Her Every Pleasure (22 page)

“Will you write and let us know?”

“I’ll do my best,” he answered with a nod, though he had his doubts he’d be alive by the time Kavros had been made safe enough for the highborn tourists who flocked to Rome and Athens and Herculaneum.

“Ah, Lizzie will be disappointed,” Strathmore said with a smile. “But I suppose if all those temples have withstood the centuries, they can last another year or so.”

“Indeed.” Gabriel took leave of them with a nod, returning to the task at hand. But as soon as he stepped out of the gambling hall, he heard a hearty laugh coming from farther down the wide, busy corridor.

He looked over and saw his cousin, Lord Alec Knight, jump down from the theatrical chariot that was wheeling guests around the hallways of the palace at a sedate pace.

The white horse pulling the toylike contraption wore a gold plume on its head and blinders to keep it from spooking from so many people on all sides.

Laughing, Alec returned the Chariot of the Sun to its rightful owner, but the actor hired to play Apollo was scowling under his spiky headdress of makeshift sun rays.

He looked entirely put off at the indignity of having his vehicle commandeered by a mere mortal.

Golden-haired Alec, who looked more the part of the Sun God without having to try, slipped him a fiver to make amends, still laughing. “Here’s your phaeton back, old boy, no harm done! We’re very sorry—it’s just the Three Graces wanted to go for a jaunt and they said you were driving too slow!” Talking his way out of trouble, as usual, Alec went to help the twins’ wives, Alice and Miranda, down from the back of the chariot.

The petite strawberry blonde and the tall, statuesque, raven-haired beauty were both laughing their heads off at the prank as they stepped down from the back of the chariot.

The third of the “Three Graces” turned out to be their highest-ranking kinswoman, Belinda, Duchess of Hawkscliffe. A blue-eyed blonde of quiet grace and stunning beauty, Bel smiled at Alec as she accepted his help in alighting from the chariot and shook her head at him with a fondly chiding look.

Seeing Apollo take the reins once more and return to his duties of conveying guests about—particularly the old and gouty ones—Gabriel was satisfied that order was restored, waved to his merry relatives, and moved on through the steady flow of guests passing by every which way. He kept his eyes on all of them.

It was too bad Jack couldn’t be here tonight, he mused. Lord Jack Knight was the cousin he knew best—the only one who had traveled halfway around the world to visit India, for the sake of his great merchant shipping company.

Unlike all the other Knights, whom he had just met within the past year upon moving to England, Gabriel had known Jack for nearly a decade. But right now Jack was in the Caribbean, where his shipping company was headquartered. Gabriel still had not met Jack’s bride, a redhead called Eden, but they were supposed to be returning to London for a visit in the spring—apparently en famille.

The thought of a little baby Jack and future terror of the seas rather amused Gabriel, but again, he found himself chasing off another doomful question about the outcome of his quest.

The vision he had experienced at death’s door had left him fairly well convinced that when he fulfilled the destiny he had been sent back to finish, he would be returned to that blessed Light he had seen, this time, permanently. Until he had met Sophia, the peace that had filled him in that fleeting glimpse of heaven had been preferable to anything on earth…

“My son!” a deep, mellifluous voice boomed out cheerfully all of a sudden.

Gabriel looked over and saw his father, Lord Arthur Knight. He grinned. One of his favorite people on earth.

The tall, white-haired aristocrat was coming out of the refreshment room with his matronly lady-friend, Mrs. Clearwell.

As Gabriel greeted them, both elders showed him the sampling of Greek delicacies that they had collected on their small plates.

Gabriel stayed a moment longer to chat with them, for he had always been particularly close to his jolly, manly father and was delighted by his old man’s budding romance with Lily’s erstwhile chaperone, the adorable, plump, vivacious, little Mrs. Clearwell.

In truth, the bustling and witty widow was much nicer to his father than Gabriel could ever recall his late mother having been. At any rate, they both knew he was on duty, so they did not detain him.

He left them happily keeping each other company and continued on patrol, trying not to imagine what sort of impact news of his death would have on his old man, if it came to that.

Passing by the Delphic Oracle’s room once more, he spotted his cousin, Jacinda, Lady Rackford, along with Alec’s wife, Becky, both having their fortunes told, and listening to the woman’s nonsense with great enthusiasm.

He smiled wryly at their girlish playfulness over the whole thing, then his watchful gaze traveled over the rest of the guests in the darkened chamber, about fifty people in all. Suddenly, he noticed a couple taking advantage of a shadowy corner to steal a kiss.

Oh, Lord,
he thought, recognizing the pair as Derek and Lily. He shook his head as the couple seemed to lose themselves in their torrid embrace.
Bloody newlyweds.

Becky spotted him in the doorway and waved, while Jacinda reveled in telling the Delphic Oracle that her husband had a tattoo a lot like that great snake of hers, all wrapped around his arm. Gabriel laughed to himself, wondering how the decidedly secretive Rackford would have felt about this revelation by his wife, but that was Jacinda for you. Never a dull moment. No wonder she got along so well with Georgiana.

Farther down the hallway, Gabriel smiled at Lord Strathmore’s bluestocking bride, Lizzie, as he passed her, but he did not dare interrupt her heated discussion.

“I don’t see how one can argue that Lord Elgin had any right to ship the Parthenon marbles back to London. I mean, really, they belong to the Greek people—”

“But Lady Strathmore, the statues would have been destroyed!” some pompous-looking MP was trying to convince her. “Lord Elgin saved them from the ravages of war, don’t you see?”

“I’m sure Princess Sophia would agree with
my
position,” she said firmly, but as Gabriel moved on, he wondered where Princess Sophia was at the moment.

First there had been the reception line, then a period of sitting at the head of the ballroom with her host, the portly Prince Regent. This done, she had been mingling and charming everyone, moving among her guests with four of the guards whom Gabriel tended to suspect the least assigned to shadow her every movement.

The English soldiers from the garrison were posted around the ballroom’s perimeter, but the Greeks stayed with her. After long deliberation, Gabriel had selected Yannis, Markos, Niko, and Kosta for the honor. The others were dispersed throughout the castle.

Keeping a discreet and respectful distance, the four chosen bodyguards formed a wide, secure box around her, front and back on both sides. Whenever she took her seat at the head of the room or at table, they retreated to flank her, a pair of men behind her on each side.

All the Greek bodyguards were certainly easy to pick out of the crowd. Tonight, instead of their usual black garb, they were proudly arrayed in the traditional costume of their countrymen: a red vest, richly embroidered with gold and silver thread, worn over a white cotton shirt; a loose, skirtlike garment called a
fustanella,
also of white cotton, which was secured with a broad red sash, and worn over wool knee breeches, with stockings and odd-looking shoes called
tsaruxia.
On their heads, each man also wore a plain, circular cap of matching red felt.

Rather than also adopting the traditional dress of her country’s ladies, Sophia had opted for a different strategy in her apparel. Eager to inspire her guests’ generosity, the whimsical temptress had adorned herself in a modified version of the ancient fashion.

Though Gabriel and the other military men had mocked the thought of guests wearing togas—thankfully, they had been wrong about that, as formal attire had proven to be de rigeur—they had all been stunned into awed silence when they had caught their first glimpse of Sophia tonight, arrayed in gauzy white silk like some marble Aphrodite brought to life.

A wreath of bay leaves crowned her head; a golden circlet hugged her upper arm. On her feet, sandals.

She had to be freezing.

He couldn’t believe she had dressed like that, but she had caused a sensation with her daring, and that, he supposed, was exactly the sort of thing a gorgeous young royal was supposed to do.

All he knew was that he disliked intensely the overheated stares she drew from too many of the male guests. At the same time, he mocked himself for his jealousy and his useless possessiveness. She wasn’t
his.
She never would be, no matter how his heart protested.

Perhaps he could at least dance with her, he thought, recalling her attempt to make him promise her a waltz when he had showed her the escape route through the wine cellar.

He had refused since he would be on duty, but did he
really
need to be quite so standoffish? The distance that had come between them ever since he had mentioned his worries about a traitor had him now reconsidering his obstinacy.

If one dance would make her happy and bring them back into harmony with each other, then where was the harm?

Yes, he decided, he would ask her to dance.

Sauntering back toward the ballroom, Gabriel braced himself for the sight of her again, because every time he looked at her, she took his breath away.

Crown Prince Christian Frederick of Denmark had seated himself by her side and soon commenced grilling her none too subtly on all manner of topics concerning herself, from her upbringing and her education to her views on home and family. It seemed to be some sort of interview, and Sophia knew she should not be growing annoyed.

The big, strapping Norseman was perfect for her purposes: handsome, brown-haired, thirty-two, and looking for a royal bride. His country had even had the sense to try to stay neutral as best it could during all the warring between Napoleon and the rest of Europe. Greece and Denmark; fire and ice; the bottom of Europe and the top. It made perfect sense strategically and in many other ways.

The prince was undeniably attractive, too.

If the people of Kavros needed her to make a wise marriage alliance someday, she was quite certain the ideal royal husband was sitting by her side.

Unfortunately, Sophia could not stop furtively scanning the crowd for the flash of a scarlet uniform.

Where are you?
she thought desperately, searching for Gabriel. She knew he was on duty somewhere nearby, overseeing all of his ironclad security measures, but she had not laid eyes on him in half an hour, and she found herself growing thirsty for lack of him, like a plant that needed water.

Perhaps it was not as her bodyguard that she needed him right now, but as the man who had already staked a claim on her heart, whether either of them had intended it or not. God, she felt so torn. She could not afford
not
to charm the Danish prince, but despite herself, she was not enjoying the reminder that she’d probably end up with someone else. She only wanted Gabriel and what on earth were they to do?

The prince noticed her distant smile and summoned a footman with an elegant wave of his jeweled hand.

But when he lifted a glass of champagne off the footman’s tray and offered it to Sophia, she declined with a regretful shake of her head. “I am sorry, Your Highness,” she murmured. “My chief of security has ordered that I may only accept glasses brought to me by that one fellow alone, and nobody else. See?” She pointed to one of the British soldiers from the garrison, the captain’s second in command. He was in charge of the bottles served to her from private stock and every glass that was to touch her lips.

If anyone managed to poison her tonight, that tried-and-tested soldier was the one who would be hanged for dereliction of duty.

“Ah, the old threat of poison,” the future king said with a world-weary smile. “Believe me, my dear, I know just how you feel. Living this way can be such a royal bore. I shall taste it for you.”

“Don’t!” she warned.

The Crown Prince did it anyway. He took a sip and, satisfied that he had impressed her with his gallantry, then offered her the glass.

Sophia accepted it only when she saw that he did not fall dead upon the floor.

His Highness regarded her with a speculative smile full of amusement, but she only held the glass in her hand.

She did not take a sip. To have done so would have felt disloyal to her bodyguard. After all, she told herself, if Colonel Knight was putting his life on the line for her, the least that she could do was obey the blasted protocol.

The prince eyed her Ancient Greek costume in wary amusement. “Shall we dance, my fair goddess?”

Distracted from her search for her Gabriel, she glanced over at him in surprise.

Crown Prince Christian Frederick stood and offered her his hand.

She thought of Kavros, and her people, and Gabriel’s stoic refusal of her request for a waltz a few days ago—such a simple thing to ask, but he would not do it. Why was she making herself miserable over a man who was so determined to keep her at arm’s length?

With that, she summoned up a brilliant smile for the Crown Prince, though inwardly she was feeling rather wretched. “I would be honored, Your Highness.” She placed her hand in his and rose.

He watched her in fascination as she allowed him to escort her to the dance floor.

CHAPTER
         THIRTEEN         

U
pon walking into the thronged ballroom, Gabriel noticed at once that the music had changed, the Greek players with their rousing folk tunes replaced by the smooth elegance of the orchestra.

The dancing had begun.
Excellent,
he thought, looking around for Sophia with an air of determination. The first person he saw, however, was his sister, Georgiana.

“Brother!” She was standing right inside the entrance with her husband, Lord Griffith, and his closest friend since boyhood, their firstborn cousin, Robert, the Duke of Hawkscliffe, head of the Knight clan.

Gabriel greeted his kin with a smile. His sister hugged him with her usual doting affection, moving carefully with the now-showing curve of her pregnant belly.

Ever the protective elder brother, he had not entirely approved of her traveling over bumpy roads to the castle for the occasion, but if her husband did not see cause for alarm, then he could hardly object. Besides, a lifetime as her sibling had taught Gabriel that it was nigh impossible to stop Georgie from doing what Georgie wanted to do.

With her passion for the rights of women, he supposed that his sister was not about to be denied the chance to meet the future female ruler of a whole country, no matter how small and poor it might be.

“She’s brilliant!” Georgie confided. “I love her! Ian just introduced us a little while ago.”

“She’s very beautiful,” Robert remarked in a respectful tone. “Smart as a whip, too, from what I hear.”

“She also happens to be very good with a knife,” Gabriel informed them with a crooked grin.

“Egads,” Robert murmured.

“I don’t know how she manages to stay so strong without her family helping her through this,” Georgie exclaimed. “It’s tragic how so many of them have been killed. You keep her safe, Gabriel, will you?”

He put his arm around his sister. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

“I know you won’t. Keep yourself safe, too.” Georgie clung to his arm. “We’re going to miss you so! You’re the best brother in the whole world.”

“Hey! What about me?” a voice retorted from nearby.

Gabriel laughed as their middle sibling joined them.

“Derek,” Griff greeted him, laughing.

“Just because I always teased you and he was too damned noble to sink to my level?” Derek jested, giving their sister a kiss on the cheek. He nodded to the others. “Hullo, all.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“She got caught up trying all the Greek foods with Mrs. Clearwell and Father.”

“I hope I can talk to Her Highness again later this evening,” Georgie said. “I might have ideas about how to help the poorer citizens of Kavros, since that seems to be such a concern.”

“My wife was very active in helping the lowliest citizens back in Calcutta,” Griff told Robert with a proud gleam in his eyes.

Gabriel swept the room with a quick glance. “Where has she gone, anyway?”

“Her Highness? She is dancing.”

Gabriel halted. “Oh.” He turned toward the dance floor and searched the weaving crowd of whirling couples, gliding at the waltz. For a fleeting moment, he caught sight of Sophia in the arms of a tall, brown-haired man in uniform. An array of glittering medals and the red diagonal sash the haughty-looking fellow wore across his chest suggested he was some sort of dignitary.

A strange reaction moved through him in a wave when he saw them. An unpleasant pain that rather choked him. “Who is that…dancing with her?” he forced out.

“That,” Robert informed him in a low tone, “is Crown Prince Christian Frederick of Denmark.”

“Prince?” Gabriel echoed faintly, absorbing the word like a body blow.

“Yes, I understand he’s looking for another wife.”

“Another wife? Is he a widower?” Georgie asked blithely, only making conversation, while Gabriel stared, his mind reeling.

The strangling sensation grew. “He certainly looks like he’s enjoying himself,” he growled, still watching the dancers for another glimpse of the storybook pair.

“Actually, it was a bit of a scandal,” Robert told them. “The prince was previously married to a young lady who I believe was his cousin. But he dissolved the marriage after learning that she was having an affair with her music teacher.”

“Good heavens!” Georgie whispered.

“The prince banished his ex-wife to the coldest reaches of Jutland, and forbade her from ever seeing their child again.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Georgie murmured, while Gabriel stared at his ducal cousin with a chill arrowing down his spine. “Well, if Princess Sophia fancies him, I daresay she’d better never stray from her vows.”

“Not that she would,” Lord Griffith amended.

“Unless she likes the snow,” Derek drawled under his breath.

“Would you all please excuse me?” Gabriel choked out abruptly. “I need to go and check on my men outside.”

Derek eyed him sharply. “I’ll come with you.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“I don’t mind. I could use some fresh air.”

Gabriel was too routed by the duke’s explanation to argue. Stunned by the news about Sophia’s latest suitor, he could see the writing on the wall.

He would have rather been alone at that moment, but Derek had never been one to take a hint. His younger brother had had a habit of shadowing him ever since they were small boys.

Outside, Gabriel walked to the edge of the terrace and just stood there in shock. The night’s chill cut through his uniform, but he was numb; above, the stars were tiny pinpricks of silver in the onyx night, too far above his reach to illuminate his darkness.

A short distance behind him, Derek halted with a palpable air of uncertainty. “Are you all right?”

In brooding silence, Gabriel lowered his gaze to the flagstone ground.

“You know that Gypsy girl I told you about?” he responded after a moment.

“Yes.”

“It was her,” he whispered in agony. “It was Princess Sophia.”

“What?” Derek cried. “How? But—you’re joking.”

Gabriel turned around slowly and denied the charge with a sardonic shake of his head.

Derek stared at him in amazement.

Gabriel gave him a brief summary of how she had wound up at his farm, then he looked away.

“Gabriel, you have to quit!”

“Quit?”

“Yes, you must resign! You can’t be her bodyguard when you’re in love with her!” he insisted, keeping his voice down. “You’ve got to keep a clear head—”

“Who says I’m in love with her?”

Derek snorted.

“I
am
keeping a clear head. I’m trying! Derek, I can’t leave her. She needs me.”

“Does she know how you feel?” His eyes widened again. “Does she feel the same?”

Gabriel stared at him stoically. “I don’t know.”

“Damn, you are a scoundrel!” Derek let out a lusty laugh and waved his hand in his direction. “Of all the men in the world to snare a princess, of course it would be you! How do you do it, really?”

“I’m glad you find my situation amusing.”

“Ah, my poor brother. Look at you. Turning yourself inside out for this woman. That is indeed how it starts.”

He slung his arm around his brother’s neck and shook his head with a fond, low laugh. “But don’t worry, old boy. It gets much better, I swear. Love is horrible at first, it’s perfectly wretched. Believe me, I speak from experience. Every little thing she does can cut your damned heart out.”

“Like dancing with a prince?” Gabriel asked, then looked askance at him. “It’s not going to get any better, Derek. Not for me. Lily was perfect for you from the start, but this is hopeless. Anyone can see that.” He shrugged off his brother’s affectionate hold and paced away a few steps. “She’s a hundred miles above my station, and now she’s in the arms of a man who will crush her if she stays close to me. Even as my friend.”

“Listen to you! It’s only a dance, man! She hasn’t married him yet. For God’s sake, you are the Iron Major. It is nowhere in your nature to give up without a fight. Besides, look at Robert and Belinda! The family never mentions it, but we all know Bel was only his mistress, and yet she married a duke.”

“Bel’s a woman!” he retorted, scowling. “It’s completely different when the lowborn one’s the man.”

“I would hardly call you lowborn. You’ve got a marchioness for a sister and a duke for a cousin—”

“I’m not a prince! Derek, I’d look like a fool following her around like a dog, even if she’d have me.”

“We all have to sacrifice for those we love, Gabriel. I know better than anyone that you have never shrunk from that,” he added softly, with a meaningful look reminding him of the moment he had put himself in the arrow’s path to shield his little brother.

Gabriel turned away and paced again, stroking his jaw restlessly in thought. “My sacrifice is staying away, then. She may need to marry this Crown Prince Bastard What’s-His-Name for the good of her people. She loves her country, that’s obvious. And if it matters to her, then it bloody well matters to me.”

“You are so noble sometimes, you make me want to shoot you,” his brother said mildly. Derek folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow as he studied him with a piercing look. “But this time, I think the problem might just be your ego.”

“My ego?” he retorted.

“You’d rather spill your blood than sacrifice your warrior pride.” He sauntered closer and looked him in the eyes with stark honesty and a brother’s loyalty. “Tell me there is not some truth to that? So, you’d walk a step behind the chit for the rest of your days. So what? If that’s the only way that I could be with Lily, I would take it in a heartbeat. Hell, if I had to wheel her around in a wheelbarrow wearing a loincloth like her slave—”

“Oh, shut up.” Gabriel couldn’t help laughing at the image as he turned away, shaking his head. “I swear, love has made you more of a madman than you always were.”

“Ah, Shakespeare had something to say about that. Lovers, poets, madmen—seething brains, whatnot? Now, go in there and get your princess back from that overblown Hamlet! Something is rotten in Denmark, I say. If you want her, go and claim her! Either find a way or make one—”

“Wait!” Gabriel suddenly came to attention, silencing Derek and staring off toward the perimeter wall. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Did you see that?”

“No—”

“Shh! I heard something.” He pointed, his finger slowly tracking along the wall. Then he narrowed his eyes, searching the darkness. “There is someone…in the shadows.”

Movement.

Gabriel stepped up onto the stone balustrade and jumped off the terrace into the soft grass below, instantly tearing off across the greensward toward the perimeter wall.

He pointed to the left as he ran, but Derek was already on it, charging to head off the intruder.

Ignoring the pull in his middle of newly mended muscle around his scar, Gabriel sprinted on, his gaze picking out a lone man who had spotted them coming and now was trying to flee.

“HALT!” he roared.

The slim, wiry man ignored him, leaping up to catch hold of the edge of the old medieval wall. Bearing down on him, Gabriel could see that the large pack slung over the man’s shoulder added weight that impaired his ability to climb.

As he dangled there, trying to sling his leg up onto the top of the wall, Gabriel barreled into him and slammed him to the ground.

“Gun!” he yelled to warn his approaching brother, but the man did not have time to use it.

Gabriel ripped away the large pistol tucked into the front waistband of the man’s trousers. The second he turned to hurl the man’s weapon far over the wall, out of harm’s way, the wiry fellow scrambled to his feet and went bolting off again.

Derek headed him off this time, his arms out wide; the intruder veered to the side and tore between two tall shrubberies, but when he came barreling out the other side, Gabriel was already there.

“Get him!” Derek belted out.

“Leave me be!” a Cockney voice yelped, the intruder’s decidedly unhandsome English face filling with terror at the realization that he was caught between two ruthless warriors who were both inclined to break him like a toothpick.