Taming the Prince (14 page)

She shook her head. “No, I won’t be taking you safely back to Penwyck,” she said softly. “The RII will.”

Oh, now that didn’t sound good at all. “What do you mean?”

“Not surprisingly, they tracked us very well,” she said. “They have operatives working right here in Maria Lupe, and they’ve already apprehended two of the kidnappers. Alas, Fawn and the other are still eluding them, but perhaps with our help, those two will be rounded up shortly, as well. But the RII agents will be here momentarily. They’ve been working with the local police and are right up the street. And they’ll be escorting you back to Penwyck today. They’ll hand you over personally to Queen Marissa in just a few hours, I imagine.”

“But you—”

“I’ll stay here for a debriefing and return to Penwyck shortly,” she finished for him. “I’m sure Admiral Monteque himself will want to talk to me. If for no other reason than to tell me what a failure I am,” she muttered in conclusion, not quite under her breath.

Her expression changed not one iota as she told him all of this, but Shane knew she wasn’t nearly as calm and collected as she was letting on. Her eyes were too bright, her chin too fiercely angled, her mouth too grim. She was no happier about this development than he was. Though for her, he had to admit, it might just have been because her career was in trouble, and not necessarily because she wanted to stay with Shane.

No, he immediately contradicted himself. Oh, sure, her job was on the line, but that wasn’t the only thing upsetting her. “Sara—” he began.

“Everything will be fine, Shane,” she said, cutting him off. “In a few hours, you’ll be with your brother and the queen, and you can get this switched-at-birth thing settled once and for all and move on with your life. Whatever direction it winds up taking.”

“But you—”

“And I’ll be able to move on with my life, as well,” she said before he had a chance to finish. “Whatever direction
it
winds up taking.”

In other words, Shane translated,
It’s over between us.

And in realizing that, he felt like a Mack truck had just mowed him down. How could she say that? he wondered. How could she even suggest that the two of them should just go on with their lives after what had happened last night? After everything that had happened this week?

Well, what did you expect, Cordello?
that annoying voice piped up again.
It’s not like the two of you made any promises to each other. You sure as hell never made any to her.

But that was only because he hadn’t had the chance, he told the voice. When was he supposed to have made promises? While they were being hijacked? While they were being kidnapped? While they were being held for ransom? While they were running for their lives?

How about when you made love to her?
the voice asked.
That might have been a good time.

Had
he told her he loved her? he wondered again. He honestly couldn’t remember now. If he had, it certainly hadn’t been with any real conviction. Certainly Sara offered no indication that he’d said anything to her then.

But he hadn’t made any promises to her, that
was
certain. Not even when he’d realized he was the first man she’d allowed inside—literally and figuratively. Last night had to have been important to her, he thought. She wouldn’t have made love with him if she hadn’t cared. She wasn’t the kind of woman to hold on to her virginity and then give it away carelessly to some guy who wasn’t going to stick around. Shane had realized that even as he accepted her gift last night. In doing so, he had acknowledged, whether consciously or not, that he knew she cared for him. A lot.

But he’d said nothing to her to make her think he felt the same way, had offered her no indication that last night had meant anything more to him than other nights—with other women—had. Even an avowal of love could be mis
construed. People said things when they made love. That didn’t mean they meant them. Even if Shane
hadn’t
ever said those words to any other woman before. Sara had no real reason to think he wanted her to stay around. And this was her way of letting him off the hook.

“Sara—” he began again.

“Oh, look,” she interrupted him again, “they’ve broken their own record. They’re here already.”

She was looking at something over his shoulder, so Shane turned to follow her gaze. He saw two middle-aged men dressed in what might have passed for vacation wear on other men: loose-fitting linen trousers and pastel-colored guayabera shirts. But the government-issue sunglasses and the listening devices each wore in his ear sort of spoiled the image. It took them no time to locate Sara and Shane, and they moved swiftly and with much purpose across the lobby toward them.

“Wallington,” the first man said as they approached, his voice completely lacking inflection, “we’ll take it from here. Morrisey is waiting for you outside in the car.”

Sara nodded with clear resignation, then turned to Shane. “Good luck,” she said blandly. “I hope everything works out the way you hoped it would.” And although her voice may have been empty when she spoke, her eyes…

Oh, God, her eyes, Shane thought. They were filled with regrets and wants and needs that he wished like hell he could stay and repair. There was so much he wanted to tell her in that moment, so much he wished he’d said the night before. But he couldn’t say those things now. Not with two strangers looking on. Not when Sara’s career might have been jeopardized with what he had to say.

“Be happy,” she told him.

As if that would be possible without her, he thought. But all he said in response was, “Yeah, thanks.”

And then he was being escorted across the lobby and out the door, where not one, but two, nondescript, British-manufactured sedans idled at the curb. The back door of
one swung open in a ghostly fashion, and one of Shane’s escorts directed him inside before following. The other man took a seat in the front, and a woman drove them away. He turned to look out the back window and saw Sara climbing into the back seat of the other car, but not before she glanced one last time in his direction. Without thinking, he lifted a hand in farewell, even though he wasn’t sure if she would see him. But he thought she smiled sadly before she crawled inside the other vehicle.

And then, just like that, Sara was gone.

T
he palace at Marlestone, Penwyck’s capital and largest city, surpassed even what Shane had been sure were his own wildly exaggerated misconceptions. Even the city surpassed his expectations. He’d never traveled outside the United States, but he’d seen enough James Bond movies in his time to have a grasp on most of the major European capitals. Seeing Europe in person, however, he realized what a grave disservice he’d done in picturing the Old World way of life. As he and his RII companions drove through the streets of Marlestone, he saw that the city was aged like a fine antique, elegant and regal and distinguished, loaded with character and much like what he’d seen of London on the screen—only bigger and more three-dimensional. And where he’d figured the palace at Marlestone would be grand and refined, it was actually glorious and opulent.

As the car made its way through vast wrought-iron gates that were opened by formally attired guards, Shane saw that
the palace bore little resemblance to a castle with moats and turrets and a drawbridge, and instead looked more like a massive stately home. Three stories high, the gray limestone gleamed in the early-afternoon sun, its scores of windows glittering like fine gems. An immense stone reproduction of the family crest was fastened on an arching vault at the center of the building’s front, and the vast arching doorway reached nearly to the second floor.

Must be one hell of a foyer, he thought. Then again, why was he surprised? It was one hell of a palace, too. As a construction worker, he could only admire the craftsmanship and skill and hard labor that had obviously gone into creating such a structure. Especially since he’d been told that the main part of the place had been built more than four hundred years ago.

The car rolled to a halt at the front entrance, and a half-dozen people stepped forward to meet it. Shane searched the faces to see if one belonged to his brother, but everyone was a stranger. Introductions flew as he was hurried into the palace, and although Shane caught none of the names, he noted some of the titles, especially of the men and women associated with the RII. One woman was attached to the queen somehow, and a man, Shane thought, was one of her advisers. Frankly, his head was buzzing with information overload by then, so he only followed where they directed him.

Gradually, he lost much of his entourage, until only a group of four people escorted him through the innards of the palace. None were the RII agents who had accompanied him from Maria Lupe, however. Still, all of his current companions seemed to be of the same worker-bee level as the others, because none expressed or exuded any kind of authority. Which probably meant they were taking Shane to the people who did have authority, when the only person he really wanted to see was Sara. Or his brother. Someone who could help keep him grounded when he felt like everything around him was flying apart.

As he was led through what seemed like dozens of rooms and down dozens of corridors, past dozens of pieces of lavish furniture and paintings of dead nobility, Shane could only shake his head in wonder that there were people on the planet who actually lived this way. And the realization that there was some small possibility that he and Marcus might very well have been born to it, that, in other circumstances, they might very well have spent their entire lives in these very glorious, opulent surroundings was just…

Well, kind of gross, actually, Shane thought. Hell, the last kind of life he wanted was one like this—filled with material excesses and unearned privilege and bowing and scraping from the general population. After all, he’d gone out of his way to avoid a life like this.

Oh, he
could
have grown up in a situation like this. Okay, not
quite
like this, he conceded, as he and Marcus wouldn’t have been princes or living in a palace. But their mother and father had been very wealthy when they were kids. The house on Chicago’s Gold Coast that Shane recalled from his early childhood had, in many ways, been a minipalace, so ostentatious had both of his parents been. Their lifestyle had been that of the idle rich—he and Marcus had attended a posh private school and mixed with all the right families and they’d had anything and everything their little hearts desired. Except, of course, two parents who loved each other.

But even after the divorce, when Shane had been split up from his twin, his life had continued in much the same fashion. His mother had remarried six months later, to a man very much like her first husband—wealthy, well connected, idle, willing to do anything for a buck. Although they had moved from Chicago to upstate New York, Shane’s lifestyle hadn’t changed at all. He’d still lived in a minipalace and attended the best schools and run around with boys from other rich families. He’d still been given everything he wanted, whether he worked for it or not. He’d still missed his parents’ involvement in his life.
Things had been the same with his second stepfather. And his third.

In fact, by the time Shane graduated from prep school, he was on the fast track to becoming a man just like the men who had raised him: wealthy, well connected, idle. And corrupt, too, because most of his mother’s husbands after his father had been men who hadn’t cared where their money came from or how it appeared, so long as it was at their disposal in great piles. Few had worked for a living. None had cared about anything other than themselves—and their money—which had become evident every time one of Shane’s mother’s marriages failed. The male role models he’d had throughout his life had left a lot to be desired. Oh, they’d been rich, to be sure. But they hadn’t much been human. Certainly not the kind of human that Shane wanted to be.

Fortunately, he had been smart enough to realize that early on, and he’d made a pact with himself not to become one of them. Marcus had helped keep him centered, even though Marcus, too, grew up in the lap of luxury. Marcus had even worked hard to make sure he
stayed
rich and moved in the right circles to the point where he’d made his first million in real estate at the age of nineteen. But that had been the point—Marcus had
worked.
Marcus had
earned
his wealth. He hadn’t rested on what he had and let others do the work for him. Marcus had taken the initiative.

So Shane had, too. Unfortunately, Shane didn’t have his brother’s head for business. Nor, truth be told, had he wanted it. Shane had always liked working with his hands, had liked performing physical labor more than mental tasks. And when he’d walked away from his mother’s lifestyle and journeyed into his own, he hadn’t really missed the riches and privilege. There had been something uniquely gratifying about making his own way in the world. For the first time in his life, he’d felt proud of himself, satisfied with himself. He’d felt useful and purposeful and important. The first time he’d completed a construction job, and
watched the building rise from ground to the sky, he’d felt an enormous sense of pride. He had a physical manifestation of his hard work, and it was one that would provide scores of other people with shelter.

Whatever Shane had in his life, he’d earned it. All by himself. Working with his own two hands. And that made him feel proud. It made him feel worthy. It made him feel like he made an important contribution to the human race. Walking through the palace at Marlestone, however…

Well, all Shane felt was uncomfortable. There was too much wealth here, in his opinion. Too much privilege. And none of it had been earned by the Penwyck family, other than being born to it. Which, okay, was probably perfectly acceptable in this country, but to his own way of thinking, hard work provided far greater rewards.

After what felt like days of walking, Shane and his escorts finally halted by a door on the second floor of the palace. He assumed it would lead him to the throne room, or wherever the hell kings and queens did their business. Instead, he entered what looked like a bedroom—a really big, really luxurious bedroom—and his brother, Marcus, was standing by the window on the other side.

“Shane!” he exclaimed by way of a greeting when he spun around at the sound of the opening door.

As usual, Marcus’s dark brown hair managed to look both shaggy and stylish, and his green eyes were lit with genuine happiness. Likewise, as usual, he was dressed in a dark power suit, a discreetly patterned silk tie knotted at his throat. The entire ensemble had probably set him back more than Shane made in a month, he couldn’t help thinking with much amusement. At five-foot-ten, Marcus was a couple of inches shorter than Shane, but he carried himself in such a way as to make himself seem actually taller.

“It’s about time you got here!” he added as he hurried across the room to pull his brother into a fierce hug. “I was so worried about you. Thank God you’re all right.”

Shane embraced Marcus gratefully, laughing as he did
so, slapping his brother’s back a few times for good measure. “Sorry it took me so long,” he said as they pulled apart. “I got a little distracted.”

“By the Black Knights, no less, from what I hear. That group has caused more trouble to this country lately. You’re lucky you made it out with your shirt.”

Actually, Shane wanted to say, the Black Knights hadn’t been the biggest distraction. That, of course, had been Sara Wallington. And he really didn’t want to comment on the part about making it out with his shirt. Seeing as how he hadn’t. But that was a story best saved for later, when the two brothers were alone and could share everything they’d both been through over the last couple of weeks. Shane especially wanted to hear more about the new woman in Marcus’s life. He’d received a call from his brother a couple of weeks before the one that had led him to Penwyck, and the conversation then had been cryptic at best. Now, of course, Shane knew that Marcus had uncovered the strange details surrounding their births at that time, but just hadn’t known what to tell his brother. And the woman in Marcus’s life, Lady Amira Corbin of Penwyck, had been the one to fill in those pieces.

She’d also set Marcus on his ear, Shane had realized during that conversation. But his brother had been evasive about Amira during his last call, before Shane left L.A., and had instead focused on the royal twin-swapping escapade. As soon as the opportunity arose, however, he intended to pin Marcus down once and for all about the lady.

“It was, without question, the worst flight of my life,” Shane agreed. “And the food wasn’t very good, either. So what the hell has been going on here, anyway?”

Hastily, Marcus filled him in on what had been happening in Penwyck since the royal jet had been hijacked, about the ransom call the queen had received, demanding an end to the alliance with Majorco in exchange for the safe return of the possible future monarch. While Her Majesty had stalled for time, the RII had set about trying to follow the
hijackers’ trail from where the royal jet had last been tracked on radar. They’d managed to make it as far as Maria Lupe in Spain, but the trail had gone cold there, until they’d received Sara’s call early that morning.

“Pretty lucky being kidnapped with a woman who’s studying to become a member of the RII,” Marcus observed. “But then, you’ve always been the lucky one, haven’t you?”

That, Shane thought, was a topic of debate, depending on one’s point of view. To his own way of thinking, though, yes, in this case at least, Shane had definitely been the lucky one. And not because Sara had been an aspiring member of the RII, either. But simply because Sara had been Sara.

“Look, do you know what happened to her? Where they took her?” Shane asked his brother. “Because I really need to talk to her.”

Marcus shrugged. “I imagine she’s with the RII, telling them about what happened. They want to talk to you, too, of course, but Queen Marissa has insisted she see you at once. And only after you’ve had a chance to freshen up. I told them to bring you here, to my room, so I could see you first.”

Shane expelled a long, exasperated breath. “Oh, man, we have got so much to talk about,” he said. “But right now, all I want to do is sleep for about ten weeks.”

“You can’t,” Marcus told him. “You’re scheduled for a command performance for Queen Marissa.” He glanced down at his—very expensive—gold watch. “In about twenty minutes, as a matter of fact. And it’s going to take us ten minutes to get to her room because she’s in the opposite wing of the palace.”

Shane blew out another weary sigh and picked at his shirt. “All right. But at least let me get out of these clothes. I hate plaid.”

Marcus laughed. “I anticipated that,” he said. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder, toward another door. “They put
you in the room next to mine, right through that door. You have everything you need in there. I did some shopping for you when I heard you were on your way back to Penwyck. Levi’s, Shane,” he added meaningfully. “Button fly. Do you know how hard it is to find those in Penwyck? But Amira knew just where to go.”

“Yes, let’s talk about Amira when we have a chance, okay?” Shane asked with much interest and a big smile.

Marcus smiled back, and it was the smile of a man who had just uncovered the greatest treasure of all. And seeing as how Marcus was one of the wealthiest men in the world, that must have been some treasure. “I want you to meet her later,” he said. “She’s incredible, Shane. I never thought I’d meet a woman like her.”

Shane’s smile grew broader, and he felt the first ripples of genuine happiness he’d felt since… Well, since that morning with Sara, he realized. “So, then I should be preparing myself to wear a tuxedo here before long?” he asked, joking.

But much to his surprise, Marcus nodded in response.

Holy cow, Shane thought. He really had only been joking when he said that, since Marcus had never shown any more inclination toward getting married than Shane had. But here was Marcus, talking about a wedding as if it were the natural next step with the woman in his life.

“Are you serious?” Shane asked. “You’re really getting married?”

Marcus nodded again. “And look, I know you break out in hives just at the thought of putting on anything other than denim, but just this once, bro? For me?”