What A Rogue Wants (29 page)

He pulled her hood tighter around her
face so that if anyone was still lurking in the halls they’d
mistake her for a lady of the night. Reaching down, he clasped her
cold, clammy hands and blew on them to warm them. “Keep your face
hidden.”

She nodded, her hand going to the
closure of her cape and holding it tight under her chin. His gut
twisted as he pressed a hand to her back to lead her out of the
castle. Since the moment his brother had told him of Pearson’s
death and his belief that Stratmore had killed him, Grey had gone
through every possible way this could end. There was no good way,
unless Stratmore was innocent of everything, and Grey’s gut told
him otherwise. The worst ending would be Stratmore being hung, and
Madelaine being thrown on the mercy of the Court. Likely they’d
toss her from Court and take her father’s property. Or what if they
decided she’d helped her father? Would they go so far as to hang
her right beside him, unless she was protected by someone? Fear
made his heart pound faster.

She was an only child with no other
living relatives. She had no one. No one but him. If the worst came
to pass, he would marry her to give her the protection of his name,
but then who would protect her from the dangers his life would
likely present them both? That was a worry for much later. One
concern at a time.

At the river, he helped her into the
boat Edward had arranged to take them to the tower. The boat rocked
gently as he led her to the bow. They sat, and he pulled her to his
side, and slid his arm around her upper back to rest his hand on
the gentle, sloping curve of her shoulder. The boatman was one of
their paid employees, yet Edward had warned Grey to take no chances
with anyone overhearing anything.

As the boat started to swish through
the water, Grey took her hand in his, compelled to offer what
comfort he could. Since he was supposed to be gaining her trust, he
told himself his intimacy was acceptable, though he was aware of
just how much he enjoyed touching her, no matter the reason. She
turned her face, so that in the light of the lantern he saw she’d
not relaxed in the slightest, not that he blamed her.

“
Your father is being held
under suspicion of treason and murder.” He kept his tone
low.

She jerked under his arm, but to his
surprise, she didn’t cry out or jump to her feet in outrage. Her
eyes narrowed, her only show of anger. “Tell me.” Her voice
emotionless and steely like he’d expect from a man. Then again,
given what he knew about her, he should have guessed she’d react
with the same calm calculation it took to shoot a target
perfectly.

In a low voice, Grey told her of the
missing paper of the king’s, but not what was on it. He then told
her of Pearson being killed, but avoided the specifics of what
indicated her father had a hand in it. He tensed, expecting her to
demand the particulars; she did not.

“
Why are you here?” Her
face was fierce and expectant. Her question caught him off guard,
though he’d rehearsed what he would say if she did ask it. “What
role could an equerry possibly play in the politics of the
king?”

“
My role is one of support
for you.”

“
That’s no answer.” She
tugged her hand out of his grasp.

He sighed inwardly. He’d hoped to
avoid too many lies, but she left him little choice. “I’ve the ear
of the king as my father’s son, and my brother more so than I, as
the new Duke of Ashford. The king will listen to my brother’s
council on this matter.”

“
And what will your
brother advise the king? Will he tell him my father is innocent,
because surely he is?” Passion laced her words, her eyes burned
bright and her face flushed.

Grey chose his words carefully before
answering. “What my brother says depends on you.”

“
On me?” Her brow
furrowed.

“
Yes. Edward has asked
that you speak with your father. He thinks Stratmore will tell you
of his guilt or innocence. Edward already spoke with him at the
king’s bequest but he feels your father is holding something
back.”

Her mouth turned down. “But why would
the king involve your brother? Why does the king not speak to my
father himself?”

“
He’s recovering from an
illness at Kew, and as I told you, Edward is now the Duke of
Ashford, a powerful landholder and one of the wealthiest men in
England. The king always seeks the council of his wealthiest
landholders, as they have almost as much at stake at keeping the
peace in England as the king does.”

“
Your brother can’t think
my father would steal from His Majesty. My father loves the king!
They’re lifelong friends. Father has served His Majesty well all my
life.” Her voice had risen as her words picked up tempo. Grey
gripped her hand to remind her to keep her voice low.

“
I’m sorry.” When she
wiped an errant tear running down her cheek, his heart constricted
in sympathy. “And murder…” She shuddered, her words trailing off.
“He’ll be hung if he’s found guilty. Grey please―” She rested her
other hand on top of his while she searched his eyes. “You must
help me prove my father’s innocence.”

Sour bile rose in the back of his
throat for his deception, however necessary for her protection. “Of
course I’ll help you. Whatever you need me to do, I
will.”

If his prayers were answered, she
would need no help from him because her father would somehow be
proven innocent, though Grey could not see how.

MADELAINE TRIED TO CONTROL HER
trembling as the boat passed through the entrance of Traitor’s
Gate, but a quiver ran through her despite her best efforts. Her
mind scrambled frantically over what she had just learned. How
could it have come to be that her father was being held on
suspicion of murder and treason?

Her throat clenched with the need to
cry out. Her poor, poor father. How angry and worried he must be!
At the very least, if word of this got out, his good name would be
tarnished, and at the worst― She turned her thoughts away from the
possibility, unable to face such a thing. She’d not lose her
father, and she’d somehow help him set this all to
rights.

Anger made her shaking commence again.
Grey squeezed her hand. She was incredibly grateful to have him at
her side and to know he would do everything in his power to help
her prove her father’s innocence. She hadn’t been sure what
response to expect from Grey since he’d acted so oddly in his
sister’s room.

As the boat neared the dock, the
boatman jumped up to grab the rope being thrown to him and pull the
boat to dock. Grey helped her from the boat, but even when her feet
were on solid ground, she still felt as if she were swaying so that
when she took a step, she tilted. Grey’s hand came around her waist
while he kept a firm grip on her other hand. “Come,” he said in a
gentle tone. “Your father is this way.”

She hadn’t known what to expect inside
the tower, so when they first entered and passed by the guards and
into brightly lit halls that appeared rather clean for a prison,
she sagged in relief against Grey. Thank God her father was not
being kept in squalor. “Are the prisoners’ rooms on this
floor?”

“
Some.” Grey maneuvered
her past the first door which was cracked open enough that with a
glance inside, she saw a man sitting at a desk with an opulent meal
spread out before him and a decanter of wine in his hand. “Is he a
prisoner?”

Grey nodded.

“
Is my father on this
floor?”

The muscles of his arm tensed. “No,
he’s farther down.”

“
What is it?” she
demanded, taking care to keep her tone hushed. “Is he
harmed?”

“
No.” Grey didn’t stop to
look at her. He led her through a door to a narrow passageway of
stairs. They spiraled sharply down, and with a glance, she stared
into what appeared to be an endless pit of darkness illuminated
every few feet by glowing torches. Her palms grew sweaty with her
unease.

She swallowed the fear that had
suddenly risen inside of her. “How far down?” Her voice sounded
wobbly to her own ears.

“
Far. Prepare yourself.
And don’t let go of the railing.” Grey stopped and looked up at
her. “Your father’s crimes are grave. In accordance, he’s being
held in the dungeon.” The darkness obscured his face, his ominous
tone raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

“
His purported crimes,”
she said.

“
Of course.” Grey
continued down the stairs.

She didn’t want to follow into the
darkness, but what choice did she have? As they descended, the
temperature dropped, the air became damp, and the steps narrowed
and shortened. She clung to the railing for life and sanity. The
overwhelming sense that she was marching willingly to her own doom
filled her. The disgusting, sticky cobwebs clinging to her arms
didn’t help calm her. She wanted to rub at her skin to get rid of
the cobwebs, but she was afraid to let go of the rail. She gritted
her teeth and kept her hand on the rail.

When they reached the end of the
stairs, she gasped and rubbed at her arms.

“
What’s wrong?” Grey’s
tone vibrated with worry.

“
Cobwebs.” She couldn’t
keep the revulsion out of her voice.

“
Maybe you’re more like
the average woman than I thought.”

She glared at him in the darkness.
“I’m not like the average woman. Cobwebs are
disgusting.”

He chuckled. “Come.”

She followed him through a creaky door
and stopped in a room where mold and dirt swirled in the air and
filled her nostrils. Coughing, she eyed the door she assumed led to
her father’s room and tried to ignore the despair rising in her
chest and threatening to spill over.

Bitter laughter escaped her. “I’m
surprised they don’t have a guard down here.”

Grey held up a key. “There’s no need.
There’s no way out except the way we just came from, and there’s no
way into this room except this key.” With a click of the lock, the
door creaked open. Madelaine stepped inside, not sure what to
expect. Her father stood in the middle of the room facing her. His
clean-shaven appearance took her by surprise. She’d been expecting
him to be ragged.

“
Madelaine.” Her father
opened his arms, and she rushed into his warm, loving embrace.
Tears immediately sprang to her eyes and leaked down her cheeks.
Behind her, the door clicked shut. Later, she would have to thank
Grey for giving her time alone with her father. She pulled out of
her father’s embrace and studied him, looking for signs of abuse.
“Have they been kind to you?”

A smile twisted his lips. “As kind as
you’d expect men bent on proving my guilt to be.”

“
But I see no bruises or
cuts. It appears they’ve not raised a hand to you.”

Her father scrubbed a hand across his
face. “No, Maddie. They’ve not beaten me. You can be sure they have
other ways of trying to gain a confession from me.”

She wrinkled her brow, considering
what her father had said. “What ways?”

“
Come.” He led her to the
table in the corner of his room. “Let’s not waste our time together
on how they mean to coerce me. There’s no preventing it anyway, and
we’ve important matters to discuss.” Her father’s gaze danced
around the room and settled on a crack in the brick. He stared
overly long at the crack, then turned his gaze away and stared at
his hands mumbling about “not being sure” while his fingers
clutched and unclutched hers.

“
Father.” She gripped his
fingers in order to get him to stop his rhythmic motion. For a
moment, it seemed he hadn’t heard her. His mumbling continued and
his fingers moved spasmodically under hers, and then suddenly it
stopped and his blood-shot gaze rose to her face.

“
Father, I know you’re not
guilty!”

His expression was vacant. “It matters
not. I’ll likely die in here.”

“
Don’t say that.” She
moved her chair until she sat beside him. “You’re innocent, and
we’ll prove it. I’ll prove it.”

His cloudy gaze became alert and
clear, his hands clutching her arms in a grip that made her wince.
“Listen to me, Madelaine.” His voice reverberated off the stone
walls. “Stay out of this. You’re but a mere woman. God help me,
your mother was right and I was wrong. Act like a woman, not the
creature I was raising you to be. Forget everything I ever taught
you and leave this place as quickly as you can before they hang me,
despite my innocence, and then perhaps turn an eye to punishing you
for the crimes they’ve decided I committed.”

Madelaine scrambled to her feet
wanting to escape the horror of what her father was saying, but her
legs barely held her up from their trembling. She stumbled and then
righted herself by pressing a hand against the slick wall. “Don’t
speak as if you’re already dead. We will prove your innocence. I
know you wouldn’t steal from the king and murder a man. You’re
good.”

Her father rose and made his way to
stand in front of her. He wrapped his arms around her, led her to
his cot and sat them both down on the mattress. He pressed his
mouth near her ear, his warm breath tickling her. “I’m not guilty
of all they say, but I am guilty of some of it.” His words filled
her head and poisoned her heart. She bit her lower lip on her cry,
but she could not stop her sharp intake of breath. “Make your way
home. I’ve hidden money in the wine cellar and the king’s paper in
a green bottle on the fourth shelf. Get the paper to the prince.
He’s the only one who can save me.”