Книга - The Secret Princess

The Secret Princess
Elizabeth Harbison


FROM PLAIN JANE TO PRINCESS?Amy Scott had been more at home sitting in her small-town bookshop than she'd ever be on the imperial throne of Lufthania. But according to heart-stoppingly-handsome Crown Prince Wilhelm, that is exactly where the striking redhead belonged, on his throne.Then just as Amy, uh, Princess Amelia, was getting the hang of the princess thing–and oh-so-much closer to her regal tutor–Prince Will wanted to bow out of her life. It seemed he had a personal rule about falling in love, especially with his new sovereign.To win his heart, Amy would have to make some royal allowances. But could she keep her charming prince and also make this fairy tale come true?









The only thing wrong with his story—the only part that didn’t tug at her heart—was the part about being royal.


If he had come along, telling her he had evidence of her biological family and that they lived in Cleveland, she would have been thrilled. But this business of royalty tipped the story into the realm of fairy tale, making it something she couldn’t entirely believe.

Yet…what if it was true? What if the wind outside had brought something magic along with it, something other than snow and power failures?

A handsome stranger.

And her own past.


Dear Reader,

Baby birds are chirping, bees are buzzing and the tulips are beginning to bud. Spring is here, so why not revive the winter-weary romantic in you by reading four brand-new love stories from Silhouette Romance this month.

What’s an old soldier to do when a bunch of needy rug rats and a hapless beauty crash his retreat? Fall in love, of course! Follow the antics of this funny little troop in Major Daddy (#1710) by Cara Colter.

In Dylan’s Last Dare (#1711), the latest title in Patricia Thayer’s dynamite THE TEXAS BROTHERHOOD miniseries, a cranky cowboy locks horns with his feisty physical therapist and then learns she has a little secret she soon won’t be able to hide!

Jordan Bishop wants to dwell in a castle and live happily ever after, but somehow things aren’t going as she’s planned, in An Heiress on His Doorstep (#1712) by Teresa Southwick. This is the final title in Southwick’s delightful IF WISHES WERE…miniseries in which three friends have their dreams come true in unexpected ways.

When a bookworm meets her prince and discovers she’s a real-life princess, will she be able to make her own happy ending? Find out in The Secret Princess (#1713) by Elizabeth Harbison.

Celebrate the new season, feel the love and join in the fun by experiencing each of these lively new love stories from Silhouette Romance!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor




The Secret Princess

Elizabeth Harbison







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Johnny Tillotson: Romantic idol to millions and

my own Hilton hallway buddy. Here’s to you, Johnny.




Books by Elizabeth Harbison


Silhouette Romance

A Groom for Maggie #1239

Wife Without a Past #1258

Two Brothers and a Bride #1286

True Love Ranch #1323

* (#litres_trial_promo)Emma and the Earl #1410

* (#litres_trial_promo)Plain Jane Marries the Boss #1416

* (#litres_trial_promo)Annie and the Prince #1423

* (#litres_trial_promo)His Secret Heir #1528

A Pregnant Proposal #1553

Princess Takes a Holiday #1643

The Secret Princess #1713

Silhouette Special Edition

Drive Me Wild #1476

Midnight Cravings #1539

Silhouette Books

Lone Star Country Club

Mission Creek Mother-To-Be




ELIZABETH HARBISON


Has been an avid reader for as long as she can remember. After devouring the Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden series in grade school, she moved on to the suspense of Mary Stewart, Dorothy Eden and Daphne du Maurier, just to name a few. From there it was a natural progression to writing, although early efforts have been securely hidden away in the back of a closet.

After authoring three cookbooks, Elizabeth turned her hand to writing romances and hasn’t looked back. Her second book for Silhouette Romance, Wife Without a Past, was a 1998 finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award in the Best Traditional Romance category.

Elizabeth lives in Maryland with her husband, John, daughter Mary Paige, and son Jack, as well as two dogs, Bailey and Zuzu. She loves to hear from readers and you can write to her c/o Box 1636, Germantown, MD 20875.


LONG-LOST PRINCESS FOUND…IN DENTYTOWN!

Maryland—Residents of Dentytown were shocked yesterday to learn that Amy Scott, owner of a modest travel bookshop, might, in fact, be the missing Princess Amelia of Lufthania. Details are sketchy, but one witness reported that “a totally hot guy,” who said he worked for Crown Prince Wilhelm of Lufthania, showed up at Ms. Scott’s bookshop personally to give her the news and escort her to her native country. The witness also reported that Ms. Scott was “cautious” about his claims and agreed to have a DNA test. There is no official word yet, but royal watchers are keeping an eager eye on the news from the tiny Alpine country to learn if they’ve had a real princess in their midst for 25 years.




Contents


Prologue (#u5da008bd-1354-59c5-80d5-f6ce0826d001)

Chapter One (#u5ae32ed6-66f8-5a90-ad73-294c70ff8214)

Chapter Two (#u58f46f68-1863-5588-a988-1868b99f152c)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

Twenty-Five Years Ago

“We have to go now, tonight. As the legitimate heirs to the throne, you and Amelia are in terrible danger.”

Princess Lily of Lufthania looked at her husband and hoped her eyes didn’t show the fear she felt. “I know. I don’t want to leave my country but…” Tears burned her eyes. “We have no choice. Father has friends in Washington, D.C. We’ll be safe there until we find a new home.” As if any place but Lufthania would ever feel like home.

Georg put his hand over hers. “You will be happy again. I swear it.”

She gave a small smile. “As long as I’m with you.”

He nodded but looked unconvinced. “We’ll have a brand-new start. We can make up new names for ourselves, new histories. How many people get a chance like that?”

They both knew the answer: only those unlucky enough to have their home stormed by hostile forces who would as soon kill them as look at them.

“I suppose we’re lucky,” she said, trying to believe it. Commander Maxim’s soldiers had already killed her widowed father, and although Maxim had said he would spare Princess Lily and give her a country home that had been in the family for many years, she knew it would be little more than a house arrest at best, and a setup for murder at worst. No, Lily and her husband and daughter needed to escape before the commander’s coup was complete and the airlines were under his control. “I’m certain the people will not stand for this new regime. Before we know it, we will be free to return.”

His gaze was serious. “You do know we might never return.”

“Yes.” Her father had been very pointed in telling her that, right before he pressed a large diamond ring into her hand and made her promise to leave the country, to flee to safety and sell the ring in order to start a new life.

“But Papa,” she had said, “you can come with us.”

“No, my sweet.” He drew her to him in a strong embrace. “I cannot leave my country. I have lived for my duties to the people and I will die for them, if need be.” He saw her objection before she voiced it, and put a finger to her lips. “No, it is not the same for you. You must be safe. You must keep my granddaughter safe. One day you will return to the throne. In the meantime, you must be sure they cannot find you. They may view the rightful heir to the throne as a threat.” It was as if he’d known he was going to die. Perhaps he had.

Lily returned her attention to her husband. “I’m certain we will return. Right always wins in the end.”

He looked into her eyes and smiled. “So idealistic. Is it any wonder that I love you so much?”

Her eyes burned but she was out of tears. “I love you too, Georg. More than I can say.”

Their daughter, little Princess Amelia, stirred in her cot. In two and a half months, Amelia would turn three. By then, her entire world would be different. She would no longer sleep in the butter-yellow nursery with the soft cotton sheets that had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s before that; she would no longer run into her grandpa’s arms every morning before breakfast; she would no longer have a future planned and destined for her, with assurances of home, food, safety and security.

And she would no longer be a princess.




Chapter One


Amy Scott turned the sign on the door around so Sorry, We’re Closed faced the icy winter landscape outside. Not that many people in Dentytown cared if they were closed this time of year. In the winter months, Blue Yonder Travel Books did most of its business over the Internet rather than from customers in the tiny Maryland town.

“Think it’s going to keep snowing?” Amy’s employee, Mara Hyatt, walked over to the window next to Amy.

“I hope so.” Amy sighed and watched the small snowflakes trailing down from the sky. The snow always gave her a sense of peace.

The wind lifted and blew against the glass window hard enough to make Amy step back in surprise. This was no ordinary snow. Something strange was brewing out there. She could feel it. Almost as if the wind was bringing change of some sort.

“Did you package that order for the safari books?” Amy asked, trying to distract herself from the feeling of premonition.

“Right there.” Mara pointed to a pile of neatly packed and labeled boxes. “You want me to wait for the shipping company?”

Amy waved the notion away. “No, I’ve got some things to do, anyway. Go on. Enjoy the snow. Go sledding.”

“Okay.” Mara gathered her coat and scarf. “Call me if you need me.”

Amy smiled. “Will do.”

The bell on the door trilled as Mara left, and Amy stood there for several moments, shivering. She couldn’t say if it was the cold or the strange apprehension about the storm that did it, but she was glad she had some work to help take her mind off of it. She was nearly finished balancing the books when a strong wind lifted and the lights flickered off.

Amy froze. The only sound was the gentle ting of the bells over the door, swaying in the whispers of wind that pushed through the cracks.

She let out a long breath. It was just a power failure. Dentytown still had the exposed old-fashioned electrical wires that could be downed by a falling tree branch. That was probably exactly what had happened. Feeling somewhat reassured, she opened the drawer in front of her and felt for a matchbook she knew was there. It was from a restaurant she’d visited in New York years ago. She’d just seen it in the drawer this afternoon.

She found the matches, struck one and lit the two aromatherapy candles she had on her desk. The room sprang back to life in the unsteady orange glow. She stood up and tried to stretch the tension out of her limbs.

No sooner did she take a single relieved breath than the bells over the door rang again, this time louder as the door was being opened.

Amy turned as a stranger came in.

He must have been over six feet tall, with midnight-black hair that gleamed eerily by the candlelight. His eyes looked dark, though she couldn’t be sure, and a hint of shadow on his jaw gave him a shadowed look, like a character in a book who could be either good or evil.

Amy swallowed. “I’m sorry, the store is closed.” She felt behind her for the letter opener on the desk.

“I’m not here to shop,” he said, his voice deep and deliberate. He had just a hint of some sort of accent. “I’m looking for someone—”

She thought fast. “Oh, you must be Allen’s hunting buddy. He’s in the back getting his guns together for your trip.” She moved around the desk, hoping the stranger didn’t notice her shaking hands and jelly legs. “I’ll just go get him.” She could go out the back door, she decided. The police station was only two blocks away. Someone would be on duty, and she could bring whoever it was back with her.

She was almost to the door when the man said, “I’m looking for Amy Scott.”

She stopped and turned around. “Why?”

“Are you Amy Scott?”

She glanced at the door, then back at the man, who had not moved since he’d come in. He wasn’t advancing on her. If she needed to, she could almost certainly outrun him, if only because she had several yards’ head start. “Who wants to know?”

He stepped closer. “But you are, of course. Your face…it’s unmistakable.”

She automatically lifted a hand to her cheek. “Have we met?”

“No, I don’t believe we have.” His mouth curved toward a smile but didn’t quite make it. In the flickering candlelight he looked the way she’d always imagined Sir Lancelot—a deeply handsome face, sensuous mouth, intelligent eyes, but a stature that implied such power that he was almost intimidating. Almost.

He moved toward her and gently lowered her hand from her face. “My God, you’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined.”

Her heart hammered in response to his touch, even as her brain told her to back off and be prepared to call the authorities in case this was some crazy guy off the street.

“You tried to imagine what I’d look like?” she heard herself ask.

“All my life.”

Though the door was closed, when the wind lifted again outside, Amy imagined she felt it finger through her hair and tingle down her back. “Why?” she asked, standing her ground by the back door. “Who are you?”

“Forgive me,” he said, smiling the kind of thousand-megawatt smile usually reserved for movie stars. “I’m not explaining myself very well. I am,” did he hesitate? “Franz Burgess. I am in the royal service of the Crown Prince of Lufthania.”

“Lufthania?” Last year she had spent a frustrating month trying to locate a travel book on Lufthania for the Bradleys, a local couple who were always looking for unusual and obscure travel destinations. She had been unsuccessful in finding a book, but she’d learned just enough about the small Alpine country to pique her curiosity.

“You have heard of Lufthania?” he asked, not necessarily surprised, but he watched her with keen interest.

“Just barely. Who did you say you were?”

“I am secretary to the Crown Prince. Looking for, well, you might say a long-lost relative.”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “Then you must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. There’s no royalty here.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” The lights flickered on and Amy said a silent thanks to the Chesapeake Electric Company. “Oh. That’s better.” She blew out her candles and felt more confident now that the power was on.

That is, until she looked at Franz Burgess and saw what the candlelight had barely revealed.

Her first crazy thought was that he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. It was that simple. His eyes, which had held so much expression even in the dark, were so vibrant a green that it seemed as if light came from inside of them. His hair was wavy and haphazard, a rich chocolate brown touched with auburn lights from the same sun that had tanned his skin.

He was a little bit younger than she’d initially thought, perhaps in his mid-thirties. Faint lines bracketed his mouth and fanned out from the corners of his eyes, but rather than aging him, they gave his face just the ruggedness it needed to keep from being too pretty.

“As I was saying,” he said, “I’m here in the prince’s service, looking for a lost relative.”

“A lost relative,” she repeated flatly. “Of royalty.” She stared at him for a moment before asking, “Are you an actor?” That would explain the slick good looks, the smooth delivery of an absurd story. Someone had hired him as a practical joke.

He looked puzzled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did one of my friends send you here with this crazy story?” That had to be it. Someone remembered her search for books on Lufthania and thought it would be funny to resurrect the place.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” she said. “My birthday isn’t for two months.”

“On the contrary,” he said, his gaze even. “Your birthday was the day before yesterday.”

The silence that followed was brief but shuddering.

“What are you talking about?” Her nerves went tight. “My birthday is in almost two months. January twenty-ninth.”

He gave a short nod, as if he knew better but wouldn’t bother with such small details right now. “Let me explain why I’m here. Why I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have.”

He nodded. “For a very long time, actually.”

A tremor rumbled through her. “Okay, what do you want? Special orders can take several weeks, you know.”

“I’m not here to order anything. My business with you is personal.”

Gooseflesh rose on her arms and she ran her hands over them. “What personal business could you possibly have with me, Mr. Burgess?”

His gaze was steady. “What I’ve come to tell you might seem unbelievable to you, but it’s true, and I believe you’ll consider it very good news.”

Amy’s muscles tensed. “So what is it?”

He glanced at her desk. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

“That doesn’t sound like good news.”

He smiled. “Sometimes good news can make you weak in the knees as well.”

She bet this guy knew a lot about making women weak in the knees. “I’ll be fine,” she said, defying her own reaction to him more than his suggestion that she might go weak. “Spill it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

Now it was her turn to smile. “Spill it. Your news. I’m ready.”

“All right.” He took a breath, then cocked his head slightly and looked at her for a moment before saying, “I’m here on behalf of your country.”

She hesitated. “Funny, you don’t look like Uncle Sam.”

“Not America. Lufthania.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. He watched her closely as he added in a careful tone, “The country where you were born. The country of your blood family.”

Her face turned cold, then her shoulders, her arms and, in a rush, the rest of her. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. No one ever talked about her biological relatives. She knew nothing about them except that her parents had died in a car accident that she’d survived. Just under three years old, she was taken to Kendell County Hospital, where her adoptive mother, Pamela Scott, had worked as a nurse on the night shift.

The authorities had tried to identify her parents to no avail. No missing-persons reports ever surfaced, no alerts for missing children. It was as if they didn’t exist at all. The only reason they knew Amy’s name, or thought they did, was because one of the paramedics on the scene had heard the woman saying the name repeatedly before she died. They concluded that Amy must have been the child’s name.

Pamela Scott had taken to Amy immediately, working extra shifts to nurse her back to health. When no family could be traced, she and her husband, Lyle, a very successful attorney, had become Amy’s foster parents. After several years they were finally able to make the adoption final.

Amy found her voice. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny.”

He moved closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “I assure you, it isn’t a joke. Now, why don’t you sit down and let me tell you what brought me to you?” He guided her to her chair and she sat like an obedient child. “I only ask that you hear me out with an open mind.”

She glanced behind him. “Perhaps it would be wise of me to listen with an open door as well.”

He smiled. “You’re quite safe, I assure you.”

She gestured toward him. “Okay, I’m listening.”

He took a breath. “You are the heir to the throne of Lufthania.”

A moment passed. “Doesn’t Lufthania already have someone on the throne?”

He gave a short nod. “A crown prince who wants to return the throne to the rightful heir after his parents stole it nearly three decades ago.”

“Sort of like returning a lost wallet, huh?”

“This is no joke.”

She could see he meant it. “Okay. So where are the parents who stole the throne? Aren’t they going to be miffed that he’s giving it back?”

His face remained impassive. “They’re both dead. The princess died ten years ago of cancer. Her husband, who was much older than she, passed away two years ago of natural causes.”

“Oh.” Amy felt she shouldn’t have been flip. “Sorry, I—well, why don’t you tell me how this led you to me?”

“As I’ve indicated, twenty-five years ago, there was a political revolution, a coup d’état, in Lufthania. A very distant cousin thought the throne was legitimately his, since it had been taken away from his family several hundred years back owing to the fact that the only heir was not blood, but a foundling.”

“Adopted?”

He nodded. “Exactly. Although that is not a term they used in the sixteenth century.”

Amy frowned. “So this descendant of an adopted heir decided to take back what he thought would have been his right, had his ancestor been accepted three hundred years earlier?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like Shakespeare.”

He smiled. “Shakespeare could have given it a much tidier ending.”

“What was the ending?”

“Prince Josef was removed from the throne and killed by overenthusiastic soldiers for the opposition.”

“What about his wife?”

He shook his head. “She had died years before in a riding accident. But his daughter, Princess Lily, escaped the country with her husband and their young daughter. Very few people knew where they’d gone, and not one person knew all of their movements, because it could have compromised their safety. But I have traced their path to the United States.”

She was skeptical. “How? It seems to me they wouldn’t have wanted to be traceable.”

“They didn’t. But it’s been so long now and the political climate of Lufthania has changed so much—it is now a democracy—that people are finally willing to talk about what they know.”

“People who knew them are still alive?”

He nodded, and she noticed a haunted look in his eye. “Lily and her family stayed with friends in Washington, D.C., for a while, before shedding their identities entirely and leaving the city. Sort of like your witness protection program, you understand?”

Amy nodded.

“They stayed in the city for some months before picking their destination and leaving. Their friends never expected to hear from them again, so when they didn’t, they were not alarmed.”

“They never heard about an accident involving people who couldn’t be identified but who fit the descriptions?” She very nearly said our descriptions but caught herself.

“No. When the accident occurred, it didn’t make national headlines because it was assumed all identifying papers had merely been lost in the explosion of the car. The authorities checked national databases for missing people for more than a year afterward, but nothing ever came of it.” His voice softened. “But, then, you already know that part of the story.”

Amy swallowed a very large lump in her throat, but it didn’t go away. She felt her lower lip tremble, and pressed her lips together to stop it. She didn’t want to cry. She’d spent a long time not crying about those missing first years and the parents she’d lost. Somehow it had felt disloyal to Pamela and Lyle Scott to even think about her biological parents, and the fact that Pamela and Lyle never mentioned them either seemed to corroborate that.

So for more than two decades Amy had dismissed those thoughts from her mind over and over again until, finally, she rarely had them anymore.

And now this man—this stranger—came in and churned all those emotions up again.

Seeing her distress, Franz pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’m so sorry to touch on such a tender subject, but you need to know that you belong in Lufthania.”

Amy dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief and tried to smile. “Look, you must have the wrong person. I’m no princess.”

“As I understand it, you have no memory whatsoever of your life before the accident.”

“Who told you that?”

“I’ve done a lot of research in trying to find you.”

“I’m not sure I like that.”

He gave a half shrug. “It was necessary. Now, you can’t very well say that you’re not the princess if you don’t remember who you are.”

“It just defies logic,” she argued. “I have an ordinary life. An ordinary business, with ordinary bills that need to be paid.”

He smiled. “That doesn’t preclude your heritage.”

She sighed. “Look, what would royalty have been doing driving through Dentytown in an old Chevy, for Pete’s sake?”

“They didn’t want to be found.”

“Well, surely they could have traced my mother’s DNA during—” she paused and took a short breath “—during the autopsy.”

He shook his head. “Not in those days. It would, of course, be possible now. In fact, that’s exactly what I have in mind.”

She stepped back involuntarily, as if he might pull a syringe out of his pocket. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“For you to go back to Lufthania with me and have your blood tested with DNA samples from your grandparents. The laboratory can have the results back four to seven days after the test.”

She gave a shout of laughter, then, when he remained solemn, asked, “Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“You want me to go to Lufthania? Just leave my life behind and go jetting off with some guy I don’t even know on the basis of a ten-minute story I find unbelievable? No thanks.” She laughed and tried to imagine her parents’ reaction to such an announcement and laughed again. They’d probably be up from Florida within three hours. “No way.”

“Are you not even a little curious?”

“No. This is crazy. And even if I were, why couldn’t I just give blood here? Go to my own doctor and have him take blood and send it to your lab technicians or whatever? Why on earth should I have to leave the country for such a routine test?”

“Because we are not talking about a simple paternity test,” he explained patiently. “This is to confirm your position as royalty. The reigning monarch of a nation. There must be witnesses to the blood test, witnesses who can confirm and swear that you were present as the test subject.”

She still didn’t get it. “Can’t you have witnesses here?”

“It would be impractical to fly a number of witnesses here rather than to simply fly you there. To be honest with you, I didn’t anticipate having to persuade you to go.”

“What woman in her right mind would just blindly go along with this?”

“One who is open to the facts. One who wants to know where she comes from.”

“Well, I do want to know, of course. But I’m not prepared to just jet off to a foreign country and dive in as the long-lost princess when I don’t even speak the language. I don’t even know what the language in Lufthania is!”

“It’s German.”

“Well, there you go. I don’t speak or understand one word of German. How could I possibly become the princess there?”

“Your birthright has nothing to do with the language you speak. You have been in this country for nearly a quarter of a century. Naturally, much of your heritage has been lost to you.”

“Much of my heritage,” she repeated, unconvinced. She thought of her father, always practical. What would he do? One answer hit her suddenly. “I’m not even sure of your heritage. Do you have any proof that you are who you say you are?” She should have asked that the moment he walked through the door.

“Of course.” He stopped and pulled a wallet out of the inner pocket of his dark overcoat. He handed it to her.

On top, there was a photo identification card with his name and vital statistics, as well as the designation Secretary in Service of His Highness, Prince Wilhelm of Lufthania.

Amy wouldn’t have known a legitimate Arizona driver’s license if she saw it, much less a legitimate Secretary in the Service of His Highness, Prince Wilhelm of Lufthania ID card, but she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Did you get this at some carnival or something?”

He did not smile. “I did not.”

She handed it back to him. “Well, sorry, but that doesn’t convince me of anything. I’m not leaving the country on the basis of your story so far.”

“And if I gave you satisfactory evidence of my contention?”

He looked so serious that she had to stop and think. “Maybe—maybe—I would agree to this crazy plan. But I would need to have pretty hard evidence.”

He looked amused. “You’re very like your mother, Amelia.”

“It’s Amy,” she corrected him absently.

“No, it’s Amelia. Princess Amelia Louisa Gretchen May.” He smiled sadly. “However, your parents simply called you Amé.”

“Amé,” she repeated, numb. The name, as he pronounced it, held some resonance for her. It echoed through cobwebbed chambers of her memory. Amé. Amy. She could almost hear it. It was easy to see why the paramedics had assumed the woman was saying “Amy.”

For her own part, Amy had not spoken a word for the first four months after the accident. After ruling out autism, psychologists had attributed her silence to the trauma. If Mr. Burgess’s story was correct, though, it could conceivably be because she hadn’t understood the language.

But that was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched in his features. “Can I get you some water? Do you have brandy here?”

Despite her shock, she had to smile at the idea of having a bottle stashed somewhere. “No, I don’t. I’m okay. It’s just…obviously, this is all a bit of a shock. Not that I believe it,” she was quick to add. “But I’m willing to listen if you’ll tell me everything.”

He nodded. “I will. But not now. You look very tired tonight.”

Now that he mentioned it, she was exhausted. This brief conversation had taken a toll on her energy. Besides, she needed time to call her parents, to get their advice and opinions. It was late now, but she’d call, anyway. “Can you come back tomorrow morning? With this proof you say you have?”

“Of course. For now, why don’t you let me take you home? I have a car right out front.” He gestured toward the wide plate-glass window, through which Amy could see a long black limousine parked out front.

“No, thanks. I only live a couple of blocks away and, frankly, I could use the walk.”

“It’s quite inclement,” he pointed out.

The snow was falling heavily now, billowed by the occasional gust of wind.

“Then you’d better get that boat out of here before it gets stuck,” Amy said. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll be here from 10:00 a.m. until at least five or six.”

“I’ll be here early. I hope you’ll be ready to go.” Before she could object, he raised a hand. “Just in case the evidence is sufficiently persuasive to you. You must be open to that possibility.”

He was a hard man to refuse. “Okay. I’ll try. But I’m not making any guarantees.”

“Very well.” He gave a short bow. “Until tomorrow.” With one last lingering gaze, he turned and left the shop. The driver hopped out of the car to open the door for him, but he waved him off and opened it himself. He looked back at the shop before closing the door behind him, and for one insane moment, Amy wondered if she’d dreamed the whole thing.

Then the wind blew again, pushing the door open. Amy ran to close it. The small spots of cold snow that landed on her skin assured her that she was awake.

She closed the door and turned the dead bolt. How was it she’d managed to forget to do that earlier? She always locked the bolt after she turned the sign to Closed.

She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes. The only thing wrong with his story—the only part that didn’t tug at her heart—was the part about being royal. If he had come along telling her he had evidence of her biological family and that they lived in Cleveland, she would have been thrilled. But this business of royalty tipped the story into the realm of fairy tale, making it something she couldn’t entirely believe.

Yet…what if it were true? What if the wind outside had brought something magic along with it, something other than snow and power failures?

A handsome stranger.

And her own past.




Chapter Two


Franz Burgess, known as Will to his friends, went outside into the damp, cold air and got into the waiting limousine. He’d hoped to feel relieved by this point, but he’d known, going into this, that he might be disappointed. With everything he knew about Amy Scott—and he knew a great deal—he should have known her intelligence would make her cynical, at least give her a cynical reaction to his story.

One thing he had not known, or prepared himself for, was his own reaction to her. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her he’d been captivated by her. He could have stayed all night, watching her eyes flash when she spoke, listening to her voice, observing her movements and the way her clothes hugged the soft contours of her body.

It wasn’t simply that she was attractive. He had plenty of access to beautiful women. At times, he was even tired of beautiful women. They all seemed so vacant. But Amy Scott was different. Her coloring was like that of many women from his country, the pale skin and faintly pink cheeks. Yet she had something different, something extra. It was an unexplainable quality of magnetism that he’d rarely encountered. It was easy to imagine himself watching her for many years to come.

If only he could persuade her that the story he’d told her was true. She was so perfect for the role. Her sharp intelligence, combined with her beauty, would make her an excellent princess. Yet she was skeptical. And despite financial difficulties that he knew about, she was strong enough to resist the temptation of being told she was a princess and would thus have no more bills and debtors to worry about.

So he was going to have to bring out documentation, to try to convince her to accompany him back to Lufthania. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that already. But he’d budgeted time for that possibility.

However, he hadn’t budgeted time, or prepared himself mentally, for the possibility that he couldn’t convince her. That would be a disaster for him. Yet it was looking entirely possible that he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t come back to Lufthania with him.

His entire life depended on it.

The first thing Amy did after Franz Burgess left was call her parents. They both got on the line and for half an hour they discussed the situation. Amy was surprised that her parents didn’t immediately dismiss the idea that she might be a princess.

To the contrary, her mother was ready to believe it. “I’ve always thought you were more regal than most people,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you were never too fond of doing the dishes, and it was darn near impossible to get you to clean your room.” She laughed. “I always thought it was a queen complex, but princess will do.”

Amy was glad for the levity. In the end, they agreed that Amy would see Franz Burgess’s evidence in the morning and make a judgment based on that. If he was on the up-and-up, they reasoned, he must have some pretty compelling evidence. She could hear him out and call them back with the additional facts.

Meanwhile, her father would call the Lufthania embassy and see if he could verify the existence of Franz Burgess.

After that, they would decide together what Amy should do.

This plan made Amy feel a lot better, and she spent the rest of the night looking for any information she could find on Lufthania.

First, she checked her stock for any books that might make even slight mention of Lufthania. Since it was a very small country and didn’t hold the international cachet of, say, Monaco, no books were devoted to it entirely, but she recalled several references to it in some of the books on Germany and Switzerland. It was little more than a footnote, but when she looked through an out-of-print volume on the region, she was able to find a slender chapter devoted to the country and its history.

The book was written in the late 1940s and had no reference to the coup d’état Franz Burgess had told her about. However, it did go into a bit of detail on the royal family, Prince Josef, Princess Lily and their daughter, Princess Amelia. The young princess was pictured playing in the snow with a St. Bernard puppy.

It was difficult to distinguish the girl’s facial features, so when Amy imagined she looked familiar—perhaps similar to the image mirrors had held of Amy some twenty years ago—she chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

Still, she read and reread the pages, scouring for every mention of Lufthania, and she kept returning to the picture of the little girl.

Then she tried the Internet. The story of the coup was there, but no pictures. She also found some official government documents that appeared to be written in a Germanic language, and a couple of personal travel diaries written by people who had happened through a corner of Lufthania on their way to someplace more famous, but that was all. There was nothing solid to persuade Amy to believe Franz Burgess’s story.

Yet as difficult as it was to believe it could be true, it managed to touch Amy’s heartstrings. What could be better for the girl who had spent a lifetime wondering who she really was and where—if anywhere—she’d truly fit in, than to find her family history and home all in one shot? To find a long, documented family tree? One with golden apples, no less.

She read through the night and far into the wee hours of the morning, stopping occasionally to refill her coffee mug, or gaze at the snow in the hazy glow of the street lamp. She’d always enjoyed the cold weather more than the heat. Did that mean anything? Was it significant somehow? Did it prove the fantastic story?

The questions swirled around in her mind like snow on the wind until her eyelids grew heavy and the words began to blur before her.

She fell asleep without even realizing it until the sunny white glare of morning cut through the store windows and woke her just in time to see the long black limo pull up outside.

He was back.

Amy stood up quickly, raked her hand through her hair and threw open her desk drawer to look for a piece of gum to make up for not having time to brush her teeth.

He tapped on the door just as she was tossing the wrapper into the trash.

She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself before walking, as regally as she could, to the door and letting him in.

“Good morning,” he said, a smile in his eyes. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

She feigned surprise. “Wake me? Of course not. I’ve been here for at least an hour.”

“At least.” He did smile then, and reached out and touched her very briefly on the cheek. “You appear to have the imprint of your computer keyboard on your face.”

“What?” She lifted her hand to her cheek.

“And you haven’t changed your clothes since last night. Did you fall asleep here reading about Lufthania?”

An objection lodged in her throat, but she swallowed it. Why bother pretending she wasn’t curious? “Weren’t you expecting me to check up on your story?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” He held up a valise. “Which is why I brought you all of the documentation I had that led me to you.” He dropped the valise on the desk and pulled off his expensive-looking leather driving gloves, one by one, stuffing them into the pockets of his camel-colored overcoat.

“That’s for me to look through?”

“Please.” He made an expansive gesture. “Be my guest.”

“Why didn’t you bring all of this with you in the first place?”

He gave a brief smile. “I first had to be convinced you were the one. Then I could set about convincing you, although, to tell you the truth, I didn’t think you would need much persuasion.” For just a moment, he looked grim. “I hope what I have here will convince you.”

“We’ll see.” She gave a dry laugh. “I don’t know what kind of women you know, but I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t approach this with caution.”

She took the valise and sat down with it on the other side of the desk. As she unzipped it, she had half a thought that it might not be safe to open anything brought by a man she didn’t know and who—if his story was false, as it must be—might well be nuts.

But it was already open before she could stop herself, and her curiosity was rewarded with a large, neat stack of papers and photographs.

He walked around behind her and bent over her. “If I may explain,” he said. “This is the route Princess Lily and her husband, Georg, along with you, took out of Lufthania. As you can see, they were not yet hiding their identities, so this is unrefuted documentation.”

Amy looked at what could have been a travel itinerary for any of her bookstore customers who were planning a vacation. It was hard to believe it was the escape route of a princess and her family.

“Next you have the affidavit of Ambassador Whisle, and his wife, who took Princess Lily, Georg and Amé into their Washington, D.C., home.”

Determined to be thorough, Amy took the pages in hand and read carefully as he explained each and every piece of paper. Every once in a while, she found herself distracted by his proximity, and the clean, spicy scent of his after-shave—a unique and alluring scent, unlike anything she’d ever smelled before. But each time her mind wandered, she forced it back to the papers before her. After all, this could be—

She couldn’t even finish the thought. Of course it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be anything to do with her. Still, it made for an interesting and romantic story. Perhaps she could put it on her Web site along with recommendations for the books she’d found on Lufthania.

“Amelia?”

“Yes?” she answered absently, then immediately realized her mistake. “Are you talking to me?”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “There is only one Amelia here.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Maybe not even that many.”

He raised his eyebrows and gave a short nod, the traditional expression of touché. “I was going to ask you if you wanted some breakfast. I can send my driver to the shop, if you like.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” She thought of the coffee and gum, which were all she’d had for twelve hours. “Unless you’re sending him, anyway?”

He flashed a brilliant smile and held up his index finger. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She watched him go out the front door, apparently heedless of the cold, and bend down to the passenger window of the limo. It opened and he said something to the driver inside, then stood back up, gave two flat-handed pats on the roof of the car and came back in while the limo edged out of sight. He came back over to her, the crisp scent of cold and snow clinging to him.

“If you’ve finished reading the affidavit, you can see here the receipt for a car purchased on the afternoon that they left the ambassador’s mansion. That car fits the description of the one that was in the accident.”

Amy listened to his story, following along with his visual aids, eyewitness accounts, maps and various other pieces of evidence that made his story seem plausible. She believed he might have accurately traced the movements of the princess and her family to a point, and then moved onto her own history.

“Like your mother, you excelled in literature in college. This course on comparative literature looks quite challenging.”

“Wait a minute—”

He turned a page and raised an eyebrow at her. “But I see you did have some trouble with mathematics.”

“I did not!” She was immediately defensive. “First of all, Professor Tanner lost an assignment that accounted for thirty-three percent of my grade, then penalized me for it, and second of all, that is none of your business.”

“Professor Tanner claims that you never turned the work in.”

Outrage rose in Amy. “You talked to him? You actually contacted my former teachers before you ever even met—” She stopped when she saw the amusement in his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked soberly.

“Right.” He smiled. “My apologies.” He didn’t look sorry at all. He flipped through some more pages. “I see you were also engaged after college to a…Ben Singer.”

“Do you also see that he dumped me for another woman, claiming I was ‘emotionally inaccessible’?” she asked sharply.

He leveled a blue gaze on her. “No. Are you?”

“No.” She didn’t mention that she hadn’t had a relationship last longer than a month since, or that her friends joked that they wouldn’t take one of her boyfriends seriously unless he made it to day thirty-two. “I’m in full possession of my emotions,” she contended.

He laughed. “You seem uncomfortable with personal questions.”

She was. “Only because I don’t think my private life has anything to do with this.”

“On the contrary, I believe your private life has everything to do with your heritage. To say nothing of your royal duties.”

She shook her head. “I think it’s a bit early still to be talking about my royal duties. I am in no way convinced that my parents are who you say they are. I mean, it’s very difficult to believe they came so far off the royal course as to end up in Dentytown.”

“Keep looking” was all he said, indicating the papers she held.

As he must have predicted, her skepticism was in for a shock when she got to the end of the pile. With only a couple of papers left, he pulled out a stiff piece of paper with “Princess Lily, Lufthan Palace” scrawled across the back in spidery script.

“Here,” he said gravely, “is the last known picture taken of Princess Lily. Your mother.”

Amy took the faded color photo from him slowly. Her first reaction was that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Her second reaction was to think this was a dream. This had to be a dream.

Because there, in her trembling hand, was a glossy photograph of a woman with long wavy auburn hair, pale blue eyes and a small cleft in her chin. A woman who, if she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn was herself.

“Okay, whoa, you’re going where? With whom?” Mara’s face registered all of the incredulity and skepticism that had been churning in Amy’s stomach since Franz Burgess had first walked through her door and told his story.

It wasn’t as if she’d just magically gotten over her doubts, but when she’d seen that photograph of Princess Lily, it was as if someone had punched her in the gut. She decided to ignore the lure of logic and take a chance, for once in her life, by getting to the bottom of the story.

“What do your parents think about this?”

“We spent the entire night talking about it,” Amy said. “And they’re with me—this warrants investigation.”

“You’ve all lost your minds.”

“Maybe, but we’re not complete fools. My father did call the embassy and confirm that Franz Burgess is the private secretary to Prince Wilhelm.

“That’s a relief. I guess.”

“Look,” Amy said, sticking the last of her instruction Post-its on the wall next to the desk, “I figure this will make a great story, if nothing else. Think of the publicity we could get for Blue Yonder—maybe I could do an editorial piece for Coastal Life or some other magazine. ‘I Was a Princess for a Day,’ that kind of thing.” That wasn’t the real reason she was going, but she could barely admit to herself how much she wanted to find her roots, much less share that with someone else.

Mara screwed up her eyebrows. “And you’re not going to be devastated if this all turns out to be a hoax?”

“Absolutely not,” Amy answered vehemently. “Although I get the feeling this isn’t a hoax. A mistake, probably, but I don’t think anyone is setting this up as a cruel joke to make me look stupid.”

“I can’t think of anyone who’d want to do that to you,” Mara agreed, then pressed her lips together for a moment before asking, “Have you thought about what you’ll do if it turns out to be true?”

Amy stopped shuffling papers for a moment. “What, that I’m a princess?” She dropped the papers into a file folder.

Mara nodded excitedly. “Can you imagine?”

Amy paused and tried to imagine. Princess Amy of Lufthania. It was ridiculous enough to make her laugh. “No, I can’t imagine. I’d like to, but I just can’t.” She sat heavily in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Mara, do you think this is crazy? Am I insane to even think about going through with this?”

Mara sat on the edge of the desk and patted Amy’s shoulder reassuringly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not so sure this is all that far-fetched.”

Amy raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m serious,” Mara said. “You don’t know what your life was before the accident when you were three. The dates fit. The physical description fits. Maybe it would be crazy not to investigate further.”

Those were the very thoughts that had made Amy decide to go. “Thanks,” she said, putting her hand on Mara’s. “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. Now, don’t you worry about a thing while you’re gone. I can handle the store and the orders and anything that might come down the pike. You just go and have some fun, okay? If you don’t bring back a crown, you can at least bring back an outrageous tale, huh? And maybe a souvenir or two.”

Amy gave a laugh. “Yeah, an ‘I went to Lufthania to be a princess but all I got was this lousy T-shirt’ T-shirt.” She opened the desk drawer to retrieve her cell phone. She dropped it into her purse and said, “I hope this works in Lufthania, just in case I need to call and have you come rescue me.”

“There are always local police,” Mara said seriously.

“Oh, Mara, I was kidding. Please don’t start worrying about me.”

“I’m not worrying about you. I’m worrying about me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, if it turns out you’re really a princess and you move off to another country, will I still have a job? Can I be a lady-in-waiting?”

“And waiting and waiting.” Amy smiled. “You bet.”

The bells on the door chimed, and they both looked up as Franz Burgess walked in.

If possible, he looked even more achingly handsome than he had the night before last, when he’d first come into the shop. He wore a dark sweater, about the color of his hair. It made the green of his eyes seem that much brighter.

“Good morning,” he said with a slight bow of the head.

If nothing else, he was extremely well mannered.

“I’m almost ready,” Amy said, collecting her bags and trying to remember if there were any last-minute things she had to tell Mara about pending orders.

As she looked around, Mara caught her eye and mouthed “He’s gorgeous.”

A warm flush, which felt suspiciously like pride, washed over Amy. Yes, he was gorgeous, there was no debating that. But what did that have to do with her? Why should that set her heart pounding?

“Okay.” She hoisted her carry-on bag over her shoulder, and her purse on top of that. Then she took a large hardshell suitcase—which, according to old television advertisements, even a gorilla couldn’t destroy—in each hand and said, “I’m ready.”

“Is that your luggage?”

She glanced at the suitcases, then back at him. “Yes. Is there a problem?”

He laughed and took the heavy cases from her effortlessly. “You really needn’t bother bringing anything. All of your needs will be tended to there.”

“All of them?” Mara asked.

Amy shot her a silencing look.

“Of course. You don’t need to bring clothing or—” He smiled. “—accessories. The prince is prepared to give you whatever your heart desires.”

“That’s very nice of him, but I’m not prepared to be beholden to a prince I’ve never met.” She thought about that for a nanosecond before amending, “I’m not prepared to be beholden to anyone, whether I know them or not.”

“Very well,” he said with a light sigh. “It’s my job to see to your comfort.”

“In that case, stock the plane with angel food cake,” Mara chirped. “It’s her favorite.”

“Goodbye, Mara,” Amy said pointedly. “I’ll call you when I arrive.”

He opened the door for her, then, as soon as she’d passed him, he turned back to Mara and asked, “What is angel food cake?”

“It’s like a big, sweet sponge,” she answered with a shrug. “I think it’s made with a lot of egg whites. I just buy it at the grocery store.”

He nodded, as if taking mental notes. “Angel food cake. It sounds perfect for such a beautiful woman.”

Mara giggled. She was clearly under the man’s spell. As soon as he turned his back, Mara kissed her fingertips and gave Amy the thumbs-up.

Amy rolled her eyes, but inside she knew exactly what Mara meant. Franz Burgess had magnetism on about six different levels. Every time she looked at him he seemed to be better-looking. Just when she got used to the cool green of his eyes, she noticed the sensual curve of his mouth. One smile and she was knocked out by how it transformed his face, taking it from serious and darkly handsome to relaxed and open.

Then there was his voice. Smooth and rich, like warm cocoa, with just a hint of an accent that made him seem exotic. Romantic.

As if that wasn’t enough, he had that sly, intelligent humor that Amy had always found irresistible. He seemed to be able to read the truth no matter what she said.

Now, that could be dangerous, she thought.

She hoped she’d be able to keep some comfortable distance from him on the plane. Perhaps with a little luck she could find an empty seat next to a chatty businessman.

And with a little willpower, she would take it.

She should have known it would be a private jet and that they would be the only two traveling. He was working for a prince, ostensibly bringing a long-lost princess back to her homeland. It stood to reason that such important business as that would be conducted on a plush Lear jet, with soft music piped over the speaker system and champagne chilling in a silver bucket of ice.

“Are you a fearful flyer?” he asked as Amy sat down and put her seat belt on.

“No, why?”

“You look nervous.”

Oh, great. Why did he have to be the first really perceptive man she’d met? “It’s probably just the coffee I had this morning.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Then I assume you won’t be wanting any of the cappuccino Annabelle made.”

“Annabelle?”

He nodded in the direction of a door to the back. “She’s the chef on board.”

Amy smiled, hugely relieved. There was someone else on board besides the captain! “Well, let’s invite her to join us.”

He looked surprised. “Here?”

“Well, sure.” She pointed toward two more plush leather seats like the ones they were sitting in. “There’s plenty of room.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe she’d be comfortable with such an arrangement.”

“Why not?”

“Because, for one thing, she is working. It is not part of her job description to sit with the passengers and chat. You wouldn’t join your customers on a trip to Nepal because you sold them the guidebook, would you?”

“Oh, come on, it’s hardly the same thing!”

He studied her for a moment. “Do I make you nervous, Amelia?”

Nervous was hardly the word. He made every nerve in her body tingle with giddy awareness. She felt like a junior-high schoolgirl with a crush. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

He gave a nod of concession. “I apologize. Amy. Perhaps you would like some champagne to combat your agitation.”

The plane began to taxi down the runway. A nervous buzz rushed through Amy’s chest. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she wasn’t completely comfortable with it, either.

She eyed the champagne bottle in the silver bucket. “No, thank you. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”





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