“So don’t get caught,” she told herself. “Act like you have a right to be here and no one will even spare you a second glance.”
It was a simple plan, one that had worked well for her in the past. Over the years, her job—and curiosity—had led her into any number of places where she had no business being, and she’d discovered that she could go practically anywhere if she acted like she knew what she was doing. So she smoothed her hair, slung her purse over her shoulder, and strode out of the ballroom like she owned the place.
Just as she’d hoped, it worked. Stepping into a wide, impressive corridor lined with a collection of paintings the likes of which she’d only seen in a museum, she passed several members of the staff, and they didn’t even blink at the sight of her. Relieved, she would have laughed, but she didn’t dare. The less attention she drew to herself, the better.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue where she was going. She knew nothing about the layout of the palace or where the king planned to meet with the guests he’d invited to witness the naming of his new successor. Logic told her that the announcement would be made in one of the palace’s public rooms, but that was strictly a guess on her part. For all she knew, they could be meeting in the family quarters, which could be anywhere.
Frowning, she reached an intersection of hallways and hesitated, not sure which way to turn. And just that easily, she made her first mistake. Suddenly, a door on her left opened, and before she could summon the look of confidence that had gotten her that far, she was caught.
“Who the devil are you?”
Swearing softly under her breath, she silently told herself to bluff her way out of this. But then she turned to face her captor and whatever she was going to say next flew right out of her head as she gasped in recognition. His Grace, Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani, the man everyone had been speculating for months might one day be named king!
They’d never met, of course, but she would have known him anywhere. Over the years, she’d lost track of the number of stories she’d written about him—first as a military hero who was rewarded with the title of duke by the king, then as head of the Montebello Royal Intelligence—and she’d enjoyed writing every one of them. There was just something about the man that had always struck her fancy. He was tough and smart and loyal, and his pictures hadn’t begun to do him justice. Lean and well-muscled, his sandy-brown hair streaked with golden highlights, and his green eyes dark with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t begin to understand, it was easy to see why he, like the rest of the Sebastiani men, was one of the heartthrobs of Europe.
“Your Grace! Thank God! I need you to get a message to the king—”
“You’re an American,” he cut in, frowning in puzzlement. “How did you get in? There are no tours today.”
“No, sir, I’m sure there aren’t. I’m not a tourist. My name is Eliza Windmere. I’m with the Denver Sentinel—”
That was as far as she got. “A reporter,” he said with a grimace of distaste. “I should have known. The palace is crawling with them. C’mon. You’re out of here.” And before she could begin to guess his intentions, he grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward the nearest exit.
“Wait! You don’t understand. I have information about Prince Lucas.”
His jaw set, he didn’t so much as spare her a glance. “Yeah, right. Let me see if I can guess. You found him waiting tables in L.A., and for the right price, you’ll tell King Marcus where he is. Save your breath, sweetheart. I’ve heard it all before. The king gets a hundred letters a week from people just like you. I don’t know how you all live with yourself. Don’t you have any conscience?”
“Of course I do,” she retorted, stung. But heat burned her cheeks and deep inside, she had to wonder if he was right. The king and queen had lost a son, and though she had come to give them news they longed to hear, she also wanted an exclusive when they learned he was alive. So how was she any different from the con men trying to cash in on the Sebastianis’ grief?
Uncomfortable with the question, she reminded herself that she wasn’t trying to extort money from the king or keep his son’s whereabouts from him. Of course she wanted the story, but she had that already. At this point, she was just doing the right thing and bringing the king news of his son. “Look, I know how this must look, but I’m serious. I have vital information—”
“And I’m the tooth fairy,” he retorted. “Put that in your paper and smoke it. It’s probably one of those scandal rags, anyway.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Stopping abruptly, she jerked free of his grasp and drew herself up to her full five foot seven inches and gave him a narrow-eyed look that should have reduced him to the size of an ant. “For your information, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing that kind of trash, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”
She’d caught him off guard, and for a moment, he had the grace to look embarrassed. But then he obviously realized that he’d just been brought to task by a reporter, of all things. “That was good,” he told her dryly. “For a moment there, I actually forgot that you broke in here.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked—”
“So you thought you’d just walk right in,” he finished for her. “I wonder how you’d feel if I did the same at your house.”
“Dammit, I just need to talk to the king!”
“Not a chance,” he growled, and grabbed her arm again.
Indignant, she tried to jerk free, but this time, the duke had a firmer grip, and there was no escaping him. Still, she had to try. Struggling, uncaring that she’d probably have bruises on her arms tomorrow, she cried, “You’re the most irritating man. I don’t know why I ever thought you were charming.”
Before she could say another word, they were interrupted by a servant, who hurried forward with a worried frown. “Is there a problem, Your Grace?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” he said flatly. “Show this lady to the door, will you, Rudolpho? She’s a reporter. And make sure she doesn’t get back in.”
“Of course,” the older man replied, and took Eliza’s arm in a grip that was surprisingly firm.
“No! Wait! At least talk to the king for me,” she called after the duke, but it was too late. Without sparing her a glance, he turned and walked away.
Chapter 2
“Please don’t give me any trouble, Miss,” the servant said quietly. “I don’t want to call a guard.”
Trapped, Eliza considered her options. Old enough to be her grandfather, Rudolpho seemed a gentle soul, but she knew better than to mistake him for a soft touch. The duke wouldn’t have turned her over to him if he hadn’t felt he could trust the old man to throw her out. And that could only mean one thing. She had to talk fast.
“I know you’re only doing your job, Mr. Rudolpho—”
“Sabina,” he interjected with a half smile as she fell into step beside him. “The name is Rudolpho Sabina. I’m the king’s personal servant.”
“And not easily snowed, I’ll bet,” she replied solemnly.
His lips twitched, but he only said, “No, Miss, I’m not.”
That made it more difficult. Falling back on the truth and praying it didn’t let her down, she said earnestly, “Then I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you I didn’t fly all the way from America just to get a scoop on the king’s announcement.I didn’t even know he planned to name a new heir today. If I had, I would have tried to call to convince