Obviously confused, Yves glanced back and forth from the butler to Adele.
“Silence!” Yves called.
The butler hushed immediately.
With Matt’s arm around her waist, holding her body in front of his, Adele looked pleadingly at her friend. “Yves, this man is a private detective my father hired to find me and return me to Orlantha. Will you please tell him that he cannot force me to leave the chateau with him.”
“My God! Unhand the princess!” Yves stepped forward, bringing himself directly in front of Adele and Matt. “Do you hear me? I will not allow you to—”
Matt shoved Adele aside, then confronted the pretty boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mr. Jurgen, but if I have to, I will.”
“Hurt me?” Yves laughed. “I assure you that if you persist in this matter, you will be the one hurt.”
“Look, buddy boy, I’m walking out of here in about a minute, and the princess is going with me. I advise you not to try to stop us.”
“Do something, Yves,” Adele said.
When Adele tried to rush toward Yves, Matt grabbed her arm. “Stay put.”
When he tried to walk her toward the door, she balked. And if that wasn’t enough trouble, Yves came barreling toward him and grasped his shoulder. Without releasing Adele, he turned to face Yves just in time to see the man’s fist coming toward him. Matt adeptly avoided the blow, but when Yves came at him a second time, Matt drew back his fist and coldcocked Yves with one blow to his jaw. The minute Yves hit the floor, the butler yelled something about the polizei. Matt just ignored the man. Adele began fighting him again and calling him names, first in French and then in German and finally in English.
“My, my, Princess, where did you learn such filthy language?”
And as he’d threatened, Matt hoisted her up and over his shoulder. She let out a loud screech and wiggled.
“Put me down!”
Mumbling several obscenities under his breath, Matt marched out of the drawing room, through the marble-floored entrance hall and outside to his rental car. And all the while Adele threatened him with everything from a public flogging to a beheading.
Matt opened the front passenger door of the car, deposited Adele inside and closed the door. She opened the door and tried to get out. He shoved her back inside, held her in place until he fastened her seatbelt, then pulled out a pair of handcuffs—which he’d brought with him, just in case. After manacling her wrist with one cuff, he pulled her hands behind her back and snapped the second cuff on her other wrist.
“Now, you sit there and behave yourself.”
Adele screamed again, then said, “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do anything, pay you anything, if you’ll let me go. I can’t go back to Orlantha. You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Save your breath,” he told her. “I’m just doing my job. When you get home, you can work this out with your father.”
“My father is as unreasonable as you are. I hate him. I hate you. I hate all men.”
Just what he needed—to listen to her bellowing and bellyaching all the way back to Orlantha. He jerked out a handkerchief from his other pocket and effectively gagged her. Adele’s eyes widened in shock.
“Sorry, Princess, but I have no intention of listening to you carrying on like that while I’m driving.”
Matt got in on the driver’s side, started the engine and headed down the brick driveway toward the main road. With a little luck, they’d cross the border in a few hours and by morning he’d be on a plane headed back to Paris. Occasionally he glanced at the princess. She didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge his presence in any way. She sat there, with her hands cuffed behind her and his handkerchief tied over her mouth, staring straight ahead into the dark night, her entire demeanor regal and unflinching. He knew she had to be uncomfortable, but no one would ever guess by the way she acted.
An hour and forty minutes later they were halfway to the Austrian border, traveling along a back road, just in case Yves Jurgen had been foolish enough to try to follow them. The weather quickly turned nasty. An autumn storm created heavy streaks of lighting and rolling booms of thunder. Then came the downpour. The rain became so heavy that Matt couldn’t see two feet in front of the car, leaving him no choice but to pull off to the side of the road.
He killed the motor and turned to Adele. “Will you promise to behave yourself if I remove the gag?”
She didn’t respond immediately, just glowered at him. Then finally she nodded.
Matt reached out to untie the handkerchief. “If you start up again, the gag goes back in place. Understand?”
She nodded. He undid the knot and removed the gag. She took a deep breath, then licked the sides of her mouth where the handkerchief had chafed her skin.
“Mr. O’Brien, I didn’t run away simply because I find Dedrick personally offensive.”
“Look, honey, it doesn’t matter to me why you ran off. Can’t you get it through that pretty little head of yours that I’m just doing my job?”
“And I’m trying to do mine!”
Realizing she was probably going to give him some sad sob story, Matt didn’t respond. The wind beat against the car, whistling around them as the rain continued pouring. He wondered how long they’d be stuck here. The sooner he got this woman off his hands, the better.
“Mr. O’Brien?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Do you know anything about the politics in Orlantha and Balanchine?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Are you aware that there are factions in both countries that wish to see the two reunited as one country?”
“I think I heard something to that effect.”
“Have you also heard about a group called the Royalists?”
“Can’t say that I have, but something tells me that I’m about to.” Matt turned in his seat so that he faced Adele. “If you promise not to do anything stupid, I’ll undo the handcuffs.”
“Do you want me to promise that I will not try to run from you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then I promise.”
Matt stared at her for a moment, trying to discern her credibility. What the hell, he’d take a chance. After all, how far could she go if she did try to run?
After taking the key from his pocket, he gave her back a gentle shove forward, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.
She brought her hands slowly around to the front and rubbed first one wrist and then the other. Repeating the process several times, she said, “Thank you.”
Matt wasn’t sure which princess he preferred. The quiet-spoken, accommodating lady or the other—the defiant, hostile spitfire. He definitely trusted the spitfire more. This sweet act she was putting on now worried him. Was she up to something? Or had she simply changed tactics thinking honey attracted more than vinegar?
“About the Royalists,” she said. “They are a secret society that is active in both Orlantha and Balanchine. Their goals are to reunite the two countries under one king and for the combined nations to be ruled solely by the monarch. They want to turn back the clock two hundred years.”
“What does this have to do with your marriage to the duke?”
“I believe that Dedrick is a Royalist.”
“Got any proof?”
“Not yet, but soon, we hope.”
“We?”