LITMIR.BIZ

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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,

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