fighting and allowed him to guide her back inside the hut. “I thought you were calling St. Pierre.”
St. Pierre. Not home.
Whit could relate. He’d never really had any place he had called home. After his mom had left, he and his dad had moved around a lot—his dad following the seasonal work of construction. Then Whit had joined the marines, going from base to base, deployment to deployment. And becoming a bodyguard had brought Whit into other people’s homes without ever giving him a chance to make one of his own.
“Your aunt is making the call for me,” he said. He had asked her to the moment he’d realized he shouldn’t have left Gabby alone—because of her safety both physically and emotionally.
“You know who she is.” Her usually sweet soft voice was sharp with resentment, and her eyes darkened with anger. “You were just like everyone else keeping secrets from me and using me.”
Not only was she angry, she was in pain, too. He reached for her, trying to close his arms around her to offer comfort and assurance. “I didn’t—”
But she jerked away from him, as if unable to bear his touch. But then she touched him, pressing her palms against his chest to push him back.
“How could you...” her voice cracked with emotion “...how could you be with me that night and not tell me what you knew?”
If anyone had used anyone that night, she had used him—probably to get back at her father for humiliating her at the ball. She must have figured having his daughter sleep with the hired help would shame the king.
“I didn’t know, that night, that you and Charlotte were related,” he said. But he should have noticed the resemblance sooner since he’d known the U.S. Marshal before her plastic surgery; the surgeon hadn’t had to change much to make her Gabby’s virtual twin.
She stared at him, her eyes still narrowed with skepticism. She probably thought he should have known, too.
He continued, “I didn’t find out until after you’d disappeared.” And remembering his anguish over that, his temperature rose and his blood pumped faster and harder in his veins. She’d let him and her father and her fiancé believe she was dead. She was hardly the saint he’d painted her to be. “How could you?”
“How could I what?” she asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.
Images of that hotel suite flashed through his mind again, bringing back all those feelings of fear and loss and...
“How could you just take off?” he asked. And leave everyone behind worried sick about her.
“I had a threat,” she replied. “That person who hit you over the head that night left something under my pillow.”
“A letter threatening your life,” Whit said. If she hadn’t distracted him from doing his job that evening, he would have been the one to find the note. Or if he’d followed his instincts and locked down the palace, he might have found the person who’d left the threat. “I know.”
“Then you must know why I disappeared,” she said, as if he were an idiot unable to grasp a simple concept. “I was in danger.”
“Still are.” His gut tightened with dread at the thought of that man pointing the gun at her and her unborn baby.
She shook her head. “The kidnapper was caught.”
“Then who were those men at the airport?” he asked. “They sure as hell looked dangerous to me. Then again I didn’t get a good look at them—I was too busy dodging the bullets they were firing at us.”
“They probably thought we’d killed their friend,” she said, making excuses for the men. “I shot him, and you knocked him out.”
Whit nodded. “Yes, because he was threatening your life—just like the person who’d left the note. So you are definitely still in danger.”
She shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “The man who grabbed me was an opportunist. He recognized me, saw that I was unprotected and tried to take advantage of the situation.”
“Why was he here?” Why? Had he
St. Pierre. Not home.
Whit could relate. He’d never really had any place he had called home. After his mom had left, he and his dad had moved around a lot—his dad following the seasonal work of construction. Then Whit had joined the marines, going from base to base, deployment to deployment. And becoming a bodyguard had brought Whit into other people’s homes without ever giving him a chance to make one of his own.
“Your aunt is making the call for me,” he said. He had asked her to the moment he’d realized he shouldn’t have left Gabby alone—because of her safety both physically and emotionally.
“You know who she is.” Her usually sweet soft voice was sharp with resentment, and her eyes darkened with anger. “You were just like everyone else keeping secrets from me and using me.”
Not only was she angry, she was in pain, too. He reached for her, trying to close his arms around her to offer comfort and assurance. “I didn’t—”
But she jerked away from him, as if unable to bear his touch. But then she touched him, pressing her palms against his chest to push him back.
“How could you...” her voice cracked with emotion “...how could you be with me that night and not tell me what you knew?”
If anyone had used anyone that night, she had used him—probably to get back at her father for humiliating her at the ball. She must have figured having his daughter sleep with the hired help would shame the king.
“I didn’t know, that night, that you and Charlotte were related,” he said. But he should have noticed the resemblance sooner since he’d known the U.S. Marshal before her plastic surgery; the surgeon hadn’t had to change much to make her Gabby’s virtual twin.
She stared at him, her eyes still narrowed with skepticism. She probably thought he should have known, too.
He continued, “I didn’t find out until after you’d disappeared.” And remembering his anguish over that, his temperature rose and his blood pumped faster and harder in his veins. She’d let him and her father and her fiancé believe she was dead. She was hardly the saint he’d painted her to be. “How could you?”
“How could I what?” she asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.
Images of that hotel suite flashed through his mind again, bringing back all those feelings of fear and loss and...
“How could you just take off?” he asked. And leave everyone behind worried sick about her.
“I had a threat,” she replied. “That person who hit you over the head that night left something under my pillow.”
“A letter threatening your life,” Whit said. If she hadn’t distracted him from doing his job that evening, he would have been the one to find the note. Or if he’d followed his instincts and locked down the palace, he might have found the person who’d left the threat. “I know.”
“Then you must know why I disappeared,” she said, as if he were an idiot unable to grasp a simple concept. “I was in danger.”
“Still are.” His gut tightened with dread at the thought of that man pointing the gun at her and her unborn baby.
She shook her head. “The kidnapper was caught.”
“Then who were those men at the airport?” he asked. “They sure as hell looked dangerous to me. Then again I didn’t get a good look at them—I was too busy dodging the bullets they were firing at us.”
“They probably thought we’d killed their friend,” she said, making excuses for the men. “I shot him, and you knocked him out.”
Whit nodded. “Yes, because he was threatening your life—just like the person who’d left the note. So you are definitely still in danger.”
She shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “The man who grabbed me was an opportunist. He recognized me, saw that I was unprotected and tried to take advantage of the situation.”
“Why was he here?” Why? Had he
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