Royal Lockdown. Rebecca York

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      In her royal role, she’d met many heads of state, and she saw instantly that President Stack had the presence of a ruler. Vice President Davis was also quite impressive, standing with the straight posture of a military man.

      “Thank you for coming, especially those of you who have traveled here from outside the United States,” the president said.

      “I believe the new international trade agreement that our countries have signed is a good step toward global cooperation. Whether we like it or not, we’ve entered the era of a global economy. And helping that economy run smoothly benefits every nation of the world, no matter how large or how small.

      “I’d like to especially welcome some of our distinguished guests.”

      He named the British secretary of commerce, the French foreign minister and then looked in her direction.

      “And we’re particularly honored to have Princess Ariana of Beau Pays with us this evening.”

      She gave him a gracious smile, then turned to acknowledge the applause that filled the room, glad that she hadn’t ducked out before this moment. She didn’t love being singled out, but she understood that her royal status added cachet to the occasion. Many of the people here would go home and talk about meeting her, even if they’d been no closer than the other side of the room.

      She was happy that the president had specifically mentioned her country’s participation in the agreement. Beau Pays might be small, but her father and her grandfather had made a point of cooperating in treaties and initiatives that would benefit the world community.

      Her training allowed her to pretend that she didn’t mind the extra attention the other guests were giving her. Yet she couldn’t shrug off an unsettling feeling that prickled at the back of her neck. The feeling that someone in the room did not wish her well.

      Beside her, Manfred was scanning the formally clad men and women, and she suspected he was picking up the same vibes that she had. Was there someone here who had a bone to pick with Beau Pays?

      Perhaps now was the time to leave.

      She was about to tell Manfred to alert their driver when a movement in the crowd made her glance up to find Shane Peters striding toward her, looking inordinately pleased with himself, she noted.

      As he stopped in front of her, she felt Manfred tense and knew that she had to defuse the situation at once before her bodyguard took the man out in the hallway and demanded to know why he was getting so close to his charge.

      Smoothly, she gestured toward the newcomer. “Manfred, this is Shane Peters, an old friend of my father’s.”

      Peters didn’t miss a beat. “I came over to introduce myself, but it seems you’ve been reading my bio.”

      “Yes, I recognize you from your dossier,” she answered, deliberately making it sound as if there were a secret file on the man. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had been from across the room, and she wanted to put some distance between them. If not physical distance, then emotional distance.

      Really, the “dossier” contained only general information of the sort she’d found on the other people who would be here tonight.

      “I hope you enjoyed reading about my checkered career.”

      She refused to take the bait.

      A more polite man would have understood what she was doing and backed off. In this brief encounter she had already learned that Shane Peters didn’t necessarily observe the social niceties.

      He kept his gaze on her, and she had to remind herself to breathe calmly in and out.

      “I was hoping to see your father here.”

      “He was indisposed. He sent me in his place.”

      Peters’s face clouded with what looked like genuine concern. “I hope he’s all right.”

      “It’s nothing serious,” she quickly assured him. Gout was painful but not life threatening. Her father was back on his special diet now and medication that would diminish the attack.

      “Good.” Peters gave her a smile that must have melted many female hearts. “We should dance.”

      “Dance?” As she spoke the question, she realized that the orchestra had begun to play a waltz. It was one of her favorites. “The Blue Danube.”

      Peters opened his hands, as though inviting her to step into his embrace. “To celebrate the trade agreement,” he said.

      The invitation was very tempting, but she knew on a deeply personal level that she shouldn’t accept. She was also aware that Manfred was watching the exchange with interest. He had been with her for the past three years, and he knew how she always behaved in public.

      True to form, she gave Peters her standard answer. “I prefer to stay on the sidelines.”

      “One dance won’t hurt you, will it?” the American pressed. Obviously he didn’t know anything about royal protocol.

      She wanted to tell him that he’d already disturbed her equanimity enough for one evening, but that would give away far too much.

      So she thought of another way to create distance between them, to take them away from this place and time, at least temporarily.

      “My father met you on a rescue mission, right?”

      “Yes. In Barik. It’s near Libya.”

      “I know where it is.”

      “Sorry. I should have realized you’re a lot better educated than the average American who probably hasn’t even heard of the place.”

      She acknowledged the apology, then turned the conversation away from herself again. “My father is an expert in Middle Eastern languages.”

      “I always wondered why,” Peters answered without missing a beat.

      “Because he said that the Middle East would emerge as a center of power in the world and he wanted to be prepared.”

      “Very wise of him. And of course, his being able to speak Arabic helps him in negotiating for oil.”

      She smiled. “That, too.” Before he could get too far into economic issues, she brought the conversation back to the topic that interested her. “Tell me about the mission.”

      “What did your father say about it?” Peters countered.

      “He said that you went in to rescue a group of fifty-eight hostages, mostly engineers, teachers and missionaries, who were being held in the basement of a building in the densely populated downtown area. The captives were from the U.S., England, Australia and Beau Pays.”

      Peters’s face took on a faraway look, and she knew that, in some sense, he was back there in that civil war-torn country reliving the night he’d been dropped off by helicopter in the capital city.

      “They were held for weeks in horrible conditions. СКАЧАТЬ