The Knight's Kiss Read online

  She looped her stylish purse more securely over her shoulder, nodded to Roger, then headed for the door.

  “Please, Your Highness, it’s important to Mr. Black that…” Roger’s voice drifted off as it became apparent Princess Isabella wasn’t going to change her mind. His gaze flicked to the camera, discreetly mounted in one corner of the conference room. He flashed Nick a look that said, help me out here.

  Damn.

  Before the princess could make her way around the conference table, Nick punched a couple of numbers on his telephone. He watched onscreen as the conference room phone rang. Luckily, the princess paused while Roger snapped up the receiver and listened to his brief instructions.

  After switching off the small television, Nick flung open his office door and strode down the short hallway, past Anne’s desk and the bathroom, toward the conference room. As Nick approached the double doors, Roger’s voice carried into the hall.

  “Your Highness, Mr. Black is on his way. He would like to meet with you.”

  “Thank you,” came the silky voice from just inside the door. Then she hesitated. “But you didn’t say a word on the telephone. How could he have known—”

  “I-I’ll let Mr. Black explain.”

  Roger scuttled out the door, passing Nick in the hallway and giving him a shrug that said, I tried.

  Nick forced himself not to be perturbed. Roger pocketed a hefty salary to buffer Nick from the outside world. The older gentleman handled his job wonderfully, even going so far as to put his own name on the company’s office lease and tax forms. Thanks to Roger, only the very determined knew of Nick’s existence.

  Determined individuals like Princess Isabella.

  After taking a deep breath, Nick entered the conference room, all smiles. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. I’m Nick Black. It’s truly an honor to meet you.” He extended his hand, and when she accepted the handshake, he found her skin to be as smooth as her mesmerizing voice.

  “I apologize for any inconvenience,” he continued, “but since Mr. Farris handles acquisitions and sales of my collection, I assumed you’d prefer to speak with him.”

  “Glad to meet you at last, Mr. Black. Apology accepted.” She cocked her head toward the small camera mounted in the corner of the conference room. “But I don’t appreciate being spied upon.”

  So the princess had a brain to match her beauty.

  He flashed her an apologetic look. “I’ll admit that I don’t, either. Gives me the creeps.”

  Creeps being the understatement of the millennium. Centuries before, while he was living in a quiet village outside London, England’s bloody Queen Mary heard rumors about the man who never aged and sent her spies to investigate. When they reported back that no one in the village knew of Nick’s birth, his family or anything else about his background, she ordered him tossed into the Tower of London for as long as it took to discover whether the rumors were true. Only a last-minute escape aboard a ship bound for France saved him from a fate he still shuddered to contemplate.

  Though he’d had close calls before, the experience with Queen Mary taught him two valuable lessons. First, that those who discovered his curse would treat him like a criminal, and second, never to stay in one place too long. People noticed. People talked. And he’d be damned if he’d spend the rest of his long, long life being treated like a lab monkey.

  He rested his hands on the back of the chair Roger had pulled out for the princess. “As Mr. Farris said, Your Highness, I’m a very private man. Hence the security. Surely you can understand that, as a member of one of the most watched families in Europe? It’s my guess that those who enter or exit your palace are under constant surveillance. And by more sophisticated equipment than I possess. I hope you won’t consider my methods to be ‘spying.’”

  “Touché, Mr. Black.” She flashed him a quick smile, letting him know he’d broken the ice, then sat in the chair he held out. “Why don’t we get down to business?”

  He took the other seat. “Please, call me Nick.”

  She smoothed her dress, a deceptively simple beige silk sheath he suspected cost even more than the string of pearls looped around her neck. “Of course…Nick. Allow me to be blunt. I’m here to invite you to San Rimini.”

  He fought to keep the surprise from his face. People generally expressed interest in his collection, not him personally, and he liked to keep it that way. Besides, the last place on earth he wanted to visit was San Rimini. He’d suffered too much personal loss on that soil ever to go back, unless something or someone there could break his curse. The impeccably groomed princess before him didn’t appear to be in the curse-breaking business.

  He folded his hands on the table. “I’m afraid I don’t give lectures, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Nothing like that. I could have called with such a request. What I propose should be far more interesting to you.”

  The princess knew how to bait a hook. “Which is?”

  She leaned back in her chair, though her back and shoulders remained in model-perfect alignment. He wondered if she’d spent her entire childhood being coached on proper posture or if it came naturally to her.

  “As you know, Nick, the diTalora family has held the throne of San Rimini for nearly a thousand years, ever since the country gained its independence. In that time, we have accumulated a massive private collection of art, artifacts and historical documents. The bulk of the pieces are in storage beneath the royal palace. Haven’t been touched in years. Centuries, perhaps.”

  A shiver scudded along his spine. “Are you looking to sell some pieces?”

  “No. I wish to catalogue them. Determine what’s important, what’s not. In some cases, I need to determine what they even are. Then I want anything of significance to be used for the expansion of the Royal Museum of San Rimini. The museum expansion project was started by my mother, and now that she’s gone, it means more than ever to my family to follow it through to completion. I believe you’re the man for the job.”

  Access to the royal collection? Even in his wildest dreams, Nick never thought he’d be offered such an opportunity. He forced himself to remain calm, to keep his hands still on the tabletop, even though his stomach tightened in anticipation.

  Princess Isabella didn’t seem to notice his excitement, because she continued on with a wave of her hand. “I admit, it was difficult to obtain any of your credentials, aside from the word of some of our university historians. But they have assured me your knowledge is extensive. In some cases, even beyond their own.”

  So that’s how she’d gotten his name. Over the years, Roger had made discreet inquiries to double-check the authenticity of some of Nick’s acquisitions. On occasion, when Roger failed to understand the technicalities of his research, Nick followed up himself. Apparently, the professors at the University of San Rimini kept detailed notes about the level of questions he’d posed and about the extent of his private collection.

  “So what do you think?” she asked. “Would you care to take on the job? I’d offer excellent compensation for your time, of course.”

  “I’m certain you would.” He rose from the table, his mind working overtime as he slowly paced the length of the conference room. There had to be a catch. A break of this magnitude couldn’t just tumble into his lap, not after so many years.

  “Why me?” he finally asked. Spinning to face her from the far end of the room, he added, “As you say, you do have a number of experts right there in San Rimini.”

  “For this project, I prefer to hire someone with a fresh eye. Someone who isn’t angling to get a paper published or achieve tenure as a result of working for me. That could color their conclusions.”

  “Perhaps my conclusions would be colored for other reasons.”

  She met his gaze, her steady amber eyes filled with the self-confidence royals invariably possessed in abundance. “As a private collector, your best chance to profit would be to undervalue certain pieces, perhaps hoping to obta
in them from me for less than market value. But since I don’t plan to sell any of them,” she leaned forward in her seat, her look clearly meant to let him know she wouldn’t waver on the issue, “the point is moot. Also, you’re a very private man. I don’t envision you using the position to grandstand with the media, or as a means of raising your stature within the art community. If you have an incentive for taking the position aside from the salary or the sheer intellectual stimulation it would offer, I can’t imagine what it would be.”

  Her eyes held a challenge. He wasn’t about to answer it.

  He certainly couldn’t tell her he cared nothing for the artifacts themselves, that he only collected them on the off-chance he might glean knowledge that would lead him to Rufina. If the witch even lived.

  Returning to Princess Isabella’s end of the table, he leaned one hip against the high windowsill and changed the subject. “Tell me more. What exactly would I be doing day-to-day? And for how long?”

  In other words, the nitty-gritty. How many people would see him? Ask questions?

  The corner of her mouth quirked up at his interest. “The job will entail systematically inspecting the pieces in the collection, then writing a report for each one. I want to know what it is, its historical value, anything you find important enough to mention. You’ll report your findings to the museum’s board of directors once a week. They shall then work with me to decide how best to utilize the pieces in our museum expansion.”

  “How many people are on the board?”

  “Eight. Mostly professors, historians. And the museum curator, of course.”

  People who would delve into his credentials. He couldn’t exactly answer their inquiries with a casual, “Hey, I lived it. No need for a degree!”

  “As for how long the job will take,” she folded her hands on the table, steepling her index fingers, “that depends on you. I can’t predict what difficulties you might encounter. Suffice it to say it will be a major undertaking. But you shall have whatever resources you require at your disposal—access to the university libraries, the assistance of other experts—anything you think you’ll need. Just let me know and I’ll arrange it.”

  Nick looked to the ceiling for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The princess presented a tempting offer. But could he risk it? He wouldn’t last a week before the board started asking questions. And he had a hunch the princess would soon have questions of her own. Questions he couldn’t possibly answer.

  Isabella studied him as he began to pace once more, apparently mulling over her offer. There was something dark, something shadowed about Nick Black that sparked her curiosity and, as much as she hated to admit it, her desire. His looks were striking—dark brown eyes that flickered with intelligence, a perfectly sculpted jawline, high cheekbones. He possessed the smooth olive skin and fine bone structure common in San Rimini, yet rarely seen in Americans. She wondered, not for the first time since hearing of the enigmatic collector, if he had a San Riminian heritage.

  Despite learning all she could about the man, his appearance surprised her when he’d entered the conference room. Not his good looks per se—she met dozens of good-looking men each day in the course of her royal duties—but his youth. Given the depth and breadth of his knowledge about San Rimini and its history, and the rumored size of his collection, she’d expected a man closer to her father’s age. But Nick’s close-cropped black hair didn’t show a trace of gray. If she had to guess, she wouldn’t put him a day over thirty-five. Maybe closer to thirty. Even though he wore a loose long-sleeved black shirt and dark gray slacks, she could tell he possessed the lean, corded muscle of a man in his twenties. It made no sense. His stature reminded her of a youthful Olympic boxer or a martial arts expert, but he exuded the aura of power and confidence obtained only after years of success and accomplishment.

  Even more contradictory, she’d never imagined a collector of ancient artifacts would sport a giant abstract painting in his lobby or fill his office space with ultramodern furniture. Not to mention the ultramodern technology. She couldn’t help but allow her gaze to drift to the camera mounted in the corner of the room. Why did she have the niggling sensation she’d stumbled into something more complicated than a simple business arrangement? Like she should leave the conference room with the same speed Mr. Farris had?

  It’s common for executives to have cameras in their conference rooms, she reminded herself, trying to shake off her sense of unease. Nick appeared friendly enough, and he came highly recommended as the world’s leading collector of San Riminian art, so it was only natural he took care to document any visits to his office.

  Besides, she’d promised her late mother, Queen Aletta, that she’d do everything in her power to revitalize the Royal Museum of San Rimini. If Nick Black could help her fulfill that promise, she could live with being disconcerted in his presence.

  “I am sorry, but I cannot accept.” He stopped pacing and met her gaze. “Though the offer is flattering and I am truly tempted.”

  A mixture of disappointment and surprise washed through her. After having nearly every expert in San Rimini lobby her for the position, the man she’d finally selected turned it down. “May I ask why not?”

  “The oversight.” His voice held no emotion, as if explaining why he might choose a red shirt over a blue one. “If I take this position, it will mean justifying myself to a committee. Thanks, but no thanks. I have no desire to argue each of my conclusions to the satisfaction of a group of men who want nothing more than to prove me wrong. As you pointed out, most professors and historians want to make their own mark.”

  She drummed her champagne-painted fingernails on the table. No doubt she could find someone else for the job. But her sources told her Nick Black was the best. She’d promised her mother the best.

  “There must be some oversight,” she insisted. “The museum can’t very well display pieces with certain historical claims unless those claims are verified.”

  “So let me draw my conclusions. When my job is complete, the board can review my work. I’ll submit any supporting documentation they might want, but I won’t spend my days arguing with them. If they disagree with my findings after they’ve reviewed everything, fine. They can change what they wish. I won’t argue.”

  She frowned. “You’d willingly allow your conclusions to be changed? Without benefit of argument?”

  “I didn’t say willingly. No one likes to be contradicted. But if I haven’t adequately documented my findings, or if I make an erroneous assumption, then it’s their job to correct it. I don’t see why I need to be roasted over the coals during weekly meetings.”

  She pointedly looked at the two chairs. “No, I don’t imagine you’re the weekly meeting type.”

  “I’m not the meeting type, period.” He grinned, and she found his smile mesmerizing. How could a man like Nick, with such a fantastic smile, lock himself away from human contact?

  It had taken weeks of haranguing his secretary to get the appointment, but now that she was here, Isabella found him to be quite personable. And she felt she’d gained the reclusive man’s trust, at least a little.

  Perhaps she could capitalize on that to make both Nick and the board happy.

  “What if you report directly to me?” she asked, brainstorming aloud. “I’ll turn your reports over to the board, and if they need to ask questions, I’ll relay them. That way, you’re available to them as they prepare the new exhibits, but you won’t be subject to direct cross-examination.”

  “And I’ll have privacy as I work? I don’t want anyone looking over my shoulder or inspecting my credentials every time I unroll some ancient decree or inspect an old pot.”

  “I’ll monitor your progress myself.”

  When he flashed her a look of doubt, she added, “My degree is in art history. And as you might know, my mother was fascinated with San Rimini’s past. She spent a great deal of time at the Royal Museum, and probably knew it as well as the curator. I’ve always had a fascination w
ith San Rimini’s history as a result. If there’s anything I’m unsure of, I’ll ask questions.”

  “You have time to do this?”

  She pictured her ink-filled appointment calendar. She hardly had time for sleep, and nearly every meal was eaten during the course of one meeting or another to maximize her waking hours.

  But she wouldn’t disappoint her family. They were counting on her to honor Queen Aletta’s memory. “I’ll make the time,” she replied. “This museum project is a high priority for me, and I want you on board.”

  Nick took in an audible breath. “All right, Your Highness. You’ve convinced me. But I reserve the right to leave if I feel the conditions are not optimal.”

  “In other words, if you aren’t given privacy to work.”

  Again the devastating grin. He might live a cloistered life, but he knew exactly how to make a woman melt.

  “I’ll do my best.” She extended her hand, and he reached across the conference table to seal the agreement. As his large hand enveloped hers, she noticed his thumb bore a number of small scars. A thicker scar wound its way across the back of his hand toward his wrist. Another mystery to riddle out.

  She looked up, and once again found herself captivated by the depths of his coffee-brown eyes.

  She broke the contact, then withdrew one of her cards from her purse and handed it to him. “If you can be ready tomorrow, I’ll be leaving Logan Airport for San Rimini at 9:00 p.m., sharp. My father gave me use of his plane. You’re welcome to fly with me if you’d prefer not to go commercial. Just go to the charter flight desk in the international terminal and show them this card. They’ll be expecting you.” She hesitated, hoping she hadn’t pushed too hard. “Of course, if you can’t start right away, I understand.”

  She could see from his expression that the idea of taking a private jet appealed to him. Good. She’d use the time to further earn his trust. Perhaps even find out a little more about his background before she set him loose in the massive storage rooms beneath the royal palace.