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Kidnapped For His Royal Duty
Jane Porter
He needs a substitute bride…And she will be his Queen!When desert Prince Dal’s convenient bride is stolen he must find a replacement—immediately. Suddenly shy secretary Poppy is kidnapped by her merciless boss and whisked away to his kingdom. She’s shocked to find herself willingly surrendering to his expert seduction! But when it becomes clear that Dal has more than pleasure in mind, will Poppy be persuaded to accept his royal proposal?
He needs a substitute bride...
And she will be his queen!
When desert prince Dal’s convenient bride is stolen, he must find a replacement—immediately. Suddenly shy secretary Poppy is kidnapped by her merciless boss and whisked away to his kingdom. She’s shocked to find herself willingly surrendering to his expert seduction! But when it becomes clear that Dal has more than pleasure in mind, will Poppy be persuaded to accept his royal proposal?
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author JANE PORTER has written forty romances and eleven women’s fiction novels since her first sale to Mills & Boon in 2000. A five-time RITA® Award finalist, Jane is known for her passionate, emotional and sensual novels, and loves nothing more than alpha heroes, exotic locations and happy-ever-afters. Today Jane lives in sunny San Clemente, California, with her surfer husband and three sons. Visit janeporter.com (http://www.janeporter.com).
Also by Jane Porter (#u683a2b59-c2c7-511f-b87b-e0a251099f61)
Bought to Carry His Heir
His Merciless Marriage Bargain
The Disgraced Copelands miniseries
The Fallen Greek Bride
His Defiant Desert Queen
Her Sinful Secret
Stolen Brides collection
Kidnapped for His Royal Duty
And look out for the next Stolen Brides book The Bride’s Baby of Shame by Caitlin Crews Available July 2018
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Kidnapped for His Royal Duty
Jane Porter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07218-2
KIDNAPPED FOR HIS ROYAL DUTY
© 2018 Jane Porter
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Kelly Hunter, Carol Marinelli, Abby Green & Heidi Rice.
Thanks for the inspiration and excellent company last summer!
This one is for you!
Contents
Cover (#u790794a0-0e2c-51b1-b543-af1de96ef128)
Back Cover Text (#u9998b6f2-c621-5cd5-a987-1f546249198a)
About the Author (#ue248804e-f909-587b-a552-dfd9848d11bd)
Booklist (#u22cc7734-9cff-56f9-a849-acf9e6caf023)
Title Page (#ud96b8fe0-8ca3-51c5-8b6f-dc2cf8f4c45d)
Copyright (#uce97a577-bcc5-52af-803a-0cfeb07f59d7)
Dedication (#u4f56a7d7-8360-56b1-a3ff-39244c3a74eb)
PROLOGUE (#ud759e678-5313-54ac-8222-a20208daac9f)
CHAPTER ONE (#u13079a74-22a1-5343-ab84-00e903468cdd)
CHAPTER TWO (#u2a017f63-f22b-558c-967b-c45ec52c2de5)
CHAPTER THREE (#ude14963e-445a-5a69-bced-3e33207cc795)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u683a2b59-c2c7-511f-b87b-e0a251099f61)
THE BRIDE WAS GONE, hauled from the chapel the way a victorious warrior carried the spoils from war.
Poppy’s wide, horrified gaze met Randall Grant’s for a split second before swiftly averting, her stomach plummeting. She’d been trembling ever since the doors flew open and the Sicilian stood framed in the arched doorway like an avenging angel.
She gripped her bridesmaid bouquet tighter, even as relief whispered through her. She’d done it. She’d saved Sophie.
But it wasn’t just Sophie she’d helped; she’d helped Randall, too. Not that Randall Grant, the Sixth Earl of Langston, would be grateful at the moment, because he was the groom after all, and no man wanted to be humiliated in front of two hundred of England and Europe’s most distinguished, their guests having traveled far and wide to Winchester for what the tabloids had been calling the wedding of the year, and would have been the wedding of the year, had the bride not just been unceremoniously hauled away by a Sicilian race car driver. Correction, former race car driver.
Poppy doubted that the Earl of Langston would care about the distinction right now, either, not when he had a church full of guests to deal with. Thank goodness he wasn’t a sensitive or emotional man. There would be no tears or signs of distress from him. No, his notorious stiff upper lip would serve him well as he dealt with the fallout.
But she also knew him better than most, and knew that he wasn’t the Ice Man people thought. She shot Randall another swift glance, strikingly handsome and still in his morning suit, the collar fitted against his strong, tan throat, accenting the lean, elegant lines of his physique, and the chiseled features of his face. He looked like stone at the present.
Detached. Granite-hard. Immovable.
Poppy swallowed quickly once more, trying to smash the worry and guilt. One day Sophie would thank her. And Randall, too, not that she would ever tell him her part in the disaster. He wasn’t just Sophie’s groom—jilted groom—but her boss of four years, and her secret crush. Although he was a very good boss as employers went, and rather protective of her, if he thought she had something to do with this wedding debacle, he’d fire her. Without hesitation. And that would break her heart.
But how could she not write to Renzo?
How could she not send the newspaper clipping? Sophie didn’t love Randall. She was marrying him because her family had thought it would be an excellent business deal back before she was even old enough to drive. It wasn’t a marriage as much as a merger, and Sophie deserved better.
So while Poppy’s conscience needled her, she also remembered how Renzo had shown marauder.
It had been thrilling and impressive—
Well, not for Randall. No, he had to be humiliated. But Sophie... Sophie had just been given a chance at love.
CHAPTER ONE (#u683a2b59-c2c7-511f-b87b-e0a251099f61)
SHE KNEW SOMETHING.
Dal Grant could see it in Poppy’s eyes, the set of her lips and the pinch between her brows.
She’d worked far too long for him not to know that guilty as hell expression, the one she only got when she did something massively wrong and then tried to cover it.
He should have fired her years ago.
She wasn’t irreplaceable. She’d never been an outstanding secretary. She was simply good, and rather decent, and she had the tendency to keep him grounded when he wanted to annihilate someone, or something, as he did now.
Most important, he’d trusted her, which had apparently been the absolutely wrong thing to do.
But he couldn’t press her for information, not with two hundred guests still filling the pews, whispering giddily while Sophie’s father looked gobsmacked and Lady Carmichael-Jones had gone white.
Thank God he didn’t have close family here today to witness this disaster, his mother having died when he was a boy, and then his father had passed away five years ago, just before his thirtieth birthday.
Dal drew a slow, deep breath as he turned toward the pews, knowing it was time to dismiss the guests, including Sophie’s heartsick family. And then he’d deal with Poppy.
* * *
“What did you do?” Randall demanded, cornering Poppy in the tiny antechamber off the chapel altar.
Poppy laced her fingers together uneasily, Randall’s words too loud in her head, even as she became aware of his choice of words.
He hadn’t asked what she knew, but rather, what did she do? Do, as in an action. Do, as in having responsibility.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking for someone who could step in, intervene, but the chapel was empty now, the guests disappearing far more rapidly than one would have imagined; but maybe that was because after Randall announced in a cold, hard voice, “Apologies for wasting your time today, but it appears that the wedding is off,” and then he’d smiled an equally cold, hard smile, the guests had practically raced out.
She’d wanted to race out, too, but Randall pointed at her, gesturing for her to stay, and so she had, while he waved off his aunts and uncles and cousins, and then exchanged brief, uncomfortable words with Sophie’s parents before shaking each of his groomsmen’s hands, sending every single person away. Sending everyone but her.
How she wanted to go, too, and she’d even tried to make a belated escape but he’d caught her as she was inching toward the vestibule exit, trapping her in this little antechamber typically reserved for the clergy.
“What did you do, Poppy?” he repeated more quietly, eyes narrowing, jaw hardening, expression glacial.
Her heart thumped hard. He was tall, much taller then she, and she took an unconscious step backward, her shoulders bumping against the rough bricks. “Nothing,” she whispered, aware that she was a dreadful liar. It was one of the things Sophie said she’d always liked best about her, and the very thing that had made Randall Grant, the Earl of Langston, hire her in the first place four years ago when she needed a job. He said he needed someone he could trust. She assured him he could trust her.
“I don’t believe you,” he answered.
Her heart did another painful thump as her mouth dried.
“Let’s try this again. Where is my bride? And what the hell just happened here, and why?”
Poppy’s eyes widened. Randall Grant never, ever swore. Randall Grant was the model of discipline, self-control and civility.
At least he’d always been so until now.
“I don’t know where she is, and that’s the truth.” Her voice wavered on the last words and she squirmed, hating that he was looking at her as if she’d turned into a three-headed monster. “I had no idea Renzo would storm the wedding like that.”
His dark eyebrow lifted. “Renzo,” he repeated quietly, thoughtfully.
She went hot, then cold, understanding her mistake immediately.
She shouldn’t have said his name. She shouldn’t have said anything.
“Poppy.”
She stared at his square chin and bit her lower lip hard. It was that or risk blurting everything, and she couldn’t do it; it wouldn’t be fair to Sophie.
