The Wicked Ways of Alexander Kidd (The MacGregors: Highland Heirs) (31 page)

G
eneral Daniel Marlow of the Order of the Garter remained still while his valet dressed him. Hell, he hated formal attire, with all its pomposity and lace. His thick embroidered brocade waistcoat and justacorps made him feel heavier on his feet. He could barely move his damn head around the magnitude of heavy lace at his throat. His wrists, too, were shackled in it. And who in damnation decided to make shoes with high heels for feet the size of his? His squashed toes only added to his increasingly foul mood. He’d rather be wearing his uniform, though even that was a bit stiff and overdone.

“Think the queen would take offense to me arriving in my coat, breeches, and boots?”

His valet patted the creases in his turned-out lapels and shook his head. “No, my lord. Her Majesty takes no offense in anything you do. But it’s always to your benefit to please her.”

Aye, the queen had bestowed many gracious gifts upon him. She made him the Duke of Darlington, granted him the rank of captain-general of her entire army, and
made him a knight of the Order of the Garter, the highest order of chivalry. She didn’t have to grant him such honor. He had pledged his loyalty to the throne, as his father and grandfather had done before him. Regardless of who sat there or what they gave or didn’t give him, he would serve them. Presently, he served Anne Stuart.

“She is so madly in love with you, I doubt she would care if you arrived in a moth-eaten sack.”

Daniel flashed a glare at the old man but didn’t admonish him for speaking so of the queen. Albert Carlisle had been in his service for fifteen years and Daniel was quite fond of him. What they spoke of in private was no one’s damn concern.

Besides, Albert was correct. It was obvious to all that the queen loved him. Her husband either knew or he was a fool. Of course, Daniel didn’t share her feelings, and up to a few weeks ago, she hadn’t overly pursued him. But that changed; when last he saw her, she had commanded his body to her bed. Adultery was not part of chivalry, but instead of outright refusing her, he agreed to attend one of her indulgent balls and to meeting her somewhere alone after that.

“If you intend on giving her her way tonight,” his valet pressed on boldly, “I wouldn’t suggest a bed where you have to undress. Dropping your hose and—”

“I don’t,” Daniel cut him off, “intend on giving her her way tonight.”

“A command was given, Sir Daniel,” Albert reminded him, leaving his side to reach for the powdered wig on Daniel’s dresser.

“No.” Daniel halted him from lifting it to his head. “I’ll not wear that ridiculous thing. And I won’t disobey her. I know how to speak to her.”

He hooked his finger under the layers of lace at his neck and tugged. “She’ll see my way of thinking is best.”

Albert shrugged his frail shoulders and bent to tie the bows on Daniel’s shoes. “I hope you’re correct, my lord.”

Daniel took him by the shoulders and straightened him. “I’ll tie them. I’m not an invalid.”

Albert nodded, as stone-faced as he had been the day Daniel met him. Only now his skin was more weathered, his eyes, wiser. “If you’re incorrect, though, shall I have the cooks prepare breakfast?”

Daniel smiled at him, then ushered him out the door.

Alone, he tied his ridiculous shoes, then combed his fingers through his short hair. On the way out the door to his dressing chamber, he untied the colossal bow around his neck and let it hang open in lacy waves down his coat. He ignored Albert’s disapproval at his less than formal appearance when he descended the stairs and passed him on the way to the foyer.

“Is the carriage ready?” he asked while the butler pulled open the front door to allow his exit.

“It is, my lord,” Albert answered him, hurrying forward.

“Good. I’ll be home by midnight.”

“Very good, sir,” his faithful valet called out just before the door closed.

Daniel stepped out into the brisk night air, put on his feathered tricorn hat, and stepped up into his carriage.

He was a decorated warrior, honored in battle on three separate continents. He’d fought for many causes over the last fifteen of his thirty-one years of life. He’d never lost a battle or a brother on the field. Whatever he faced, he faced with firm conviction and without fear.

But tonight his heart beat harder and his nerves grew as stiff as his justacorps.

Tonight he was going to refuse his queen.

The palace was brimming with every haughty nobleman in the kingdom. When Daniel stepped into the queen’s ballroom and swept his tricorn from his head, their daughters and some of their wives turned their heads to watch him. Almost all of them smiled. He set his eyes on the woman at the end of the long chamber, seated on an elaborate throne, her expression harder to read.

“Sir Daniel?” She grazed her dark eyes down the length of him then back up to his neck and bare head. “You appear before me in undress?”

“Hardly, Your Majesty.” He smiled, bowing to her and then straightening again. “I merely prefer comfort to propriety. Besides”—he lowered his voice and looked into her eyes while he stepped boldly closer—“I thought you might like this.” He pulled the lace from around his neck and handed the pile to her. “The lace is imported from Spain. It would better serve you.”

“You presume to know what I like, Sir Daniel?” She kept her eyes on his while she raised the fabric to her nose.

“It’s my duty to know everything about you, my lady.”

Finally, she smiled at him, handing her lace over to a handmaiden at her side. “And your wig? Did you think I might like that, as well?”

He shook his head and returned her smile. “Not the wig but the true fire beneath.”

Her gaze rose to his deep auburn hair and she sighed with delight. Aye, he knew her well. He hated himself for it sometimes, but taking advantage of her affection was sometimes the only way to escape her. He gave her what
she wanted; the assurance of his devotion. And in return, she granted him freedom to mingle.

His smile broadened on Lady Anabelle Saunders, the Duke of Hanover’s daughter. But he didn’t go to her. Instead, he cut a path to Jeremy Embry, Viscount of Stockton, and his wife, Amanda. He’d known them both for years and sought their friendship among his enemies.

“Tonight they’ll dream of hacking off your bare head.”

Daniel pivoted on his damn high-heeled shoes and raked his eyes over every eye that looked at him unkindly because of jealousy and resentment. He didn’t give a rat’s arse what they thought of him. The only opinion that mattered was the queen’s. And he kept it favorable with a few well-timed words and a gift now and then.

“Why must you provoke them to dislike you more?” Stockton asked him, handing him a drink.

“I don’t provoke them. Their inadequacies do.”

Amanda laughed and slipped her arm through his. “When are you coming to dinner at our home? We’ve missed you at the last two gatherings.”

“You know how much I dislike all this, Manda.”

“How am I supposed to find you a wife if you never attend any gatherings?”

“I’ve no time for a wife.”

“Oh nonsense, Daniel.” She slapped his arm softly and looked up at him. “You protect women from her.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he asked and smiled at her husband.

“It leaves you with an empty bed and empty arms.”

She might be correct, but there was little he could do about it presently.

“His bed isn’t always empty,” Stockton told his wife quietly. “He’s simply discreet about his affairs.”

Daniel cut him a quick glare before offering a pretty raven-haired woman a slight smile. “As I wish you were, Stockton.”

“Whom have you been with?”

Daniel laughed, moving his gaze to Stockton’s wife. “Amanda, that’s not a proper question to—”

“Lady Eleanor Hollister, for one,” her husband confided.

Daniel stared at him while Amanda gasped and opened her eyes wider.

“She’s pretty enough,” Amanda decided, still holding on to his arm. “But her father is a heavy gambler. He’s known at all the tables and is slowly losing the family fortune.”

“I don’t plan on wedding her, Manda.”

“That’s wise, dear.” Stockton’s wife smiled at him and then scowled at the man coming toward them with the queen on his arm.

Richard Montagu, Duke of Manchester and the queen’s cousin, quirked his thin lips into a sneer when he reached Daniel and his friends. His salutation was brief but his eyes lingered on Daniel long enough to make Amanda squirm beside him. Daniel’s body, on the other hand, went stiff with the authority of his rank and confidence of his skill.

“What is this wise thing you’ve done, Darlington?” Montagu asked. “Tell us”—he glanced at Anne, then continued—“so that we may believe in the impossible.”

The queen deserted her escort, much to Montagu’s indignation, and took Daniel’s arm from Amanda’s grasp. “Pay him no heed,” she offered her favored knight and ignored her cousin. “He is jealous of the favor I show you. Are you not, Richard?”

Montagu turned two different shades of crimson and glowered at Daniel’s ill-concealed smile. They were
enemies. Daniel didn’t care who knew it. “Nay, ma’am, I am merely…”

“Riddled with resentment, Richard. Do not deny it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Montagu gave in with no further quarrel.

Daniel had offered him friendship over the years. Montagu had refused, choosing instead to let his covetous heart rule him. He constantly brought his false accusations against Daniel before the queen, trying diligently to discredit him in her eyes. Daniel had no use for him and preferred being away from his company.

“You are dismissed.” The queen waved her hand at him, then turned to Daniel, dismissing her cousin from her thoughts as well.

Her cousin didn’t want to go and remained in his spot, casting his murderous glare on Daniel.

Daniel showed him no mercy and smiled in return. “That will be all then, Montagu.”

Standing to his right, Stockton snickered.

“You’re nothing but a guardsman’s son,” Montagu accused through clenched teeth. “You may have my dear cousin fooled, but I see right through you.”

“What is it you see, Montagu?” Daniel challenged him, with a dangerous curl of his mouth.

Before the queen’s cousin replied, she held up her palm to stop him. Daniel wished she wouldn’t defend him. It always denied him the privilege of taking Montagu to the lists. “In case you have forgotten, Richard, Sir Daniel quelled a planned invasion by my stepbrother, James, last year, ending a Jacobite uprising. Since then, he has subdued three other rebellions started by James’s supporters. He fought in Spain and in the Colonies in the War of Spanish Succession, and he is the most loyal among all
my men. If you insist on continuing to insult him, I will have no other choice but to have you removed from my presence.”

She didn’t wait for her cousin to agree, but tugged Daniel toward the entrance, dismissing the rest of her escorts. “I wish to have words with you in private, General Marlow.” Her powdered face glowed against her periwig. Her rosy lips pursed as if she already imagined kissing him.

He went with her, as eager to get this over with as she was to begin. He let her lead him to her private gardens.

“I’m going to Somerset in a se’nnight,” she began while they strolled. “I want you to escort me.”

“And your husband?”

“He will remain here.”

Her affections had indeed grown then, as did her boldness. She wanted an affair with him. Every man in the palace tonight would have leaped at the chance to bed Her Majesty, the Queen. But she was wed and his duty was to protect her from harm, not lead her into it.

“You risk the scorn of every nobleman inside your palace,” he said, his voice blending in with the darkness. “Bedding me will give your enemies more reason to depose you.”

“My enemies are those nasty Jacobites. I have a plan to keep them away. But I’m not concerned with that now. I don’t care about what my subjects think. I want you inside me.”

He closed his eyes. She wasn’t used to being told no. Was he a fool to let morality guide him? He always did. He couldn’t help it. Some called it a flaw. Some called it honor.

“My lady—”

She pushed him back against a tree and pressed herself to him. “Anne.”

“Anne,” he whispered against the mouth she tilted toward his. It wasn’t that he didn’t desire her at this moment, her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips pressed to his. She was his for the taking. A queen, offering herself up like a sacrifice. How easy to just…

“Please, Daniel. I know from whence your reservations flow. You see, I know much about you as well. You grew up under the tutelage of the kingdom’s most learned master of the Arthurian legend, Geoffrey Hollister. I know you are a man of value and it is one of the virtues I love most about you. You must think me a terrible harlot, but I love you and I wish to have you.”

Daniel didn’t fully understand how dangerous this was for him until this very moment. If he broke her heart, she would hate him and God only knew what she’d do. He’d seen what she had done to a woman who showed him her favor openly, kissed him in front of the queen. She wouldn’t think twice about hanging him or tossing him into some prison if he refused her. She didn’t need to prove her charges. She was the damned queen. He could take what she offered and make her yield in a dozen different ways, but in the end, that too could end badly for him.