The Secret Princess Page 4

  “Are you a fearful flyer?” he asked as Amy sat down and put her seat belt on.

  “No, why?”

  “You look nervous.”

  Oh, great. Why did he have to be the first really perceptive man she’d met? “It’s probably just the coffee I had this morning.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Then I assume you won’t be wanting any of the cappuccino Annabelle made.”

  “Annabelle?”

  He nodded in the direction of a door to the back. “She’s the chef on board.”

  Amy smiled, hugely relieved. There was someone else on board besides the captain! “Well, let’s invite her to join us.”

  He looked surprised. “Here?”

  “Well, sure.” She pointed toward two more plush leather seats like the ones they were sitting in. “There’s plenty of room.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe she’d be comfortable with such an arrangement.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, for one thing, she is working. It is not part of her job description to sit with the passengers and chat. You wouldn’t join your customers on a trip to Nepal because you sold them the guidebook, would you?”

  “Oh, come on, it’s hardly the same thing!”

  He studied her for a moment. “Do I make you nervous, Amelia?”

  Nervous was hardly the word. He made every nerve in her body tingle with giddy awareness. She felt like a junior-high schoolgirl with a crush. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  He gave a nod of concession. “I apologize. Amy. Perhaps you would like some champagne to combat your agitation.”

  The plane began to taxi down the runway. A nervous buzz rushed through Amy’s chest. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she wasn’t completely comfortable with it, either.

  She eyed the champagne bottle in the silver bucket. “No, thank you. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”

  “It’s a long flight. Your wits may need a rest after a while.”

  She had to laugh. “You take care of your wits, and I’ll take care of mine.”

  The plane lifted into the air. Amy looked out the window and watched the land drop away beneath them. Soon they were in the clouds, then, miraculously, above them, soaring into…well, into the blue yonder.

  As soon as they were in the air, Amy felt a surge of exhilaration. She’d never left the country before, though she’d gotten her passport five years ago “just in case.” Who would have believed that “just in case” would end up meaning “just in case a handsome stranger comes along and tells you you’re the princess of a foreign country“?

  The door opened and a beautiful, slender blond woman wheeled a cart into the room.

  “Good afternoon, sir, ma’am,” she said in careful English, giving a slight curtsey. “Here are the pastries you asked for.” She locked the wheels of the cart.

  “Thank you, Annabelle,” he said. “What time is dinner?”

  “Will seven o’clock eastern time be too late?”

  He looked at Amy with a raised eyebrow. “Does that suit you?”

  “Great.” She looked at Annabelle. “Thank you so much.”

  Annabelle smiled, gave a bow to Franz and retreated back through the door.

  “She seems nice,” Amy said, unable to think of something more clever.

  “She’s an excellent pastry chef,” he said. “You must try one of her chocolate éclairs.” He got out of his seat and went to the cart, piling a small china plate with lots of delicious-looking confections.

  He brought them back and set them on the table between his chair and Amy’s. “It’s one of the only things that makes flying tolerable,” he said, lifting a chocolate croissant and taking a large bite.

  “Are you a nervous flyer?” Amy asked, surprised that someone who worked in a diplomatic capacity that must involve travel could be nervous about flying.

  He paused for only a moment. “I could deny it, I suppose, but it would probably become evident all too soon, anyway.”

  For some reason she found that endearing. “So the champagne is here because—”

  “It helps.” He nodded, with a self-effacing smile. “Some.”

  “Thank goodness,” Amy said.

  He looked at her. “What did you think it was for?”

  She felt her face grow warm. “I—I didn’t know.” She shrugged unconvincingly.

  “Did you think I had set the stage for some sort of seduction?” he asked, looking more amused than her ego appreciated.

  “You wouldn’t be the first man to try something like that.”

  “Indeed not, I’m sure.” He was flat-out smiling now.

  “I mean with a woman in general, not just with me,” she added, realizing she was protesting too much.

  “Amy, would you have me believe that no man has ever tried to seduce you?” he asked in a voice that would have been an ideal start to doing just that.

  For a moment, Amy wished she could simply step back two minutes in time so that she had never opened this particular line of conversation. She had no clever response, so instead she said, “You’re the one with notes on my entire life, I’m sure there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Challenge me,” he said, still smiling.

  “It would only bore you,” she said, with what she hoped was a secretive smile.

  “Nothing about you bores me.”

  Her romantic history would. And she didn’t want to get into that conversation for fear that she would sound too cynical. She was an optimistic person in all other ways, but when it came to romance, she was one-hundred-percent cynic.

  “You’re a smooth talker, you know that?”

  “I’m only honest.”

  She laughed. “Very smooth. I think I’ll do a little reading now.” She reached into her bag and took out a copy of Royalty magazine, which she’d picked up from the large chain bookstore at the airport before leaving.

  He went still. “What’s that?”

  She frowned and looked at the magazine, then back at him. “It’s a magazine. Surely they have these in Lufthania.” She looked at it, then at him, expecting him to smile.

  He didn’t. “I’m sure that won’t have anything about Lufthania in it, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Actually it is,” she said, opening the magazine and settling back for a long read. “Someone at the bookstore recommended it to me as having a lot of information about all of the European royals. I wouldn’t have thought of it myself, but it occurs to me that this is probably my best bet for getting current information on the country.”

  His face was very stern. “Lufthania is never included in those kinds of magazines. Perhaps we should turn down the lights and get some sleep.”

  Amy laughed. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon!”

  “How about watching a movie?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He looked around. “I think there’s a chessboard here somewhere.…”

  She laid the magazine down in her lap. “Look, I don’t know you well, but I can tell you’re trying to keep me from looking at this magazine. The question is, why?”

  “I’m not.” He stood up and went to the champagne bottle. He removed the wire cap in one swift motion, then popped the cork. “Champagne?” he offered, as if the topic hadn’t already come up.

  “No, thank you.”

  “You can’t make a man drink alone.” He poured two glasses.

  She laughed and set the glass he handed her down. “I can’t seem to stop him from doing so, either.”

  He took a long draw from the wineglass. “We have some wonderful vineyards in Lufthania, you know.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  He set the glass down without looking at her. “Of course I’m not.”

  “Hmm. Then you won’t mind if I just read my magazine now.”

  “Not at all.” He gestured vaguely. “No. Go right ahead.”

  “I
plan to.”

  “I won’t stop you.”

  “Good.”

  “Just let me say this one thing. If there’s anything about the Lufthanian royalty in there, it should be taken with, how do you say it, a grain of salt.”

  “Why?”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “You know how those reporters are. Always looking for something sensational to write so they can sell more copies.”

  “Okay.” What did that mean? What was he afraid she would see? She looked down and opened the magazine, feeling his eyes on her while she read, although every time she looked up, he appeared to be very involved in reading the Wall Street Journal.

  She was almost finished with the magazine when she finally came upon the article that he clearly didn’t want her to see.

  The headline spanned two pages and read Crown Prince Wilhelm Doesn’t Want the Throne.

  The photo directly beneath it—the photo of Prince Wilhelm—was of Franz Burgess.

  Chapter Three

  Amy’s first impulse was to bat him over the head with the rolled-up magazine. But she stifled that impulse, deciding instead to follow her second impulse, to keep quiet and see how long he was willing to keep up this preposterous charade.

  She made a show of closing the magazine, and put it in her bag. Then she stretched and gave a broad, leisurely yawn.

  Franz watched her from behind his newspaper. She could feel his gaze like little warm pinpricks all over her body even when she wasn’t looking at him.

  “So,” she said, easing back against the buttery leather of her seat. “Tell me about the prince.”

  He set the paper down and studied her. “Prince Wilhelm?”

  “Who else?”

  “What do you want to know?” It was a cautious expression he wore on his face, one that said he was used to being circumspect around people he didn’t know very well, in case they had ulterior motives.

  She almost felt sorry for him. “Well, I found a small blurb on him on the Internet this morning,” she said. “From one of those European gossip magazines, I think.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it said that Prince Wilhelm—well, perhaps I shouldn’t say. I wouldn’t want to offend you or your employer.”

  He arranged his features into a blank expression.

  “As you wish.”

  “On the other hand, it is a concern to me. If he’s as awful as they say.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

  “Okay. Is Prince Wilhelm really the vicious tyrant the article said he was?”

  He frowned and lifted his champagne glass, the only clue to his discomfort. “I’m not aware that anyone feels that way.”

  “Oh, yes. According to the article, he has all kinds of harebrained schemes for taxation and population control.”

  He set his glass down hard. “That is absolutely not true.”

  “No?” She feigned innocence. “But it was right there in black and white.”

  “Of course it’s not true.” There was controlled anger in his low tone. “Those infernal tabloids will say anything to sell copies. The prince wants only the best for his country. That’s why he sent for you.”

  “Is it?”

  Anger glinted in his eye. “How can you doubt it?”

  “Because—well, frankly, because of me. Because you—that is, he—came and plucked an American bookstore owner out of a tiny rural town with the hopes that she would move to Lufthania and rule the country.” The truth of it made her feel a little sad. “It sounds to me like the prince doesn’t want to bother anymore and is willing to pawn the job off on just about anyone.”

  “No,” he said firmly. The glint in his eyes was fierce, and it struck Amy that maybe this wasn’t the first time he was having this argument. “The monarch is a figurehead only. There is no power, no ruling, whatsoever. The only danger, if you would call it such, is that the monarch would somehow embarrass the country. And, given our size and the fact that we don’t often make international news, there’s little chance of that.”

  A cold feeling washed over her. “So you’re looking for someone to fill a role. It doesn’t matter who it is. An actress would do.”

  “No, only a princess will do.”

  “Whether she’s qualified or not.”

  “You have the royal blood.” He paused to collect himself, and a vein throbbed in his temple. “You need no further qualification.”

  She gave a short laugh. “I wonder if the people of Lufthania would agree.”

  “The people of Lufthania,” he said in a low, deliberate voice, “want nothing more than to have you back on the throne. The people of Lufthania need the morale boost that would provide. It is selfish of you to even contemplate denying them that.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Selfish? Of me?”

  He gave a short nod. “It is not only your birthright, it is your duty.”

  His tone was so hard she felt as if she’d been slapped.

  “Duty,” she said, “doesn’t seem to be something your prince takes that seriously.”

  “He takes his duty very seriously.”

  She scoffed pointedly.

  “You know nothing about the matter,” he said coldly.

  “I know more than you think I do.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed.” She was angry now. “For instance, I know your prince is a liar.”

  “A liar?”

  “Yes, a liar. He misrepresents himself and his intentions.”

  “That’s a strong accusation.”

  “Yeah, well, if the shoe fits, wear it.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Prince Wilhelm.”

  A shuddering silence passed.

  “I’m not—”

  She wanted to get her say in before he had a chance to manipulate the facts. “Oh, don’t even bother to lie again. I know who you are. And it seems to me that the reason your country needs the—what did you call it?—the morale boost of a new monarch is because you, Prince Wilhelm, want to quit.”

  “I—”

  “Yes, you.” She grabbed the magazine, opened it to the right page and thrust it onto his lap. “How long did you think you could keep that from me? And why would you bother?”

  A long, tense moment passed before he said, “I have not quit.”

  “Yes you have. The minute you have a replacement, you’re outta there.” Several emotions bubbled in her—residual shock, embarrassment, disappointment and even a little awe. “And you’ll take just about anyone as that replacement.”

  He looked down at the magazine for a moment, then back at Amy. “I’ll accept only you.”

  Something about his tone, and his words, sent a thrill through her, even as she tried to maintain her anger. “I don’t understand any of this. Why me?”

  “I’ve told you. Because you’re the rightful heir to the throne.”

  “Even if I am, through the technicality of genetics, that doesn’t mean I’m the right person for the job. Blood means almost nothing in reality.”

  “Blood means everything,” he said sternly. It is what separates you from the common shop girl.”

  “I am the common shop girl! Unlike you, I have no problem being honest about who I am.”

  “That’s not a fair assessment. I didn’t tell you who I was because I was well aware of how difficult my story would be for you to believe, and I thought telling you who I was would make it even more unbelievable.”

  “You could have brought this.” She thrust the magazine toward him. “You could have shown me your picture in there.”

  “And had you accuse me of being a lookalike, sent by your friends as some sort of birthday gag?”

  He was right, that was exactly what she would have thought, but she didn’t want to give that to him. “How can you possibly presume to know what I would think or do?”

  He gave a dry smile. “Perhaps you don’t realize how carefully I researched before approaching you. I spent months learning about you, studying the c
hoices you’ve made in your life, and speculating about what kind of person you might be.” His green eyes softened with a tenderness that was unexpected to her. “You’d never heard of me, so this was and is all new to you. But I have thought about you, Amelia, every day for weeks.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He was an undeniably charming man. She’d known that before she’d ever boarded the plane, but she was determined not to let him get to her. She was determined not to compromise her values under the enchanting glow of his gaze.

  “You don’t know me,” she objected, with less vehemence than she’d hoped.

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “I know that you are not the kind of person to take her duties lightly.” A small smile turned his mouth up. “After all, you were the president and treasurer of your tenth-grade high school class.”

  She remembered. “No one else would run.”

  He chuckled softly. “And you didn’t want to let your people down. Your classmates,” he corrected.

  She met his eyes. “No, I wanted to go on the tenth-grade ski trip in the Poconos. No treasurer, no funds. It was selfish.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “That hardly seems sufficient reason to give me the crown. Europe is teeming with old royal blood. Surely there were scores of people in line, people who would have been every bit as devoted as you imagined I would be. Or more so.”

  The silence that took over the next few seconds was nearly deafening.

  “None of whom could have solved the problem.”

  “The problem?” Amy asked. “What problem?”

  “The problem of…” He sighed. “My guilt.”

  Amy wasn’t expecting that. It took her a moment to formulate a response, and even when she did, it wasn’t a great one. “Guilt? You mean for not wanting your position on the throne?”

  He shook his head and looked pained. “The coup twenty-five years ago was…not a bloodless one.” He swallowed, but his eyes remained cool. “There was no one left. No one but you.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, but she slowly shook her head. “You have the wrong woman.”