Chapter 12

“Lauren!”

As the older blonde’s sharp cry echoed through the courtyard, Dimitri didn’t know what surprised him more. The flourishing smack the American had communicated that she had every chance of landing, or that she’d let the man opposite her catch her in time. As Dimitri discreetly radioed the arrival of Smithson to his men in the field, he watched the man neatly fold Lauren’s hand over his and kiss her knuckles, smiling broadly as he lifted his head.

“You must forgive me, but I couldn’t resist.” Smithson’s voice was smug and self-satisfied. Apparently, the attempted smack pleased him far more than anything else Lauren could have done. Had she known it would?

Dimitri suspected she did.

“You scared me to death!” Lauren seemed to relent, then leaned in for a brief hug as her mother kept spluttering. “I made an absolute fool of myself looking for whatever you’d sent in the box, only to realize you’d never intended to send anything at all.”

“My sincere apologies.” Henry Smithson spoke with sharp, squared-off edges to his words, much like the man himself. Smithson was tall and pale, as blond as the Grants. He was built well—slender, but hard. Someone who took care of himself with diligence. Though he didn’t appear to be tatted with Typhon’s signature ink—and wore no obvious jewelry that would tie him to the god, Dimitri didn’t like his energy. His eyes were dark and intense, and he swept the space every few moments, as if he expected trouble. When none came, he turned to continue his introductions. He shook Stefan’s hand as if it was a competition, and Stefan, being Stefan, showed no expression at the firm hold. “Stefan Andris, yes? Royal cousin, diplomat, general man about town. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Hopefully not in its entirety,” Stefan said smoothly, to another round of polite laughter. When he turned to escort Lauren up the stairs, Henry moved in swiftly, taking her by the arm. Lauren betrayed none of the fear—the terror—that she had the day before while talking about Smithson. She was laughing, happy, actually appearing a little charmed by Smithson’s high-handedness in taking her away from Stefan. Dimitri and the security team had planned for this, but not so soon in the evening, not when the remainder of the entourage had yet to arrive.

The small contingent moved up the stairs toward them, Mrs. Raptis leading the way as—thank God—the next vehicle turned into the gate at the bottom of the hill. Not an official limo, but the plant they’d had idling nearby. “Oh,” Lauren said, turning. “Is that Emmaline and Kristos?”

“We shall all greet them!” Raptis neatly solved the awkward moment by keeping the limelight on himself, and Lauren played her hand by disengaging from Henry’s hold to turn back toward the parking plaza. As her gaze found Dimitri’s, he tensed.

She was still scared to death.

The glance lasted only a breath, and then she was trotting down to the car, which, of course, didn’t contain Emmaline but another friend of the family’s. Then the royal caravan did show up, and all was set to rights.

In the soft light of the setting sun, however, Henry Smithson’s gaze remained on Lauren as she greeted her friends. Hungry. Self-assured. Resolute.

True minion of Typhon or not, it’d be Dimitri’s pleasure to permanently kick this asshole to the curb.

With the arrival of the royal family, the rest of the party followed in short order, and soon the house was full to bursting. Dimitri skirted the perimeter of the main reception room, with its miniature stage for pontificating, and its wide dance floor. The Americans seemed too subdued to his eyes, but anyone who didn’t know them well wouldn’t necessarily guess. And Lauren, for her part, kept up appearances the best she could. She’d already danced with Smithson twice, laughing and blushing as if she were bowled over by the attention. She’d danced once with her father, another time with Stefan, and once with Kristos.

Now, finally, the evening was drawing to a close, and Dimitri could practically feel the air crackle with tension. With a celebutante’s unerring sense of timing, Lauren astutely guessed the musicians were embarking on their last dance of the evening, a traditional Greek celebratory number. Smithson was engaged in a lively conversation with King Jasen, so she slipped out of the room without anyone noticing her. Whether she legitimately needed air or she was merely bored, her absence likely wouldn’t be noticed as anything other than a capricious escape. She wouldn’t be back until well into the speechmaking, he was certain, while the rest of the party would be trapped by their own politeness, listening to Raptis ramble on about the future of O?ros.

Dimitri’s gaze swept the floor, alighting first on Stefan, who was also scanning the room, and then on Lauren’s parents, cheerfully drunk and looking...far too happy with themselves.

He double-checked Smithson’s position.

Gone. Dammit.

King Jasen was making his way to his seat of honor, but Smithson had vanished.

Stationed by the door as he was, it was easy for Dimitri to blend back into the shadows toward the corridor, but before he could turn away, he felt a small, strong hand on his arm.

He looked down into the fierce face of Nicki Clark. “Where’s Lauren?” she hissed. Dimitri looked up and saw Stefan bearing down on him as well, his normally impassive face now bent into a scowl. “I saw that creep leave right before I realized she wasn’t in the room anymore. That’s no good. He’s seriously the worst. I want to find her.”

“Miss Clark.” Stefan reached them and laid a hand on Nicki’s shoulder, staying her as Dimitri shrugged off her hold. “Creating a scene is not to our advantage. Not here.”

“Well, it sure as hell?—”

Their argument dissipated into a fierce whisper as Dimitri exited the reception room. The Raptis manor house featured expansive rooms and narrow corridors, but Lauren, he suspected, would behave the way most stalking victims would. She would head outside, someplace that wasn’t closed in, so she couldn’t be trapped. Somewhere there would be some people, but not too many, so she could be alone without being isolated.

Front or back veranda?

The front afforded the parking crew, but the back would have the staff setting up for the fireworks display Raptis had announced so proudly earlier in the evening. That was where she would be, he thought. Easier to explain away.

As he walked, he checked in with his men, each new report causing him to lengthen his stride. No, no, no.

Smithson, it seemed, remained one step ahead of them. Time to change that.

Dimitri had been to the Raptis home enough times on detail with Ari that he knew the layout. Moving quickly, he signaled a few of the house staff, men and women he’d seen before and so knew were hired by Raptis and not planted, to accompany him. His orders were precise, easy to understand. These people were not fools and knew the value of accommodating the royal family’s security team. They hustled out ahead of him toward the back of the house, their momentum giving him easy cover.

By the time he stepped out onto the veranda, however, he could see he was already too late.

Smithson had found Lauren.

The older man leaned into the cool, slender blonde as she stood facing the large house, her body plainly in sight. As she’d no doubt suspected, the veranda wasn’t at all abandoned, with quiet staff members moving chairs into place and lighting sparking torches at the perimeter of the space. Between the spitting crackle of the flames and the flickering lights, the torches gave him a greater opportunity to approach the couple, but he went slowly, easily. Smithson wouldn’t do more than talk, not here. He wouldn’t harm Lauren, not with this many witnesses.

But sometimes words could wound far more effectively than a blade. Not often, but it happened. And it was happening now.

“—fascinated with you since the moment I saw you, dangerously, emphatically so. You know that, my sweet?—”

Dimitri’s eyes sharpened as the last word was garbled. It couldn’t have been what he thought it was, he clearly had misheard. But still, what was Smithson doing? Was this a marriage proposal? Here?

“Mr.—” Lauren faltered, tilting her head artfully. “Henry, I’m flattered, you know that I am. But with your wealth and position, you could have any woman in the world. You don’t truly want me.”

“You’re wrong.” The words were spoken quietly, but there was such steel behind them that Dimitri paused, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. Lauren also seemed to realize her mistake.

“Then—if you do, which again, I am desperately flattered by, give us time to work through a relationship like two normal people. With my studies, I haven’t had a chance to breathe.”

“Your degrees were completed a year ago, and you’ve not remained long enough in one place since then until now. Don’t think I’m not aware as to why. You knew of my interest, Lauren. You didn’t reach out, when you easily could have.”

“I’m only twenty-three?—”

“And I have loved you for easily half your life. First, yes, as an uncle, a friend. But you have grown into the woman I always knew you could be. And I can’t bear to be apart from you any longer. I won’t bear it.”

“But—”

“I know your hesitation, Lauren. I do.” The sudden admission appeared to take Lauren by surprise, and Dimitri stiffened as well, alert. He had circled to the right of the pair so he could see them both clearly. Lauren’s flustered nerves and fear, some of which he suspected was artifice, some of which he knew wasn’t. Smithson’s hard triumph at having cornered his prey. “Your parents have explained how much freedom they’ve given you—too much freedom. No, no,” he lifted a hand to stay whatever protest or agreement Lauren was about to share.

At that moment, Dimitri’s earpiece crackled, and he instinctively looked toward the door, as if he could picture the wide front veranda atop the circular drive, and the third new vehicle that was now idling there, low and sleek and belonging to Smithson. The bastard was going to move tonight.

“But freedom is not for everyone, Lauren. What have you done with yours? Dashing around the world, playing at running a business, playing at having a life. It is time you live your life in earnest. I can show you how.”

“Then perhaps we should wait until I know I can be the mature wife you need?” Lauren sounded a little desperate now, and Smithson seemed to react to it, a wolf leaning in for the kill. “I’d be better able to handle the duties and responsibilities of your social calendar—and know for certain what business I would want to pursue—in a few more years. I can get focused, make decisions.”

“I will not wait another year, certainly not three. I’ve everything already prepared to leave tonight.” He reached out, cupping her chin to lift it. “I get what I want, Lauren. I’ve always gotten what I wanted. You know that perhaps more than anyone. And now what I want is you.”

“Oh my Gawd!” The strident voice of Nicki Clark, sounding like she was cheering on the game-winning goal in the World Cup, caterwauled over the space, causing both Smithson and Lauren to jump. “Stefan, will you look at all the sparklers!”