Princess Wanted - The Complete Book Set: An Alpha Billionaire Prince Trilogy (12 page)

Chapter Four - Very Stupid Things

“I
f only we had some evidence.”

In the same way that the murder of Thomas Becket had started with an unfortunate chance remark made by Henry II and overheard by some overzealous knights, so the events of the Brosnan House Party began with that one sentence spoken by Jack Dalton and spiraled out of control from there. The difference was that Jack was speaking directly to his daughter, and she knew very well that he was not impelling her to action but decided to take action none-the-less.

A few weeks ago, Samantha would never have considered any rash move against their enemies; in fact she would have seriously berated anyone who so much as mentioned it for making their whole organization look bad. But something had happened to her, and she was loath to examine that something to closely for fear of what she might see at its cause. Whatever the reason, since the ball (not that she thought this feeling was related to the ball she only mentioned it to give some sense of the timescale involved) she had felt more reckless. The idea of talking, of pressing forward with sensible aims and achieving those aims through discussion and mutual agreement, all seemed infuriating to her. Why talk when it never did any good? The time had come for action – to force those earth rapists and their daughters into submission. Exactly why she chose to include the phrase ‘and their daughters’ in her personal manifesto was another thing she did not wish to examine too closely. But the fact was that, of late, she had found Lacey Brosnan’s appearance on the front of every magazine and newspaper intensely irritating. She had come to hate the woman.

Obviously her reason for feeling so strongly was that Lacey’s father was the CEO of the world’s least ethical (and therefore most profitable) oil company and Samantha felt that giving the daughter publicity was giving the father legitimacy. What other reason could she have for hating Lacey Brosnan? None that Samantha was about to admit to.

If evidence could be found of some under the table deal that awarded the Brosnan family a royal marriage in return for an oil deal, and if that evidence were to make its way to the press, then the people would be up in arms and the marriage would be off.

And of course the oil deal too. Which was the important thing. Stopping the wedding was… well it was just what had to happen in order to stop the oil deal. The wedding itself was neither here nor there.

A party at the Brosnan’s palatial country mansion seemed like an opportunity: a night when the place would be overrun with strangers, and anyone carrying a tray and wearing a neat black dress would be written off as a waitress. Samantha knew more than enough people on the seedier side of activism who would help her get through the gates, and from there she just had to find an office (no one would be in the office on a party night) and do some rummaging.

Even as the plan formed in her mind, part of her screamed against it. That part of her had until recently been the whole of her, but her better nature was no longer the controlling partner of her own brain. Ugly thoughts and feelings had trespassed and, in a bloodless coup, taken over her mind. She knew what she was planning was wrong, she knew that it might hurt the cause for which she had worked all her adult life, and she could not justify it in any way. But she also knew that come hell or high water, she was going through with it.

The hard part was getting over the wall, which was high, topped with razor wire, and monitored with a battery of cameras. The only way through was the main gate, which boasted a security set-up that would have embarrassed Fort Knox. Fortunately the environment is a concern on the minds of many these days and a friend of a friend of a friend was driving one of the vans which carried in catering supplies. Samantha smiled prettily at the guards who shone torches beneath the van and opened every hamper in the back in search of… well, her. She herself wore a black wig – since the incident at the ball her face was on the ‘watch out for this woman’ list at every such event. The guards waved them on and Samantha felt a leap of excitement from within, accompanied by the voice in her head, still clamoring to be heard, telling her that this was wrong. She ignored it.

“Best of luck.” The van driver gave a thumbs up. “I’ll hang on here as long as I can but I’ve got to be gone by one. If you’re not out by then…”

He left the sentence dangling but Samantha nodded. “I know.”

She checked to make sure her wig was secure, then picked up a tray and headed into the building.

As she had expected and hoped, all was organized chaos within. In the kitchens and servants’ corridors there was a non-stop to and fro of hurrying people, desperately keeping the supply lines of
hor d’oeuvres
and champagne flowing. In the public areas, things were calmer but no less crowded. Samantha realized that she had not previously had any idea of what BIG was when it came to parties. There were hundreds here. She could not have asked for better. Breaking away from the party itself, she began her search.

All that having been said, this would still not be easy. People had an irritating habit of not leaving incriminating evidence lying around their homes, particularly when they are having a party with hundreds of guests and a similar number of waiting staff, chefs and other assorted ‘help’. It would only be with the greatest good luck that Samantha would find evidence of any sort, but she was confident that it did exist because this, she felt instinctively, was a deal between people who did not trust each other – something would have been put on paper.

At first she set out to find an office or study but then changed her mind. If she herself had so precious a document she would not trust it to an office, a room into which others came for meetings, she would keep it somewhere private to her, like a bedroom. She sneaked up the stairs on tip-toes and began trying doors. What would Reginald Brosnan’s bedroom look like? Big, of course. But it seemed unlikely that such a thing as a small bedroom existed on the Brosnan estate (except in the servants’ quarters of course). Perhaps ‘big’ was too small a word for what might be expected in the bedroom of a man like Reginald Brosnan. Palatial might be closer. A bedroom into which the whole of Samantha’s home might fit.

In the event, Samantha had little time in which to hunt. She had opened only a few doors (big bedrooms but nowhere near palatial) when she heard the sound of footsteps heading her way at speed. Samantha had not been stupid enough to think to that security would be lax at the Brosnan’s but she had been optimistic enough to think that it would be concentrated on the outdoors and the various exits and entrances. It stood to reason, she thought, that a man with as many dodgy dealings as Reginald Brosnan would not want any record of those dealings on security camera. That certainly stood to reason, but it still turned out to be wrong.

Samantha looked desperately about her. Suddenly the stupidity of this whole enterprise rushed in upon her – she was about to inflict untold harm on everything in which she believed, and why? Because she had been jealous of some stupid oil heiress!

That last thought took her by surprise, and it would have been nice to stop and analyze it, but clearly now was not the time. Samantha picked a door and ran through it.

And found herself face to face to with the man who had just entered her mind.

The Prince did a double take as she entered, blinking as if to clear something from his vision.

“Not again,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry?” said Samantha.

“Wait, is that really you?”

His face was hard to read and Samantha didn’t have the time. Why she said what she said she would not afterwards be able to say, but implicitly she trusted this man. “I’ve done something really stupid and now security is after me and…”

There was a sharp banging on the door.

“Under the bed.” He didn’t even stop to think about it.

Samantha dived under the bed as Will answered the door.

Two burly security men stood outside. They seemed slightly taken aback to find the Prince facing them and not a wanted environmental activist.

“Yes?” said Will.

“Your Highness, are you alone in there?”

“Yes,” said Will, levelly. “Though I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“We have reason to believe there is a thief in the house.”

“Not in my room.”

“We have reason to believe,” the guard had latched onto this as a phrase preferable to: you’re lying, “that she came in here.”

“You are mistaken.”

“We saw someone come in here,” the guard tried.

“That was me,” Will replied.

“The individual was wearing a dress,” said the second guard.

Will met the man’s gaze without blink. “Is that a crime?”

A few minutes after she had hidden, Samantha heard the door slam and dared to peak out.

“They’ve gone,” said Will.

He sat down on the bed and Samantha crawled out to join him. For a while they sat in silence until Samantha spoke.

“Did you just imply that you’re a transvestite to help me?”

“I did,” said Will

“No one’s ever done that for me before.”

Will shrugged. “Well, it does call for a pretty specific set of circumstances. Look, I don’t want you to think I’m prying or that you necessarily owe me an explanation but it would be nice to get one.”

“I screwed up.”

Will nodded. “I guess that’ll do for now.”

Suddenly the door began to open and Will shoved Samantha backwards so she tumbled to the floor on the far side of the bed, just as Lacey Brosnan entered. Will rose to meet her.

“It’s good manners to knock.”

“Surely not for an engaged couple,” replied Lacey with a smile that oozed sex appeal (it wasn’t deliberate, everything Lacey did oozed sex appeal). “I just wanted to tell you that there’s some environmental terrorist in the building so be on your guard. It’s that same little cow who threw oil over you.”

“That’s not a very nice way to describe a girl,” said Will, a little on edge it seemed.

“Well that’s what you called her…”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Fine,” said Lacey turning to leave. “I just wanted to warn you that the guards will be out there all night.”

She left and Samantha emerged from her hiding place.

“So I’m a cow?”

“You have bigger problems,” said Will. He thought for a minute. “You’ll have to spend the night here.”

“Here?”

“Unless you can think of something else.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m sure it’s a stupid idea but there it is.”

Samantha paused for moment. “That’s incredibly generous of you. You know, you’re not the stuck up, money-grubbing snob I thought you’d be.”

Will shrugged. “Well you’re not a cow.”

“Not that bright either though.”

“Well that seems to be something we have in common.”

They sat down on the bed together.

“I read your dad’s book you know?”

“Really? What did you think.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“Wow,” Samantha grinned. “I’m taking you home to meet my parents already.” She colored and looked away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Stupid.”

“No,” Will started to place a comforting hand on her shoulder but could not quite follow through. “I mean… I’d love to meet your father. He has some interesting theories.”

They began to chat, first about Jack Dalton’s theories and then about family in general. After a while a thought struck Will: he wasn’t uncomfortable. For perhaps the first time in his life he was having a comfortable conversation with a woman. Which was even more remarkable when you took the circumstances into account.

“I wonder if they missed you downstairs,” said Samantha. “We’ve been up here a while.”

“I guess not,” said Will. “They know where to find me after all.”

“I don’t like your fiancée.” Samantha kept her eyes on her feet as she spoke.

“Me neither,” agreed Will.

“Then why are you marrying her?”

“Because Lukas has married a charity worker in Thailand and Christof is dating a rancher in Texas.”

Samantha absorbed this. “There are better reasons to get married.”

Will laughed. “Somebody had to and there was only me. No marriage; no oil deal. No oil deal; lots of unemployment, lots of poverty. When your only job is walking around being seen then occasionally you’ve got to take one for the team, just to prove you matter.”

“I think you matter.”

Their eyes met.

“It’s late,” said Samantha. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“I’ll take the sofa,” said Will.

“Oh I couldn’t…”

“Please I insist.”

Their eyes remained locked, as if neither had the strength to look away.

“You know,” said Samantha. “It’s a pretty big bed.”

“There is probably enough space for both of us,” agreed Will.

“Easily.”

And, as if at some pre-arranged signal, they kissed.

In his life, Prince Wilhelm had never woken up as happy as he did that morning. And if he was not already happy enough, a look to his left to see the girl who lay beside him had him reaching new peaks. Samantha opened her eyes and Will felt that his heart might burst.