Free The Playboy Prince by Nora Roberts Page A

have been taken for any tidy fishing town that survived on and with the sea. But as they rounded the harbor the docks became more expansive, the buildings larger. Cargo ships with men hauling freight down gangplanks flanked an ocean liner. Like much of Cordina, Le Havre was more than it seemed. Through location and the skill of its people, it was one of the finest ports of call in the Mediterranean. It was also the center of Cordina’s naval base.
    Negotiating the narrow, winding streets, Bennett drove through a set of gates. He slowed only long enough to be acknowledged by the guards with snappy salutes. There were bungalows here painted a faded pink that reminded Hannah of the inside of a seashell. Palms and flowers grew in profusion, but she recognized the structure and order of a military facility. Moments later, Bennett drew up in front of a stucco building where seamen in whites stood at attention.
    “For the next few hours,” he murmured to Hannah, “we’re official.” Bennett reached in the back and pickedup his hat. Even as he set it on his wind-ruffled hair, one of the seamen reached the door to open it for him. With the brim shading his eyes, Bennett returned the salutes. He knew the sedan had already pulled up behind him, but didn’t look back as he guided Hannah into the building.
    “First, we have a few formalities,” he warned her, tucking his hat under his arm.
    The formalities were a group of officers, from admiral down, and their wives and attachés who were waiting to greet and be greeted by His Royal Highness.
    Hannah acknowledged the introductions and pretended not to see the looks of speculation.
Not the prince’s type.
She could read it easily in every eye that met hers. She fully agreed.
    They were given tea and a tour of the building—for her sake. Hannah feigned an ignorance of the equipment shown her, asking the proper questions and looking properly polite at the simplistic answers. She could hardly mention that the radar and communication systems were as familiar to her as they were to the trained operators. In a pinch, she could have rigged the equipment to contact the ISS base outside London or Deboque’s headquarters in Athens.
    She walked by display cases, listening with apparent fascination as an admiral explained to her the difference between a destroyer and an aircraft carrier.
    The pomp and circumstance continued as they were escorted outside to await the docking of the
Indépendence.
The band, their white uniforms blinding in the sun, struck up a rousing march as Bennett stepped onto the dock. Crowds of people cheered from behind the military barricade. Babies and small children were held up so that they could catch a glimpse of the prince.
    Hannah counted off a dozen security people mingled with the crowd in addition to the two men who were never more than an arm’s span from Bennett’s elbow.
    Deboque is out, she thought. Everything is a risk.
    The battle-gray destroyer maneuvered into position while the crowd applauded and the band continued to play. Seamen on the dock stood at attention as did seamen on deck. After six months at sea, the
Indépendance
was home.
    The gangplank came ponderously down. The pipes were sounded. The captain strode down to salute the officers and bow to his prince.
    “Welcome home, Captain.” Bennett offered his hand, and the crowd cheered again.
    There was, as there always was on such occasions, a speech to be made. Hannah kept her face attentive while she slowly scanned the crowd.
    It was no surprise to find him there. The small, slightly stoop-shouldered man was on the edge of the crowd holding a small Cordinian flag. In his plain work clothes and quiet face, he would never be noticed or remembered. He was one of Deboque’s best.
    There would be no move on Prince Bennett today, she thought, though the back of her neck itched. Her successful planting at the palace had been one of her highest contributions to Deboque’s organization. The