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Authors: Christine Flynn
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either.
She had crossed her arms over her jacket. The position looked vaguely protective to him, though he supposed she could simply be warding off the damp chill. Feeling guarded himself, determined not to show it, he pulled his glance from the button he’d buttoned himself and the scarf hiding her silken skin and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Then, please tell Her Majesty we need that dinner to proceed in order to gain information. We need to figure out who is trying to sabotage our alliances,” he explained, beginning to suspect that she had more influence than he’d realized with the queen. “If the captors thinktheir demands are being met…which is possible if the dinner is canceled,” he agreed, “then, they will have no reason to communicate with us.
“If we present a front of business as usual…especially by making it a point to mention our alliance with Majorco,” he emphasized, since that was the one thing the queen had not done, “it will appear that Penwyck isn’t taking the threat seriously. If they believe that, they’ll be forced to warn us again of their intentions. Every contact gives us more clues as to who and where they are. It’s six days until the signing,” he concluded over their rhythmic footsteps. “Since the prince is all they have to bargain with, he should be safe until then.”
From beyond the distant palace wall, Gwen could hear the surf pounding the sheer cliff face. All around them, birds chirped and flitted from dew-drenched flower to damp shrub. The brisk sea air was scented with every imaginable nuance of rose.
She should have felt utterly peaceful here. Usually she did. But nothing was as usual at the moment. Not even remotely close.
Should wasn’t a very strong assurance to take back to a worried mother. “Do you have any idea who has the prince?”
He hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m asking for the queen.”
“I realize that,” he replied with remarkable patience. “But your security clearance isn’t high enough for me to give you that information.”
“It’s high enough to have access to the royal family and their residence,” she pointed out, certain he’d choke if he had any idea of the things she’d overhead over the years.
“But not high enough to be included in a military investigation.”
“So you’re saying you don’t know?”
“I’m not admitting or denying anything.”
When it came to rules and regulations, he played by the book. She didn’t doubt that for a moment.
Not that it mattered. The hint of rebellion her parents had dutifully suppressed in her as a child tended to reassert itself whenever she was faced with a person who dealt in absolutes. With one glaring exception in her youth, her rebellions tended to be subtle, though, and inevitably designed to find a way around a rule.
“Have you called my father? Ambassador Worthington,” she reminded him when he frowned. “Our ambassador to the United States?”
“I know who he is.” He even knew the distinguished diplomat was her father, now that she’d reminded him of it, anyway. “Why would I call him?”
“To help you negotiate with whoever has the prince.”
“I never said I knew who had him,” he reminded her right back.
“Well, if you did know,” she countered, wondering what other approach to take, “he might be able to get him back for you more quickly.”
Harrison came to a halt. The sun drifted behind a cloud as he did, snapping off the glints of silver and gold in her untouchably restrained hair. Even as the clouds closed, a few drops of rain leaked out. One clung like a tiny diamond between two strands near her crown. Another darkened a spot on her shoulder. Intent as she seemed on her mission, she didn’t seem to notice that it had begun to sprinkle.
His eyes narrowed. “I can’t decide if you’re being naive, desperate or devious.”
“I am not naive,” she assured him, calmly meeting his glance. “And, yes,
She had crossed her arms over her jacket. The position looked vaguely protective to him, though he supposed she could simply be warding off the damp chill. Feeling guarded himself, determined not to show it, he pulled his glance from the button he’d buttoned himself and the scarf hiding her silken skin and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Then, please tell Her Majesty we need that dinner to proceed in order to gain information. We need to figure out who is trying to sabotage our alliances,” he explained, beginning to suspect that she had more influence than he’d realized with the queen. “If the captors thinktheir demands are being met…which is possible if the dinner is canceled,” he agreed, “then, they will have no reason to communicate with us.
“If we present a front of business as usual…especially by making it a point to mention our alliance with Majorco,” he emphasized, since that was the one thing the queen had not done, “it will appear that Penwyck isn’t taking the threat seriously. If they believe that, they’ll be forced to warn us again of their intentions. Every contact gives us more clues as to who and where they are. It’s six days until the signing,” he concluded over their rhythmic footsteps. “Since the prince is all they have to bargain with, he should be safe until then.”
From beyond the distant palace wall, Gwen could hear the surf pounding the sheer cliff face. All around them, birds chirped and flitted from dew-drenched flower to damp shrub. The brisk sea air was scented with every imaginable nuance of rose.
She should have felt utterly peaceful here. Usually she did. But nothing was as usual at the moment. Not even remotely close.
Should wasn’t a very strong assurance to take back to a worried mother. “Do you have any idea who has the prince?”
He hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”
“I’m asking for the queen.”
“I realize that,” he replied with remarkable patience. “But your security clearance isn’t high enough for me to give you that information.”
“It’s high enough to have access to the royal family and their residence,” she pointed out, certain he’d choke if he had any idea of the things she’d overhead over the years.
“But not high enough to be included in a military investigation.”
“So you’re saying you don’t know?”
“I’m not admitting or denying anything.”
When it came to rules and regulations, he played by the book. She didn’t doubt that for a moment.
Not that it mattered. The hint of rebellion her parents had dutifully suppressed in her as a child tended to reassert itself whenever she was faced with a person who dealt in absolutes. With one glaring exception in her youth, her rebellions tended to be subtle, though, and inevitably designed to find a way around a rule.
“Have you called my father? Ambassador Worthington,” she reminded him when he frowned. “Our ambassador to the United States?”
“I know who he is.” He even knew the distinguished diplomat was her father, now that she’d reminded him of it, anyway. “Why would I call him?”
“To help you negotiate with whoever has the prince.”
“I never said I knew who had him,” he reminded her right back.
“Well, if you did know,” she countered, wondering what other approach to take, “he might be able to get him back for you more quickly.”
Harrison came to a halt. The sun drifted behind a cloud as he did, snapping off the glints of silver and gold in her untouchably restrained hair. Even as the clouds closed, a few drops of rain leaked out. One clung like a tiny diamond between two strands near her crown. Another darkened a spot on her shoulder. Intent as she seemed on her mission, she didn’t seem to notice that it had begun to sprinkle.
His eyes narrowed. “I can’t decide if you’re being naive, desperate or devious.”
“I am not naive,” she assured him, calmly meeting his glance. “And, yes,
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