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“I have no idea what kind of woman he prefers,” Lorcan said. There was no jealousy from her in that area. She and the prince had become friends, and she aspired to no more than that. “Certainly not Danna.”
Daire laughed. “How many times in the last week has she had a private meal with Rory?”
Lorcan grimaced. “If she had fallen down the stairs with the king, I wonder who Prince Rory would have tried to save?”
Just a few hours earlier the King of Lanconia had fallen at the top of some wide marble steps. Rory—who people thought was Graydon—had leaped in front of his father to break his fall. Rory had landed on his left arm and broken his wrist. He would have been hurt worse, but at the first sign of movement, Lorcan had thrown herself in front of both men. Without a thought for her own safety, she’d used her body to cushion their landing. When everyone settled, Lorcan had been on the bottom, Rory on top of her, and the king at the crest of the pile. He was the one least hurt—at least physically. What the press didn’t know, and what everyone at the palace was working hard to conceal, was that the king had fallen because he’d had a stroke.
“Rory said Gray became fascinated with her because she could tell the twins apart,” Daire said.
“I wonder how she pulled off that trick.” Lorcan looked at him. “What do you think her game is?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she fell in love with him at first sight.” They looked at each other and scoffed.
“My guess is that she’s trying to get pregnant,” Lorcan said. “Needles in the condoms, that sort of thing.”
Daire shrugged. “But then, it’s a fashion for royals to produce a love child. It hasn’t hurt Albert of Monaco.”
“I thought our prince was smarter than that.”
“Smart has nothing to do with it,” Daire said, his voice almost angry. “Gray is facing a loveless marriage and a job nobody in his right mind would want. I hope he did fall for her, or her for him. It doesn’t matter which way it is, but I plan to help him all I can. And if a child is produced, good!”
“I reserve my judgment until I’ve met her,” Lorcan said. “I figure she’s either the lowest class produced in this country or she owns a mansion and the prince is her … her …”
“Plaything? Wild, with endless sex? Something for him to remember when he’s in bed with Ice Queen Danna?”
“Put that way, I hope he is being used by her,” Lorcan said.
“And since we’ll be staying there, I hope she has a mansion with multiple bedrooms. I don’t relish sleeping on the floor.”
“You’re getting soft as well as old.”
“Think so?” he said as he glanced at her. He and Graydon were the same age and they’d started training together when they were children. After Rory had been sent away to the first of several boarding schools, Daire was the only real friend Graydon had left. For years they’d schooled together, played sports, traded secrets. But as they grew up, Graydon’s mother, the queen, began to separate the boys. There was specialized education that Graydon needed, so he was gradually moved into royal duties in preparation for his future role.
It was only after university and after they’d both served in the military that they got back together. But then, Daire was the only person the queen considered sufficiently high ranking enough—and fit enough—to go through the rigorous training that Graydon preferred.
When Lorcan became his bodyguard, she fit in easily with the two of them and they’d been a team since then. At least they were until Graydon said he was flying down to Nantucket to be in a wedding. After that, everything had changed.
And now things were changing even more. Prince Rory’s arm was in a cast and the king was hidden away in a hospital in Switzerland, while Daire and Lorcan had been sent to Nantucket with orders to keep the man believed to be Rory away from his own country.
“There it is,” Lorcan said. “Kingsley Lane. Turn here.”
Toby could only stare at the two people as they entered the house. To say they were magnificent was an understatement. They were both very tall—he was six feet three or four, and she had to be at least six feet. They were both dark, with hair and eyes as black as midnight, their skin honey-colored. He was about Graydon’s age, early thirties, while she was quite a bit younger, maybe Toby’s age. They were wearing all black, a combination of leather and wool, with a bit of silver here and there. Their dress and their extremely erect posture would have been remarkable in itself, but their faces were beautiful: eyes slightly slanted, long, narrow noses, and full lips. Altogether they seemed to have come from a time long ago.
When they stepped inside, Graydon and the man started talking in what Toby assumed was Lanconian. She’d heard only bits of the language. It was deep, with words pronounced inside the throat, an old sound—and a beautiful one.
But it was obvious that something was wrong, as Graydon’s frown was growing deeper with every word the man spoke.
Toby stood to one side, waiting to be told what had happened. After a few moments, she reached out to put her hand on Graydon’s arm to ask him what was wrong, but the woman slashed a look at Toby that made her drop her hand and take a step back. She got the impression that if she dared touch The Prince the woman would strike her.
At last Graydon formally greeted the two people. He and the man clasped arms, with hands at the elbows, their heads bent forward. Graydon didn’t touch the woman but they smiled at each other with great warmth. Obviously, the three of them knew one another well.
Graydon turned to Toby. “I must …” he began, but he seemed to be so overwhelmed with what he’d heard that he couldn’t finish.
“If you need me, I’ll be outside,” she said softly, and gave him an encouraging smile. He looked at her with gratitude.
She went through the kitchen to the back door. Her guess was that something bad had happened in Lanconia and these two had come to tell Graydon about it. She truly hoped no one had died. In most people’s lives a death in the family was a tragedy, but in Graydon’s life it could mean that he was now a king.
She went to the greenhouse and began the daily watering. Now and then she’d glance toward the house but she saw no one. Whatever had happened, she felt sure that Graydon would soon be leaving. By now they’d probably gone upstairs and one of them—the woman?—was packing his luggage. She smiled as she remembered Graydon saying that he didn’t do luggage. Would they know that about him? That woman didn’t look like someone who knew how to fold sweaters properly.
