The Disenchanted Duke Read online

  It was an odd thing to say, but she understood. And then, just before the wine arrived, Max placed his hand over hers and squeezed it.

  Cara stopped wrestling with her thoughts.

  * * *

  The plane touched down at the airfield right on schedule. As Cara got out behind Max, she could see an extra-long black stretch limousine waiting for them. It reminded her of a panther that only gave the appearance of dozing in the hot sun. At any second, it could rev up and come alive.

  Behind them, Weber was being hustled down the ramp, a guard at each elbow, his hands handcuffed behind him. A wealth of curses littered the air. Once on the ground, he was taken to another car, a far more functional, smaller one, and quickly whisked away to what she assumed was prison.

  Who the hell was this man, she couldn't help wondering again. The king of a country didn't go through all this trouble just for a common American bail jumper, even one who, she was beginning to think, probably had an extensive rap sheet under several aliases.

  "Please, come this way," a tall, elderly man with impeccable posture instructed.

  "Hello, Albert, how are you?" Max asked, recognizing his uncle's personal secretary. He introduced Cara, who looked bemused.

  "Very well, sir. It's a pleasure to see you here again, and with such a lovely companion." His expression never changed. "The king is looking forward to seeing you." Placing himself directly behind them, he escorted them to the waiting vehicle.

  Getting in, Max was surprised to see that his uncle had come in person to meet them at the airstrip.

  Even wearing a black blazer and gray slacks, he couldn't be mistaken for an ordinary man. In his late sixties, with a thick mane of almost white hair and dark eyes, Marcus Sebastiani was still very much a handsome man. His aristocratic bearing made it abundantly clear to anyone within ten yards of the man that they were in the presence of royalty.

  Max made himself comfortable in the seat that faced his uncle, leaving plenty of room at his side for Cara. "Uncle Marcus, I didn't expect you to be here."

  "What, and miss the chance of greeting my favorite nephew after all this time?" He smiled warmly at Max, leaning forward and gripping his hand in a firm handshake. "Not likely. We missed you at the wedding," he confided, referring to marriage of his daughter to the sheik's son. He didn't pause for a comment from Max.

  "By the way," he winked, "don't tell your brother about that favorite nephew business. After all, he is my godson and it would only dishearten him." His eyes alighted on Cara. There was approval in them almost instantly. "And who have you brought me?"

  Max nodded toward the airstrip. "The guards just took—"

  "No, not the prisoner," Marcus clarified. "Who is this lovely creature?" His eyes were warm as he took Cara's hand in his.

  Max knew that, unlike his father, Marcus had a genuine affection for people, all people. His manner was not intended to disarm women he wanted to use for his own purposes.

  Max's voice became more formal. "King Marcus, may I present Ms. Cara Rivers."

  "Charmed, Ms. Rivers." His eyes holding hers, Marcus brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. As he lowered her hand, he still maintained a light hold, as if to form a link. "And how is it that you are traveling with my nephew?"

  The man was charming, but she was certain that his antennae had gone up. Off the top of her head, she guessed that the king was probably afraid she was some kind of gold digger.

  "The duke and I share a common interest," she told him. "Weber."

  Her answer couldn't have surprised Marcus more. He glanced at Max for an explanation. "I don't think I understand. Are you somehow involved with that man?"

  The king knew, by the very hue of her skin, that the young woman couldn't be related to Salim. And Marcus couldn't see the two of them together. The young woman before him looked too sharp to be taken in by the terrorist.

  "Very much so," Cara responded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a look of amusement on Max's face. She pressed on. "He's my bounty."

  This time Marcus really did look to Max for help. "I beg your pardon, I am not up on the latest American expressions."

  "It's not an expression," Max told him. "It's a condition. There's a bounty out for Weber. He was involved in a burglary out on a ranch in Colorado. He fled the state after someone posted his bail. The bondsman needed to have him brought in before the trial date."

  The king looked back to Cara. It was hard to believe she could be involved with something like that. "Which was?"

  "Today," Cara told him.

  "Oh, then we have cost you money." There was regret in the king's voice. "Allow me to—"

  Generosity—or guilt—seemed to be a family trait, she thought. There were worse ones to have. "Thank you, Your Highness, but your nephew has already paid me for what would have been my loss."

  "Oh. I see." He felt a surge of pride when he looked at Max. The young man was honorable, as always. As, apparently, was she. Otherwise, Marcus had no doubt that she would have attempted to extract money from him as well. He had known many women like that, women who had flocked to his late brother. "She is an honorable woman, Max. A rare find." His dark eyes shifted back to Cara. "So, am I to take it that you are—"

  "A bounty hunter," she concluded for him, not sure if he was familiar with the term.

  "A bounty hunter," Marcus repeated, shaking his head. He liked to think of himself as a progressive man, but this seemed to be beyond the pale. "Is this profession a wise choice for a young woman?"

  "It is if she wants to eat and has limited avenues open to her. Besides—" Cara smiled at the king "—we can only follow our talents, Your Highness."

  Tickled by the fire in spirit, Marcus laughed. "And yours is tracking men."

  "Dangerous men," she qualified.

  His eyes shifted to Max. The smile was slow, understanding.

  "I see." He made up his mind about her. When it came to people, he never deliberated too long. "Will you do me the honor, Ms. Rivers, of joining us for dinner? I am holding a small dinner party in honor of Max's homecoming. Just a few friends, nothing formal."

  She had a feeling that the king's idea of "nothing formal" was light years away from hers. "Which means what, leave my tiara in my room?"

  Yes, Marcus definitely liked her spirit. She seemed like the right one for his often all-too-somber nephew. Someone to keep Max on his toes. The fact that she was beautiful only enhanced the match.

  "Yes. Unless, of course, you wish to wear it." By his very intonation, he succeeded in making the conversation feel almost intimate. "I want you to be comfortable."

  He might want it, but it wasn't going to happen, Cara thought. At bottom, she would always be the orphaned girl whose mother didn't want her. That sort of person hardly fit in with royalty.

  But because she was a guest of the crown and it would be deemed impolite to refuse, Cara forced a smile into her eyes.

  "I would love to join you for dinner, Your Highness."

  Marcus clapped his hands together. There was nothing he liked more than a gathering of his closest, most trusted people, with a dash of fresh blood thrown in.

  "Wonderful. Dinner is at seven. Max will come for you, won't you Max?"

  "I'd have to," Max explained, in case she was going to say something about finding her own way around. "As I recall, there are a host of corridors and secret passageways in the palace, leaving a great many ways for a person to get lost."

  "Even one who tracks dangerous men for a living," the king added with a wink.

  The man could easily charm birds out of their tress, Cara thought. Not unlike his nephew.

  * * *

  Once they were at the palace and Cara was led off to her room, Max asked the king for a private audience. He wanted to talk about "Weber."

  The king refused to even acknowledge that Max had asked a question at first. Instead he invited his nephew to come with him to see his garden. As interested in plant life and foliage as he was in translat
ing the Dead Sea Scrolls, Max still found he had no choice but to follow his uncle and king.

  In the center of the hedge configuration that he took great pride in, Marcus turned to his nephew and abruptly said, "His name is not Kevin Weber, it is—"

  "Jalil Salim, yes, I already know that." Surprised, pleased, his uncle raised a questioning brow for details. "I had my grandfather run 'Weber's' fingerprints through the international terrorist database. It kicked out Salim's name. The man has a staggering list of offenses." He could see why the King would want to see the man safely put away where he was no longer a threat to the Sebastianis and Montebello.

  Marcus nodded. He'd been apprised that his nephew had looked Bill Ryker up when he had gone to live in California. "Ah yes, your grandfather. I only met him that one time, at your parents' wedding. He struck me as a fine man. To his credit, he raised a wonderful daughter all on his own." Max's grandmother had died when his mother was still a child. "How is he?"

  "Alert, glad to be productive again."

  Marcus knew more about the matter, knew that Max had started an investigative agency and had brought his grandfather in to work with him. "You gave him that."

  Max saw it differently. His grandfather had taught him things he didn't know, had made patience a staple of his life. And given him a sense of family that had been missing when he had lived with his own father.

  "We gave something to each other," Max corrected his uncle.

  Marcus slipped his arm around his nephew's shoulder and laughed. Max was so unaffected, such a pleasure to be around. "Oh, Max, Max, Max, I have truly missed having you around."

  "With all this intrigue surrounding the family, not to mention the palace, I doubt that you really have the time to notice that I'm gone."

  Marcus sighed. Intrigue was the right word. "Oh, I notice all right. I notice. But let us not dwell on that for the moment. You have done well for yourself and I am glad of that." He paused, then slowly approached a subject he had a more personal interest in. "Tell me, am I wrong, or is there some sort of an electrical spark between you and the lady?"

  "I'm not sure what there is between us."

  "Mystery." Marcus nodded sagely, even though his eyes twinkled. "Always a good thing. There should always be mystery between a couple. It keeps them on their toes."

  Max didn't trust his own feelings. They were all too new. "I think you're reading far too much into this, Uncle."

  They differed there. "Haven't you heard? I am a great judge of people. And there is this look in your eyes I have never seen before..."

  "Jet lag," Max interjected.

  How typical of Max to shy away from this. How unlike his father the young man was. Though Antonio had been his own brother, Marcus had never approved of his womanizing ways, his cavalier treatment of Helen. A man took vows before God when he married, pledged his honor and his love. Those things could not taken lightly or shed because of a momentary hormonal reaction.

  "I think not," the king contradicted. "But, I keep you and you must be tired. Refresh yourself. Take a nap before dinner."

  Max saw that the king was beginning to walk back into the palace. "We still haven't really talked."

  Marcus stopped only for a moment. "You already know more than even Tyler told you. And we will talk. Later. I promise." Once more threading his arm around his nephew's shoulders, he ushered him toward the palace. "For now, let me just enjoy having you back."

  Put that way, Max had no choice but to table his questions and follow his uncle's lead.

  * * *

  Nerves danced through Cara like tiny ice skaters with sharpened blades. It was like walking into a new foster home all over again. She could feel all eyes turning toward them.

  Toward her.

  "I feel like a fish out of water," Cara hissed in Max's ear as he escorted her into the dining room. It was beyond anything she could have ever imaged.

  The dining room was the one his uncle used for intimate dinners comprised of only two dozen or so souls rather than the banquet hall, which was reserved for state dinners.

  Max looked at the dress she was wearing. The one that had almost made him forget that the king was waiting for them. The one that had made him want to close the door behind him and skim his hands over her, rememorizing every curve that the long, slinky blue garment emphasized.

  He lowered his head, bringing his lips close to her ear. "Never saw a fish wearing anything like that, in or out of the water."

  The comment could have been nothing more than a flippant remark, or a mildly polite observation. Why did a little thrill rush over her like that? He was a duke, accustomed to empty flattery. The words meant less than nothing.

  They meant everything.

  She'd found the dress laid out for her on the bed when she came out of a bathroom the size of a small movie theater. There had been no one around to ask about the garment's sudden appearance. It seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

  Because she needed something to wear that wouldn't make Max ashamed of her.

  As if that mattered, she told herself.

  But it did.

  It amazed her, when she tried it on, to discover that the dress was the right size. Wearing it, looking at herself in the mirror, she'd felt as if she was a little girl again. A little girl who still believed in magic.

  Cara remembered how many times, as a child, she would pretend that someone was watching out for her. Someone who could magically supply whatever she needed whenever the need arose. It was just like having a fairy godmother.

  There was, however, one thing wrong with the picture. As a child, she'd felt she belonged in such a setting. That it was her due.

  As an adult, she knew differently.

  She was out of her element here. Out of her depth. And with Max, she thought sadly, so out of her league it was painful.

  So what was she doing here, playing the princess. Or duchess as it were?

  She had no satisfactory answer.

  Seeing them enter, the king smiled, broke protocol and rose in deference to the woman on Max's arm. Earlier she'd struck him as pretty. Now he realized he'd been wrong. She wasn't pretty. She was beautiful. And, it appeared, the perfect match for his nephew. He wondered what it would take for Max to realize that.

  "Ah, you have found your way down here at last." He looked around at his other guests. "Everyone, Max has brought someone to our table. I'd like you all to meet Cara Rivers. From America."

  There was a rush of voices, calling out greetings, saying her name. Cara's head spun as she tried to acknowledge everyone, focus on everyone.

  Definitely out of her league, she thought.

  Though she loved the silky feel of the long gown that she had on, she was far more at home in jeans and a button-down blouse. Far more at home behind the wheel of a car, tracking down a bail jumper or worse than attending a dinner party as fine as this. Max, on the other hand, she thought, looked as if he was born in that suit he was wearing.

  To the manor born, she thought. It wasn't just a phrase, it was a truth.

  "You're right, Marcus, she is lovely." A regal-looking woman sitting at the other end of the table smiled warmly at her.

  This had to be Queen Gwendolyn, Cara thought. Unwilling to be taken for the consummate country bumpkin, Cara had used her time alone to quickly research the royal family via the internet.

  A butler behind her pushed her chair in for her and Cara took her seat. A preponderance of utensils flanked her plate, daring her to pick the right one for the right course.

  Oh God, she thought. She was better equipped to choose the right caliber gun to use than she was for this. Now what?

  Chapter 15

  Cara felt the press of Max's knee against hers. A warm shiver undulated through her that took effort to suppress.

  Was he actually picking now to get friendly? Was it a turn-on for him to play sensual games at his uncle's table while his relatives sat, unsuspecting, around the perimeter?

  Holding her
breath, she waited for what she assumed was the next step: Max's hand to slip over her knee. Instead he moved his leg against hers a little more firmly. Confused, she glanced toward him.

  His eyes indicated the silverware and then he picked up a small fork on the outer edge and began to eat his salad.

  He wasn't playing hanky-panky, he was giving her silent table etiquette instructions.

  The thought made her smile.

  He was trying not to embarrass her. Either that, a small voice in her head whispered, or himself for bringing her.

  No, she wasn't going to drive herself crazy with doubts now. She'd think about that later. Right now, she had a dinner to address and names to remember. With a slight inclination of her head in mute thanks, she picked up the correct fork just as the man who had been introduced to her as Max's brother, Duke Lorenzo, asked her a question.

  * * *

  "Very subtle of you," she murmured as the music enveloped them and she slipped one hand to Max's shoulder as he took the other and pressed it to his chest.

  Dinner was over and the servants were clearing away the dishes. As coffee and after-dinner cordials were being served, it was time to really socialize. Assailed on both sides with people who were fascinated by what they'd discovered she did for a living, Cara found herself being rescued by Max, who asked her to dance.

  Grateful for the breather and for an excuse to be in his arms, Cara rose from the table and allowed herself to be led off to the dance floor.

  Holding Cara like this just made Max want to take her to his bed. He hardly felt like the same man anymore. All he could think about was her. Being with her, talking to her, inhaling the scent she always wore.

  Making love with her.

  He knew this had to stop, yet he felt powerless to do anything about it.

  Which just made things worse.

  For now, however, because protocol required he be here with her, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment and not wrestle with his thoughts or even think beyond the present.

  "You're going to have to be more specific than that," he told her. Dancing past one of the queen's attendants, he nodded, acknowledging the latter's smile.