by Maya Banks
Footsteps approached and Simon looked up to see the duke come to a stop across the table from him. Though several years older than Simon, His Grace was still an imposing figure. He was tall and only slightly graying around the temples. His broad shoulders and barrel chest contributed to his commanding presence.
“Merrick,” he said with a nod of his head.
Simon rose and offered a polite bow. “Your Grace.”
The two men sat, and the duke waved a footman over. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked Simon as the footman hovered, waiting to fulfill their request.
A wave of nausea rolled through Simon’s stomach, and sweat beaded his forehead. The mere mention of spirits was enough to make him blanch. He held up a hand. “Nothing for me, thank you.”
The duke waved the footman off then pinned Simon with a stare. “I’ll come straight to the point of our meeting. His Highness has followed your progress this past year and has been very impressed with your service. So much so that he is bestowing upon you the title of Duke of Malbane.”
Simon raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was not what he had expected from this meeting. “That is very generous of His Highness.”
The duke leaned back in his seat. “The regent has studied the situation in Leaudor with great interest. He feels he may have underestimated their worth to us as an ally. He’d like to correct such an oversight with all haste.”
Simon nodded. “Leaudor would make a very worthy ally to England,” he said slowly.
His head pounded a bit more, and he could no longer blame it on the brandy he’d consumed the evening before. He was being punished. For what he didn’t know, but clearly, the idea of being able to forget Isabella, Leaudor… It was fantasy.
“Yes, His Highness completely agrees. It is why he wants to suggest a political union of sorts. A marriage between our countries if you will.”
Simon’s head snapped up, and the knot grew in his stomach.
“As the queen has yet to marry, the regent wants to suggest a union with an Englishman.”
Simon closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Absurd really, to allow the idea of Isabella with another man to cause him so much pain. He knew she would eventually marry. There were heirs to produce. A dynasty to grow.
He attempted to relax his features. “Queen Isabella is not so easily led,” he said lightly. “I rather doubt she will be persuaded to marry someone of the regent’s choosing.”
The duke nodded. “The regent has heard of the queen’s reputation. A very strong woman, indeed. Extraordinary. But it can’t hurt to ask, can it?”
Simon slowly shook his head.
The duke smiled. “Splendid. I knew you would agree.”
Simon arched his brow. “Agree?”
“Indeed. The regent wants to suggest a marriage between Queen Isabella of Leaudor and the Duke of Malbane.” His eyes twinkled merrily as he studied Simon.
Marry Isabella? He stared at the duke in stunned disbelief.
“I can see I caught you quite by surprise.”
Simon continued to stare, his ability to form a coherent thought all but gone. Father Ling. Now his visit made sense. The crafty old monk. How had he known? Simon shook his head. No sense even asking such an absurd question.
He focused his attention back on Ardmore. “I am honored by His Highness’s regard, but if I were to marry Isa—the Queen of Leaudor—I would be expected to swear allegiance to Leaudor. Serve her and not England.”
The duke smiled. “You have served England well these past years. Indeed, she has had no more faithful steward. His Highness has complete confidence that your marriage to Her Majesty would benefit England. And that you would continue to serve our interests with your presence there.”
He leaned forward, his expression becoming serious. “You’re miserable, Merrick. It’s time to address your own needs. It’s why I suggested to His Highness…that is, His Highness suggested this marriage,” he corrected in mid-sentence.
Understanding dawned. “You petitioned His Highness for the marriage.”
The duke shifted in his seat then fixed Simon with his stare. “I did.”
“Am I so transparent?” Simon asked with a forced laugh.
“When you returned from Leaudor, I knew something was wrong,” the duke said quietly. “You weren’t the same man as before. Much of it was to do with Kirkland’s betrayal, I know. You counted him as a brother. But there was something else. I didn’t want you to travel to the continent. In fact, had we not had such a pressing need for your services, I would have grounded you immediately and sent you packing to your estate.”
Simon sat in silence and looked down at the table. What could he say? He was receiving the blessing of his monarch to wed the queen of another country, all but commanded to do so. A woman he loved, who might just love him despite her statements to the contrary.
After so many months of desolation, the unfamiliar flicker of hope was tapping a steady rhythm in his chest. Dare he take a chance that Father Ling was right? He rubbed a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say, what to decide.
“I can see this has come as a shock,” the duke murmured. “I was led to believe that you held some affection for Her Majesty, and that she returned it to some degree. Was I wrong to pursue the angle of a political marriage?”
Simon stared intently at the duke, wondering just how he’d come by his information. “No,” he finally said. “You weren’t wrong. I do…love her,” he finished awkwardly.
“Then what are you waiting for?” the duke asked with an arched eyebrow. “His Highness won’t extend the offer for long. He was quite cross at the prospect of losing one his best agents, but the idea of gaining an ally overwhelmed any protest he had.”
What was he waiting for? He had just been handed the chance to marry the woman he loved beyond measure without proving himself disloyal to the country he had served for the last eight years.
If Father Ling was right…and Isabella really loved him. But was he right? Simon shook his head and curled his fingers into a fist.
“What say you, Merrick? Or should I say Malbane? Are you prepared to do one last good for England?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Leaudor
October 1815
“Your Majesty, an English contingent has just arrived and awaits an audience with you.”
Isabella turned in surprise as her secretary made the announcement. She frowned. She expected no such visitor. “Who leads this contingent?” she asked.
“His Grace, the Duke of Malbane.”
Isabella turned back to her view from her private balcony, disappointment heavy in her heart. “Inform His Grace that I will receive him shortly. See that he has refreshment and place him in my private sitting room.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Isabella listened as her secretary quit the room then expelled a long sigh. Time had not lessened the pain of losing Merrick. She still felt it as keenly as if it were yesterday. But what nearly destroyed her was the look of anguish in his eyes as she said those damning words.
I don’t love you.
If only she could take them back. Wipe away the past six months. Instead she had only added to the long list of betrayals in his life.
“What could England want?” she muttered crossly. They already had what she most desired.
In a whirl of skirts, she turned and strode from her chamber, her lips firmly set. Whatever the Duke of Malbane wanted, he would be advised to present his case quickly before she sent him packing back to England. She was in no mood for diplomacy.
Two guards stepped in beside her and escorted her down the hall to her sitting room. She paused outside the door and drew in a breath before throwing it open and gliding inside.
Across the room, a man stood. A very familiar looking man. He stared directly at her, and the world stopped around her.
Merrick?
The room tilted crazily beneath h
er, and for a moment, she feared she would so something extremely silly, like faint.
She glanced around the room searching for who had accompanied Merrick here, but besides the guards, no one else was present. She waved her guards away, and they backed from the room.
“Isabella,” Merrick said in greeting, his voice low and cautious.
It took every ounce of restraint she could muster not to launch herself in his direction and throw herself in his arms.
“Merrick. Wh—what are you doing here? I was told the Duke of Malbane requested an audience with me.”
He smiled crookedly. “Risking one’s life for his country has its rewards, I suppose. I’ve been awarded the title of Duke of Malbane by His Majesty, the regent.”
“Congratulations.”
She continued to stare at him, hating the awkward silence between them. Had she stood here and stiffly offered congratulations as if he were a soldier in her ranks who had just been promoted?
Finally he cleared his throat and drew out an official looking document from his breast pocket. He was dressed in accordance with his station, formal breeches and waistcoat, stiffly tied cravat, polished Hessians. He looked every inch the statesman, but she missed the Merrick she had spent so much time with. The torn and ragged trousers, the threadbare shirt, his bare feet when his boots had been stolen.
As she looked beyond his outer finery, she was shocked to see how haggard he appeared. He was thinner than she remembered, and tiny lines creased the corners of his eyes. Tired looking eyes. But to her starving gaze, he never looked better.
“I come bearing a proposal from His Majesty, the Prince Regent of England,” Merrick began formally. “He believes a union between our countries would benefit our governments and our people. To seal such an alliance, he suggests a marriage.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Between Queen Isabella Genevieve Elizabeth Chastaine and an English nobleman.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she froze. How cruel was this situation? Merrick arrived to arrange her marriage to a high-ranking member of the English aristocracy? Anger at the regent’s presumption followed closely on the heels of her initial surprise.
“And who pray tell does your regent propose I marry for the good of England?” she asked icily.
“Me.”
Her mouth fell open, and her gaze flew to his face, read the sudden vulnerability that flashed in his eyes as he made the simple proclamation.
“I don’t understand,” she began lamely.
He closed the distance between them until he stood a breath away. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. Her hands itched to touch him, to reassure herself that she wasn’t dreaming. After so many nights of waking to an empty bed, she could not countenance that he was here, standing before her, proposing marriage.
He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he moved one hand to cup her chin and gently tilted her face to look up at him. “There is something I must know, Isabella. Something I have traveled all the way from London to find out.”
She blinked and waited for him to finish.
“Do you love me, Isabella? Tell me the truth this time. Don’t allow our countries, our duty, what you might feel is best for me to interfere this time. Right now there is only you and me. Nothing else matters except your answer to this question.”
Hope, anguish, fear, anticipation. They all burned brightly in his eyes. She could no longer lie to this man. The man she loved more than she had ever loved anyone else in her life.
With a small cry, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She gripped him tightly. As tightly as he now held her. He stroked her hair and pressed kisses to the top of her head.
“I would hear your answer,” he murmured against her hair.
She drew away, moisture forming in her eyes, blurring his image before her. “I love you, Merrick. More than I can possibly express.”
His expression softened and relief flickered in his eyes. “And I love you, Isabella.”
She lost the battle to keep her tears at bay as they slipped down her cheeks. He thumbed one away, his fingers achingly gentle on her face.
“Why did you send me away?” he asked.
Her heart constricted. “I could not bear for you to give up everything for me.” She still couldn’t stand such a prospect.
“Don’t you realize you are everything to me?”
His hand slipped behind her neck, and in one swift motion, he pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers.
This was no gentle, loving kiss. It was the kiss of a man starved for a woman. The kiss of reunited souls.
She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her lips melting against the pressure of his. She sucked his bottom lip between her teeth and nipped gently. His hands tangled in her hair, ran the length of her back and pulled her even closer to his body until they formed one seamless shape.
“I am never letting you go again,” he rasped as he pulled slightly away.
She gazed up at him, hopeful and yet fearful. Her original concerns were still there. Unresolved. How could she allow him to give up his life for her? How could his regent?
“What is this talk of marriage?” she asked as he took her hand and led her over to the settee. She forced a note of lightness to her voice, but inside, her heart was pounding thunderously against her chest.
He sat down and pulled her down to perch on his lap. “The regent suggested a political marriage. A union between our countries. An expression of goodwill.”
“Did he now?” She could no longer keep the worry from her voice. “And you just happened to be the one he chose to sacrifice?”
“Sacrifice? I would have started a bloody war if anyone else had been chosen.”
He stared at her, his gaze reaching into her innermost sanctum, delving deeply, uncovering her fears. “What is it that worries you, Isabella?”
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit firmly into the flesh. “How do you feel about all this, Merrick? I cannot allow you to be used as a pawn by your regent. I could not bear for you to be unhappy. You’ve made your life protecting your country, and you do it very well.”
He smiled tenderly at her, understanding lighting his eyes. “Rest assured, my love. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. The regent was quite cross at the prospect of losing me. The fact is, Isabella, I cannot be happy without you, and I’d like to think I could make you happy as well.”
He cupped her chin and looked piercingly into her eyes.
“You’ve agonized over a choice you feel I would be forced to make should we want to be together, but there is no choice. There never was. From the moment I realized I loved you, there was no other choice for me but to do everything in my power to be with you.”
She swallowed against the emotion knotting her throat. Unable to call back her tears, they slipped once more down her cheeks. Never had she imagined hearing such powerful words. Words that sent a shaft of joy streaking through her heart.
It had been too long since she had felt anything beyond despair. And here, the man who meant everything to her sat telling her things she hadn’t dared hope to hear.
“Will you marry me, Isabella?” He looked intently at her, the full force of his love evident in every nuance of his demeanor.
Her heart flooded at his question. The tears ran faster down her face.
“Yes,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She reached out with a shaking hand to cup his cheek. “Oh yes.”
She grinned broadly, her heart lighter than it had been in months.
He smiled and turned his mouth into her hand to kiss her palm. “That is the most wonderful word I have ever heard in my life.”
She closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. “I am sorry I hurt you, Merrick. I will never do so again. I will spend the rest of my life making you happy. I swear it.”
He wrapped his arms solidly around h
er, holding her tightly as if afraid to let go. “We will make each other happy, my love. And we will tell our children our story so they may tell their children.”
She picked her head up and pressed her forehead to his so that they were eye to eye. She smiled the smile of a woman replete with the knowledge she had found happiness.
“Our future will be wondrous and our children will never tire of hearing how their mother and father fought their way over two countries in order to fulfill their destinies.”
“I have much to thank Father Ling for when he returns from England,” he said as he stole another kiss from the corner of her lips.
She pulled away, looking at him in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about? Father Ling hasn’t left Leaudor in over forty years. He is quite adamant that he will never leave until he returns to his resting place in the East.”
Merrick blinked then narrowed his gaze. “Never left Leaudor? Are you certain?”
“Quite certain. He has been here every morning for prayer and meditation. Afterwards we breakfast in the garden.”
She cocked her head and glanced sideways at him. “Why would you ask such a question?”
“No reason,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I obviously drank some tainted brandy.”
She smiled and framed his face in her hands then she bent to kiss him once more. “I will make certain we stock only the finest spirits from now on.”
* * *
Outside the palace, down the mountain, in the village of Bourgis, Father Ling stood staring up at the castle nestled in the bosom of Soleil Mountain. His robe swirled in the breeze and an uncharacteristic smile lit his face.
He gazed skyward and nodded slowly. “Your daughter has made a sound choice, old friend. Leaudor will flourish once again.”
A distant echo sounded and the villagers who milled about stopped and strained to hear. They shrugged and went about their work, but many would later swear they heard King Fernando’s deep laughter ring out over the valley.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maya Banks is a #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author across multiple genres including contemporary romance, erotic romance, romantic suspense and Scottish historical romances. She lives in Texas with her husband, three children and assortment of cats. When not writing, she enjoys traveling, reading and spending time with her family. A southern girl born and bred, Maya loves life below the Mason Dixon, and more importantly, loves bringing southern characters and settings to life in her stories.
