The Duke's Covert Mission. Julie Miller

the good, dutiful girl she’d been raised to be for the twenty-six years of her life, Ellie opened the bag and squeezed out another bite. She allowed the dry applesauce to sit on her tongue a moment, letting her saliva add enough moisture to make it palatable.

      Now that she had done what he asked, the man began to circle her. While she ate, Ellie followed him with her eyes, noting any details that a man dressed in black from head to toe might reveal.

      He wore black cargo pants, with a shadowy camo print and lots of pockets. They were tucked into a pair of calf-high military boots. A knife handle protruded from the top of a nylon sheath attached to the right boot. Ellie turned her head, quietly chewing, keeping him in her sight.

      She recognized him as the driver of the second car last night. The one with the dead body in the trunk. She didn’t know much about the ways to kill a man, but she’d seen Paulo’s bulging eyes and protruding tongue and knew the young man’s death hadn’t been an easy one.

      This man could have killed Paulo. Just by looking at him, Ellie had no doubt that this man had killed before.

      His black knit shirt hugged broad shoulders and expanded over the swell of his chest. Then it clung farther down, revealing a flat stomach and narrow waist. He stood as tall as her brother—an inch or two over six feet—and was all sinew and muscle, as lethal-looking as the sleek steel sidearm riding in a black leather holster at his hip.

      When he disappeared from the corner of her vision, Ellie spun to her right and watched him walk around the other side. She’d never studied a man so boldly before. And while his silence unnerved her, there was something oddly mesmerizing about the pantherlike precision of his movements. Ellie’s heart stuttered, then beat again. Her breasts expanded against the stiff confines of her gown. Her perusal of the mysterious visitor bordered on fascination.

      And she was ashamed that survival might not be the only reason she kept staring at him.

      “Who are you?” Her fingers slipped to her temple, nervously searching for her absent glasses. She curled the flailing fingers into a fist and pulled it down to her chest. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

      Fascination or no, this man was her captor, she his prisoner. His chained, secluded prisoner, who’d been left in the dark in both the literal and figurative sense.

      “What do you want with me?” She breathed in deeply, but her cool bravado was quickly failing her. “Who are you?”

      He ended his circle where he’d begun, standing in front of her, barely an arm’s length away.

      Was he toying with her? Mocking her? Trying to scare the very heartbeat out of her?

      He was succeeding more than he could possibly imagine.

      “Talk to me.” Her demand sounded dangerously close to begging. “Show your face, you coward!”

      She had finally pushed him too far.

      He closed the distance between them, swooping in like a hawk, moving so swiftly that she shielded herself with her arms and backed away. The chain at her ankle rattled. A frightened sob shook her, but she caught the gasp between clenched teeth.

      Ellie was transfixed. Caught in a deadly snare of unknown intent. He never touched her, but she trembled all the same. She could smell him now. He was heat and soap and exotic spice.

      And from the middle of that black mask he marked her with eyes of such an intense dark blue they seemed unreal. He held her in place with those eyes. Beautiful eyes. Demon eyes.

      “I’m sorry.” Ellie dropped her gaze, unable to withstand the power of his. She struggled to breathe. “Don’t hurt me. Please.”

      And then the man tormented her in the most unexpected way. With her chin tucked to her chest, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor, he lifted his hand. She could see now, in her peripheral vision, that his hands were the only visible part of his body. Five fingers of streamlined power, scarred and callused, reached for her. Ellie curled into herself, bracing for a grab or slap or… The hand closed in on her face, and she could see a fine dusting of black hair along the dark tan of his skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the moment when his fingers would touch her. But she couldn’t block out the heat from his skin. It seemed to scorch her cheek.

      “Please.” Her body convulsed on a frightened sob.

      “Sinjun!”

      The heat at her cheek evaporated at the shout from above. Ellie’s eyes popped open, and she saw the man in black tuck his hands into his pockets and cross to the base of the stairs.

      “Is she awake?” The short, stocky creep who had given the orders and injected her with a knockout drug last night tromped down the stairs, commanding the room with his blustery voice.

      Then the walls themselves seemed to shake as the giant from last night followed a few paces behind. Like the silent man, they were both dressed in black—from ski mask to military boots to the guns strapped at their sides.

      Ellie’s chest expanded with the first deep breath she’d taken since the man who’d brought her food and water had first begun to circle her. Recognition of her three kidnappers brought with it a healthy amount of fear and caution, but she seized on the anger that their reappearance triggered in her. She threw her shoulders back and tipped up her chin. “I demand to know why you’ve done this to me.”

      The small man laughed. “She demands.”

      The big man responded with a hitch and lift of his shoulders, in what she supposed passed for a laugh at her expense. Her gaze flitted beyond them to the silent man. No movement. No laughter. Nothing.

      And then Ellie realized she couldn’t let her attention wander. The short man had walked right up to her, close enough that she could smell the cigarette smoke that permeated his clothes. She knew that smell.

      Her silly fantasies about Prince Charming had been destroyed by the man who smelled like that. “You’re the substitute chauffeur from last night.”

      “Bingo.” He sounded almost pleased that he’d made an impression on her. “How’s our princess doing this afternoon?”

      Princess?

      He plopped a plastic pail down on the stool and sniffled loudly beneath his mask. “How do you like the fancy accommodations, Your Highness?”

      Highness.

      A light of understanding flashed on in Ellie’s head.

      Oh, my God. Of course! They thought… “I’m not—”

      Fortunately he interrupted her protest, giving Ellie time to see the wisdom in keeping her identity a secret. “We furnished all the comforts of home, sugar. Even a bucket for you to do your necessary business.”

      Shock sailed through Ellie, clearing the path for the helpless fear that followed. These men thought they’d kidnapped a princess. The short man’s taunting sarcasm aside, they wouldn’t be pleased to learn that they’d nabbed a lowly secretary by mistake.

      If they found out they’d abducted the hired help… Paulo’s dead staring eyes leaped to mind.

      Think, Ellie, she coached herself. A jumble of ideas vied for consideration. How did she play this game? It had taken every bit of her nerve to try just to look like a princess last night. How could she act a part she was so unsuited for? And more importantly, how did she get out of this mess? Alive and safe?

      What would a real princess do?

      “How did you…find me?”

      “Pick up the princess at the Carradigne penthouse. Red dress. Inferno Ball. That’s all my contact said I needed to know.” The short man sidled right up to her and fingered the broken strap that had fallen down her back. He draped the frayed silk across her shoulder and pulled the length of it between his index and middle finger. Ellie sucked in her breath and flinched away from the purposeful caress. “Sorry about the dress.”

      He