The Princess's Bodyguard Read online

  "Who's Pippin? Sounds like some cartoon character."

  Adele laughed. "Vice chancellor Pippin Ritter is a fine man and rather handsome. And he's a good friend."

  "Then when you get home, marry the vice chancellor. Problem solved."

  "We'd never be allowed to marry in Orlantha. But if I could get a message to Pippin, he could meet me—''

  "Princess, I'm taking you to Orlantha tonight." When she gasped and started to speak, he went on, "Once you're back in your own country, you and this Pippin can figure out a plan. But I'm finishing the job I started."

  "I thought you understood. I thought I could reason with you."

  "I'm sorry, okay? But the internal politics in Orlantha really aren't any of my business." Matt caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. There was that sad little face again, the one he'd seen in the Paris newspaper an­nouncing her engagement. What was it about this woman that made him want to wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything would be all right? He didn't know her. Didn't want to know her. She was an assignment. If he were smart, he wouldn't get involved.

  "You're right, of course," she said. "Why should you care about me or my country?"

  There was nothing else to be said, so Matt kept quiet. For the next thirty minutes the only sounds were the car's engine and the renewed strength of the storm. They seemed to be heading directly into even more turbulent weather. Once again it became impossible for Matt to see more than a couple of feet past the hood of the car. When he came to a crossroads, marked with a signpost, he stopped so that the headlights hit the sign. Gerwalt Inn. Not a town marker, but a welcome to the local hotel.

  "We're going to have to stop," Matt said. "I'll see if I can find Gerwalt Inn, and we'll stay there until this storm passes."

  He could tell that the princess was trying not to smile, but it was obvious she was pleased with the brief reprieve.

  "Whatever you say, Mr. O'Brien."

  He didn't like the sound of that. She was being much too accommodating, which meant she was up to some­thing. He'd have to make sure he kept close watch over her.

  Adele said a silent prayer of thanks for sending such a hostile storm on this very night when she needed it so badly. Once they stopped at the inn, she would find a way to escape from her American captor. There had to be a way to get away from him or to persuade him to let her go. Perhaps at the inn, she would find someone to help her. After all, she was bound to be recognized as the prin­cess of Orlantha.

  While Matt O'Brien drove slowly, being extra careful because of the rain, Adele studied the Dundee agent. The man needed a shave and a haircut. His thick black hair was tousled, his jeans faded and his leather bomber jacket worn with age. He was rather good-looking, if you liked the big, macho type. When he had grabbed her at the chateau, she had surmised that he was nearly a foot taller than she and about twice her size. And, going by his sur­name, she assumed he was of Irish descent. She guessed his age to be somewhere around thirty-five, give or take a couple of years. There was no gray in his jet-black hair or his beard, but he had tiny wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and shallow furrows in his forehead.

  When the car stopped, Adele looked out the window, but the downpour was so heavy that all she could make out were blurry lights. Matt turned off the engine, pocketed the keys and looked at Adele. The man had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Bright, summer-day sky blue.

  "We'll have to make a run for it," he told her. "We'll get drenched, but there's nothing else to do."

  She nodded. Matt flung open the door and jumped out. Adele did the same. Matt grabbed her arm and together they ran toward the two-story inn. By the time they made it inside to the reception area, they were both thoroughly wet to the skin.

  The inn's proprietor came out from behind the front desk to greet them.

  "Gtiten abend," the man said in German. "Willkommen turn gasthaus. "

  "Guten abend,'' Adele replied.

  Although he understood that they'd said "good eve­ning" to each other and the innkeeper had welcomed them, Matt's guess was that the princess's command of the German language was far better than his. He didn't want to take any chances that she might start rattling off a spiel in German and he wouldn't be able to keep up.

  "Do you speak English?'' Matt asked.

  "Yes, I speak English," the man said. "You are Amer­icans?"

  "I'm an American," Matt replied. "And I am Prin—"

  Matt reached out, draped his arm around her shoulders and hauled her up against him. "This is my bride, Priscilla. We're honeymooning here in Austria."

  "We are not—" Adele said, but was cut short when Matt kissed her.

  How dare he kiss her! How dare he. . . Oh, heaven help her. His mouth was warm, moist and commanding. She didn't think she'd ever been kissed quite so thoroughly in her entire twenty-eight years. She gripped his shoulders to steady her wobbly legs, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, all thoughts of a protest vanished. The kiss ended as quickly as it had begun, and for a split second Adele felt oddly adrift.

  When he eased his mouth from hers, she glared at him. He whispered softly against her lips, "Don't try to pull anything, or I'll be forced to play dirty."

  Adele nodded, only now understanding just how devious her captor could be. Matt turned to the proprietor who stood waiting, a broad smile on his face, apparently de­lighted by the honeymooners' ardor.

  "We'd like a room, please," Matt said. "We'll be stay­ing until the storm passes."

  Matt pulled out his wallet, removed his credit card and handed it to the innkeeper. The innkeeper scurried behind the front desk, scanned the credit card, then retrieved a key and handed the key and the card to Matt. "What about your luggage, Mr. O'Brien?"

  "It's in the car, but considering the way it's raining, I think we'll do without it tonight."

  The innkeeper nodded. "I will have Hilda bring robes for you and your wife. With my compliments. And if there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know. I am Franz Gerwalt."

  "Thanks," Matt replied. "We'll let you know if—" "Herr Gerwalt?" Adele spoke softly, a warm, friendly

  smile on her damp face. "Yes?"

  "We would also like some brandy brought to our room, and I require two extra pillows," Adele said. "I assume there's a fireplace in our room." Franz Gerwalt nodded. "If there isn't a fire in the fireplace, please, see that one is prepared immediately."

  Matt tugged on her arm. "You're being terribly de­manding, dear. You're acting like a spoiled brat."

  "I'm doing no such thing," she replied. "I am simply requesting adequate treatment, nothing more."

  The innkeeper frowned as he looked back and forth from Adele to Matt. "A lovers' quarrel on your honey­moon? You must not argue. We will be happy to accom­modate Mrs. O'Brien's requests."

  "Thank you," Adele said. "I have one more request."

  "Certainly," the innkeeper replied.

  "Will you please call the police and tell them that this man has kidnapped me?''

  Chapter 3

  Holy Moses! Matt thought. He'd have to do something and do it quickly, before Herr Gerwalt had a chance to comprehend and believe the princess's accusation.

  Matt grabbed Adele, hauled her up close to him and grinned sheepishly at Franz Gerwalt. "Such a kidder." Matt forced laughter. "Always joking around about my kidnapping her because we ran off to get married and her father accused me of kidnapping his baby girl."

  Herr Gerwalt offered Matt and Adele a weak smile. "You Americans. I do not understand your odd sense of humor."

  "I'm not—" Adele said, but before she could complete her sentence, Matt kissed her again.

  She bit his lip, then stomped on his foot. Huffing loudly, she turned to the innkeeper. "Don't you recognize me? I'm—"

  Matt swept her off her feet. Literally. This assignment was turning into a royal pain in the butt. If he didn't have a sore foot, a stinging lip and wasn't pissed off as hell, he might find humor in the situatio
n. But as it was, he was about two seconds away from strangling the princess of Orlantha.

  Turning around so Herr Gerwalt couldn't see that he'd covered Adele's mouth with his hand, Matt said, "We'll just go on up to our room. Thanks for every-thing." With a wiggling Adele squirming in his arms, Matt headed for the stairs, then paused. "By the way, I can make a long­distance call from our room using my calling card, right?"

  "Yes, yes. Of course."

  "Okay."

  "I'll see to the fire at once and have those robes brought up to you. And if you need anything else, please—"

  "Yeah, thanks."

  The minute Matt reached the second floor of the inn, he bent his head to whisper in Adele's ear. "Unless you want me to handcuff you to a chair and gag you again, then I suggest you behave yourself. Do I make myself clear?''

  She glared at him, her big brown eyes narrowed to angry slits. She ceased squirming but didn't respond to his warn­ing.

  He made his way down the corridor, looking for room 204, which turned out to be the third door on the left. After readjusting Adele in his arms, he inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. He switched on the lights in a quaint room, filled with what he assumed were European antiques. The low ceiling, small windows and heavy, dark furniture exuded an old-world charm. After closing and locking the door, he set Adele on her feet but kept a tight rein on her and continued holding his hand over her mouth.

  "What's it going to be, Your Highness? Are we doing this the easy way or the hard way?" He looked her right in the eyes. "Are you going to cooperate and act your part as the blushing bride? Are you going to be a good girl?"

  She nodded agreement. Matt eased his hand away from her mouth.

  They stared at each other. Matt grinned. Adele frowned.

  Matt manacled her wrist and dragged her across the room with him, straight toward a door he figured was the bathroom. After opening the door and finding the light switch, he shoved her inside the tiny bath that had one small window above the old bathtub. Thick lace curtains blocked out the night sky.

  "Take off your wet things, and as soon as the maid brings our robes, I'll throw one in here to you."

  Adele nodded, but when she started to close the door, Matt stuck his foot in the narrow opening. "Leave it par­tially open," he told her, pushing it open halfway.

  "If you think that I'm going to undress in front of you, then you had better think again."

  "Get real, honey, you aren't my type," Matt said, then when he saw the serious expression on her face, he grinned. "I thought you royals were used to having people dress and undress you."

  "I have a lady's maid. But I can assure you that I am not accustomed to undressing in front of men, certainly not a man who is a total stranger to me." She clicked off the light in the bathroom.

  Matt turned around, putting his back to her. "I won't look. I promise. But do not close that door."

  "Why? What do you think I'm going to do, escape through the drainpipes?"

  "I wouldn't put it past you to give it a try." His shoul­ders quivered as he chuckled silently. He could barely keep from laughing out loud.

  "Has anyone every told you that you're obnoxious?" Adele asked.

  With his back still to her, he responded, "No, ma'am. People usually tell me that I'm smart, good-looking, fun to be with, loyal, good-humored—"

  Adele huffed loudly. "Obnoxious and conceited!"

  Matt chuckled. A loud knock at the door gained his attention. He glanced over his shoulder toward the half-open bathroom door and caught sight of a slender, naked shoulder, part of a naked back, a round hip covered with silk panties and a long naked leg. He sucked in a deep breath. Holy Moses! He snapped his head back around before the princess caught him spying on her.

  "You behave yourself," he told her. "That's probably the maid at the door with our robes."

  "Please, let her in," Adele said. "And ask her to pre­pare a fire in the fireplace. Also, make sure she's remem­bered my extra pillows and—"

  "I thought you were kidding. Damn, you really are a spoiled brat, aren't you?" Matt muttered the last sentence under his breath as he opened the door.

  "Giiten abend. Wie sind Sie?" the maid said good eve­ning and asked how they were, then she continued speak­ing to Matt in her native German, which he struggled to understand because the gray-haired, middle-aged woman spoke rapidly. He caught several words. Honeymoon. Robes. Pillows. Something about being wet. And he un­derstood the word for fire.

  She handed him the white terry cloth robes, then laid the two fluffy goose down pillows at the foot of the can­opied four-poster bed. Matt eased sideways toward the bathroom and tossed one of the robes to Adele, who stood behind the door. She caught it in midair.

  "Did she bring—"

  "Two extra pillows. And she's building the fire now."

  "May I come out? I have on my robe."

  "Just wait until she leaves," he told Adele. "No point in being tempted to tell the maid—in German this time— that I've kidnapped you."

  Adele pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. Matt allowed himself a quick perusal. Why couldn't this woman have been as homely as her fiancé? Why did she have to be so damn pretty? And small, delicate and well-rounded? He looked away hurriedly.

  The maid rose from where she had knelt on the hearth, smiled at Matt and said something about dinner. She must have asked him if they wanted dinner served in their room.

  "Want some dinner, honey?" Matt asked.

  "She didn't bring the brandy I requested, did she?"

  "Do you or do you not want something to eat?"

  "May I put in an order for both of us?" Adele asked. "That is if you trust me not to—''

  "I understand enough German to figure out if you're ordering dinner or asking for help, so go ahead, order away.''

  Adele took several tentative steps into the room, looked directly at their maid and ordered dinner in German. The maid replied. The best Matt could make out, they'd be getting some kind of stew, homemade bread and the brandy Adele wanted. The maid curtsied and left the room.

  Why did the maid bow to them? Had the woman rec­ognized Adele? Or was she so used to being a servant that the bow came naturally to her?

  "Before you accuse me of revealing my identity to that woman, let me tell you that it's not unusual for servants to bow like that to anyone they consider their superior."

  "You royals are big on superiority, aren't you?" Matt headed straight toward Adele, intending to go into the bathroom. But for some reason she apparently thought he planned to manhandle her again, so she inched along the wall, moving away from him as he neared.

  "If you try to go out that door while I'm taking off my wet clothes, then you'll wind up tied to that chair—" he glanced at the straight-back wooden chair near the fire­place "—for the rest of the night. Understand?"

  "Perfectly." She tilted her pert little nose haughtily and walked past him toward the fireplace.

  He watched her for a couple of minutes as she bent over so her head was near the open fire. She speared her fingers through her short hair, fluffing it as the warmth began to dry the shiny, dark curls. One well-shaped calf peeked out from beneath her robe. Matt's body tightened. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. Don't go getting all hot and both­ered over that one. She thinks you're a beast, a brute and socially inferior. He knew her type. Rich, pampered, snob­bish. But he'd never come face-to-face with a real princess, not until this assignment had thrown him smack dab in the middle of a true-life episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A good o'l boy from Louisville, Kentucky, was definitely out of his league with Her Highness.

  Forcing himself to stop drooling, Matt went into the bathroom and, leaving the door partially open so he could keep an eye on his charge, he yanked off his shirt.

  Adele tossed back her head, then shook her curls as she stretched her neck. She was in a fine mess, wasn't she? Captured and held captive by an American barbarian who couldn't be bribed. The
big brute seemed to respond better when she didn't fight him, so perhaps charm might work where rebellion and chicanery had failed.

  Taking a seat by the fire, she glanced toward the bath­room, and what she saw took her breath away. Matt O'Brien was drying himself off. The white towel moved over his muscular arms, his hairy chest and his lean belly. Thank heaven he'd left on his boxer shorts. Damp, short black hair curled over his chest, arms and legs. Adele stared at him, hypnotized by his beautiful, powerful body. He certainly wasn't the first attractive man she'd seen in such a complete state of undress. After all, she'd grown up in Europe, had vacationed on the Riviera. Nudity wasn't the least bit shocking to her. But she wasn't accus­tomed to having a partially naked man in her bathroom. Well, technically, the bathroom was theirs since they were posing as newlyweds.

  With Matt's back to her, he continued drying himself. Adele watched in utter fascination, unable to remove her gaze from his magnificent body. What was wrong with her? What was it about this man that mesmerized her so? Oh, be honest with yourself, Adele. The man is very hand­some and has a fantastic body. You would have to be dead not to notice.

  The maid knocked on the outer door and asked permis­sion to enter. Reluctantly Adele took her eyes off Matt, stood and walked across the room to open the door. The maid carried a large tray laden with food. A bottle of brandy and two snifters graced the center of the tray.

  With Matt preoccupied in the bathroom, now might be a good time for her to whisper something to the maid, to ask the woman for help. The maid busied herself placing the items from the tray on an antique table by the windows. Just as Adele approached the maid, Matt walked out of the bathroom. Adele jumped, as if she'd been caught doing something naughty. Damn, why hadn't she acted sooner? She'd let the moment—and that was all she'd had—pass. She'd been too engrossed in staring at Matt's body to think straight.

  The maid took first one chair and then another and placed them on either side of the table where she'd set their evening meal. After laying his wet jeans, shirt and underwear out in front of the fireplace, Matt tossed his jacket on the sofa, then reached into the wide pocket of the white terry cloth robe, pulled out his wallet and handed the maid a sizable tip. Adele groaned. Having received such a generous tip, the maid would hardly be inclined to believe that Matt was a bad man, certainly not a kidnapper.