worst, Thomas. The worst.”
“The king? He’s had another stroke, has he?”
Jacob swung around to face his bodyguard, who doubled as chauffeur, private secretary and self-proclaimed social adviser. Thomas was also his closest—some claimed only—true friend. Anger frothed up inside Jacob. The heat generated by his turbulent mood made his head hurt far worse than the hangover he’d woken with should have.
“My father is in better health than most of his cabinet—better than I am, at this moment.” He gingerly pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead, as if to hold its contents securely in place.
“I’ve prepared a pitcher of Bloody Marys in the galley, Your Royal Highness. Shall I bring it?”
“Knock off the ‘Your Highness’ crap,” Jacob snapped. “You only do that when some reporter is around to hear, or when you’re irritated with me.”
“As you wish, Sir,” Thomas said with a shadow of a smile. “Shall I bring the beverage?”
“No.” Jacob shook his head, then groaned at the wave of dizziness the motion produced. “No, it will wear off soon enough. Black coffee would be better.”
When Thomas returned with a steaming mug of fragrant dark java, Jacob took a quick sip, then three more...and the world seemed to steady itself. Somewhat. They stood for a while as crew members in white T-shirts and canvas pants bustled around them, then finally disappeared below the polished decks of the Queen Elise. The luxurious two-hundred-foot, ocean-going yacht had been a present from his father for his sixteenth birthday. Whenever Jacob could get away for a while, it was his chosen home. But this morning it seemed little comfort to him.
“You deserve that hangover after last night,” Thomas commented dryly, as he stood at the rail, smoking a thick black cigar.
“I suppose.” Jacob sighed. Aside from his father and Frederik—the old man’s chief adviser, who had been with the family since before Jacob’s birth—Thomas was the only person who wasn’t intimidated by Jacob’s money and title. Thomas never pulled punches. And his father never gave up when he wanted something.
What the King of Elbia now wanted...no, demanded, was that his only son marry by Christmas, only months away now. Just because he, Karl von Austerand, had been forced to wed before his thirtieth year and his father before him...and his grandfather before that. For over five hundred years the crown princes of Elbia, a tiny European country even smaller than Liechtenstein, had dutifully followed the laws of succession. Now it was Jacob’s turn, and he viewed the prospect of a political marriage as medieval idiocy, a trap he had always somehow meant to elude. But now the time had come...and there seemed no way out that wouldn’t cost him his inheritance.
“He’s sticking to his guns, Thomas,” Jacob muttered, gripping the polished brass railing until his knuckles ached. He leaned over the yacht’s side to watch white-tipped swells lap the hull. “He says I’ve had plenty of time to choose a suitable wife. That—” he gestured to where the sheet of paper had submerged “—was his latest list of young ladies he deems equal to the task of becoming Elbia’s next queen.”
Thomas stepped to the young prince’s side. “You knew this day would come. This is no surprise.”
“Yes. But it always seemed so far away...before now.”
“As the sole heir to the throne of Elbia, you must provide an heir,” Thomas said softly. “If the von Austerand line were to end...your country would perish.” Thomas had always been and would always be an Englishman, but he nevertheless acted protective of his employer’s homeland... just as he felt protective of his employer.
Jacob raked a hand through his glistening black hair and glared at the beach. He knew what Thomas said was true. He’d been tormented for most of his adult years by guilt at the thought, but his natural willfulness fought tradition.
A pearly gray-and-white seagull swooped from the sky and soared above them on a warm air current, rising effortlessly with it. Jacob’s thoughts wheeled with the bird. He had ordered the yacht to anchor late the previous night in Long Island Sound, after dropping off the last of his guests this side of New York City. Something had drawn him back to this place. Something had made him want to come here again, if only to be alone for a little while and watch the sun rise from this familiar curve of sand and rocks called Nanticoke Bay.
A slender ribbon of peace stretched over his frustration and anger. His grip relaxed on the handrail. The tension knotting his neck slowly released. He breathed in the salty air.
The geography was so different here from landlocked Elbia. The tiny eastern European country had survived German aggression during two world wars and Russian intimidation in the cold war that followed. Elbia, like Monaco and Liechtenstein and only a handful of other modern countries, remained a monarchy, an anachronism in today’s high-tech world. As Thomas had so wisely stated, only his country’s traditions separated her from becoming absorbed by larger countries or falling into impoverishment. She offered little in the way of valuable resources. She had no oil, no diamonds, no major crops or industries. Her borders included neither a port on open water nor easy access to other rich lands. But she did possess spectacular lakes, breathtaking mountains and ancient castles of unparalleled magnificence. Tourism kept Elbia alive, but without the glamour of the royals and the glitter of the many annual events in her capital city to attract the thousands of visitors who came each year she would be ruined.
Jacob pressed his fingertips against his temples and closed his eyes. “The bottom line is, the king says I must return and take a bride. Immediately. That piece of paper listed his personal top ten choices.”
“And?” Thomas asked, an amused lilt in his voice.
“I want none of them.”
“If they are the same young ladies your father has mentioned before, each is quite agreeable. Of royal blood...well-moneyed families...socially flawless...Several are quite beautiful.”
“Then you marry them.” Jacob waved an impatient hand. He finished his coffee and tossed the mug down on a chaise that had been occupied by a New York actress with exceptionally long legs and a willing smile the night before. “They leave me cold.”
“Nevertheless, you’ve had...shall we say, relations with several of the ladies, I believe.”
“I’ve slept with dozens of women in nearly every country in the world,” Jacob stated flatly. “Having sex with a woman doesn’t make her someone I’d want to live with for the rest of my life.”
Thomas laid a hand on the prince’s shoulder. His calm tan-colored eyes observed him from above rotund cheeks and a tidily trimmed Henry VIII beard. “Other men have fulfilled far more distasteful obligations on their countries’ behalf,” he commented gently.
Jacob nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always understood my duty, and I intended to do it when the time came. But now that it’s here—damn it, I can’t! I don’t know why, but I can’t.” He hesitated. “There was one...once...but she—”
“One? A woman?” Thomas’s eyes brightened.
“Yes. She was special. She was...” What exactly had she been to him during that summer over two years ago? The American girl with the enormous blue-green eyes and hair that had flowed like pale champagne to her shoulders. She had been sweet, simple, loving—and he had found himself utterly
