Free Follow the Sun by Deborah Smith

a movement afoot in the parliament to kick him out and make the country a democracy.”
    “Fine. I’d like that.”
    “But they can’t without rewriting their constitution. It says Kara remains a monarchy as long as there’s a royal heir to the throne.”
    “I hope Olaf is the last of his species.”
    “He is—unless he finds a woman with no taste who wants to have his kids.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “About finding a woman with no taste?”
    “About getting the diamond, smart guy. if Tess has it. I don’t think she does.”
    “You’re getting softhearted or softheaded or both. Kiss Tess Benedict a few times for me,” Kyle ordered cheerfully.
    “You should get so lucky. And she uses her maiden name. It’s Tess Gallatin, not Tess Benedict.”
    “She couldn’t wait to forget Benedict, eh?”
    Jeopard started to say something in her defense, then frowned. He still didn’t know what had motivated Tess to marry a dying man old enough to be her, grandfather.
    He glanced out the window and stiffened with concern. The two college boys—the ones from Royce’s rugby team—stood on the dock talking to Tess. From their downcast expressions he knew they were upset, and Tess looked distressed too.
    They handed her a bulky brown grocery sack. She cradled it in her arms and looked inside at the contents. Slowly she turned her face away, and Jeopard could tell from the boys’ awkward, pleading looks that she must be crying.
    “I have to go,” Jeopard said abruptly. “I’ll call back later.”
    He hung up the phone on Kyle’s startled “But—”
    Jeopard reached the dock in front of the
Lady
in time to hear one of the boys say, “I swear, Tess, the dog never did anything like this before.”
    She looked from him to Jeopard, her eyes glistening, her expression sorrowful. “Hi.” She introduced them quickly, and the boys shook his hand. They squirmed, disgruntled to have anyone else see their misery.
    Jeopard gazed at the bag, then up at Tess. “What’s wrong?”
    “There was an accident with my scrapbook.” She gave the boys a sympathetic look. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
    “My dog chewed it up,” one of the boys explained.
    “Tess, we know how much it meant to you,” the other said plaintively.
    “Guys, I understand. I really do. Forget it.” Her jaw clenched and she blinked rapidly, trying to smile. “If Royce were here he’d say ‘Why all the bloody nonsense over a heap of paper?’ ”
    They smiled back wanly. When they left fifteen minutes later they were still apologizing.
    Jeopard studied her carefully, torn between a desire to comfort and the need to interrogate her.
    “Come on, we’ll see what we can do,” he murmured. Jeopard put an arm around her shoulders and they went aboard his yacht. Once in his cabin she sank down on the bed and spread out the remnants of the scrapbook. It had been thoroughly mauled.
    Looking stricken, she gently arranged pieces of paper containing ripped photographs and newspaper articles. Jeopard sat down near her.
    She looked up, her smoky blue eyes miserable. “I don’t have much that belonged to Royce. He brought very few mementos with him when he moved here from England. His daughters received the rest—rightly so, of course.” She touched the ruined scrapbook tenderly. “But that makes what I have more special.”
    “I didn’t realize how much he meant to you.”
    She tilted her head to one side and studied him quizzically. “Why do you think I married him?”
    Tess, I can forgive you for being tempted by a five-million-dollar inheritance
.
    “My vanity wants to believe that you were lonely and vulnerable after your father died. Royce represented emotional security.”
    She nodded. “At first. But he was hardly a father figure. He was quite a lady’s man—a bit on the retired side in that respect, but a lady’s man nonetheless.” Tess paused. “Your vanity?”
    Jeopard smiled devilishly.
Keep it light
, he warned himself.