Her Unforgettable Royal Lover. Merline Lovelace

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      He allowed none of those thoughts to show in his face as he folded Charlotte’s hand between his. “I appreciate the honor you want to bestow on me, Duchess. I do. But in my line of work, I can hardly hang a title around my neck.”

      “Yes, I want to speak to you about that, too. You’ve been living on the edge for too many years now. How long can you continue before someone nicks more than a rib?”

      “Exactly what I’ve been asking him,” Zia commented as she swept into the sitting room with her long-legged stride.

      She’d taken advantage of her few hours away from the hospital to pull on her favorite jeans and a summer tank top in blistering red. The rich color formed a striking contrast to her dark eyes and shoulder-length hair as black and glossy as her brother’s. When he stood and opened his arms, she walked into them and hugged him with the same fierce affection he did her.

      She was only four years younger than Dom, twenty-seven to his thirty-one, but he’d assumed full responsibility for his teenage sibling when their parents died. He’d been there, too, standing round-the-clock watch beside her hospital bed when she’d almost bled to death after a uterine cyst ruptured her first year at university. The complications that resulted from the rupture had changed her life in so many ways.

      What hadn’t changed was Dom’s bone-deep protectiveness. No matter where his job took him or what dangerous enterprise he was engaged in, Zia had only to send a coded text and he would contact her within hours, if not minutes. Although he always shrugged off the grimmer aspects of his work, she’d wormed enough detail out of him over the years to add her urging to that of the duchess.

      “You don’t have to stay undercover. Your boss at Interpol told me he has a section chief job waiting for you whenever you want it.”

      “You can see me behind a desk, Zia-mia?”

      “Yes!”

      “What a poor liar you are.” He made a fist and delivered a mock punch to her chin. “You wouldn’t last five minutes under interrogation.”

      Gina had returned during their brief exchange. Shoving back her careless tumble of curls, she entered the fray. “Jack says you would make an excellent liaison to the State Department. In fact, he wants to talk to you about that tomorrow, when you’re in Washington.”

      “With all due respect to your husband, Lady Eugenia, I’m not ready to join the ranks of bureaucrats.”

      His use of her honorific brought out one of Gina’s merry, irreverent grins. “Since we’re tossing around titles here, has Grandmother told you about the codicil?”

      “She has.”

      “Well then…” Fanning out the skirts of her leafy-green sundress, she sank to the floor in an elegant, if theatrical, curtsy.

      Dom muttered something distinctly unroyal under his breath. Fortunately, the Clark woman covered it when she pushed to her feet.

      “Excuse me. This is a family matter. I’ll leave you to discuss it and go back to my research. You’ll call me when it’s convenient for us to continue our interview, Duchess?”

      “I will. You’re in New York until Thursday, is that correct?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Then I fly to Paris to compare notes with Sarah.”

      “We’ll get together again before then.”

      “Thank you.” She bent to gather the bulging briefcase that had been resting against the leg of her chair. Straightening, she nudged up her glasses back into place. “It was good to meet you, Dr. St. Sebastian, and to see you again, Lady Eugenia.”

      Her tone didn’t change. Neither did her polite expression. But Dom didn’t miss what looked very much like a flicker of disdain in her brown eyes when she dipped her head in his direction.

      “Your Grace.”

      He didn’t alter his expression, either, but both his sister and his cousin recognized the sudden, silky note in his voice.

      “I’ll see you to the door.”

      “Thank you, but I’ll let myself… Oh. Uh, all right.”

      Natalie blinked owlishly behind her glasses. The smile didn’t leave Dominic St. Sebastian’s ridiculously handsome face and the hand banding her upper arm certainly wouldn’t leave any bruises. That didn’t make her feel any less like a suspect being escorted from the scene of a crime, however. Especially when he paused with a hand on the door latch and skewered her with a narrow glance from those dark eyes.

      “Where are you staying?”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Where are you staying?”

      Good Lord! Was he hitting on her? No, he couldn’t be! She was most definitely not his type. According to Zia’s laughing reports, her bachelor brother went for leggy blondes or voluptuous brunettes. A long string of them, judging by the duchess’s somewhat more acerbic references to his sowing altogether too many wild oats.

      That more than anything had predisposed Natalie to dislike Dominic St. Sebastian sight unseen. She’d fallen for a too-handsome, too-smooth operator like him once and would pay for that stupidity for the rest of her life. Still, she tried, she really tried, to keep disdain from seeping into her voice as she tugged her arm free.

      “I don’t believe where I’m staying is any of your business.”

      “You’ve made it my business with this nonsense about a codicil.”

      Whoa! He could lock a hand around her arm. He could perp-walk her to the door. He could not disparage her research.

      Thoroughly indignant, Natalie returned fire. “It’s not nonsense, as you would know if you’d displayed any interest in your family’s history. I suggest you show a little more respect for your heritage, Your Grace, and for the duchess.”

      He muttered something in Hungarian she suspected was not particularly complimentary and bent an elbow against the doorjamb, leaning close. Too close! She could see herself in his pupils, catch the tang of apricot brandy on his breath.

      “My respect for Charlotte is why you and I are going to have a private chat, yes? I ask again, where are you staying?”

      His Magyar roots were showing, Natalie noted with a skitter of nerves. The slight thickening of his accent should have warned her. Should have sent her scurrying back into the protective shell she’d lived inside for so long it was now as much a part of her life as her drab hair and clothes. But some spark of her old self tilted her chin.

      “You’re supposed to be a big, bad secret agent,” she said coolly. “Dig out the information yourself.”

      He would, Dom vowed as the door closed behind her with a small thud. He most definitely would.

Two

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