Her mother’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears. He’d left, not to return for two months, and the beatings while he was gone had been the worst Madelaine had ever received. But the beatings paled in comparison to the guilt that ate at her. She vowed to be a better daughter, one that would not cause her mother heartache and make her so angry that she fought with Father. She vowed to be the kind of daughter Father would want to come back to. Then he would stay with them. Then he would love them.
But when he came back from his trip, he’d sought her out instead of Mother. That had been the best and worst day ever. He’d taught her a new way he’d learned to shoot his bow, and she’d eagerly gone with him for the better part of a day into the woods to hunt and shoot. Abby and her mother had even joined them for a time, which had never happened before and never happened again. When they’d all returned to the house, her mother had been livid beyond reason and had smacked Madelaine across the face with a hairbrush.
Madelaine opened her eyes and rubbed her cheek, which throbbed as if just freshly hit. She could see her parents standing before her as if time had not moved forward a single second, minute, hour or day. Father grabbing Mother’s arm as she raised it to strike again, and Mother’s stricken face before she fled the room―those memories never faded. Abby and her mother had scurried off to the kitchen when Father had commanded them to go. Madelaine had crawled into bed early that night and prayed things would be better on the morrow, but the next day her parents barely spoke, and her mother made sure she knew it was all her fault.
Madelaine kneaded her fingers into her aching head. In her heart, she didn’t believe her father betrayed her mother, nor was she sure he had really loved her. What was he doing all those times he was gone? Was a glimmer of the truth here in this paper?
Her pulse raced as she read the next two lines written by the king’s hand. “King George III’s personal spies and missions,” she muttered aloud. Disbelief caused her to laugh nervously. Head of circle of six – Fifth Duke of Ashdon– mission – deliver message to Nelson regarding the movement of Napoleon’s fleet across the Atlantic.
Dear God! Grey’s brother was a spy, or did this note refer to Grey’s father? It must have been written before Grey’s father’s death. Madelaine pressed a hand to her head as her thoughts spun. The circle of six held no meaning for her, but if Grey’s father had been a spy that could explain why Grey had been held at arm’s length all his life. She became excited thinking of how happy Grey would be to know his father really had loved him and had only tried to protect him, but then she remembered she had to avoid Grey, and even if she did see him at Court, it wasn’t as if she could tell him what she knew.
Unless―All the air in her lungs swooshed out in a rush. Did he already know? Was he a spy as well? The paper crumpled as she curled her fingers into a fist. Her blood rushed to her temples. Had Grey lied to her?
Flashes of his injuries skimmed through her thoughts. Cuts, scrapes, and fresh scars that seemed too harsh for a mere equerry filled her with doubt. She couldn’t consider that he might have lied. Because if he was the king’s man, then did that mean he had used her to get to her father? Ruthlessly, she shoved the doubt away and hugged herself.
Yet the doubt was relentless, like a driving rain that wouldn’t let up. It bore into her, chilling her skin and froze her all the way through. Gulping, she forced herself to look at the paper once again. Her heart pounded as she read each line while holding her breath and praying she’d not see Grey’s name, yet praying she’d find answers.
Her hopes rose as she read through the names and the missions―Lord Gravenhurst and Grey’s brother were on the list with missions by their names, but Grey was not mentioned. The next name caused her to bite down hard on her lip, her stomach pitching.
She blinked, yet the name was still there. Her father was a spy for the king. Had he always been? It explained his long absences and why he could never tell Mother where he was or what he was doing. How horrible for Mother and him. Madelaine groaned.
Her parents had barely stood a chance at happiness with this secret between them. Maybe her willful ways had been one thing too many between her parents. She had to make amends for her part in driving her parents apart. She had to do her Father’s bidding and trust him. Didn’t she? Doubt warred within her. The king believed he could depend on her father, and her father was betraying the king. Instinct made her want to know more, but what would she do if what she learned made her think her father was wrong? Could she still do what he demanded? It was better to never know, to not have to decide.
A scratching noise behind her made her jump. Whirling around, she grabbed the taper off the shelf. Light flickered in front of her, illuminating the distance from her to the stairs. There was no one there, yet her skin prickled. How long before Grey caught up with her, or worse his brother or Lord Gravenhurst? She might be able to convince Grey of her innocence, but his brother and Lord Gravenhurst wouldn’t listen to a word she said, especially since she’d wounded Grey’s brother. And then another thought struck. Somewhere out there was a murderer and it wasn’t her father. Fear stilled her breathing altogether. She listened to the silence.
A clanking, as if a bottle had been tipped over, resounded. Every instinct she possessed urged her to flee but first she needed the money her father had hidden. She snatched the bottle up, expecting to find money in it, but the bottle was empty.
Her hands flew from bottle to bottle in search of the money as her heart slammed painfully, making her chest ache. She tried to calm herself, to order her thoughts, but it was impossible as fear clawed its way up her insides and choked her. Her hands shook. She could hardly grasp the bottles. In the blackness, she could have sworn she heard a man’s voice.
Wildly, she gazed around at the shadows, the walls, the hundreds of bottles. Were the walls closer, the shadows darker, the bottles multiplying? She jerked away from the shelf desperate to run upstairs to the open space and light.
Her shoulder bumped a bottle on the edge of the shelf as she turned. The bottle teetered before toppling to the ground. Shards flew and crackled on impact with the hard floor. To her left, the distinct sound of feet shuffling pierced through her fear. An icy chill coursed down her spine. Automatically, she lifted her boot to get the dagger she’d stolen. She felt around for where she’d made a slit on the outside of her boot for it, and then froze. Her heart plunged. Damnation. She’d left the dagger buried in Grey’s brother’s shoulder.
Disbelief held Grey immobilized in the shadowy corner of Stratmore’s cellar. His blood rushed violently through his veins. He’d risked his career as a spy, his relationship with his brother and his honor by placing Madelaine above the king, and he’d judged her wrongly. He’d risked his heart, a foolishness he’d sworn never to do after a lifetime of building defenses around it. And what had he exposed himself for? Not the angel he’d imagined but a clever viper.
She stood with the wide-eyed stare he imagined most traitors would have when caught red-handed. Except she was the most beautiful traitor he would probably ever come up against. Her gaze swept over the darkness as her hand moved and her skirts fell back down around her ankles. His fingers tingled in remembrance of just how silky her skin was. He gritted his teeth.
She hadn’t seen him yet. He saw the king’s paper. She’d known exactly where to find it. Invisible bands wrapped around his heart and squeezed what was left of the useless thing. She’d played him for a fool with her innocent smiles and clear brown eyes, and he’d nearly killed himself to get here and protect her, even after she’d stolen away like a guilty person would. He hadn’t wanted to believe it possible.
White hot fury rose inside him, but even in the midst of his anger the idea of harm coming to her sat like a lead ball in the pit of his stomach. Foolish as hell considering he was going to have to deliver her to the tower to await punishment for treason, which would likely be her death. Jesus God. He’d not really considered it until now. Could he do it? He thought instantl
y of his vow to the king and to her. Damn her. Her actions left him no choice.
“Who’s there?” Her voice was strong and clear and reminded him why he’d fallen for her. Her bravery when she sensed danger made pride swell up in him. Misplaced pride he couldn’t afford to have.
He stepped from the shadows and into the soft glow of light from her taper. “It’s Grey. Not who you were expecting, I suppose.”
He tensed, thinking she might try to run, or gasp, or even play the fool and try to hide the list and convince him she had no idea what he was talking about. Stark relief lit her face. His mind reeled. Was this a game she played or genuine?
Damn it. He curled his hands into fists. It didn’t matter whether she was glad to see him or not. He could not allow himself to be stupid. He stepped toward her to grab her in case she tried to run, but before he touched her, she flung herself into his arms.
Calling on a will he wasn’t sure he possessed, he stood like stone as she ran her hands over his face, neck and chest then clutched his arms. The paper fluttered in the clutch of her fingers.
“Grey,” she cried out before kissing him. He tried not to respond, but her taste and her tongue mingling with his sent lust and want surging through him. The desire to ravish her and forget that she was just as likely to bury a nice sharp dagger in his back as rake her nails in her pleasure down his sensitive skin consumed him. He pulled away from the kiss, but she pressed close to him, laying her head against his chest.
His blood rushed thickly in his ears, and he turned his head away from hers, so that every time he inhaled he would not get a whiff of her delectable scent. His stomach turned. Now he had to do what he had never wanted, had fought against.
“Grey, I’m so sorry I left you like I did.” She pressed her lips to his chest, his heart lurching despite his best efforts to remain unmoved by whatever she might say. The rustle of the king’s paper in her hand was the thing he needed to make him rein in his galloping heart.
He eyed the paper with contempt, but when he met her gaze he smiled, careful not to show how he truly felt. “What do you have there?”
She quickly folded the paper and slipped it into her boot. “A goodbye letter from my father.”
“Hidden in a bottle?” He couldn’t help the sarcasm in his tone.
“He d―didn’t want your brother or another of the k―king’s men to take it if they found it, so he hid it.”
He clenched his jaw. Had she forgotten her stutter gave her lying away? “How very deceptive of him.”
“Deceptive?” She bit her lip. “I suppose you could see it that way, but he felt he had to do what he did. Grey, I’m so happy to see you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll understand if I find that hard to believe since you fled without waking me, stole my horse―”
“Borrowed,” she interrupted.
“Fine. Borrowed my horse and made sure the other horse ran off.”
She dropped her hands from his arms and stepped away. “It was for your own good. I’m a sinking ship.”
“I’m an expert swimmer, my sweet.”
“Please.” Her voice hitched. “You have to let me go. I―I don’t want you to be hurt by me.”
“Too late for that.” Damnation. He ground his teeth. He’d meant to never let her know she’d hurt him.
“Grey.” His name was a strangled word from her lips. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Lying with you was selfish. But I wanted a memory of you. A memory to last me. But now I want you to let me go.”
“Why the hurry?” He snapped the question out harsher than he’d intended, but his damned aching heart made him surly.
She let out a shaky sigh. “I’ve somewhere I need to go.”
Like the tower. His nostrils flared as he struggled to control himself. “Then I’ll take you.”
“No.”
He’d had enough of this back and forth banter. Time was ticking away and taking his control of his temper with it. “You don’t want to marry me. All right. I’m a grown man. I can take rejection. But what I can’t take is the thought of you being accosted, raped or worse because you stupidly traveled without a chaperone.”
“I can’t let you come. It’s t―too d―d―dangerous for y―you.” Her face reddened with the effort to choke out her lies. He wanted to shake her silly. She’d be dead before the next dawn if she tried to lie to anyone who had half a brain.
His head pounded. He didn’t want to be her punisher. He wanted to be her protector, but what he wanted didn’t matter one damn bit. “I’m afraid we are at an impasse. I won’t let you go anywhere without me. I will deliver you safely to someone who I deem trustworthy.” The lies left him feeling as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of ashes. “Where is it you need to go?”
Her shoulders slumped and the breath rushed out of her lungs in an exasperated sigh. He hated to see her look so defeated. Yet knowing how determined she was she might see his stipulation as a temporary setback; try to run again the first chance she got. Or would she try to kill him? He had to make certain she didn’t get her hands on a weapon. His patience snapped under the long, silent moment. “Either tell me now where you want me to take you or I’m going to deliver you back to the castle.”
“No!” The word was swift and strident. “I need to go to the prince.”
“The prince?” Grey couldn’t fathom what the prince had to do with any of this, unless Madelaine’s father had fallen into the camp of men who believed the prince should be regent. Fury, like he’d never known coursed through him as he struggled to fit all the pieces together. But the damned pieces didn’t fit. The prince wouldn’t kill the king’s spies to gain the throne, would he?
“If your father is innocent surely he would want you to go to the king.”
She inhaled as if to speak, but then said nothing. Likely she had no idea what to say. It would have been a perverted pleasure to point out what a lousy traitor she was making, but instead he clamped his teeth together. Leading someone to her own doom was not nearly as fun as he’d presumed when he’d imagined what being a spy would be like. But then again, he’d never considered he’d be leading the only woman he’d ever loved to her death.
His brother had been very specific with his orders. If Grey found proof of Madelaine’s guilt he was to first try to learn who she and her father were working with, and once he had the information, he was to destroy the king’s paper if it was in her possession and bring her to the tower. The king didn’t want the paper kept, even as proof of Stratmore’s guilt, since it also confirmed the king fell into spells of madness.
He itched to snatch off the boot she’d stuffed the paper in. Hell. Really he wanted to take off all her clothes, ravish her and then burn the paper in front of her. Part of him wanted to show her he could be just as cold and calculating as she could, and part of him wanted to shelter her from her own folly, convince her to pretend she knew nothing about what her father had done, and cover up her part in this whole sordid mess. Common sense and duty barely won out. Grey swallowed convulsively, his mouth dry as paper. “Why do you want to go to the prince?”
SHE WAS TRAPPED. IN ORDER to get to the prince, she was going to have to allow Grey to take her there, or take her most of the way. Without any money for traveling with and based on Grey’s steely-eyed look of determination, there didn’t seem to be another choice but to capitulate.
Guilt immediately ate at her. Grey was risking his reputation, possibly his life for her, and she was repaying him by lying to him and leading him straight into the mess her father had created. This is exactly what she hadn’t wanted. Grey’s loyalty to the king would come under question by his association with her. She’d simply have to escape him once they were close enough to the prince for her to reach him on her own.
“Madelaine.” Grey’s voice vibrated with impatience. Not that she blamed him. She prayed she’d manage to lie without stuttering. “With the king in one of his dark spells, the prince is my father’s best hope for a pardon
.”
“How do you know about the king’s dark spells?” Grey demanded.
“Same as you, I imagine. The whispers in the Court are rampant, and when he left so suddenly for Kew…” she shrugged. “People talked, and I couldn’t help but overhear.”
He scrutinized her with flinty eyes. “What makes you think the prince will pardon your father for stealing the king’s paper and for killing a man?”
Anger flared in her breast. “Because there is no proof! My father i―i―is―” Damnation! She could not choke out the words “―is loyal to the king.” She took a deep breath. “My father is loyal to England. The prince will know he would never do anything to harm the king.” Father did think he was doing what was best, after all. “And I vow on my honor Father did not kill anyone.”
“If you say so.” Grey reached across the space that had widened between them. “Come to me.”
She shouldn’t. She should keep her distance. But it was impossible. She walked to him, and he folded her in his arms. The linen of his shirt tickled her cheek, and his smell of woods, horse and sweat filled her nose. She pressed her head to his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat as his hand stroked gently through her hair. A rattling sigh escaped her. His gentle touch made her want to spill the whole truth to him about his father, his brother, and her father. But if she did, she had no doubt he’d promptly drag her back to his brother and the tower, and then there’d be no one to save her father.
She couldn’t expect Grey to understand why her father had done what he had because she wasn’t sure she understood herself. But he was her father. And she owed him her loyalty. Even if he’s wrong about the king? A voice whispered in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice away. She’d made terrible choices that had driven her mother and father to argue over her, but Father had stood by her side and it had cost him his wife. Besides, how could she ever learn if her father was wrong about the king? It wasn’t as if she could seek an audience with His Majesty and study his condition to determine just how much these spells affected him.
What A Rogue Wants Page 23
