Her Every Pleasure (21 page)

“I—concur.”

She frowned at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he replied like a very wooden soldier.

“Gabriel,” she chided with the smile of a queen and the mesmerizing eyes of a sorceress.

He licked his lips and studied the ceiling again. “Your dishabille…distracts me.”

“Oh, goodness me, I’m terribly sorry,” she said in a delicious purr. Moving closer, she fingered the edge of her robe and whispered, “Would you rather I take this off?”

He quivered, looking into her eyes; the sparkle there told him she knew exactly what he was feeling, so what was the point in trying to hide it?

Succumbing to a smile, he reached out and captured her elbow. “You wicked temptress,” he murmured as he drew her near. “You think you can get away with teasing me?”

“Just a bit.”

“Two can play that game, love. Yes, then, take it off. I will help you.” He slipped his fingers under the paperthin layer of black silk where it draped her collarbone. He brushed it back softly, baring her shoulder.

With a soft moan, she turned her head, offering the shoulder for his kiss. He stared at the exquisite stretch of skin that she presented. His heart pounding, he could not resist. He did not even bother to try, but lowered his head and pressed his lips against the pale cream satin of her skin. He closed his eyes in tortured yearning, savoring the scent of her, the tender sweetness of her warm flesh.

He dragged his glazed eyes open again and touched her cheek, tipping her head back so that he could taste her mouth once more. But Sophia stopped him, laying her hand gently on his chest, and angling her mouth away from his.

Gabriel looked at her in question.

She stepped back, holding him at bay despite the smolder in her dark eyes.

“No, Gabriel,” she whispered in regret. “We can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He moved closer. “I’m starving for you.”

“You know why.”

“I don’t care.” He clutched at her silken robe, trying to pull her near, but she refused him. “A bullet would be worth it.”

“Oh, darling, not to me.” With a slight tremble, she slipped free from his light hold, pivoted, and glided away from him.

On the other side of the room, she set her wineglass down and pulled on a loose banyan robe of dark ruby damask to cover herself. Gabriel lowered his head, trying to regret the momentary lapse of self-restraint.

But he could not.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured when she returned.

“Please don’t apologize,” she said earnestly. “It’s my fault—I shouldn’t have done it.” Head down, redcheeked, she avoided his gaze and cinched the cloth belt around her slim waist. “I should’ve worn something proper.”

“I’m not a boy, Sophia. I should hope I could control myself. Besides,” he eyed her warily, “I’ve already seen you in less.”

He noticed his words made her quiver. Then she changed the subject with a determined air. “Come, let’s take a seat and you can tell me what happened after I left.” As she showed him over to the furniture grouping by the fireplace, the caress she ran down his back was of the caring variety rather than seductive.

Any way she wanted to touch him was fine with Gabriel.

“I’m so glad you came up with that ruse. I thought we were splendid!”

“Of course we were,” he said in amusement.

“Was Lord Griffith cross? Did the ambassador know anything about that knife?”

Gabriel dropped onto the couch and draped his arm over the back of it. Sophia perched on the cushioned arm of the sofa across from him. He proceeded to answer her questions, succinctly briefing her on what had transpired after she had made her exit.

Taking it all in, Sophia mulled it over for a second, then she let out a sigh and smiled.

“Lord, it’s been a long day, hasn’t it? You must be tired. You’ve been working since sunup. How is your scar after that long ride? Any strain?”

“I’m fine.”
Other than a deepening state of sexual frustration.
He dragged his hand through his hair with a ragged sigh.

“Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet.

“Let me send down to the kitchens for you. On my orders, they’ll make you whatever you like. What will you have?”

His stare traveled over her luscious body. He looked away. “Nothing, thanks. I don’t intend to stay long. Here. Sit with me.” He patted the sofa’s cushion beside him. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yes, you mentioned earlier you wanted to speak to me about something,” she said as she came over and joined him on the love seat.

“I’m afraid you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh.” She furrowed her brow and nodded, appearing to brace herself. “All right. What is it?”

Gabriel paused, glancing around at her apartments. His past diplomatic security missions had taught him that in palaces like this, the very walls had ears. “Come, sit closer to me. What I want to say to you, no one else must hear.”

She eyed him with a skeptical smile. “Is it something naughty, Colonel?”

He scowled and tugged her onto his lap. She laughed rather than protesting as another adorable blush crept into her cheeks.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, electrified by the feel of her warm body on his lap, but as Gabriel bent his lips toward her dainty earlobe, he wished that all he had to whisper were sweet nothings. And not the grim possibility of treachery close by.

Demetrius captured her hand as Alexa passed by him in the hallway outside the royal apartments. He was on duty there with three of the other men. She smiled at him imperturbably as he tugged her near.

His lips dipped toward her earlobe. “Watch him for us,” he ordered her in Greek.

She pulled back a small space and glanced at him in question.

“Go,” he urged. “Hurry.”

Alexa gave him a cool nod in answer, then she prowled down the hallway, pausing when she came to the maids’ entrance.

Glancing back at her occasional lovers, she saw Demetrius urge her on with a firm nod.

With the guards watching the corridor for her, she turned the doorknob silently by degrees and then, without a sound, slipped in through the little door that the staff used to service the royal apartments.

It was an easy matter to take a position spying through the crack in the service door. To her surprise, Sophia and Colonel Knight were not in the bed, but instead, were cooing at each other like a silly pair of virgins on the couch.

She smirked.

Bad princess,
she thought, spying her mistress on the colonel’s lap.
You must be spending too much time with me!

Receiving this stallion of a warrior alone in a state of dishabille?
Tsk, tsk, very scandalous.

Leon had always said she was a bad influence.

The thought of Leon pained Alexa.

She could not think about that. She pushed his ghost out of her mind, for the more pressing complication was his replacement, this stranger in their midst.

Colonel Knight worried them all, especially her. Alexa knew he must be handled carefully.

The men didn’t trust him, and apparently their fear that Her Highness had only hired him for her own pleasure was well founded, after all. Naturally, he had a brilliant military record, but the real reason for the handsome stud’s appointment as the new security chief was plainly visible from Alexa’s closeted post.

No one was quite sure what he wanted out of all this. The British might have tasked him with seducing the princess as a means of achieving their own unstated ends.

But whatever the colonel’s motivation, one thing was very clear as she watched them fawning on each other: Her Royal Highness was in love.

Alexa raised a brow, wondering what pretty bits of rakish naughtiness the handsome warrior had just suggested, for Sophia pulled back just then with an angry, “No! Are you out of your wits?”

“Won’t you please just try to keep an open mind?”

“But what you’re suggesting is impossible!”

Alexa perked up. Some positions were a challenge to one’s stamina and flexibility, but nothing was impossible if one had the will, and perhaps a bit of scented oil…

“Shh.” The colonel pulled Sophia close again, once more whispering in her ear.

Alexa watched them, musing. If Sophia lacked the adventurous spirit to indulge his wildest imaginings, she was certainly willing to volunteer herself.

Across the room, Sophia suddenly pulled out of his arms. “No more! I will not listen to you! Not another word!” Sophia clapped her hands over her ears. “I want no part of this! Do you understand me?”

He pulled her hands down gently from her ears. “Darling, I’m not trying to upset you—”

“Please, stop. That’s very wrong of you.” She was shaking her head at his words, looking very upset.

Alexa frowned, wondering if she should go back in and try to help. After all, some of these seemingly proper Englishmen had tastes quite beyond the pale, even by her standards.

“Just think about it,” he cajoled her.

“There’s nothing to think about. You’re wrong on this, Gabriel. Trust me. Do you think I’m that much of a fool? You don’t know what you are talking about.”

Alexa shook her head in sympathy and some confusion.
Poor Sophia.
The pain her chosen lover had inflicted on her heart was written all over her face.

What bastards all men were, she mused. That was all falling in love brought a person, which was why she wanted no part of it.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” the princess told her pet Englishman.

Colonel Knight clenched his square jaw, but rose obediently and heaved a sigh, holding his hands out at his sides. “I’m sorry.”

Sophia just shook her head again and looked away, her arms folded tightly across her bosom. “I know you mean well, but just please—go.”

He did, taking leave of her with an impeccable bow. Sophia’s refusal of his proposition appeared to have upset him, as well.

When he had left the room, Her Highness buried her face in her hands and lowered herself to the couch behind her. She remained like that, motionless.

Alexa stared, unsure if she was crying.

At length, Sophia lifted her head and brushed away a tear in her determined way, then stood, and went back calmly to retrieve her glass of red wine from where she had left it. Her face was pale as she passed by Alexa’s hiding place, her eyes a little red.

Alexa furrowed her brow. She was dying to go back in properly and ask her mistress some leading questions that might reveal what the colonel had been whispering to her.

But, of course, mentioning it at all would only help Sophia realize that she had been spying on her carefully for quite some time, just as she had been this morning when Colonel Knight had shown Her Highness the clandestine tunnel.

Alexa couldn’t allow her royal Mistress to discover the truth. After all, Sophia’s trust was the only thing standing between her and the secret, ever-present threat of the Tunisian’s knife.

She shuddered with ice in her veins at the memory of that curved dagger with its evil etchings. She had been treated to a very close look at the weapon the day they had abducted her off Bond Street, where she had ambled off to buy some frippery.

The onyx-eyed Tunisian had said he would rip her throat out if she did not do exactly as they said, and she believed him. Indeed, if there had been any doubt in her mind that they meant business, they had removed it on the night of the attack.

Those moments in the coach had been so horrible, knowing it was coming, wanting desperately to warn Leon, but too cowardly to give any sign of the trap ahead.

What else could she do? It wasn’t as though she could turn to the pack of bodyguards to save her. She’d had them all, crude fools, and if they wanted
her,
how smart could they really be?

No, Alexa had already accepted defeat. The Order of the Scorpion had promised not to hurt Sophia—and had likewise promised to cut off
her
head if she did not cooperate.

So, she’d hand Sophia over, keep her blond head safely atop her shoulders where it belonged, and then she would finally be free of it all, free of this palaceprison life with all of its bowing and scraping. Free of the curse of living in Sophia’s shadow. And free, most important, of all the bad choices she had made. Soon she would have her chance to start over again with a clean slate, become someone new…

She just had to get through this nightmare first, and keep on staying calm and playing stupid, just for a little while longer.

It would all be over in a fortnight.

CHAPTER
         TWELVE         

P
utting aside the confusion of her growing feelings for Gabriel, and her embarrassment over her misguided effort to attract his notice with her skimpy negligee—in hindsight, a very silly-headed notion, to be sure—his warning of a possible traitor among her bodyguards had touched a raw nerve in Sophia. Especially after growing up in a palace setting, doubtful of everyone’s sincerity. With her own kin lost to her, the people in her entourage had become like family to her over the years, and for him to say that one of them might have betrayed her was a devastating proposition.

While her logical mind could easily grasp there was a chance he could be right, her heart refused to accept it.
‘You don’t know what you are talking about,’
she had insisted.

He hadn’t liked that accusation one bit.

Pure panic had made her lash out at him, for he just kept pushing to persuade her of something that was too horrible to contemplate.

Which of her dear bodyguards would ever want her dead? They were like brothers to her.

The more she told Gabriel she was sure her people were loyal, the more he kept on saying that something just didn’t add up; she could also see that at least that much was true, but in the meantime, his air of certainty terrified her. She had ordered him out of her room, and things had been tense between them ever since.

She had not meant to “shoot the messenger,” as the saying went—she knew her head of security was only doing his job, and that his sole motive in saying such dreadful things all stemmed from his desire to protect her. But he just
had
to be wrong about this. She could not bear for it to be true, not after all that she and her close-knit band of Greeks had been through together. Not when a traitor among them would have cost Leon his life.

It was all just more than she could deal with as the night of the Grecian Gala drew near. She had four hundred very important guests on their way to see her, and they expected her to be charming.

She had to have her head on straight. This was her golden opportunity to drum up support for her country’s empty coffers so they could rebuild. It was too important an occasion for her to face it in an upset and distracted state.

Out of necessity, she assumed more of an emotional distance from Gabriel and let him go about his business while she concentrated on finishing her preparations for the ball.

In between memorizing the small welcome speech she would give to all her guests, as well as her toast to her royal host of the evening, the Prince Regent, she had the final fitting for her white gown, made sure her diamonds had been cleaned, handled last-minute crises from the kitchens over the menu, and oversaw the lavish decorations for the night, as well as the many, varied entertainments.

Above all, she took special care to make sure that everything was set up to discreetly receive her rich guests’ donations to the people of Kavros. This money-begging mission stung her pride, but that was the point of all this effort, anyway.

She reviewed the orchestra’s selection of music and made sure the dance floor had not been polished with too much beeswax to the point of becoming slippery. Lastly, she called a final meeting of the staff so that everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing at all times, and when a few of the servants complained about the costumes, she reassured them that it would be fun.

While the whole castle made its final preparations for the grand affair, Gabriel poured his energies into drilling the squad of Greek bodyguards mercilessly with all his new procedures.

There was more to his ruthlessness than polishing their performance, however. He was purposely driving them to the edge of their endurance to find out who might crack, which one might show signs of weakness.

He had told Sophia he preferred not to use them at all the night of the gala, replacing them with British soldiers instead, but she refused to let him cut them out, for in her view, they would be humiliated.

Gabriel realized that the slight would indeed alert the Greeks that they were under suspicion, so he conceded with a shrug, still irked by Sophia’s refusal to heed his doubts about the men. Damn it, he was only trying to protect her. The stubborn royal’s insistence on having her old friends around her that night meant that Gabriel could do naught but design a second layer of security ringing the royal target and her retinue of bodyguards.

He did not communicate his suspicions of the Greek men to the dozen British soldiers he borrowed from the garrison, but the latter would be in position to watch the bodyguards
and
the princess.

At last, the long-awaited night arrived.

Gabriel, in full dress uniform, was patrolling the grand, gilded ballroom that Griff had led him through on that first day of his arrival.

On that sunny afternoon, the ballroom had been empty, its vast parquet floors agleam, but tonight, it was thronged with important guests, and full of noise—chattering voices and the clink of glasses and dessert plates, all vying with the robust rhythms of the Greek music especially procured for the occasion.

Strolling on through the sumptuous staterooms of the castle’s main floor, he observed all with tense watchfulness, checking in with his men in each room, making sure there was no sign of trouble.

All was running smoothly.

The rococo reception rooms within the stark medieval castle had been dressed up to resemble a scene taken from some Hellenistic vase, a frolicking day in the life of Classical Antiquity.

The columns everywhere were decorated with vines. Tall, burning braziers reminiscent of ancient Greece warded off the autumn chill for all the poor servants who had been made to don white togas for the occasion, both males and females, with leafy wreaths around their heads. A dozen jolly Bacchuses and young Ganymedes kept the wine flowing.

Footmen in charge of directing the guests toward the various entertainments wore large, eerie, expressionless masks painted gold, like those of the ancient Greek theater, long togas flowing over their bodies like so many wandering Aristotles.

In one room, Gabriel saw the portly Regent laughing at the display of Olympian sports in the center of the large, stately chamber. Lady Alexa had also claimed a front-row seat and was watching the greased male wrestlers throw each other around for the entertainment of the highborn.

How very risqué, Gabriel thought dryly, but when it came to exalting the world of Classical Antiquity, it seemed Sophia, that Machiavellian royal, had read the ton right. It seemed the historical precedent allowed even Society’s strictest matrons to overlook all sorts of immodesty this night that would normally have been forbidden. Ancient Greece and Rome were the mighty models, after all, that the Regent’s England aspired to.

The English aristocracy built its homes in the columned style of the Parthenon, loaded its statuary halls with Hellenistic nudes of gleaming alabaster, painted its ceilings with Greco-Roman gods and goddesses and their adventures, and adorned its great English gardens with Greek temple follies. Every upperclass schoolboy learned Greek and Latin and, from an early age, had their heads filled with Homer’s heroes and Plato’s dialogues.

No wonder the ton was enchanted with her, he mused as he sauntered on, watching everything. A real, live, Greek princess, fighting for one of the last free slivers of that land that had hatched the democratic ideals the civilized world now cherished.

If only he had not upset her so badly; hurting her hadn’t been his intention. He had tried to be as gentle about his suspicions as he possibly could, but he had not realized how fragile his brash little knife-girl would actually be on this point.

His heart wrenched every time he thought of the look on her face when he told her that he suspected a traitor. He wished he had kept his mouth shut until he had gathered proof.

He had checked Leon’s writings, also, but had found nothing useful. Maybe he was wrong about this. Maybe he was just being overly paranoid.

Maybe his deepening feelings for her were truly starting to cloud his better judgment, just as he had feared they would.

Restlessly, Gabriel moved on.

The next chamber was only dimly lit; a cloud of wafting steam surrounded a matronly actress representing the Delphic Oracle. She had a huge live snake draped across her shoulders and was telling the guests’ fortunes, if they desired. Gabriel eyed her audience warily, then continued.

The final room he walked through before returning to the ballroom was devoted to gambling. The proceeds of the night’s gaming bank would go to the people of Kavros.

His men posted in the card room confirmed that all was well. Gabriel nodded. Sweeping the glittering saloon with a vigilant gaze, he suddenly spotted a fourman whist table near the back of the room that had filled up with his highborn cousins and family friends: the twins, Lucien and Damien Knight; their brother-in-law, William, Lord Rackford; and Devlin, Lord Strathmore, the husband of their sister’s best friend, practically a family member.

They grinned when they saw him and welcomed him heartily as he went over to greet them.

“There he is! The great protector!”

“Winter in sunny Greece, indeed! You poor fellow. That is some hard duty.”

“And to be plagued with the company of such an enchanting young woman all the while.”

“It’s harder than you can possibly imagine,” Gabriel assured them.

His sardonic tone roused a laugh from his ex-spy cousin, Lord Lucien Knight. “In more ways than one, no doubt.”

Gabriel ignored the rogue’s sly riposte. He was grateful that his brother-in-law had made sure to invite the whole Knight clan. One of the first families of the realm, they were not out of place in such exalted company.

Besides, Griff had known how much it would mean to Georgiana to let Gabriel see all his cousins once more before he sailed off to Greece for who knew how long.

He gestured casually toward their game. “The mirror men aren’t paired?”

“No, the twins are not allowed to be partnered at cards,” Rackford informed him matter-of-factly. “Uncanny. They can read each other’s minds.”

“It wouldn’t be sporting,” Damien, the elder twin, agreed. As a highly decorated officer who had served in the Peninsula, Damien was a favorite with Gabriel.

Gabriel clapped his fellow warrior on the shoulder. “Set your bids high, gentlemen. The people of Kavros need roads and bridges and everything, I am told.”

“We will play as deep as our wives will let us,” Lucien drawled with a glance at his cards.

“Just keep Alec out of here,” Strathmore mumbled. “No more gambling for him.”

“Ah, no worries. He hasn’t had a relapse since he quit,” Lucien defended his youngest brother, Lord Alec Knight.

“Not when he knows his lady would banish him from her boudoir if he ever even looked at the dice again,” Rackford murmured with a wry half smile.

“Where is our favorite rakehell, anyway?”

“There he goes!” Lucien pointed toward the doorway.

“Where?” Rackford turned around.

“You just missed him.” Lucien looked down at his cards. “I’m afraid he has stolen the Sun God’s chariot.”

“Figures.”

“Hate to tell you this, but our wives were riding in the back of the contraption.”

“He is such a bad influence on them!” Damien exclaimed, turning around to look.

Strathmore scowled. “Lizzie wasn’t with him, was she?”

“Relax, old boy. She’s been over him for ages.”

Gabriel laughed at their constant repartee. “Well, gentlemen, enjoy yourselves. Good luck to all of you. I must keep on with my duties.”

“Maybe we’ll come and visit you if you’re still in Greece after Christmas,” Strathmore said. “I haven’t been traveling in ages, though God knows it was my passion in the past. Besides, my dear bluestocking tells me she would give anything to spend a whole month studying the ruins.”

“Better wait until things calm down a bit,” Gabriel warned. “Rather wild and woolly at the moment, I’m told. Next year might be a safer bet.”