Her blue eyes, however, remained wary and hardened by the life she’d led - no, endured - for almost ten years.
After the staff dispersed, Grace took her time walking down the long hallways of Nithercott Hall. The house, named after her dead husband’s family line, was unlikely to retain the name when she was done with it. If she could have after his death, she would have simply retained her own family name, Raynott, as she retained her family’s ancestral home and lands.
Nithercott Hall itself was a beauty. Long, elegant, and stately lines adorned the home, which was situated on hundreds of acres in the picturesque hills of the Cotswolds, miles and miles away from London, along the edge of a man-made lake. The small villages nearby were full of delightful people and characters, some of which she would miss when she finally left the house, and all of its wretched memories, behind.
Grace had surprised even herself by staying in the house so long after her husband, Daniel’s, death. Though she’d had nothing to do with the car accident that took his life - Daniel’s own anger had fueled the crash - she saw it as a fortunate accident. It was an accident that ended his life but saved hers.
It was the accident that had killed her abusive, rage-filled, terrorizing husband. Who wouldn’t be grateful at that?
Daniel had spent years, starting with their wedding night, abusing her physically, emotionally, and sometimes even sexually. She stopped counting the number of times he had violated her, threatened her, and beat her. Her skin still held some of the scars that would never fade, and her heart carried the rest that she hoped would one day heal.
Grace ran her hand down the newly wallpapered walls of the hallway. Daniel had thrown her against the old wallpaper once, and a bit of blood from her busted lip had left a streak. Daniel, who usually took care to abuse her where others would not see, had been in a terrible rage that night. Her body shuddered in remembrance.
In fact, if you looked closely, each piece of change that had come to Nithercott Hall in the last year since Daniel’s death related to the abuse she had suffered.
Daniel’s bedroom furnishings, clothes, and linen, among other items, for example, had been burned in a bonfire set behind the house. Grace had delightfully lit the blaze herself.
Her bedroom had undergone a lighter cleansing, since Daniel had never visited her there. He only entered to drag her by the hair into his room when he was ‘ready’ for her. Still, she had not slept there since he died, and did not intend to ever again.
Other items important to the Nithercott family line, which was now dead with Daniel, had been quietly auctioned off. Though some of his distant relatives had balked, she simply told them to bid for them if they were really so interested in the material possessions. It had not surprised her to learn that they cared more for material possessions than they did for her; they had never once come to her defense.
Daniel also enjoyed having the servants watch him as he beat and verbally abused her. Those servants that had enjoyed watching her in pain were fired the day she confirmed he was dead. The rest, those with pitying, helpless eyes and quiet tongues, had stayed, and with a significant raise to keep them quiet.
With new staff, furnishings, and updated décor, the stodgy old house finally seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The only dark that lingered was the gray of the clouds outside, and that which lingered in her heart.
Grace turned a corner and reached a long hallway filled with guest rooms. Grace had taken the first, and largest, as her new bedroom a year ago. As she stepped inside, she took a deep breath. The room, a pale shade of blue, was calm and cool. The window she had left open that morning let in the wafting breezes of an impending storm. There was a small sitting area scattered with papers that Grace also used as her office, and a large, comfortable bed that helped keep her nightmares at bay.
Grace stepped through the room to a door at the far side of the room, which led to her closet, bathroom, and a joint sitting room to be shared with the bedroom next door. Grace had decided that bedroom would be Catharine’s during her stay.
As Grace stepped into Cat’s room, she clasped her hands together and smiled. The maids were putting the finishing touches on the room and its lilac color was sure to appease her royal friend. It had been too long since laughter and happiness had been in her life; that would change when Cat arrived.
“It looks wonderful, girls,” Grace said in her refined English accent. “Is the other guest room set up just in case the Princess prefers a larger room?”
“Yes, Miss Grace,” the youngest maid said, addressing her as Grace preferred. “We just need to add the fresh flowers and it’ll be right as rain.”
“Excellent. Thank you, ladies.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Grace,” the women replied.
As Grace walked back to her bedroom to change before checking on her new chef, she felt a sense of peace. Things would change with Cat’s visit. She just knew it.
Chapter 3
There was no chance for Marcello to escape. He cast a surreptitious glance around the room for potential escape routes, but there were none easily accessible.
He was pinned.
Marcello internally sighed in resignation as Belgium’s defense chief continued to drone on about Valleria’s faults in front of him. The short, squat man with thinning black hair and a slim mustache was quite adept at security, but terrible at small talk.
It was not the first such discussion he’d had to endure that day, the first day of the conference. Mostly, however, the comments had been snide, passive aggressive, or implied. The man in front of him was using the direct approach, which Marcello could, at the very least, respect.
As the break between meetings ended, they parted ways with a firm shake of their hands and Marcello headed for the restrooms. He decided it would be best to skip the next sessions and use the time to regroup and strategize for the evening ahead. Already, three separate conversations over drinks had been planned, along with two dinners. He would have to take care not to overindulge, as many of the attendees were prone to do.
Marcello swung open the door to the men’s washroom and stepped inside. After a quick sweep to ensure he was alone, he let out a deep breath. He walked over to the row of porcelain sinks, set against soft, gray marble and gleaming silver features, and turned on the cold water. He ran his hands underneath the water a few times before scooping some up and splashing it on his face.
As the water sent a collective chill coursing through him, giving his weary body a second wind, he reached for one of the thick but soft paper towels stationed in an elegant basket nearby. The hotel was five-star, and even the washroom reflected it.
A few minutes later, as Marcello turned to leave, the door swung open. Two men walked in followed by one woman, who locked the door behind her. Marcello quirked an eyebrow just as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Your Highness,” Joseph, the head of intelligence for the country of Byelorus, said as he dropped into a small bow. He was a tall, slim man in his early sixties, with bright silver hair that gleamed even under the dim lights of the room. The other ones accompanying him, Gregory and Danica, intelligence heads for the countries of Litva and Estoria, stood quietly behind him. Gregory, whose height was similar to Joseph, was growing nearly as wide as he was tall, and his balding head was covered with a disastrous comb over that no one ever commented upon. Danica, on the other hand, was a slim, raven-haired beauty. Once a spy for her country who was now involved in overt activities, she was still considered ruthless and an incredible asset to Estoria.
“No need to be so formal,” Marcello replied as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Particularly considering our current location. ‘Marcello’ is fine.” He calculated the risk that they were there to physically attack him, and dismissed that as quickly as he had thought of it. Blackmail was the next potential threat that came to mind, though what the particular blackmail could be eluded him. Of course, it could be that they wanted something from him.
“Clearly,” Marcello said. “Why else would you corner me in the bathroom? Get to the point.”
“A little background, I think, would be helpful,” Danica said in her eastern European accent.
After considering for a few moments, Marcello said, “All right. Let’s talk.” A sigh of relief seemed to echo through the small room. “Though perhaps another location would not look so suspicious.”
“Coffee from the hotel lobby?” Joseph suggested. “Or someone’s room?”
“Lobby,” Marcello said quickly before the others had a chance to respond; a public place where he could more easily walk out was preferable. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” Marcello said, and walked past them to the door. When a hand grabbed his arm, he turned and faced Joseph with narrowed eyes.
“I’d watch your hands, Joseph,” Marcello said. The fingers quickly released him and Marcello flipped the lock on the door.
“I just wanted to be sure you’d come,” Joseph said.
“I said I’d meet you there in a few minutes. Perhaps if you take me at my word, I may take you at yours.” With that, Marcello walked out and towards the elevator.
Once inside, he pressed the number of a random floor. When the door chimed opened, Marcello stepped off and opened the door to the stairs. The stairwell had no cameras, unlike the elevator.
Instead of heading up the few flights to his room, he began a slow descent downward. He pulled out his phone and used a scanner he had embedded inside to determine if any electronic devices or people were nearby. Once confirmed there were none of either, he also pressed the button on a jammer hidden in his pocket, which jammed the signal of anything his phone did not pick up. It was not the strongest jammer he owned, but it would have to do for now.
After checking the time, Marcello called Alex, who picked up after the first ring.
“Are you still visiting with the royals?” Marcello asked.
“No, we’re just on our way to the airport,” Alex said. “The second car’s already got Cat and is taking her to her friend’s home in the country.”
At Alex’s words, an image of a pale, blond beauty drifted into his head, but Marcello pushed aside thoughts of Grace to focus on the issue at hand. “We’ve got a problem.”
“I know we do. Isn’t that why you’re there?”
“A different problem. The intelligence heads of Byelorus, Litva, and Estoria cornered me in a bathroom. They want to talk to me and I’m meeting them in a few minutes.”
“That is interesting,” Alex said in a tone that clearly stated he was not alone. If it had only been Rebecca in the car, Alex would have spoken freely but other non-clearance staff must be present. “Do you have any idea why?”
“I have a feeling it’s about Vlad, the unpredictable leader of Gardar Rus, one of the largest countries in the world which also borders each of theirs. Latest rumours have Vlad threatening to invade their countries.”
“We did discuss something like that, if you recall,” Alex said.
“Yes, I know. We only heard chatter of the possibility, all of it unsubstantiated.”
“I think you’re about to hear the verification now.”
“I think so, too.”
“What can they expect Valleria to do about it?” Alex asked. “We are certainly not aligned to assist them.”
Marcello knew Alex was referring to the fact that Gardar Rus did not even border Valleria. Though trade occurred, it was mostly alcohol and some other goods, certainly not a significant relationship. Many other countries exported their oil, but Valleria was not one of them. “It’s my fault.”
There was a pause on the line before Alex said, “Explain.”
“If Valleria’s security wasn’t under such scrutiny because of how I screwed up, which led to Rebecca’s kidnapping, we wouldn’t have to redeem ourselves.”
Alex let out an impatient sigh. “Go ahead and board the plane, I’ll be on in a minute,” Alex said to someone nearby, then turned back to their conversation. “You need to stop beating yourself up over this. It’s not doing anyone any good, least of all Valleria. I certainly don’t blame you, and neither does Rebecca.”
“At least not to my face.”
“Marcello,” Alex growled, but Marcello cut him off.
“If this presents a chance for me to redeem my and Valleria’s reputation, I’m going to damn well take it.”
“The hell you are. It would be a fucking suicide mission.”
“Not with me in charge, and you know it. I’m not going into this blind. I won’t go into this blind.”
“I won’t let you do this,” Alex said as the roar of the plane’s engine increased in the background.
“I live to serve my country, Your Highness,” Marcello said with a bite of sarcasm. “Short of the King himself barring me from going, I plan to go. That is, if I am asked to do so.”
Marcello could just picture Alex running an impatient hand through his dark hair on the other end of the line. After a few moments, Alex sighed and said, “Let me know how the meeting goes.”
“You know I will.”
After they hung up, Marcello knew Alex would call their father, King Gabriel, straight away. However, Marcello knew, just as Alex did, that their father would side with Marcello. Though Gabriel loved all of his children, he knew what the mission would mean to Marcello.
With a sigh, Marcello released the jammer and started heading down the stairs for his meeting. Unbeknownst to him, a few flights up in the stairwell, a tall man with a counterjammer smiled at the conversation he had just overheard. Everything was going according to his plan.
***
When Marcello arrived in the hotel’s lobby, he bypassed the complimentary coffee and strode towards a semi-private seating area where the other three sat sipping from porcelain cups. As he took a seat on the couch he said, “So what is it that you think I can help you with?”
The other three glanced at each other before Joseph said, “We have a problem.”
“I know you do,” Marcello said. “Why do you think Valleria can you help you with Gardar Rus?”
No one seemed surprise Marcello was aware of the situation with Gardar Rus, and their leader Vlad. “You have ties with the country,” Joseph said.
“Weak ones. Try again.”
“You have been very successful with situations like these in the past,” Danica said.
“Thank you for the compliment, but there is a conference full of people with similar credentials.”
“But you are the only one whose reputation needs saving,” Gregory said, his squeaky voice seeming to sound even higher after some caffeine. Joseph and Danica both shot him a dirty look.
Marcello kept his face impassive even while his blood boiled. “My reputation does not need saving. It merely needs some time. I don’t need to help you.”
“No, you don’t need to help us,” Danica said, trying to smooth over the conversation. “We know we can trust you. Despite what’s being said around the conference, no one doubts your abilities nor your credibility.”
Marcello gave them a long look. Reputation and skill only got you so far in the intelligence business. If you did not have the instinct or cunning to go with it, nothing mattered. Images of his time in the military fluttered quickly through his mind; times where his instinct had saved him more than skill had. He would trust his instincts now, which told him to proceed, but cautiously.
“What exactly are you proposing?” Marcello asked.
“Covert mission to speak with Vlad,” Joseph said. “You’d be in charge of the mission itself and we would be in charge of the diplomacy to keep Vlad from invading.”
“No,” Marcello said simply.
“No?” Gregory asked. “You cannot refuse us.”
Marcello had a
strong urge to punch Gregory between his piggy little eyes, but he held his temper in check. “I can do whatever I want,” he said nonchalantly.
“Wait,” Danica said to Marcello after a narrowed look at Gregory, whom she clearly disliked. “Make a counteroffer.”
Marcello considered and asked for more than what he wanted. “A counteroffer assumes Valleria’s intent to engage with you in these activities,” he said vaguely. “I’m sure you are aware that such assurances cannot be made without a king’s blessing.”
Marcello & Grace (Royals of Valleria #2) Page 2
