Capturing the Crown Bundle. Nina Bruhns

gray metal hangar. “If Reginald—” she swallowed tightly as she spoke the name “—didn’t send for me, then why’d you bring me here at all?”

      He frowned. “I had to take you somewhere safe.”

      “Not really.” Studying him, she wished she could read his closed expression. “I’m not your responsibility. As a matter of fact, why are you—head of Silvershire’s public relations department—here to begin with?”

      For the first time since he’d appeared in her hotel room, cool, confident Chase Savage appeared at a loss for words.

      She pressed her advantage. “You started to say something earlier, before the shooting started. You said you’d been authorized to do something. What was it?”

      “Not now.” He shook his head. “We’ll discuss that later, once we’re in the air.”

      “In the air to…?”

      “I’m taking you home, to Naessa. You’ll be safer there than here.”

      “Home?” Exactly where she wanted to go. Except…“I need my cello.” The Strad could never be replaced.

      “I’ll send someone after your instrument,” he promised. “The police should be there by now. They won’t let anyone mess with it.”

      “I need to see a doctor and make sure everything is all right with the baby.”

      “You can do that once you get home. It’s only a forty-five-minute flight to Naessa.”

      Something still bothered her, though she wasn’t sure what. He’d addressed her every concern smoothly. Too smoothly. Maybe that was the problem.

      She glanced around them. “This doesn’t look like the royal hangar. Where’s the Silvershire crest?”

      Expression implacable, he shrugged. “The king won’t allow that because of the danger from terrorists. The royal crest could act as a huge bull’s-eye for undesirables.”

      He had a point, though she hated the word he’d used. Undesirables. In Naessa, as the king’s unacknowledged daughter, she’d been called that and a lot worse. Bastard had been her mother’s particular favorite. For a while Frances had adopted it almost as a nickname, referring to Sydney as her bastard spawn, reminding her at an early age how she’d ruined her mother’s life.

      Sydney vowed her child—son or daughter, whichever—would only enrich hers.

      Chase got out of the car and crossed around the front to Sydney’s side, opening her door and holding out his hand. She slipped her hand into his larger one, noting the calluses on his long, elegant fingers, and allowed him to help her from the low-slung car.

      Staring up at his rugged face, Sydney wondered about his ancestry. Though he wore a well-cut, conservative suit, his shaggy hair and hawklike features made him appear dangerous. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn he had a trace of pirate in him.

      As if he’d read her thoughts, he smiled, stunning her. He really was, she noted abstractly, struggling to find her breath, quite beautiful. In a hard, rugged, utterly masculine way.

      She reminded herself that beautiful men were bad news. Reginald had provided her with living proof of that.

      Once Chase had closed the door behind her with a quiet thunk, she had another round of misgivings and tugged her hand free. While private jet was always more comfortable than commercial, she barely knew this man.

      “We don’t have time for this.” He consulted his Rolex, shooting her a look of pure male exasperation.

      The watch looked familiar. Ah, yes. Reginald had gifted all his staff with similar watches for Christmas.

      “Shall we go?”

      Finally she nodded.

      Up the steps into the waiting jet they went. A short, blond man greeted them. Evidently, he was one of the pilots. He pulled the door closed before disappearing into the cockpit.

      Sydney had time to note the jet’s plush interior before one side of the hangar opened like a giant, automatic garage door.

      Chase barely glanced at her. “Buckle your seat belt.”

      His cell phone chirped. Immediately, he answered, turning away from her to try and conduct his business with a measure of privacy.

      The plane began to taxi forward.

      Chase closed his phone and then powered off. When he looked at her, the dangerous mercenary had returned, full-force.

      “What is it?” she asked. Something, some wild suspicion, an absurdly ridiculous hope, made her ask. “Was that call from Reginald?”

      His hazel gaze touched on her coolly. “Is that why you came to Silvershire? To see the prince?”

      “Of course. I wanted him to look me in the face and tell me…”

      “Tell you what?”

      “Never mind.” No way was she admitting to this man, this stranger, the depth of her shame. Reginald had pretended to love her. And now, when she carried his child, a baby they’d made together, he pretended he didn’t know her. She sighed. “Forget I asked that. It was foolish of me.”

      Chase watched her a heartbeat longer, then he dipped his head, his hazel eyes shuttered.

      Another thought occurred to her. “Is this plan to remove me from your country carried out at Reginald’s direction?”

      “No.” He gave her a long, hard look. “This is entirely spur-of-the-moment. Not planned. After what happened back at the hotel, I had no choice. It’s not safe for you in Silvershire. Especially now.”

      That caught her attention. “Especially now?”

      “That phone call…Things have changed,” Chase said softly, as though his words could hurt her.

      “Why? What’s happened?” She searched his hard, rugged face. “What are you not telling me?”

      He took her hand and leaned forward, compassion turning his hazel eyes dark. “That phone call I just got? It was the Duke of Carrington, my boss. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Prince Reginald, the father of your unborn child, is dead.”

      Chapter 2

      “Dead?”

      Her amazing eyes widened as she took in his words. Shock and disbelief flashed across her face. She hadn’t known. Russell had been so certain, but he’d been wrong.

      Sydney Conner was hearing the news for the first time. Chase would bet his life on that.

      “Dead?” She repeated, bewilderment echoing in her husky voice. “Reginald? Are you sure?”

      Still watching her closely, he nodded. Unbelievably, he had a random urge to touch her, to stroke her creamy skin and soothe the grief from her face. Instead, he clenched his jaw and kept his hands to himself.

      “When?” Her husky voice vibrated with sadness.

      “He died last night, at his country estate. We—that is, the royal public relations department—have a press conference scheduled for—” he glanced at his watch “—right about now.”

      “A press conference?” She said the words as though they were foreign. Again her sapphire gaze searched his face. “You’re telling the truth? Reginald…is…really…dead?”

      “Yes.” He kept his own face expressionless. “You’ll see it in the papers tomorrow.”

      Though her hands shook, she felt no immediate sense of loss. She’d already lost Reginald the day he’d walked away from her and the child they’d created. He’d made it plain he wanted nothing further to do with the woman he’d once courted so ardently.

      The