In Pursuit of a Princess

A PICTURE-PERFECT CRIME

Princess Lara Kincade returned home to New Orleans to continue her late husband’s humanitarian work. She also hopes to force his killer out of hiding. But a priceless painting has put her plans—and life—at risk. Embroiled in a deadly art scandal, Lara must depend on handsome photojournalist Gabriel Murdock to help her expose a murderer. Gabriel’s determination to keep her safe has softened her heart to love’s possibilities again. Somewhere among his photos lies the identity of the murderer, but can they uncover the killer before this heist turns deadly?

“You’ve got me right where you want me, Princess.

And you know I can’t walk away.”

“You mean, not without your story?”

Gabriel got up and came around the table, then lifted her out of her chair. “No, Princess, I can’t leave because of you.”

He saw a new kind of fear in her eyes. A fear of having loved and lost. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He tugged her close. “Yes, you do. You’re a smart woman. Surely you can see it?”

She lowered her gaze. “See what?”

“This,” he said, his fingers lifting her chin. “This, Lara.”

LENORA WORTH

has written more than forty books for three different publishers. Her career with Love Inspired Books spans close to fifteen years. In February 2011 her Love Inspired Suspense novel Body of Evidence made the New York Times bestseller list. Her very first Love Inspired title, The Wedding Quilt, won Affaire de Coeur’s Best Inspirational for 1997, and Logan’s Child won an RT Book Reviews Best Love Inspired for 1998. With millions of books in print, Lenora continues to write for the Love Inspired and Love Inspired Suspense lines. Lenora also wrote a weekly opinion column for the local paper and worked freelance for years with a local magazine. She has now turned to full-time fiction writing and enjoying adventures with her retired husband, Don. Married for thirty-six years, they have two grown children. Lenora enjoys writing, reading and shopping…especially shoe shopping.

In Pursuit of a Princess

Lenora Worth

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

What is my trespass? What is my sin, that thou hast so hotly pursued after me?

—Genesis 31:36

To Lavender and Landry—two special princesses!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

“You’ll probably get bored following me around, Mr. Murdock.”

Gabriel managed a smile, his gaze traveling over the regal woman standing in front of him. “I can’t imagine that, Princess Lara. Many men would give their eye teeth to have my job right now.”

The princess stiffened at that comment. “I’m well aware of the paparazzi camped out down near the front gate, Mr. Murdock. Those photographers are more than willing to sell their souls—and mine—for a picture of me. Why, I’ll never comprehend. I’ve accepted that, but I don’t have to like it. However, having a photojournalist follow me around day by day is going to be a bit daunting. And as I said, you’ll get bored. My life is not as exciting as the tabloids seem to think.”

Gabriel didn’t want to feel sorry for the beautiful woman standing by the fireplace, but the grief and doubt on her face did look real. And she had suffered a great loss. “I’m sorry,” he said, wondering why he felt the need, “about your husband. In spite of my being a skeptic of the worst kind, I do believe you two were the real deal.”

She turned and stood against the backdrop of the marble fireplace and an exquisite painting of an Arcadian village over the mantel, her expressive blue-green eyes holding him. “We loved each other. I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks.”

Or him. She didn’t really care what he thought. And Gabriel didn’t blame the woman. He’d read up on his subject enough to know the details. American heiress falls for European prince and the whole world goes wild with fascination at this match made in ratings heaven. In spite of the odds, they get married and will supposedly live happily ever after. But five years into their picture-perfect marriage, the prince is killed in a hunting accident. And the beautiful young princess is left grief-stricken and alone, to carry on their good works all over the world.

A widow for over two years now, Her Royal Highness Princess Lara Barrington Kincade had come home to New Orleans to continue her charitable work by holding an art fundraiser to benefit the Kincade Foundation and to continue building Kincade houses for the HRH Theodore Kincade Home Restoration Project in New Orleans.

Gabriel glanced up at the massive painting over the fireplace. He’d seen pictures of it in displays and magazines. A Benoit, painted in the late-nineteenth century by the French artist Jacques Benoit. An authentic representation of the Arcadians who’d been forced out of Nova Scotia in 1755, but depicted in New Orleans in the true Arcadian art theme of a place of contentment and harmony. This, and the title Arcadian Dreams, made the painting bittersweet. A village within a dream—two distinct themes in one painting. And worth a lot of money, if his guess was right.

“The Benoit is stunning,” he said to take her mind off the masses pushing at the gate. He noted a blinking light on the wall over the painting. A sensor for protection, no doubt.

“Yes.” She turned to glance up at the painting. “It was a wedding gift from my husband.”

So this was how her life played out. Priceless artwork and never-ending philanthropic events.

Gabriel had been assigned to follow the princess around and produce a photo spread with accompanying content. Right now she was preparing for a big art auction and reception to benefit Kincade House. He was supposed to be grateful that he’d been “given” this opportunity at the national magazine where he’d worked for ten years. “Given” being the loose term for punishment. According to his editor at Real World News, Gabriel had gone rogue one too many times to get the pictures and story he wanted.

Nothing like getting the job done while rubbing a third-world dictator and the Secretary of State the wrong way in order to get the best shots. But that wasn’t why he’d been banished to New Orleans to do a fluff piece. He didn’t want to think about the real reason he’d agreed to take this easy assignment.

Gabriel searched for the truth and he told it in his award-winning photographs and tell-it-like-it-is text. While the magazine owner and his editor had published his latest exposé with unabashed glee, they still had to make him pay to save face with the government.

And this was their way of doing that. This was torture for a true reporter and photojournalist. But what a beautiful torture.

Remembering another woman in another place, he put on a blank expression and tried not to chafe at being in such a straightlaced setting.

“Call me Gabriel,” he said, thinking even though this was child’s play, at least the subject matter was...lovely to look at. The princess was honey-blonde and photogenic, no doubt about that. But Gabriel wanted to get down to the real woman behind that chignon and those designer pumps.

“Gabriel,” she said, coming to sit down on the settee across from the overstuffed chair where he’d landed. “So I understand you have a home here in New Orleans, too.”

“Yes.” He nodded, stared at the hot tea growing cold in front of him. “I grew up here, and when my mother died, I inherited a town house in the Quarter. So it’s not far from your home. One of the many reasons this assignment enticed me.”

That much was true at least. He didn’t mind some downtime in New Orleans. Good food, good jazz and a mirror of his own conflicted soul. Now he had a beautiful woman to admire, too.

“I’m sorry about your mother. Were you close?”

He wanted to say no, not really. His artistic, temperamental mother had stayed single and had never told him who his father was. Maybe that was why he’d become so nomadic. Seemed he was always searching for the truth. Instead he said, “We grew to be close as we both matured.”

She smiled at that. “Sometimes, growing up is hard work.”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to discuss his relationship with his mother. “Anyway, I have the town house here. So I’ll have my darkroom and some other equipment stashed away.”

“That’s convenient,” she said, sipping her tea with her pinkie precisely in the right place. “My parents bought this house when I was a toddler. They split their time between New Orleans and several foreign locations since my father was a diplomat—great for them and educational for me. After they retired and moved to Virginia, they left this house to Theo and me. We spent part of our honeymoon here.” Her vivid eyes went blank for a second. “I rarely get back here but this fundraiser is important. I want to continue the work Theo and I started in New Orleans.”

Gabriel finally lifted the tea and took a swallow. Bitter and tangy, the tepid liquid coated his dry throat. “New Orleans will certainly benefit from your efforts. This city needs all the help it can get after that flurry of hurricanes a few years back.”

She inclined her head, her pearl teardrop earrings trembling against her skin. “We started this foundation a year after the last big hurricane.”

Gabriel glanced around the big square parlor. “Did your home suffer any damage?”

“A good bit, but we moved most of the artwork before the storm and when we returned we rebuilt the house. I have a friend who rents the carriage house, but she’s on her honeymoon right now. Esther married a renowned adventurer and archaeologist—Cullen Murphy. You might have heard of him?”

Gabriel grinned. “Heard of him and had the pleasure of meeting him and the lovely Esther when we did a magazine shoot on the Levi-Lafitte Chocolate Diamond. They mentioned several locations in New Orleans, but obviously left your estate out for the sake of privacy. Amazing find, that.”

“Yes, Esther told me all about their big adventure. Lots of danger and intrigue, but they found the diamond and now it’s in a museum in Washington, I believe.”

“That’s right. So you know Esther and Cullen. It’s a small world.”

“Too small at times,” she said.

When a nearby cell phone rang, she excused herself and hurried to pick it up, surprising Gabriel. He figured she had servants in every corner to take care of such tasks. He’d already met one of them, a strange little lady who had introduced herself as Deidre. Deidre had brought him into this room and...disappeared immediately. He’d seen others, bodyguards and drivers and security teams. He’d been fully vetted before he could even take on this assignment and then a nice burly escort had met him, frisked him and brought him here. Gabriel had no doubt he was being watched even now.

“Hello?” Princess Lara turned toward him with an apologetic smile. “Hello?” Frowning, she hung up. “Wrong number.”

Gabriel wondered about that and why Deidre wasn’t fielding the phone calls. “Could be. Or maybe the photographers lined up outside are taking turns to see if you’re still in the house.”

“I told Deidre I was expecting some very important calls, but if this keeps up I’ll have to let her run interference.”

Ah, that explained that, then. A self-sufficient princess. He liked her already. But she could be a bit naive, too. “You know the paparazzi have a way of getting even the most private of numbers.”

She came to sit back down, a pretty frown marring her face. “You know all the tricks, I see.”

“A few.” He finished off the tea, then stared over at her. “But I want you to understand, while I’m trailing around after you, I will respect your privacy and your work. You’ll have full approval on any and all photographs that make the cut for RWN magazine as well as the accompanying content, I can assure you.”

She did the chin-lifting thing again—her way of nodding, he decided. “And when will we officially begin?”

Gabriel looked at his watch. “I’m on the clock right now.”

She stood as if to dismiss him but stopped. “Would you like to stay for dinner? We can go over my schedule. It can be a bit daunting if you’re not used to it.”

Surprised, Gabriel shrugged. He had to eat. Might as well get to know her over good food. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate that. I like to be prepared so, yes, a schedule would be great.”

“I’ll go and tell my assistant to ready our meal, then.”

Gabriel wondered if he wanted to eat anything cooked by Deidre. The little woman was so somber and skittish, she gave him the creeps. And it took a lot to scare Gabriel Murdock.

Maybe he should be more wary of the princess he was about to get to know on a personal level. After all, beauty and grace could hide a multitude of sins.

* * *

The man was sinfully handsome.

Lara took another bite of the catfish smothered in crawfish étouffée, her stomach almost recoiling at the rich New Orleans food. Her nerves weren’t the best these days. Since Theo’s death, she’d been an emotional wreck and her doctors had given her more sedatives and antidepressant pills than she cared to remember. But the pills didn’t help the never-ending ache in her heart. She pretended to take them, but most of the prescribed medication went down the drain. She had to have a clear head for the task ahead.

Tonight, she thought this distress might have more to do with the man sitting beside her at the antique Queen Anne table than the spicy food or a lack of pills. But those annoying hang-up calls hadn’t helped her nerves, either.

Gabriel Murdock ate the food with gusto, his manners impeccable even while he enjoyed each bite. He was buff and in shape, so he could afford the spicy sauce and crusty catfish. His hair was dark and curly, with just a hint of gray near the temples. His eyes were an interesting shade of brown—almost golden at times. She’d heard many tales regarding the renowned photojournalist, some of them good and some of them bad. “Infamous” was how Deidre had described him. He traveled light and often, never stayed in one place for long and was rumored to be one of the best at getting a story with just one shot of his camera. But he had also been involved in exposing corruption and righting wrongs by being nosy. Malcolm had thoroughly researched the man, but had given his okay to this assignment.

“He’ll be aware and on high alert,” Malcolm had told her. Apparently these were impressive qualities in a good photojournalist. “He tends to dig deep to get his stories.”

Deidre, on the other hand, warned Lara almost immediately.

“You’d best watch out for that one, ma’am,” her overprotective assistant had cautioned. “Especially since you refused to bring a full detail with us.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” Lara had replied. “I don’t want guards hovering around me day and night. Our smaller team is sufficient. I need some freedom for a change.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But Lara knew that the guards were out there somewhere, watching in spite of her need to break free. She wasn’t so complacent as to think they had let her get away with her request so easily. She would always be a member of the royal family, even if her husband was no longer alive. She owned a mansion full of priceless artifacts and antiques, too. And that meant protection, since even now she had death threats and stalkers and all sorts of other worries to consider. Now was not the best time to have a photographer trailing her, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed publicity for her cause. She’d have to be very careful about what she revealed to him, however.

But this one—Gabriel—seemed capable of handling anything they might encounter together. The man had been embedded with American troops in the Middle East, had trailed drug lords and terrorists undercover through the jungle to get the real story. He seemed to be content and confident in his own skin, even if his eyes did hold a rim of sadness. Lara felt a strange sense of peace, the first real peace she’d felt since Theo’s death.

“This is really good,” Gabriel said now. “My compliments to the chef.”

“We have a good friend who is an accomplished chef,” Lara replied, happy that he approved of the cuisine. “Even though Deidre is an excellent cook, Herbert insists on cooking for me when I’m in town. He so enjoyed teaching Theo all about Creole and Cajun cooking and the difference between the two.”

“Spoken like a true Louisiana soul,” Gabriel replied. “Did your husband enjoy eating the local dishes?”

“Oh, yes. He was willing to try anything. Even alligator meat and frog legs—I’ve never managed to acquire a taste for either.”

The room went quiet as she remembered the good times she’d had with Theo. Finally, she glanced over at Gabriel and realized he’d put down his fork. “I’m so sorry. It’s just...I miss him.”

“I understand.” He pushed his plate away. “From everything I’ve seen and heard, he was a good man.”

“The best.” She blinked away her grief with a quick flutter of her lashes and a flash of regret in her expression. “Now, let’s move on, shall we? We have a lot to discuss. I’ll show you some of the other art pieces—some I own and others on loan for the reception we’ll hold here before the official show in the Quarter. As you know, I intend to be in New Orleans for at least three months. How long do you plan to...shadow me?”

He gave her a direct look. “I have the whole month.”

One month, weeks and weeks, with this nice-looking man. Lara had to wonder if they’d get along, or if they’d wind up getting on each other’s nerves.

“Don’t look so glum,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I don’t bite. I know my job and I know my place.”

She shook her head. “But I want you to feel comfortable. I want you to get the story right. You know, a lot of people think I’m just interfering, trying to get publicity or pity, anything you can think of. They can’t seem to grasp that I lived here for many years and I want to give back to the place I love.”

“I don’t care what other people think,” he replied. “I’m here to follow you and to capture that essence that makes the world so fascinated with you.”

“I’m not so sure I have an essence,” she retorted, embarrassed by the way he looked at her. “I do care or I wouldn’t be here.”

“I believe you.”

“Then let’s get started. I’ll have Deidre bring dessert and we’ll eat while we compare.”

For the next couple of hours they nibbled on their mini-fruit tarts and drank more coffee while they went over the details of the next week.

Finally, Lara glanced up and noticed the time. “It’s close to eleven. You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m good.”

He gave her that look again, the one that made her blush. Was he one of those night owls who needed little sleep?

“But I imagine you’re tired.”

“I am rather fatigued,” she said, patting at her hair. She longed for a bubble bath and a good night’s sleep.

They both stood up and Lara was about to escort him to the door when Deidre walked in with a package. “Ma’am, I found this at the back door.”

“The back door? That’s odd. No one alerted us.” Lara took the square box and began to open it, thinking it might be the stationery she’d ordered from her favorite local paperie. “Do you mind if I check on this?” she asked Gabriel. “This might be the addressed invitations for the gala and silent auction we’re having at an old mansion in the Quarter. We had a typo in the first batch, so they were going to do a rush order to get them here in time.”

“Of course not.” He sat back and studied his notes.

Deidre watched as Lara tugged at the box. “I’ll put it away after you’re finished, ma’am.”

Lara pulled back the tissue paper and gasped, then backed against a chair, the box still in her hands.

Gabriel jumped up and grabbed the box. “That’s not invitations.”

Deidre peered over into the open package. “Oh, my. Oh, ma’am, I’m so sorry. I’ll take it away immediately.”

Lara nodded, put her hand to her throat. “Yes, please do.”

“No, don’t touch it.” Gabriel pushed Deidre away. “We need to alert security.”

“No. I don’t think—”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Just as a precaution.”

After Deidre turned away to pull out her phone, Lara regained some of her composure and stared up at Gabriel. “I think someone is trying to warn me away from New Orleans.”

He frowned, his gaze centered on her. “I think you might be right.”

She closed her eyes and thought about what she’d seen in that box. It was just superstition, nothing else. Or had the horror she’d feared started already? Had her tormentor already arrived in New Orleans?

Gabriel seemed to be as concerned as she was. He took her hand away, forcing her to open her eyes. “Who do you know that would send you a voodoo doll with a pin through the heart, Princess?”

TWO

“Really, this isn’t necessary.”

Gabriel glanced over at Lara Kincade, surprised that she had not wanted to call her security team or the police. He and Deidre had finally convinced her to call her head of security.

“But it is. You have to take these things seriously even if you think they’re pranks.” He studied the little satin-covered doll with the big blue eyes and the blond yarn hair. “A voodoo doll is a signal, prank or no prank.”

“I get this sort of ‘signal’ all the time,” she said, one arm wrapped around her waist, propping up the other arm she had lifted to her face. She stood just that way, her fingers curled against her chin, while she studied the red-satin-lined box with the odd-looking little figurine lying inside. “When I was young, I saw one of these in a store window down in the Quarter. I begged for it, but my mother refused to let me have it. She told me it wasn’t the kind of doll with which a little girl should play.”

“It’s not the kind of doll a grown woman should fool around with, either,” Gabriel replied, his English not nearly as proper as hers. But then, he’d practically grown up down in the Quarter. He’d learned street smarts long before he’d studied photography, and he’d learned how to read people long before he’d studied journalism. And something about the woman standing in front of him didn’t wash. She was too calm, too practiced. “You can’t take any chances.”

“They’re on the way,” Deidre said as she bustled around the room with a cell phone in her hand, her dark eyes wide with concern. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry.”