The Playboy Prince Read Free

education. Within a short time, Bennett had turned a good stable into one of the best. In another decade, he was confident it would have no equal.
    There were times when Bennett needed to discuss his horses and his ambitions with someone other than a stable hand or another breeder. Still, he understood, and always had, that that person would rarely be his father.
    “I take it this isn’t the time to discuss it.” Bennett took another small sip of brandy and waited for his father to reveal whatever weighed on his mind.
    “I’m sorry, Bennett, I’m afraid it isn’t.” The father felt regret. The prince could not. “Your schedule this next week. Can you tell me about it?”
    “Not really.” The restlessness was back. Rising, Bennett began to pace from one window to another. How close the sea seemed and yet how far away. He wished for a moment that he was on a ship again, a hundred miles from any land, with a storm brewing on the horizon. “I know that I have to go into Le Havre at the end of the week. The
Indépendance
is coming in. There’s a meeting with the Farmers’ Cooperative and a couple of luncheons. Cassell fills me in each morning. If it’s important I can have him type up the highlights for you. I’m sure I’m cutting at least one ribbon.”
    “Feeling closed in, Bennett?”
    With a shrug, Bennett tossed off the last of his brandy. Then the easy smile returned. Life, after all, was tooshort to complain about. “It’s the ribbons that do it. The rest, at least, seems worthwhile.”
    “Our people look to us for more than governing.”
    Bennett turned from the window. Behind him the sun was high and bright. Whatever he might sometimes wish in his secret heart, the royalty he’d been born with cloaked him. “I know, Papa. The problem is I don’t have Alexander’s patience, Brie’s serenity or your control.”
    “You might need them all soon.” Armand set his glass down and faced his son. “Deboque will be released from prison in two days.”
    *   *   *
    Deboque. Even the name caused fury to churn in Bennett’s stomach. François Deboque. The man by whose orders his sister had been kidnapped. The man who had planned assassination attempts on both his father and his brother.
    Deboque.
    Bennett pressed a finger to the scar just below his left shoulder. He’d taken a bullet there, and the trigger had been pulled by Deboque’s lover. For Deboque. By Deboque.
    The bomb planted just over two years before in the Paris Embassy had been meant for his father. Instead it had killed Seward, a loyal assistant, leaving a woman widowed and three children fatherless. That, too, had been Deboque’s doing.
    And in all the years, nearly ten now since Gabriella’s kidnapping, no one had proved Deboque’s involvement in the kidnapping, the conspiracies or the murders. The best investigators in Europe, including Bennett’s brother-in-law, had been brought in, but none of them had proved that Deboque had pulled the strings.
    Now, within days, he would be free.
    There was no doubt in Bennett’s mind that Deboque would continue to seek revenge. The Royal Family was his enemy if for no other reason than he’d been held in a Cordinian prison for over a decade. Neither wasthere any doubt that during that decade, he’d continued to deal in drugs, weapons and women.
    No doubt, and no proof.
    Guards would be added. Security would be tightened. Interpol would continue its work, as would the International Security System. But both Interpol and the ISS had been trying to nail Deboque with murder and conspiracy to murder for years. Until he was gotten under control and the strings to his organization severed, Cordina and the rest of Europe were vulnerable.
    Hands in pockets, Bennett strode out to the garden. At least they’d dined
en famille
that evening. It had relieved some strain, even though little could be said in front of Eve’s new friend. He doubted if anyone that quiet and prim would have picked up on