Montana Royalty. B.J. Daniels

her affair with your husband.”

      Thank you, Laurencia, Evangeline thought. That was the problem with having a stupid companion—while she could be useful, she was annoyingly clueless.

      “We will welcome Monique,” Evangeline said as she suddenly saw Lady Monique’s arrival as a possible godsend.

      “But I thought—”

      “Best let me do the thinking,” she told her. Laurencia had always been the perfect companion—meek and slow-witted and completely loyal. In short, Evangeline could wrap her around her little finger.

      “I want you to be nice to Monique,” the princess said. “She has arrived just in time for the masquerade ball. In fact, I want you to make sure she wears the costume you were planning to wear. I shall have the seamstress make you something more suitable.”

      Laurencia looked disappointed but nodded.

      Evangeline smiled. Her original plan had been to use her companion to lure in Lord Prince Broderick by offering Laurencia on a silver platter. But this new plan would work much better since she had been dangling Laurencia in front of her husband for weeks and he hadn’t gone for the bait.

      With Monique, the Black Widow, there would be no need to dangle her. Instead, Evangeline would have to make sure Broderick was kept so busy he wouldn’t have the time to catch Monique—until the night of the masquerade ball.

      With everyone masked, it would be the time to spring her trap and produce an heir to the throne. Broderick, without realizing it, would do his part. Once she was pregnant with a legitimate heir…well, then she wouldn’t need Broderick anymore, would she?

      Montana was such a wild, isolated country. Anything could happen to a man as adventurous as Prince Broderick Windham. Most certainly a very painful death.

      Evangeline glanced at her watch. “Off with you now to make sure Lady Monique is comfortable in the large suite on the east wing.” Laurencia, who as always did as she was told, scampered off to do the princess’s bidding.

      The princess stepped to the window again, pleased with herself. A lone rider galloped across the meadow.

      Jules? Riding off alone? Odd, she thought, but quickly returned her thoughts to a more important task. Tying up one last loose end.

      At the sound of a knock on her suite door, Princess Evangeline glanced at her watch. The man was prompt, she thought as she opened the door to her second cousin by marriage, Lord Charles Langston, the family barrister from a noble but poor family.

      “Your Royal Highness,” Lord Charles said with a bow. He looked scared out of his wits. She considered that a very good sign as she ushered him into the room, closed the door and demanded to see what he’d brought her.

      Holding her breath, she watched him reach into his briefcase and draw out a large manila envelope. What Charles carried was of such high security that if caught with the papers, he would have been put to death.

      Her fingers shook as she took the envelope and drew out the papers, noting not only the royal seal, but the thick, pale green paper used only for important government documents in her country.

      “These are the originals?” she asked.

      Charles nodded.

      “So it is true,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. There would be no turning back now. She put the documents back into the manila envelope, willing her fingers not to tremble at even the thought of what she’d done.

      Finally, she looked to the family barrister. She feigned surprise, then anger. “Where is this bastard?”

      “In your employ, your Royal Highness. He’s one of your grooms.”

      JULES RODE TO THE SPOT where he’d encountered Devlin Barrow that morning. The day was cold and clear, the sun slicing through the tall, dense pines. Plenty of light to track Devlin’s footprints in the still-wet ground.

      Determined to find out where the groom had spent the night, he followed the trail, glad for last night’s rain, which made tracking easier.

      A hawk squawked as it circled over the treetops. Closer, a squirrel chattered at him as he worked his way through the pines.

      Jules lost the tracks at one point in the thick, dried pine needles but picked them up again as he led his horse up the mountainside, surprised the groom had ridden this far from the ranch. He could make out the old county road—all that stood between the princess’s property and the one ranch that was still privately owned.

      The owner had refused to sell. He’d heard Evangeline discussing the problem with her husband, Prince Broderick. The Buchanan Ranch was now all that stood between the prince’s holdings and the river.

      The owner would have to sell. It was only a matter of time since the princess wanted it—and Broderick was responsible for acquiring the property for her.

      Jules turned his attention back to the mountainside and the boot tracks he’d been following. As he walked through a stand of aspens, the leaves golden, he saw the small log structure ahead.

      The groom’s boot tracks led right up to the front door. Was it possible this was where Devlin Barrow had spent the night?

      Ground-tying his horse, Jules walked toward the shack, noting the shed roof off to one side. A horse had been kept under the overhang recently. He could still smell it.

      Not the groom’s horse since it had returned to the stables without him. Had Devlin been thrown? That would explain his odd behavior that morning as well as the wound on his temple.

      Except that Devlin Barrow was extolled as being an extraordinary horseman.

      To Jules’s surprise, the door to the structure wasn’t locked. Cautiously he peered inside, not sure what he expected to find.

      That was just it. He hadn’t expected to find anything. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness—and see the horse blanket lying on the shack’s worn wood floor.

      Frowning, he stepped in for a closer look. The horse blanket wasn’t one of Stanwood’s, which were monogrammed with the royal crest.

      He caught a scent in the stale air of the small room and smiled knowingly. A man who knew about the baser desires, Jules was familiar with the aroma of sex.

      He stared down at the blanket, wondering who had shared that blanket with the groom last night and how he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

      Obviously, the woman wasn’t from the Stanwood house-hold or she would have been riding one of the royal horses with the monogrammed blanket and tack.

      So who was she?

      He started to turn to leave when he saw something that stopped him. Crouching down, he lifted the edge of the horse blanket. It had appeared to be nothing more than cheap material like most blankets used under a Western saddle in this part of the world.

      But this blanket had leather trim. It was what had been stamped into the leather that caught his eye. Whitehorse Days.

      Jules frowned as he read the date and the words: All-around Best Cowgirl.

      He dropped the blanket back to where he’d found it and rose. All-around Best Cowgirl. She shouldn’t be that hard to find given that he now had the event date.

      If Devlin Barrow—or even the princess—thought either of them could keep secrets from him, they were both mistaken.