very democratic of you.”
“Something you apparently know very little about,” he countered.
“On the contrary. Orlantha is quite progressive and in many ways we’re similar to Great Britain. We have a governing council, with a chancellor and vice chancellor.”
“Yeah, but unlike the Brits, y’all still have a ruling monarch who possesses a great deal of power. If your old man said ‘Off with their heads,’ then heads would roll.”
Adele’s lips twitched. Although she found his statement humorous, she didn’t dare laugh. The very thought of her father ordering people’s deaths was ludicrous. She didn’t know Mr. O’Brien’s feminist Aunt Velma, but he didn’t know King Leopold, whose bark was much worse than his bite.
Adele leaned slightly forward, smiled sweetly and looked soulfully into Matt O’Brien’s spellbinding blue eyes. “Is there anything—” she emphasized the word anything “—I can say or do that would persuade you not to take me back to Orlantha?”
Matt crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair and stared at her. “You wouldn’t be propositioning me, would you, princess?”
She should reprimand him for his impertinence, but wisdom bade her to remain calm. Reminding herself that this man held her fate in his hands—in his big, strong hands—she glanced at his taut biceps where his arms crisscrossed his chest, and she continued smiling at him.
“I’m willing to do almost anything.” She caressed her neck, then slid her hand slowly downward, spreading her robe apart and laying her open palm in the center of her chest, her pinky finger slipping between her breasts.
What would she do if he took her up on her offer? Was she really willing to have sex with this man in order to gain her freedom? The thought sobered her instantly. Just as she started to speak, Matt reached across the table and grasped her chin.
“You’re pretty desperate, aren’t you, to even contemplate such a thing?”
Damn, she felt like crying, could actually feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She glanced away, not wanting him to see her weak and uncertain. After releasing her chin, he continued staring at her for a few minutes, long enough to embarrass her. A heated flush colored her cheeks.
“Let me make things easy for you,” Matt told her. “There’s nothing you can say or do that will keep me from returning you to your father. Unless…”
“Unless?” Adele’s heartbeat boom-boomed in her ears.
“Unless I believe that taking you home would put your life at risk. But I hardly think you’ll be in any danger from your own father.”
Adele shook her head. “No, not from Father. But both he and I are in danger from Dedrick.” When she saw the doubting expression on Matt’s face, she said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I don’t know,” Matt admitted.
“Why would I lie to you?”
“I don’t know that, either. Not for sure. But let’s just say that before I’d believe you—or anyone I don’t know— I’d need to see some sort of proof.”
Adele sighed. “I don’t have any proof. And that’s the problem. If I had proof, I could take it to my father and he would call off my wedding to Dedrick and throw Dedrick in prison for treason.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but—”
Adele reached across the table, grabbed one of Matt’s hands and squeezed it pleadingly. “You can help me. Call my father and tell him that you couldn’t find me, that I wasn’t with Yves. I need more time. Pippin and his people need more time.”
“Look, honey, why don’t you just tell your father that you are not going to marry the duke? He can’t force you to marry him, can he? After all, it’s a free country and…” Realization dawned. “Sorry, princess. Orlantha isn’t a free country, is it? Your father could force you to marry old mule face, couldn’t he?”
Now she was getting through to him. Finally. She squeezed his hand again and gave him a pathetic little look of total helplessness. “Please, help me, Mr. O’Brien. Matt…”
He jerked his hand free, squinted as he glowered at her and then grinned, a rather cocky, smug grin that gave Adele a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“You’re good, honey. You’re very good. You almost had me, there. I was this close—” he indicated how close with his thumb and forefinger “—to buying your act.”
Adele clenched her teeth. Trying to fight Matt O’Brien didn’t work. But neither did trying to charm him. And getting any help from the innkeeper or the maid apparently wasn’t possible. So, that left her with only one option—she had to escape. But how? He watched her every minute. The man had even made her leave the bathroom door halfway open when she’d undressed. The bathroom! The bathroom window. It was small and would be a tight squeeze, but she thought she might be able to slip through it and out onto the inn’s roof. After that she’d find a way to get down to the ground. If only she could steal the car keys first, she would have transportation and wouldn’t have to telephone Yves to meet her and then strike out on foot in the middle of the night. But if necessary, that’s exactly what she’d do. She’d slip out the window, get down to the ground, go back inside the inn and call Yves.
She would have to bide her time. Her bodyguard would have to sleep eventually. All she had to do was wait.
After Matt had seen through her little ruse, the princess had foregone any more pleasantries. They had eaten in relative silence, then she had gone to bed. Although he was nearly a foot taller and twice her size, he was forced to take the sofa, which was too short for his length and probably damn lumpy to boot. He gathered up his still-damp clothes from the floor and hung them over a couple of chairs he positioned in front of the fireplace. Her Highness went to sleep almost immediately after Matt turned off the lights. He stoked the fire before bedding down for the night.
Unable to find a comfortable position on the sofa, he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. Finally he closed his eyes and relaxed. He’d been trained to go days without sleep if necessary, and his gut instincts told him that tonight would be one of those you’d-better-stay-awake nights. The princess had gone to sleep too quickly, had given up her persuasive tactics too easily. She was definitely up to something, probably no good. If he knew women—and he did know women—this stubborn, contrary lady would attempt an escape before daybreak.
Hours later—he wasn’t quite sure of the time, but figured it was well over into the morning—Princess Adele slipped out of bed, tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door. Matt didn’t move. He’d give her a few minutes. Maybe she had to use the facilities. Matt listened. Sometime in the past few hours, it had quit raining. The minutes ticked by, then he heard the creaky groans of a window opening. He shot straight up. She was going to try to escape through the bathroom window. She was probably just small enough to fit through the narrow opening. He figured she’d changed into her damp clothes that she’d laid out on the bathtub. Why, God, why had he gotten stuck with this assignment?
Matt grabbed his own still-damp clothes and dressed hurriedly. When he thought he’d given her just enough time to make it through the window, Matt opened the bathroom door. The room was empty; the window was open. He sighed, shrugged and then turned around and headed toward the door leading into the dimly lit hallway. Only the faint moans of an old building intruded on the predawn quiet. He took his time going down the stairs, through the small lobby and out the front door. The best thing to do was station himself in the corner and wait for her to descend from the roof. He hoped she didn’t break her fool neck in the process.
Suddenly in his peripheral vision Matt caught a glimpse of movement about twenty feet away. He leaned back against the stone wall and held his breath. Had Adele gotten down that quickly? He stared out into the darkness, lit only by hazy moonlight barely visible after the