What A Rogue Wants (11 page)

“
Come.” He offered his
elbow. “In case Thorton is lurking, let me walk you where you are
going.” He had enough time to do that and still get to the king’s
chambers at the appointed hour. She slipped her arm through his and
a jolt of awareness shot through him. He’d held many women before,
during and after the heat of passion, but none had ever made his
body hum with a simple chaste touch. It occurred to him as they
walked, and her warmth heated his side and her floral scent filled
his nostrils, he had not promised to protect her from himself, only
Thorton. A small tug of conscience reared its annoying head to pose
the question of which was worse―a wolf in sheep’s clothing or
simply a wolf.

“
I’m no wolf.”

She stopped and glanced at him. “What
did you say?”

“
I said I’m no wolf. I’m
not at all like Thorton.”

“
Lord Grey, no one has
accused you of that.”

“
Yes. I’m sorry.” By God,
he was rambling. He’d never rambled because of a woman in his life.
It was almost a relief when Lady Madelaine disappeared with a quick
goodbye into the queen’s chambers. Now if only his conscience
regarding the lady would disappear.

Grey pushed thoughts of Madelaine
aside as he entered the king’s audience chamber. Yesterday there
had been two guards who had asked him to identify himself, but
today the guards were not at their post. That was odd. Across the
room, beyond the formidable, oak door that led to the king’s
bedroom, angry voices erupted, followed by a strange clattering
sound.

Temptation had always been a problem
for Grey. Women tempted him. Danger tempted him, and now his
curiosity tempted him. He needed to see what was happening. No
doubt that would lead to danger, which would lead to a problem. But
the thrill of excitement was too great to ignore.

With a quick glance around the
candlelit chamber to ensure he was alone, he moved to the midway
point between the outer door and the bedchamber. He half expected a
guard to burst out from the king’s chambers and yell “got you” just
as Edward used to do when tormenting him by forcing him to play
endless games of hide-and-seek.

He smiled at the memory. Thanks to
Edward’s excellent instruction on how to move through the shadows,
Grey had never been caught during any of his more wicked
adventures. From behind the door, shouting commenced again followed
by a single, harsh command that rang with the king’s noble tones.
The room fell so silent that each breath Grey took hissed in his
ears.

“
Cease bickering,” a voice
commanded, as only the king could. “You there.” A fervent murmuring
of voices rose to fill the silence. “Bring me my favorite blanket.
No need to freeze to death while I endure Sir Walter’s
cures.”

As the oak door creaked open, Grey
slipped behind the dark folds of the floor-length curtains. He
should let his presence be known, but then he wouldn’t have any
idea what was happening. The other thing Edward had taught Grey was
to know everything about any situation you are entering. The next
time he saw his older brother he would have to thank him for all
the advice. A pinch-faced page rushed into the room, grabbed a
plush, burgundy blanket off the settee and flew back through the
oak door.

Grey smiled at the cracked door. It
was perfect. If he moved closer and was careful, he could see into
the room without being seen. He slipped down the length of the wall
until he was by the door, and then he positioned himself where he
could see through the crack.

At the main entrance to the inner
sanctuary, candles blazed and illuminated the pinched face of the
page huddled near the wall. The sapling’s eyes grew wide and Grey
followed the man’s gaze.

The scene froze his blood. His breath
caught, and then released on a rush of disbelief. Cursing his
mistake, he checked the faces, but none appeared to have heard his
noisy exhalation.

The king reclined on his bed against a
mound of pillows. Grey hadn’t seen the king in two years, but he
did not look like himself. And age wasn’t to blame. His hair was
cropped short, his face pale and the bones there too sharp and
protruding as if a great amount of flesh had recently been
lost.

Grey glanced further down the king’s
body and a wave of nausea washed over him. Notched bowls surrounded
His Majesty’s naked upper torso to catch the lines of crimson that
trickled down his thin arms. The king jerked when the white-haired
man standing over him pressed something silver to His Majesty’s
arm. One of the wooden bowls tipped and a crimson stain seeped
across the ivory sheet.

The page sprang forward from the wall,
but stopped as the king’s eyes opened and pinned him. “Leave it.
You can clean me up like a shiny coin when Sir Walter is
finished.”

“
As you wish, Your
Majesty.”

The king’s answer was a ragged breath
that filled Grey’s ears. The man beside the king had paused, his
hand suspended in the air, and with his wild white hair and
menacing tool he looked like a mad man. Yet the king must trust
him. “Proceed, Sir Walter,” His Majesty commanded.

The man bent over the king for some
time and when he rose, beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.
Bile filled Grey’s mouth. Puckered skin littered His Majesty’s arms
and pulsed blood from the dozens of small punctures wounds. Grey
had seen enough. He moved away from the door, along the wall and
back to the audience chamber where he sat to wait for the king to
admit him.

This time, Grey would wait without
complaint. Any man who endured a bloodletting such as the king just
had without so much as a whimper deserved more than the respect
demanded by his title. The king had just won Grey’s respect as a
man.

Not more than an hour later, the oak
door to the bedchamber flung wide open and Sir Walter shuffled out
followed by the page, Peter, and the two stony-faced guards Grey
had met the day before. The tallest of the two guards stopped in
front of Grey as everyone else quietly left the room. “His Majesty
says you may enter now.”

Grey narrowed his eyes at the
unexpected words. He hadn’t been announced. Had the king finally
remembered him or had someone seen him lurking at the door? He
didn’t think it was the latter, but he’d soon find out. He rose and
followed the guard into the king’s bedchambers, his nostrils
flaring as he inhaled the fetid stench of oozing wounds. He forced
deep breaths to accustom himself to the acrid smell of blood
lingering all around him.

By the time he stood in front of the
king, Grey had himself under control. He dropped to his knee by the
king’s feet and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“
Rise, Lord
Grey.”

Grey stood and had to look down to
meet the king’s gaze. His Majesty sat in a high-backed wooden chair
clothed in robes of dark green, which enhanced the thinness and
paleness of his face. His faded, yellowed eyes locked on Grey. “On
second thought, sit here.” He waved a hand toward another
high-backed chair that faced him. “I don’t like to look up to
anyone.” A slight smile spread across the king’s gaunt face, and
Grey could almost recall the vibrant man who he had last seen two
years ago when the king had stopped to lodge at their house on the
way back to Windsor.

Grey settled into the uncomfortable
chair. “You bid me to see you before I started my duties as
equerry, Your Majesty.”

“
I did. And I’m pleased to
know you do not disappoint. You arrived precisely when I told you
to, sat all day yesterday and waited patiently today while I was
preoccupied. And you did not even blink to see me in such a
state.”

“
You saw me at the
door?”

“
Only because I was
watching for you. If you are to work for me you must thrive on
danger. You proved you do by approaching my door
uninvited.”

Grey stared at the king, trying to
work through his maze of words. Work for His Majesty? He supposed
even though he would be directly reporting to Lord Pearson every
British subject technically worked for the king. Yet still… “As
your subject, of course.”

“
No, Grey.”

Grey narrowed his eyes at the king’s
unexpected familiarity. What was going on? He felt as he often did
when stumbling upon Edward and Father in conversation―lost as to
the true nature of the talk. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but
I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“
Yes. I know. Forgive me.
Let us start from the beginning. Pearson does not need an
equerry.”

There it was again―the king had
slipped into familiarity. Unpardonable to question or comment
though. “He doesn’t?” Grey asked, settling on the matter which he
could address.

“
No. He doesn’t. Pearson,
your father, your brother and the others need another man to join
their ranks. As do I. Pearson was a ruse I required as the offer
can come from no one but me.” The king leaned over and picked up a
small, rectangular, gilded box off the table. On the lid a silver
circle had been engraved. “Do you know what’s in this box,
Grey?”

Was this a trick question? Was he
supposed to know? Hell, all of a sudden he wished he’d spent more
time listening to all the boring tutors his father had hired to
teach him and less time dreaming of his next scheme to win his
father’s attention. It hadn’t worked, anyway. “I’m sorry, Your
Majesty, I don’t.”

“
Your future, if you so
choose, is in this box. Never let it be said you had no choice. You
do. This moment is your choice. Your father and your brother
recommend you to me, and they both say you are more than ready. I’m
told you’re already trained in many of the things you’ll need to
know.”

Grey didn’t know what the hell the
king was talking about. He hadn’t put any stock in the whispers
that the king had certain spells, but maybe the whispers were
correct. But remaining silent was the wisest option.

With bony fingers, the king released
the latch that secured the lid of the box. The lid opened with a
creak. He withdrew a silver ring and handed it to Grey. Grey rubbed
his finger over the smooth surface of the silver. Six small, red
stones, only noticeable when the ring was held up close, were set
evenly around the ring. “My father has a ring that has six stones
in it,” Grey said. He’d always wondered what the six stones had
stood for, and his father’s flimsy explanation had never seemed
believable to him. His pulse picked up in pace once
again.

“
Yes. He
would.”

“
And my brother.” Grey
gripped the ring in his now sweating palm. “The rings are only
similar in the number of stones. Yet still, I can’t help but think
there’s more to the similarity.”

“
I gave your brother his
ring on his twentieth birthday. Much too young really. But we had a
dire need.”

“
Look inside the band,”
His Majesty commanded.

Grey brought the ring up close and
squinted to make out the engraving. “Loyalty. To who?
You?”

“
To me and to each other.
Do you see the way the ‘y’ loops around to touch the ‘l’ then back
to meet the end of the ‘y’? The word was engraved to form a perfect
circle that symbolizes the unending trusts between me and my spies.
Each ring has a different word engraved in it. Can’t have anyone
linking the rings together. Your father’s ring says trust. But the
words are also looped to form a connection.”

“
Spies?” Grey clamped his
mouth shut the second he realized it was hanging open.

“
Of course. How do you
think we stay so powerful? Kings must make luck, Grey, and always
be six steps ahead of everyone else. My spies are my luck―each a
step that keeps me on the throne. One of them has been killed. And
now I need another.”

Astonishment was too weak
a word for what Grey was feeling. “And you are asking
me
?”

“
Were your father and
brother wrong about you? You seem surprised.”

By God he
was
surprised. His
father must feel something akin to warmness for him to recommend
him to the king. Shame swept through him like a raging fever. He
clenched his teeth together on the need to confess the ass he had
been for the last fifteen years. A thirty-year-old self-indulgent
bastard didn’t deserve to be a spy for the king. But, by damned, he
wanted this. He would become a spy. Hell, he would devote his
entire life to being a spy. And then maybe he would earn his
father’s love and respect. He paused. It had been years since he’d
admitted to himself he wanted those things.