Authors: Julia Latham
“No one would believe that I am Prince Richard,” Paul said with exasperation. “I would be only one of several fools claiming such a thing. The late King Edward’s sister is constantly backing a new challenger to the throne.”
“But ‘tis your skill that will make them believe,” Juliana said. “If you have it.”
Paul grinned. “The League brought me here, brat, did they not?”
“The villains will not believe you the prince,” Timothy interrupted mildly. “And you will not even claim such a thing—openly. But they’ll think they can use you to persuade others in the north that there is someone with more right to the Crown, someone to rally around.”
“As a figurehead,” Michael said. “You would do well in such an illusion.”
Paul glanced at the other man. Was that a taunt? How
unusual for a Bladesman. He turned back to Timothy. “And my mission would be to find proof to convict these traitors.”
“Our mission, aye,” Timothy said.
“Our?”
Paul echoed, his eyes narrowed.
“I will be accompanying you, as will several other Bladesmen. You will portray a man used to the finer things in life, not quite strong in battle, nor in intelligence. You need a retinue of guards if you are to maintain the illusion of a man raised abroad in wealth and secrecy who has returned home to claim his birthright.”
Paul stared hard at the man who thought himself his foster father. He did not believe it an accident that Timothy had been assigned to this mission. Paul well knew that Timothy had the ear of the Council of Elders, for Paul had managed to listen in on more than one meeting he shouldn’t have.
“Do I have a say in which Bladesmen are used?” Paul asked coldly.
Michael was equally cold. “You do not. You will be the focus of many, an object of salvation to some, a threat to the unity of the country to others. You’ll be in danger constantly.”
“If you know any of my past as you claim, then you know I’m used to that.” He turned to Timothy. “I understand your plan in theory, but there is one problem.
Juliana
will play a concubine?”
He glanced pointedly at her male attire. He knew he might be offending her, but that faint, amused smile yet lingered on her full lower lip.
“I imagine you are right,” Juliana said. “It will be far easier for you to be the fop than for me to play a concubine.”
Paul heard more than one indrawn breath among the Bladesmen. Michael openly grinned his satisfaction, and Timothy looked away, hiding a smile.
She dared to openly challenge him? Paul thought, intrigued.
I
t was no longer difficult for Juliana Gresham to conceal her thoughts. The League—and Paul—had taught her well. Now she stared up into the impassive face of this hard-eyed man and felt a tremor that shook her soul rather than her body. He was still so tall, deceptively light haired, but not lighthearted. His blue eyes were mirrors, reflecting the world but never his own thoughts. Handsome, masculine, he had a strong nose and square jaw with a cleft in the middle.
But he was a stranger now.
There had always been an edge to him, a young man thinking of other places, restless for his future. She’d tried to befriend him but he’d kept a distance between them that she’d never understood. His departure had caused a void of protection she’d little realized until it had almost been too late.
She felt slightly disgruntled that Paul had not seen her femininity, but quickly submerged it beneath pride in her abilities at deception. Her fellow Bladesmen
could not be allowed to think of her as a woman and assume she was weak. She’d sworn a vow to herself that she would never become ensnared in a relationship with a Bladesman; it would only hurt her standing with the League.
She’d found herself taunting Paul, and knew it was out of disappointment. He was proving himself, like so many other men, wary of working alongside a woman, skeptical of her, judging her.
He didn’t know her—he’d abandoned her training to run off and make a new life for himself, never explaining his reasons. How could he so easily forsake the society who’d saved his life? They’d given her a place to belong, a chance to feel useful.
Now the silence in the room was almost deafening, and she realized they all waited to see Paul’s response to the slur against his manhood.
“I’ve had encounters with fops in the royal courts of Europe,” Paul said pleasantly. “And I’ve had much experience with their concubines.”
Juliana heard a chuckle behind her, but she didn’t let her smile fade.
“Take no offense, brat,” he continued, “but you do not look as if you’d allow a man to purchase you.”
“That was a kind way to phrase your doubt,” Juliana said.
He sighed, then lifted his head, his gaze encompassing
all the men in the room. “And I have much doubt, believe me. I do not look like a fop, and you don’t look like a concubine.”
“That is easily remedied,” Timothy said briskly. “A little padding about the waist for you, Paul, and a gown for our Bladeswoman. Pick the one that is right for your part, Juliana.”
“Pick the right padding for Paul,” she said over her shoulder as she sauntered away. “I know he’ll want it in the codpiece, and much as it would help, it won’t fit our purposes.”
She didn’t look back as several men exploded with laughter.
Paul found himself laughing with the others, impressed with Juliana’s boldness. He saw Timothy’s relief at his response, and Joseph and Michael exchange a surprised look. Let them wonder about him; he would not prove predictable.
To Timothy, he said, “I believe I should simply alter my carriage to a slouch, rather than use padding. It would be too difficult to don at a moment’s notice.”
Timothy nodded even as his smile faded. “Then you will join us on this mission?”
Paul noticed that Juliana paused in the entrance hall, waiting for his response. Her eyes met his, full of challenge. And much as his curiosity about her was an incentive, she alone was not the only influence on
his decision. Nay, the League had been instrumental in aiding his brothers to unmask their parents’ murderer. At last, Adam had been able to reclaim his position as the long lost Earl of Keswick, and the news of that had persuaded Paul that it was time to return home. Paul felt a reluctant debt to the League.
“Aye, for my king and country, I agree to this mission,” Paul said, then coolly added, “but after that, my part in the League will be finished. I threw away my League medallion. I am no longer one of you.”
Juliana caught her breath, and he saw the censure in her eyes, the disappointment. He forgave her the emotions, knowing she didn’t yet realize the truth of the League and its ruthlessness. She felt rescued, valued, when in truth, she was merely another pawn to be used.
The silence was stark and uneasy, but at last, Timothy nodded. Juliana closed the door to the entrance hall behind her. In short order, Paul was introduced to the last two men who would be accompanying them. To his surprise, Sir Roger was an older man, with more than sixty years, grizzled and gray, yet with an unbent body that hinted at a wiry strength.
“He is to be your companion since your youth,” Timothy explained. “He is well versed about the Tower of London, and you can tell the traitors that he’ll be able to give voice to your past, to spiriting you away from London on behalf of King Richard.”
“So Richard supposedly saved me, his namesake nephew?” Paul asked dryly.
“Our enemy will know the truth. But they will want as much evidence as possible to spread word that you’re their prince restored.”
“A good plan,” Paul said, turning to the other man.
He came out of the shadows, and Paul hid his surprise.
“Sir Theobald,” the man said gruffly, briefly bowing his head.
He was as big as Paul himself, a man in his prime—but with a mask tied over the left side of his face, from his blond eyebrow to just above his jaw.
“Sir Theobald will be Juliana’s personal guard,” Timothy said.
Paul silently arched one brow.
“Aye, she’ll be with you much of the time,” he added, smiling. “The two of you will be able to protect each other well. But I don’t want a threat to her used against you.”
Paul looked around at his retinue of guards: Timothy, whose very presence reminded him too much of the past; Joseph, bland and almost pretty, unreadable; Michael, who did not hide his contempt; Roger, old yet eager to prove useful; and Theobald, an enigma, yet the man who would protect Juliana because Paul was not allowed to. Paul found himself clenching his jaw, and forced himself to relax.
Theobald suddenly cocked his head, then went to open the door to the front hall. “Mistress Juliana,” he intoned, as if he were already connected to her in some mystical way. Paul didn’t know anything about Juliana, her relationships with Bladesmen, or if she’d ever found her own home.
Standing nearest to the door, Paul glanced up the hall staircase—and froze. A sultry, earthy woman was coming down the last few stairs, gowned in brilliant blue, hips swaying, lush breasts molded for display.
Juliana.
She met his gaze, her black eyes knowing and sensual. Her dark hair tumbled to mid back, caressed her shoulders, softly touched her breasts. As she came toward him, he knew that he could never think of her again as boyish. She’d become a dazzling woman.
He wasn’t the only man to gape. Several mouths were open, brows lifted in shock. Not Timothy though, who looked resigned and proud at the same time.
Juliana didn’t stop until she practically wound herself about Paul, leaning her tall, curved body into his, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, the other resting familiarly on his chest. She felt warm and smelled delicious, of garden flowers just closing with the onset of night.
Now she’d turned him into a poet, he thought, bemused.
She fluttered her dark eyelashes at him, then murmured, “Now who has the most talent at deception?”
“Brat.” He gave her a crooked grin. Juliana was more of a woman than he’d given her credit for; there was experience and confidence in her gaze.
For a moment, he drew her against him, up onto her toes, their mouths close to each other. Her eyes widened, but she remained pliable, languorous. He let his gaze promise pleasure—and sin.
Then he released her and resumed his impassivity as he looked at Timothy. “I can pretend to be attracted to her,” he said dryly.
Her demeanor changed, as if he’d blown out a candle. She appeared as an attractive woman now, not a sensual enchantress. He couldn’t help wondering how innocent she really was, living alone with men.
Timothy rubbed his hands together. “All is being prepared as we speak. We will leave in two days’ time. Paul, you will briefly display yourself tomorrow for the merchants on the London Bridge. Then our man within the Yorkist camp will begin whispering of an arrival from a mysterious Englishman who’s been living in Europe. The Bladesmen bringing word to him will casually spread the news in the countryside as well.”
“You already have a man inside?” Paul asked.
“Aye, with one northern household, but he is not privy to secret conversations. And we are not certain
which of the Yorkists will be greedy enough to foment a new rebellion so quickly after the last one failed.” Timothy turned to Juliana. “You may change while I speak with Paul alone.”
As the chamber slowly cleared, Paul watched her walk away. But the undulation of her hips was gone, and she strode with brisk purpose—like a man. But at least he would soon be treated to more of her hidden femininity.
When they were alone, he faced Timothy impassively. “What else do you want from me? I’ve already agreed to participate.”
“Can I not simply be glad to see you, my son?” Timothy’s smile was fatherly, and it made Paul uneasy. “I think you only want to ease things between us, so that your mission will run smoothly.”
“That’s not true, Paul. I’ve been worried about you. You never sent word to me or to your brothers about what you were doing, how you fared.”
“Surely you used the League to keep track of me.”
Timothy pressed his lips together. “Can I not be concerned?”
“If you were so concerned about me and my brothers, you would have raised us yourself.”
“Paul, you know the danger you were once under. Your parents’ murder in their own bedchamber was brutal—”
“You need not remind me. Adam overheard it, saw their slaughtered bodies, lived with nightmares. And he had but six years!”
“We knew not the reason your parents died so cruelly,” Timothy said, his voice firm and controlled. “Adam was the heir to a vast holding. I could not protect the three of you as your father would have wanted. I made the decision that I thought best, bringing you boys with me to the League, so that I could know you were safe, and watch over you myself.”
“Not your finest hour,
Father.”
Timothy flinched. “I agree. There are things I would change, if I could.”
“But you cannot. Your devotion to them was such that you didn’t even take a wife.”
“Their causes are just, Paul. You cannot refute that. Nothing excuses me in your eyes, nor should it. I believed myself unworthy to act as your father, that I should have no voice in the hiding of such an heir as Keswick. I made grievous mistakes, but I cannot change the past. I feared for your brother Adam, so obsessed was he with a murderer. I worried about Robert, too carefree, almost losing what was important to him. And now you.”
“I do not want your worry. ‘Tis baseless.”
“I worry that bitterness has distorted you. You have always been driven, ambitious, curious about the world.
Did you let yourself enjoy it, or did you constantly think of the past?”
“I have lived a good life away from the League, even as I missed my brothers.”
“Glad I am to hear that,” Timothy said, letting his breath out on a sigh.
“But I never forgot what you allowed the League to do to us?what you allowed the League to do to another family.”
Timothy went still. “What are you saying?”
“Aye, I was curious. I made it a point to listen in on the private sessions of the Council of Elders.”