“What’s happened?” She didn’t care that it wasn’t her place to demand any answers. Grey blinked, his expression changing from cold to warm, as he seemed to so easily do. He didn’t fool her. A haggardness of body and spirit clung to him. It wasn’t just the beard and blood-shot eyes that made her think so. He was different. There was a hardness to his eyes that he’d not possessed a month ago.
“Let’s all go into the chamber,” Elizabeth’s eldest brother suggested.
Elizabeth pulled Madelaine back inside with her, and they settled on the bed. The men didn’t sit, but loomed over them, until finally Elizabeth’s eldest brother offered Madelaine a cursory nod. “I’m the Duke―” Grey’s brother abruptly stopped his introduction, his face whitening. “You must be Lady Madelaine?”
Madelaine nodded, but before she could say anything else, Elizabeth scrambled from the bed and stood toe-to-toe with her eldest brother. “What do you mean introducing yourself as a duke?”
“You bloody clod,” Grey snarled at his brother as he took Elizabeth by the arm. It almost seemed he intended to hold her up. Madelaine furrowed her brow. “Liz,” Grey said in a soft voice. “Mother and Father are dead.”
“What?” Elizabeth whispered. The confusion clouding her face mirrored Madelaine’s feelings.
“Dead,” Grey tried again with such heartbreaking gentleness that Madelaine’s nose and throat burned with the sudden need to cry.
“I don’t believe you.” Elizabeth’s voice was raspy.
When her declaration was met by silence, she repeated herself louder. “I don’t believe you,” she screeched, her eyes turning wild, her fingers clawing at her brother’s arms for release.
Madelaine couldn’t move. The scene transfixed her in horror to the bed. Politeness demanded she quietly exit, but she could not make her legs work nor bring herself to abandon Elizabeth and Grey for the sake of politeness.
“They are dead,” Grey reiterated.
“You’re lying,” Elizabeth accused, even as tears streamed down her face. “Why are you lying?” Her voice rose to a higher pitch. Grey gazed at Madelaine. The helplessness in his eyes broke her heart. She stood, intent on taking Elizabeth from him and holding her friend gently to try to make her hear the truth, but Elizabeth’s brother, The Duke of Ashdon, stepped forward and took Elizabeth from Grey.
Madelaine watched in mute horror while His Grace tried for several minutes to rationalize with Elizabeth, but her protests grew in volume until she was screaming. Finally, he shook her. She could have sworn Elizabeth’s teeth rattled together with each violent shake of her body.
“Stop it.” Madelaine gripped the duke’s arm. “You’ll hurt her. Please.” She tugged at the man’s thick, corded arms until he released his sister.
Elizabeth moaned incoherently as Madelaine struggled to get her to the bed. In an instant, Grey was at Elizabeth’s other side and helped Madelaine to guide her to sit. “What happened?” she asked over Elizabeth’s wracking sobs.
Either her imagination was running wild, or Grey was really assessing her as he appeared to be doing. But for what purpose? Were his parents’ deaths horrific? Did he think she too might lose control? Finally, he spoke, his words coming out as if each had been ripped from his throat. “A carriage accident. They had a bad wheel. It broke and the carriage tumbled down an embankment and killed them both.”
At his pronouncement, Elizabeth’s head lulled backward and her eyes fluttered closed. The sudden silence of the room seemed strange after the deafening noise of Elizabeth’s crying. With Grey’s help, Madelaine laid Elizabeth on the bed. Once Madelaine had Elizabeth situated, she turned and caught Grey staring at her. The unveiled pain and anguish in his eyes tore at her. She reached toward him to soothe him, but he flinched away, as if he could not bear her touch.
She understood the pain of losing a parent, better than most, but he seemed more than pained, seething with an anger that was directed at her. Maybe, it was simply the shock of everything, yet she felt very out of place, very much an intruder. She wrung her hands together. She didn’t want to leave Grey or Elizabeth, but she didn’t feel welcome here. “Maybe I had better go to my own room,” she said, moving to leave.
In a flash, Grey stood between her and the door. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
She would have been relieved that he’d stopped her, but his foreboding tone scared her, and sent shivers of wariness over her skin. “What is it?”
Grey shot his brother a warning look to remind him to keep to their agreement. If the price of protecting Madelaine was that she might later hate him, he’d gladly pay the ransom. He did not want to lie to her, to use her as a pawn, but he’d given his word to protect the king, and he’d keep it. He glanced at his sister who was stirring on the bed. “We cannot speak here.”
Madelaine followed his gaze. “Where then?”
“The tower. Your father is being kept there.”
“What?” All color leeched from her face, making her appear frail and frightened. He hated that he was causing her fear, but there was simply no choice.
“Come.” He took her by the elbow to lead her out the door. She opened her mouth to ask him a question, but he shook his head and handed her cape to her. “Keep your questions for now and put this on.” She seemed as if she would argue, but after a moment, she took the cape and shrugged it on.
His heart lurched. Even in drab wool, she was beautiful. “Raise the hood,” he commanded as he closed the door to his sister’s bedroom without a backward glance. Edward would be waiting to hear a report, giving Grey just enough time to play the sympathetic suitor, take Madelaine to her father, and peer through the peephole in the room where they kept him to listen and see if Stratmore let anything slip or made a confession. Gravenhurst would see Liz safely home, far away from any possible taint of scandal.
Grey was still angry with his brother and Gravenhurst, though they only did what they must to protect the king as well as themselves. And so would he. He would protect the king, but God help him, he would protect Madelaine as well, if it were possible.
He glanced at her as they walked silently through the halls. She turned her head enough that he could see her face drawn with worry. Did she sense his stare? He grasped her arm to stop her and fought back the fear that someone else would see her and then question what she was doing. At this late hour, his fear was no doubt unfounded, yet it choked off his air just the same.
He pulled her hood tighter around her face so that if anyone was still lurking in the halls they’d mistake her for a lady of the night. Reaching down, he clasped her cold, clammy hands and blew on them to warm them. “Keep your face hidden.”
She nodded, her hand going to the closure of her cape and holding it tight under her chin. His gut twisted as he pressed a hand to her back to lead her out of the castle. Since the moment his brother had told him of Pearson’s death and his belief that Stratmore had killed him, Grey had gone through every possible way this could end. There was no good way, unless Stratmore was innocent of everything, and Grey’s gut told him otherwise. The worst ending would be Stratmore being hung, and Madelaine being thrown on the mercy of the Court. Likely they’d toss her from Court and take her father’s property. Or what if they decided she’d helped her father? Would they go so far as to hang her right beside him, unless she was protected by someone? Fear made his heart pound faster.
She was an only child with no other living relatives. She had no one. No one but him. If the worst came to pass, he would marry her to give her the protection of his name, but then who would protect her from the dangers his life would likely present them both? That was a worry for much later. One concern at a time.
At the river, he helped her into the boat Edward had arranged to take them to the tower. The boat rocked gently as he led her to the bow. They sat, and he pulled her to his side, and slid his arm around her upper back to rest his hand on the gentle, sloping curve of her shoulder. The boatman was one of their paid emp
loyees, yet Edward had warned Grey to take no chances with anyone overhearing anything.
As the boat started to swish through the water, Grey took her hand in his, compelled to offer what comfort he could. Since he was supposed to be gaining her trust, he told himself his intimacy was acceptable, though he was aware of just how much he enjoyed touching her, no matter the reason. She turned her face, so that in the light of the lantern he saw she’d not relaxed in the slightest, not that he blamed her.
“Your father is being held under suspicion of treason and murder.” He kept his tone low.
She jerked under his arm, but to his surprise, she didn’t cry out or jump to her feet in outrage. Her eyes narrowed, her only show of anger. “Tell me.” Her voice emotionless and steely like he’d expect from a man. Then again, given what he knew about her, he should have guessed she’d react with the same calm calculation it took to shoot a target perfectly.
In a low voice, Grey told her of the missing paper of the king’s, but not what was on it. He then told her of Pearson being killed, but avoided the specifics of what indicated her father had a hand in it. He tensed, expecting her to demand the particulars; she did not.
“Why are you here?” Her face was fierce and expectant. Her question caught him off guard, though he’d rehearsed what he would say if she did ask it. “What role could an equerry possibly play in the politics of the king?”
“My role is one of support for you.”
“That’s no answer.” She tugged her hand out of his grasp.
He sighed inwardly. He’d hoped to avoid too many lies, but she left him little choice. “I’ve the ear of the king as my father’s son, and my brother more so than I, as the new Duke of Ashford. The king will listen to my brother’s council on this matter.”
“And what will your brother advise the king? Will he tell him my father is innocent, because surely he is?” Passion laced her words, her eyes burned bright and her face flushed.
Grey chose his words carefully before answering. “What my brother says depends on you.”
“On me?” Her brow furrowed.
“Yes. Edward has asked that you speak with your father. He thinks Stratmore will tell you of his guilt or innocence. Edward already spoke with him at the king’s bequest but he feels your father is holding something back.”
Her mouth turned down. “But why would the king involve your brother? Why does the king not speak to my father himself?”
“He’s recovering from an illness at Kew, and as I told you, Edward is now the Duke of Ashford, a powerful landholder and one of the wealthiest men in England. The king always seeks the council of his wealthiest landholders, as they have almost as much at stake at keeping the peace in England as the king does.”
“Your brother can’t think my father would steal from His Majesty. My father loves the king! They’re lifelong friends. Father has served His Majesty well all my life.” Her voice had risen as her words picked up tempo. Grey gripped her hand to remind her to keep her voice low.
“I’m sorry.” When she wiped an errant tear running down her cheek, his heart constricted in sympathy. “And murder…” She shuddered, her words trailing off. “He’ll be hung if he’s found guilty. Grey please―” She rested her other hand on top of his while she searched his eyes. “You must help me prove my father’s innocence.”
Sour bile rose in the back of his throat for his deception, however necessary for her protection. “Of course I’ll help you. Whatever you need me to do, I will.”
If his prayers were answered, she would need no help from him because her father would somehow be proven innocent, though Grey could not see how.
MADELAINE TRIED TO CONTROL HER trembling as the boat passed through the entrance of Traitor’s Gate, but a quiver ran through her despite her best efforts. Her mind scrambled frantically over what she had just learned. How could it have come to be that her father was being held on suspicion of murder and treason?
Her throat clenched with the need to cry out. Her poor, poor father. How angry and worried he must be! At the very least, if word of this got out, his good name would be tarnished, and at the worst― She turned her thoughts away from the possibility, unable to face such a thing. She’d not lose her father, and she’d somehow help him set this all to rights.
Anger made her shaking commence again. Grey squeezed her hand. She was incredibly grateful to have him at her side and to know he would do everything in his power to help her prove her father’s innocence. She hadn’t been sure what response to expect from Grey since he’d acted so oddly in his sister’s room.
As the boat neared the dock, the boatman jumped up to grab the rope being thrown to him and pull the boat to dock. Grey helped her from the boat, but even when her feet were on solid ground, she still felt as if she were swaying so that when she took a step, she tilted. Grey’s hand came around her waist while he kept a firm grip on her other hand. “Come,” he said in a gentle tone. “Your father is this way.”
She hadn’t known what to expect inside the tower, so when they first entered and passed by the guards and into brightly lit halls that appeared rather clean for a prison, she sagged in relief against Grey. Thank God her father was not being kept in squalor. “Are the prisoners’ rooms on this floor?”
“Some.” Grey maneuvered her past the first door which was cracked open enough that with a glance inside, she saw a man sitting at a desk with an opulent meal spread out before him and a decanter of wine in his hand. “Is he a prisoner?”
Grey nodded.
“Is my father on this floor?”
The muscles of his arm tensed. “No, he’s farther down.”
“What is it?” she demanded, taking care to keep her tone hushed. “Is he harmed?”
“No.” Grey didn’t stop to look at her. He led her through a door to a narrow passageway of stairs. They spiraled sharply down, and with a glance, she stared into what appeared to be an endless pit of darkness illuminated every few feet by glowing torches. Her palms grew sweaty with her unease.
She swallowed the fear that had suddenly risen inside of her. “How far down?” Her voice sounded wobbly to her own ears.
“Far. Prepare yourself. And don’t let go of the railing.” Grey stopped and looked up at her. “Your father’s crimes are grave. In accordance, he’s being held in the dungeon.” The darkness obscured his face, his ominous tone raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“His purported crimes,” she said.
“Of course.” Grey continued down the stairs.
She didn’t want to follow into the darkness, but what choice did she have? As they descended, the temperature dropped, the air became damp, and the steps narrowed and shortened. She clung to the railing for life and sanity. The overwhelming sense that she was marching willingly to her own doom filled her. The disgusting, sticky cobwebs clinging to her arms didn’t help calm her. She wanted to rub at her skin to get rid of the cobwebs, but she was afraid to let go of the rail. She gritted her teeth and kept her hand on the rail.
When they reached the end of the stairs, she gasped and rubbed at her arms.
“What’s wrong?” Grey’s tone vibrated with worry.
“Cobwebs.” She couldn’t keep the revulsion out of her voice.
“Maybe you’re more like the average woman than I thought.”
She glared at him in the darkness. “I’m not like the average woman. Cobwebs are disgusting.”
He chuckled. “Come.”
She followed him through a creaky door and stopped in a room where mold and dirt swirled in the air and filled her nostrils. Coughing, she eyed the door she assumed led to her father’s room and tried to ignore the despair rising in her chest and threatening to spill over.
Bitter laughter escaped her. “I’m surprised they don’t have a guard down here.”
Grey held up a key. “There’s no need. There’s no way out except the way we just came from, and there’s no way into this room except this key.” With a click of t
he lock, the door creaked open. Madelaine stepped inside, not sure what to expect. Her father stood in the middle of the room facing her. His clean-shaven appearance took her by surprise. She’d been expecting him to be ragged.
“Madelaine.” Her father opened his arms, and she rushed into his warm, loving embrace. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes and leaked down her cheeks. Behind her, the door clicked shut. Later, she would have to thank Grey for giving her time alone with her father. She pulled out of her father’s embrace and studied him, looking for signs of abuse. “Have they been kind to you?”
A smile twisted his lips. “As kind as you’d expect men bent on proving my guilt to be.”
“But I see no bruises or cuts. It appears they’ve not raised a hand to you.”
Her father scrubbed a hand across his face. “No, Maddie. They’ve not beaten me. You can be sure they have other ways of trying to gain a confession from me.”
She wrinkled her brow, considering what her father had said. “What ways?”
“Come.” He led her to the table in the corner of his room. “Let’s not waste our time together on how they mean to coerce me. There’s no preventing it anyway, and we’ve important matters to discuss.” Her father’s gaze danced around the room and settled on a crack in the brick. He stared overly long at the crack, then turned his gaze away and stared at his hands mumbling about “not being sure” while his fingers clutched and unclutched hers.
“Father.” She gripped his fingers in order to get him to stop his rhythmic motion. For a moment, it seemed he hadn’t heard her. His mumbling continued and his fingers moved spasmodically under hers, and then suddenly it stopped and his blood-shot gaze rose to her face.
“Father, I know you’re not guilty!”
His expression was vacant. “It matters not. I’ll likely die in here.”
“Don’t say that.” She moved her chair until she sat beside him. “You’re innocent, and we’ll prove it. I’ll prove it.”
What A Rogue Wants Page 19
