Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2)

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘I knew I was running out of time and that Papa was running out of patience,’ Amara said, resuming her account. ‘I am now twenty, and it is considered shameful for a girl to reach that advanced age in my country and not be married.’

  ‘Absolutely shocking,’ Louis agreed, grinning at her.

  ‘I knew this trip to Italy and then England would be my last opportunity to enjoy any freedom, so I grabbed it—half hoping, I suppose, that salvation would come my way.’ She looked up at Louis and held his gaze. ‘Perhaps it has,’ she added softly. ‘Do whatever you need to do to expose my father and Estevan, Lord Jonas, and be assured that you act with my blessing.’

  ‘Your brothers?’ Mrs Kendal asked.

  ‘I don’t know what their involvement is with the drugs, if indeed they have any. If they do, then they must take their chances. I doubt that anything will happen to them in Greece, but none of the men in my family will be able to get to me if I decide to remain here. I can make enough money singing to support myself and…’

  ‘You are getting ahead of yourself, my love.’ Mrs Costas spoke softly. ‘Sleep on it. Give yourself time to consider the ramifications and give Lord Jonas your answer in the morning. I feel persuaded that he will be content to wait until then, just so that you are absolutely sure of yourself. It is a huge step you are being asked to take and I suspect that once you make up your mind there will be no going back.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right, Eva, as always.’ Amara stood, as did all the gentlemen. ‘But now, if you will all excuse me. It has been an emotional day.’

  Louis went to follow her from the room but the touch of Mrs Costas’s hand on his sleeve prevented him from leaving it.

  ‘Let her be,’ the lady said, not unkindly. ‘She needs to think without distraction.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Phoebe Graystock’s path to the prince’s private quarters was blocked by one of his personal bodyguards. Phoebe required an urgent word with her paramour, who had been avoiding her since his throwaway remark the night before. Heir to the throne or no, Phoebe was in no mood to be ignored.

  ‘Out of my way!’ she barked.

  ‘Sorry, my lady. The prince is busy and does not wish to be disturbed.’ The wretched man struggled to contain a smirk when the prince’s throaty chuckle sounded from behind the double doors, closely followed by a squeal of female laughter, making the precise nature of his occupation embarrassingly obvious.

  ‘Rubbish! He will see me.’

  The man stepped in front of the door, physically barring her path. ‘Come back later, ma’am,’ he said stiffly, his tone barely civil.

  Phoebe turned on her heel and stormed off, gathering the shreds of her dignity about her as best she could, saving a glower for the room that adjoined the prince’s, which was reserved for Mrs Fitzherbert’s exclusive use. Entering her own room at the other end of the corridor, much too far away from the prince for her liking, she slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. How many more ways could George find to humiliate her? More to the point, why did she tolerate it? He had told her the night before, in bed and casually after the event, that Maria Fitzherbert was returning to Brighton next week. Maria would not tolerate Phoebe’s presence and she would need to move out.

  Just like that.

  Did he have any notion just how much pride she had been required to swallow before entering into something as squalid as an affair with the fat, thoughtless prig? All the insults and scathing looks she had been obliged to endure. The sniggers because those in the know realised she was a poor substitute for Maria Fitzherbert and that her sacrifice would never secure for her the position of power she craved.

  She had heard it whispered that George only paraded her about in public to annoy Maria, with whom he was either desperately in love or at complete odds, according to his latest whim. Phoebe’s husband had raised nothing more than an indolent bushy eyebrow when he realised George had her in his sights. At the time, she was pleased that he hadn’t made a fuss. Now it seemed to an insult to know that he preferred to be the recipient of George’s largesse, having long since lost interest in Phoebe. He told her that George was welcome to her lack of inventiveness between the sheets, and adopted the moral high ground while continuing to enjoy himself with a number of the sort of women Phoebe and her committee worked to protect from the amorous demands of the likes of him.

  The hypocrisy was not lost on Phoebe, despite Mrs Kendal’s assumptions to the contrary. She shuddered when she thought about the woman who had succeeded with Chance when so many other better bred females had failed—herself included. She still lusted after the man with every fibre of her being, but he barely seemed to know she was alive and showed not the slightest signs of jealousy when seeing her on the prince’s arm.

  Anger surged through her as she transferred her thoughts once more to Mrs Kendal. How dare that trumped up, insignificant woman who was indulging in an extra-marital affair herself cast aspersions upon Phoebe’s morals! She knew absolutely nothing about the workings of Phoebe’s own marriage. The fact that Mrs Kendal was a widow hardly excused her behaviour, and Phoebe would, when the time was right, have her revenge. No one, but no one, spoke to the prince’s current favourite in such a manner without living to regret her impetuosity. There had to be some benefits to having him sweating over her night after night, when he wasn’t complaining of his gout or snoring loud enough to wake the dead, that is.

  Phoebe sighed, wondering how she had ever imagined her new position would be glamorous. Most of the members of George’s court looked upon her with an attitude of casual indifference, as though she was nothing more than a passing fad. Their behaviour filled her with blind determination to prove them wrong. She would rather die than lose face and be replaced in George’s affections.

  Phoebe had been flattered by the charm the prince could so easily turn on and had permitted herself to be seduced. She thought it would invoke her negligent husband’s jealousy and rekindle the physical side of their marriage. But that hadn’t worked out the way she had planned either since it seemed that Graystock still did and always would prefer his doxies. Worse still, now that she was the one publicly flaunting her affair, he no longer felt it necessary to exercise discretion and had secured the sympathy of their friends, who looked upon him as the wronged party.

  Phoebe quietly seethed. How had it all gone so horribly wrong quite so quickly and what could she do to regain the upper hand—or failing that, revenge? She scowled at her reflection and tapped an angry tattoo against her knee as she pondered her dilemma.

  Her current cause for complaint was George’s negligent behaviour. After giving her all unstintingly, putting up with his moods and pandering to his over-inflated sense of self-importance, the prince was casting Phoebe aside, rewarding her with a few baubles and showing scant regard for her injured feelings. She threw back her head and growled, thinking that he had sorely misjudged Phoebe if he assumed she would go without creating a fuss. Indiscreet remarks made in their bedchamber sprang to mind and Phoebe managed a thin smile.

  She would have her revenge—against him, against Mrs Kendal. Against anyone and everyone who mattered to George.

  As her temper cooled, she fell to contemplating in a more rational frame of mind. When she was as sure as she could be that she had regained a modicum of dignity and self-control, she rang the bell twice—a signal for her trusted footman, Dalton, to join her. He did so very quickly.

  ‘Who has he got in there?’ she asked, grateful for Dalton’s complete loyalty. He had served her for years, knew all her secrets and would take them to his grave. She could say whatever she liked to him without fear of judgement or disapproval. He would do just about anything she asked of him to protect her reputation, despite the fact that he’d told her more than once that she was her own worst enemy. He didn’t approve of her association with the prince—not on moral grounds, but because he didn’t like the man and he knew what Phoebe stubbornly refused to accept�
��Maria Fitzherbert owned the prince’s heart.

  Any other woman he took up with was simply a diversion.

  ‘Some doxy who took his eye in the town yesterday,’ Dalton said, with a negligent flip of his wrist. ‘His man tracked her down today and brought her in through the tunnels.’

  ‘The tunnels?’ The glimmer of a possibility occurred to Phoebe. ‘Well at least he tried to be discreet,’ Phoebe replied, effecting a casualness that she didn’t feel.

  ‘Do you want to leave now or wait until next week? I’ll have Jane start the packing if you’ve had enough.’

  ‘I am not leaving yet.’ Phoebe tapped her forefinger against her lips, her mind whirling with possibilities. ‘What’s this I hear about a Greek deputation?’

  ‘The disciples are up in arms about it, that much I can tell you.’

  Phoebe nodded, aware of the term that was used to describe the coterie of younger sons who had taken it upon themselves to protect George’s interests. Chance, Mrs Kendal’s lover, was a member of that particular clan. Perhaps she could devise a means to spike George’s guns, make him look like a clumsy child interfering in the adults’ games and disadvantage Chance at the same time.

  ‘One assumes the Greek girl will be invited to sing for her countrymen. When do they arrive?’

  ‘If they accept the prince’s invitation, they will be here for dinner early next week.’

  ‘Right.’ Phoebe did more finger-tapping. ‘Where is the Greek girl living now? Did you keep watch over her as I asked?’

  Phoebe hadn’t admitted, not even to Dalton, that she was worried George might invite the girl’s aunt to the pavilion for a private assignation. A lady of her stature would not be expected to negotiate the tunnels so her arrival would be witnessed by everyone here. They would all know why George had singled her out, which would have been even more humiliating for Phoebe. She had been jealous of the amount of attention he had bestowed upon the younger, prettier woman on her previous visit, recognising the predatory look in George’s eye and realising that it would only be a matter of time before he made his move.

  ‘She and her aunt have moved in with Mrs Kendal. She lives in a remote location out on the downs.’

  ‘Why did she move?’ Phoebe knew that Dalton kept his ear to the ground and would have a pretty accurate idea.

  ‘Her agent has been dismissed and he’s tearing his hair out. Word is he will be in all sorts of trouble with the girl’s father for letting her come down here. He tried to snatch Miss Kazan off the street after she dispensed with his services. I assume she felt exposed in her lodgings after that, and Mrs Kendal offered her shelter.’

  ‘How very altruistic of her.’ Phoebe spoke condescendingly. ‘Do you know where the agent is now?’

  ‘Oh aye. He broke into Miss Kazan’s lodgings last night, presumably with the intention of spiriting her away. Obviously he wasn’t aware that she had moved out.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Phoebe grinned. ‘Do we know where the agent is staying?’

  ‘Of course. I can also tell you that the deputation the prince has invited down includes Miss Kazan’s intended. Well, there’s nothing official been agreed but the word is that they will be married once she returns to Greece. One of the others is a trusted member of Miss Kazan’s father’s organisation.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Phoebe took another moment to reflect. ‘Get a message to the agent, Dalton. I think it beyond time that we stirred the pot a little.’

  ‘Careful, ma’am. These are dangerous people you are planning to cross.’

  ‘Nonsense! No one will suspect me. I am a harmless irrelevance, in case you had forgotten. Anyway, let the agent know that if he wants to gain access to his precious Miss Kazan, we can help him in that regard. Tell him I will meet him in a private room at the tavern on the corner of Prince Street at seven this evening. Make the arrangements, please.’

  ‘All right, if you’re sure. But you ain’t going to that meeting alone.’

  Phoebe touched Dalton’s hand. ‘Of course I am not. You will be coming with me, just as you always do.’

  Sabine felt a great deal of sympathy for Amara. There had to be something she could do to help her avoid a marriage that she clearly hated the prospect of entering into. Sabine’s memories of her own arranged and unhappy marriage were still too fresh in her mind for her to stand by and watch someone she cared about endure the same fate.

  She was probably being as presumptuous as the prince in supposing there was anything she could do to help her new friend, but the thought of being labelled a meddler in international affairs didn’t quell her determination to try. Anyone seeing them together could sense the sizzling attraction between Amara and Louis Harland, although even Sabine doubted if Amara would be able to overcome all the obstacles that would be placed in the way of a union between the two of them, given Kazan’s long-standing hatred of the English.

  But still, one difficulty at a time.

  She smiled when Eva expressed her intention to retire shortly after Amara had left them. Sabine followed her to the doorway, where they exchanged a few words in private before Sabine wished her goodnight. Sabine sensed the gentlemen’s impatience when instead of leaving the room with Eva she returned to her seat, her mind whirling with possibilities in the light of the information that Eva had just shared with her.

  ‘Sabine,’ Chance said, ‘perhaps you should leave us to talk.’

  ‘Not a hope. I know you are anxious to discuss the best ways of helping Amara, and more importantly save your prince from his own impetuosity,’ she said sweetly, ‘but you can talk freely in front of me. In fact, be prepared to be very shocked, gentlemen, but I might even come up with a few useful suggestions of my own.’

  Chance smiled at her. ‘We don’t want to burden you, my love.’

  Sabine regarded him with an expression of lofty scorn. ‘Be careful! That, Jonas Dayton, sounded suspiciously close to patronisation.’

  ‘Trust me, darling, I wouldn’t dare!’

  They all smiled.

  ‘Unless I misunderstand the situation, you have two problems,’ Sabine said into the ensuing silence. ‘I suspect your first priority it to stop the prince from meddling in sensitive political situations. But you also want to help Amara.’ She glanced at Louis as she spoke, and deduced from his expression that Amara was probably his first priority.

  ‘Go on,’ Chance said, standing close to the fireplace and rubbing his chin in his cupped hand.

  Sabine glanced at him and was, as she still so easily could be, distracted by the sheer physical beauty of the man who had become her lover, protector, confidant and best friend in such a short space of time. Sabine, whose marriage had made her look with repulsion upon physical contact of any sort with any man, was astonished by the changes Chance had wrought in her. Her unfortunate experience with Kendal had prejudiced her, and she had been determined to live the rest of her life without having a man controlling her every move—or indeed any move at all—until Chance came into her well-organised life and made her realise how very narrowminded she had been.

  If she’d listened to Agnes and not run up to London when her sister Nancy needed her help, she would never have met Chance and had her eyes opened to the pleasures that she hadn’t realised she’d been denying herself. The marital bed had been a place of torture with Kendal. With Chance, it was a very different story. She was almost ashamed of her acute awareness of him at all times. The power of the intoxicating smile that he bestowed upon her at that moment, almost as though he understood the random nature of her thoughts, melted her vulnerable heart.

  He very likely had interpreted her thoughts, since he had taught her to trust again and she had few secrets from him. The pleasure she took from their intimacy was definitely not lost upon him, and he had taken it upon himself to extend her erotic education, so woefully inadequate when they had first met, at every opportunity. His inventiveness never failed to stimulate her passions.

  ‘I understand your desire to pu
t an end to the opium smuggling, but if you don’t mind my saying so I think you are being over-ambitious.’ She held up a hand to prevent Chance from interrupting her. ‘Saving the prince from putting his foot into a diplomatic quagmire ought to be your first priority.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Chance said, ignoring Louis’s irritated grunt. ‘I sense you have suggestions in that respect and we would be glad to her them. God alone knows, even at our most inventive we often have trouble curbing the prince’s more impetuous tendencies. He is a downright menace.’

  ‘Amara mentioned that her father’s organisation and Estevan’s have always been rivals, and that Demetrius Estevan and her father’s man Drakos despise one another.’

  A slow smile spread across Chance’s face and he nodded his approval. ‘Divide and conquer, I suspect you mean.’

  Sabine lifted one shoulder in modest acceptance of the approval she saw in his expression. ‘It seems logical.’

  ‘How do you suggest going about that?’ Louis asked.

  ‘Amara told us that Estevan and Drakos detest one another, but not why. However, Eva just enlightened me.’ She paused, conscious of holding all three gentlemen’s complete attention. ‘Kazan, it seems, implied to Drakos that when Amara turned sixteen she would become his wife.’

  ‘Ah,’ Louis said slowly. ‘A reward for his loyalty.’

  ‘So I understand it,’ Sabine replied. ‘Eva isn’t sure that Amara even knows of the arrangement. It seems that Kazan kept finding reasons to delay making the announcement, and Drakos knew better than to declare himself to Amara without his master’s prior approval.’