Her Every Pleasure Part 22

Alexa stared, unsure if she was crying.

At length, Sophia lifted her head and brushed away a tear in her determined way, then stood, and went back calmly to retrieve her gla.s.s of red wine from where she had left it. Her face was pale as she pa.s.sed by Alexa's hiding place, her eyes a little red.

Alexa furrowed her brow. She was dying to go back in properly and ask her mistress some leading questions that might reveal what the colonel had been whispering to her.

But, of course, mentioning it at all would only help Sophia realize that she had been spying on her carefully for quite some time, just as she had been this morning when Colonel Knight had shown Her Highness the clandestine tunnel.

Alexa couldn't allow her royal Mistress to discover the truth. After all, Sophia's trust was the only thing standing between her and the secret, ever-present threat of the Tunisian's knife.

She shuddered with ice in her veins at the memory of that curved dagger with its evil etchings. She had been treated to a very close look at the weapon the day they had abducted her off Bond Street, where she had ambled off to buy some frippery.

The onyx-eyed Tunisian had said he would rip her throat out if she did not do exactly as they said, and she believed him. Indeed, if there had been any doubt in her mind that they meant business, they had removed it on the night of the attack.

Those moments in the coach had been so horrible, knowing it was coming, wanting desperately to warn Leon, but too cowardly to give any sign of the trap ahead.

What else could she do? It wasn't as though she could turn to the pack of bodyguards to save her. She'd had them all, crude fools, and if they wanted her, how smart could they really be?

No, Alexa had already accepted defeat. The Order of the Scorpion had promised not to hurt Sophia-and had likewise promised to cut off her head if she did not cooperate.

So, she'd hand Sophia over, keep her blond head safely atop her shoulders where it belonged, and then she would finally be free of it all, free of this palaceprison life with all of its bowing and sc.r.a.ping. Free of the curse of living in Sophia's shadow. And free, most important, of all the bad choices she had made. Soon she would have her chance to start over again with a clean slate, become someone new...

She just had to get through this nightmare first, and keep on staying calm and playing stupid, just for a little while longer.

It would all be over in a fortnight.

CHAPTER.

TWELVE.

P utting aside the confusion of her growing feelings for Gabriel, and her embarra.s.sment over her misguided effort to attract his notice with her skimpy negligee-in hindsight, a very silly-headed notion, to be sure-his warning of a possible traitor among her bodyguards had touched a raw nerve in Sophia. Especially after growing up in a palace setting, doubtful of everyone's sincerity. With her own kin lost to her, the people in her entourage had become like family to her over the years, and for him to say that one of them might have betrayed her was a devastating proposition.

While her logical mind could easily grasp there was a chance he could be right, her heart refused to accept it. 'You don't know what you are talking about,' she had insisted.

He hadn't liked that accusation one bit.

Pure panic had made her lash out at him, for he just kept pus.h.i.+ng to persuade her of something that was too horrible to contemplate.

Which of her dear bodyguards would ever want her dead? They were like brothers to her.

The more she told Gabriel she was sure her people were loyal, the more he kept on saying that something just didn't add up; she could also see that at least that much was true, but in the meantime, his air of certainty terrified her. She had ordered him out of her room, and things had been tense between them ever since.

She had not meant to "shoot the messenger," as the saying went-she knew her head of security was only doing his job, and that his sole motive in saying such dreadful things all stemmed from his desire to protect her. But he just had to be wrong about this. She could not bear for it to be true, not after all that she and her close-knit band of Greeks had been through together. Not when a traitor among them would have cost Leon his life.

It was all just more than she could deal with as the night of the Grecian Gala drew near. She had four hundred very important guests on their way to see her, and they expected her to be charming.

She had to have her head on straight. This was her golden opportunity to drum up support for her country's empty coffers so they could rebuild. It was too important an occasion for her to face it in an upset and distracted state.

Out of necessity, she a.s.sumed more of an emotional distance from Gabriel and let him go about his business while she concentrated on finis.h.i.+ng her preparations for the ball.

In between memorizing the small welcome speech she would give to all her guests, as well as her toast to her royal host of the evening, the Prince Regent, she had the final fitting for her white gown, made sure her diamonds had been cleaned, handled last-minute crises from the kitchens over the menu, and oversaw the lavish decorations for the night, as well as the many, varied entertainments.

Above all, she took special care to make sure that everything was set up to discreetly receive her rich guests' donations to the people of Kavros. This money-begging mission stung her pride, but that was the point of all this effort, anyway.

She reviewed the orchestra's selection of music and made sure the dance floor had not been polished with too much beeswax to the point of becoming slippery. Lastly, she called a final meeting of the staff so that everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing at all times, and when a few of the servants complained about the costumes, she rea.s.sured them that it would be fun.

While the whole castle made its final preparations for the grand affair, Gabriel poured his energies into drilling the squad of Greek bodyguards mercilessly with all his new procedures.

There was more to his ruthlessness than polis.h.i.+ng their performance, however. He was purposely driving them to the edge of their endurance to find out who might crack, which one might show signs of weakness.

He had told Sophia he preferred not to use them at all the night of the gala, replacing them with British soldiers instead, but she refused to let him cut them out, for in her view, they would be humiliated.

Gabriel realized that the slight would indeed alert the Greeks that they were under suspicion, so he conceded with a shrug, still irked by Sophia's refusal to heed his doubts about the men. d.a.m.n it, he was only trying to protect her. The stubborn royal's insistence on having her old friends around her that night meant that Gabriel could do naught but design a second layer of security ringing the royal target and her retinue of bodyguards.

He did not communicate his suspicions of the Greek men to the dozen British soldiers he borrowed from the garrison, but the latter would be in position to watch the bodyguards and the princess.

At last, the long-awaited night arrived.

Gabriel, in full dress uniform, was patrolling the grand, gilded ballroom that Griff had led him through on that first day of his arrival.

On that sunny afternoon, the ballroom had been empty, its vast parquet floors agleam, but tonight, it was thronged with important guests, and full of noise-chattering voices and the clink of gla.s.ses and dessert plates, all vying with the robust rhythms of the Greek music especially procured for the occasion.

Strolling on through the sumptuous staterooms of the castle's main floor, he observed all with tense watchfulness, checking in with his men in each room, making sure there was no sign of trouble.

All was running smoothly.

The rococo reception rooms within the stark medieval castle had been dressed up to resemble a scene taken from some h.e.l.lenistic vase, a frolicking day in the life of Cla.s.sical Antiquity.

The columns everywhere were decorated with vines. Tall, burning braziers reminiscent of ancient Greece warded off the autumn chill for all the poor servants who had been made to don white togas for the occasion, both males and females, with leafy wreaths around their heads. A dozen jolly Bacchuses and young Ganymedes kept the wine flowing.

Footmen in charge of directing the guests toward the various entertainments wore large, eerie, expressionless masks painted gold, like those of the ancient Greek theater, long togas flowing over their bodies like so many wandering Aristotles.

In one room, Gabriel saw the portly Regent laughing at the display of Olympian sports in the center of the large, stately chamber. Lady Alexa had also claimed a front-row seat and was watching the greased male wrestlers throw each other around for the entertainment of the highborn.

How very risque, Gabriel thought dryly, but when it came to exalting the world of Cla.s.sical Antiquity, it seemed Sophia, that Machiavellian royal, had read the ton right. It seemed the historical precedent allowed even Society's strictest matrons to overlook all sorts of immodesty this night that would normally have been forbidden. Ancient Greece and Rome were the mighty models, after all, that the Regent's England aspired to.

The English aristocracy built its homes in the columned style of the Parthenon, loaded its statuary halls with h.e.l.lenistic nudes of gleaming alabaster, painted its ceilings with Greco-Roman G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses and their adventures, and adorned its great English gardens with Greek temple follies. Every uppercla.s.s schoolboy learned Greek and Latin and, from an early age, had their heads filled with Homer's heroes and Plato's dialogues.

No wonder the ton was enchanted with her, he mused as he sauntered on, watching everything. A real, live, Greek princess, fighting for one of the last free slivers of that land that had hatched the democratic ideals the civilized world now cherished.

If only he had not upset her so badly; hurting her hadn't been his intention. He had tried to be as gentle about his suspicions as he possibly could, but he had not realized how fragile his brash little knife-girl would actually be on this point.

His heart wrenched every time he thought of the look on her face when he told her that he suspected a traitor. He wished he had kept his mouth shut until he had gathered proof.

He had checked Leon's writings, also, but had found nothing useful. Maybe he was wrong about this. Maybe he was just being overly paranoid.

Maybe his deepening feelings for her were truly starting to cloud his better judgment, just as he had feared they would.

Restlessly, Gabriel moved on.

The next chamber was only dimly lit; a cloud of wafting steam surrounded a matronly actress representing the Delphic Oracle. She had a huge live snake draped across her shoulders and was telling the guests' fortunes, if they desired. Gabriel eyed her audience warily, then continued.

The final room he walked through before returning to the ballroom was devoted to gambling. The proceeds of the night's gaming bank would go to the people of Kavros.

His men posted in the card room confirmed that all was well. Gabriel nodded. Sweeping the glittering saloon with a vigilant gaze, he suddenly spotted a fourman whist table near the back of the room that had filled up with his highborn cousins and family friends: the twins, Lucien and Damien Knight; their brother-in-law, William, Lord Rackford; and Devlin, Lord Strathmore, the husband of their sister's best friend, practically a family member.

They grinned when they saw him and welcomed him heartily as he went over to greet them.

"There he is! The great protector!"

"Winter in sunny Greece, indeed! You poor fellow. That is some hard duty."

"And to be plagued with the company of such an enchanting young woman all the while."

"It's harder than you can possibly imagine," Gabriel a.s.sured them.

His sardonic tone roused a laugh from his ex-spy cousin, Lord Lucien Knight. "In more ways than one, no doubt."

Gabriel ignored the rogue's sly riposte. He was grateful that his brother-in-law had made sure to invite the whole Knight clan. One of the first families of the realm, they were not out of place in such exalted company.

Besides, Griff had known how much it would mean to Georgiana to let Gabriel see all his cousins once more before he sailed off to Greece for who knew how long.

He gestured casually toward their game. "The mirror men aren't paired?"

"No, the twins are not allowed to be partnered at cards," Rackford informed him matter-of-factly. "Uncanny. They can read each other's minds."

"It wouldn't be sporting," Damien, the elder twin, agreed. As a highly decorated officer who had served in the Peninsula, Damien was a favorite with Gabriel.

Gabriel clapped his fellow warrior on the shoulder. "Set your bids high, gentlemen. The people of Kavros need roads and bridges and everything, I am told."

"We will play as deep as our wives will let us," Lucien drawled with a glance at his cards.

"Just keep Alec out of here," Strathmore mumbled. "No more gambling for him."

"Ah, no worries. He hasn't had a relapse since he quit," Lucien defended his youngest brother, Lord Alec Knight.

"Not when he knows his lady would banish him from her boudoir if he ever even looked at the dice again," Rackford murmured with a wry half smile.

"Where is our favorite rakeh.e.l.l, anyway?"

"There he goes!" Lucien pointed toward the doorway.

"Where?" Rackford turned around.

"You just missed him." Lucien looked down at his cards. "I'm afraid he has stolen the Sun G.o.d's chariot."

"Figures."

"Hate to tell you this, but our wives were riding in the back of the contraption."

"He is such a bad influence on them!" Damien exclaimed, turning around to look.

Strathmore scowled. "Lizzie wasn't with him, was she?"

"Relax, old boy. She's been over him for ages."

Gabriel laughed at their constant repartee. "Well, gentlemen, enjoy yourselves. Good luck to all of you. I must keep on with my duties."

"Maybe we'll come and visit you if you're still in Greece after Christmas," Strathmore said. "I haven't been traveling in ages, though G.o.d knows it was my pa.s.sion in the past. Besides, my dear bluestocking tells me she would give anything to spend a whole month studying the ruins."

"Better wait until things calm down a bit," Gabriel warned. "Rather wild and woolly at the moment, I'm told. Next year might be a safer bet."

"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 makes.h.i.+ft 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 G.o.d 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 pet.i.te 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, d.u.c.h.ess 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 pa.s.sing 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 s.h.i.+pping 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 s.h.i.+pping 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.