[Montacroix Royal Family Series 02] - The Prince & the Showgirl (2 page)

"Daughters." Dixie sighed commiseratingly, patting his thick arm. "They can be a trial at times. But they're also such a blessing. We parents have no choice but to put up with their little moods. Isn't that so?"

Muttering his agreement in the French of his country, the boatman pulled the craft up to the slip. By the time he'd helped all four women onto the floating wooden dock, the wounded-puppy look was gone, revealing that Dixie Darling had made yet another conquest.

Prince Burke Giraudeau de Montacroix was not in a good mood. He paced the floor of the palace library in long strides, the heels of his riding boots clacking on the two-hundred-year-old marble flooring.

"This is ridiculous," he spat out, slicing the air with his leather crop. Frustration was etched on the planes of his lean, intelligent face. "I shall not allow a few malcontents to make me a prisoner in my own home."

Burke's dark eyes flashed with a temper he usually managed to control. He raked his hand through his thick hair and stopped his pacing in front of the George V desk.

"A Giraudeau does not run from trouble like some frightened coward," he reminded the older man seated behind the gleaming expanse of mahogany.

Prince Eduard Giraudeau, Burke's father and regent—for another ten days—of the European principality, displayed his own frustration. "I am not calling you a coward," he bellowed, lowering his voice only when he realized he might be heard by a servant hovering outside the library door. Ever since the warnings had begun appearing around the country, gossip had run amok.

"And I understand your dislike of the situation. But we cannot take for granted the assumption that these are merely malcontents."

The elder prince was playing with an ivory-handled letter opener that had once belonged to Bonaparte. From his glower, Burke suspected that his father would love to thrust Napoleon's gold blade into the leader of the so-called insurrectionist group's black heart.

"I will not risk the life of my only son—and the future of this country—merely because you do not wish to be inconvenienced," Eduard insisted.

It took an effort, but Burke managed not to shoot back that what his father was suggesting was far from mere inconvenience. On the contrary, it was a great deal closer to house arrest.

"Caine?" He turned toward his brother-in-law, who'd been sitting silently in a chair across the room, watching the argument mat had been raging for the past half hour. "What do you think?"

It was not an idle question. An American hero who'd earned a medal for throwing himself in front of his president, subsequently taking a bullet from a would-be assassin's gun, Caine had been a top member of the president's security force. Indeed, he'd met Chantal, his wife and Burke's sister, when he'd been assigned— against his wishes—to provide protection for her during an American tour two years ago.

At the rime, threats had been made against Princess Chantal's life, and although she refused to take them seriously, fortunately Caine had. Weeks after saving her life, he'd opened up a Washington, D.C., security business with his partner, then arrived in Montacroix and proposed to the beautiful headstrong princess. She'd almost given up on convincing the handsome security agent that they were meant to be together.

Burke's father was well-known for his tendency to allow his heart to rule his head where his family was concerned. When Chantal had nearly been killed in a deliberately set fire, Prince Eduard had actually demanded that the Montacroix legislature bring back the guillotine.

Fortunately the august legislators had resisted the prince's orders and eventually Eduard had relented, settling for imprisonment instead. He had, however, been heard to say on numerous occasions that he wished the dungeon prison cells were still available for the miscreants' incarceration.

"I think," Caine said, rubbing his chin as he carefully measured his words, "that right now you remind me of your sister. She almost got herself killed by refusing to acknowledge the fact that she was in danger." His expression was grave, his eyes dark with concern.

Burke muttered a low harsh curse in his native French. "This so-called independence movement is nothing but a bunch of trouble-causing idiots. Crackpots, as you Americans call them."

"They may be crackpots," Caine allowed. "But according to my sources at Interpol, they're heavily armed. And believe me, Burke, there is nothing more dangerous than a maniac with an automatic weapon."

Trusting his brother-in-law's judgment even as he detested his undoubtedly accurate opinion, Burke flung himself into a flimsy Louis XIV chair. His hands curled tightly around the gold-leaf arms, and for a long silent time, he glowered down at his boot tips.

"What would you suggest I do? Keeping in mind," he tacked on quickly, "that I will not give the people of Montacroix the impression that their future regent is a weakling."

"I doubt anyone would think that," Caine responded mildly. "Besides, despite this little cell of miscreants, all the polls show that the majority of citizens like your family. And ninety-eight percent of them would rather remain a monarchy than return rule of Montacroix to France."

"And," he added, "although no one's polled them on this question, I also know that they'd rather have a live monarch who was sensible enough to be cautious than a dead hero."

"Isn't that what I've been telling you?" Prince Eduard broke in.

Burke shrugged. "Life is always a risk," he pointed out. "Especially for those who are perceived to possess wealth."

"All the more reason to tilt the odds in your favor," Caine countered.

Knowing when he'd been bested, Burke threw back his head and laughed. "Now I remember why I never play chess with you, Caine." A bit more relaxed, he leaned forward, linked his fingers between his knees and said, "So what do you have in mind?"

"Your father has a good point about increasing the guards," Caine said. "We've also begun a background check on all the palace employees."

Burke's dark brows crashed downward toward his nose. "You are investigating the staff?"

"The way to catch a criminal, whether he's an international terrorist or a run-of-the-mill neighborhood thug, is to think like one. If I wanted to kill you, Burke, the first thing I'd try to do is place someone on the inside."

Remembering how Chantal had almost died in a fire set by a stand-in waiter at a Philadelphia dinner party, Burke silently conceded that point. "What else?"

"You need bodyguards."

"I refuse."

"So did Chantal, in the beginning. Which is why your father and the president came up with that cockamamy idea of me pretending to be an assistant secretary of state. But later she was damned glad to have me hanging around."

For a great deal more than reasons of security, Caine remembered, opting not to share the intimate particulars of their romance with his wife's brother and father.

"I will accept one bodyguard. No more," Burke said. Diplomacy and compromise, he reminded himself, were at times a necessity. He would give in to his father and Caine on this point, winning a more important one down the line.

"You need at least three," Prince Eduard insisted.

"One." Burke gave his father a strong, no-nonsense look. "And I am only permitting this in order to lessen your concerns."

"You are a very stubborn man," Eduard muttered.

Burke's lips curved in a faint smile. "I had a very good teacher," he said mildly. "What else?" he asked, turning back to Caine.

"We'll want plainclothes people dispersed through the crowd the day of the festival. Along with a visible uniformed detail."

Burke shrugged. "No problem. I would not want any innocent civilians to be injured by these rabble-rousers."

"And, although you are the target, we should put guards on Chantal, Noel, and your mother, to prevent them from being used to get to you."

"You mean as hostages?" That unpalatable idea had not occurred to Burke.

"It's been known to happen."

"Definitely the women shall be assigned body-guards," Burke said with a decisiveness that Caine suspected would serve him well when he ascended to the throne.

Caine did not want to consider how Chantal would react when she learned that she was about to be put under protection again. It didn't matter how angry she got, he decided. Because he would do anything to keep his wife safe.

"Can you take care of this?" Burke asked Caine.

"I already have. There's one thing more."

Burke frowned. "If it's about the race—"

"A Grand Prix event is dangerous enough by itself," Caine interrupted. "Add to that the possibility of someone tampering with your car and you're just asking for trouble."

Burke shook his dark head. "I will not cancel the race. The Montacroix Grand Prix has been the most glamorous in the European racing circuit for more than fifty years. The race is an important tourist draw. Why, for the past two years, we have hosted more spectators than Monaco."

"We are not asking you to cancel anything," Prince Eduard said. "There is no reason that the race cannot continue as scheduled."

Burke was on his feet again. "Neither will I forfeit. I have every intention of winning."

"Winning isn't everything." Caine regretted having said the words the moment he heard them leave his mouth. In many ways, he and his brother-in-law were a great deal alike; Caine had never responded well to worn clichés and knew Burke didn't either.

"Since I've always admired you, Caine," Burke said, "I will pretend I did not hear that." He folded his arms across the front of his white shirt. "I intend to race. The people expect it of me. Indeed, without meaning to sound immodest, my participation is one of the reasons the Montacroix Grand Prix has become so successful in past years."

Burke had realized long ago that many of the people showed up out of some dark, slightly warped anticipation, hoping to watch him crash. But money was money, after all, and a lot of it flowed into Montacroix's coffers during the annual event.

"I also have every intention of winning. This one point is not negotiable."

Having spent the past two years intimately living with a gorgeous example of Giraudeau tenacity, Caine had learned to recognize when he was licked.

"If we can't change your mind, we'll at least want our own people in the pits."

"Fine." Having gotten his way on this major point, Burke decided he could afford to be generous. "So long as they don't get in the way."

"They won't."

Caine stood as well. "Well then, I guess I'd better get to work."

"Thank you, Caine," Prince Eduard said. "Once again our family is indebted to you for your assistance."

"I just hope I can be of help, sir," Caine said.

"Of that I have no doubt," the regent responded. "Oh, and please tell my daughter that her mother and I would like the entire family at dinner this evening. We will be having guests."

"Guests?" Burke asked suspiciously.

As the coronation had grown closer, his father had begun engaging in embarrassingly overt matchmaking. There had been several times over the past six months when Burke had innocently entered the dining room, only to find another candidate—usually some winsome European princess—smiling enticingly up at him.

Burke knew that his father's heavy-handed matchmaking had one goal: to ensure an heir. Burke realized that some day he would have to marry. It was, after all, his duty. In the meantime, he was enjoying his single life.

"That singing group Chantal recommended for the festival," his father reminded him. "The Darlings."

"Oh." Burke had forgotten. "The daughters of that country singer who recently died." An image immediately came to mind: one of women wearing beaded, fringed cowgirl outfits and high, towering platinum hair sprayed to a rock-hard consistency.

"That's right," Eduard agreed. "Since the young women and their mother have come a very long way to perform, we must extend a warm welcome. Your mother has invited them to stay here at the palace," he revealed. "We will, of course, expect you at dinner, as well."

Personally, Burke thought that the women's long trip hadn't exactly been a sacrifice. Not when you considered what performing at the precoronation festival could do to their careers. Still, knowing his mother's feelings about hospitality, he realized that tonight's dinner was a command performance.

"I'll be there," he agreed, deciding that he'd just have to test his car's new engine earlier in the day than planned.

"Of course you will," Prince Eduard agreed, obviously not having expected any other answer.

At that moment the phone on his desk rang. As he answered it, Burke and Caine left the library.

For a man who could afford to purchase whatever in the world might strike his fancy, there was one thing that was extremely difficult for Burke to obtain: privacy.

And now, thanks to a noisy, undoubtedly impotent group of malcontents, he'd just lost a bit more.

As he strode across the brick driveway, headed toward the garage, Burke's scowl mirrored the threatening clouds gathering overhead.

Despite the enviable fact that he would soon ascend to the throne of one of Europe's richest—albeit smallest—countries, Prince Burke Giraudeau de Montacroix was definitely not a happy man.