Royal Spy Read online

  Royal Spy

  VALERIE PARV

  ROMANCING THE CROWN

  The royal heir to the kingdom of Montebello is safe. But a traitor lurks in the heart of the neighbouring kingdom of Tamir, waiting to destroy the countries' new alliance!

  Meet the major players in this royal mystery...

  Princess Nadia Kamal: The eldest Tamiri princess hides her passions behind a veil of gentility. But when a handsome stranger uncovers her secrets, there's nowhere left to hide...

  Duke Gage Weston of Penwyck: Playing an everyday average man is second nature to this sought-after spy. But royalty is in his blood - as is a certain standoffish princess!

  Dear Reader,

  It seems to me that when you're a member of a royal family, life can be complicated. Duty must come before personal choice. Business before pleasure. Finding ways to be together privately can be almost impossible. You only have to look at the royal families of the world to see that a crown and a fortune can't guarantee happiness. This is the double-edged sword I set out to explore in Royal Spy. In the process I found myself examining the drive we all have to choose our destinies. Like Princess Nadia, we want to rule our own lives, although, like her and Gage Weston, we don't mind surrendering provided it's to the rule of love.

  Long may love reign in your life.

  All the best,

  Valerie

  Chapter 1

  Gage Weston could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon than watching a princess get undressed. Sights like that were rare, even in his profession, but made putting his life on the line to spy for his country even more worthwhile. What other job in the world could offer such a bonus, where he wouldn't be considered some kind of Peeping Tom? Fortunately he only peeped by invitation or in the line of duty, as he was doing now.

  He was determined to find out what the princess was up to. Certainly not legitimate royal business, or she would have left her father's palace dressed for her task, instead of waiting until she was out of sight to furtively exchange clothes with her maid.

  Princess Nadia Kamal was the eldest daughter of Sheik Ahmed Kamal, ruler of Tamir, who was famous for his old-fashioned morality. Nadia was equally well known for pushing the boundaries of convention, but Gage would bet her father knew nothing about this little caper.

  Not that Gage planned to tell him. He wasn't working for the sheik, but for his opposite number, King Marcus of Montebello. Marcus needed to know who in Sheik Ahmed's circle had ties with the terrorist group known as the Brothers of Darkness, to prevent the Brothers from derailing the fledgling peace process between Tamir and Montebello.

  Gage had a more personal reason for spying on the princess. The traitor was also involved in the murder of his best friend, Conrad Drake. This ranked as a higher priority with Gage than even the king's mission.

  With luck, he could trap the traitor and Conrad's murderer while on the one assignment.

  He tightened his grip on the binoculars, a sense of loss sweeping over him as he thought of Conrad, who should have been at his side at this moment.

  They'd been like brothers. Conrad hadn't been a member of royalty, as Gage was, but then Gage rarely used his ducal title, so the issue had never come between them. They had grown up together, studied economics and law at university, flown side by side in the Royal Penwyck Air Force and eventually become partners.

  With Conrad's cool temperament moderating Gage's hotheadedness, they had conquered the stock market almost as a game, amassing a fortune that continued to snowball.

  Just as well their finances were sound, because they had discovered their talent for undercover work when the head of a company they had invested in was kidnapped and held for ransom. Gage had known the man well, and had made it his business to track down the kidnappers, free their client and bring the perpetrators to justice.

  Word had spread until Weston Drake Enterprises became the cover for a wide range of intelligence operations on behalf of major corporations and world leaders.

  Now Conrad was gone, gunned down while feeding information back to Gage from the United States, where Conrad had been covertly investigating the Brothers of Darkness, searching for clues to help Gage identify King Marcus's traitor.

  Gage sighed. Conrad hadn't completed the mission. Anger gripped Gage as he thought of his friend's life ending on a back road in Texas where a bullet had been put through his head. The only clue to his assailant had been the word that Conrad had scrawled in the dust as he lay dying beside his car, the engine still running when he was found: DOT.

  Road rage, the American police concluded, not knowing that Conrad was any more than the tourist he posed as. They thought he'd tried to scratch out a message to his fiancee, Dorothy Gillespie in Penwyck, but Gage knew better. He'd introduced the couple, and Conrad had never called Dorothy anything but Doro. She hated the nickname Dot. The letters had to mean something else.

  As boys, they'd made up their own code using initial letters, challenging each other to decode the message. Gage invariably won, and Conrad used to say it was because he had the more devious mind.

  It worked in his favor now. After hours of sifting through alternatives, Gage had linked the O to Octopus, the symbol used by the younger, more reckless members of the Brothers of Darkness. The T was more of a challenge—until he settled on Tamir, the country the Brothers stood to gain the most from destabilizing.

  The D had kept him up for many sleepless nights. Finally Gage went with his gut feeling that it stood for Butrus Dabir, attorney and key adviser to Tamir's ruler. Conrad had told him he was suspicious of Dabir, whose associates included underworld figures reputed to be involved with the Brothers. That was good enough for Gage.

  Dabir. Octopus. Tamir. Three words that could be clues to Conrad's killer. Gage was determined to find the person responsible.

  Could he be looking at her now?

  He trained the high-powered glasses on the princess again. She was the most beautiful sight he'd had in the crosshairs for some time. Her short, raven-colored hair was feathered around her face, making her look a lot different from the other women in her family. With her tall athletic figure, from a distance she might have been taken for an American. Close up, her exotic features and high cheekbones belonged to a heroine of an Arabian Nights tale.

  It wasn't hard to picture her reclining on a bank of embroidered cushions, veiled and clad in brightly colored silks. It would be a pity to veil such a tempting mouth. No veil, then, but keep the cushions and the silks. The same untamed imagination insisted he paint himself into the scene, resting on more cushions while she popped succulent dates into his mouth. His heart picked up speed at the notion.

  When did you become so fanciful, Weston?he asked himself on a swell of annoyance. Her behavior was downright suspicious. He couldn't afford to be distracted by her looks, nor by the dazzling smile he saw her exchange with her maid. The reminder didn't stop him from imagining how he would feel if she smiled at him like that.

  Princess Nadia was talking to the maid, both of them shielded from any eyes but Gage's by a thick screen of bushes, but she didn't stop moving, swiftly shedding her culottes and white silk shirt until she was clad only in a lacy camisole and panties that left her legs bare.

  They had to be the longest legs in the sheikdom, Gage thought. Movements like hers, so graceful and unconsciously seductive, while she was clad in so little, should be outlawed in Tamir. Come to think of it, they probably were.

  Pleasure shafted through him, as inappropriate as it was unexpected. Instead of seeming furtive, as befitted a potential traitor, her movements and ready smile made her look young and carefree, as if she had shed her cares with her clothes.

  He frowned as the maid slid out of the traditional Tamir long dress called a galabiya, whi
ch she'd worn to accompany the princess from the palace. The maid took the culottes and shirt and put them on, while the princess pulled the galabiya over her head and settled the folds around her slender body. The two women were of a similar size, so everything fit. And the movements were so slick that Gage guessed this was a regular routine.

  Within minutes, the maid was the image of her mistress, except for the long hair she tucked away under a wide-brimmed straw hat. The princess draped the maid's floaty silk scarf over her cropped tresses and shoulders. Both women popped dark glasses over their eyes. Voilà. Instant transformation.

  From his research, Gage knew that the maid's name was Tahani. She was a cousin of Nadia's personal attendant, Nargis. Hearing that Tahani had artistic talent, the princess had agreed to teach her to paint in exchange for her services. At least that was the official story. Seeing them together now, Gage suspected that the maid's resemblance to the princess had a lot to do with Nadia wanting Tahani at her side.

  Gage panned the glasses in a wide arc. Where the devil was the princess's bodyguard while all this was taking place? Or was the man in league with his mistress? Seconds later he had his answer. On the other side of the bushes, the bodyguard was unloading a heap of equipment from the back of the princess's car. As Gage watched, the man carried the load back to the two women. They kept their faces averted, pretending to talk, so the man didn't notice anything amiss.

  The equipment turned out to be painting gear, Gage saw as the man set up an easel, stool and other artist's paraphernalia. Immediately the maid, in the princess's clothes, settled herself on the stool and began to sketch. The princess gave a low bow to her supposed mistress, then hurried away.

  Nicely done, Gage thought with a twinge of professional jealousy. As far as the bodyguard knew, he was still keeping an eye on the princess while her maid was sent off on some errand. Gage decided to find out what the errand was.

  She had aroused more than his curiosity, he admitted, not convinced that his interest was as professional as he wished.

  He gave himself a few seconds to see in which direction her car was headed, then retrieved his rental car from where he'd secreted it in a grove of trees after following the group from the palace.

  Being careful to stay out of sight of the painting pair, he found a track he could use to cut through an olive grove and come out slightly ahead of the princess on the only main road in the area—the one she had to take, unless she was heading back to the palace. Gage would stake his inheritance that she wasn't going home.

  He was right. By the time she drove carefully around the bend behind him—taking no chances on breaking any laws that got her noticed, he assumed—he was in position. His car was half off the road, the front wheels in a ditch, and his forehead resting against the steering wheel. He'd used the trick a half dozen times in his covert career, and it never failed to get a result. Who could resist a lone motorist in trouble?

  Not the princess. He slitted one eye in time to see her pull up ahead of him and get out. When she reached his open window, he gave a convincing groan and lifted his head. She touched a hand to his forehead. "Don't move, you could be seriously injured."

  Her hand against his skin felt blissfully cool, her touch feather-light. He was tempted to do as she commanded and stay where he was, hoping she'd go right on caressing his fevered brow. But if he did, she'd probably insist on calling an ambulance, ending his chance of speaking to her alone. Given the usually restricted life led by the princess of Tamir, he might not get another chance to decide for himself whether she was traitor material or not. The opportunity was too good to waste.

  He opened his eyes, finding that she was every bit as lovely close up as she had appeared in his field glasses. Something twisted inside him. She was more than lovely. She was breathtaking. His hand itched to remove the dark glasses so he could get a good look at her eyes. Black as the pits of Hades, he told himself. Black as the night, with the light of a thousand stars in them, his errant mind insisted.

  He resisted the image. Black nights could hide deadly secrets, like the identity of his friend's killer. However tempting the idea, for Conrad's sake and for King Marcus, Gage couldn't afford to let himself fall under Nadia's spell.

  Still, poetic images insisted on forming in his mind as he looked at the princess. Not the princess—her maid, he reminded himself. He wasn't supposed to know that they'd traded places. He made himself rub his eyes as if dazed. "I ran the blasted car off the road. I was too tired to be driving."

  He saw her assess the car, one of the more expensive Branxton sports models, and guessed she was theorizing about him and how he came to be here. "You're not from Tamir," she said.

  "England," he supplied, quoting from his cover story. He saw her forehead crinkle above the glasses. He added, "I'm here to head up a British trade mission to your country, although I won't present my credentials to Sheik Ahmed Kamal until tomorrow."

  His home country of Penwyck retained enough historic ties with the English monarchy that his own Hugh Grant-like accent was utterly convincing. It wouldn't have mattered. Gage could do several American accents, broad Australian or Italian equally well. But he felt comfortable reverting to his native accent and was pleased to see by her expression that she had accepted his cover completely. Mentally he thanked his godfather, the British ambassador to Tamir, who had agreed to let Gage use the embassy as the base for his fictional trade mission.

  "Welcome to Tamir, Mr...."

  "Gage Weston. Please, call me Gage." He offered her his hand through the car window and saw her smile at the foolishness of the gesture, given the circumstances.

  "Tahani Kadil. I work for the Kamal family," she said. "We should save the rest of the formalities for later. Right now you need an ambulance."

  "Really, I'm perfectly all right," he assured her. "If you could just help me out so I can get some air..."

  She levered the door open with difficulty, since she was pulling uphill. Strong, as well as lovely, he thought, struggling against the admiration that threatened to cloud his judgment. A wonderful jasmine scent filled his nostrils as she leaned across him to undo his seat belt, her full breasts brushing across his chest. He wasn't entirely acting as he worked to catch his breath.

  Nadia slid an arm around Gage and helped him out, becoming aware of the strength in him and the fast beating of his heart, which she blamed on his accident. Her own was beating a touch too fast, she noticed, not wanting to think that the stranger was the cause.

  He wasn't handsome enough to turn her head, even had she been susceptible. His features were a touch too well defined, his jaw too thrusting, his lips too full and sensuous. Too arrogant and self-assured to be her type, although she accepted that the collective effect stamped him as a man to be reckoned with.

  She felt the heat from his body steaming through her, pushing up her internal temperature. The air seemed to crackle with warmth and energy, and she sensed it had little to do with the balmy summer day. At least, she hadn't noticed the charged atmosphere until she touched Gage.

  What had she unleashed by stopping to assist him?

  Nothing she couldn't handle, she told herself firmly. After her one tragic experience of love, she had vowed never to be swept off her feet again. So it mattered little if Gage was or wasn't handsome, could or couldn't cause her heart to race, did or didn't force visions into her mind of being held in strong arms, kissed with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes, loved as only a real man could love.

  Stop this, she commanded herself before her imagination could run away with her completely. Gage was a diplomat. Her father's court was awash with his kind. They were charming, sometimes flirtatious, but ultimately out to achieve their country's aims by whatever means they had.

  She had been courted before by men wanting to gain her father's ear. Probably would be again. Her resistance should be well developed by now, she thought as she assisted Gage to the side of the car before releasing him.

  So why did
he make her feel as though she had no resistance at all?

  Gage rested his back against the car, making a show of recovering slowly. "Lucky for me that you stopped by. I was looking for the road to the British Embassy and must have taken a wrong turning."

  "You certainly did. You're headed in the opposite direction." Her smile was the epitome of innocence and beauty. Maybe beauty, but not innocence, he thought, hardening his heart. Innocent people didn't parade around in disguise, using false names.

  "Perhaps you'd be good enough to point me in the right direction," he said.

  She looked shocked. "You can't mean to get behind the wheel again, can you? You could have a concussion. Even if your car is drivable, which I doubt."

  He glanced at it and nodded agreement. The Branxton was perfectly drivable, but he had no intention of telling her that. He wanted her to do exactly what she did next. "I'll take you to Marhaba. I'm meeting someone there who can check you over. Marhaba is a large town, so once we know you're all right, you can have your car towed there for repairs and hire another car to take you to the embassy."

  Meeting someone? A contact with whom she shared state secrets? A lover? Gage was surprised at the intensity of his resistance to the idea. It was the most logical one, next to her being a traitor, but he found he didn't like to think of her being either. Hardly a professional assessment, he knew, but he couldn't seem to avoid it.

  He had the feeling that Princess Nadia was the most dangerous woman he had ever met. With a nature that screamed seduction without any effort on her part, and looks to distract any man, she could start a war—or finish one—and not even know she'd done it, he thought. Tamir's answer to Helen of Troy.

  Minutes later he was settled in the passenger seat of her car. They were riding in half-a-million dollars' worth of customized Bentley, he calculated, appreciating the elegance of the leather seats and burred-walnut paneling. As he got in, he'd noticed a bar and television in the back seat, where presumably the princess usually traveled.