The Duke's Covert Mission. Julie Miller
Читать онлайн книгу.
slobbering or some other foul thing beneath his mask. Knowing she watched him, he pressed his palm to her bare skin and squeezed.
Ellie smacked him away. “Don’t touch me!”
She jerked back and slammed into the wall of the big man’s chest. Her instinctive struggle was quickly subdued by the large hands that pinned her arms—and the long knife pressed against her throat.
For his burly size, the short man had moved with surprising speed. “Now let’s review the facts, Princess.” He stroked the blade along her collarbone and slipped it beneath the remaining strap of her gown. “I have all the power, and you—” with a flick of his wrist, he severed the strap and the bodice dropped to an indecent level “—have none.”
Ellie withered in the big man’s hands.
I am Princess Lucia Carradigne of Korosol. The chant she’d used to build her self-confidence the night before now played like a death knell inside her head.
She had no idea where she was. No idea who these men were or what they wanted. Did they have a grudge against Lucia or her new husband, Harrison Montcalm, a retired general and outgoing royal advisor to King Easton? Did these men or their contact want something from King Easton himself? Power? Money? Korosol was a small, but wealthy country. The king had his own fortune at his disposal. He had the power to sway Parliament. Was their motivation political? Economical? Vengeful?
Or did they simply enjoy torturing her with her own inadequacies?
“What do you want from me?” Her docile voice and downcast eyes seemed to have a calming effect on the short man.
He laughed again as he propped his foot up on the stool and put his knife away in his boot. “We just want you to be a good girl and mind your manners. Sinjun here has fixed the place up real nice for you. And we’ll be right upstairs if you need anything.”
What sort of name was Sinjun? She glanced across the room to the silent man. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d be her ally, yet he had been kind enough to bring her food. To insist she eat.
“It’s almost time for the call, Jerome.” The big man’s deep voice resonated in the air behind her, though he was surprisingly soft-spoken.
He finally released her, and Ellie turned her attention back to what little she could do to protect herself. She tugged up the bodice of her dress to better cover her exposed skin, then crossed her arms in front of her.
Jerome seemed amused by her attempts at modesty. “Sugar, you do exactly what we tell you and you won’t get hurt.”
“How do I know that? How do I know I won’t end up dead in your trunk?”
A dangerous glint replaced the amusement in his dark eyes. “You don’t. You might be used to calling the shots back home at the castle…” The notion registered that he didn’t know Lucia had never lived in a castle. But then, these men didn’t know Lucia at all, or they wouldn’t have mistaken the plain brown mouse that she was for the vibrant, blond Lucia. “…but around here, I’m in charge.”
“The call?” the big man prompted, already striding toward the stairs.
“I’m on it, Lenny.”
Lenny. The big man was named Lenny. Jerome was the short and smelly jerk with the all-too-friendly hands. The silent one was Sinjun. She didn’t know how the information could help her, but she filed it away, anyhow.
“Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll be back to keep you company. I have a phone call to make. I’ll bet there’s somebody wondering where you are.”
Jerome and Lenny climbed the stairs and disappeared without another word. Sinjun spared her one final look, then headed up after them.
“Wait.”
At the last moment Ellie acted on the desperate need to escape. Dragging her chain behind her, she scuttled to the bottom of the stairs in time to see the door close and hear the dead bolt slide into place.
Exhausted, confused and more frightened than she had ever been in her life, Ellie sank to the floor and let the tears she’d fought finally overtake her.
Jerome was a mean little man. Lenny was an immovable force. Both were dangerous. Of that she had no doubt. She’d had firsthand experience with their easy violence. And yet neither one of them spooked her the way Sinjun, the silent panther of a man, and his intense blue eyes had.
I’ll bet there’s somebody wondering where you are.
True. Several people would wonder where Princess Lucia had disappeared to if she’d vanished. Her new husband. Her sisters. Her mother. King Easton himself, Lucia’s grandfather.
But Eleanor Standish?
She’d been easy to overlook her entire life.
Would anyone be missing her?
Chapter Two
Cade St. John locked the basement door behind him and pulled off his ski mask. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty brow and combed his fingers through his hair, settling it into neat waves across his crown. Whenever it got beyond the crewcut stage, it had a tendency to curl and fan above his forehead, giving him a deceptively youthful look that belied his thirty-three years—and masked a life experience that on some days qualified him for retirement.
Days like this one.
Are you going to kill me, too?
The woman’s voice and those sad, accusing eyes had struck a nerve.
Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to have happened—taking out the chauffeur like that. No one was supposed to get hurt. This job was already unraveling from the original plan. Cade wasn’t naive. That meant he’d been too damn arrogant to think he could control this gig with a loose cannon like Jerome Smython calling the shots.
Jerome was just a middleman with delusions of grandeur. Whoever had hired the three of them had been stupid enough or callous enough to give Jerome free rein with his temper. Maybe if Cade knew who the boss really was, he could argue his case.
Problem was, Cade didn’t know who had hired him.
Big problem.
He tossed the mask onto the countertop extension that served as a kitchen table and headed straight for the half-size refrigerator. If he was in charge of this operation, he’d be wearing a ball cap and dark glasses. But then, he wasn’t in charge. He did have a few useful connections, though. He knew his way around guns and explosives, and could drive an untraceable getaway car from Manhattan to the Connecticut countryside in record time.
“Sinjun. Hand me a beer.”
Cade shrugged off his instinctive response to a man like Jerome Smython telling him what to do.
Two weeks ago Jerome had come into Cade’s office at the Korosolan Embassy in New York with one very interesting proposition.
Let’s kidnap a princess.
Cade might possess a royal title himself, but it was no secret that his family was bankrupt. That his late father had gambled away his inheritance. That the lands they had once owned had been auctioned off to make an inroad into Bretford St. John’s accumulated debt. That Cade’s mother had found herself a wealthy Texas oilman to keep her in jewels and furs, and written off Korosol—and her son—in the process.
So Cadence St. John, Duke of Raleigh, former army officer, acting Korosolan ambassador to the United States, accepted the lure of a one-million-dollar payoff for services rendered and signed on to Jerome’s “proposition.”
Cade pulled out three beers, twisted off the caps and carried them into the living room, where Smython and Lenny Gratfield had made themselves comfortable on two mismatched couches. He crossed to the scarred window that overlooked the woods surrounding the abandoned house where they were hiding, and pretended an interest in the gray-green surface of the lake beyond the trees.
But