The Disenchanted Duke Read online

  He was playing with words. She bet he was good at that, Cara thought. But it would take a lot more than that to snow her. "There's a difference between bragging and saying, 'oh, excuse me, but when you cut me, I bleed blue blood."

  Humor curved his mouth. He realized that intentionally or not, Cara made him smile a lot. "It's red."

  Immersed in her anger, it took her a second to process what he'd just said. "What?"

  "My blood," he clarified, "it's red."

  Cara blew out a breath. He was doing it again. Duke or not, she was beginning to think of the man as a con artist, the kind that could twist out of any situation and fall into a mud puddle and come out smelling like a rose. "You know what I mean."

  Yes, he knew what she meant. Max grew serious, wanting to clear the air once and for all. He was going to be flying with this woman and he didn't want her shooting daggers at him.

  "Look, I wasn't lying to you, I was just trying to live a normal life."

  What a crock. Couldn't he do any better than that? She spared him a long, disbelieving look. "And chasing after some lowlife for the king of Montebello is normal," she hooted.

  It was all in the perspective. "More normal than being a duke. Besides, I don't use the title."

  "Alice Groupie thinks you do."

  He laughed at the nickname she'd just awarded the secretary. "My younger brother Lorenzo's the duke. I walked away from that life when my father died."

  Turning down the block, she looked at him in mild surprise. "Why would you do that? Most people would kill to live that kind of life."

  So he'd heard. The grass was always greener when you didn't have to walk through it.

  "Most people have no idea what that kind of life is like." For her benefit, he gave her a minitour into his life. "It means being in a fishbowl, never having a private moment to yourself. It means having your every move under almost constant scrutiny. Photographers popping up out of bushes. Never

  knowing if someone is talking to you or to your lineage." He frowned, remembering. Glad to have it all behind him. "There's nothing genuine about it."

  Cara turned his words over in her head. He sounded so serious, she believed him. Maybe that made her a fool. She didn't know. With a short laugh, she shook her head. It was a small world. "So I guess in a way, you're a runaway, too."

  Max's protest died before it was spoken. She was right. "I guess I am at that."

  Who would have ever thought they actually had something in common? When she looked at him, there was a hint of a smile on her lips. A genuine one. "This is like the Prince and the Pauper, except that we don't look alike."

  He thought of last night. "And the prince never made love to the pauper."

  "No, I don't think the censors would have let Mark Twain get away with that." He could still be putting her on, but she didn't think so. "All right, I guess I see your point."

  "Good." That out of the way, he looked at the lonely stretch of road before them. "So where are we going?"

  "To see the woman who saved my life." Cara didn't have to look at him to know there was a question coming. The man knew too much about her as it was. "Don't you have a phone call to make?"

  Way ahead of her, Max was already pressing numbers on the keypad.

  Though it was the king's private line, he still had to go through his uncle's personal secretary, Albert, before he was allowed to speak to the man himself. Several minutes lapsed before he heard his uncle's voice. As succinctly as possible, Max filled him on the pertinent details. Leaving out the part about Cara coming along as well.

  He could feel her looking at him, waiting for him to drop the bombshell. He kept it at bay.

  "I knew I could count on you, Max." His uncle sounded well pleased. "I will have the plane ready to leave within the half hour. I've had it fueled up ever since I called you." There were few men whose abilities and integrity he trusted as implicitly as his oldest nephew's. "Once you arrive, you'll spend a few days with me at the palace, of course."

  He hadn't gone into any of the conditions that came along with the extradition. That was best said face-to-face. Though he loved his uncle, he had little desire to see his former homeland. But he couldn't very well refuse the invitation. Besides, he did have to take the prisoner back.

  "Yes, of course." He paused. "Uncle, there're complications."

  "Oh?"

  Though this was not any dark secret, Max still hesitated elaborating even a little. The lines were not secure. "I'll explain when I get there."

  Marcus sensed there was more than a minor problem involved. "But you are bringing Weber."

  Weber. Again, he doubted that was truly the man's name, even though the Wanted poster Cara had shown him bore that alias.

  "Yes, I'm bringing the man you sent me for."

  Marcus appreciated the wording. His nephew was a smart man.

  "Wonderful. Then I shall see you some time late tomorrow." There was a pause, and then the king said, "You've done well, Max."

  Max wasn't all that sure if he deserved the king's praise when he terminated the connection.

  Cara waited until she was sure the conversation was over. "You didn't tell him I was coming."

  Max slipped the phone into his pocket. "You'll be a surprise."

  "Great." Sarcasm dripped from her voice. "I love surprising people." They'd been traveling along a road that bordered a small farm. She drove toward the small, two-storied farmhouse. "Well, here we are." Turning off the engine, she pulled up the hand brake. "You can stay in the car if you like, this shouldn't take too long."

  He was already getting out of the car. "All the same to you, I'd like to tag along."

  Cara shook her head. "I was afraid you'd say that." She couldn't very well tell him not to, seeing as it was his car she'd used and his check in her purse. Resigned, she led the way to the door and rang the bell.

  The sound of a dog barking in the background echoed back to them moments before the front door opened.

  A frail-looking, gray-haired woman in a plain dress and sensible shoes stood behind the screen door. When she smiled, her face lit up. He liked her instantly.

  "Hush, Brutus," she chided the old hound dog, "it's just Cara."

  As Max looked on, the woman embraced Cara, then looked at him with bright blue eyes that glowed with unabashed interest. But, unlike the look on the sheriffs secretary's face, he didn't feel as if he was being invaded or his life breached.

  "And a friend," the woman told the dog, releasing Cara. "Be on your best behavior," she called over her shoulder to the animal that was even now trotting over to the door. "Brutus doesn't bite," she told Max. "He just likes to frighten people with his bark."

  Max looked at Cara, amused. "You and Brutus have a lot in common."

  Cara's smile was instant, wide and not entirely genuine. "Yeah, but I bite and don't forget it."

  The woman looked at her somewhat uncertainly. "Cara?"

  Cara gestured toward Max. "This is—" Stumped, she looked at him. "What do I call you?"

  "Max," Max said to the older woman. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed it in the courtly fashion he'd been raised.

  Bridgette was charmed. "Nice smile," she commented to Cara.

  "Yes, it is," Cara agreed. "Covers a myriad of flaws." Though she would have liked to have stayed the evening, she knew that Bridgette would go all out, cooking a meal and making them at home and the woman needed her rest. "We can't stay, Bridgette. I just wanted to stop by and give you this." She placed the check Max had given her into the other woman's hand and folded her fingers over it. "For the farm."

  Bridgette looked down at the check, her mouth falling open. She tried to give it back to Cara, but the latter stepped back. "I can't accept this, child."

  "Yes," Cara insisted firmly, "you can. I wish it was more, but at least it'll keep those bankers in their cages for a while."

  Bridgette pressed her lips together to keep the sudden sob that rose in her throat back. She'd a
lready made her peace with foreclosure. This was like an unexpected miracle.

  "This'll pay the back taxes," she said, nodding her head. And then she shook it, looking at the «

  young woman she had taken in so long ago. "Cara, I don't know what to say."

  "Don't say anything. Not to me. Just tell those bankers to go—chase themselves." It was clearly not what she wanted to say, but she was tempering her words in deference to the woman before her.

  She looked more closely at the check and was puzzled. Had Cara entered into some sort of bargain because of her? "Why is his signature on it?"

  Cara waved away the concern she saw in Bridgette's face. How like her to worry about everyone but herself. "Long story. It's in lieu of the bounty money he's acing me out of. The bail jumper I was after is wanted in Montebello and Max needs to take him there before the guy faces the charges against him here."

  "I see." She didn't, but she left legal matters to the people around her. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the breathing space this gave her. The crops she was hoping on would now be able to come in. "I can't tell you what this means to me."

  "You don't have to." Impulsively Cara hugged the woman. "Need me to take you into town?"

  The bank was closed now, but she could go tomorrow. "No, Elliot'll do that," she assured Cara, referring to her hired hand. "You've done more than enough already." She ran her hand over Cara's hair affectionately. Remembering. "Best thing I ever did in my life was bring you home for chicken soup."

  "Chicken soup?" Max asked as they walked back to his car.

  "It was more than that." And more than she was willing to go into now. Cara got into the car. "Bridgette's a nurse, retired now. When I met her, I was sick, she took care of me."

  He was waiting for more, but it didn't come. "That's pretty sparse on the details."

  She shrugged, staring up the car. "Maybe if the plane ride gets too long and we get bored, I'll fill you in." Big maybe, she added silently.

  Which meant that for now, she didn't want to discuss it, Max thought.

  He of all people understood not wanting to touch the past. The problem was, her past was beginning to interest him.

  Possibly more than it should have.

  Chapter 13

  Max studied Cara's profile as she drove them back to Shady Rock. The woman amazed him. She'd done what appeared to be an entirely selfless act and she wasn't even talking about it. There were some people he knew of back in Montebello who would do well to take a page from her book.

  "You made her very happy."

  Cara felt a deep sense of satisfaction. The only thing that marred it was that she wished it could have somehow been more. But it would be. There was always another bail jumper to pursue, another bounty to collect. She intended to share the proceeds with Bridgette until the woman was well on her feet again.

  "Bridgette deserves to be happy. All she's got is that farm. Woman spent most of her life helping others in one way or another. Never had time for a personal life of her own. Now she's getting on in years and there's no one to look out for her."

  "So you do."

  It wasn't a question. There was a great deal more to this woman who cleaved to bounty hunting in order to make her living than he'd first thought. She wasn't all noise and bravado.

  But then, he had figured that out when they'd made love.

  Cara shrugged, dismissing the subject. She didn't like calling attention to her softer, more sentimental side. That was for private moments to be shared with people she trusted. So far, that really only meant Bridgette.

  She looked at the road before her and thought about what lay ahead. They were going to be in town pretty soon. "All right, so now what?"

  "Well, the king's private plane won't be here until tomorrow around ten." The sheriff had mentioned an airstrip not far out of town. Max left details like that to the king's personal pilot. Roark would find it even if it was little more than square clearing. "So I guess what I need to do is find a place to stay overnight. What's the hotel like?"

  There was one hotel over on the other side of town. She'd heard it was nice enough.

  "Wouldn't know. I've never stayed there." Cara pressed her lips together, the way he'd noticed she did when she was battling with a thought. "It's a ways down the highway. Probably not grand enough for a duke."

  There was that stigma again, he thought, the one that always came up whenever anyone knew his background. People ceased to be comfortable, to be natural, around him. As if he had been part of the court of Ivan the Terrible.

  "I don't require grand," Max said mildly. "Just a bed with a pillow and sheets."

  "They can supply that." Cara pressed her lips together again. Damn it, the best thing she could do was just leave this alone. Let him go to the hotel, what difference could it make?

  Even so, she heard herself saying, "So can I."

  The quietly worded offer surprised him. "Is that an invitation?"

  She shrugged carelessly, uncomfortable if he was putting any sort of deeper meaning into the act. Uncomfortable with the thought that she was putting any kind of meaning into the act.

  Feeling cornered, she gave him an explanation more for her own sake than for his. "You wrote the check, I guess the least I can do is give you a place to stay and a hot meal."

  Another surprise. "You cook?" He couldn't really envision Cara doing anything else besides ordering takeout.

  "Yes, I cook." She smothered her immediate "raised-hackles" response. There was no point in getting upset over an assumption that, all things considered, was perfectly logical, given her personality. Besides, it was almost true. She wasn't exactly in line to having her own cooking show.

  She slanted a glance in his direction. "I said the meal would be hot, I didn't say it would be good."

  He laughed. "I'm easy. Hot is good."

  And it was, Max thought, looking at her.

  The trouble was, it seemed to be getting hotter between them all the time and he didn't think that either one of them was ready for that or really knew what to make of it.

  * * *

  "Then it is true, just as I've suspected. I'm glad you've come to me with this."

  King Marcus frowned as he moved around his lavishly sculpted gardens. This was the only place he

  felt that it was safe enough to conduct a private meeting with anyone. And this meeting was very

  private. There were only two people in it, himself and Hassan, the son of the very man he had, until

  recently, been feuding with, Sheik Ahmed.

  There was now a truce, reached between two grieving fathers who had each reportedly lost a son.

  Ahmed's had been found, returning to the arms of the woman he loved, Marcus's daughter, Julia. The

  two were joined now, by their love and their infant son.

  All appeared to be well now between the two countries, but there were those who wished it otherwise. Those who wanted to perpetuate another feud, undermine both governments and seize power.

  Because of that, affairs had to be conducted in secret and people kept in the dark.

  Dark.

  It was the dark that was the problem. Or, more specifically, the Brothers of Darkness. It was a terrorist group that had originated within Sheik Ahmed's own country, Tamir, and had dedicated itself to obliterating anyone, Montebellan, Tamiran or anyone else who did not wholeheartedly agree with them and pledge their life to the cause.

  It was the Brothers who had set off a bomb in San Sebastion, the capital of Montebello, the Brothers who he suspected were behind Lucas's disappearance.

  "Yes," Hassan confirmed solemnly. He said what Marcus had already suspected, why he had sent Max to bring Jalil Salim back. The young future sheik looked around the area that was surrounded with green hedges. Just enough for privacy, not enough to hide someone if they approached.

  "Jalil Salim, who is passing himself off as this Kevin Weber in the United States, is part of the Brothers of Darkness. According to m
y father's intelligence agents, he has gone to the United States to try to raise money for the organization. Accordingly he has helped to set up a petroleum business in Texas which is actually a front for this heinous group."

  Hassan's frown mirrored the one on the face of the man who had received him. "I do not have to tell you that such an organization, once rooted, can spread, infecting so many other places. The Brothers of Darkness would grow stronger, their organization jeopardizing the governments in both of our countries. They have to be stopped before this happens," he concluded passionately.

  Marcus wholeheartedly agreed. With the Brothers of Darkness working within Tamir and the United States, he knew his own country would be particularly vulnerable. He would have an enemy at both flanks. And America was as much the land of opportunity for the dark of heart as it was for the pure. Perhaps even more so.

  But since this was a courtesy call from the sheik, Marcus left the arena opened to Ahmed's son. The evil had sprung up within the borders of Tamir and as such, it was their problem. Protocol did not allow for him to intrude unless invited.

  "Since Jalil and his men are all natives of your country, how does your father wish to handle this situation?" Unable to contain himself, wanting the problem dealt with swiftly, Marcus began, "I could

  But Hassan raised a hand, respectfully calling a halt to anything the king was going to propose. "There is already a plan, Your Highness. My father is sending me to Texas to see about 'negotiating —" 'he smiled at the use of the word "—a possible business merger with this so-called up-and-coming petroleum company. Once I am on the inside, I will be in a position to learn more. In the meantime, I was told that you have dispatched Maximillian to bring this scum of the earth back to Montebello."

  Marcus tread lightly along the so recently reconstructed bridge between his country and Hassan's. "I have it on good authority that Salim is responsible for several terrorist acts within Montebello and may very well have had a hand in the explosion that ripped apart my son's plane—"

  Hassan nodded, his dark eyes growing sympathetic. "Our two families have both had much to grieve over in the last year, Your Highness. But as someone once said, that which does not kill us—"