Richard Kingston regarded him closely, his astute gaze taking in everything from the way Alex’s hands rested atop the arms of the chair to the way his boots sat solidly on the plush Oriental rug, before lifting his eyes back up to meet Alexander’s.
“I believe your father once told me that history was one of your favorite subjects at Cambridge?” Richard turned his head to indicate Alexander’s large literary collections, housed neatly on built-in bookshelves that lined the duke’s walls.
“Indeed, it was.”
“I am sure The Cousins’ War that raged on before the Tudors ruled England was of great interest to you then?”
“The War of the Roses was my favorite time period, actually,” Alexander replied, though there was a hesitance to his response that openly suggested he wondered where this turn in the conversation was going.
“You, no doubt, remember the story of the two princes in the tower and have drawn your own conclusions,” Richard hedged.
“I certainly have my opinions.”
It was one of history’s greatest mysteries. After losing their father, Edward of York, it was said that the young prince’s uncle placed both boys in the Tower of London for safety and later, they died in there of a sweating illness. The bodies were said to have been buried in the royal cemetery. Years later, King Henry Tudor—in his paranoid state—had the tombs opened, but they were empty. Some theorized, even Shakespeare alluded to the notion in one of his masterpieces, that one of the boys, the younger brother Richard, had been hidden away in secret. Richard’s mother, The Queen, had feared the real intent of their ambitious uncle. She had given one son up to the tower already, so when they came for the second she sent a serving boy into the tower instead, knowing their uncle had not seen the lad in many years and would not recognize him.
Richard nodded and then motioned toward Alexander’s sidebar. “Shall we?”
Alexander stood and said, “Allow me.” He walked to the bar and poured them both a drink. “I believe the Tudor’s had the children executed while in the tower, not their uncle.”
He returned and handed one of the glasses to Richard. Alex reclaimed his seat across from the older gentleman and continued his review. “Fifteen years after the supposed death of the two boys, a man claiming to be the long-lost prince Richard returned to English soil, under the alias of Perkin Warbeck.”
Alexander paused abruptly, the sudden correlation of names dawning on him.
Richard Kingston picked up the tale. “Perkin Warbeck had the support of the entire world, save England, in his claim as the true prince of York. He was the rightful heir to the Throne. King Henry was merely an upstart. But the Tudor King had worked too hard to allow any man to take his crown. During this time, Perkin, Richard of York, married a Scottish Princess by the name of Catherine Gordon, and he fathered a son with her before Henry Tudor had him executed.”
Richard leaned back in his chair and grinned. “And here we have another mystery. What happened to that baby?”
“Most believe Henry Tudor had him killed. As he should have if he wanted no true competitor to the Crown.”
“My family has another version,” Richard said simply.
Alexander waited.
Richard, seemingly gathering his thoughts, continued. “After Perkin’s death, Henry Tudor placed the one-year-old child, Edward, named after his grandfather, with an English family he trusted. In case Scotland ever thought to wage war against England again he would have a pawn. Some years later, Henry released Catherine back to her father in Scotland. She remarried. It was said that the child she had with Perkin Warbeck had died of a sweating illness in his fifth year with the host family.
“King Henry went on to gift titles freely to those he trusted, which were few. He knighted the father who had taken in the child, rewarding him for his loyalty to England. Then a year later, Henry learned of the child’s passing. He was relieved, naturally. Henry had only spared the child so as not to have his name tied to that of a baby killer. Even though—let us be clear—he would have killed him anyway when he grew older. Henry Tudor could not have another York male heir with a claim to the Throne, as you already stated.”
Richard hesitated, seemingly giving more thorough consideration to Alexander sitting across from him. “This is where our families met, once upon a time.”
Alexander stared, speechless.
Richards’s kind grey eyes seemed to understand this reaction. “I can tell this is news to you.”
“I knew I was the ninth Duke of Ravenswood, an honor Queen Elizabeth had given to us, but I confess to knowing nothing before that time.”
“It was not Elizabeth that gave you the title Ravenswood, she only restored it after having stripped it during the issue with Mary, Queen of Scotts.”
Richard pulled his long fingers down his beard to the point of his chin. “It was her grandfather, Henry VII, that bestowed the title upon your family. Because it was your ancestors that took in that baby.”
Richard watched Alex process what he had just said. “The Ravenswood’s were very close to the Tudor’s and remained that way. Nevertheless, the family’s loyalty to their King was not greater than their love that grew for that innocent child.”
Richard took another sip of his sherry. “They crafted the tale of the child dying of the sweats to throw Henry off the York scent, so to speak. The family mercifully returned the child to his mother, Catherine. She placed him with her brother’s family in Ireland to be raised as their own.”
Richard sat forward. “Alexander, our two families are bonded together in this secret. My family is the direct descendant of that child. The son of Perkin Warbeck and grandchild of King Edward. The last true heir of the Plantagenet reign.”
Alexander stared at the man sitting across from him in utter silence.
Minutes passed. Alex knew his eyes must appear close to bursting from his head as he cataloged every detail of this story. It would be utterly unfathomable had he not, as well as half the Bon Ton, found Richard Kingston to be the spitting image of the long-ago King of England, Edward IV. And the names—all the men had the same names—and they all shared the same exquisite, ancient Anglo-Saxon bone structure that iconic lineage was known for. A feature that all but died once the more rotund Tudor’s took the Throne.
Could it really be? Why not, Alex mused. Surely most of the earth descended from royalty. Most servants in London could trace their lineage back to the ever-greedy Henry the Eighth. Still, this was too close to the Crown. To this day, people were still divided over The War of the Roses. Towns still secretly hung white or red rose banners in back tavern rooms. Henry Tudor might have won—or stolen the Crown, depending on how one thought—but he would never live to be remembered as King Edward IV had been.
This sort of announcement could have them all in the gallows if the slanderous words got out.
This is treason against The Queen!
Richard finished Alex’s thought for him as if he had read them all in subsequent order. “About The Queen. Her family has been linked to ours for almost as long. She knows all this and trusts that we have no designs on upsetting the order; I even signed a royal decree. Once she feels she has a good grasp on her new title as Queen, she will be giving us our rightful titles back.” Richard smiled. “Well, not our exact titles, but I will be a duke and will receive some of my ancestral lands back.”
Richard Kingston stood, a clear indication that the conversation was nearing its end. Alex followed suit.
“The dowry I am giving you is quite substantial,” the older man said and smiled, his grey eyes crinkling around the edges. “You better never give me reason to question my decision to allow you into this family.”
Alex inclined his head. Not only had he been given the blessing of marrying Greyland, but he was standing in a room with a direct male descendant of Edward IV, King of England. Even The Queen of England herself could not claim royal blood this thick. Alexander’s mind spun with the weight of his new knowledge. It was as if someone had just handed him a block of stone and said it was the tenth commandment…and it was.
A sudden irony needled into his thoughts. His family had betrayed their own King to keep this York line safe and preserve it so that standing here today was Richard, Perkin, Edward, and Greyland Kingston. No wonder Alex felt so protective over his heart’s desire. Apparently, his family had been keeping her bloodline safe for the past three-hundred years!
He schooled the emotions on his face and lifted his head, taking Richard’s hand in his own. “I will never give you reason for concern,” he smiled, then added, “Your Grace.”
Greyland looked at the Grandfather clock for what had to be the twentieth time. For an hour she had been not-so-patiently waiting for Alexander and her father to come out from the study. It was now close to three hours since they had gone in. Samson, Alexander’s tight-lipped butler, told her six times that His Grace did not wish to be disturbed for anything save the house catching on fire.
She glanced at the cold fireplace. How long would it take to start one? The time was twenty ’till two. She promised Lord Ashlown she would teach his niece and nephew the deuced Viennese waltz, but now she was bored enough to attempt to instruct Malikite. She could have the dog up and dancing before Alexander and her father would ever conclude their meeting.
What was taking so long?
For one dreadful moment, Greyland feared her father might be declining the proposal. Her heart sank.
Absolutely not. He would not dare!
She contemplated what sort of tantrum she was willing to engage in, should he say no. Greyland rose as soon as she heard the door squeak but it was only Samson, dutifully checking in on her again.
“Is there anything I can get you, my lady?”
“Yes, I need to borrow a carriage and a footman. I have an appointment at Lord Ashlown’s townhouse.”
Samson had the courtesy to blink rapidly before opening and closing his mouth. Yet no words escaped his tightly pursed lips. She wondered if he might be in the throes of his own apoplexy and immediately felt bad for shocking the poor man. After a moment he regained his composure and seemed to be silently mouthing out different, ‘appropriate’, answers before finding the one he thought most acceptable.
“I believe His Grace would have my head on a stick if I were to grant you that request, my lady.”
She was taken aback at the image.
“I am very sure his Lordship is quite fond of your head, Samson, and would not wish to see it impaled. Now, I have promised a dance lesson to two children and will not disappoint them. If you will not assist me, then I shall be forced to walk.”
She stood and drew herself to her full height and squared her shoulders. Samson wrung his hands together and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
“My lady, you have just suffered a great deal in the not-so-distant past. His Grace would not at all be pleased to have you leaving without his consent.”
Greyland fought the urge to scream at the word ‘consent,’ but opted for a more convincing strategy.
She strolled toward him, gifting him with her sweetest smile. “Well, had he taken any of my requests for an audience I could have discussed it with him and not have bothered you.” She reached out and thoughtfully smoothed his sleeve. The aging butler went deathly still. “I do believe he should up your wages for having put such a task on you. Why, when I am lady of the house, I will make that my first priority.”
Samson took a cautious step back and looked toward the window, as if assessing how many steps it would take him to reach it and throw himself out. “My lady is too kind, but—”
“Samson!” All patience had fled her body. “Unless you choose to physically restrain me here, which I highly suggest against for your own safety, pray, move out of my way.”
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Only if I can be your humble chaperon?”
“That is not necessary, but if it brings some comfort to your conscience, then so be it.”
She strolled past him and heard him scramble to keep pace behind her.
Greyland made her way out of the house to the awaiting carriage. Samson scurried around to open the door and instructed a footman to tell His Grace as to their whereabouts and to reassure him all was well.
Samson shut the door and moved to take his place beside the driver but Greyland shot her hand out the window, waving him back to her.
“Samson, will you ride inside with me?” Again, she produced her warmest smile. “I do hate to travel alone.”
Before climbing in, he muttered something about his untimely demise in boiling vats of oil.
The man was so imaginative.
Greyland liked him immensely.
Samson signaled to the carriage driver and they were off.
They had not gone far when Greyland caught sight of something black, moving so fast it appeared to be a blur, just out the right side of her window. She craned her neck to get a better look before tapping the roof of the carriage. The carriage stopped abruptly.
Before Samson could protest, she opened the door and beckoned the half-breed inside. Malikite leaped gracefully into the carriage.
She closed the door and signaled the driver to continue. Samson shook his head but said nothing. Pleased, Greyland smiled and patted the wagging and panting wolf-dog.
Two minutes later, they pulled into Lord Ashlown’s drive. A footman, surprised at the sight of the animal hopping out of the carriage paused for a minute before whistling for another man to corral the beast. If there was ever a time to ‘pull rank’, Greyland supposed dealing with a wolf would be that time.
The footman ushered Samson and Greyland toward the house.
Before entering the front door Greyland spied the unlucky servant, tasked with handling the half-breed, having a difficult time of executing out his orders. Malikite and he appeared to be at odds. She rolled her eyes and called the dog to her side, then walked to the carriage house doors where she beckoned him inside.
She heard the head-footman start to panic, his voice rising as he protested her involvement in the matter. Greyland then heard Samson halting his argument with something that sounded very much like, “Don’t bother, you fool.”
“Stay, Malikite,” she said pointedly to the dog. “I shall not be long.” She leaned down and scratched behind his ears. “There might be some more of that delicious ham in the deal if you are a good boy.”
Malikite nuzzled at her hand before settling back onto his haunches and cocking his massive head to the side. She was almost certain the dog had nodded in agreement.
“Good.” She stood and turned back to the house. “Let us dance now.”
An hour later, Perkin and Edward were sitting on either side of Alexander, observing the scene before them. “Lord Ashlown’s upper lip is swelling at an astonishing rate,” Edward summarized correctly.
“It should take the cut a good two days to heal, I suspect,” Perkin concurred as he shot Alexander a sideways glance.
Alex sat with his arms folded high on his chest and his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He kept his sight trained on Greyland, who had just finished the last of three flawless pivots in Lord Ashlown’s arms.
Inside the impressive ballroom, the children squealed with delight as Ashlown and Greyland came to a stop in front of them. The children enthusiastically tried their turn at the advanced pattern.
“It seems they are very much enjoying their lesson,” Richard observed, joining the narrative. He raised an eyebrow and smiled in Alexander’s general direction.
“After what happened last night,” Edward said. “I am just glad Lord Ashlown was telling the truth about why he had asked Greyland here. But I did have my doubts when we arrived and found him leaning over her in the ballroom. Almost looked like something from the opera instead of a civilized waltz. I did not see the children either. Until after you planted that facer on him. I would have hated to see you kill the man in front of those two innocents.”
Alexander could practically feel the deep wrinkles carving out their homes between his brows. He briefly thought of how many more age lines would emerge after his wedding. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, experiencing the onset of a headache. “Yes, killing men in the presence of children is not high on my list of things to accomplish.”
Alex uncrossed and re-crossed his ankles. “Now, I see he has nothing to gain from holding my soon-to-be fiancée in his arms, other than unselfish love for his young niece and nephew.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. “Why, anyone can see this is just a mere obligation to him. Why, he is obviously a man of honor and would never think to lure Greyland here for any other, more sinister, reasons. Like, say, ending the lesson and having a chance to be alone with her?” Alexander’s arm flew out on its own accord, as if to illustrate his not so subtle point. He narrowed his eyes at Lord Ashlown. “No, he would never have let that thought slither into his egotistical head.”
Lord Ashlown knew exactly what he was doing; Alex knew that. The man was a rake and was not above using his own family to aid in his perversities.
Alex looked from Edward to Perkin, to Richard. As the sole female in the family, Greyland had been given every liberty and had very little concept as to what the dangers of being a woman in this world could entail. Her father and brothers always kept her safe. Now he would have that job. The thought both terrified and fueled him.
“I am just glad we saw you in passing on King Street,” Perkin said, shaking his head as he grinned. “I would have hated to miss the action.” He looked from Alex to his sister on the dance floor. “You said she came here with your butler and your dog?”
“Yes. Samson and Malikite, the traitorous accomplices, are in the carriage house at the moment, which is best,” Alex said. “I am irate with both of them at the moment.”
Richard patted Alex on the arm. “Your staff will have to adjust to having the demands of a female influence in the house. They operate very differently and as you have noticed, our dear girl is very persuasive. Why, I cannot tell you how many times she has landed Ocman in trouble.” Kingston chuckled. “I finally gave up holding the poor man accountable. Life is just too short, and I value Ocman too much to let him go.”
All four had to grin at the logic in the older Kingston’s words and the mood softened notably.
The lesson came to an end, and an unashamed Lord Ashlown ushered Greyland back to her family.
“Thank you for allowing your intended to teach my niece and nephew the dance.”
Alexander squeezed Greyland to his side. “The announcement shall run in the Times tomorrow,” he said, by way of an answer.
Alexander felt Greyland’s eyes jump up to his but he held Ashlown’s gaze. He noticed a moment of panic burn across his rival’s visage, but the man recovered quickly as footsteps entered from across the room.
Alex turned with the rest to see two pretty women. Lord Ashlown produced a warm smile as he introduced his sisters. The smile was the first genuine emotion Alex had ever seen from his longtime rival.
The eldest sister was the mother of the dancing children. And the younger one, Alex could not help notice, gained rapid attention from both Perkin and Edward. Four days ago, she would have drawn Alexander’s approval as well.
He glanced down at the woman by his side. But that was four days ago. Now, Greyland was the only woman he had eyes for. Even if she had given him the second-biggest fright of his life by running off to Lord Ashlown’s residence without saying a word. She would definitely need to learn how to communicate her wishes better. He could not have her running all over London on whims.
However…he was now going to be her husband, and as such, her provider, protector and teacher.
Alex grinned to himself as he considered the scolding—balanced with smothering affection—he would dole out once they were behind closed doors. Perhaps her wild impulses had a gratifying end result after all.
In the carriage, Malikite’s large body lounged against Greyland’s legs. She knew Alex was mad, and she knew she was in for an earful, but she could not help but smile at the thought of coming up with various ways to soothe Lord Grump. She would have a lifetime of soothing him since her wonderful father agreed to the match. She stifled her glee and put on her bravest face.
After he finished reprimanding Samson thoroughly, Alex climbed into the rig, seated himself across from Greyland and stared pointedly at her. She took a courageous breath and moved with cat-like speed from her seat to his. Sliding up right beside him she leaned in and kissed his jawline before softly breathing out, “I am sorry.”
He froze. Greyland moved her hand to his chest and placed another kiss on his neck. He let out a shuddered breath, providing the confirmation she hoped for. He was not that mad.
Blindly following instinct alone, she traced kisses up to his earlobe and bit down gently. He pulled her into his lap, before she could blink, and kissed her. His strong arms held her tight to his muscled torso, proving just how overpowered she was. He smelled of leather and something sweet…freshly shorn grass. Her whole body awoke as he returned hot kisses along her neck. The sensation was too much. She let out a small gasp.
He breathed warm pulsing words into her ear. “Do you see now how quickly you can find yourself powerless?”
She closed her eyes and nodded as he drew her arms behind her back and held both her wrists with one hand. His other hand snaked around and explored the collar of her dress. She let her head roll back as his lips continued to ravage her neck. The heady sensation awakened parts of her body she was not aware could sweat. She released another sigh.
His free hand traveled around her collarbone and grabbed her by the nape of her neck, forcing her head back up so he could reclaim her mouth. “I could do whatever I wanted to you right now, and you would not be able to stop me.” His chest rose and fell hard against hers as he spoke.
“But you would never. And I am not fighting.”
He squeezed her tighter. “No, I would never hurt you on purpose, but others would, and could. You would not give any man a challenge, my sweet. Even in your most enraged state. Do you understand that? This is why you must act with more caution.”
She stilled her ragged breathing. Greyland knew he was right. With only one hand he had been able to restrain both her arms. Sure, she still had teeth and legs if she had really been in danger, but even that would have been no match against his superior strength. “I will try to be more careful,” she conceded, “but I did have a chaperon and a wolf with me.”
He released his tight hold on her. “You had my sixty-five-year-old butler, hardly a defense. Malikite is a far better protector, but even he is only an animal.”
They both turned to look at the giant half-breed sleeping with his head propped on Greyland’s abandoned seat.
When Greyland turned back to Alex, his expression was pained.
“I would die if something were to happen to you,” he said. “Will you, if not for your own sake but for mine, be more careful?”
She glanced down, instantly ashamed she had caused that look in his eyes. “Yes.”
“I have a house in Brighton, and I would very much like to make it our main home if you approve.”
Her eyes darted back up, excitement bubbling inside her. The only thing that could have made his sentence better would have been to add children and Christmas trees.
“It is just a medium-size castle, but it is right on the ocean.”
“Only medium-sized?” She teased.
“What do you say we leave right after the wedding?”
“I say…” She clapped her hands. “Why wait two weeks?”
“One might think you excited, my lady,” he smiled.
“I think the word excited is too simple. I am thrilled beyond reason.”
“Good.” He kissed her shoulder. “Two weeks was your father’s request. He does not want it to seem too rushed. Hopefully tomorrow morning, when all of London gets our announcement, I will be able to breathe again. Knowing you will not be as readily hunted. And once everyone knows of our pending nuptials, we will be allowed more private time. Like this.”
His smile was downright wicked. One of his fingers pushed past the boundaries of her bodice and stroked the silkiness of her breast. “How does that sound?”
Greyland closed her eyes. “Perfect!”
Greyland practically floated from the ballroom, where she and Perkin had instructed their third lesson of the week to The Queen and the prince. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were set to marry in six months’ time, and they had asked the siblings to choreograph a waltz for their wedding dance. The two gleefully agreed but refused payment. The Queen insisted that her personal modiste design Greyland’s wedding dress, at the very least.
Greyland walked away from the Grand Ballroom, taking a different way than she was used to. Perkin told her of a closer powder room to the left. She whirled in a quick spiral, giddy at the thought of seeing Alex later that night. She had not seen him in three days. He had some last-minute business dealings to attend to. She would see him in a scant three hours at the engagement party that Bella and Thomas were hosting for them.
In her dreamy state of mind, she turned by accident down the wrong hall. She overheard a familiar voice coming from a door that was ajar. Greyland froze mid-stride when she heard Lord Ashlown speak again.
“I do not like the Kingston girl marrying Lord Ravenswood, either,” he said. “I wanted her for myself, but Ravenswood seems to have a tight hold on her now.”
Greyland strained closer. A voice she knew she had heard before, but could not place, responded. “This family is sinking its claws in too deep for my comfort. Until we know Richard Kingston’s true motives for bringing his whole family here, I cannot rest. His claim is too strong.”
“I do not think the girl is involved,” Ashlown said. “But I will continue to watch them all. Even if one of them is more enjoyable to observe.”
“Do not lose focus just because she is comely.”
Ashlown retorted smugly, “I never lose focus! Even with a woman as stunning as Lady Kingston.” There was a pause. “I put three men on one of their Irish connections that just arrived in town today. The men are of the McGreggor clan and I am curious as to why they are here. His family is one of the more dangerous in Ireland. It appears a rip in their—”
A hand cupped over Greyland’s mouth from behind and pulled her against a solid wall of chest. She tensed as she was spun around.
Derrick held his finger to his lips as he removed his hand from her mouth, continuing to pull her further from the door.
Once they turned down another hall, he released her. He crossed his arms and leaned negligently against the wall. Penetrating her with his eyes, he regarded her from head to toe in a way that made her wish for a shawl. “Little lambs should not eavesdrop on the wolves’ den.”
“I was just walking by when I heard my name.”
“What did you hear?” He stepped closer, and she hesitantly took a step back.
He smirked. “Now surely you do not fear me?” He allowed the question to linger. “Unless you have changed your mind, you will be marring my nephew in a week’s time. You can tell me anything. I will keep all of your secrets.”
“I do not fear you, and I will not be changing my mind. If you must know, I heard Lord Ashlown discussing my family’s reasons for being here.” She did not feel she wanted to repeat the rest, especially when Derrick always made her feel like a roasted pig on a starving man’s dinner table. His over-familiar appraisal of her had increased to an uncomfortable level since Alex had been away. Even though he looked much like his attractive nephew, Derrick’s attitude differed vastly.
He side-stepped and moved toe to toe with her. Placing his long arms on either side of her head, he leaned into the wall at her back and whispered. “Well, dear, we know there is no harm in your family being in England. Lord Ashlown just wanted you for himself. He is likely just venting that we got to you first. Now remember, if there is anything at all you ever need, I would be more than happy to give it to you. Just say the word. You can trust me.”
Derrick backed away at the sound of approaching footsteps. Greyland’s tightly wound nerves relaxed a fraction when she spied Perkin striding towards them with a look of speculation on his sculpted face.
“Ah sister, there you are.” He smiled, be it brief and insincere, at Derrick. “And how are you, Lord Hamilton?”
“Could not be better. I was just showing Greyland the way out. It seems she made a wrong turn.”
Perkin reached for Greyland. “You are too kind. I believe I can take her the rest of the way. We shall see you tonight.”
Once inside the safety of their carriage, Greyland bombarded Perkin with exactly what she had heard and then wasted no time throwing questions at him. Perkin remained calm, in the same irritating way her father did when he contemplated something of great importance. She let an exasperated sigh trail off her last series of inquiries and then dove back into her interrogation.
“If you do not answer me, I will be forced to kick you in your shin.” She rotated her ankle which was crossed over her other leg. “Who is this dangerous family from Ireland? The McGreggor’s. And what is this talk about father’s claim? What claim?”
Perkin regarded her once more. “You know about our history and who our forefathers were, Greyland. That is nothing new to us. It seems to be news to others, who I am guessing, see our presence as a very real obstacle regarding the passage of the Crown of England. As far as the McGreggor’s are concerned, they too, are a link in our family chain. Father said he had a falling out last year with them, but he has been working out an agreement to patch things up. He has given no indication of a problem.”
Perkin hesitated and she knew he was not telling her everything. “Why would anyone think we would get in the way of the Crown? And, why is this McGreggor ‘link’ here in London? Why did father not tell you about the disagreement with them when it first occurred? He tells you everything!”
He did not answer, just stared out the window. “God’s teeth, Perkin, tell me!” Panic began to gnaw at her. “I am a part of this family too! And I am getting a distinct feeling that I am somehow involved. How are we connected to the McGreggor’s?”
Perkin’s head snapped back to face her. “The McGreggor’s are from Catherine Gordon’s side—cousins of hers, to be exact. Cousins that, up until last year, wanted you to marry the only male heir on their dwindling bloodline to secure the family and strengthen the lineage. And…to create a stronger claim on the Crown.”
Greyland felt his words as if they had been liquefied into ice water and doused in her face. Her mind swam through quicksand. None of that was even possible, and if it were… It would be treason!
The back of her hand fluttered to her lips. The Queen was the rightful Queen. And Greyland was marrying for love! How dare men she had never met assume to dictate her future! She was nobody’s bartering piece. Especially not in a puzzle that went back hundreds of years.
“Oh, for Christ's sake!” Her shock turned to rage, and she leveled her fury on Perkin. “What you speak of is outrageous! It is slander against The Queen and against everything we were brought up to believe.”
An abrupt, sickening thought lodged itself in her head. “Was I the disagreement that transpired a year ago with the McGreggor’s?”
Perkin lunged forward, his hands grabbing hold of both of hers. “Greyland, you must understand that father never wanted anything but the best for you. You know all too well that America is not stable right now and that our views differ greatly from others in the South. He wanted more for you; he wanted you to be safe. He fears an epic war is in America’s future. Be it near, or far off, he wants you nowhere near when it erupts. Ireland seemed the safest answer. You would be safe.”
He exhaled deeply. “It was a year ago when father realized the true motives for joining the bloodlines. He realized they sought a higher goal by securing you to their son, Colin. They would be one step closer to making their long-hidden proclamation. And if you had a son, well, surely you can see he would be the next rightful heir to the Throne of England. Since neither father nor I, nor Edward, sought such a claim.”
Greyland yanked her hands free and held them tight to her sides. “Why were my feelings on this never considered? And, and…” she sputtered. “It is incest!”
“Second cousins, from three hundred years ago, Greyland.” Perkin did not share her appall, clearly. “Hell, half of Europe has crossed bloodlines in that span. Kings and Queens since the dawn of time have married within the family to ensure the blood remains pure. But, that is hardly the point. When father uncovered corruption in their family, along with their ambition to seize the Crown, he cried off from your joining. He only wanted you safe. He never envisioned you would be used as a pawn. Six months later, they got word of father’s talks with the former Duke of Ravenswood.”
Her brother stopped talking abruptly. He had said too much and he knew it. “Greyland, father had hoped you would take to his son, Alexander. The Hamilton alliance is much safer.” Perkin gave a slight shake of his head. “Of course, the former Duke of Ravenswood was murdered before he could tell his son about you.”
Greyland’s mouth fell open. “Alexander was my intended?”
“Yes. At least that was the hope. And once you showed signs of approval we were relieved. Well, father and I, anyway.” He rolled his wrist in an annoyed fashion and Greyland knew immediately whose name he was about to speak next. “Edward still has his reservations. But that is mostly due to his stubborn pride being offended that he was kept completely in the dark regarding every bit of this.”
Greyland’s mind was running in a dithery circle. It was too much to process. Her brain kept clinging to the most terrifying aspects. Perkin, do you think the McGreggor’s had anything to do with the death of Alexander’s father?” She forced the words over her tongue. They tasted like vinegar.
Perkin ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair. After a beat, his blue eyes reluctantly met Greyland’s. “I am not sure, but my suspicions are high. If they are indeed in London, we need to get you and Alexander out of town. I am dropping you at Bella’s. It is not safe for you at the house until we get to the bottom of this. I will travel to Alexander’s and inform him of the current predicament.”
Greyland’s hands began to shake. “Perkin?”
“I will have someone bring your things,” he said, ignoring her.
“Perkin!” Tears began to well up in her eyes.
“Listen to me, damn it!” he snapped.
The tears broke free, rolling silently down her cheeks.
Her brother pulled her hands together and held them tightly once again. “I know this is scary, but you have to move and think like a Kingston now.” His blue eyes, as hard as marbles and just as warm, bore into hers. “You can be scared, and mad, and sad, once you are safely out of the city. Until then you must wear theses emotions like war paint. Understood?”
She tipped her head down and fixated her sights on their joined hands. “I understand.”
“Right after the ball, you will leave with Alex.”
She nodded wordlessly.
“And Greyland?” He called her attention back up to his face. “Tell no one!”
Alexander grabbed the window ledge. His eyes shut tight against the words coming out of Perkin Kingston’s mouth. Greyland was in trouble—from the same people that had likely killed his father.
Alex had already dispatched a footman to retrieve Richard and Edward. Perkin had been closed-lipped at first, preferring to wait and explain in detail what was transpiring when his father was in attendance. The blond man’s resolve loosened when Alexander threatened to pummel him within an inch of his life if he did not disclose, right then and there, what kind of trouble Greyland was really in. So he had.
All of it.
Pain and doubt gripped Alex’s ribcage, squeezing tightly as Perkin’s words took shape. A simmering rage began to build steadily as the story unfolded. By Perkin’s last sentence the anger coursing through Alex was so wild and unbridled he feared his ability to control it. Greyland had come with such a price. How dare any man threaten what was his. Heaven help the bastard that tried to hurt her. His blood pounded in his temples.
Perkin’s voice pulled him from the all-consuming desire to punch his hand through the window.
“I think it is best if I lay all the cards on the table.”
Alex whirled around.
There were more?
Perkin rushed on. “The only problem with the McGreggor clan laying claim to my sister was…you.”
“Was? I believe is to be the correct word.”
“Alexander.” Perkin’s voice dropped and Alex felt the hairs on his arms lift at the undercurrents of the other man’s tone. “Your father knew it was my father’s intent to link the two of you in marriage.”
Alex’s limbs grew twenty pounds heavier. He braced himself on the edge of the window seal as gravity pulled at him. “What?”
“Right before he died. There was an…agreement.”
The parlor doors flung open. Alexander’s eyes locked with Richard’s the moment he entered. The Kingston Monarch appeared ten years older. His once vibrant eyes were now clouded with fear and anguish. Alexander felt a drumming spike of pity for the man he so richly admired.
Richards’s voice finally broke the silence as he stepped into the room. “I will understand if you want to cry off from the engagement.”
“Do you think so little of me?” The hurt bled from Alexander’s lips before he could think to stop it. “They took my father from me, and now they seek to take Greyland!”
Richard marched forward, covering the distance of their divide in a few swift strides. He now stood an arm’s length from Alex. “Of course not! But this could be a life or death decision for you if these men are indeed here to take back what they believe belongs to them.”
Alexander sliced his hand viciously through the air. “It is life or death for her, too, damn you!”
Richard’s eyes grew large.
Edward stepped farther into the room. The older man held up a hand and stilled his son’s advancement. Richard dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head. “I deserved that, and much more. But you must know that I knew not how perilous the situation would become. I was only looking out for her best interest. I did not know I was delivering up my precious little girl to the wolves.” He sighed. “Greed can change people and the extent of their hunger eluded me until it was too late…” He let the last words fade into the air.
Alexander turned his head back to the window and stared into the intruding evening outside. All this time he had blamed his brother.
A rose-colored dusk shadowed the room. He closed his eyes and allowed the numbness to engulf him, for it was far better than the guilt he would deal with later. He would find Henry and beg forgiveness.
Alex finally spoke. “It is time to fix the situation before it becomes worse. Do you think they are in town with designs on taking her?”
“Yes.” The quickness of Richard’s response stabbed right to the core.
“Then I shall take her to Brighton after the party. I will post Bow Street Runners around the grounds during the ball. We will slip out at the end. And you will say that we have retired to France, to my house in Saint-Étienne.” Alex looked at Perkin. “You will need to talk with Lord Ashlown and tell him the whole story. Point him in the direction of the McGreggor’s.”
Richard and Perkin nodded in agreement while Edward helped himself to a stiff brandy.
“We will be wed in a small chapel I know of along the way,” Alexander continued. “Regardless of their claims, she will be my lawful wife. It is imperative you involve The Queen and her advisors and convince them that no one in your family has designs to overthrow her.”
Edward walked over and handed Alex a glass. He gladly accepted.
“Share all transgressions between you and the McGreggor’s with The Queen,” Alexander implored Richard. “She trusts you. She will help clear this up before any more bloodshed can occur.”
“Now…” Alex knocked back the drink and headed for the door, “I have an engagement party to get ready for.” He paused and locked eyes with Richard as he passed.
“I will take care of her. You need not fear.”