The only problem was, by plastering Lorenzo’s picture on the front page and letting the world know he was coming to the States to take up the search, he may have sabotaged the search before they’d even begun.
She was, Eliza decided, going to kill him. The only question was how. If he blew this exclusive for her, she swore she’d be satisfied with nothing less than boiling him in oil.
“Well?” Lorenzo said. “What have you got to say for yourself?”
What could she say? “I didn’t know anything about this, Lorenzo. You have to believe me. Evidently my boss thought he needed to generate a little interest in the Prince again.”
“A little interest?” he choked. “With four-inch headlines? Dammit, every paper in the country’s going to pick this up! Do you know what kind of problems that’s going to cause?”
“It won’t be that bad,” she began.
That was as far as she got. “The hell it won’t! The search is supposed to be on the Q.T. I realize that in your world, that’s probably not in your vocabulary, but this isn’t about you. It’s about the prince, and we don’t have a clue where he is or what kind of danger he could be in. Which is why
I wanted to keep the search for him quiet. Now that we wouldn’t even be able to look for the campsite where Willy found the scarf without every Tom, Dick and Harry dogging our steps!”
He was furious, and Eliza couldn’t say she blamed him. Finding the prince after all this time was going to be difficult enough without God knows who interfering with the search. “I’ll call Simon right now and chew him out,” she promised. “This won’t happen again.”
Silently cursing Simon for putting her in this position, she quickly punched in the number to his direct line. The second he came on the line, she let him have it with both barrels. “You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, LaGree. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Now, Red, don’t get your girdle in a twist—”
“I don’t wear a girdle!”
“Aw, c’mon, you know what I mean,” he said, wheedling. “You want your Pulitzer, don’t you? How’re you going to get it if you don’t advertise?”
“This isn’t advertising, dammit, it’s sabotage! A man’s life is at stake. A prince, for heaven’s sake! From now on, don’t you dare publish anything else about the prince. Understood?”
If anyone else but Simon had been her boss, she probably would have been fired right there on the spot for speaking to him so, but he was a big enough man to admit when he was in the wrong. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “Quit your crying. I won’t give away any more information that will put the prince in danger.”
“Yes! As long as you keep the duke’s picture out of the paper. He’s not the story here, Simon. The prince is.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he chided. “Duke Lorenzo would have been named the next king if Willy Cranshaw hadn’t found the scarf. And now he’s out searching for the man he could have replaced. Talk about ironic—of course he’s part of the story! The readers are going to love this!”
Eliza knew he was right—there was nothing readers loved more than a tragic tale of what might have been—but that was beside the point. “They can love it when the feature is published and without having the duke’s picture splashed across the front page,” she retorted. “I mean it, Simon. He’s not as well known as the rest of the family, and he wants to keep it that way. I want your word that there’ll be no more pictures.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to argue, but he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to budge on this. “Okay,” he sighed grudgingly. “No more pictures. I promise. Though I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he muttered. “There wasn’t any harm done.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she told him. “You’re not standing where I am.”
Hanging up, she turned to face Lorenzo. “For what it’s worth, he promised. I should warn you, though, that Simon has printer’s ink in his blood. He lives and dies for a headline, and if he thinks he’s got a good one, he’s going to print it.”
It was the nature of the business, and they both knew it. “You did what you could,” he acknowledged. “I can’t ask for more than that.”
“I’ll do what I can to see that it doesn’t happen again,” she promised. “I have to check in with Simon on a regular basis, but I have no intention of telling him where we are or doing anything that will endanger the prince. This isn’t just a headline for me, Lorenzo,” she added quietly. “I know he’s your cousin and you care about him, but a lot of other people do, too. I’m one of them.”
There was no doubting her sincerity. His eyes searching hers, Lorenzo suddenly felt like a heel. From the moment he’d met her, he’d done nothing but give her a hard time. And he wasn’t proud of that. Yes, she was after a story—what reporter wasn’t?—but she wasn’t one of those piranhas who sold her soul to the devil just to make the evening edition. If she had been, she wouldn’t have cared less about the morning headlines, and she certainly wouldn’t have stood up to her boss the way she had.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said gruffly. “I was just so mad when I saw the paper that I didn’t even look at the clock. I guess I dragged you out of bed.”
Since she was dressed in her nightclothes and her hair was still tangled from sleep, that was obvious, but Lorenzo regretted bringing the subject up the second the words were out of his mouth. With a will of their own, his eyes skimmed the blue nightshirt and robe she wore and he couldn’t help but notice how touchable she looked in the morning. Her skin was soft, her cheeks flushed, her mouth bare of lipstick—
Suddenly realizing where his thoughts and his eyes had wandered, he swore silently and took a quick step back. “I just remembered that I have some calls to make,” he said, taking another step back. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at nine-thirty, just as we planned. Okay? We can eat breakfast at the diner across the street, then go see Willy.”
He was gone before she could say a word, rushing out of her room like a man with a train to catch. Puzzled, Eliza caught sight of herself in the mirror and didn’t have time to wonder what had lit a fire under the duke. If she was going to be ready by nine-thirty, she had to get moving.
Eliza was still brushing her teeth when the bellhop arrived at nine-fifteen to collect her bag, and she had to laugh. Lorenzo was making damn sure she met him on time in the lobby. Hurriedly packing the last of her things in her bag, she gave it to the bellhop, checked the suite to make sure she hadn’t left anything, then carried her satchel—complete with her computer—down to the lobby herself.
“Why didn’t you let the bellhop carry that?” he asked with a frown as he took the bag from her and escorted her outside to where the valet had brought up their rental. “That’s why I sent him up.”
“That’s my livelihood,” she said simply. “I don’t trust it to anyone I don’t know.”
She didn’t expect him to understand—he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and couldn’t possibly know what it was like to have to scrimp and save to buy something like a Notebook computer—but he didn’t question her about it. Instead, he said, “I’ll remember that,” and opened the door of the SUV for her.
He’d done it before when they rented the vehicle at the airport, and this time, as before, the courteous gesture caught her off guard. She liked to think she was an independent woman who didn’t need a man to open her door for her or carry her groceries or anything else for her. But he had a way of treating a woman that she found incredibly flattering. And he didn’t even seem to be aware of it—his good manners were just ingrained.