impeccable and there was no way she could afford to ruin her prized Prada boots. Since she’d decided a long time ago not to take any of her father’s money she didn’t have any spare cash lying around to replace them. Another decision that had displeased him.
She stood precariously on the balls of her feet and leaned in to retrieve her handbag. Her phone had fallen out and when she picked it up she saw the screen was smashed. Unable to remember Gilles’s mobile number, she tossed it back in the car in frustration. She could always call emergency services, but then her little accident would be all over the news in a heartbeat—and the thought of any more attention this week for ‘the poor jilted Princess’ made her teeth gnash together. Which didn’t help her sore head.
No. She’d simply have to walk.
But standing on the grassy verge with her hands on her hips, she realised just how far it was to the main gates. Her beloved boots would be destroyed. Not to mention how hot and sweaty she would be by the time she got there. This was not the graceful and dignified entrance she had planned to make. And if one of those media vans she had seen loitering a few miles back saw her…
Wondering just what to do next, she had a sudden brainwave. A sudden and slightly crazy brainwave. Fortuitously—if she could describe running her little car into a ditch in such terms—she’d crashed right near a section of the outer wall that she had played on with her brother Frédéric and her cousin Baden and Gilles during family visits to the château in her childhood. Scaling the wall as revolutionary spies had been their secret game, and they’d even scraped out footholds to aid their escape from imaginary enemies.
Ava felt a grin creep across her face for the first time that day. She had to concede it was a tad desperate, but with Gilles’s wedding only hours away that was exactly what she was. And, anyway, she had always loved to climb as a kid; surely it would be even easier as an adult?
‘There’s a woman stuck on the south wall, boss. What do you want us to do with her?’
Wolfe pulled up in the middle of an arched hallway in Château Verne and pressed his phone a little tighter to his ear. ‘On the wall?’
‘The very top,’ repeated Eric, one of the more junior members of Wolfe’s security team.
Wolfe tensed. Perfect. Most likely another interfering journalist, trying to get the scoop on his friend’s extravagant wedding to the daughter of a controversial American politician. They hadn’t let up all day, circling the château like starving buzzards. But none had been brazen enough to go over the wall yet. Of course he’d been prepared for the possibility—the reason they now had this little intruder in hand.
‘Name?’
‘Says she’s Ava de Veers, Princess of Anders.’
A princess climbing over a forty-foot brick wall? Wolfe didn’t think so. ‘ID?’
‘No ID in her handbag. Says she had a car accident and it must have fallen out.’
Clever.
‘Camera?’
‘Check.’
Wolfe considered his options. Even from inside the thick walls of the château he could hear the irritating whine of distant media choppers as they hovered just outside the established no-fly zone. With the wedding still three hours away he’d better extend the security perimeters before there were any more breaches.
‘Want me to take her back to base, boss?’
‘No.’ Wolfe shot his hand through his hair. He’d rather turf her back over the wall than give her even more access to the property by taking her to the outer cottage his men were temporarily using. And he would—after he had established her identity and satisfied himself that she wasn’t a real threat. ‘Leave her where she’s perched.’ He was about to ring off when he had another thought. ‘And, Eric, keep your gun on her until I get there.’ That would teach her for entering a private function without an invitation.
‘Ah…you mean keep her on the wall?’
When Eric hesitated Wolfe knew right then that the woman was attractive.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’ For all he knew she could be a political nutcase instead of an overzealous journo. ‘And don’t engage in any conversation with her until I get there.’
Wolfe trusted his men implicitly, but the last thing he needed was some smoking Mata Hari doing a number on their head.
‘Yes, sir.’
Wolfe pocketed his phone. This would mean he wouldn’t be able to start the pre-wedding game of polo Gilles had organised. Annoying, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d offered to run security for Gilles’s wedding because it was what he did, and the job always came first.
Once outside, Wolfe found Gilles and his merry band already waiting for him at the stables, the horses groomed and saddled and raring to go. Wolfe ran his gaze over the roguish white Arabian that Gilles had promised him. He’d missed his daily gym workout this morning and had been looking forward to putting the stallion through his paces.
Hell, he still could. Taking the reins from the handler, he swung easily onto the giant of a horse. The stallion shifted restlessly beneath his weight and Wolfe automatically reached forward to pat his neck, breathing in the strong scent of horse and leather. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Achilles.’
His mouth quirked and Gilles shrugged. ‘Apollo was taken and he’s a bloody contrary animal. You should enjoy each other.’
Wolfe laughed at his aristocratic friend. Years ago they had forged an unbreakable bond when they had trained together for selection on an elite military task force. They’d been there for each other during the tough times and celebrated during the good. Inevitably Gilles had started sprouting reams of poetry and Greek myths to stay awake when they’d spent long hours waiting for something to happen. By contrast Wolfe, a rugged Australian country boy, had used a more simple method. Sheer grit and stubborn determination. A trait that had served him well when he had swapped special ops for software development and created what was currently the most sophisticated computer spyware on the planet.
Wolfe Inc had been forged around that venture, and when his younger brother had joined him they’d expanded into every aspect of the security business. But where his brother thrived on the corporate life Wolfe preferred the freedom of being able to mix things up a little. He even kept his hand in on some of the more hairy covert ops some governments called consultants in to take care of. He had to get his adrenaline high from something other than his beloved Honda CBR.
‘Always the dreamer, Monsieur le Marquis,’ he drawled.
‘Just a man who knows how to have balance in his life, Ice,’ Gilles countered good-naturedly, calling Wolfe by his old military nickname. He swung onto the back of a regal-looking bay. ‘You should try it some time, my friend.’
‘I’ve got plenty of balance in my life,’ Wolfe grunted, thinking about the Viennese blonde he’d been glad to see the back of a month ago. ‘No need to worry your pretty head on that score.’
Achilles snorted and tossed his nose in challenge as Wolfe took up the reins.
‘I won’t be joining you just yet.
