What A Rogue Wants

by Julie Johnstone

  “It’s not you.” Helen paused in her step. “Well, actually by default of your bloodline it is. Her Majesty considered your mother an enemy from day one.”

  “My mother? But she never even came to Court!” Madelaine clenched her hands together, outrage for her mother stirring in her blood.

  “Calm yourself,” Helen hissed, but took Madelaine’s hand in hers and gently tugged. They started walking again, the tap of their slippered feet echoing in the deserted corridor. “Did you never wonder why your Father often came to Court but not your mother?”

  Madelaine shook her head. She had assumed her mother stayed behind with her because she was an especially doting mother.

  Helen sighed. “I knew your mother and liked her very much. She was childhood friends with Lady Napier, who was once Lady Sara Lennox. Sara is the heart of the trouble between your mother and the queen.”

  When they reached the top of the steps that led to the dining hall, Helen paused. “King George was smitten with Sara. When her family learned of it they made her abandon her plans to marry a man I think she truly did love. But then our king changed his mind or rather it was changed for him. He married Queen Charlotte instead and Sara―let us just say it took her a long time to find happiness and at great cost to her good name.”

  “What’s my mother have to do with this?” Madelaine asked as she descended the stairs.

  “Privately, Sara blamed her misfortunes on the king and therefore the queen. Your mother staunchly stood by Sara and never did take to the queen. Your mother was very beautiful. Beauty has power and the queen did not like coming newly to our Court only to have a beautiful woman who did not trip over herself to serve her. And your mother was clever. She never said an outright unkind word. Yet daily she pointed out to Her Majesty the little things of our culture she had not properly mastered.”

  “As the queen does to me!” Madelaine stopped before the dining room hall. Everything she had just learned vied for attention inside her head. Ordering her thoughts was difficult, but she forced herself to the task. “Yet my mother was not thrown from Court? How could it be if she openly needled the queen?”

  “Because the queen knew better than to demand such a thing from the king. His Majesty and your father were close even then.”

  “So the king didn’t know of the trouble between my mother and the queen?”

  “No. Never.”

  That explained why Madelaine’s father insisted she come to Court to find a proper husband even if it didn’t necessarily explain why her father seemed to want to have her married off so quickly. She had thought to have a Season when their mourning was over, but he had been steadfast that Court was where she should be. He’d said she would not be one of many debutantes here, but one of a few honored ladies-in-waiting, therefore she should be betrothed right away. He had no inkling the men at Court would rather seduce than propose nor did he know the queen had hated his wife.

  If he only knew. Madelaine pushed the errant thought away. She could never tell her father. It would devastate him to think the queen had hated Mother and Mother had deceived him by never telling him. It didn’t matter anyway. She had a debt to pay to her parents and a duty to fulfill. “My mother’s lack of punishment must have eaten at the queen all these years.”

  “Now you see. The queen never got retribution as she wished, so now she punishes you.”

  “It’s hopeless.”

  “You give up too easily,” Helen chided.

  “What must she do?” Lady Elizabeth asked.

  The dining room door opened suddenly and the noise from within rolled into the corridor like the hum of a thousand birds’ wings flapping in unison. Lady Helen faced Madelaine. “Prove your loyalty to the queen above everyone else, and then you will have her forgiveness and her loyalty.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” Madelaine called to Helen’s departing figure.

  Helen paused and turned back to her. “I don’t have all the answers. Bide your time. It will come. It always does if one is patient enough.”

  Madelaine trudged behind Elizabeth to their appointed table. As Elizabeth took a seat across from Lord Thorton, he grinned lecherously at Madelaine and patted the seat beside him. She sat and his hand immediately found her knee under the table. She retaliated by swatting him away as discreetly as she could.

  She didn’t have a single moment to bide. She needed the queen’s favor. Without it, she dare not whisper a word of Lord Thorton’s attempts to take advantage of her. If the queen disliked her, that bit of information could easily be manipulated to make her look like she lacked morals.

  When Lord Thorton’s hand found her leg again and massaged her knee, she picked up her fork, discreetly slid it under the bench and pressed the prongs into his flesh as hard as she could. His hand ceased moving. She raised her gaze to meet his―sure he would be glaring at her, but the man stared as if she were the choicest piece of meat he’d ever seen. Disgust rolled through her. Immediately, she released the fork and the pressure of his hand lifted from her leg. If only she had her dagger then maybe he would see her as a danger instead of a conquest. Tomorrow, she would secure it under her dress in case she encountered him again.

  As she took a large sip of wine from her goblet, he pressed his lips by her ear. She darted a quick gaze around. Thank God everyone was busily engaged in their own conversation. “I like feisty women,” he said in a slur of already consumed wine.

  “You’ll find me deadly, not feisty,” she hissed, meaning every word. She quickly stuffed a chunk of bread in her mouth to avoid more conversation with him. But as she chewed, he slid closer. The sticky heat of his body enveloped her. Her stomach turned and she could not swallow the hunk of bread in her mouth.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. Time was her enemy. If things stayed as they were, she would be forced to drastic measures. She had excellent aim and had no doubt she could hit Lord Thorton if he tried to corner her alone and ravish her. But it would be deuced hard to fulfill her mother’s wish and not disappoint her father if she was hung for murder. And blast hell with ice, her life may not be all she had hoped so far, but living was far more preferable than death.

  Grey awoke the next morning in a sour mood. Who wouldn’t be in a sour mood if they had been forced to go to bed hungry because they’d waited until near midnight to see the king. Grey rubbed his aching back. Someone needed to purchase more comfortable chairs in the king’s receiving chamber. Of course, comfortable chairs wouldn’t be necessary if the king actually granted audiences to those he’d commanded to appear on specific days at very specific times. The most frustrating part of his night though wasn’t the dinner. Dinner he could live without. Lack of food he could quickly amend. And he intended to shortly. Missed opportunities were harder to fix. And he’d missed the opportunity to speak more with Lady Madelaine. But he’d dreamed about her.

  His cock hardened in remembrance. He smiled recalling the balmy weather, blue skies and Lady Madelaine’s skillful mouth and hands. The fantasy had been vivid. But when he threw off his covers cold air swept over him and chased away the remnants of his dream. Reality made him frown. The last thing he wanted to do today was return to the king’s chambers to once again wait idly and uncomfortably to be granted an audience the king himself had commanded, but wait he would. Like an obedient dog.

  Grey growled as he groped around for his trousers. He stomped toward his bag, pulled out a shirt, whipped it through the air to dislodge some of the wrinkles and pulled it over his head. As he thudded back to the bed and located his boots, Gravenhurst sat up in the bed next to Grey’s. And then a slighter figure with a distinctly flowery smell sat up beside Gravenhurst.

  Grey chuckled to himself. At least one of them had not wasted their first night at Court. “Good morning, Gravenhurst.”

  “By all accounts it should be,” Gravenhurst grumbled.

  “Did your company keep you up too late?” Grey didn’t bother to conceal the sarcasm in his voice.

&n
bsp; A derisive, feminine snort came from the woman. The brown blanket covering her head fell to her shoulders. Grey couldn’t quite make out the color of her eyes in the lingering predawn shadows of the room, but a streak of sunlight cutting through the air from the stained-glass window touched the top of her head. By damned she had the reddest hair he’d ever seen. But a pretty red, like fine burgundy.

  “Lord Gravenhurst kept me up, not the other way around.” Her tone held amusement. “I was begging for sleep.”

  “I imagine you were, Lady…?”

  “It’s kind of you to grant me the courtesy, but we both know I’m no lady, don’t “we?” The woman rose from the bed with the blanket wrapped around her slender figure, but low enough that a good portion of her ample breasts showed. Grey didn’t turn away. If she wanted to display her wares, he’d be happy to look, but that didn’t mean he’d be buying. The sun now hit her full on in the face, and amusement filled her green, slanted eyes. This was a lady who enjoyed being stared at. She was not a lady in the class of someone like Lady Madelaine, but no average chit either. He had had met plenty of both kinds of women and this fiery wench was bold as brass and not a wink ashamed of waking up naked as the day she was born in front of two men, one definitely a stranger and one a semi-stranger. “Do you work in the castle?”

  “I do.”

  “Talkative chit, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Most men I meet don’t want to talk.” She dropped the blanket and stooped to pick up her gown. Her amply curved body looked like one made specifically for pleasure, but for once he wasn’t filled with the rush of desire a beautiful woman usually caused. The woman pulled on her dark, threadbare gown and turned her back to Grey and Gravenhurst, who now stood fully clothed by Grey. “Lace me up?”

  Gravenhurst quickly obliged. When he finished, the woman swiveled around, planted a kiss on his mouth, and then reached behind her and twined her long hair into a knot at the nape of her neck. “You were exactly what I needed last night, my lord.”

  “Likewise.” Gravenhurst handed the woman a gleaming, gold coin.

  She tucked the coin between her breasts, and then locked her gaze on Grey. “You’ve a reputation, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told. Am I to believe I’m so notorious now that I’m the talk of the―?”

  “Ladies-in-waiting.”

  He instantly pictured Lady Madelaine. “If you’re trying to intrigue me, miss, you’ve succeeded. Do tell.”

  “I accidentally overheard them placing wagers on who would win your heart.”

  That could be a boon or a curse, depending on which side of the wager Lady Madelaine placed her blunt. “You accidentally overheard them?” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “As in you eavesdropped?”

  “Nay. I was tidying the queen’s drawing room when they came in. I had to hide because we chambermaids aren’t supposed to be seen.”

  A sarcastic comment burned to be said, but he had no wish to give her anymore reason to despise the queen’s ladies as her derisive tone indicated she already did. Instead he asked, “Did all the ladies place a wager?”

  The woman’s smirk turned to downright amusement. “Don’t tell me a particular lady has caught your fancy?”

  The question made Grey grind his teeth. Lady Madelaine had bewitched him a bit, but it was nothing a good romp wouldn’t cure. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t want to get married and have children so he could ignore all but one of them. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go falling in love with Lady Madelaine and pledge his life to her. That would be just like his father, and he was done trying to please the old bastard. “Not really.”

  “All wagered but one.”

  “Which lady?”

  “You’re quite certain one of them hasn’t stirred your appetite?”

  Madelaine had done more than stir his appetite. With one encounter she’d unleashed it, and it seemed his need to know her was only growing. “Quite certain.” The words barely escaped his clenched teeth.

  “If you say so. Goodbye, milords.” The woman was out the door without waiting for a reply.

  Grey grabbed his coat off the chair, shoved his arms in and glared at Gravenhurst. “I’ll not have time for breakfast thanks to you allowing your guest to sleep over.” He was being unaccountably surly toward Gravenhurst, but he couldn’t seem to stop his growing irritable mood.

  “Don’t try to tell me we kept you up. We were long finished by the time you crept in.”

  “Yes, but she detained me just now.”

  Gravenhurst chuckled. “Aye. For five whole minutes. How tedious for you. What’s really the matter?”

  Grey shrugged. He wished he knew.

  Gravenhurst grinned. “Is it because a certain lady is here at Court? Is Miss Prattle still under your skin? Have you tried to meet her again and she didn’t bother showing?”

  “Shut up,” Grey snapped.

  Gravenhurst frowned. “Kidding aside. Did things not go well with the king?”

  “He was indisposed all day and night, but he refused to excuse me. I don’t comprehend why the king wants to speak with me― a mere equerry to a lesser land holder. I’m of no importance.”

  Gravenhurst splashed water on his face before toweling it off and replying. “He honors you because of your father.”

  Grey nodded, his irritation deepening. Never mind that he had wanted a commission. He was to be an equerry as his father commanded. The irony of his situation set his teeth on edge. His father had never taken any interest in him until Grey had told him he wanted to be a solider. Then he’d taken enough notice to tell Grey “no” and give him orders to come here. After which the old bastard had ridden off with Grey’s older brother as usual. Resentment curdled in his belly like sour milk. “I better go. I’ll have just enough time to grab a hunk of bread and head to the king’s chambers by my appointed hour.”

  By the time he reached the main floor, he’d worked himself up into the foulest mood he could recall in years. Not since his sixteenth birthday, when his father had promised to take him hunting, just the two of them, had Grey been so irate. And that day had been a black one, for certain. When his father had shown up near midnight with Edward, Grey had not been merely upset that his father had broken yet another promise to him without explanation and seemingly in favor of spending time with Grey’s older brother. Grey had been furious and vowed that night he would get his father’s attention, even if he had to do it by being the old bastard’s worst nightmare.

  He laughed at what a foolish notion that had been. His father would have had to care first. The bastard didn’t. He didn’t blink an eye when Grey was thrown from Eton, or accrued a king’s ransom worth of gambling debt, or drank himself into a month-long stupor. The only time he’d batted an eye was when Grey had bedded one of the lady’s maids employed to care for Liz. That’s when he’d realized how to get under his father’s skin.

  Grey rounded the last turn to the dining hall. When had he realized his actions weren’t changing a damn thing? He felt certain his little epiphany had occurred this past year. Yet he liked women. So he seduced the ones that were willing. But he would never get married. Let his father stew for the rest of his life on how he’d failed.

  Grey pushed open the door to the dining hall. At this hour it would be empty, except for the servants preparing for breakfast. Good thing too. He was not in the mood for pleasant conversation, and the servants would be too busy to talk. The servants nodded toward him as he strode into the hall, but as he expected, they continued in their preparations for breakfast.

  He ambled over to the far wall, where a different assortment of breads and cheeses should be laid out, but none was there yet. His stomach growled again. A servant came through the door with a large tray lifted above his head. The pleasant scent of warm bread wafted on the air. Grey smiled and was just about to call out to the man when the dining hall door swung wide again, and Lady Madelaine flew through the door, in a flurry of pale green silk which contrasted q
uite nicely with her honey hair that tumbled around her shoulders.

  The exquisite picture she presented would have stirred his lust, but her dark eyes were round with fear and her hands grasped spasmodically in front of her.

  From across the room, he raised his hand to get her notice, but the door swung wide again and hard footsteps rang in the otherwise quiet room. Grey narrowed his eyes as Thorton strode toward Madelaine. What the hell was that man doing up so early? Thorton was a liar, a cheat, and a lazy ass.

  Lady Madelaine shot a glance behind her, and then swung toward Thorton, her gaze darting all over the room. What was this? If the lady was secretly meeting with Thorton, Grey would toss up his breakfast. Oh hell, he’d not eaten breakfast.

  Lady Madelaine backed behind a table, and lifted her skirt. Bile filled Grey’s mouth. He’d not watch the woman he’d fantasized about being plundered by another. He turned on his heel to go, but a long flash of metal caught his eye. His jaw dropped at the gleaming dagger Lady Madelaine held in front of her. He’d seen stranger games between a man and a woman, but this had to be the strangest.

  “Lady Madelaine, you wound me,” Lord Thorton said, coming to stand on the opposite side of the table from her. Grey stood still and silent, not sure whether to excuse himself or hide and save her the embarrassment of knowing he’d witnessed her and Thorton.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’ve not wounded you yet, you swine, but I swear if you grab me again, I’ll use my dagger.” Now that was definitely an interesting choice of words to elicit a man’s desire. Maybe they played at prey and hunter.

  “Come, Lady Madelaine. Don’t make me use force. This could be pleasant for both of us.”

  Grey’s heartbeat sped up a notch. Something wasn’t right.

  Lady Madelaine raised the dagger higher. “If your hands are on me, I vow it will not be pleasant.”

  Thorton lunged across the table, and true to her word, Lady Madelaine plunged the dagger straight down toward the man’s leg. “You bitch,” Thorton cursed loudly, causing the only servant remaining in the room to flee.