Page 122 of The Duke's Mysterious Lover
“The difference,” said Princess Louise regally as she stepped up, “was thatyoudid it, young man.”
As Bull swallowed, Griffin murmured, “My son—or rather, my stepson, Your Highness. James Lindsay, but we all call him Bull.”
The Princess eyed the lad, whose chin was sunk to his chest. “You had the angle and the shot, so you took it,” she finally said, and when Bull slowly raised his eyes, she nodded firmly. “It is very likely you saved my life tonight, young Bull.”
There was something likewonderin the lad’s eyes when Her Royal Highness, the Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne held out her gloved hand.
In a daze, Bull took it and bowed over it with some of his usual flair. “An honor, Your Highness,” he murmured.
“I think,” the woman said in a rather mysterious way as Bull straightened, “I should like to remain in contact with you, young man. I believe I might have use for you in the fullness of time. My agents are far-ranging and the very best, and youhave proven to have a level head, steady aim, and an understanding of what needs to be done.”
Then, as if she hadn’t just admitted to running an organization like Blackrose’s—although this time, the agents could be certain theywereworking for the Crown—Princess Louise dropped Bull’s hand. The lad stared down at his palm in shock, as if unable to believe her words. Or perhaps her touch.
Either way, the princess had taken his mind off what he’d done tonight to save her and Kit.
Princess Louise turned to Thorne. “And thank you, my friend, for your part in organizing this. I know every man here—and some of the women—played a part in taking down this terror, but it is reassuring to know the threat has been eliminated for good.”
Without giving him time to do more than nod, she turned to Kit.
“And, Countess, may I express my awareness of the toll a parent’s death brings. I might not offer my condolences, but I wish you the best in your healing journey, as you move forward with arranging your new estate.”
Kit gaped. “My—Countess—Your Highness?”
“As your father’s legitimate daughter, you are his heir. Your new role as the Countess of Bonkinbone is, I imagine, rather different from what you have been maintaining thus far.” The slightly downward flick of her gaze took in Kit’s way of dress, then she glanced to Thorne before meeting the woman’s gaze once more. “I am certain you will find friends to help you navigate your next responsibilities.”
Kit’s hold on Thorne tightened. “But…Your Highness, I don’t knowhowto be a—a countess!”
Princess Louise smiled slightly as she watched the two of them clinging to one another. “Well, I suppose you could always acquire a grander title, and pass Bonkinbone on to your eldest son as a courtesy title.”
With that, she nodded regally, turned, and swept from the room, head held high in the manner of those certain of their power.
As they watched her leave, Kit pressed her cheek against Thorne’s shoulder. “Two of your guests of honor have disappeared.”
He started, then frowned down at her. “What?”
“The Princess and my father. Even if the rest of the guests didn’t see what happened, there will be gossip.”
“Och, darling, tonight will keep the gossip rags in business formonths. The Princess will use that folio Sophia turned over to make certain Blackrose’s dealings are not only brought to light, but his contacts and conspirators are hunted down.”
Rourke was nodding. “And we—all of us—will be exonerated. Not only legally, but morally as well. We…we’re free.”
Thorne knew he wasn’t the only one feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He’d taken the lead on springing this trap, but he wouldn’t have been able to do it without his friends.
No, hisfamily.
He glanced down at Kit. Hislover.
Somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred. Lover became friend, then family. His familywashis friends.
And he was lucky. So very lucky.
“I was just wondering,” Kit said quietly, “since my father is dead and the Princess has left, could we possibly sneak away…?”
The way her hand slid along his back, beneath his jacket, told Thorne what she had in mind. And as Griffin chuckled dryly, Thorne had to shake his head in disappointment. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we can get around it. We have to be here. I’ll no’ ask ye to play again, but as the host, I need to mitigate some of the gossip.”
“Or,” Rourke pointed out blandly, “at least point it in the right direction.”
Thorne glanced at his cousin. When Fawkes raised a brow, Thorne remembered their earlier conversation about controlling the narrative, especially when it came to Kit. When it came toprotectingKit.
