they have to gain by killing her?”

* * *

Groggy and unrefreshed, Isabelle gave up the quest for sleep. She’d dozed fitfully, her dreams tangled and surreal, leaving her perception of time out of kilter. Early morning sunlight filtered through the cabin windows. Impossible. Opening her eyes, she glanced at her watch. Not quite midnight. She reached over to lift the shade.

“Oh, my God.” Instead of the Florida coastline she saw the jagged peaks of snow-capped mountains. She knew those mountains. It was all as familiar to her as her reflection in the mirror.

Perreault. She’d never thought to see it again, never wanted to see it again. Dawn’s light cast a pinkish glow across the mountains. As a little girl she’d believed it was the touch of a magic wand, transforming the tiny country into a wonderland. How little she knew what constituted magic.

The woman entered the cabin. “Good,” she said, “you’re awake. We’re about to make our descent into the airport.”

“Orlando?”

The woman looked mildly embarrassed. “It will all be made clear, your highness.”

Your highness? There was something about the way the woman said it that alarmed Isabelle even more than the fact that she’d been abducted back to her homeland.
Stay calm,
she told herself, moving her hands in small circles on her belly. Getting upset wouldn’t be good for her or for the baby.

The woman seemed to sense her thoughts. “You are in no danger whatsoever, your highness. I am a licensed obstetrician. Your well-being is our top priority.”

Isabelle nodded curtly. “I am relieved to hear that.” She thanked God for the glass wall of reserve that most members of royalty employed upon occasion. Coolly she turned to look out the window. “We’re landing at the little airstrip near the castle? The runways there are scarcely more than paths in the dirt.”

“There have been some improvements since you left, your highness. I think you will be well pleased.”

What possible difference did it make if Isabelle were pleased or not? Whatever was going on had nothing to do with her pleasure and they both knew it. “I suppose this is my sister’s idea of a fitting punishment,” she said as the plane knifed through the clouds. “What Juliana giveth, Juliana taketh away.” This was probably an elaborate ploy to strip her once again of her money so they could fund more improvements to the airfield.

“This isn’t a police state.” She shifted position in an attempt to ease the cramping muscles in her lower back. “Juliana has achieved her goal. I request the jet be refueled so I can return home immediately.”

“Perreault is your home.”

“Perreault is where I was born, Doctor, but it is not my home.” Home was in New York, with Daniel and Maxi and Ivan and all of the Bronsons. They were the only true family she’d ever known.

“You will understand everything soon, your highness, I promise.”

The plane touched down, bumping its way across the runway. The seat belt cut into her lower abdomen as the pilot braked to a stop. Daniel must be wild with worry. He’d probably called the police or the FBI or whoever it was Americans called in situations like this. She wouldn’t put it past Juliana to try to hold her for ransom. Why settle for her trust fund when Juliana could tap into the Bronson fortune? If it didn’t mean being stranded in Perreault, she wished Daniel would tell her sister to go straight to hell. And Maxi—she couldn’t bear to think how Maxi would feel, knowing the two girls she’d raised were once again battling.

The doctor stood up. “We can deplane now.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I strongly urge that you comply.”

Isabelle arched a brow. “Is that a threat?”

The doctor looked genuinely horrified. “Of course not. It is only that there are people waiting who must not be disappointed.”

Awkwardly Isabelle rose to her feet. “I should hate to disappoint my sister.”

An odd look passed across the woman’s face, but she said nothing.

“This way, ladies.” The cabin steward motioned them toward the door.

Isabelle followed the doctor down the metal steps to the tarmac where, to her surprise, Eric awaited them.

His expression was duly serious—the perfect expression for a man about to meet his kidnapped sister-in-law—but she did note with satisfaction that his eyes were drawn repeatedly to her enormous belly. She wondered how it was she had ever believed herself in love with him.

“Darling girl.” He made to kiss her cheeks, but she stepped away. “I wish the circumstances could be different.”

“As do I. It is sad to see a grown man performing his wife’s less pleasant chores.”

He looked at the doctor who shook her head. “There are things you do not know.”

“And there are things about which I do not care any longer. Juliana has accomplished her goal. My trust fund reverts back to her, and my life has been disrupted. She has proved herself superior in every way. Now I would like to return home.”

“Darling girl, this is your home.”

She was growing wearing of that sentiment. “You do not believe that any more than I do, Eric.”

“Darling girl, you must listen to me. Something has happened—something dreadful.”

She’d never heard that tone in his voice before or seen that particular look in his eyes. She waited, her hands moving reassuringly across the expanse of her belly, refusing to help him in any way.

“It’s Juliana,” he said, blue eyes welling with tears. “She has taken her own life.”

E
ric talked about Juliana’s depression after Allegra’s birth, about how much her sister had desired a son, but Isabelle’s mind was numb. His words simply had no meaning. As they drove up the mountainside to the castle, she saw her sister as a little girl, her blond pigtails like spun gold in the Alpine sunlight. The young Juliana always rose with the first light to pick flowers from the garden or to walk the path to the stables. She’d lived a charmed life, one of ease and privilege, safe within the walls of the castle with their father happy to wipe away her tears.

Isabelle had envied her with all her heart. How strange, how heartbreakingly sad, that Juliana lay dead by her own hand while Isabelle knew a joy unlike any she’d imagined possible in this lifetime.

“... the funeral will be late this afternoon,” Eric said, patting her hand. “Once that is past, the news will be made public.”

“Where is—I mean, I would like to...”

He shook his head. “It is best that you remember her as she was.”

Isabelle wished she felt something more than a bittersweet regret that things had not been different between herself and Juliana. “I’d very much like to see the children.” The only true innocents in the entire tragic situation.

“They are with my mother in Paris. When Allegra was born, it quickly became obvious that Juliana was not—” He stopped and regrouped his thoughts. “I am sure you’ll have an opportunity to see them before long.” He made to pat her hand again, but she moved away. His wry smile told her the gesture did not go unnoticed. “I see that you will be adding to the family very soon.”

“That fact should have been considered before dragging me onto the plane.”

“We did provide a doctor for you, darling girl. The last thing we wanted was to endanger your health in any way. You must believe that. We simply found it imperative to bring you here as quickly as possible.”

“Did you think me so heartless that I would not attend my sister’s funeral if at all possible?”

“I apologize for any discomfort or apprehension we might have caused you, darling girl. We erred on the side of caution.”

“Kidnapping someone is hardly erring on the side of caution.”

Eric seemed genuinely surprised. “Kidnapping?” His features hardened into something approximating a frown. “A damn mishandling of the situation. You were to have been informed that it was a family situation right from the start.” He reached for her hand and kissed it before she could react. “We wanted only to have you with us in our sorrow. Never would I do anything to cause you a moment’s unease.”

That from the man who had slept with her while he was busy impregnating her sister. It was all Isabelle could do to keep from laughing out loud.

They reached the castle at last. Eric parked the Daimler under the porte cochere, then turned off the ignition. She reached for the door handle, but he raced around to the passenger’s side before she got the door open. The castle was draped in the black bunting of mourning, as it had been for her father little more than a year ago. It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.

“Where is Yves?” she asked as Eric led the way into the drawing room. Yves always greeted visitors at the door. “It’s terribly quiet in here.”

“This may be Yves’s morning off. We are running on a skeleton staff this week, darling girl. There has been a certain reluctance to serve since Juliana’s unfortunate demise.”

A chill ran up Isabelle’s spine despite the warming sun. “The curse of Perreault.”

“It has acquired a certain validity in the past year.”

For the first time, she understood what Maxine meant when she talked of feeling the brush of evil. The castle felt different, as if there had been a fundamental yet invisible change that rendered it alien to her.

* * *

As the hours passed, Daniel found it progressively harder to pretend he wasn’t thirty thousand feet over the Atlantic Ocean with nowhere to go but down.

“You okay?” Matty asked.

“Yeah.”

“Rough trip.”

Daniel met his father’s eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“The plane’s been bucking like a damn bronco.”

“Thanks for the update, Pop.”

Matty leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. “Your mother and I were talking on the plane up from Florida. Damned if we can figure out where you got this flying phobia. The rest of us took to it like ducks to water.”

“It’s fear of heights, Pop. The flying part is secondary.”

“Where’d it come from is what I want to know.”

“Why don’t we get Interpol to run a background check for you?” He knew his old man was trying to keep his mind off what lay ahead. He appreciated it but couldn’t get into lightweight banter the way he usually could. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. He cleared his throat. “I owe you one, Pop. If you hadn’t—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Dumb luck,” said Matty, puffing nervously on his cigar. “If Joe wasn’t such a blabbermouth, we might not’ve found her. Let’s just hope they’re going to Perreault.”

“They’re going to Perreault. Malraux will try to use Isabelle the way he used her sister.”

“I still say let Interpol handle it. They know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah,” said Daniel, “but they’re not in love with her.”

Matty looked at him. “So you finally realized it. I was wondering how long it was going to take you.”

“Too goddamn long.” He’d sell everything he owned and start again at the beginning just for the chance to tell her.

* * *

She had expected to be put in her old suite, but Eric led her to the opposite wing of the castle where he showed her to a room on the first floor. It was small, decently appointed, but isolated from any hope of companionship.

“I would prefer my old apartment,” she said, running her finger across the slightly dusty top of the nightstand.

“So sorry, darling girl, but there’s a spot of trouble in that wing. The old plumbing has had its day.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to ignore the prickle of apprehension moving up her spine. “I’ll be leaving right after the funeral.” She looked at him. “When will it be?”

“Four p.m.”

She rubbed the small of her back. “I do not know what I’ll do for clothing. This is not the proper attire.”

“Do not worry, darling girl. All will be taken care of.” He kissed her on both cheeks. “Sleep. We can discuss everything when you wake up.”

He closed the door after him, leaving Isabelle alone. A basket of fruit rested on a tabletop. She helped herself to an apple, but found it was mealy after spending the winter in the cellar. The castle was quiet, much too quiet for this hour of the morning. She stood by the window, looking down at the gardens below. The hedges were untended, new growth leaping upward in random patterns that were nothing like the crisp, geometric designs Isabelle remembered. The stone pathways her father had walked on his rambles with the dogs were barely visible through the encroaching weeds. And the rose bushes Isabelle had loved as a child were gone, ripped out and planted over with azaleas.

She felt as if she’d been dropped into some alternate universe where the normal landmarks had been changed just enough to lend an air of unreality.

From the vicinity of the kennels came the yipping of her father’s beloved Corgis. Bertrand had been adamantly opposed to kenneling dogs. “They’re social creatures,” he had said with great indignation. “Not meant to be locked away in a cubicle.” It had always struck Isabelle as odd that he had done exactly that with his younger daughter on the day he sent her off to her first boarding school.

It was obvious Juliana had had no difficulty banishing the Corgis to the canine dungeons.
Poor things,
thought Isabelle. They probably had no idea why they had been cast aside, any more than she had understood why she was no longer good enough to live in the castle with her family.

Memories were everywhere. Her beautiful mother. Her thoughtless father. Juliana and the two little girls she’d left behind.
Why did you do it, Juli? How could you leave them alone?
It wasn’t that long ago that she had been left without a mother, and her heart went out to the nieces she had never met. She yearned to hold them close, to give them—even for a moment—a mother’s love. Perhaps it was a good thing they were in Paris with Celine. Isabelle was unsure if she could resist the temptation to spirit them away to America where they could grow up surrounded by love.

She moved her hands across her belly. “I’ll never leave you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be there for you.”

And so would Daniel. She’d never met anyone like him. Sharp. Opinionated. Strong and loyal and more wonderful than any man had a right to be. He’d grown up surrounded by all the love and security a child could want, and Isabelle knew that together they would provide the same for their baby.

What a shame it was that their child would never know the country of its mother’s birth. Perreault was part of her, no matter how she tried to deny it. Being here again brought it all back to her. The hopes and dreams she’d nurtured. The plans she’d made for her own future. How she wished she could banish the curse of Perreault and turn the principality into the wonderful country it could be.

But it wasn’t her place. The throne would go to year-old Victoria, and Isabelle had no doubt that Honore and Eric would be making the decisions on her behalf. If only there were a way to stop time, to somehow ensure that Victoria and Allegra would know more happiness than she and Juliana had.

Suddenly the room seemed too small, too stiflingly hot to stay there another second. Turning away from the window, she glanced about for a telephone, but there was none to be found. She needed to hear Daniel’s voice, to let him know she would be on her way home again before the day was over.

She opened the door slowly, then peered up and down the corridor. Not a soul in sight. Not a sound. “Goose,” she said out loud. What difference did it make if the hallway was clogged with servants? She wasn’t a prisoner here.

A back muscle spasmed, and she paused a moment in the doorway and waited for it to pass. The corridor was long and narrow and dimly lit. She was unfamiliar with this wing of the castle. In the past it had been used for servants and less important guests. It occurred to her that a person could disappear in this deserted wing and never be heard from again—certainly not the kind of thought a woman in her last month of pregnancy relished.

“At last,” she murmured, seeing the spill of light up ahead.

She was just about to step into the huge rotunda when she heard footsteps behind her. Spinning around, she found herself face to face with Yves. Dear God, what had happened to him since the last time she was there? Although it hardly seemed possible, his gaunt frame was even more so, and his dour expression had become downright tragic. Juliana’s death must have hit him terribly hard, she thought, glad in a way that someone found it in his heart to care.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, executing a swift bow. “You must leave this place.”

She stared at him. The man had always been proper to the point of being obsequious. His dislike of her had been veiled in the painfully correct behavior of one born to serve.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into an empty room, closing the door behind them. Her heart beat so wildly that she feared for her child. “There is danger everywhere, mademoiselle. I have heard them talking. Leave now!” His breath smelled strongly of alcohol.

“Good Lord, Yves, have you been drinking?” Poor man. He was so griefstricken that he’d sought solace in the bottle.

He tightened his grip on her wrist, and frantically she wondered how she would manage to kick him when she had not seen her feet in months. “The Princess Juliana—God rest her soul—was murdered.”

Certainly his words were those of a madman. “You are mistaken. She took her own life, Yves.”

He shook his head, his eyes wild with fury. “She was murdered, mademoiselle. She had discovered too much. She knew that your son—”

Isabelle raised her hand. She didn’t need the ramblings of a drunken servant, especially not one who had never liked her. “That is quite enough, Yves. As you can no doubt see, my child has not yet been born.”

“You carry a son.”

“I carry a child,” she corrected him, feeling once again the icy wings of fear against her face. “Whether it is a son or a daughter I do not know.” The man was mad. There could be no other explanation.

“
They
know,” said Yves as she struggled to break free. “Why else would they have brought you here?”

She stomped down hard on his instep. He cried out, releasing her from his grasp. Moving as quickly as she could, she darted from the airless room and hurried into the center hallway.

“Dear girl!” A familiar voice called out. “I have been looking for you.”

She stopped, then turned to see Honore Malraux swiftly making his way toward her.

“Isabelle!” He was at her side in an instant. He gripped her by the shoulders and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. “
Mon dieu,
my darling child, what has happened?”