Affaire Royale Read Free Page B

more difficult for him to accept and be objective, or to refuse graciously—guiltlessly. “I appreciate that. But I’m not a cop. I’m not a bodyguard. I’m a farmer.”
    Armand’s expression remained grave, but Reeve caught the quick light of humor in his eyes. “Yes, so I’ve been told. If you prefer, we can leave it at that. However, I have a need. A great need. I won’t press you now.” Armand knew when to advance and when to retreat. “Give some thought to what I’ve said. Tomorrow, perhaps we can talk again, and you can speak with Gabriella yourself. In the meantime, you are our guest.” He rose, signaling an end to the interview. “My car will take you back to the palace. I will remain here a bit longer.”
    *   *   *
    The late-morning sunlight filtered into the room. Vaguely wanting a cigarette, Reeve watched its patterns on the floor. He’d spoken with Armand again, over a private breakfast in the prince’s suite. If there was one thing Reeve understood, it was quiet determination and cold power. He’d grown up with it.
    Swearing lightly, Reeve looked through the window at the mountains that cupped Cordina so beautifully.
    Why the hell was he here? His land was thousands of miles away and waiting for his plow. Instead he was in this little fairy-tale country where the air was seductively soft and the sea was blue and close. He should never have come, Reeve told himself ruthlessly. When Armand had contacted him, he should simply have made his excuses. When his father had called to add weight to the prince’s request, Reeve should have told him he had fields to till and hay to plant.
    He hadn’t. With a sigh, Reeve admitted why. His father had asked so little of him and had given so much. The friendship that bound Ambassador Francis MacGee to His Royal Highness Armand of Cordina was strong and real. Armand had flown to the States for his mother’s funeral. It wasn’t possible to forget how much that support had meant to his father.
    And he hadn’t forgotten the princess. He continued to stare out the window. The woman slept behind him in the hospital bed, pale, vulnerable, fragile. Reeve remembered her ten years before, when he’d joined his parents for a trip to Cordina.
    It had been her sixteenth birthday, Reeve remembered. He’d been in his twenties, already working his wayup on the force. He hadn’t been a man with illusions. Certainly not one to believe in fairy tales. But that had been exactly what Her Serene Highness Gabriella had been.
    Her dress—he could still remember it—had been a pale, mint-colored silk nipped into an impossibly small waist, billowing out like clouds. Against it, her skin had been glowing with life and youth. She’d worn a little ring of diamonds in her hair, glittering, winking, sizzling, against that deep, rich chestnut. It was hair a man wanted to run his fingers through, possessively. Her face had been all roses and cream and delicacy, with a mouth that was full and promising. And her eyes … Reeve remembered them most of all. Her eyes, under dark, arched brows, surrounded by lush, lush lashes, had been like topaz.
    Almost reluctantly, he turned to look at her now.
    Her face was still delicate, perhaps more so since she’d grown from girl to woman. The sweep of her cheekbones gave her dignity. Her skin was pale, as though the life and youth had been washed out of it. Her hair was still rich, but it was brushed straight back, leaving her face vulnerable. The beauty was still there, but it was so fragile a man would be afraid to touch.
    One arm was thrown across her body, and he could see the sparkle of diamonds and sapphire. Yet her nails were short and uneven, as though they’d been bitten or broken off. The IV still fed into her wrist. He remembered when she was sixteen she’d worn a bracelet of pearls there.
    It was that memory that caused the anger to roll through him. It had been a week since her abduction, two days since the young couple had