Page 23 of What A Rogue Wants (Lords Of Deception #1)
“Exactly. You know nothing of the job. The dangers. I was married before I became what I am. I’d never have married afterwards, but it was too late. I didn’t know better.”
“My father makes it work.”
An inscrutable look came to Stratmore’s face. “Your father lives in a fantasy. He always has.”
“Are you denying my courtship?” He hated to ask the question because the answer was almost certainly not in his favor. Yet he had to know what he was up against. Too long he’d lived with assumptions that had been wrong. He’d not make that same mistake ever again.
“I’ve never denied my daughter anything.
Which is part of her problem.” The duke glanced toward the stained glass window for a moment then finally back.
“You belong to the king in body and soul now, which means you’ll never be the man for my daughter.
So yes, I’m denying the courtship. Stay away from her; it will be the best for both of you. ”
Stratmore spun and walked away.
Grey followed silently behind into the king’s chambers. There was no way in hell he would simply obey Stratmore and not see Madelaine, but what would she do? He could see the enormous desire to please her father on her face. Pushing the problem aside, he focused on the king.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said after Stratmore and the king had greeted one another. “Shall I wait in the outer chamber for you to conclude your business with Lord Stratmore?”
“No. Stay. My business with Stratmore concerns you as well.”
Grey settled into a chair near a window and opposite the men.
The three faced each other, the sound of rain pounding against the window echoed a continuous tap throughout the silent room.
Tension knotted Grey’s shoulders, made worse by the wait and the thunder that accompanied the rain.
The groan of the heavy door being pulled partially shut seemed to snap the king out of his daze.
He ordered all the servants to leave the inner and outer chamber, and the guards were ordered to stand guard at the door to the outer chamber.
Once everyone cleared out, the king leaned forward in his chair, his eyes almost feverish in appearance. “Did you bring it?”
Stratmore glared at Grey then swiftly looked away, nodded and reached inside his coat. He withdrew a rolled up piece of parchment. “It’s complete.” His gaze flicked once again to Grey before returning to the king. “Perhaps we should go over it alone ?”
Grey ground his teeth. Not only did Stratmore not want Grey to pursue Madelaine, her father didn’t trust him.
“Lord Grey stays.” With that pronouncement, the king sat back, his face abstract in thought. Grey barely contained his triumphant smile.
After a few moments, the king focused on Grey. “The code we use to send strategic plans to our armies has been compromised. One of the French has figured the thing out. We know because the last mission your father undertook was sabotaged.”
Grey tried not to flinch at the news. To think his father could have been killed was bad enough, but Grey’s guilt for the way he’d treated his parents these many years caused a physical ache inside. He wanted to make things right as soon as possible.
The king sighed heavily. “Stratmore has created a new code which will ensure we will once again outsmart Napoleon. He’s here today to teach it to me. Forgive him, Lord Grey, he’s edgy, as always, and wants you to leave. But distrust of everyone is what makes Stratmore an excellent spy.”
“Thank you,” Stratmore murmured, looking more murderous than grateful.
“You’re entirely welcome,” the king said a bit too jovial. Something seemed off about the king’s demeanor today, but Grey couldn’t figure out what.
“Grey needs to stay,” the king continued. “He’ll have to learn the code as well.”
Stratmore nodded, and the king smacked his hands against his knees, his enthusiasm evident in his gesture. “Show me how it works, and then I’ll practice.”
Madelaine’s father unrolled the parchment and laid it on the table in front of them. Excitement quickened Grey’s pulse as he leaned forward. The king traced over the raised letters “ QOTM ” and “ AKUWMK ”. “What does it spell?”
“Might I suggest you decode it? I think perhaps it’s the best way to learn.”
The king nodded. “A very sound idea. Tell me how.”
“Well.” Stratmore sidled closer to the table.
“Each letter is represented by the sixth letter after it, created thus to stand for the Circle of Six. For example the ‘O—’” Stratmore tapped a finger against the paper “—would be decoded as an ‘I.’ The exception to the six letter rule is the capitol ‘G,’ which is always represented by the first letter of the alphabet, created thus to stand as symbolism of your Christian name ‘George’ who as our leader is always first.”
Digesting what he’d learned, Grey studied the letters to the first word. “ QOTM ” would actually be the word king. He had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out the answer like an eager child. But he was eager, by God. He’d not felt this excited about anything in his life.
Grey and Stratmore sat back at the same moment, their gazes locking.
Stratmore scowled at him before turning back to the king.
Deep in consideration, the king hunched over the scroll, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
The time it took for him to decode the word ticked by.
Grey’s patience strained along with each passing minute, the wait made worse by Stratmore strumming his fingers against the table and the wind howling against the castle windows.
Grey felt as if he were being stretched on a rack and at any minute he might snap.
Finally, the king looked up, his eyes disconcerting in their blackness.
Grey blinked. The king’s eye color seemed washed away by an endless, glassy darkness.
The king gazed sightlessly at Grey. A terrible feeling about the king and the whispers Grey had heard, but never credited, rose to almost choke off his air.
He shook it off, as he’d discarded many ill feelings.
He was the king’s man now, for better or worse, he’d protect and serve His Majesty until his death.
“I’ve got it,” the king’s voice lowered to a whisper as if there were someone in the room besides Grey and Stratmore who might hear.
“The first word is “king”. The king smiled a disturbingly wide smile which looked more like a jester’s comedic grin than a king’s.
The hairs on the back of Grey’s neck stood on end at the same time thunder boomed outside.
“Very good, Your Majesty.”
Grey scrutinized Stratmore. Was it his imagination or was the man talking to the king in a soothing tone?
“Can you decode the second word?”
The king’s brows pulled together in a deep furrow.
What took Grey less than a few seconds to decode took the king another long expanse of soundless, painful minutes.
Something was not right with His Majesty, and it wasn’t Grey’s imagination.
Lines of worry creased Stratmore’s forehead, and his gaze darted continuously from the king to Grey.
Damn him to hell if Madelaine’s father wasn’t assessing him to see if he’d figured out there was a problem with the king.
“The next word is my name.” The king’s voice held surprising asperity. Grey rubbed at the back of his neck to rid himself of the prickly sensation assaulting him.
Stratmore reached a hand toward the paper on the table. “Perhaps we should continue another day, Your Grace.”
The king slammed a hand down on top of Stratmore’s. Grey held still as stone, unsure what to do or say. “Don’t. Touch. The. Scroll.” Each word was a harsh, clipped command. “We’ll finish now.”
Stratmore slid his hand away from the paper.
Wise choice, considering the king fairly foamed at the mouth.
His wild gaze locked on Grey. Grey’s first instinct was to put distance between himself and his suddenly unpredictable sovereign, but that would be cowardly and unworthy of his station. “Your Majesty?”
With confusion apparent in his eyes, the king shook his head. “I feel a spell coming on. It’s muddling my thinking, but I’ll manage.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” A spell? The whispers were of sudden spells of madness. The prickling sensation was back, but now the tingling covered Grey’s entire body.
“Bring me the quill from my desk,” the king demanded.
Grey glanced at Stratmore who nodded agreement.
The outer chamber was deserted as the king had earlier commanded, yet a whisper of air moved through the room.
Had someone just been here? The king’s guards stood some ten feet away at the outside of the door.
They wouldn’t foolishly disobey the king and trespass where they’d been expressly told not to, yet the feeling someone was here, watching and listening enveloped Grey.
He glanced around him as he moved toward the king’s desk but noted nothing unusual.
The fire burned in the grate casting twisted shadows on the wall, but they were just shadows. Still, his heartbeat picked up speed.
Making quick work of it, he retrieved the quill and brought it to the king.
When he sat, he positioned himself so he could see into the outer chamber.
If someone was there he’d catch them. As the king worked, Grey stared, unmoving, into the other room and counted each noisy inhalation of Stratmore’s impatient breathing.
Finally, the king set his pen down and wiped a distracted hand across his brow.
“I’ve mastered it. I’m sure of it. Check my work, Stratmore. ”
Madelaine’s father hunched over the list silently, but after a minute a hiss of breath filled the room.
When he looked up, his protruding eyes worried Grey.
What the hell had the king written down to make Stratmore look ill?
A sheen of sweat covered Stratmore’s forehead.
The man pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his skin with a shaking hand.
“You do have it, Your Grace.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “But let’s destroy this immediately.”
“Not yet.” The king turned his glassy gaze on Grey. Grey’s fingers convulsed spasmodically against his leg. He didn’t like this strange situation, but he was good and trussed to his vow. “Decode what I’ve written. I’ll see that you can do it as well.”
At once, Grey scanned the first sentence the king had written.
An angel of the lord came to me with eyes like stars and clothed in fire. The angel revealed to me a plot of the most insidious nature. My appointed Administration is trying to overthrow me and must therefore all be executed .
Grey swallowed, but his mouth was too dry.
Now he knew what had taken the king so long.
Before he’d decoded what Stratmore had written, the king had written this message, his own message.
Despite himself, Grey glanced around the room.
No angels. The king was bloody mad. Or he had been for the minutes the spell had taken him.
Sweat broke out on Grey’s forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his sleeve.
Stratmore was right to want to destroy this immediately.
“Get on with it man,” the king barked.
Grey’s cheek ticked rapidly. He cleared his throat. “An angel of the lord—”
The king slammed his hand on the arm of his chair. “I’ve heard of your humor, Lord Grey. But I’m not amused. Read only what’s on the paper.”
Grey’s darted his gaze to Stratmore. The man looked like he was on the verge of a fit. His face was pasty and his eyes were bulging. Stratmore nodded. “Yes, Lord Grey. Simply do as your told.”
Grey lowered his voice, wary to read any of the contents aloud but aware if he didn’t comply, the king might very well lose his temper and read the translation in a voice loud enough to be overheard by someone besides Grey and Stratmore.
“Here,” Grey said, pointing to the first line after the mad accusations the king had written, “you’ve written that my father is to deliver a message to Nelson regarding the movement of Napoleon’s fleet across the Atlantic.
And each proceeding line regards a new mission and who is to carry it out. Except I’m not on this list.”
The king smiled. “Very good. I need to add you.”
A distinctive clanking noise came the outer chamber. Grey sprang out of his chair at the same moment Stratmore grabbed for the paper.
Behind him, the king exclaimed, but Grey didn’t pause to look back. Instead, he moved into the outer chamber. The chambermaid Constance leaned over the fire with a poker raised high in the air.
“Who let you in here?”
She whirled around and dropped the poker to the ground with a clatter. “The guard. It’s time to stoke the fire. The king requires it special every two hours, so he doesn’t take chill. The guard said I could enter as long as I was quiet and hurried.”
Grey curled his hands into fists. He’d bloody well kill the idiotic guard. The swollen redness of the wench’s lips and her half-unlaced bodice told Grey exactly why the guard had made such a foolish choice. “Get out.”
He held still as she scrambled out the door, but the minute she was gone he stormed out of the room and jerked the guard toward him. “If you ever disobey the king’s orders again I’ll see you hung before I eat my evening meal. Understood?”
“Yes, milord,” the young guard sputtered without questioning who Grey was or what authority he had over him.
Disgusted, Grey released the man and strode back toward the king’s room.
He paused at the voices of Stratmore and the king raised in argument inside the chamber.
No doubt Stratmore was arguing to destroy the paper immediately.
Grey was in hearty agreement, but the thought of disagreeing with the king did not sit well.
Still, if he was to protect the king, disagreement was necessary.
Decision made, he started toward the men, but the creak of a door behind him stopped his pursuit. He swung around prepared to bark out another order to stay out, but blinked in surprise at Gravenhurst’s drawn face. “Grey, come quick.”
A streak of fear went through him at his friend’s grave tone. “What is it?”
“It’s your sister. She’s ill.”
Grey glanced back toward the king. He needed to explain his sudden departure.
“I’ll explain to the king,” Gravenhurst said. “Go now. The physician says Lady Elizabeth doesn’t have long.”
The dire pronunciation knifed across his heart with more pain than any cut Gravenhurst had given him in training. Grey flew out of the king’s chambers without another word.