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He kicked a little side panel, more in frustration than hope, and the door began to creak open. “It’s always the ones you don’t suspect,” he said, laughing.
The small room inside was unprepossessing, having space only for a computer and a small table. And there on the screen was access to views of practically every public area, all over the castle. A secret room with centralized power no one else knew about. Ingenious.
Still, someone had built it. Someone had wired it. Someone had to know electronics were constantly running in here. The use of electricity alone would tip off the suspicious. So someone in the workings of the place was on her side.
But what was “her side” exactly? That was something he still had to find out.
The sound of Pellea’s entry gong made him jerk. He lifted his head and listened. A woman’s voice seemed to be calling out, and then, a moment later, singing. She’d obviously come into the courtyard.
Moving silently, he made his way out of the secret room, closing the door firmly. He moved carefully into the dressing area, planning to use the high wardrobe as a shield as he had done earlier, in order to see who it was without being seen. As he came out of the closet and made his way to slip behind the tall piece of furniture, a pretty, pleasantly rounded young woman stepped into the room, catching sight of him just before he found his hiding place.
She gasped. Their gazes met. Her mouth opened. He reached out to stop her, but he was too late.
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
CHAPTER FOUR
MONTE MOVED LIKE LIGHTNING but it felt like slow motion to him. In no time his hand was over the intruder’s mouth and he was pulling her roughly into the room and kicking the French door closed with such a snap, he was afraid for a moment that the glass would crack.
Pulling her tightly against his chest, he snarled in her ear, “Shut the hell up and do it now.”
She pulled her breath into her lungs in hysterical gasps, and he yanked her more tightly.
“Now!” he demanded.
She closed her eyes and tried very hard. He could feel the effort she put into it, and he began to relax. They waited, counting off the seconds, to see if anyone had heard the scream and was coming to the rescue. Nothing seemed to stir. At last, he decided the time for alarm was over and he began to release her slowly, ready to reassert control if she tried to scream again.
“Okay,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’m going to let go now. If you make a sound, I’ll have to knock you flat.”
She nodded, accepting his terms. But she didn’t seem to have any intention of a repeat. As he freed her, she turned, her gaze sweeping over him in wonder.
“Wait,” she said, eyes like saucers. “I’ve seen you before. You were here a couple of months ago.”
By now, he’d recognized her as well. She was Pellea’s favorite maid. He hadn’t interacted with her when he’d been here before, but he’d seen her when she’d dropped by to deal with some things Pellea needed done. Pellea had trusted her to keep his presence a secret then. He only hoped that trust was warranted—and could hold for now.
But signs were good. He liked the sparkle in her eyes. He gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m back.”
“So I see.” She cocked her head to the side, looking him over, then narrowing her gaze. “And is my mistress happy that you’re here?”
He shrugged. “Hard to tell. But she didn’t throw anything at me.”
Her smile was open-hearted. “That’s a good sign.”
He drew in a deep breath, feeling better about the situation. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Pellea calls me Kimmee.”
“Then I shall do the same.” He didn’t offer his own name and wondered if she knew who he was. He doubted it. Pellea wouldn’t be that reckless, would she?
“I’ve been here for a couple of hours now,” he told her. “Pellea has seen me. We’ve been chatting, going over old times.”
Kimmee grinned. “Delightful.”
He smiled back, but added a warning look. “I’m sure you don’t talk about your mistress’s assignations to others.”
“Of course not,” she said brightly. “I only wish she had a few.”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged, giving him a sly look. “You’re the only one I know of.”
He laughed. She had said the one thing that would warm his heart and she probably knew it, but it made him happy anyway.
“You’re not trying to tell me your mistress has no suitors, are you?” he teased skeptically.
“Oh, no, of course not. But she generally scorns them all.”
He looked at her levelly. “Even Leonardo?” he asked.
She hesitated, obviously reluctant to give her candid opinion on that score. He let her off the hook with a shrug.
“Never mind. I know she’s promised to him at this point.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I just don’t accept it.”
She nodded. “Good,” she whispered softly, then shook her head as though wishing she hadn’t spoken. Turning away, she reached for the ball gown hanging in front of the wardrobe. “I just came by to check that the gown was properly hung and wrinkle-free,” she said, smoothing the skirt a bit. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I can’t wait to see her dancing in this,” Kimmee added.
“Neither can I,” he murmured, and at the same time, an idea came to him. He frowned, wondering if he should trust thoughts spurred on by his overwhelming desire for all things Pellea. It was a crazy idea, but the more he mulled it over, the more he realized it could serve more than one purpose and fit into much of what he hoped to accomplish. So why not give it a try?
He studied the pretty maid for a moment, trying to evaluate just how much he dared depend on her. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made him wonder how a fun-loving girl like this would keep such a secret. He knew he had better be prepared to deal with the fallout, should there be any. After all, he didn’t have much choice. Either he would tie her up and gag her and throw her into a closet, or he would appeal to her better nature.
“Tell me, Kimmee, do you love your mistress?”
“Oh, yes.” Kimmee smiled. “She’s my best friend. We’ve been mates since we were five years old.”
He nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “Then you’ll keep a secret,” he said. “A secret that could get me killed if you reveal it.”
Her eyes widened and she went very still. “Of course.”
His own gaze was hard and assessing as he pinned her with it. “You swear on your honor?”
She shook her head, looking completely earnest. “I swear on my honor. I swear on my life. I swear on my…”
He held a hand up. “I get the idea, Kimmee. You really mean it. So I’m going to trust you.”
She waited, wide-eyed.
He looked into her face, his own deadly serious.
“I want to go to the ball.”
“Oh, sir!” She threw her hands up to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness! Where? How?”
“That’s where you come in. Find me a costume and a nice, secure mask.” He cocked an eyebrow and smiled at her. “Can you do that?”
“Impossible,” she cried. “Simply impossible.” But a smile was beginning to tease the corners of her mouth. “Well, maybe.” She thought a moment longer, then smiled impishly. “It would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
He grinned at her.
“Will you want a sword?” she asked, her enthusiasm growing by leaps and bounds.
He grimaced. “I think not. It might be too tempting to use it on Leonardo.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, nodding wisely.
He got a real kick out of her. She was so ready to join in on his plans and at the same time, she seemed to be thoroughly loyal to the mistress she considered her best friend. It was a helpful combination to work with.
He lifted his head, looking at the ball gown and thinking of how it would look with his favorite woman filling it out in all the right places. “All I want to do is go to the ball and dance with Pellea.”
“How romantic,” Kimmee said, sighing. Then her gaze sharpened as she realized what he might be describing. “You mean…?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Secretly. I want to surprise Pellea.”
Kimmee gave a bubbling laugh, obviously delighted with the concept. “I think Leonardo will be even more surprised.”
He shook his head and gave her a warning look. “That is something I’ll have to guard against.”
She sighed. “I understand. But it would be fun to see his face.”
He frowned, wondering if he was letting her get a little too much into this.
“See what you can do,” he said. “But don’t forget. If Leonardo finds out…” He drew his finger across his throat like a knife and made a cutting sound. “I’ll be dead and Pellea will be in big trouble.”
She shook her head, eyes wide and sincere. “You can count on me, sir. And as for the costume…” She put her hand over her heart. “I’ll do my best.”
Pellea returned a half hour later, bristling with determination.
“I’ve brought you something to eat,” she said, handing him a neatly wrapped, grilled chicken leg and a small loaf of artisan bread. He was sitting at a small table near her fountain, looking for all the world like a Parisian playboy at a sidewalk café. “And I’ve brought you news.”
“News, huh? Let me guess.” He put his hand to his forehead as though taking transmissions from space. “Leonardo has decided to join the national ballet and forget all about this crazy marriage stuff. Am I right?”
She glared at him. “I’m warning you, don’t take the man lightly.”
“Oh, I don’t. Believe me.” He began to unwrap the chicken leg. He hadn’t eaten for hours and he was more than ready to partake of what she’d brought him. “So what is the news?”
“Leonardo talked to his father and we’ve decided to move the wedding up.” Her chin rose defiantly. “We’re getting married in two days.”
He put down the chicken leg, hunger forgotten, and stared at her with eyes that had turned icy silver. “What’s the rush?” he asked with deceptive calm.
The look in his gaze made her nervous. He seemed utterly peaceful, and yet there was a sense in the air that a keg of dynamite was about to blow.
She turned away, pacing, thinking about how nice and simple life had been before she’d found him lurking in her garden that day. Her path had been relatively clear at the time. True, she had been fighting her father over his wish that she marry Leonardo. But that was relatively easy to deal with compared to what she had now.
The irony was that her father would get his wish, and she’d done it to herself. She would marry Leonardo. She would be the first lady of the land and just about impervious to attack. Just as her father so obsessively craved, she would be as safe as she could possibly be.
But even that wasn’t perfect safety. There were a thousand chinks in her armor and the path ahead was perilous. Everything she did, every decision she made, could have unforeseen repercussions. She had set a course and now the winds would take her to her destination. Was it the best destination for her or was it a mirage? Was she right or was she wrong? If only she knew.
Looking out into the courtyard, Pellea shivered with a premonition of what might be to come.
Monte watched her from under lowered brows, munching on a bite of chicken. Much as she was trying to hide it, he could see that she was in a special sort of agony and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. What was her hurry to marry Leonardo? What made her so anxious to cement those ties?
Motivations were often difficult to untangle and understand. What were hers? Did it really mean everything to her to have her father satisfied that she was safe, and to do it before it was too late? Evidence did suggest that he was fading fast. Was that what moved her? He couldn’t think what else it could be. But was that really enough to make her rush to Leonardo’s arms? Or was there something going on that he didn’t know about?
“I suppose the powers that be are in favor of this wedding?” he mentioned casually.
She nodded. “Believe me, everything around here is planned to the nth degree. Public-relations values hold sway over everything.”
“I’ve noticed. That’s what makes me wonder. What’s the deal with this wedding coming on so suddenly? I would think the regime would try to milk all the publicity they could possibly get out of a long engagement.”
“Interesting theory,” she said softly, pretending to be busy folding clothes away.
“Why?” he asked bluntly. “Why so soon?”
“You’d have to ask Leonardo about that,” she said evasively.
“Maybe I will. If I get the chance.” He looked at her sharply, trying to read her mind. “I can’t help but think he has a plan in mind. There has to be a reason.”
“Sometimes people just want to do things quickly,” she said, getting annoyed with his persistence.
“Um-hmm.” He didn’t buy that for a minute. The more he let the idea of such a marriage—the ultimate marriage of convenience—linger in his mind, the more he hated it. Pellea couldn’t be with Leonardo. Everything in him rebelled at the thought.
Pellea belonged to him.
That was nonsense, of course. How could she be his when he wouldn’t do what needed to be done to take that responsibility in hand himself? After all, he’d refused to step up and do the things a man did when making a woman his own. As his old tutor might say, he craved the honey but refused to tend to the bees.
Still in some deep, gut-level part of him, she was his and had been since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. He’d put his stamp on her, his brand, his seal. He’d held her and loved her, body and soul, and he wanted her available for more of the same. She was his, damn it!
But what was he prepared to do about it?
That was the question.
He watched her, taking in the grace and loveliness of her form and movement, the full, luscious temptation of her exciting body, the beauty of her perfect face, and the question burned inside him. What was he prepared to do? It was working into a drumbeat in his head and in his heart. What? Just exactly what?
“You don’t love him.”
The words came out loud and clear and yet he was surprised when he said them. He hadn’t planned to say anything of the sort. Still, once it was out, he was glad he’d said it. The truth was out now, like a flag, a banner, a warning that couldn’t be ignored any longer. And why not? Truth was supposed to set you free.
