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“Hey, gorgeous, it’s been almost two years, hasn’t it?”

She nodded, her head swimming. He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, still hard and handsome, still looking like a playful rascal and a bit of a rogue. His thick rust-colored hair seemed to have a constant breeze blowing through it, his mischievous blue eyes were framed by eyelashes so thick, it was almost criminal, and his mouth looked so deliciously sensual, it ought to be censored. That was Max, just as she remembered him. Lord how she’d missed him!

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, looking completely bemused.

“I came to…to sort of arrest you. In a way.” She made a face. What a farce.

“Arrest me?” At last he focused on the security guards behind her. He frowned. “What did I do now?”

“Oh Max,” she sighed. “Why can’t you be good?”

“Kayla, my sweet,” he said grinning at her, “you know that’s not in my nature.”

Dear Reader,

This is the last book of a series of six about the lost princes of Ambria, a lovely, fog-shrouded, fictitious island nation off the coast of Western Europe. All the princes have been found and brought back home again. Their family, which was shattered and torn apart when their parents were killed by the Granvilli rebellion almost thirty years ago, is reconnected and healed about as well as it can be. Goodness and mercy are back in the land.

Too bad all our problems can’t be solved so easily—but then, we’re not royal, are we?

It’s been something of a royal year, what with the Westminster Abbey wedding of Prince William and beautiful Kate Middleton and all the excitement and celebration that surrounded it. This wonderful couple brought back star power to the British monarchy, a sense of special magic that reminds us why fairy tales so often feature princes and princesses. Larger than life, the focus of dreams. No wonder we love it all.

Prince Max and the woman he loves, who is secretly raising his child, need a bit of that magic to find their happy ending. They have to struggle through misunderstandings, a kidnapping and a heavy shared sadness that almost destroys their love. I hope you enjoy being a witness to the way they manage to capture their dream.

Thank you for reading my story.

Regards!

Raye Morgan

About the Author

RAYE MORGAN has been a nursery-school teacher, a travel agent, a clerk and a business editor, but her best job ever has been writing romances—and fostering romance in her own family at the same time. Current score: two boys married, two more to go. Raye has published more than seventy romances, and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. She lives in Southern California, with her husband and whichever son happens to be staying at home at the moment.

Taming the
Lost Prince

Raye Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Nick and Jenn, and most of

all to CB, the new prince in our family.

CHAPTER ONE

PRINCE MAX leaned out over the edge of the wrought-iron rail on the balcony. A light rain was falling but he hardly noticed. He was at least the equivalent of five floors up. The castle garden below looked farther away than that. A strange, shivering impulse inside made him wonder what would happen if he jumped.

Too late now. A few weeks ago he could have jumped. He could have ended his worthless life with a flourish. No one would have cared.

But now he had a new life—new responsibilities. People were beginning to expect things of him. What the hell made them think he could possibly deliver?

Actually, this might be a better time to jump. Maybe he would find out he could fly. It looked so simple. All he had to do was spread his wings. He knew what it felt like to fly. He’d been flying ancient crates from past wars for years now. Flying planes was the one thing he knew he was good at. But taking that leap on his own would be different.

No, he wasn’t going to jump. He wasn’t going to mock his fate by trying to fly without a plane. Self-destruction wasn’t really his style. But he did have a peacock feather he’d picked up in the castle gardens. He held it out.

“Fly and be free,” he muttered to it. And then he let it go. It began its long, meandering flight toward the ground and he leaned out even farther, watching it go. It flashed back colors, blue and green and gold. As it neared the ground, it started to spin crazily. He laughed. “Go, baby,” he murmured to it. “Do your thing.”

The feather hit the ground and his laughter faded away. Now it was caught, just like he was. A short flight to nowhere.

“Hey,” a candy-coated feminine voice said to him. “Don’t lean out so far. You’ll fall.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. Was he ready for this? Did he need it?

“You okay, mister?” she said.

He turned slowly, wondering if she realized who he was. Probably not. He was dressed for hiking, not for the ball. But he thought he’d seen her before, passed her in the halls. He recognized the look. And he knew the drill. Either he gave her a simple friendly nod and went on his way, or he smiled at her suggestively and things went on from there. His choice. He could tell she was ready. Eager even. A part of him groaned.

But he couldn’t give in to that. What the hell? He was young. Life was there to be lived. And who knew how much longer he’d be free to follow where his urges led him?

“I’m fine,” he said, and he smiled.

“You’re wet,” she countered flirtatiously.

He shook his head like a sheepdog. Water flew everywhere. She gave a little shriek and then she laughed.

“You’d better come on to my place and get dry,” she offered.

“Your place?” he repeated questioningly.

“Sure. My room is on this floor. I’m only a few doors away. You need to dry off. You wouldn’t want to catch a cold, would you?”

His gaze made an exploratory journey down the length of her, from her spiked, fire-engine-red hair, down to her full lips, lingering on her hourglass figure. His look was insolent. He knew it. And he also knew she was the type of woman who liked that sort of thing.

“Sure, why not?” he said. Anything was better than joining the other royals at this ridiculous ball the queen had cooked up. A few hours with this willing playmate might be just the thing to help him get rid of this feeling of doom that was hanging over him. “You’re like an angel of mercy, aren’t you? Always on the lookout for someone in trouble.”

Her smile had a wicked sparkle to it. “Not really,” she said. “I’m kind of picky about who I help.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And I made the grade?”

Her eyes widened appreciatively. “Oh, yeah. You’ll do.”

He pretended to bow. “I’m honored.”

She giggled and led the way.

* * *

Queen Pellea swept into the royal office and glared at Kayla Mandrake. “So where is he?” she demanded.

Kayla jumped up from her desk, shaking her head. That sinking feeling she’d been fighting since she’d found out who the new prince actually was had come back with a vengeance. “I haven’t seen him at all,” she said. “I thought he was supposed to be here….”

Pellea grabbed the back of a chair, her knuckles white. “Of course he was. He was given complete instructions. And he blew them off, as usual. Everyone is waiting in the ballroom.”

“Shall I make an announcement over the speaker system?”

Pellea looked pained. “Oh, Kayla, you’ve been in Paris all this time and you don’t know how things have been. This guy is driving me crazy.”

Kayla held back a grin. That was Max. He drove everyone crazy.

“He’ll settle down,” she told the queen without really believing it herself. “Once he understands the way we do things.”

“The more he understands, the more he flouts the rules. You’re going to have to go out and track him down.”

Pellea made a sound of angry impatience and tossed her head in frustration. She was wearing a spectacular gown—deep blue silk threaded with gold, strapless, form-fitting, with a skirt cut to move sinuously as she danced…or walked. Kayla felt frumpy in her simple skirt and sweater.

“And I hope you’re prepared to kill him when you find him,” Pellea said dramatically.

“Your Majesty,” Kayla began, beginning to give in to a touch of anxiety. She was trying to think of a new excuse for him on the fly—but something that wouldn’t get her fired. The queen did have her emotional moments.

“Don’t.” Pellea held up a hand like a crossing guard. “I don’t want to hear any tales of woe. I don’t want to hear explanations and confessions. All I want is Prince Maximillian here where I can punish him.” She shivered with what looked like anticipation. “Or his head on a platter. That would do.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Do you understand?”

Kayla nodded. Despite everything, she was working hard to suppress a grin. She didn’t dare let it show. Pellea was so angry.

The trouble was, she knew very well that the Max she had known was sure to make Pellea even angrier as time went by. There was nothing she could do to avoid it.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll do my best.”

“Just find him!”

Queen Pellea swept out like the storm she could sometimes resemble. Kayla took a deep breath and steadied herself. What now? How was she supposed to find a rebel prince who obviously didn’t want to be found?

It was always this way with Max. Rules were made for other people, not for him. He was easily the most infuriating—and the most charming—man she’d ever known. Just the thought that she would see him again any moment gave her a thrill that was electric. But it also gave her a dull, pounding headache. How was she going to work this? Heaven only knew.

She started by making a few phone calls. There were guards everywhere and security officers working the monitors at special locations. If he was in the castle, someone must have seen him. And some had. She got a lead here and there, and finally, an actual sighting from a hall guard who’d seen him disappear into the apartment of a local girl who was well-known for partying.

“Of course,” Kayla muttered acidly. “I should have known.”

She started off toward the place like a rocket, but deep in her heart, she dreaded the whole confrontation ahead of her. What was she going to do once she got to the door? Barge in on a seduction? She shuddered as she punched in the floor designation on the elevator panel.

“Darn you, Max,” she whispered. “Do you always have to make life so hard?”

She thought about the last time she’d seen him, almost two years ago, his thick, bronzed hair disheveled, his eyes bleary with pain. Emotional pain. They’d both been in agony that night, both mourning over the same tragedy. The next thing she’d known, he was gone.

The elevator doors slid open silently and she stepped off, heart beating, head aching. It was only a few steps to the doorway. She stood in front of it, wishing she were anywhere else. Her phone buzzed and she pulled it open. It was Pellea, of course.

“Yes?”

“Have you found him yet?”

She sighed. “I’ve got his location. I’m about to go in and see….”

“Watch him,” Pellea warned. “If there’s a balcony, he’ll jump.”

Kayla gasped. “You don’t think he’s suicidal, do you?”

“Oh, heavens no. He defies death for the fun of it. I swear he’s got to be an adrenaline freak.”

Kayla considered that seriously. “You know…” she began.

But Pellea wasn’t waiting to hear other views.

“Last week, we had a gathering of the new princes at the ski chalet, a meeting for them to get to know each other better. We’d barely begun cocktails when Max and the chalet manager’s two beautiful daughters took off on snowmobiles, racing off into the mountains as though it were nothing more than a free snow day. And they didn’t come back.”

“Oh.”

“No excuses the next day, of course. He thinks his smile covers all bases.”

“I see,” she said for lack of anything cogent to add. She felt a little lost with the queen battering her with complaints like this. A part of her wanted to defend him, but how did you defend behavior like this?

“Last night it was dinner with the Italian ambassador. We’re about to sign an important treaty with them. He didn’t show. And what was the excuse? He’d stopped in at a pub and got involved in judging a karaoke contest and lost track of time.”

“Oh, Max,” Kayla said in soft despair.

“So I say, watch the balcony. He’ll tie a rope to the edge and pretend he’s Tarzan. Don’t let him get away.”

“I won’t.” She only wished her determination was as stout as it sounded.

Pellea sighed. Maybe her tone hadn’t been convincing. “Give me your exact location. I sent a couple of security officers up to help you. I’ll key in directions for them.”

That startled her. “Help me do what?” she asked after giving the queen her location.

“Make sure he doesn’t escape. We’ll tie him up and drag him in if we have to.”

“We will?” She knew Max and she was pretty sure that wasn’t going to be done easily. This whole thing was beginning to resemble a nightmare. She stared at the door to the target apartment. Max was supposedly in there. They’d told her he’d gone in with a woman. Did the phrase love nest come to mind? This wasn’t the way she’d imagined their reunion might pan out.

“Now I want you to be forceful,” Pellea encouraged. “You must take him by surprise.”

Kayla gasped in horror as a picture of what that might mean spun through her head. “You mean … burst in on him without warning?”

“If you have to. Whatever you do, you’ve got to stop him from disappearing again. Call me when it’s over.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.” She hung up just as two security guards stepped off the elevator and marched over to join her.

“Sgt. Marander, ma’am, at your service,” the one who seemed to be in charge announced. “Here’s the master key. We’re here to back you up. We’ll be right behind you.”

She chewed on her lower lip. “Can I knock first?” she asked, rather forlorn.

His stare was steely cold. “I’m afraid not. Her Majesty specifically recommended a surprise attack. She’s afraid he’ll …”

“Escape by jumping off the balcony. Yes, she told me as much.”

He glanced at her and frowned. He probably heard the reluctance in her voice and didn’t approve. “Sorry, miss. Instructions from the queen are not to be taken lightly.”

She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, straightening her shoulders and heading for the door. “Here I go.”

She closed her eyes and turned the key in the door, letting it swing open. “Max?” she asked breathlessly, not daring to look. “Are you in there?”

There was an ominous moment of startled silence and then a deep voice cried, “Kayla! What are you doing here?”

She forced herself to squint through one slightly opened eye. And there he was, standing before her, completely clothed. Very civilized. Not scary at all. She gasped in relief.

“Oh, Max,” she said, half laughing. And as he threw his arms around her, she sighed and went limp in his embrace. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He hugged her, kissed each cheek, dropped a quick one on her lips and, finally, leaned back to take a look.

“Hey, gorgeous, it’s been almost two years, hasn’t it?”

She nodded, her head swimming. He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, still hard and handsome, still looking like a playful rascal and a bit of a rogue. His thick rust-colored hair seemed to have a constant breeze blowing through it, his mischievous blue eyes were framed by eyelashes so thick it was almost criminal, and his mouth looked so deliciously sensual, it ought to be censored. That was Max, just as she remembered him. Lord, how she’d missed him!

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, looking completely bemused.

“I came to … to sort of arrest you. In a way.” She made a face. What a farce.

“Arrest me?” At last he focused on the security guards behind her. He frowned. “What did I do now?”

“Oh, Max,” she sighed. “Why can’t you be good?”

“Kayla, my sweet,” he said grinning at her, “you know that’s not in my nature.”

But he was genuinely happy to see her. Taking her in was like a good shot of whiskey. One look and he was transported two years back in time, back to those sidewalk cafés with the red umbrellas along the Mediterranean coast, back to the balmy breezes and sunlight filtering through the palms, back to hearing suggestive songs played by small combos while they’d sat sipping chichis, the local drink that tasted a bit like a Mai Tai and packed a punch like an angry kangaroo. The things they’d done, the things that had happened, the choices made, the regrets—it all still churned inside him. He couldn’t let it go.

But he also couldn’t regret knowing Kayla. She’d always been a joy. It was fantastic seeing her again.

“This is Kayla,” he said casually to the redhead who was standing behind him, looking terrified. It appeared she wasn’t used to having castle security barge in through her locked door. “Her husband was my best buddy in the old days when we flew sorties out of Trialta together.”

“Oh,” the redhead said weakly. Her teeth seemed to be chattering. “Nice to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Kayla responded and tried to smile at the girl.

Max saw the confusion in her eyes and realized she was still digesting the situation she’d burst in on. It was pretty obvious she thought she’d found him having a “moment” here. That was hardly the case, though the redhead seemed to have thought it might turn into one, too.

But he hadn’t been able to conjure up any interest. He’d been polite. He’d chatted. He’d accepted one small drink and the redhead had worked hard at creating a seductive scene. But he’d found himself looking out at the stars in the inky sky and listening to the strains of the orchestra from below in the ballroom, and all desire for that sort of satisfaction had melted away.

But before he found a way to explain all that, the two guards stepped forward and began to slip metal restraints on his wrists.

He looked down, startled. “What the hell is this?”

“Sir,” Sgt. Marander said in an unfortunately pompous tone, “consider yourself in the custody of castle security.”

Max blinked. He couldn’t accept this. Handcuffs? They had to be kidding. He quickly saw two or three ways out of the situation. He could easily handle the guards and …

But then he looked up and met Kayla’s worried gaze. Her pretty face, her dark, clouded eyes and her long, silky blond hair all created in flesh a picture that had haunted him for two years. Adrenaline still sizzled inside him for a few seconds, then began to drain away.

He wasn’t going to run from Kayla. Now that he’d found her again, he didn’t want to lose her until they’d had a chance to talk. If he could mine her memories and join them with his, maybe he could slay some of the demons that kept him awake at night. Maybe.

“Please, Max,” she was saying, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm. “It’s really important to Queen Pellea that you make an appearance at the ball.”

He smiled down into her anxious gaze. “There is nothing I’m looking forward to more,” he lied smoothly. “Now that you’re here, I’ll have someone to dance with.”

She jerked back, pulling her hand away. “Oh, no. Not me. You’re supposed to be meeting eligible ladies of rank. That’s not me.”

He stared at her. “Kayla, what’s the deal? Do you work for the royal family, or what?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve known the queen since we were kids together and my sister’s husband is in the guard. Pellea offered me a job and I jumped at it.” She shrugged, palms up. “I love it here.”

He frowned, not sure what to make of that. When they’d been in Trialta, he’d assumed she was as much of a vagabond as he was. Now to know she had royal ties …

But what was he thinking? He was the one who was supposed to be a prince.

Still, he didn’t like being corralled this way. He could tolerate going to the ball if they let him come on his own terms. This way was just too much. Kayla or no Kayla, he was back to wanting to get the hell out of here. But his hesitation had meant he was locked up.

“Hey, I’ll come with you willingly,” he noted. “But could we get rid of these handcuffs?”

She hesitated, looking down at them. Then she gazed up into his eyes.

He smiled. She sighed.

“Sure,” she said, wondering if she were risking everything but hardly caring. She looked at the security agents. “Let him go.”

The sergeant glared at her. “But, Miss …”

“I’ll take the responsibility,” she said. “If he bolts, I’ll tell the queen it was my fault.”

The man shrugged and used the key, but he didn’t look happy about it.

Max smiled and flexed his wrists and looked toward the balcony in the redhead’s room. He could make it in two bounds and be jumping for freedom in seconds. Everything in him was ready to go. Why the hell should he stick around when he knew he was going to hate the results?