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ROMANCING THE CROWN: LORENZO & ANNA
The Man who Would Be King
LINDA TURNER
The Princess and the Mercenary
MARILYN PAPPANO
The Man Who Would Be King
LINDA TURNER
ROMANCING THE CROWN
With the help of their powerful allies, the royal family of Montebello is determined to find their missing heir. But the search for the beloved prince is not without danger – or passion!
Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani: With the crown prince still missing, the world awaits word that Lorenzo will one day ascend the throne in his stead. But now that new clues to Prince Lucas’s whereabouts have been found, what will Lorenzo’s future hold?
Eliza Windmere: Because she holds the key to the mystery of the missing prince, this royal-watching reporter is about to get up close and personal with the bachelor duke himself. But will the royal search bring her happiness – or heartache?
King Marcus Sebastiani: His Highness of Montebello never gave up hope that his firstborn son still lived. And now that the search is on, the king hopes to secure the crown prince’s legacy.
A note from Linda Turner,
popular author of over forty books:
Dear Reader,
Working on the ROMANCING THE CROWN series has been a labour of love. There’s just something about royalty that’s incredibly romantic. When you combine a lost prince, evil forces at work behind the scenes, a duke and a redheaded reporter who’s full of sass and vinegar and has just what it takes to knock the duke out of his shoes, you’ve got the kind of modern-day fairy tale I love. Writing this story was a joy, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
All the best,
Linda Turner
Chapter 1
“Eliza? Willy called three times while you were out. He wants you to call him back. He said it was important.” All decked out in designer labels and looking every bit the socialite she was, Deborah Jones couldn’t wait to relay the message to Eliza the second she returned from lunch.
Witch, Eliza fumed, hating her smirk. If snooty little Debbie had been anyone else but the daughter of the owner of the Denver Sentinel, the newspaper Eliza sweated blood, sweat and tears for, she’d have told her to eat woolly worms and die. But that would have been playing right into her hands, and Eliza wasn’t that stupid. She’d spent nine years working her way up from copygirl to reporter to columnist, and she was protecting what was hers. From the moment Deborah had walked into the office a month ago as a new reporter for the society page, she’d made it clear to Eliza that she was not only after her job, but just looking for a reason to run crying to her daddy so she could get Eliza fired. Eliza didn’t intend to give her that reason.
But, damn, it wasn’t easy. Eliza wasn’t one of those meek, mild-mannered women who let people walk all over her. She stood up for herself, and was proud of it. So biting her tongue and forcing a smile took some effort. “Thanks,” she said as she took the pink message slip Deborah held out to her. “I’ll call him later.”
“Better you than me,” the younger girl retorted, her smirk more pronounced than ever. “That man still thinks Elvis is alive. Why do you waste your time on him? He’s a fruitloop.”
Eliza couldn’t argue with that. There was no doubt about it—Willy Cranshaw was a few cards shy of a deck. He was a hermit who lived in the mountains north of Boulder, and he was constantly calling the police with one outlandish tale after another. He had no credibility whatsoever with the authorities, and for the life of her, Eliza didn’t know why she continued to accept his calls. Over the years, he had given her a few good tips, but those times were rare and not always worth the effort of dealing with Willy. He was, to say the least, high maintenance. Still, she felt sorry for him. He seemed so lonely, and she knew what that was like. She and Robert had broken up two months ago, and she’d never been lonelier in her life.
“He just needs someone to talk to sometimes,” she replied, and wasn’t surprised when Deborah sniffed in disdain. Her daddy’s money and position guaranteed her a place in the world and someone to talk to, even if it was only a therapist. She’d never understand what life was like for a man like Willy.
“If that’s how you want to spend your time working, go ahead,” the younger girl said with a toss of her head. “I’d rather talk to someone who can give me a real story.”
When she turned and walked away with a superior smile and her pert, plastic surgery-perfect nose in the air, Eliza was half-tempted to throw her Rolodex watch at her. Her phone rang then, however, thankfully distracting her. Giving Deborah’s retreating back one last glare, she snatched up the phone. “Eliza Windmere.”
“Eliza! Thank God! I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“Hi, Willy,” she said with a wry grimace. Speak of the devil. “I just got your message. Deborah said you had something important for me.”
“I don’t like that girl,” he retorted, immediately distracted. “She treats me like I’m some kind of moron.”
Eliza had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I know the feeling. She does the same to me. But that’s not why you called, Willy,” she reminded him, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. “What’s going on? You didn’t call three times because you don’t like Deborah.”
Just that easily, he was back on track. “It’s the prince!” he said excitedly. “He’s alive!”
Eliza didn’t have to ask him which prince he meant. There was only one that was missing, and that was Prince Lucas Sebastiani, the firstborn of King Marcus and Queen Gwendolyn of Montebello and heir to the throne of the small island country in the eastern Mediterranean.
Athletic and handsome, he had a wild streak in him that had, no doubt, given his father more than a few gray hairs over the years, but Prince Lucas had always been great fodder for the nationally syndicated column Eliza wrote that chronicled the lives and loves of the royals. And she’d loved him for that. He had a great personality and was well loved throughout the world. When his plane crashed in the Colorado Rockies last winter and he was declared missing, Eliza had grieved just like everyone else…and followed up on every lead. But there had been no new information for well over six months, and she, like everyone else, had no choice but to believe he was dead.
“It’s been a year, Willy,” she said gently. “There’s no way he could be alive after all this time.”
“But he has to be,” he insisted. “I have proof.”
“Really? And what might that be?”
“Just something
