“Okay,” I said, then was struck that this might be the last night I ever see him. And wasn’t that depressing? I forced myself to smile as I added, “I have no plans to do anything other than swill champagne and bask in the glory of the big win.”
“That’s my girl.” He was tall, dark and tempting in a beautiful suit that fit his wide shoulders and narrow waist to perfection. He took my hand and a little shiver of excitement passed through me. Was it the touch of his skin? His accent? His strength and virility? Something about Derek Stone always gave me a little thrill of anticipation, and I doubted the feeling would ever get old.
I sipped my champagne as we walked to the front desk. Derek asked for his package and the clerk handed him a small wrapped parcel.
The Robert Burns book.
I turned on him, miffed. “I left that in the safe. What are you doing with it?”
“Giving it to you,” he said, and handed me the book.
“Oh.” I held the book close to my chest. “Hmm. I’m not sure what I should-”
“Let’s go outside, shall we?”
Taking hold of my elbow, he walked me out to the valet area, where a deep purple Bentley limousine was parked. It was solidly built, like a Sherman tank.
The blacked-out back window slowly rolled down and a woman inside extended her expensively gloved hand out the window.
Derek turned to me. “May I have the book?”
“You’re kidding,” I whispered. I recognized the woman wrapped in shadows in the Bentley’s backseat.
“I never kid,” Derek said.
I stared at the Robert Burns book, its red gilded cover radiant in the reflected light of the old-fashioned streetlamps that lined the hotel’s drive. Then I met Derek’s gaze. “Are you sure it’s the right thing to do? The world should have a chance to see this book and read its contents.”
“This is the right thing to do,” Derek assured me.
Why wasn’t I convinced? “It doesn’t matter what I think. The book belongs to Royce McVee.”
“Yes, I spoke with him earlier. He’s thrilled to be rid of it, and when he heard who the buyer was, I thought he would spontaneously combust.”
“Oh. Well, that settles it.” Reluctantly, I gave the book to Derek and he turned to face the woman in the car. He placed the book in her open hand and bowed from the waist.
“Thank you, Commander,” she said crisply. After handing the book to a man sitting beside her, she gave me a minute nod and a queenly wave of her hand. The window began to rise and the Bentley drove off.
“Whoa,” I said, staring at the car as it reached the end of the drive and turned left. “That was intense. So you told her about the book?”
Derek watched until the Bentley disappeared over the ridge. “No.”
“But how else would she know? She must’ve heard the whole background thing with Robert Burns and the princess.”
“Not from me,” he stated. “Do you honestly think I would repeat the story of a seditious eighteenth-century Scots poet illegitimately fathering a royal princess’s baby? I’d be laughed out of the palace. It obviously never happened.”
“But-” A movement across the street caught my eye. I glanced over and saw Gabriel leaning against a stone wall, watching me. His arms were folded across his chest and he was laughing. A black taxicab pulled up and Gabriel gave me a salute, then climbed into the cab and was whisked away.
“What were you going to say?” Derek said.
I blinked a few times. Had I imagined him? No, and I hadn’t imagined his laughter, either. So now I had to wonder if Gabriel had tried to steal the book in order to sell it to the very person who now owned it. I couldn’t blame him for laughing. Maybe I should’ve just let him get away with the book.
“Love?”
I focused on Derek. His eyes twinkled with laughter and his lips were twisted in that mocking half smile I grew more and more fond of every day, despite my best intentions.
“So you’re saying,” I began, “that all of a sudden, out of the blue, the queen of England gets a bug up her butt for an old book of coarse, sentimental, impossible-to-comprehend Scottish poetry.”
He flexed his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, we Brits prefer not to think that members of our beloved monarchy have bugs.” He shrugged. “Or butts, for that matter.”
“Sorry to offend. But…” I stared down the street, where I’d last seen the Bentley driving east toward the palace. Then I glanced in the opposite direction, where Gabriel’s taxi had gone. I wasn’t sure what I’d learned from the Flaxen’d Quean and Kyle’s death, but I knew I was not quite as unhinged and tattered as when I first arrived in Edinburgh. In fact, I felt a lot better. I turned to Derek and asked, “What do you think will happen to the book?”
He eased his arm around my shoulders and I caught a trace of his scent, an intoxicating mix of leather and citrus and pure masculinity. “I think it’ll make for hours of royal bedtime reading.”
“I doubt it,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t help but worry that she’ll take that book and its secrets to her grave.”