“Exile in France was horrid. They pointed to Cromwell, running our country without a crown, and I, the true heir to the throne living hand to mouth, and said that English monarchy was no monarchy at all.”
The candles guttered in pools of wax, and the three friends had managed to empty several decanters of fine whiskey. Thor lay dozing by the fire.
“I was in Holland.” Charles gave a short laugh. “Playing tennis, of all things, when I received the news that Cromwell was dead. I fell on my knees in gratitude that my father’s executioner had finally met his fate.”
“You had to be devastated when you heard that he had named his son, Richard, to succeed him.”
“Aye. At first. But from the reports I was getting, I knew that Richard was a weakling. ’Twas really his father, ruling from the grave. I knew that sooner or later I would return home in triumph.” He stared broodingly into his glass. “The triumph was short-lived. There is more, I’ve discovered, to being a ruler than pleasing the people. I have no problem there. But pleasing Parliament. Now that’s another thing.”
“You have friends in Parliament, Chills.”
“Aye. And more than a few enemies. Some who hated my father, and hate me for being his son. They’re accusing me of bankrupting the treasury.”
Quenton studied his old friend. “Are you in trouble?”
Charles shrugged. “England’s finances are in shambles. Parliament fell short of its collection of taxes by hundreds of thousands of pounds.”
“What will you do?” Quenton topped off the king’s goblet yet again.
Charles stood and began to pace. “Perhaps I should go through all the villages allowing them to pay me homage by giving me casks of gold.”
Quenton and Bennett exchanged smiles. “Considering the effort it took to get here, I doubt you’d want to do it all over England. Even if the reward be gold.”
Charles glanced at his friend and nodded. “Aye. But there may yet be a way. I have been approached by some powerful people in London.” His eyes darkened for a moment. “I’m not certain I trust them. There are whispers that they were close to Cromwell. But others suggest they were merely being expedient, in order to hold on to their wealth. Whatever their political affiliations, they are extremely wealthy. They have offered to share their wealth in exchange for... certain political favors.”
“Such as?”
Charles paused, ran his hand over the head of a cane resting in the corner of the room, testing its strength. “I remember your grandfather using this, not only to walk, but to reach out and rap us when we were impertinent.”
Quenton smiled, as much at the memory as at the knowledge that his old friend was avoiding the issue. “What political favors, Chills?”
“The father has his eye on a title and estates. The son wishes only to be admitted to my inner circle, perhaps as royal adviser or grand counsel.”
“That would make him privy to state secrets, my friend.”
“Aye. But I would have the money I need to impress Parliament. My father’s downfall was war, or rather, the lack of funds with which to wage war. I can’t afford to make the same mistake.”
He looked so sad that Quenton crossed the room and draped an arm over his shoulder. “Just don’t act in haste, Chills. Perhaps I could ask around and find out a few things about this family and its money.”
The king’s grin was quick. “You just can’t resist being Q, can you?”
“I told you. Old habits die hard. Now tell me their names, and I’ll see what I can learn about them.”
The king considered, then shrugged. “I’ll think on it. Perhaps I’ll give you a chance to meet them at the end of the week.”
“And where, may I ask, would I be meeting these mysterious people?”
“Here at Blackthorne.” The king drained his goblet, then looked up to see his friend’s blank stare. “Ah. I see I forgot to mention the fact that I’ve decided to have a royal ball at Blackthorne in honor of my visit with my good friends.”
Quenton shook his head. “Chills, you’ll be the death of my housekeeper yet.”
“Nonsense. I’ll charm her and she’ll be delighted to take on the burden of a royal ball.”
He looked annoyed as Thor once again shuffled to his feet and began to sniff around the wardrobe. “I do believe you have a rodent, Q Why not open the door and let the hound have his fun?”
Quenton crossed the room. “What is it, old boy? A mouse? You’d enjoy a good chase, wouldn’t you?”
He pulled open the door and the hound lunged, tail wagging, tongue lolling. The three men stared in openmouthed surprise at the sight that greeted them.
Olivia, hair curling damply around her face, got stiffly to her feet and climbed out, still holding the sleeping boy to her chest.
“What the...?” For a moment Quenton seemed to have lost his voice. Then, through gritted teeth he demanded, “Miss St. John, you will explain yourself at once.”
“Aye, my lord.” She glanced at the king, who was staring at her with a bemused expression. “I was...getting Liat ready for bed. But then he was gone. So I followed him in here...but then when we were about to leave we heard footsteps...and...”
“And you just thought you’d jump into the wardrobe and spy on us?”
“Well, my lord, it wasn’t quite like...”
“Did you mean to reveal yourself, Miss St. John?”
“Nay, my lord. But we didn’t mean to spy. We just...”
Liat awoke. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced around, then smiled. “Hello, Majesty. I ran in here to say good-night to Thor. He’s my friend. And when we heard somebody coming, I pulled Miss St. John into my new hiding place. Isn’t it grand?”
The king returned his smile. “Aye. I’ve hid in there a time or two myself.”
“You have?” The boy’s eyes grew big. “Were you ever caught?”
“Aye. Lord Stamford’s grandfather once found us in there. As I recall, we couldn’t sit for a week.”
Liat glanced at Quenton. “Are you going to spank us?”
“I ought to.” If he weren’t so angry, he might find the thought of spanking the nursemaid’s bottom appealing. At the moment, however, he thought it wise to get rid of this troublesome duo as quickly as possible.
“I suggest you go to your room, Miss St. John.”
“Aye, my lord.” She turned toward the door.
“And this time, see that you make no stops along the way.”
As she started out, the little boy, clinging to her neck, gave them another of his angelic smiles.
“Good night, Liat,” the king called.
“G’night, Majesty.”
They waited until the door closed and Olivia’s footsteps receded. For several minutes there was complete silence. Then all three burst into roars of laughter.
“By heaven, they’re a bit of a handful, aren’t they, Q? Here. Pour me another. Let’s drink to grown-up responsibilities.”
“I’m so happy to be here. Always loved Cornwall, even though most of its inhabitants don’t even consider themselves Englishmen.”
Quenton bit back a smile at the king’s slurred words. He glanced over at his brother, whose glass was empty, and whose eyes were slowly closing.
“Aye. We’re an independent lot. But I think we’d better debate the finer points of life in this splendid wilderness at some other time. Right now we’d better hie ourselves off to bed. Or we won’t have a shred of energy for all that hunting, riding, dancing and wenching you’ve planned.”
“Speaking of wenching....” The king dropped down in the high-backed chair behind the desk. Without the support, he would more than likely have fallen over. “I saw the way you and the pretty little nursemaid were making eyes at each other.”
Quenton made an attempt at dignity, setting his goblet on the mantel and leaning an arm along its polished surface. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Charles hiccuped. “Not that I blame you, Q. If I had something that fresh and innocent living a stone’s throw from my bed, I’d be hard-pressed to ignore it either. But I should think you could make an effort to hide your feelings.”
“I’m hiding them very well, thank you.”
The minute the words were out of his mouth, he realized what he’d said. The king threw back his head and roared. Even Bennett, nearly asleep in his chair, perked up and began grinning.
“And you, Baby.” The king pointed their grandfather’s cane at his young friend. “You’re fooling nobody with that helpless act.”
At Bennett’s arched brow he bellowed, “You’ve had no trouble lifting ale to your lips all night. But you let that pretty little village lass feed you like a helpless infant and—” he sneered “—see to all your other needs. I wager I know what those other needs are.”
Bennett’s eyes grew stormy. He made a sound of disgust in his throat.
“Ah. I see I’ve touched a nerve.” Charles launched himself out of the chair and wielded the cane in the air like a sword. “How about a little wager, my friends, to make my stay here even more interesting.”
Quenton glanced at Bennett, then at the king. “What sort of wager?”
“A thousand pounds each says that before I leave Blackthorne and return to London, the two of you will admit your feelings for the ladies in question.”
The two brothers exchanged knowing glances. A slow smile spread across Quenton’s features. “You’re on, Chills. A thousand pounds each. You may as well pay us now. You can take it out of the village cask if you wish.”
“I was just about to suggest that the two of you pay up. ’Twill be easier than the alternative.”
“Alternative?” Quenton’s goblet of ale was forgotten.
“Ah. I see I neglected to mention the rest of the wager.” Charles jabbed the tip of the cane against his old friend’s shoulder, enjoying the game he was playing. “Unless you and Baby declare these two women to be under your...special protection, I shall order the two lovely ladies to accompany me when I return to London. Where, as you well know, they will soon be devoured by the preening peacocks at court.”
He saw the banked fury in his friends’ eyes and nearly laughed aloud. Oh, this was going to be such fun.
He tossed the cane and grinned with satisfaction when it landed neatly in a tall vase in the corner of the room. Then he threw an arm around Quenton’s shoulders. “Now Q, my loyal spy, take your king to his chambers. And tuck him into his royal bed. And that is a royal command.”
Quenton and the king had wrestled and stumbled their way up the stairs, balancing poor Bennett between them. Fortunately, his brother had been too drunk to have any fear. By the time they’d turned him over to Minerva’s tender ministrations, he’d been sound asleep.
The king had been another matter. He had insisted upon dragging his old friend into his suite of rooms for one more tankard of ale. Fortunately for Quenton, Charles fell asleep before he was able to take more than a sip. Quenton had left the king sprawled on his bed, still dressed in his frilly shirt and breeches. The king’s valet, asleep in the other room, would taste the royal temper in the morning.
As he stumbled past the door to Olivia’s chambers he paused. The thought of her, lying in that big soft bed, was too great a temptation to ignore. Without a thought to what he was doing, he let himself in. The hound trailed behind.
The sitting chamber was cool. The fire had burned to embers. In the sleeping chamber, however, a log still burned on the grate. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls and ceiling.
Quenton stumbled his way to the bed and stood staring down at the vision that greeted him.
Dark hair spilled over the pillow and framed a face that always caught him by surprise with its sweetness. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest and experienced a rush of heat that left him weak with desire.
Suddenly he was reminded of the king’s wager. He’d be damned if he’d let anyone force him to declare his intentions. Especially since he hadn’t a clue what his intentions were.
Was it love he was feeling for this woman? Admiration for her feisty spirit? Or mere lust?
He clenched a hand at his side. What did it matter? He’d lusted and loved before. And what had it brought him except a broken heart and shattered dreams? For the Stamfords, dreams had a way of becoming nightmares.
“Damn you, Chills,” he muttered aloud.
“What? Who?” Confused, Olivia sat up, shoving tangles from her eyes. At the shadowy figures of man and beast, she shrank back and let out a cry. Then, recognizing Quenton, she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. “Why are you...what are you doing here?”
Feeling more than a little silly he reacted with a show of bravado. “Looking at you. And it’s a very pretty sight indeed.”
“You’ve come about that little incident in the library.”
“Not at all. The entire inci...inci... thing is forgotten.”
She knelt up in the middle of the bed. Her eyes darkened to stormclouds. “You’re drunk.”