Stolen Kiss From a Prince by Teresa Carpenter Page B

on how much skin or how scandalous the photo. That was the very reason she limited her assignments outside the palace. She more than most knew just how far a paparazzo would go for that money shot.
    And this was not just any story. A missing Prince, an orphaned heir to the throne, these were stories of a lifetime.
    Her nails dug grooves into the soft leather of her chair. Oh God, she should never have left the palace.
    “Make no mistake.” Julian warned her. “I have no pity for the paparazzi. They are a relentless plague on society. Those men seek to prey on Samson’s vulnerability, his moment of tragedy. I will protect him at all costs.”
    “I can see that.” He’d already demonstrated the truth of his claim by putting Sammy’s comfort and safety before his own on more than one occasion. Quite heroic of him actually.
    Right. Her admiration for him was so not helping in her effort to fight her surprising attraction for the man.
    “A single picture of Samson during this trip would set a photographer up for life. I will not allow him to be used in such a manner. Do not disappoint me in this matter, Katrina.”
    She glanced at Sammy, who’d fallen asleep on the big bed. So innocent, so dependent, so important. “You can trust him with me.”
    “I do.” For a moment his brown gaze softened. “Or you would not be here. Goddaughter of Jean Claude or not.” He gestured toward the bed. “Rest while you can.”
    *
    Julian returned to the domed lounge, chose a large club chair. He leaned back and discovered the chair reclined. Thank you, Jean Claude. After a while Julian dozed but came awake when the train slowed. Neil appeared to advise him they were pulling into their first stop and they would be delayed while their car was transferred to a different line.
    “St. James is posted outside Master Samson’s room. I’ll be escorting the trespassers inside, turning them over to the proper authorities.” With Samson tucked safely away and their equipment confiscated, the men would be led through the car and delivered into the care of the French Transport Police.
    Julian nodded his agreement. Once alone, he tried to make a few calls but was hindered by the limited mobile service. The third time his call was dropped he gave up and switched to text. He let his father know they were en route and gave his assistant instructions on several issues, including making arrangements for Katrina to have a room near Samson and the nursery. Once that was done, he used a digital remote to put a rugby game on. Unfortunately a bad glare on the screen sent him hunting up the control for the blinds.
    “My lord.” A middle-aged porter appeared. “May I be of assistance?”
    Julian indicated the glare on the television. “I wish to close some of the blinds. Where are the controls?”
    “They are here, sir.” He opened a hidden panel on the half wall between the lounge and dining room. “Or you may use the controls on the remote.” The porter approached and bowed slightly. “If I may, sir?”
    He proceeded to show Julian what the digital remote controlled, which was everything from the telly and blinds, to the climate and fireplace. He could even activate the gate at the top of the stairs and summon staff, all without leaving his seat.
    “Would you care for something to eat?” the porter asked.
    “Not at this time.” Julian thanked and dismissed the man.
    With the shades at half-mast, the light in the room dimmed considerably, and before long Julian dozed again. Worry for his brother, for the kingdom, for Samson kept Julian from slipping into a full sleep. He prayed with all his heart for his brother’s safe return.
    To contemplate what must be done if the Prince and Princess perished felt like a betrayal of hope. But it must be done. Julian needed to be ready to make decisions and act as soon as his brother was found, dead or alive. Because the possibility existed that Donal would be found alive but grievously injured.
    Plans