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 doing. So she smoothed her hair, slung her purse over her shoulder, and strode out of the ballroom like she owned the place.
Just as she’d hoped, it worked. Stepping into a wide, impressive corridor lined with a collection of paintings the likes of which she’d only seen in a museum, she passed several members of the staff, and they didn’t even blink at the sight of her. Relieved, she would have laughed, but she didn’t dare. The less attention she drew to herself, the better.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a clue where she was going. She knew nothing about the layout of the palace or where the king planned to meet with the guests he’d invited to witness the naming of his new successor. Logic told her that the announcement would be made in one of the palace’s public rooms, but that was strictly a guess on her part. For all she knew, they could be meeting in the family quarters, which could be anywhere.
Frowning, she reached an intersection of hallways and hesitated, not sure which way to turn. And just that easily, she made her first mistake. Suddenly, a door on her left opened, and before she could summon the look of confidence that had gotten her that far, she was caught.
“Who the devil are you?”
Swearing softly under her breath, she silently told herself to bluff her way out of this. But then she turned to face her captor and whatever she was going to say next flew right out of her head as she gasped in recognition. His Grace, Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani, the man everyone had been speculating for months might one day be named king!
They’d never met, of course, but she would have known him anywhere. Over the years, she’d lost track of the number of stories she’d written about him—first as a military hero who was rewarded with the title of duke by the king, then as head of the Montebello Royal Intelligence—and she’d enjoyed writing every one of them. There was just something about the man that had always struck her fancy. He was tough and smart and loyal, and his pictures hadn’t begun to do him justice. Lean and well-muscled, his sandy-brown hair streaked with golden highlights, and his green eyes dark with a mixture of emotions she couldn’t begin to understand, it was easy to see why he, like the rest of the Sebastiani men, was one of the heartthrobs of Europe.
“Your Grace! Thank God! I need you to get a message to the king—”
“You’re an American,” he cut in, frowning in puzzlement. “How did you get in? There are no tours today.”
“No, sir, I’m sure there aren’t. I’m not a tourist. My name is Eliza Windmere. I’m with the Denver Sentinel—”
That was as far as she got. “A reporter,” he said with a grimace of distaste. “I should have known. The palace is crawling with them. C’mon. You’re out of here.” And before she could begin to guess his intentions, he grabbed her arm and started tugging her toward the nearest exit.
“Wait! You don’t understand. I have information about Prince Lucas.”
His jaw set, he didn’t so much as spare her a glance. “Yeah, right. Let me see if I can guess. You found him waiting tables in L.A., and for the right price, you’ll tell King Marcus where he is. Save your breath, sweetheart. I’ve heard it all before. The king gets a hundred letters a week from people just like you. I don’t know how you all live with yourself. Don’t you have any conscience?”
“Of course I do,” she retorted, stung. But heat burned her cheeks and deep inside, she had to wonder if he was right. The king and queen had lost a son, and though she had come to give them news they longed to hear, she also wanted an exclusive when they learned he was alive. So how was she any different from the con men trying to cash in on the Sebastianis’ grief?
Uncomfortable with the question, she reminded herself that she wasn’t trying to extort money from the king or keep his son’s whereabouts from him. Of course she wanted the story, but she had that already. At this point, she was just doing the right thing and bringing the king news of his son. “Look, I know how this must look, but I’m serious. I have vital information—”
“And I’m the tooth fairy,” he retorted. “Put that in your paper and smoke it. It’s probably one of those scandal rags, anyway.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Stopping abruptly, she jerked free of his grasp and drew herself up to her full five foot seven inches and gave him a narrow-eyed look that should have reduced him to the size of an ant. “For your information, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing that kind of trash, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a civil tongue in your mouth.”
She’d caught him off guard, and for a moment, he had the grace to look embarrassed. But then he obviously realized that he’d just been brought to task by a reporter, of all things. “That was good,” he told her dryly. “For a moment there, I actually forgot that you broke in here.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was unlocked—”
“So you thought you’d just walk right in,” he finished for her. “I wonder how you’d feel if I did the same at your house.”
“Dammit, I just need to talk to the king!”
“Not
