Royal Regard

Chapter Twelve, Part 1

Nick searched along the path through the gardens at St. James's Palace, looking for a red-gold head among the flowers and trees. Lord Huntleigh was closeted in an unexpected meeting with Lord Liverpool, his wife was known to be somewhere in the vicinity, and Nick had been seeking this chance for weeks. Now here, however, he found only acres of flora in all directions, at least half of it red and gold, and miles of trails on which a person could lose herself, by accident or design.

If need be, he would overturn every blade of grass.

The king had whispered to Nick with a knowing look from the corner of his eye, "I should give you no such boon after you played booty at faro two nights in a row, but Huntleigh won't be free for hours—I've seen to that—and his poor, lonely lady wife is waiting for him in the gardens. Perhaps you have some idea how she might be entertained?"

Nick had nearly swallowed his tongue at the thought. "I am delighted to distract the lady, Your Majesty, and to relieve myself of unjust debt accrued at the card table to appease your pride."

"No more of your trickery, or I will invite our friends to join me in taking your coin."

"'Tis only fair, my liege, given the perfidy. To make amends, I will lighten your purse at your pleasure."

"I shall take your head next time you lose. Now, go press your suit with Lady Huntleigh."

For once, Nick was thrilled to follow the king's directive. Before Prinny's interference, his afternoon had stretched before him interminably—the endless pursuit of solutions to irreconcilable politics, with his viewpoints always in the minority. But now, if he could find Lady Huntleigh, he might soon be engaged in much more satisfying amusements. He had gone far too long without a mistress; if he could lure her to a trysting spot, this might become the high point of his week.

The king paused and raised a hand to call Nick back, not quite dismissing him, but neither giving any sign what he might say next. "She would make you a fine wife, Wellbridge."

Nick sucked in a breath. "Perish the thought, Sire. Did you not say only hours ago there is no state so unholy as matrimony?"

Prinny laughed, "But you, my friend, are not a king pledged to marry whichever hag will seal an alliance. You might choose a woman for the enjoyment of her."

"I need make no choice, Sire, when I can enjoy two or three wives in every Season."

Although the king chuckled, his forehead remained furrowed, "I find that unseemly for Lady Huntleigh. I shall have to consider whom she might wed."

"Pray, consider a few weeks, Sire, a month, maybe two..."

"I shall leave it to your conscience, Wellbridge, but be gentle with Lady Huntleigh, as she is not so worldly a woman as you may think, and I would not like to see her cry for unrequited love of a coxcomb like you."

"Of course," he replied. "I would never raise her expectations. I deceive ladies' husbands, not ladies."

Nick had taken his leave, quivering with thoughts of Lady Huntleigh unclothed beneath him, moaning and calling him by his Christian name. Even better, astride, hair falling loose around her face, over her breasts, legs grasping his hips, fingernails digging into his chest as she lost her head... He would bet she had a good seat in a saddle. She'd even said so in one of her traveling tales—he couldn't remember the story, only the image of her in tattered trousers, escaping hostiles on horseback.

Half an hour and half a dozen fantasies later, he found her. The weeping willows were thick next to a pond Nick had never seen, cooling the summer heat, screening her from the walking path, her dress disguised in the color of the bluebells surrounding the bench and pergola where she sat.