“Done,” he said.

  “Wonderful, Your Highness.” Frau Grunwald’s mouth almost cracked a smile. “If the lady will accompany me to the dressing room so we can take her measurements…”

  An assistant appeared and pulled aside a curtain to what could only be the fitting room. Casey rose. She wasn’t exactly marching to the guillotine here, but she raised her chin, anyway, as she followed the assistant off.

  Behind her, Kurt added, “We’ll take the second one, too.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Well, shit. I hoped we’d have more time,” Kurt said as the Bentley pulled up in front of the palace.

  “You’ve picked up a lot of American vulgarity lately.” Casey stared at him but couldn’t read anything from his expression. The reason for his upset came through clearly, though. A small fleet of expensive cars and a limousine or two sat in a line up the drive. People were emerging in pairs and families, much to the alarm of the butler and his staff, who scurried back and forth with baggage and led people inside.

  “It’s the Huns, isn’t it?” Felice said.

  “Vaclav and his entourage,” Kurt said. “Oh, well. We knew he was coming.”

  “You told me about him,” Casey said.

  “Beware the lecher,” Felice said.

  “Friedrich must be having a fit,” Kurt said. “I’d better find him.”

  Felice didn’t wait for the chauffeur but climbed out so Kurt wouldn’t have to crawl over her. Without so much as a word, he left them and worked his way through the throngs and into the palace.

  Casey joined Felice beside the car. “Is this Vaclav really so awful?”

  “You have to see him in action to get the full effect,” Felice said. “He manages to be comic and dreadful all at once.”

  “I think I’ll avoid him,”

  “Good plan if you can pull it off.” Felice hooked her arm around Casey’s. “Let’s go see the circus.”

  It took some doing to get up the stairs as everyone wanted to greet Felice…and check Casey out. Felice managed a few waves and nice-to-see-yous. She kissed a few cheeks, but managed to keep them moving upward, all the same. At the top, she nodded to the butler to let him know they didn’t need help and led Casey into the huge entryway.

  A smaller group had gathered around Kurt and were speaking to him in more than one language. Slavic and totally impenetrable to Casey’s ears. It all made for quite a chatter, and the marble tiles had the sounds bouncing around.

  One voice rose above the rest. “My darling cousin.”

  Casey looked up to discover the source. An odd, little man was in the process of descending the grand staircase. Dressed in flamboyant colors, he fairly flew down the steps and parted the human throng like the Red Sea.

  Grasping Kurt’s face in both hands, he kissed Kurt on both cheeks and then rested back to beam at him.

  “Kurt, you clever lad,” the man exclaimed. “How did you get to be the image of Joe Stark?”

  Kurt rubbed the bridge of his nose as if trying to chase away a headache and failing. “Casey, this is my cousin, Vaclav. Vaclav, Miss Vaughn.”

  “Ah, another American beauty.” Vaclav took her hand in both of his and held onto it. “How do my young cousins catch them?”

  “Special bait?” Casey said.

  Vaclav laughed too loudly. It wasn’t all that funny. “And witty, too, just like my dear Felice.”

  “Frick and Frack, that’s us,” Felice said.

  Vaclav gave Felice a blank look.

  “Never mind,” Felice said.

  “Imagine my surprise and delight when I found the new Joe Stark novel on the internet with my cousin on the cover.” Vaclav reached into his coat and produced a smart phone. After tapping a few buttons, an image appeared. He held it out to them to show that damned picture of Kurt, naked chest and tight pants and all. Worse, others in his group produced tablets and phones, all with the same pose staring at them. Kurt looked sick, the same way he had in the bookstore, and at the top of the stairs, his father seethed visibly.

  “Is it true you work for Mr. Comstock, my favorite author?” Vaclav asked.

  “I do. Or I did.” Phil would probably hold her job for her. Where else could he find such a convenient flunky?

  “And did you arrange for this cover?” Vaclav asked.

  “No…well that is…I was responsible for the photo shoot…” She let her voice trail off before she added that it wasn’t her fault.

  “Yes, she did,” Friedrich said from the top of the stairs.

  “Clever girl,” Vaclav said.

  Right about then, she didn’t feel very clever. If she could have turned to dust and blown away she could get the hell out of this situation.

  Vaclav put his phone back in his pocket and took Casey’s hand in both of his. “You must tell me everything at dinner. What Mr. Comstock is like, how you enjoy working for him, what it’s like to live in New York. I want to hear it all.”

  Kurt’s arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her away from Vaclav. “We’ll both be happy to tell you about it.”

  “I’ll make sure you sit with my cousin so you can,” Friedrich said. “Wilson, are you through settling these people in their rooms?”

  “Nearly, Your Majesty,” Wilson called up to Friedrich.

  “Good, then. Carry on.” Friedrich turned on his heel and disappeared down the upstairs hallway.

  *

  By dinner time, Kurt had had a bellyful of his father’s behavior. So, he sought the old man out in one of his favorite haunts…the music room where he kept a bottle of his beloved brandy hidden. Sure enough, Friedrich jerked to attention guiltily and closed the cabinet door when Kurt entered.

  “I know what you’re doing,” Kurt said. “Pour me some, too.”

  “Does everyone follow me around to see if I’m disobeying my doctor’s orders?” Friedrich said.

  “Only the people who love you. Now, may I have that brandy or not?”

  “You might as well. You’re old enough.”

  Ha. Old enough. He’d been old enough to drink for over fifteen years. He’d been old enough to represent Danislova at the United Nations for the past five, even if that did make him one of the youngest ambassadors. He’d studied hard and graduated from university with honors a year early. And his father still thought of him as a child who couldn’t make up his own mind about who to love. That would change, and soon.

  While he’d digested that morsel of fatherly nonsense, Friedrich had poured brandy into two snifters and handed one to Kurt.

  “We might as well sit down,” Friedrich said. “I can see by the expression on your face this will be a complicated discussion.”

  “Only if you make it so.”

  Friedrich let out a disgruntled huff and sat in one of the matching arm chairs near the window. Kurt took the other one.

  “You want to talk about the young woman, I suspect,” Friedrich said.

  Kurt took a swig of his brandy. “Casey. Yes.”

  One white eyebrow went up. “She’s the reason you’re no longer betrothed to Ilsa.”

  “No, and I won’t have you spreading that falsehood.” He might have said “lie,” but his father must have misunderstood. He might act gruffly, but he didn’t have enough cruelty in him to intentionally spread untruths.

  “You met her on the same day.”

  “Within an hour of reading Ilsa’s letter,” Kurt said.

  “There.” Friedrich gestured with his free hand to make his point. “You were as the Americans say on the retread.”

  “Rebound, and it wasn’t like that.”

  “Really?” Friedrich took a sip of his brandy and then settled the glass on the edge of the chair, holding the stem. “Is she the sort of woman you’d normally have associated with? Accompanied to embassy parties?”

  He didn’t reply because the only answer would have been she wasn’t. How could he explain how completely Casey had turned his world upside-down…in the best possible way? She’d confounded him from the first moment she’d grabbed his arm, and she continued to surprise and delight him. He saw the world through new eyes, discovering possibilities for laughter and excitement, and yes, goof-ups and fumbles and more laughter. If Friedrich continued to resent her, how would Kurt ever get him to recognize that she’d changed Kurt for the better?

  “You could have patched things up with Ilsa,” Friedrich said. “You could still do it.”

  “She doesn’t love me. She never has.” Kurt didn’t have to add that he’d never loved her, either.

  “What does love have to do with it?”

  Kurt could only stare in disbelief. “You loved our mother.”

  “It was an arranged marriage.”

  “But you loved her,” Kurt repeated.

  “You could have loved Ilsa.”

  “No, father, I couldn’t.” Kurt swallowed the rest of his brandy, set the glass on the table between them, and rose. “Damn it, why won’t you see that?”

  “Has she taught you to swear?”

  “I swear all the time, just not in front of you.” Kurt ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I swear. I drink. I’ve had affairs. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

  Friedrich’s eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, he appeared confused. The expression on his father’s face tugged at memories so old, Kurt couldn’t bring them to the surface. A time when his father had needed him, and he’d risen to the challenge. He loved this man so dearly, and his father’s love had always come back double. Why couldn’t the man understand now why Casey had become so important to him?

  “For the love of God, father, you accepted Felice.”

  Friedrich waved the objection away with his hand. “Felice is different.”

  “I don’t see why. Dev will rule after you. If anything, his wife is more important than mine.”

  “Your wife?” Friedrich set his glass on the table with enough force to make Kurt’s rattle. “You can’t mean to marry her.”

  “We haven’t gotten that far.” His mind had gone in that direction, even though he hadn’t made his intentions clear to Casey.

  “Well, don’t. I implore you,” Friedrich said.

  “I don’t understand. You let Dev choose his own wife. You haven’t even betrothed Ulrich to anyone.”

  “Dev’s Dev, and Ulrich’s Ulrich,” his father said. “You’re…”

  Kurt waited for Friedrich’s next words. Little of what he’d said so far made any sense. Maybe now they were headed into territory that would explain his father’s behavior.

  “You’re…” Friedrich stared at a spot on the opposite wall. “…my right arm. I depend on you. I can’t lose you.”

  Words escaped Kurt. How did you answer that? Of course his father needed him. He’d always needed, and received, his father’s love and support. Nothing would change about that.

  “How on earth would you lose me?”

  “I’ve said too much.” Friedrich rose, but before he could leave, Kurt caught his arm.

  “You haven’t said nearly enough, father. You need to explain yourself.”

  “I don’t have to explain anything. I’m the Prince Royal and your father.” Friedrich pulled his arm away. “It’s time we dressed for dinner.”

  “Father…” Kurt followed Friedrich into the hallway and almost collided with Grigori, who stood, watching Friedrich’s back. Grigori wore the expression of a concerned man, his brows furrowed and his gaze on the disappearing Prince Royal.

  “I hope you don’t have business with my father,” Kurt said. “He’s in a foul mood.”

  “He’s been this way…” Grigori let his words trail off, but they both knew what he’d have said next. Since Kurt had arrived home with Casey. Or perhaps since Friedrich had learned about the book cover. Either way, Casey was at the center of Friedrich’s displeasure.

  “I don’t understand him,” Kurt says.

  “I doubt anyone does,” Grigori said. “Not even he himself, I’m afraid.”

  “He’s normally stern but never…oh, I don’t know…angry, for lack of a better word.”

  “He’s frightened,” Grigori said. “But don’t you dare tell him I said that.”

  “Of course not.” Kurt clapped a hand on Grigori’s shoulder. If anyone knew his father from the inside out, it would be this man, who’d advised him from the day Friedrich had ascended the throne. “Have you ever seen him this way before?”

  “Once. A long time ago.” Grigori paused, clearly torn about saying anything further. Finally, he sighed softly. “When he learned your mother was dying.”

  *

  “Ah, Miss Vaughn, how fortunate I am to have found you all alone.”

  Casey stopped in her tracks on her way from her suite in the far wing of the palace to the library, where she’d hoped to find a good romance novel or if not that, a classic. With the invasion of Vaclav and his entourage, she was no longer alone out here, but she hadn’t been aware the man himself had rooms close by. But he was, hounds-tooth checkered vest and all, smiling in evil delight to have trapped her.

  Felice’s words rang in her memory. “Avoid the lecher.” Too late for that advice.

  “If you don’t mind, I was going to go look for something to read,” she said.

  “Excellent idea.” He fell into step next to her. “My electronic tablet is recharging. I wonder if my cousin has any of Mr. Comstock’s books in print.”

  Not likely, given the way Kurt’s father spoke about Phil’s fiction, but who knew?

  “Do you help him develop the plots for his books?” Vaclav asked.

  “He bounces ideas off me sometimes.”

  “Excellent. Because I have a story all mapped out in here.” Vaclav tapped the side of his head. “If I tell it to you, you’ll only need to have him write it.”

  Only. Five hundred or more manuscript pages. No doubt this fool thought Phil could churn that out in a couple of weekends. Casey had acted as a buffer between Phil and this kind of nonsense dozens of times, so she gave Vaclav her sweetest but most distant smile. “You should write the book yourself. You’d do a better job.”

  “I?” Vaclav stopped walking and stared at her in utter astonishment. “Write better than Mr. Comstock?”

  “It’s your story, don’t you see. You’ll have more passion for it.”

  “Ah.” He pressed his palm against his chest over his heart. “Yes, there will be passion in my book.”

  Bad word choice. She turned and started walking again.

  More and more, she encountered the palace staff bustling to and fro, carrying things and trying to get out of her way the moment they spotted her. The formal ball was only days away, and with the preparations and the extra guests, every single person who worked here had his or her hands more than full.

  As Casey turned a corner, she happened onto the path of a maid clutching an armload of linens to her chest. When she spotted Casey, she curtseyed twice, muttering “Sorry” in accented English.

  Casey held out her hands toward the woman. “It’s fine. My fault.”

  That seemed to confuse the woman and maybe scare her a little because she curtseyed again and hurried off. Oh dear. Now she was frightening the household staff.

  Vaclav seemed not to notice but continued speaking as if no else had been there.

  “And so, the protagonist of the story would be a duke who has quite a way with the ladies,” he said. “When one of his lovers turned up dead, he decides to find the murderer himself.”

  “That’s definitely something you should write,” she said. “You’re so much closer to the subject matter than Phil would be.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” He stopped again and reached for her hands. She would have been horribly rude to recoil from his touch, especially from one of Kurt’s relatives, no matter how remote. So she gave in, nevertheless standing as far away from him as possible.

  “Will you show me how?” he said. “I could visit you in your sitting room and tell you the story. You could teach me how to write it.”

  “I, um…you know…writing’s a lot of work, and it takes time to learn.” You could say what you wanted about Phil, and she’d probably said most of it, but the guy had spent years learning his craft and still worked like a maniac on all his books. Somehow, she couldn’t picture herself helping Vaclav. Hell, he probably wasn’t contemplating snappy dialogue so much as snapping her bra open.

  Her phone came to the rescue, ringing in her pocket. When she pulled it out, she discovered the caller. Phil, of course. He’d hardly stopped calling her since she’d arrived. Only this time, he could provide rescue instead of annoyance.

  “I have to take this,” she said to Vaclav. “My boss.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Mr. Comstock.”

  “None other.” She spoke into the phone. “Hi, Phil.”

  “I must speak with him.” Vaclav took the phone from her and put it to his ear. “Mr. Comstock. I must tell you how much I admire your books.”

  Vaclav listened for a while, and she could only imagine Phil’s stuttering on the other end.

  “Vaclav, Archduke of Rosnia, and your undying fan,” Vaclav said.

  Vaclav fell silent for a few more seconds. “Yes, yes, of course. But I have an idea for a wonderful series of books. You and I could collaborate.”

  Vaclav held the phone for a moment, not saying anything.

  “Hello?” he said finally. “Hello? I think he’s hung up.”

  Vaclav had at least found a way to shut Phil up. She took the phone back. “Sorry about that. Phil’s probably busy.”

  “He must be,” Vaclav said. “But now, as I was saying.”

  They’d reached the top of the staircase to the floor below. Felice stood at the foot, staring up. “There you are. I was just looking for you.”

  Vaclav placed his palm over his heart again. “Me, my cousin Felice?”

  “Casey. I absolutely have to talk to you right this minute,” Felice said.

  Bless her. All that was probably a lie, but Casey would take any escape she could from Vaclav and his duke/lover/detective character. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’d better go.”