The Simply Scandalous Princess. Michele Dunaway
wouldn’t be proper, Princess Lucia,” he replied, his tone deliberately cool.
“Proper?” Lucia frowned. Then a small tight smile came over her face. “Ah, Sir Harrison Mont-calm, man of duty, is back in full armor.” She saw his surprise. “Your son spent most of his time talking about you, and your many accomplishments.” She lifted a glass of champagne from a waiter and drained it in two gulps.
“Well, Sir Harrison Montcalm, I’m sure someone will fill you in that I’m not always proper. In fact, my date is that rock musician over there. I only brought him because it would annoy my mother, and keep her from playing matchmaker.”
With a thump, Lucia placed her empty champagne flute on a nearby table. Harrison winced for the flute.
“While I know all the correct etiquette, I find most of it boring and plain dull,” Lucia said.
She stepped toward him, her voice lowered for emphasis. “For some reason I thought you were different. I felt a connection between us, something I can’t exactly explain. I wanted to explore it, for whatever it was, I thought it was special.”
How her words hurt. Harrison so wanted to tell her that yes, he had felt it too. But duty came first. It always did.
Doing his duty meant he couldn’t tell her he’d felt it. He couldn’t even be with her. She was a princess.
As much as he wanted to tell her, to explain his reasoning, he kept silent.
For a brief second Lucia looked hurt, and Harrison’s stomach churned as her chin rose stubbornly.
“I could order you to dance, couldn’t I?” she asked, her gaze never leaving his.
“That you could, Princess.”
Lucia nodded, her look now bitterly disappointed. He hated hurting her. “I thought so. Good night, Sir Montcalm.”
And with that, she strode off toward her date, a man whose hair was longer than Lucia’s.
Harrison set his full flute of champagne down, the bubbly golden liquid untouched. Dancing with her had been a touch of heaven, but Harrison had learned long ago that heaven was not his to have.
He, retired general, Sir Harrison Montcalm, was one, too old for her, and two, not of her social circle. He could not ever have a relationship with a princess, especially the granddaughter of his king, his friend. With a heavy heart, he had turned away.
Chapter Two
The next day Lucia Carradigne was late for her interview.
Harrison paced the plush office allotted him during his stay at Korosol’s American embassy. Knowing he’d be seeing her again, he’d dressed even more impeccably than usual for the meeting. He wore a navy blue suit, a tie with the Korosolan crest and a white starched shirt.
Ellie had joked that morning that she’d never seen Harrison looking that put together. He’d run across Markus that morning as well, who since his return from Europe had been lurking around the embassy more than ever. Markus, of course, never missed an opportunity to dig at Harrison. He’d told Harrison he looked like a pallbearer.
Harrison glanced again at his Rolex, a gift from King Easton commemorating twenty-five years of service to the royal family.
Lucia Carradigne was now a half hour late.
A knock sounded at the door, and Harrison turned from where he’d been staring out the window at the United Nations Building.
“Come in,” he called.
“Harrison.” As Devon entered the room, Harrison’s face fell.
“Devon.” He greeted his twenty-eight-year-old son easily, although honestly he didn’t feel at ease around Devon. After Mary’s sudden death from pneumonia, he’d sent the then sixteen-year-old Devon to military school. His son, the serious young man in front of him, was now a man he barely knew.
They couldn’t be more apart, despite their similarities. Sure, they both had a military-cut hairstyle. Devon’s color was a lighter brown, and was minus the gray that graced Harrison’s head. They shared hazel eyes. But they didn’t share the closeness of a father and son.
One more of the regrets in his life, Harrison mused with a twinge of bitterness.
If Devon sensed his father’s thoughts, he didn’t indicate it. Instead, the captain of the Royal Guard and person in charge of Korosol security got right to business.
“I wanted you to know that I’m getting a little closer to where Krissy Katwell may be getting her information. I’ve been able to secure some of her telephone records,” Devon said.
“Legally, of course,” Harrison interjected. Inwardly he winced when he saw Devon’s expression. Of course his son would do things legally. Devon was a by-the-book type of man.
“Of course,” Devon said, quickly covering up his own hurt at being second-guessed by his father.
“Good work,” Harrison said, trying to repair his gaffe. “I’m sure you’re quite on top of things.”
“Yes,” Devon replied. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “King Easton sent me down here. He said that you were interviewing Princess Lucia and he suggested that it might be to my benefit for security reasons to be present for the interview.”
Another matchmaking attempt, Harrison thought with an inward groan. He studied his son thoughtfully for a moment. Devon didn’t seem too keen, or too overly eager, to be a part of the interview.
But then, Devon would do what the king wished, no matter what his personal feelings were. Besides, if Devon had personal feelings for the princess, Harrison doubted his son would share them with his father. They’d never been close enough to have ever once shared personal confidences.
“I think I can handle it on my own,” Harrison said smoothly. “I believe having to face two Mont-calm men might be a bit overwhelming, even for a princess.”
“True.” Devon nodded. “But King Easton was most insistent.”
“I’ll explain your absence to the king,” Harrison said, sealing his own fate irrevocably. “Right now your time is better spent on discovering where Krissy Katwell is getting her information. You know from our meeting earlier this week about Easton and my suspicions as to her source, and hence, time is of the essence. Krissy Katwell has already done quite a bit of damage to the Carradigne name. She needs to be stopped, and her source silenced.”
“Understood.” Devon deferred to the judgment of his father, and technically his superior in rank. “I’ll report back to you as soon as I know more.”
“Very good.” Harrison glanced at his watch again. He frowned. Lucia was now forty-five minutes late.
Not a good sign for someone who wanted to be queen. He glanced up at Devon, who was still standing in the office.
Devon had a strange, questioning look on his face as he studied his father. “Harrison, is something wrong?”
It had always bothered Harrison that Devon never called him “Dad” or even “Father.” But he didn’t dwell on that now. “Princess Lucia was supposed to be here at three.”
Devon frowned. As captain of the Royal Guard, his concern was immediate. “Do you think something has happened to her?”
No. She’s making me pay for rejecting her. She’s proving who is boss. The insight hit Harrison like a freight train. Being late was the oldest female trick in the book, and here he was, pacing his office and checking his watch every minute.
As quickly as it had come, he dismissed the thought. Lucia didn’t strike him as being like that. He contemplated his gut reaction a moment. Instinct told him that Lucia was nothing like Mary. Devon’s mother had used those tricks many