A Royal Mission. Elizabeth August
grabbed a flask and held it to her lips.
Never opening her eyes, she drank her fill, then slumped against the seat.
Satisfied she was merely in a drugged sleep, Lance drove away from the cabin. Still, he could not stop himself from continually glancing at her. The worry that there could be more wrong with her than merely the effects of drugs taunted him. He frowned. Emotions dulled a person’s instincts, made them unreliable. He didn’t like that. He was a man used to being in total control; a man who had trained himself not to allow anything to distract him from his purpose.
The road was uneven and he hit a pothole, jarring the vehicle. Victoria surfaced with a groan. “My head,” she moaned. In the next instant she was asleep again.
“That does it,” he growled, unable to fight what felt very close to panic for her well-being. Pulling over to the side of the road, he again checked her pulse and breathing. Lifting her eyelid, he flashed a light in her eyes. The pupils were even and reactive. From the emergency medical training courses he’d taken, he knew all signs pointed to simple drug-induced sedation. Still, this time, with this patient, he would be more thorough.
Victoria once again became semiconscious, her demeanor fearful. “What’s going on?”
“I was just checking to see if you were all right.”
Victoria clamped her mouth shut.
The thought that she had incredibly kissable lips flashed into Lance’s mind. Thoughts like that are totally unprofessional, he admonished himself sternly and turned his attention back to the business at hand. “Were you hit on the head? Did you sustain any other blows?”
She seemed to concentrate. “I don’t think so,” she said at last.
Lance studied her face for bruising, then gently ran his fingers through her hair to feel for any lumps on her head. As the long dark tresses wove through his fingers, they produced a seductive effect that threatened to vanquish his mission from his mind. Quickly satisfying himself that she had no lumps or bruises, he broke the contact.
The gentle massage of his fingers had a soothing effect, and Victoria found herself wanting to purr. When he stopped, she felt deprived. He could be making certain you’re in good enough shape for whatever evil he still has in store for you, she cautioned herself, angry that she’d allowed the delicious feel of his touch to weaken her guard. For all she knew, he could be The Whisperer. This last thought sent a chill through her.
He opened a water flask and held it to her lips. “Drink,” he ordered.
This time prudence won out over thirst. “No.”
“You need the water to wash the drugs out of your system,” he coaxed.
Her thirst was growing stronger. She’d drunk before and the water had been drug-free, she reminded herself. Still, she refused to trust the man beside her. “You drink first.”
He smiled, a pleased expression in his eyes, giving the impression that he approved of her behavior. Raising the flask to his lips, he took a swallow.
Deciding the water was safe, she allowed herself to drink. As they pulled back onto the road, her mind seemed to clear a bit and the hope that the drugs were wearing off flowed through her. Testing her body, she tried shifting in her seat. The attempt required a huge expenditure of energy and produced few results. I just need a little nap, she told herself, closing her eyes.
It was daybreak when Lance arrived at his cottage on the northwestern shore of the island nation of Thortonburg. No one knew he owned this place. It was a part of his life he’d kept entirely private. Lifting Victoria out of the jeep, he carried her inside and found himself thinking that she felt very good in his arms. Immediately, he scowled at himself. That was not a thought he should be having about this woman.
“Bathroom,” Victoria murmured against his shoulder.
Carrying her into the facility, Lance stood her on her feet.
She was wobbly and obviously nauseous, but she was determined to take care of her needs in private. “I can do this by myself,” she said tersely.
Lance wasn’t convinced, but he backed out into the hall. “I will leave the door open. If you think you may fall, yell.”
He heard her sluggish movements, then the sound of splashing water.
“Are you finished?” Lance asked, worried she would fall and seriously injure herself.
“Yes,” she replied.
Entering the bathroom, Lance found her holding on to the sink as if to keep from crumpling into a heap on the floor. He scooped her into his arms and strode to the bedroom where he gently laid her on the bed. He removed her shoes, then tossed a light cover over her. Finally he went outside to retrieve her suitcases from the jeep and brought them to the bedroom.
Standing beside the bed watching her sleep, he noted that her color was returning and that her breathing was deeper. With luck the drugs would soon be out of her system.
He showered quickly, then dressed in slacks and a pullover shirt. After checking to see if his guest had awakened and noting that she hadn’t, he made himself some breakfast. But instead of eating in the kitchen, he carried his food into the bedroom. There, he sat in a chair watching Victoria Rockford as he ate. Fury toward the men who had done this to her grew more and more intense. He vowed he would not rest until Malcolm Rockford and his accomplice were captured. And Lance and the Thortons were more than convinced Malcolm was the self-proclaimed “Justicier.”
Again, the thought that he was taking this case much too personally taunted him. “It’s my duty to find those men,” he countered tersely under his breath, needing to speak the words aloud to assure himself they were the truthful reason behind his feelings. Victoria Rockford could never be anything other than someone he was duty-bound to protect.
Victoria turned onto her back and stretched. A smile played at her mouth. She’d been dreaming that she’d been rescued. A ruggedly handsome face, cold and unsmiling, filled her mind. Her smile vanished. Rescued, or merely changed prisons? She frowned. Silly girl. It was just a dream. She stretched again. Her breath locked in her lungs. She was able to move freely. Opening her eyes, she raised her hands upward and looked at them. Her bonds were gone.
More alert now, she realized she was lying on a much softer, much more clean-smelling bed. She opened and closed her eyes a couple more times to bring them into clearer focus. Sunlight streamed through an open window and the room smelled of sea breezes. Was she still dreaming?
Her gaze traveled around the room. The decor was masculine and a little stark, but she liked it. Turning her head as far to the right as she could, her whole body suddenly became rigid. Seated in a chair near the bed was the man she had been dreaming about. He was no longer dressed all in black or equipped with the high-tech equipment, but the face…the stern, cold-featured face…was the same. And he was armed. He wore a leather shoulder holster that housed a very dangerous-looking weapon. She thought she saw a momentary flash of relief in his eyes as he rose and approached the bed, but her guard remained strongly in place.
“Would you like some water?” he asked.
She recalled that he’d given her water before and it had been safe to drink. Attempting to ease herself into a sitting position, she was assailed by a wave of dizziness. She squeezed her eyes shut to fight the sensation.
“Are you all right?” the man asked with cool composure.
“Dizzy,” was all she could manage to reply.
“That’s a natural reaction after having been drugged.” Seating himself on the side of the bed, he slipped his arm behind her shoulders and eased her up so that she could swallow. “Drink. The fluid will help.”
Victoria obeyed. As the bout of dizziness subsided, she became acutely aware of the strength of the arm holding her. Although a great deal of the past days remained a blur, that part…the sturdiness of her rescuer…she remembered vividly. The thought that if