Page 6 of Rogue’s Holiday

The king glanced out the windows to the gardens, his mien thoughtful. Returning his regard to Robbie, he said, “I seem to recall that my father made your brother, Martin, a baronet for his service in France.”

“He did, Sire.”

“I can do better. What say you to becoming a viscount?”

“That is too generous, Sir. In truth, I do not see myself as a peer.” Robbie’s mother might be the daughter of a French comte, the equivalent of an English earl, but Robbie had no such ambitions. He had been a shipmaster and most recently a spy.

“All right. A baronet it shall be. You shall have the Red Hand of Ulster to wear on your broad chest, Sir Robert Powell.” The king rose and offered his hand. “Allow me to shake the hand of the man who may have spared England a revolution in the making.”

Robbie got to his feet and reached his hand to the king. “Your servant, as always.”

“It seems to me,” the king said with a look of devilish amusement, his plump cheeks reddening with delight, “that a respite from your duties is in order, and I have just the place. My Royal Pavilion in Brighton.” Before Robbie could reply, the king became enchanted with the idea. “Yes! You shall be my guest and stay in the private rooms, the summer long if you like, with my stables at your disposal. Will that do?”

“Quite,” said Robbie. “I am overwhelmed.”

The king smiled. “Shall you stay for some champagne or are you off somewhere?”

“I am meeting my uncle at Tattersall’s but a glass of champagne shared with my new sovereign would suit me well before I go.”

The king stepped to the nearest wall and pulled a cord. A servant immediately appeared at the door.

“Champagne for Sir Robert and myself!”

The servant bowed and left, returning shortly with a tray holding a bottle of the sparkling wine and two glasses. Once the wine had been poured, the king lifted his glass. “To a faithful agent of the Crown.”

Robbie accepted the toast and reciprocated. “To a most generous monarch. Long live the king!”

Prinny took a long drink of his wine. “I shall have your medal and the papers brought round to your house. My servants in Brighton will be advised to expect you and see you are properly welcomed. By the bye, what are you about at Tattersall’s?”

Happy to be discussing horseflesh, Robbie said, “I have a new curricle and I’m looking for a matched pair.”

“Oh, ho! I have just the ticket. Richard Tattersall paid me a call this very morning to advise he has a matched pair of grays he wants me to see. They shall be yours, Powell!”

“But, Sir, if he meant them for you…”

The king held up his hand. “I insist; and you shall have them at my expense.”

“That is most generous of you, Sir. I gladly accept.” The prince regent had a reputation for being magnanimous with his friends. Apparently he intended to continue in that spirit now that he was king. Robbie was certain any horses selected by Tattersall for the king would be ones he would desire himself.

Prinny went back to his desk and hastily scribbled a note he handed to Robbie. “Give this to Tattersall with my compliments. I think he said their names are Zeus and Apollo.” He flicked his fingers through the air. “Something Greek in any event. That should suit a young buck. Now, go and enjoy yourself. I shall soon join you in Brighton!”

Robbie bowed. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

The king’s eyes held the same sparkle Robbie had observed on prior occasions but he couldn’t help wondering if that sparkle would fade now that he officially had the full responsibility for the country. Though he moved with the grace of a much younger man and the curls of his short auburn wig were artfully arranged around his face, Prinny was no longer young. Wondering about the gay life his monarch had led caused Robbie to think of his own. He was tired of playing the spy, but how long could he play the rake?