“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Good. Have you heard any whispers at Court about the king?”
Despite knowing they were alone, she scanned the shadows and dark corners. “I’ve heard he has dark spells where he forgets himself, who he is. Some say he’s going mad. Just gossip.”
Her father curled his fingers tighter around her chin.
She jerked away. “You hurt me,” she accused, rubbing at her skin.
“I’m sorry.” He gripped the bars. “It’s not gossip. The kingisgoing mad.”
“You’ve seen it?” She couldn’t repress the shiver that raced across her skin.
“Several times. The paper the king accused me of stealing was one where not only did he write that an angel came to him and told him he needed to execute his cabinet because they’re trying to overthrow him, but he also wrote things he planned for the army to do against Napoleon. If that paper ever fell into the wrong hands it could be England’s downfall. England’s enemies are constantly sending people into our midst to steal our secrets. The king is sick. He’s a danger to England. I stole his paper when he refused to burn it. I knew then someone had to stop him, and none of the other fools who surround him are willing to risk his wrath.”
“You risk your life.”
“Yes, I do. For England, I risk it all.”
Reluctant relief filled her. He’d done what he had because he wanted to protect England. He wanted only to help the king.
“Maddie, with the king’s madness he wrote about angels and executions; that paper is the proof the prince needs to become regent. Once the king is proven a danger to England, they’ll have to let the prince rule. Get the paper and take it to the prince. I would have done it right away, but the prince was abroad. He’ll recognize the king’s writing and know that his father cannot be trusted with England’s secrets. The prince should be back from his travels any day. Give it to him. Only to him. Do you understand?”
She frowned. “I do, but is he so mad then? Are you and the prince not trying to put him off his throne?”
Her father rattled the bar. “To protect him. To protect England. Will you help me?”
Her heartbeat strummed in her ears. “Why did you say earlier to trust no one? Surely—”
The pounding of footsteps cut off her question. She jerked toward the stairs. Light flooded the entrance to the small room.Too late.It was too late to flee. She scanned the small room. On shaking legs, she raced over to the dark corner and ran her hands over the cold stone. There was no space wide enough to wedge herself in. Hysteria made her heart thump painfully and her skin tingle as if needles stuck her at once all over.
Light illuminated the shadowy room and obscured the face of the man holding the torch. Digging her nails into the stone and pressing herself as flat as she could, she held her breath. Maybe the guard wouldn’t notice her in the corner. She’d been lucky not to stutter earlier when lying. She’d never been lucky twice. Her father babbled words at the man, but fear made it impossible for Madelaine to concentrate.
For one breathless second, hope filled her. The guard had been easy to dupe into thinking she was a whore who offered herself to him for coin. Maybe her father could get him to leave. The torch lowered, and her hope disappeared. Grey’s older brother Lord Ashford stared at her with cold eyes. His lips thinned as he advanced toward her. Her heart hammered to a deafening roar and without consideration, she raised her dagger and flung it at him.
He jerked to the left, but not fast enough. Her dagger stuck in his left shoulder. With a roar, he bent his head to rip out the dagger. She sprang for the stairs. He caught her on the fifth step, jerked her hard against his chest and locked his arm around her waist. He hefted her off the ground. She flailed, her feet dangling in front of her.
Above her, the pounding of frantic footsteps on stone rushed toward them. She refused to give up. Rearing her head back, she connected with Lord Ashford’s nose. A sickening crunch followed. He dropped her and she scrambled on the slimy steps.
Could she reach the next level before Lord Ashford caught her? She had to find a way out. The light came toward her quicker than her trembling legs would go. Five seconds until she was captured maybe.
The light robbed her of the ability to see. Blinded, she reached forward, when hands grasped her. Terror seized her voice.
“I’ve got you,” Grey whispered as he flung her over his broad shoulder. “Where do you need to go? How can I help?”
“My home,” she mumbled, wilting against him, too exhausted to explain and too desperate to refuse.
Grey held Madelaine tightly against him as he drove them deep into the woods. Doubt tore through him, making him numb. Was she traitor or victim? A picture of her frantic face illuminated by the eerie glow of the torches in the tower filled his head. She was running, that much was for certain. But from what? Was she running to save her own life because she was guilty of treason or was she running because she was innocent and her father had told her to go? Grey refused to believe she was guilty. Not yet. Running didn’t prove culpability.
“Stop at once,” she demanded, the back of her head coming away from its resting position on his chest and her bottom scooting forward in the saddle to put a slight distance between their bodies.
He pulled up on Cypress’s reins until the horse came to a panting halt. Grey prayed his brother was not right. He jumped down then helped Madelaine from the saddle. One look at her, with her hair tumbling invitingly over her shoulders and across her ample bosom, stirred his groin. God, he was warped for his lust to awaken at a time like this. But her dress was revealing and inviting and—Why the hell was she dressed like that? Jealously and anger stirred.
“Do you care to explain the dress?” He wrapped his hands around her waist while trying to tear his eyes from her creamy breasts.
Her slow slide down the length of his body did nothing to dampen his raging desire. Her feet hit the ground and she stepped away from him, her rounded eyes meeting his. “After rescuing me from trying to escape your brother do you really want me to explain my attire? Surely there are other more pressing questions on your mind.”
There were a thousand more relevant questions, but he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers or if he got answers would they be honest? “Were you trying to free your father?”
