Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna: The Man Who Would Be King / The Princess And The Mercenary. Marilyn Pappano
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replied smoothly, delighted with his brother’s words. He kept his glee, however, carefully hidden behind an easy smile. “Haven’t I helped King Marcus all these months since poor Lucas was lost? I’ll do the same for you. More, in fact. You’re my brother. I can’t imagine being anywhere else but at your side.”
He spoke with a sincerity that was well practiced, and he wasn’t surprised when Lorenzo swallowed it whole. His brother was nobody’s fool, but Desmond had come into his life when Lorenzo was young and vulnerable and feeling lost, and it hadn’t taken much effort on Desmond’s part to win his trust. At the time, Desmond had to use his brother to get close to the king. That, it turned out, had been a stroke of genius on his part. Because now it was his brother who would be king. As his trusted advisor and closest family member, Desmond intended to take full advantage of his new position. After all, Desmond was the son of a duke, just like Lorenzo—a bastard son, but a son nonetheless. It was about time he came into his royal due.
What a shame that Prince Lucas had foolishly crashed his plane into the side of a mountain, Desmond thought snidely. Maybe one day, he’d summon up the strength to shed a tear for him…after he celebrated his own good fortune.
First, however, the king had to name Lorenzo his successor, something he should have done ten minutes ago. Troubled by the delay, Desmond frowned at the closed door where the king was expected to make his entrance. “I don’t understand the king’s tardiness. Maybe you should see if there’s some kind of problem,” he suggested. “Something isn’t right.”
Knowing how his uncle grieved for his son, Lorenzo wasn’t surprised that Marcus wasn’t his usual punctual self. With the announcement of a new heir to the throne, he was publicly admitting that he was accepting the fact that his son was dead. That would be difficult for any parent.
Wondering how he would find the strength to deal with such a situation himself, Lorenzo said quietly, “He probably just needs a little more time to come to terms with everything. I’ll go check on him.”
Whatever Eliza was expecting when she caught a cab at the Montebellan airport and went directly to the royal palace, it wasn’t the mob of reporters that crammed the front gates, trying to gain admittance. Surprised, she asked the cab driver, “What’s going on? Nothing’s happened to the king, has it?”
“Oh, no, miss,” he assured her as he took the fare and tip she held out to him. “He’s fine. Or at least he’s as fine as any father can be when he announces his son is dead.”
“What?!”
“It’s true,” he said sadly. “It’s been a year since Prince Lucas’s plane crashed and he went missing. No one wants to believe he’s dead, but there hasn’t been much hope for a long time now. I guess that’s why the king decided to name a successor. Like it or not, the living have to keep on living.”
Horrified, she hurriedly collected her Notebook computer and pushed open her door. “Oh, my God! I have to stop him. He can’t do this!”
Puzzled by her reaction, the cabby laughed. “Sure he can, lady. He can do anything he likes. He’s the king!”
Struggling with her things as she rushed toward the crowd at the gate, Eliza didn’t hear him. This couldn’t be happening! She should have tried to contact the palace the second Willy showed her the scarf. But she’d known she wouldn’t be allowed to speak to the king and queen, and the news she had wasn’t the kind that should be relayed over the phone. Besides, would anyone believe her without seeing the evidence?
She should have called anyway, she thought as she fought her way through the mass of reporters. She could have convinced someone to listen to her, and the king would have been spared the agony of picking someone to succeed his only son. Now, she had to convince the guard at the gate that she needed an immediate audience with the king and what she had to say to him was more important than the hundreds of other reporters who wanted the same thing.
“Hey, watch it!”
“What do you think you’re doing, lady? Get at the back of the line. We were here first.”
“Too bad,” she snapped. “I’m in a hurry and you guys are in my way. Move it, will you? I’ve got to talk to the king.”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late. All around her, her fellow reporters mimicked, “Move it, I’ve got to talk to the king.”
“You can wait, just like the rest of us, mademoiselle,” a skinny Frenchman told her, looking down his nose at her. “And you can forget about talking to the king. His press secretary will tell us whatever he wants us to know.”
Eliza knew he was right, but his attitude irked her, and she didn’t even bother to respond. Quickly stepping around him, she told the guard at the gate, “It’s very important that I see the king. I have some information he needs…”
Surrounded by competing reporters, she didn’t dare tell him what that information was, but he wasn’t interested, anyway. “Nice try,” he drawled, “but I’ve got my orders. No reporters allowed inside the palace. You’ll have to wait, just like everyone else.”
Frustrated, she swore softly. So much for trying to go through channels. She liked to play by the rules, but sometimes it just didn’t pay. Now it was time to follow her gut and do what she should have done when she’d first seen the crowd of reporters fighting to get inside—find another way in.
“Fine,” she retorted, pretending to pout as she let herself be pushed to the back of the crowd. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”
The front door of the palace opened then, distracting the crowd at the gate, and that was just the opportunity Eliza was looking for to slip away. As the press secretary informed the crowd that the king’s announcement would be released momentarily, she quietly hurried along the palace wall hoping to find some place to scramble over now that the guard was distracted. As luck would have it, she saw a delivery truck enter the service gate at the far end and before it could close automatically behind the vehicle, she slipped inside.
After getting over her initial shock at suddenly finding herself within mere yards of the royal palace, she quickly made her way around the corner of the stone and marble building, looking for a way in. But every door she came to was locked!
“I can’t believe this!” she muttered, continuing around the building. An entire staff of people took care of the daily operation of the palace. Surely someone had mistakenly left a door open somewhere!
Frustrated, she was about to give up hope when she rushed around another corner and suddenly found herself at the rear of the palace, facing the sea. And there, right in front of her, were the royal gardens…and a veranda with a set of French doors that looked like they’d been placed there just for her.
“Yes!” she whispered triumphantly. Now, if they were just unlocked.
Her heart thundering wildly, she dashed up onto the veranda and turned the doorknob, half expecting an alarm to blare at any second. But the door opened effortlessly, silently, and just that easily, she found herself standing inside what appeared to be the ballroom of the royal palace of Montebello.
Take notes! a voice in her head ordered sharply. But there was no time. The room was deserted, and she took advantage of that to quickly stow her computer and overnight bag behind the drapes at the window. Hopefully, they would still be there when she got back. If she got back, she silently amended. She’d just broken into a king’s palace. In some countries, they threw you into the dungeon for that if you got caught.
“So don’t get caught,” she told herself. “Act like you have a right to be here and no one will even spare you a second glance.”
It was a simple plan, one that had worked well for her in the past. Over the years, her job—and curiosity—had led her into any number of places where she had no business being, and she’d discovered that she could go practically anywhere if she acted like she knew what she was