Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna: The Man Who Would Be King / The Princess And The Mercenary. Marilyn Pappano

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ our newly formed ties with Montebello.”

      “True,” Butrus said. “But as the king’s heir, Lorenzo will eventually have to forfeit his position as head of Royal Intelligence. That won’t be easy for him to do.”

      Across the room, Lorenzo’s thoughts ran along the same lines. He loved his uncle, and for the sake of the country, he would do what was asked of him. But privately, deep in his heart, he hoped Marcus would not choose him. He had little desire to be king.

      His illegitimate half brother, Desmond, however, had a very different take on the whole situation. Waiting for Marcus to put in an appearance, Desmond almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “This is the day you will be named king,” Desmond told Lorenzo proudly. “No one deserves it more.”

      Lorenzo had to laugh at that. “Aren’t you rushing things a bit? The king has kept his own counsel about this. We don’t know who he’s going to pick.”

      “Of course we do,” his brother replied confidently. “You’re perfect for the job, and the king knows it. Trust me. Today’s going to turn out to be the most important day of your life.”

      Lorenzo wasn’t surprised that he had Desmond’s total support. He always had. From the time Desmond had come into his life when Lorenzo was thirteen, he’d been there for him in a way Lorenzo’s older brother Max never had. Oh, Lorenzo knew Max loved him, too, but Max had joined the Montebellan army at eighteen, then eventually moved to the United States. Since then, he only came home occasionally for visits. Desmond, on the other hand, was the one Lorenzo could count on in spite of the fact that they’d had different mothers and had not been raised together from birth.

      “I don’t know about that,” Lorenzo replied wryly, “but if the king does choose me, I hope you’ll be one of my advisors. I’m not much of a diplomat. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

      “Of course I’ll help you,” Desmond replied smoothly, delighted with his brother’s words. He kept his glee, however, carefully hidden behind an easy smile. “Haven’t I helped King Marcus all these months since poor Lucas was lost? I’ll do the same for you. More, in fact. You’re my brother. I can’t imagine being anywhere else but at your side.”

      He spoke with a sincerity that was well practiced, and he wasn’t surprised when Lorenzo swallowed it whole. His brother was nobody’s fool, but Desmond had come into his life when Lorenzo was young and vulnerable and feeling lost, and it hadn’t taken much effort on Desmond’s part to win his trust. At the time, Desmond had to use his brother to get close to the king. That, it turned out, had been a stroke of genius on his part. Because now it was his brother who would be king. As his trusted advisor and closest family member, Desmond intended to take full advantage of his new position. After all, Desmond was the son of a duke, just like Lorenzo—a bastard son, but a son nonetheless. It was about time he came into his royal due.

      What a shame that Prince Lucas had foolishly crashed his plane into the side of a mountain, Desmond thought snidely. Maybe one day, he’d summon up the strength to shed a tear for him…after he celebrated his own good fortune.

      First, however, the king had to name Lorenzo his successor, something he should have done ten minutes ago. Troubled by the delay, Desmond frowned at the closed door where the king was expected to make his entrance. “I don’t understand the king’s tardiness. Maybe you should see if there’s some kind of problem,” he suggested. “Something isn’t right.”

      Knowing how his uncle grieved for his son, Lorenzo wasn’t surprised that Marcus wasn’t his usual punctual self. With the announcement of a new heir to the throne, he was publicly admitting that he was accepting the fact that his son was dead. That would be difficult for any parent.

      Wondering how he would find the strength to deal with such a situation himself, Lorenzo said quietly, “He probably just needs a little more time to come to terms with everything. I’ll go check on him.”

      Whatever Eliza was expecting when she caught a cab at the Montebellan airport and went directly to the royal palace, it wasn’t the mob of reporters that crammed the front gates, trying to gain admittance. Surprised, she asked the cab driver, “What’s going on? Nothing’s happened to the king, has it?”

      “Oh, no, miss,” he assured her as he took the fare and tip she held out to him. “He’s fine. Or at least he’s as fine as any father can be when he announces his son is dead.”

      “What?!”

      “It’s true,” he said sadly. “It’s been a year since Prince Lucas’s plane crashed and he went missing. No one wants to believe he’s dead, but there hasn’t been much hope for a long time now. I guess that’s why the king decided to name a successor. Like it or not, the living have to keep on living.”

      Horrified, she hurriedly collected her Notebook computer and pushed open her door. “Oh, my God! I have to stop him. He can’t do this!”

      Puzzled by her reaction, the cabby laughed. “Sure he can, lady. He can do anything he likes. He’s the king!”

      Struggling with her things as she rushed toward the crowd at the gate, Eliza didn’t hear him. This couldn’t be happening! She should have tried to contact the palace the second Willy showed her the scarf. But she’d known she wouldn’t be allowed to speak to the king and queen, and the news she had wasn’t the kind that should be relayed over the phone. Besides, would anyone believe her without seeing the evidence?

      She should have called anyway, she thought as she fought her way through the mass of reporters. She could have convinced someone to listen to her, and the king would have been spared the agony of picking someone to succeed his only son. Now, she had to convince the guard at the gate that she needed an immediate audience with the king and what she had to say to him was more important than the hundreds of other reporters who wanted the same thing.

      “Hey, watch it!”

      “What do you think you’re doing, lady? Get at the back of the line. We were here first.”

      “Too bad,” she snapped. “I’m in a hurry and you guys are in my way. Move it, will you? I’ve got to talk to the king.”

      The minute the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late. All around her, her fellow reporters mimicked, “Move it, I’ve got to talk to the king.”

      “You can wait, just like the rest of us, mademoiselle,” a skinny Frenchman told her, looking down his nose at her. “And you can forget about talking to the king. His press secretary will tell us whatever he wants us to know.”

      Eliza knew he was right, but his attitude irked her, and she didn’t even bother to respond. Quickly stepping around him, she told the guard at the gate, “It’s very important that I see the king. I have some information he needs…”

      Surrounded by competing reporters, she didn’t dare tell him what that information was, but he wasn’t interested, anyway. “Nice try,” he drawled, “but I’ve got my orders. No reporters allowed inside the palace. You’ll have to wait, just like everyone else.”

      Frustrated, she swore softly. So much for trying to go through channels. She liked to play by the rules, but sometimes it just didn’t pay. Now it was time to follow her gut and do what she should have done when she’d first seen the crowd of reporters fighting to get inside—find another way in.

      “Fine,” СКАЧАТЬ