A Royal Masquerade. Arlene James
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I would never stay with her. When I ended it, I knew that the only woman I would ever again want was waiting for me at home.”
Sara chuckled tearfully. “You pursued me—courted me, really—after eight years of marriage. I didn’t care why. Then.”
“I won’t ask you to forgive me,” Victor said stiffly, “only to support my efforts in this. Whatever I’ve done, the girl is innocent.”
For a long moment, Sara Thorton said nothing, merely stared sadly at her husband, but then she lifted her hand to her face and skimmed away her tears. “Roland came after that reconciliation. You’ve given me two wonderful sons, one out of duty and one out of love. But I always wanted a daughter, and you gave her to another woman.”
Victor pursed his lips, obviously fighting his own emotions. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said finally. “I wanted to spare you this knowledge. I wanted to spare us both this moment. I never knew about the child, but if she’s mine, and it seems that she is, I must find her.”
“It could still be an elaborate hoax,” Grayson pointed out, his even tone not quite hiding his discomfort at witnessing such a personal exchange. “The girl may not be a Thorton at all. We have to find out what has become of this Maribelle and whether or not she even has a daughter.”
Sara briskly dried her eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re right, of course, Mr. Grayson. That should be our first step.”
Roland glanced down at the photo that he had taken from his brother’s hand. His gut told him that this was no hoax, but they had to be sure. Meanwhile, they had to consider what to do next. The trouble was that his own mind was whirling. You gave me two wonderful sons, one out of duty and one out of love. Roland couldn’t help wondering if his brother had picked up on that statement. Personally, he was having a little trouble thinking of himself as the love child in the equation.
“Could I see that, please, Roland?”
The sound of his mother’s voice brought his gaze up from the face in the photo. He slid a look at his father, not really contemplating withholding the snapshot but wanting the duke’s full acquiescence anyway. Victor walked across the room, his hand held out for the photograph. Roland slid the snapshot into his father’s hand and waited with Raphael to take in his mother’s response. Victor delivered the photo gently and stood awaiting his wife’s reaction. Sara cupped the likeness in her hand and studied it for a long while.
“She’s very beautiful,” the duchess said at last, “and every inch a Thorton.” She looked up at the assembled group and asked, “Who could do this, kidnap an innocent young woman and hold her for ransom?”
The atmosphere in the room changed somehow, coalesced with a fresh, strong sense of purpose. They were banded together as a family in that moment, united in support of their own, as they never had been before. His mother might not have forgiven her husband’s long-ago infidelity, but she had accepted his secret daughter as one of the family. Roland felt an almost overwhelming sense of pride. Victor clasped both hands behind his back and lifted his chin regally.
“Enemies are the price of ruling,” he said. “We are not without ours.”
Grayson shrugged. “I would categorize most as rivals, rather than true enemies.”
“Rivals and enemies,” Victor mused, eyes narrowing. “Charles Montague.” He turned his head to impale his youngest son with a sharp gaze. “The shipping contract. You met privately with the Deputy Minister this morning. The ransom note had already been delivered.”
Roland nodded, thinking it through. “The note doesn’t mention money, only that you are to follow instructions. It could be that, not knowing the matter is already resolved, Charles Montague means to force you to withdraw your bid. But why? He’s never gone to such lengths before.”
Victor shook his head. “I was so sure Raphael’s marriage to Elizabeth would weigh in our favor.” He looked up suddenly. “And who is to say that Montague wouldn’t assume the same? It’s reasonable that a son-in-law’s interests would supercede diplomatic ones in this case. Montague might have assumed that he needed an upper hand in the negotiations. He could have discovered the girl accidentally and had her kidnapped in an effort to force us to back out of negotiations.”
Raphael shook his head. “The contract’s just not that important.”
“Isn’t it?” Victor demanded. “Just what is honor worth in this world then?”
Roland didn’t agree that the shipping contract was a matter of honor, but he saw no reason to argue the point. What mattered was that Charles Montague seemed to think the same way that Victor did about the issue. Roland stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. It’s possible. After all, no one expected the decision to be made so quickly, and the Deputy Minister did preface all his remarks with the statement that King Phillip wanted to inform us of his decision first out of familial consideration.”
Rafe nodded, conceding the point. “That makes sense. Montague still might not know that Phillip has made his decision.”
“The note was delivered before last night’s celebrations,” Grayson pointed out. “The Wyndhams’ social secretary discovered it and gave it directly to the Grand Duke.”
“Montague couldn’t have known that he’d won the contract then,” Roland said.
“My marriage to Elizabeth might have led him to believe that Thortonburg had the edge and pushed him into action,” Rafe mused.
“It must be Montague!” Victor exclaimed, launching to his feet.
“It does bear investigating,” Grayson said carefully, “but we have to play this one close to the vest. The fewer who know what is going on the better.”
Suddenly Roland knew exactly who could accomplish the task of investigating the Montagues. He had played his role in the Thortonburg ruling family in relative obscurity. Never the heir, he was ignored by most in the upper echelons of government. He’d made sure to keep himself out of the papers and off the news. Moreover, the enmity between the Montagues and the Thortons had insured that a certain distance was kept by the families.
“We need someone inside Roxbury,” Grayson continued, “someone who can get close to the Montagues, someone utterly trustworthy who knows what he’s about and can make himself invisible.”
Victor nodded and asked of Grayson, “Do you have anyone in mind?”
Lance Grayson looked to Roland, saying, “Not exactly, but I think your son might.”
Victor looked at Roland in surprise. “Who?”
Roland, coldly purposeful, kept his smile tight and said, “Me.”
For an instant, just an instant, he expected praise to fall from his father’s lips, but in the end Victor reverted to type and snapped, “Don’t be absurd. A son of the royal house of Thortonburg?”
“Now, wait a minute,” Rafe said, raising his voice slightly. “Who could be more trustworthy?”
“And Roland has kept a low profile,” Grayson pointed out.
“The only Montague who’s ever laid eyes on me, except at a very great distance, is Damon, and the last time was years ago.”
“But the Thortons are very distinctive, dear,” Sara pointed out.
“In ceremonial dress, yes, but in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat, no one in Roxbury will know me from Adam.”
“You expect to just walk right into the manor and start asking questions?” Victor demanded.
Roland bit back an irate retort. He’d learned long ago that he got farther with his autocratic parent if he applied cold logic. “I expect to find a job somewhere on the place, possibly the stables. I’ve no doubt the Montagues have as much difficulty finding good help in that area as we do.”
Victor gave him a blank