Even after what Reginald had relayed. Even after he knew she would not confide in him. She had not shared Reginald’s plans to enlist her to catch the Phantom, which told him everything he needed to know. Albion could not trust his wife.
And now she stood next to a gentleman scheduled to leave for Chamberly the next day.
That was too dangerous. He needed to warn Sir Edward. Which made it all the more imperative they read his message and stick to it.
He watched Diana laugh with Edward, playing a cruel game with himself. If she turned to look at him and smiled, he would tell her the secret as soon as they arrived home. He would share his fears and allow her to hold him and stroke his hair and his horns, plant kisses all over his face, and tell him it would be all right—that nothing could stop the two of them when they were together. Albion would show her everything that made him who he was, both the strengths and the weaknesses of which he was all too aware.
But she did not turn. Her focus remained entirely on Edward Langley, who behaved with perfectly chivalrous aplomb. He neither flirted nor betrayed any apprehension.
So be it. Albion had found the purpose for which he had always longed. He would not betray that purpose by giving in to his hopeless love for Daisy.
“What’s all this, Lord Albion? Haven’t the heart for the gaming tables any longer? Sorry to be so flush with my own good fortune, but one must enjoy fine spirits after such a damnably splendid run.”
The Prince Regent placed a hand on his shoulder before coming up alongside him. “And thank you, Albie,” he added in a lower voice.
There could be no better time than this. No matter what the future held for Diana and himself, he had his duties as the Phantom to which to attend. He had pledged his word to the Comtesse. The Langleys were counting on him. He put his heartbreak aside in the compartment of his mind where he stored all negative thoughts, for they would do nothing but hinder his efforts.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure none of the other gentlemen in the room were approaching. They seemed well occupied with their port and snuff boxes. He, too, lowered his voice so no one else could hear.
“An honor to assist, Prinny. Why, how fortunate that you chose this moment to speak to me. I was just contemplating our recent conversation.”
Prinny held his lapel in one hand, briefly resembling their old enemy Napoleon Bonaparte. “You clearly remembered the dialogue well. Again, I thank you for it.”
“Indeed. And you spoke of a favor.”
“Ah, yes. Helping your lady wife recover from all that trouble of the past season, if I recall. By accompanying the two of you to his lordship’s ball. I take it that went over well?”
“Very much so. Yet I confess I have another indulgence to ask of you.”
Prinny smiled, still puffed up on his winnings. “Name it.”
“I require safe passage to Chamberly.”
The Regent’s smile and hand dropped simultaneously. “Are you mad? Why would you want to go there?” He narrowed his eyes as though he might ascertain the reason via mind reading, like a fortune teller at a carnival.
Albion had realized that asking for this courtesy might betray his identity as the Phantom. He hoped the persona he had spent the last months constructing would shield him from it, but a small dose of the truth behind his planned voyage could also protect him.
“I’ve a blasted fine opportunity, you see,” he said, slurring his words slightly as though he had drank too much port wine at the card table. “Now, let me see if I got it right. Dunc said something about a newspaper article. Yes! That’s the very thing. He wants me to visit my sister-in-law and the good Sisters of Benevolence. Show the orcs of the Hidden Realm what’s what in that land, you see.”
Prinny remained silent for a moment.
“Albie,” he said at last. “You can tell me.”
Albion felt suddenly sick, right in the pit of his stomach, but he forged on. “Tell you what, precisely?”
“Your brother. His Grace. The Duke of Barrington.” His voice lowered now to a whisper. “He is the Benevolent Phantom?”
The sick sensation spread, but Albion would not drop the charade. Not now. He let out a high laugh. “Dunc? Now, I daresayyouare mad, Prinny.”
That was the worst possible thing he could have said. It had come out before he’d had a chance to think better of it.Mad.Like poor King George. The Prince Regent might use that word in relation to others, but no one dared to say it about him.
His Royal Highness had never before been anything but charming in Albion’s presence. Now, his entire demeanor changed. The militaristic attire seemed to suit him better. He stood taller. And for all that they might have been chums before, Albion recognized that one did not toy with the English Crown. Even the Hidden Realm had never done so.
“I have granted your favor, Lord Albion,” the Regent said stiffly. “I do not think another is required of me.”
As the Regent retreated to take a pinch of snuff with the other men in the gaming room, Albion released a long breath.What a fool you are, stringling. Have you any mind in that lanky body, or are you pure bean pole?
The old taunts. The shame of it all. The shame of not choosing the honorable path.
