Page 59 of What A Rogue Wants
At the river, he helped her into the boat Edward had arranged to take them to the tower. The boat rocked gently as he led her to the bow. They sat, and he pulled her to his side, and slid his arm around her upper back to rest his hand on the gentle, sloping curve of her shoulder. The boatman was one of their paid employees, yet Edward had warned Grey to take no chances with anyone overhearing anything.
As the boat started to swish through the water, Grey took her hand in his, compelled to offer what comfort he could. Since he was supposed to be gaining her trust, he told himself his intimacy was acceptable, though he was aware of just how much he enjoyed touching her, no matter the reason. She turned her face, so that in the light of the lantern he saw she’d not relaxed in the slightest, not that he blamed her.
“Your father is being held under suspicion of treason and murder.” He kept his tone low.
She jerked under his arm, but to his surprise, she didn’t cry out or jump to her feet in outrage. Her eyes narrowed, her only show of anger. “Tell me.” Her voice emotionless and steely like he’d expect from a man. Then again, given what he knew about her, he should have guessed she’d react with the same calm calculation it took to shoot a target perfectly.
In a low voice, Grey told her of the missing paper of the king’s, but not what was on it. He then told her of Pearson being killed, but avoided the specifics of what indicated her father had a hand in it. He tensed, expecting her to demand the particulars; she did not.
“Why are you here?” Her face was fierce and expectant. Her question caught him off guard, though he’d rehearsed what he would say if she did ask it. “What role could an equerry possibly play in the politics of the king?”
“My role is one of support for you.”
“That’s no answer.” She tugged her hand out of his grasp.
He sighed inwardly. He’d hoped to avoid too many lies, but she left him little choice. “I’ve the ear of the king as my father’s son, and my brother more so than I, as the new Duke of Ashford. The king will listen to my brother’s council on this matter.”
“And what will your brother advise the king? Will he tell him my father is innocent, because surely he is?” Passion laced her words, her eyes burned bright and her face flushed.
Grey chose his words carefully before answering. “What my brother says depends on you.”
“On me?” Her brow furrowed.
“Yes. Edward has asked that you speak with your father. He thinks Stratmore will tell you of his guilt or innocence. Edward already spoke with him at the king’s bequest but he feels your father is holding something back.”
Her mouth turned down. “But why would the king involve your brother? Why does the king not speak to my father himself?”
“He’s recovering from an illness at Kew, and as I told you, Edward is now the Duke of Ashford, a powerful landholder and one of the wealthiest men in England. The king always seeks the council of his wealthiest landholders, as they have almost as much at stake at keeping the peace in England as the king does.”
“Your brother can’t think my father would steal from His Majesty. My father loves the king! They’re lifelong friends. Father has served His Majesty well all my life.” Her voice had risen as her words picked up tempo. Grey gripped her hand to remind her to keep her voice low.
“I’m sorry.” When she wiped an errant tear running down her cheek, his heart constricted in sympathy. “And murder…” She shuddered, her words trailing off. “He’ll be hung if he’s found guilty. Grey please—” She rested her other hand on top of his while she searched his eyes. “You must help me prove my father’s innocence.”
Sour bile rose in the back of his throat for his deception, however necessary for her protection. “Of course I’ll help you. Whatever you need me to do, I will.”
If his prayers were answered, she would need no help from him because her father would somehow be proven innocent, though Grey could not see how.
Madelaine tried to control her trembling as the boat passed through the entrance of Traitor’s Gate, but a quiver ran through her despite her best efforts. Her mind scrambled frantically over what she had just learned. How could it have come to be that her father was being held on suspicion of murder and treason?
Her throat clenched with the need to cry out. Her poor, poor father. How angry and worried he must be! At the very least, if word of this got out, his good name would be tarnished, and at the worst—She turned her thoughts away from the possibility, unable to face such a thing. She’d not lose her father, and she’d somehow help him set this all to rights.
Anger made her shaking commence again. Grey squeezed her hand. She was incredibly grateful to have him at her side and to know he would do everything in his power to help her prove her father’s innocence. She hadn’t been sure what response to expect from Grey since he’d acted so oddly in his sister’s room.
As the boat neared the dock, the boatman jumped up to grab the rope being thrown to him and pull the boat to dock. Grey helped her from the boat, but even when her feet were on solid ground, she still felt as if she were swaying so that when she took a step, she tilted. Grey’s hand came around her waist while he kept a firm grip on her other hand. “Come,” he said in a gentle tone. “Your father is this way.”
She hadn’t known what to expect inside the tower, so when they first entered and passed by the guards and into brightly lit halls that appeared rather clean for a prison, she sagged in relief against Grey. Thank God her father was not being kept in squalor. “Are the prisoners’ rooms on this floor?”
“Some.” Grey maneuvered her past the first door which was cracked open enough that with a glance inside, she saw a man sitting at a desk with an opulent meal spread out before him and a decanter of wine in his hand. “Is he a prisoner?”
Grey nodded.
“Is my father on this floor?”
The muscles of his arm tensed. “No, he’s farther down.”
“What is it?” she demanded, taking care to keep her tone hushed. “Is he harmed?”
“No.” Grey didn’t stop to look at her. He led her through a door to a narrow passageway of stairs. They spiraled sharply down, and with a glance, she stared into what appeared to be an endless pit of darkness illuminated every few feet by glowing torches. Her palms grew sweaty with her unease.
