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Put on the spot, she said, “No!” But then she immediately changed her mind. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake! Dukes and cowboys are as different as day and night.”
Lorenzo appreciated her honesty, but his title had been granted to him by the king in appreciation of his military service for Montebello. Just because he’d been raised by Marcus and Gwendolyn after his parents died and the palace had become his home didn’t mean he was some kind of pampered royal who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He hadn’t received any special treatment when he was in the military; he’d carried his own weight.
“We’ll see,” he said as the waitress arrived with a breakfast fit for a king. “You just might be surprised.”
She had her doubts and she didn’t make any effort to hide them, but Lorenzo wasn’t worried. Digging into the ham and eggs and hashbrowns he’d ordered, he could already see himself dressed as a cowboy. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mission was a serious one, but he had to admit, this was going to be fun.
“The mall is the other direction,” Eliza told him thirty minutes later when he pulled out of the diner parking lot and turned left. “I thought you wanted to get some western clothes.”
“I do,” he said. But instead of turning around, he drove slowly down the street, reading the signs of every business they passed. “Here we go,” he said suddenly, grinning as he turned into the parking lot of a used-clothing store.
Eliza took one look at it and said, “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he teased, and got out to open her car door for her.
The shop was everything he’d hoped it would be. Crowded and musty, it was packed full of everything from used Levi’s jeans to old prom dresses from the fifties. And somewhere in all those old castoffs was his disguise.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Eliza said when he moved to a rack of used jeans and started going through them. “I thought you’d buy something new.”
“And look like a drugstore cowboy? I don’t think so. I want to look like the average John Wayne on the street, and I can’t do that in new clothes.” Glancing up from the jeans he was checking out, he arched a brow when he saw her smile. “What’s so funny?”
“There was nothing average about John Wayne. That’s why he was John Wayne.”
He couldn’t disagree with that. “Okay, poor choice. Let’s try for a hired hand who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. That means I need worn jeans and faded shirts that are frayed at the cuffs.”
“And something to drive around in besides a brand-new Tahoe SUV,” she pointed out dryly. “It doesn’t fit the image.”
“Good point,” he replied. “We’ll take care of that later. Right now, let’s work on the clothes.”
With her help, it didn’t take long to find exactly what he was looking for. The shop even had an old, scuffed pair of cowboy boots that were just his size. When Eliza looked aghast at the idea of him wearing someone else’s used boots, he laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin my feet. I just want to see how they look.”
He disappeared into the small dressing area, only to emerge a few minutes later in his disguise. Settling the used and abused black Stetson hat he’d picked out on his head, he opened the dressing room door to find Eliza waiting for him outside. “Well?” he asked, spreading his arms wide. “What do you think?”
Stunned, she blinked, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it.”
She’d always heard that the clothes made the man, but she’d never quite understood what the phrase meant until now. She’d covered the Sebastianis for years in her column, and during that time, she must have seen dozens of photos of Lorenzo in his military uniform tuxedos, and suits that came right out of Saville Row. And in each of those pictures, he’d always looked every inch the duke.
There was no sign of that man now. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but even his posture had changed. With the scarred cowboy hat set low on his head, concealing his sandy-brown hair, the pointed old boots on his feet and the faded clothes molding his lean body, he looked like he’d just walked in off the range.
“Incredible,” she said, amazed. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.”
Pleased, he grinned and tipped his hat back slightly, and just that easily, he changed the image again. He still looked like a hardworking cowboy, but now he had the look of a rogue, a flirt. With nothing more than a crooked grin, he set Eliza’s heart pounding.
Shocked, she pressed a hand to her heart before she realized it, drawing a curious look from Lorenzo. “Are you all right?” he asked with a sudden frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, and blushed to the roots of her hair. “You just surprised me. I never thought you’d be able to pull it off.”
“I told you I could,” he said with another grin that made her heart trip. “Now, what about you?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can’t dress like that when I look like I just walked off a roundup,” he explained. “You’re too citified. We don’t look like we belong together.”
Eliza wouldn’t have described her black wool slacks and black and white sweater as citified, but she had to admit, he had a point. “I’ve got jeans in my suitcase. I’ll change.”
“You need a flannel shirt,” he insisted, grabbing one off the rack. “And a sheepskin coat. It’s cold out.”
Eliza had never had a sheepskin coat in her life—the western style had never suited her. But even as she started to tell him no, she made the mistake of touching the one he held out to her. “Oh! It’s so soft!”
“C’mon,” he urged, grinning. “Try it.”
Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t resist the sparkle of fun she saw there. This was a side of him she hadn’t even known existed. “Oh, all right. But I probably won’t buy it. After we find the prince, I’ll have nowhere else to wear it.”
“So wear it to the grocery store,” he said with a grin as he held it open for her to slip her arms in. “It’s a used coat, Eliza. Have fun with it.”
“Easy for you to say,” she retorted sassily. “You look like the Marlboro man. I look like…” She glanced in the mirror and groaned “…a redheaded Olive Oyle being hugged by a sheep.”
Any other man would have laughed, but Lorenzo was truly amazed that she thought she looked anything like Pop-eye’s girlfriend. Did she truly not see how pretty she was?
“Why do you do that?” he asked in puzzlement, stopping her when she would have turned away and shrugged out of the coat. “Look at yourself.” And not giving her time to object, he turned her back to the mirror, then stepped behind her, holding her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders.
“Look at you,” he said again, this time huskily. “You’re not skinny like Olive Oyle. You have the slenderness and grace of a young Katharine Hepburn. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see the passion and fire in your eyes? Look at your bone structure, the line of your throat. You’re beautiful and you don’t even know it. Look.”
In the mirror, she watched as he pulled her fiery curls up off her neck, then cradled her face between his hands. His eyes met hers, and with nothing more than a look and the touch of his hands, he made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life.
And it shook her to the core.
Who was this man? she wondered wildly. How could he make her feel pretty when no one else ever had? For as long as she could remember, she’d been in that gangly stage where she was all arms and legs, angles and planes. Most girls outgrew that by the time they were sixteen. At twenty-seven, she never had.
He was a magician, she thought, dazed. A sorcerer with supernatural powers who painted images with words. Nothing had changed—she was the same person she’d always been—but when she saw herself through his eyes, images of the old Eliza Windmere fell away. And just that easily, she was pretty.
She wanted to laugh and cry and turn and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She didn’t dare. Her heart was already pounding, her senses in a whirl, and it was all because of him. If she made the mistake of touching him now, she would be in serious trouble.
And that was the last thing she needed right now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t looking for a man, especially one like Lorenzo. Not when her breakup with Robert was still an open wound. He’d been jealous of her job and the time she gave to it, and that had destroyed their relationship. And now, here she was, attracted to another man who didn’t approve of what she did for a living. She wasn’t going there again. She couldn’t.
“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to use the word beautiful,” she said with a forced laugh as she took a step away from him, freeing herself from his touch. “But thanks for the compliment. Maybe I’ll buy the coat, after all. It’s really warm.”
The magic mood shattered between them, she hurried to the checkout counter and could feel his eyes on her every step of the way. He let the moment pass, however, and she told herself she was relieved. Unfortunately, she’d never been very good at lying to herself.
True to his word, Lorenzo was nothing if not thorough. From the used-clothing store, they went straight to a usedcar dealership and bought a ten-year-old pickup truck that looked like it had seen better days. It had a good motor, though, so they turned in the rented Tahoe without fear that they were going to break down in the middle of nowhere, then headed up into the mountains where Willy lived. Anyone seeing them in their new old clothes and the battered pickup would have never guessed that Lorenzo was a duke or she was a city girl who interviewed kings and queens and wrote for the Sentinel.
Smiling at the thought, she was just about to tell him how much she was enjoying going undercover with him when he ruined everything by saying, “When we reach Willy’s, I want to do the questioning. I know you’re friends and he trusts you, but he may know more than he realizes he does. He’s going to have to talk to me.”
Everything he said made perfect sense—to Eliza. It wouldn’t mean a hill of beans to Willy. “If we were talking about an average man on the street, I’d agree with you. But as I’ve told you before, Your Grace, Willy dances to the beat of a different drummer. He doesn’t have to do anything, and he knows it. He won’t talk to you.”
“Of course he will,” he said stubbornly. “You said yourself how upset he was at the thought of the king naming another heir when his son was still alive. He obviously wants to help find Lucas. To do that, he’s going to have to talk to me.”
Eliza could have told him that Willy wouldn’t even talk to her if she didn’t call him ahead of time and make arrangements to meet him, but what was the point? His mind was made up, and Eliza only had to look at the stubborn set of his jaw to know that nothing she could say was going to make a difference. He was determined to do things his way. He’d find out for himself that wasn’t going to work.
“Turn left at the next four-way stop,” she told him. “Then just keep going straight for ten miles until we reach a dirt road. After that, it gets a little tricky.”
Tricky was, in fact, an understatement. When they reached the dirt road that led to the box canyon where Willy lived, Eliza knew from experience just how easy it was to lose your way. Off-road drivers had carved out dozens of tracks that intersected the main road and it was very confusing.
Frowning, she leaned forward to study the terrain and said suddenly, “Turn left here…I think.”
A quarter of a mile later, the road turned as rough as a washboard, just as it should have, and Eliza breathed a sigh of relief. “This is it. Watch the odometer. His house is exactly two miles from the cattle guard we’re coming up on.”
Because of the roughness of the drive, they were forced to go slowly, and it was another ten minutes before they actually reached the trees that surrounded Willy’s house on all sides, completely concealing it from the untrained eye. When Eliza told him to pull over and park, Lorenzo looked around in confusion. “Here? I thought we were going to his house.”
“We are,” she said, nodding toward the trees. “It’s back there.”
When he lifted a brow in surprise, Eliza had to smile. Willy’s cabin was only a hundred yards from the road, but from where they were parked, it looked like there wasn’t another living soul for a hundred miles. “I told you he likes his privacy. C’mon.”
Leading the way, she picked her way through the trees to a small log cabin that had to have been built by one of the original settlers in the area. Not quite plumb, it leaned to the left and had a front porch that appeared to be on the verge of collapsing. There were only two windows, which were dark and locked tight, and a formidable wooden door. Dark and dusty and less than welcoming, the place didn’t encourage visitors any more than Willy did.
Knowing that, Eliza felt she had to try to talk some sense into Lorenzo one more time. “This isn’t going to work, Your Grace. If you’d just listen to me…”
For an answer, he stepped forward and knocked loudly on the door. Not surprisingly, no one answered.
“Obviously, he’s not home,” he said, scowling.
“Oh, he’s here,” she said, and nodded to a metal loop on the door where it could be padlocked from the outside. “When he’s not here, he padlocks the door.”
“But there’s no vehicle.”
“Not that you can see,” she replied. “He drives an old army jeep that he hides in the woods.”
She didn’t say another word, but she didn’t have to. She’d made her point. Willy was home, and she knew him better than Lorenzo did. If he wasn’t answering his door, it was because he was feeling threatened.
Glaring at the closed door, Lorenzo swore softly and shot Eliza a hard look. “I screwed up, didn’t I? Don’t answer that,” he said quickly. “I know you told me he didn’t trust outsiders. I just thought I could get him to talk to me.”
“Why? Because royal blood flows through your veins? Trust me, Willy couldn’t care less about that. In his eyes, you’re a stranger. You could be the president of the United States, and he still wouldn’t open his door to you.”
“But he will for you.”
She shrugged. “If conditions are right and he wants to.”
Frustrated, Lorenzo knew he had no one but himself to blame for this little setback—she’d warned him that he needed her if he expected Willy to cooperate, but he hadn’t believed her. As head of Royal Intelligence, he didn’t have to go through someone else to get the information he needed. And he didn’t like it, dammit, but what choice did he have?
His pride stung, he said stiffly, “Would you call him, then, and see what you can arrange? We can’t even hope to find the prince without knowing where Willy found the scarf.”
For an answer, Eliza pulled out her cell phone and punched in Willy’s number. When she got a scratchy answering machine, she wasn’t surprised. Willy always retreated when he was upset. Hopefully, he’d surface soon.
“Willy, this is Eliza,” she said quietly when the machine began to record. “I apologize for intruding. Duke Lorenzo and I are leaving now, but it’s very important that I speak to you. Please meet me tomorrow morning at nine at the waterfall. The duke will be with me, but I’m the only one you have to speak to, okay? Please don’t let me down, Willy. We need your help.”
She hung up and found herself face-to-face with a very irritated duke. “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded. “I don’t want to meet him tomorrow. What’s wrong with today? It’s not even eleven-thirty in the morning. We’ve got the whole damn day ahead of us.”
“Willy needs time.”
“We don’t have time! Don’t you get it? Thanks to your boss, the word is out that the prince is alive. And that means he’s in danger. Do you know how many con artists, opportunists and outright thugs read the headlines this morning and saw this as their lucky day? They figured out—like we did—that the prince had to be in some kind of distress or he would have contacted his family by now. And they’re going to go after him.”
The thought sickened Eliza, but there was nothing she could do about it. “I’m doing the best I can, Your Grace,” she replied. “If I could hold Willy’s feet to the fire and make him talk, I would. But all we can do now is wait. Trust me. He won’t talk until tomorrow.”
If they were lucky. She didn’t say the words, but she knew he heard them, nonetheless. His green eyes dark with fury, he struggled with his own impatience, and she knew exactly how he felt. She hated Willy’s phobias, hated the way he called her with a press-stopping story he’d somehow stumbled across, only to retreat like a scared turtle when she needed more information. Sometimes, his tips paid off. Many times they didn’t. She could handle that because she knew whenever she followed up a tip from anyone, there was always a chance it would fizzle into nothing. What drove her crazy, though, was the number of times Willy had left her cooling her heels. Patience wasn’t her strong suit, and she could well understand Lorenzo’s frustration.
To his credit, though, he knew when he was beat. Sighing in disgust, he said, “All right. It looks like we’re going to play this Willy’s way. We might as well go back to the hotel.”
Chapter 5
They stayed at the same hotel they had before, this time in a suite with two connecting bedrooms, and Eliza spent the day working on the opening of her feature. It should have been easy, but she felt as if her entire career was on the line, and with good cause. Not only was Deborah waiting in the wings to take over her column, but no one else in the world had this story. She had to do it right. So she struggled with words and couldn’t seem to find a place to start the story…until she shifted her focus to her meeting with the king and queen of Montebello. As she described the palace and the reaction of the prince’s parents to the news that there was a good chance their son was still alive, she knew her readers would be more than satisfied with the story.
“I want to read that.”
Lost in the quiet world she always retreated to in order to write, it was several long minutes before Lorenzo’s words registered. When they did, she glanced up, startled, to find him scowling at her from the overstuffed chair from which he’d apparently been watching her for some time. Looking over the top of her glasses, she said, “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” he said flatly. “I want to read that. If there’s anything that might be harmful to the prince, you’ll have to take it out.”
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. “Really? I don’t remember anything in my agreement with King Marcus that gives you the right to censorship.”
“That’s because there isn’t one.”
“You’re damn straight, there isn’t one! I never would have agreed to it if there had been. This is the United States, Your Grace. We’re real big on freedom of speech, not to mention freedom of the press, around here.”
The citizens of Montebello were, too, but he only said, “It’s my duty to protect the prince. If I say there’s something in your writing that could be harmful to him, it’s coming out. End of discussion.”
She would have never deliberately placed anyone in danger with her writing, but what went into her column was for her and Simon to decide, not a fairy-tale duke who would be king. And it was high time he realized that.
“You think so, do you?” she taunted, arching a brow. “Well, take that!” And with a single key stroke, she sent the beginning of the feature in an e-mail to Simon.
Later, she realized it was her red hair that got her into trouble. The spark of temper that went along with that hair had been her cross to bear all her life. It had just flared like a match. She knew they were both under a great deal of strain, knowing the prince was out there somewhere, in possible danger, and they couldn’t discover where because her informant wasn’t in the mood to cooperate yet. She felt guilty and frustrated…and resentful that Lorenzo thought so little of her just because she was a reporter.
Stunned, Lorenzo couldn’t believe her defiance. No one had ever challenged him so openly before! Outraged, he stormed over to her, so frustrated that he stupidly thought there had to be a way he could retrieve the e-mail. “Give me that!”
“No! What are you doing? Let go!”
Jumping to her feet, she grabbed her computer and clutched it to her chest even as he reached for it, and for a second, they acted like two children fighting over a favorite toy. Then his fingers accidentally brushed against her breast and everything changed. In a heartbeat, awareness flashed between them like heat lightning.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Lorenzo froze. He was, he liked to think, a man who knew women. But in that instant, he felt like a sixteen-year-old who’d experienced the kick of sexual attraction for the first time in his life and didn’t have a clue what to do about it. With a will of their own, his eyes dropped to her lips, which had parted in a soft gasp, and his mind blurred. All he could think about was kissing her.
And it was all her fault. That soft, fresh scent of hers was driving him crazy. He’d dreamed of her last night, replayed in his sleep that moment in the used-clothing store when he’d helped her into the sheepskin coat and turned her in front of the mirror so she could see how pretty she was. He should have kissed her then. He’d wanted to, but the store clerk had watched them with an eagle eye, and the time hadn’t been appropriate.
But now they were alone and he could already taste her….
Need clawing at him, he reached for her…and saw his own need reflected in her eyes. And just that quickly, the fog of desire misting his brain cleared. What was he doing? he wondered wildly, stiffening. They didn’t even like each other! The only reason they were working together was because they were being forced to. And she was a reporter, for heaven’s sake! How had he allowed himself to forget that? God only knew what would end up in her column if he was stupid enough to drop his guard with her.
That brought him back to his senses as nothing else could, and with a softly muttered curse, he abruptly stepped back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking of rushing you like that. I’m just going crazy sitting around here twiddling my thumbs, and then when you sent that e-mail, all I could think of was getting it back. If anything happened to the prince because of something you wrote—”
“It won’t,” she said hoarsely, her heart pounding crazily. He’d almost kissed her, she thought, dazed, then told herself she had to be mistaken. She had a real talent for pushing his buttons. He was furious with her—why would he want to kiss her? Her imagination was just playing with her mind and her lonely heart, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to make a complete fool of herself.
