The Prince's Secret Bride. Raye Morgan

be nice to be so sure and cavalier about other peoples’ lives,” she said. “Who do you think you are, anyway? King of Carnethia?”

      He looked at her sharply, but no, she really didn’t seem to know she was talking to someone pretty close to that mark.

      “Just someone trying to help you,” he said softly.

      “Really?” She tossed her damp hair and sent him a penetrating look. “And what do you expect to get out of it?”

      He gave her a half shrug and a well-practiced look of pure boredom. “I was hoping for a simple thank you, but even that seems to be out of the question.”

      For just a moment, her gaze faltered. “Why should I trust you?” she asked, pushing hair back out of her eyes.

      “You don’t seem to have a lot of choice, do you?” he grumbled, moving restlessly. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the police, there must be somebody I can call to come get you or something.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it poised. “Give me a number.”

      She shook her head and looked away.

      “Come on. We’ve got to get you out of this drizzle, at least.” He looked back at the store-fronts along the riverside. It was late and most of the shops were closed. “How about that little café there? It’ll be warm and dry.”

      She looked up. He could see she was tempted.

      “A nice hot cup of coffee? Come on. I’m buying.”

      She glanced at the café and a look of longing came into her face. “I’m so hungry,” she admitted softly.

      He snapped the cell phone shut and put it back in his pocket. “That does it. Come on. Let’s go.”

      Turning, she looked searchingly into his face. He wondered what she saw there—a helpful new friend or the hard-bitten man he knew he’d become? It seemed she hadn’t recognized who he was. That was a relief. So she wasn’t particularly political. Good.

      “Let’s go,” he said again, putting his hand lightly at her back to urge her along.

      He entered the café warily, scanning the scene like a soldier on point. Simple booths lined one side of the room. Wrought-iron tables and chairs filled the center. Posters and advertisements covered the walls and pop music was playing on the speaker. The place was almost empty. A pair of young lovers had a booth at the back but they were lost in each other’s eyes and paying no attention. An elderly couple was finishing up a meal toward the front. Involved in some sort of argument, neither looked up. That left the waitress and she just looked bored and very sleepy. No one reacted.

      Who knew—maybe he was becoming unrecognizable. That would certainly be an improvement.

      He led her to a booth in a protected corner and sat across the table from her.

      “An omelet and a tall glass of milk,” he ordered for her, giving the bored waitress a quick, cool smile. “And I’ll take a cup of espresso.”

      “Eggs,” the mystery woman said thoughtfully, as though she were considering whether she really liked them or not. “Okay.” She sneaked a look back at the counter. “But that pie looked awfully good,” she mentioned.

      He stifled the grin that threatened to soften his mouth. “Okay. A large piece of the apple pie, à la mode, too. We’ll share it.”

      As the waitress left with their order, the woman gazed at him wide-eyed with that searching look again.

      “Do I know you?” she asked softly.

      He looked at her sharply, afraid she’d realized who he was, but all he saw was bewilderment in her beautiful eyes, and he relaxed. If she felt he looked familiar, but couldn’t quite place who he was, that might at least make her trust him a bit more.

      “Not that I know of,” he replied lightly. “We met on the bridge just tonight.”

      “Ah. Of course.”

      “And I don’t know your name,” he noted.

      She nodded as though she thoroughly agreed, and he prodded further.

      “My name’s Nick,” he said, fudging a bit. “What’s yours?”

      “Uh…” She looked trapped for a moment and avoided his gaze, looking about the café as though she was going to find the answer to his question in the atmosphere. “Marisa,” she said quickly as her eyes focused behind his head. “It’s Marisa. Marisa Fleur.”

      “Marisa,” he repeated. “Pretty name.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marisa.”

      She put her small, fine-boned hand in his and for the first time, she actually smiled. “Nice to meet you, too, Nick.”

      The beat of his heart stuttered. There was no way to deny it. For just a second, he was afraid his heart had stopped. The feel of her small, smooth hand in his, the beauty of her sweet smile, the warmth that came momentarily from her dark gaze, all combined to shock him as though someone had hit him with a stun dart. He blinked, drew in a sharp breath, and quickly pulled his hand away from hers. What the hell…?

      “And thank you,” she was saying. “It might not seem like it but I really appreciate you taking the time to…well, to help me.”

      He nodded, avoiding her gaze, still shaken by the involuntary reaction he’d had to her smile and touch. “No problem,” he said gruffly.

      He risked looking at her and it was okay. Whatever spell had swept over him seemed to be gone for now. Still, forewarned was forearmed. He was going to be on his guard from now on.

      He waited for her to take a few bites of her omelet before trying to question her. Her color was better by then, and she’d lost most of that trapped look.

      “So,” he said, nursing his espresso in both hands. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

      She looked up at him, eyes wide. “You mean on the bridge?” she asked.

      He nodded.

      She looked down. “I…well, I think a man came up from behind and knocked me down.”

      His hand tightened on the slender cup. “Did you know him?”

      “I don’t think so. No,” she amended quickly. “No, I’m sure he was just a mugger or something. He grabbed my purse and then he threw my bag over the side of the bridge.” She gazed at him earnestly. “That’s why I was climbing up on the railing. I was trying to see where my bag had gone.”

      “And that was what you were looking for along the side of the river?”

      She nodded. “I know there’s not much hope in finding my purse, but if I could find my bag…”

      “It’s a suitcase?”

      She hesitated, looking uncertain. Then she nodded again.

      He frowned. There was something odd and off-kilter about all this. “When did it happen?”

      She hesitated, shrugged, then her eyes lit up as she remembered. “Just before I saw you the first time. I think maybe you scared him away.”

      The waitress brought them a huge slice of pie on a ceramic plate. A rounded mound of vanilla ice cream was melting on top. Marisa smiled again and he frowned to keep from letting it get to him.

      “So you’re here from out of town?” he noted as he handed her a fork. “Where are you from?”

      She looked down again. “I really can’t talk about that,” she said evasively.

      He shrugged. “Do you know anyone in town?” he asked.

      She didn’t answer but the look on her face said it all. What was he going to do with her? The realization came to him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was going to take her home. At this time