Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna: The Man Who Would Be King / The Princess And The Mercenary. Marilyn Pappano
used boots, he laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin my feet. I just want to see how they look.”
He disappeared into the small dressing area, only to emerge a few minutes later in his disguise. Settling the used and abused black Stetson hat he’d picked out on his head, he opened the dressing room door to find Eliza waiting for him outside. “Well?” he asked, spreading his arms wide. “What do you think?”
Stunned, she blinked, wide-eyed. “I don’t believe it.”
She’d always heard that the clothes made the man, but she’d never quite understood what the phrase meant until now. She’d covered the Sebastianis for years in her column, and during that time, she must have seen dozens of photos of Lorenzo in his military uniform tuxedos, and suits that came right out of Saville Row. And in each of those pictures, he’d always looked every inch the duke.
There was no sign of that man now. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but even his posture had changed. With the scarred cowboy hat set low on his head, concealing his sandy-brown hair, the pointed old boots on his feet and the faded clothes molding his lean body, he looked like he’d just walked in off the range.
“Incredible,” she said, amazed. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes.”
Pleased, he grinned and tipped his hat back slightly, and just that easily, he changed the image again. He still looked like a hardworking cowboy, but now he had the look of a rogue, a flirt. With nothing more than a crooked grin, he set Eliza’s heart pounding.
Shocked, she pressed a hand to her heart before she realized it, drawing a curious look from Lorenzo. “Are you all right?” he asked with a sudden frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, and blushed to the roots of her hair. “You just surprised me. I never thought you’d be able to pull it off.”
“I told you I could,” he said with another grin that made her heart trip. “Now, what about you?”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You can’t dress like that when I look like I just walked off a roundup,” he explained. “You’re too citified. We don’t look like we belong together.”
Eliza wouldn’t have described her black wool slacks and black and white sweater as citified, but she had to admit, he had a point. “I’ve got jeans in my suitcase. I’ll change.”
“You need a flannel shirt,” he insisted, grabbing one off the rack. “And a sheepskin coat. It’s cold out.”
Eliza had never had a sheepskin coat in her life—the western style had never suited her. But even as she started to tell him no, she made the mistake of touching the one he held out to her. “Oh! It’s so soft!”
“C’mon,” he urged, grinning. “Try it.”
Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t resist the sparkle of fun she saw there. This was a side of him she hadn’t even known existed. “Oh, all right. But I probably won’t buy it. After we find the prince, I’ll have nowhere else to wear it.”
“So wear it to the grocery store,” he said with a grin as he held it open for her to slip her arms in. “It’s a used coat, Eliza. Have fun with it.”
“Easy for you to say,” she retorted sassily. “You look like the Marlboro man. I look like…” She glanced in the mirror and groaned “…a redheaded Olive Oyle being hugged by a sheep.”
Any other man would have laughed, but Lorenzo was truly amazed that she thought she looked anything like Pop-eye’s girlfriend. Did she truly not see how pretty she was?
“Why do you do that?” he asked in puzzlement, stopping her when she would have turned away and shrugged out of the coat. “Look at yourself.” And not giving her time to object, he turned her back to the mirror, then stepped behind her, holding her in front of him with his hands on her shoulders.
“Look at you,” he said again, this time huskily. “You’re not skinny like Olive Oyle. You have the slenderness and grace of a young Katharine Hepburn. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see the passion and fire in your eyes? Look at your bone structure, the line of your throat. You’re beautiful and you don’t even know it. Look.”
In the mirror, she watched as he pulled her fiery curls up off her neck, then cradled her face between his hands. His eyes met hers, and with nothing more than a look and the touch of his hands, he made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life.
And it shook her to the core.
Who was this man? she wondered wildly. How could he make her feel pretty when no one else ever had? For as long as she could remember, she’d been in that gangly stage where she was all arms and legs, angles and planes. Most girls outgrew that by the time they were sixteen. At twenty-seven, she never had.
He was a magician, she thought, dazed. A sorcerer with supernatural powers who painted images with words. Nothing had changed—she was the same person she’d always been—but when she saw herself through his eyes, images of the old Eliza Windmere fell away. And just that easily, she was pretty.
She wanted to laugh and cry and turn and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She didn’t dare. Her heart was already pounding, her senses in a whirl, and it was all because of him. If she made the mistake of touching him now, she would be in serious trouble.
And that was the last thing she needed right now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t looking for a man, especially one like Lorenzo. Not when her breakup with Robert was still an open wound. He’d been jealous of her job and the time she gave to it, and that had destroyed their relationship. And now, here she was, attracted to another man who didn’t approve of what she did for a living. She wasn’t going there again. She couldn’t.
“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to use the word beautiful,” she said with a forced laugh as she took a step away from him, freeing herself from his touch. “But thanks for the compliment. Maybe I’ll buy the coat, after all. It’s really warm.”
The magic mood shattered between them, she hurried to the checkout counter and could feel his eyes on her every step of the way. He let the moment pass, however, and she told herself she was relieved. Unfortunately, she’d never been very good at lying to herself.
True to his word, Lorenzo was nothing if not thorough. From the used-clothing store, they went straight to a usedcar dealership and bought a ten-year-old pickup truck that looked like it had seen better days. It had a good motor, though, so they turned in the rented Tahoe without fear that they were going to break down in the middle of nowhere, then headed up into the mountains where Willy lived. Anyone seeing them in their new old clothes and the battered pickup would have never guessed that Lorenzo was a duke or she was a city girl who interviewed kings and queens and wrote for the Sentinel.
Smiling at the thought, she was just about to tell him how much she was enjoying going undercover with him when he ruined everything by saying, “When we reach Willy’s, I want to do the questioning. I know you’re friends and he trusts you, but he may know more than he realizes he does. He’s going to have to talk to me.”
Everything he said made perfect sense—to Eliza. It wouldn’t mean a hill of beans to Willy. “If we were talking about an average man on the street, I’d agree with you. But as I’ve told you before, Your Grace, Willy dances to the beat of a different drummer. He doesn’t have to do anything, and he knows it. He won’t talk to you.”
“Of course he will,” he said stubbornly. “You said yourself how upset he was at the thought of the king naming another heir when his son was still alive. He obviously wants to help find Lucas. To do that, he’s going to have to talk to me.”
Eliza could have told him that Willy wouldn’t even talk to her if she didn’t call him ahead of time and make arrangements to meet him, but what was the point? His mind was made up, and