Sebastian’s reputation wasn’t much better than Rourke’s, and no one had a problem with him watching the princes. “Desperate circumstances call for desperate measures. Besides, if you so much as look at one of them the wrong way, I’ll throttle you. Or are you looking to get leg shackled?”
Rourke gave a mock shudder. “Not particularly. But following their royal highnesses around town doesn’t sound exciting. I suppose it would be a change of pace, but still… It sounds dull.”
Snorting, Sebastian stood. “Trust me when I tell you it’s never boring. Mischief follows them everywhere. Just keeping them from damaging themselves is a chore.”
Rourke stood too and refilled his glass. “It can’t be that bad.”
Crossing to the open French doors, Sebastian leaned against the frame and gazed out at the night stars. “You’d be surprised, but suffice it to say it’s a different adventure every outing.” The curtains fluttered in the breeze and wrapped around Sebastian’s legs. He batted the fabric, untangled it and shoved it behind him.
“Let me think about it.” Rourke joined him, leaning against the opposite doorjamb. “When do you need an answer?”
“You can let me know next week. Do you know where the rest of our team ended up? Last I heard from Julian, he was helping his father run the family shipping business. That was six months ago.”
“I saw Julian a fortnight ago. He’s still in the family business.” Rourke held his glass down by his side and continued to stare outside.
“Ah.” Sebastian followed his gaze up to the inky sky. He could remember nights just like this where it was only him and his team for miles around.
“I ran into Benny three months ago. He’s working at a gaming hell as a bouncer. Not sure which one though. I was rather foxed at the time. According to Benny, Seabrook married a lovely girl from Hillbourne, and they are expecting their first child in the spring.”
The sound of rustling snagged Sebastian’s attention away from the heavens and back to Regelence. A dark figure at the end of the veranda stepped up onto the stairs. He turned his head left then right before leaning against the railing and searching the grounds as though he were looking for something in the gardens. Probably a lover.
“Wonder who that is and whom he’s meeting? Maybe we could persuade him to meet us instead.”
Sebastian chuckled. “And they accuse me of having a one-track mind.”
“You’re the one who suggested sharing.”
“I was only trying to scare Bernard away.”
Rourke groaned. “I still don’t know whether to thank you or throttle you for that.”
“You should send me flowers and some cookies. Bernard is the son of the Marquis and Marquis-Consort of Halstead. His parents are aggressively looking for consorts for three of their five sons this season.” Sebastian cocked his head, studying the silhouette—still looking at the garden—coming toward them on the veranda.
A set of stairs led down to the lawn about ten feet before the study door where Sebastian and Rourke stood. The man was nearly to the steps and hadn’t noticed their presence. In shadow, he kept scanning the lawn. Sebastian couldn’t make out his features, but he had wide shoulders and lean hips. He was fairly tall, at least six foot. He was definitely fair of form. “Bernard is one of those sons they wish to marry off.”
“How in the galaxy do you know all that?”
Sebastian grinned. “Bernard is one of Prince Tarren’s friends.” What was the man pulling out of his coat pocket? He was getting closer now, walking with purpose. Sebastian glanced toward the area that had captured the man’s attention. There was a group of lords just left of the gardens about fifteen yards away. He hadn’t noticed them before and wouldn’t have now except for the glow of cigars.
The shadowed man descended the steps before he reached the study. He retrieved whatever he’d been after in his pocket and carried it by his side. As he planted his foot on the immaculate lawn, the moonlight illuminated his handsome, very familiar profile.
“Bugger.” Sebastian shoved away from the door and strode toward the steps.
Blast, stars and damnation! Colton stiffened. If he wasn’t so worried about the imminent confrontation, he might have blushed at the expletive. But there was no mistaking the voice, and he wasn’t lucky enough for Wentworth to let him pass on by. Colton turned, already knowing what he’d find.
Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, Wentworth stormed down the steps.
Colton darted a glance toward the garden. He’d never make it. Wentworth was in top physical condition, and even though they were of a height, the viscount was lighter…quicker. Best to stand his ground.
“Don’t even think about it.” Grasping Colton’s wrist, Wentworth tugged.
Colton drew back but could not break free. Dust, Wentworth was strong. “Galaxy, what is it with you manhandling me lately?” Colton snarled and dug in his heels.
“If you did what you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have to manhandle you.”
Someone chuckled. “Getting into the rough stuff these days, Seb?”
Jerking his attention toward the new voice, Colton lost his advantage, and Wentworth hauled him to the steps.
A tall man with black hair and a trim Vandyke beard leaned against the rail, watching them with a smirk. He was handsome in a sinister sort of way and looked vaguely familiar, but Colton couldn’t place him. He’d also called Wentworth Seb.
An ache bloomed to life in Colton’s chest. Who was this man? He must be an intimate to have called Wentworth by his first name. No, not even his first name, a shortened version of it. A nickname. Colton swallowed the lump in his throat.
To keep from being dragged, Colton followed Wentworth on to the porch. “What exactly is it you think I’m supposed to be doing?” he ground out between gritted teeth.
“You’re supposed to be inside. Chaperoned.” Wentworth spun Colton around to face him so hard Colton’s arm made a popping sound. A wince was the only recognition on Wentworth’s part.
The popping hadn’t hurt, but Colton rubbed his shoulder all the same. He glanced over at the man against the rail. Were he and Wentworth having an affair? He didn’t seem Wentworth’s type, but then again, from what Colton gathered, anything with two legs not named Colton Townsend was Wentworth’s type. It cut him to the quick. He should just let it drop and go back inside, but pride demanded he fight back.
“You. Are not. My. Keeper.” He punctuated each word by jabbing at Wentworth.
Wentworth swiped the cheroot out of his hand.
Oops. Colton hadn’t thought about what he was doing when he used it as a pointer. It hadn’t registered that it was something he wasn’t allowed to have.
“What in the—?” Still holding the cigar up, Wentworth pinched the bridge of his nose. Lifting his head, he dropped his hand. His jaw relaxed, and when he spoke again, his voice was normal. Almost…resigned. “Colton…”
The tall man with the Vandyke snagged the cheroot from Wentworth’s fingers.
Only propriety kept Colton from asking who the man was and more importantly how he knew Wentworth. Returning his attention to Wentworth, Colton sighed. “I don’t need a chaperone. I’ll be in a group.”
An orange glow illuminated half of Wentworth’s face. The light disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and the sweet smell of vanilla-flavored smoke perfumed the air.
Wentworth stared at his accomplice. “Do you mind?”
The man puffed on the cigar and pulled it from between his lips. “Not at all. Continue.” The smirk and twinkle in his eye testified to his feigned ignorance. He offered the cheroot to Wentworth.
Growling, Wentworth shook his head.
Chuckling, Colton decided he liked this man. “It was my cheroot.”
The man laughed. “Indeed it was. I beg your pardon, Your Highness.” He held out the cheroot to Colton.
He had no idea how to smoke it, but— Colton reached out.
“I don’t think so.” Wentworth caught
his hand.
The warmth of his grasp sent a thrill right through Colton. He glanced down at their entwined hands and back up to Wentworth’s face.
The corner of Wentworth’s lip twitched as he stared at the tobacco thief. “You’re incorrigible, Rourke.” Turning to Colton, he held out his other hand toward his companion. “Prince Colton Townsend, meet His Grace, the Duke of Knighton. Rourke is one of my dearest friends.”
Colton’s mood lightened further. They were only friends? It shouldn’t matter, but now he liked Knighton even better.
Taking Colton’s free hand, Knighton bowed over it. He pressed a kiss to the back of Colton’s knuckles and winked up at him. “An honor, Your Highness.”
Oh my. Smiling, Colton dipped his head. What a charming rogue. That explained why he seemed familiar. Since his first season, Colton had heard gossip about the Duke of Knighton. The duke had a worse reputation as a reprobate than Wentworth. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
Instead of letting go of his hand, Knighton steered him closer, making Wentworth relinquish his grasp. Holding up the cheroot once again, he asked, “Would you like this back? It’s very good.”
Colton chuckled at the playful gleam in Knighton’s eyes.
Growling, Wentworth clamped a hand down on Colton’s shoulder. He yanked him back, and Colton stumbled into him. “No, he does not. Knock it off.”
Colton shivered at the feel of Wentworth’s chest against his back and the soft breath near his ear. He couldn’t help himself—he closed his eyes and leaned into the warm body behind him.
“Hmm…”
Wrenching his eyes open, Colton stepped away.
Knighton had his head cocked to the side, staring over Colton’s shoulder. When he caught Colton’s gaze, he smirked and winked.
Drats, what had he been thinking? Colton needed to meet Edmund, Roth, Mr. Fareweather and Lord Francis. He’d wasted nearly ten minutes arguing with Wentworth. “It was nice meeting you, Your Grace, but I need to be going. I’ve got to meet—”
“No.” Wentworth’s voice was soft but firm.
The tone didn’t bode well for Colton’s plans, but he had to try. He turned to face his opponent. “But—”
Wentworth shook his head and glanced toward the carriage barn near where the men were gathered. “You cannot go out there. Group or no group, it’s not proper. Your parents would have my head if I allowed it.”
“Then go with me. You…” he glanced at Knighton for help, “…and His Grace can accompany me.” Not that he wanted Wentworth watching his every move, but Colton needed to go.
Knighton grinned. “Please, Your Highness, call me Rourke.”
Wentworth groaned. It sounded rather harsh and unfriendly.
Ignoring him, Colton smiled. “Then you should call me Colton.”
Rourke dipped his head in acknowledgment and focused on Wentworth. “Come on, Seb, let’s accompany him to his friends. We’ll act as his chaperones.” He puffed his cheroot and offered Colton his arm.
Colton reached to take Knighton’s arm, but Wentworth got there first. He snatched Colton’s hand away. Placing it on his forearm, he turned toward Rourke. “We are not proper chaperones.”
Colton’s window of opportunity was slipping away. He had to make Wentworth understand how important this was. Maybe if he appealed to the horseman in him… “Gareth Fareweather has gossip about the stock up for auction at Tattersalls tomorrow. Please…”
Wentworth sighed. “You want to go out there because you might learn something about horses?”
“Yes.” Why else would Colton want to go? “Last year Roth got a good tip from Fareweather that allowed him to buy a better horse than he’d initially planned on.”
“What if I send Knighton to charm your friends and get the information out of them? Would that be acceptable?”
Colton looked out at the glow of cigars. What would the group think if he didn’t come? How would it appear if he sent someone else?
A finger traced down the center of Colton’s forehead.
Startled out of his thoughts, he met Wentworth’s gaze. Wentworth smiled at him. It was the most genuine smile Colton had seen from him in ages. Colton could almost fool himself into thinking Wentworth actually liked him.
“If you think any harder, you’ll give yourself an apoplexy.” He touched Colton’s cheek before drawing his fingers away. “Please. If anyone can get information for you, it’s Rourke. Let me take you back to the ballroom.” His gaze swept over Colton’s face, resting on his lips.
They stood there staring at one another, and a nervous twitter started in Colton’s stomach. He could almost feel those hard, unyielding lips on his. The urgent press of Wentworth’s tongue. This morning’s folly came flooding back, but it no longer seemed like a joke, or punishment.
A cloud of smoke surrounded them, giving the moment a surreal feel. Colton wanted a repeat of this morning more than he wanted his next breath.
Wentworth stepped closer.
“Ahem.” Rourke took Colton’s other arm. “Bad idea, Seb. If he’s seen with you alone, his reputation will be in tatters. I’ll accompany you both back to the ballroom, then you can go seduce the gossip out of Colton’s friends.” He brought the cheroot up to his lips and puffed. “Colton and I will wait for you while we dance.”
Running his hand through his hair, Wentworth groaned. “Right you are. We’ll both escort him, then we will both go talk to Mr. Fareweather. There will be no dancing. I believe Colton said Roth was down there. Since you know Roth, you can handle the introductions.” Wentworth began walking. “Colton, I like the spot you marked with the flag for your stables today. I think it will be an easy location to secure.”
“You do?” Colton asked.
“I do.” Wentworth droned on about how to protect the location and other various things about security.
Colton listened in a daze, surprised Wentworth approved, as they led him down the veranda toward the open French doors.
The music of a country dance grew louder. Even though both men walked at his side, Colton was only aware of Wentworth. How the viscount’s trouser leg brushed his, how their steps matched. The muscles of his forearms were rock solid under Colton’s palm. What did this new, gentler Wentworth mean? Would he have kissed Colton again if Rourke hadn’t interrupted? Or had Colton merely appealed to Wentworth’s love of horses?
His stomach tied in knots. He was losing sight of the goal in a hurry. The goal being the tip for the auction tomorrow, not Wentworth’s attention. Maybe he’d go inside and plead a headache to Cony. He needed to sort out his thoughts.
“So then. What time tomorrow morning shall I report for duty?” Rourke inquired.
Duty? Colton frowned. What were they talking about?
“Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret inviting you to work for me?” Wentworth asked.
Rourke shrugged, and the smirk Colton was beginning to suspect was the duke being mischievous appeared. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean, old man.” To Colton he said, “Seb hired me to be a royal bodyguard.” Snuffing his smoke out on the wall of the mansion, Rourke released Colton’s arm. He bowed and put the cheroot in his coat pocket. “Good evening, Colton. Perhaps I’ll accompany you to Tattersalls on the morrow.”
Chapter Six
January 14, 4831: Townsend Castle.
“Reporting for duty.”
Good galaxy, could the man talk any louder? Sebastian tried to ignore the pounding in his head.
Rourke strolled into the castle, waving away Thomas, the assistant butler, when he would’ve taken the duke’s coat, hat and calling card. The bastard looked right as rain. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Other than the percussion section practicing in my head, you mean?” He and Rourke both drank entirely too much last night, but apparently Sebastian was the only one paying for it this morning.
Rourke’s lips twitched. “It was the cheroots that did it. They keep you from real
izing how much you’ve drank. You need to smoke more.”
“No, thank you.” Sebastian had never been much of a smoker. It was rare he partook of cigars, never of pipes or cigarettes, and now he remembered why that was. “Do you recall all we learned last evening?”
Taking off his coat, Rourke laid it over his arm and removed his hat. “I believe so. What do you think Colton will find most interesting?”
“Probably the bit about the senior Mr. Fareweather selling one of his brood mares next week. Colton has a good stud but no mares with any racing pedigree I know of.” Then again, Sebastian hadn’t known Apollo had such impeccable bloodlines until yesterday.
Footsteps echoed in the entryway. “Oh, Sebastian, there you are.”
Turning, Sebastian faced his king who was coming down the stairs with his coat on, his hat under his arm and gloves in his hand. “Good morning, Steven.”
Steven left the last step and joined them in the foyer. Pulling on his gloves, he stopped in front of Knighton.
Rourke bowed deeply. “Your Majesty.”
Steven dipped his chin. “Knighton? What brings you here this morning?”
“Seb has offered me a job.”
Steven looked at Sebastian then back to Knighton. His eyes widened, and he nodded. “Oh yes. That’s right. You were in the RSR with Sebastian before you inherited your title. Nice to have you with us, Your Grace.” Pulling on his last black glove, Steven smirked at Knighton. “You do realize it’s not at all the thing for a man of your rank to work, don’t you?”
Rourke beamed at the king. “Ah, but I prefer to set the trends rather than follow them.”
“In other words, you do as you damn well please. A man after my own heart.” Steven glanced around the hall. “Nice to have you with us, Knighton.”
Thomas came rushing forward with Steven’s walking stick. It was the mahogany one Sebastian had bought him for Christmas with a sword concealed within.
Putting his hat on his head, Steven took the cane from the assistant butler and returned his attention to the duke. “You’ll do quite nicely I should think. You’re neither old nor fat.”
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