“Whatever you require.”
In spite of all his father had set into motion with his actions, Marcus couldn’t help but believe some good had come of it by bringing the siblings closer. “I was to secrete the Queen out through a hidden passageway that connects with her chambers and see her safely returned to Balmoral. But I dare not risk leaving Esme to face whatever blackguard might be intending to take advantage of Victoria’s presence here tonight. I’ll escort the Queen down the passageway, but I want you waiting at its entrance to take her to Balmoral. I have some weapons in my bedchamber you can use so you won’t be unarmed and Brown will be there with you.” By the time Esme learned he’d altered their strategy, it would be too late for her to argue about it. She’d be forced to accept his appearance at her side.
“I brought my own weapons.”
He shifted his gaze from those milling about the Queen and Esme, who was standing casually nearby, her eyes like those of a hawk. She was discreetly keeping watch. He arched a brow at Griff, who merely shrugged.
“Since we roamed the darker corners of London together, I always keep weapons at the ready. Never know when someone might come for us, and I’ll be damned if they’ll touch a hair on Kathryn’s head.”
“Are some on your person now?”
“Yes. You?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you think there will ever come a time when we don’t expect the worst?”
He turned his attention back to where Esme stood, somehow managing not to draw attention to herself as she assessed those visiting with the Queen. When he was with her, he didn’t expect the worst, even if it was hovering nearby. She made him feel that they had the power to conquer it, defeat it. Even now, with the unexpected arrival of the actual Victoria, he believed that if someone made a play to assassinate the queen, the action would result in failure. Esme wouldn’t accept any other outcome.
He wanted a lifetime of sharing picnics with her, myriad opportunities to hold her in his arms, a thousand waltzes across parquet floors, and endless strolls through heather-coated fields. He wanted her smiles, her laughter, and her passion. If honor was restored to his family name, would it be enough to keep her at his side? He’d considered himself nothing without a name to be proud of because presently the name marked him as his father’s son and branded him the offspring of a traitor. But if he could break free of the shackles that chained him to the past and kept him anchored to his father’s actions, could he have a future with Esme?
Victoria suddenly stood and Brown held outhis hand to her. Together they made their way to the center of the dance floor as people backed away to its edge to give them room. She signaled to the orchestra and the lilting strains of a waltz filled the air.
“I just won twenty quid,” Griff said.
Marcus grinned. Of course his brother would have made a wager. His tendency to gamble had provided him with the means to establish his club. A few people began to join the couple on the dance floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take advantage of this moment to dance with Esme.” He was relatively certain she’d want to be in close proximity to Victoria.
“By all means. Think I’ll do the same with my wife.”
Esme must have been anticipating his move because she met him halfway and glided smoothly into his arms. Following her lead, he swept her into the circle of dancers.
“Did you hear anything of note?” she asked.
“Mostly wagers being made. You?”
“Nothing of any significance.”
“What if they’re not here, the others who wished her harm?”
She smiled softly. “Then I had the opportunity to waltz with you.”
As much as it pleased him that she should feel that way, he was hit with other concerns. “I’m serious, Esme. Where would we go from here?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was only your fatherand there’s naught to the other rumors floating about. Or it doesn’t involve the nobility. I truly don’t know, Marcus.”
He’d no doubt be branded a traitor if anyone at all could read his present thoughts because he was praying that someone tonight would in fact try to kill the Queen.
Chapter 24
Because one did not yell at royalty, Esme was keeping her tongue in check and would not grant it freedom anytime soon, although she was rather put out that Victoria had not gone along with their plans to the letter. The whole point of strategizing was to avoid being taken by surprise, and it certainly didn’t help matters when the one she was charged with protecting placed herself in peril.
It was nearing midnight before the Queen and her entourage bid good night to everyone and made their way to the wing that had been set aside to accommodate them. As a result, Esme was now ensconced in a dimly lit hidden passageway, her ear pressed up against a concealed door so she could hear the scurrying about happening in Victoria’s bedchamber as her servants—who had been welcomed via the servants’ entrance and been waiting to be called upon—prepared her forbed and made her comfortable. To increase the chances of this endeavor working, it was imperative that no one in the entourage or among her servants know that she would be secreted away. Her ladies-in-waiting were wives or daughters of noblemen, and it could be possible one of them was involved in the plot. After all, it would be beneficial to have someone who was complicit working on the inside to provide information regarding the Queen’s comings and goings.
Marcus was at her back, his hand resting against the curve of her waist. She wasn’t quite certain he was aware of how often he touched her. The way his hand always found its way to her seemed so natural and unaffected, as though she was the moon and he the tide. She rather liked the artlessness of it, the unconscious need he had to connect with her.
She became keenly aware of the quietness emanating from the other side. “The others have left,” she whispered before pressing on the latch that swung open the hidden panel. She’d barely stepped into the room before dropping into a deep curtsy at the sight of the small woman, wearing her nightdress and wrap, standing beside the bed. “Your Majesty.”
“Is that pique I hear in your tone, Esme?”
