Royal Protocol (Crown & Glory Book 3) Read online

  Harrison had brought her here for a purpose, she reminded herself. And that purpose hadn’t yet been served.

  Chapter Eight

  Gwen hadn’t noticed how quiet Harrison’s quarters were until she heard him hang up the telephone. With all the hard surfaces in the room—the marble, the black lacquered furniture, the glass—the sound of the receiver hitting the cradle seemed to echo through the decidedly masculine space.

  The silence that followed turned tense as he walked back toward her.

  “You told me about my husband to get me to cooperate, didn’t you.”

  At the accusation in her voice, something like disappointment moved into his eyes. Feeling like a fool for having relaxed her guard around a man who’s job routinely employed all manner of maneuvers, she didn’t bother wondering why it was there.

  “You’ve been cooperating all along,” he informed her flatly. “You haven’t been happy about it, but you’ve been doing it.”

  That hardly made her feel better. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Then, the answer to your question is no. I didn’t tell you about your husband to get something from you, Gwen. I told you because I thought it was something you deserved to know.”

  He told her because he sincerely felt she needed the information, that she had a right to it. Especially after these years of waiting.

  He didn’t need to tell her that. She could see it in the depths of his eyes.

  The knowledge surprised her. It also struck her as totally unfair.

  She didn’t want him to be nice. She didn’t want him to be understanding. It made it too hard to keep her defenses in place, and she truly needed those defenses with him. He made her aware of him in ways she had forgotten she could feel with a man, made her aware of herself in ways she’d long forgotten, too. Just meeting his eyes caused sensations she didn’t realize she was still capable of feeling, and made her want things she’d begun to believe she no longer needed.

  To be held.

  To hold.

  To be touched…the way he’d touched her when his knuckles had brushed her breast.

  The memory pooled heat low in her stomach.

  Disturbed by her thoughts, she reached toward her wine. Thinking better of it, she crossed her arms again instead.

  “Who was that on the telephone?”

  “Sir Cumberland,” he replied, identifying the minister of foreign relations. “I’d told him you and I were meeting tonight.”

  “And we’re meeting because you want my influence with the queen,” she reminded him, repeating what he’d said when she’d first arrived. She tipped up her chin, tightened her arms. “What do you need from her?”

  Harrison watched her glance move from his chest to his mouth before falling away. The play of emotions on her face in the last few moments had been fascinating. In the space of seconds she’d gone from defense to confusion—and what he could have sworn was a hint of longing.

  “For her to attend a meeting,” he told her, wondering if she had any idea what it did to a man when a woman looked at him like that. “She can’t maintain the seclusion she wants and expect everything to continue without her. The ambassador from the United States is concerned about the stability of the negotiations right now. Under the circumstances with the king, it’s understandable that he would want to meet with the person in power to make sure the agreements will be honored. If she won’t meet with him and offer that assurance, she’s as good as telling him that the deals are off.”

  There wasn’t a doubt in Gwen’s mind that the queen would gladly tell them exactly that in order to save her son.

  She was obviously becoming predictable. The thought had barely flashed in her head when Harrison’s long, blunt fingers touched her mouth, and froze the words in her throat.

  “I know the queen wants her son back,” he insisted, needing her to understand something herself. “You don’t need to remind me of that. But there’s something the two of you aren’t getting. You’re hanging on to the idea that if this agreement isn’t signed, the people who took the prince will simply let him go. We have no reason to believe the Black Knights won’t kill him even if they do get what they want. We’re not dealing with men of honor where they’re concerned.”

  Harrison wasn’t so sure he was a man of honor himself. Not at the moment. He’d had no intention of touching her. He’d deliberately kept himself from it, in fact. Yet, he could feel the taunting fullness of her soft lips beneath his fingers. Her warm breath trembled against his skin.

  Meeting the confusion clouding her eyes, he felt a distinct tug low in his groin.

  She’d made no attempt to move from his touch.

  The realization sharpened the desire already curling through him.

  It would be so easy to slip his hand around the back of her neck, lower his mouth to hers and find out what it was about her that tested his control. But now wasn’t the time to cave in to temptation. Not when her thoughts had been on her deceased husband only moments ago. When he tasted her, touched her, he wanted to be the only man on her mind.

  “She needs to meet with them,” he repeated, his fingers slipping reluctantly away. “You’re the only one she wants to see. The only person she’ll listen to.”

  She stepped back, looking very much as if she didn’t know why she hadn’t moved before now. He confused her. He was certain of that. But he figured that made them even. She was confusing the daylights out of him. He’d never had such a problem with concentration before.

  “This is the very sort of thing she asked me to insulate her from.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then, I’m failing her faith and her friendship if—”

  “This isn’t about friendship. It’s about—”

  “It’s about friendship to me,” she insisted, having no interest at all in hearing him explain all over again. “She asked me to help her while she’s going through the worst time of her life. I want to protect her, and you’re making it impossible for me to do that.”

  “I’m just asking you to talk to her.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that I might not have the influence you think I do?”

  “Not lately,” he admitted, and watched her glance drop like lead from his.

  Tipping his head, he tried to catch her eye. “I thought we weren’t going to do this.”

  “The truce was your idea.”

  “You agreed to it.”

  The glance she gave him held too much anxiety to be mutinous.

  The responsibility being put on her was huge. He could tell by the distress she didn’t even bother to cover that she fully realized just how enormous it was, too. But she was far stronger than she looked, he reminded himself, pushing his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her again. He needed to remember that.

  The thought should have relieved him. She wasn’t the sort of woman who buckled under pressure, the sort who had to be handled with the proverbial kid gloves. After all, she’d stood up to him time and again, and easily held her own. She also knew what it was to experience loss, to live with it, to move on. She was a survivor. Just like him.

  The knowledge held no relief at all. Instead, he felt a tug of what he could swear was protectiveness himself.

  “You might not believe it,” he said, not wanting to push, needing to, anyway, “but I don’t want Her Majesty upset any more than you do. We’ve tried to respect her privacy, but staying in seclusion isn’t going to help anyone. She needs to make this appearance.”

  Owen was as good as dead, no matter what they did. Unless the RET could find him first.

  The thought totally drained her of spirit. She felt overwhelmed by things she didn’t want to know, alone in ways she’d never felt before and totally unsettled by the man who could scramble her senses with nothing more than the touch of his fingertips.

  “I’ll relay your message,” she murmured. She hated the position she was in. She wasn’t totally sure how she felt about
him, either. “It’s not my right to withhold it.”

  It looked to her as if his hands had just formed fists in his pockets. “I’ll let Sir Cumberland know you’re speaking with Her Majesty. You might tell her that members of the Majorcan delegation will be there, too.”

  She nodded, bewildered by how rapidly she had gone from a lady-in-waiting to a liaison with the military. She had never been a woman of great ambition. She had never aspired to position. All she’d ever really wanted was a home, husband and family of her own. Yet there she was with the indomitable head of the RET and the men of three countries waiting for word from her—and no home of her own or a prospective husband in sight.

  “I’ll need a ride back,” she murmured, when what she really wanted was for Harrison to touch her again. The hard strength in him, his nearness and the hooded way he was watching her made her crave the feel of his arms, the feel of his muscular body.

  It wasn’t a wise thing to want. She knew that. When this was all over, he would go his way, she would go hers and their paths would have no reason to cross until some official function six months or a year from now demanded their mutual presence. Still, with her view of everything else blocked by his solid chest, it was easy to wonder why that little detail even mattered.

  “When will you talk with her?”

  “Tonight, if she’s awake. Not until morning, if she isn’t.”

  He seemed to regard that as fair enough in the moments before he stepped back and turned to the telephone. He said nothing else to her, though, until he hung up and told her a guard was on his way.

  She was at his door when she heard the ping of the elevator on the other side.

  Harrison already had his hand on the knob, ready to get rid of her and get on to the next item on his agenda. Or so she thought before he hesitated.

  “You’re not failing her, Gwen.”

  He’d known what she was thinking. The realization gave her pause. So did the fact that he’d bothered to reassure her in the moments before he turned the knob and finally let her out.

  The queen wasn’t in her rooms. A guard in the residence told Gwen she was in the chapel.

  Refusing to interrupt her at prayer, Gwen settled on the carved bench outside the arched door to the small room with its six pews and candlelit altar and waited for the queen’s knees to grow tired.

  When the ancient door finally creaked open, she was on her feet before the queen even noticed she’d been sitting there.

  “I’m not here about Owen or the king,” she said quickly, not wanting the woman to think she’d come with news. “There’s been nothing since the call they recorded this morning. I was just waiting to walk back with you.”

  Looking even more pale than when Gwen had last seen her, Marissa lifted a trembling hand and pushed back a few strands of hair. It was unusual for her to look anything less than perfect when she ventured beyond her bedroom. Her complete lack of makeup and the wisps of hair straggling from her loose bun clearly attested to the toll the strain of waiting was taking on her.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Letting her hand fall, she offered a ghost of a smile. “But I’m glad you did.”

  “How long were you in there this time?”

  “What time is it now?”

  “After eleven.”

  “A few hours, then.”

  Concern narrowed Gwen’s glance. “Did you have dinner?”

  “I wasn’t hungry. And please don’t start,” she begged, her tone lifeless. “My daughters are nagging me enough. The thought of solid food makes me nauseous.”

  “Is that what you told them?”

  “No. I told them I had something to eat in my room. It was the truth,” she defended when Gwen’s eyebrow arched. “I did have something to eat in there. I never said I consumed it.”

  Gwen gave her a tolerant look. “I won’t nag,” she quietly promised. “I’ll just go down to the kitchen and heat you some soup. You’ll only make matters worse if you get sick yourself,” she said ever so gently. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell your girls you lied to them.”

  Marissa opened her mouth, only to promptly give up when she saw the smile on her lady-in-waiting’s face.

  “You know, Gwen,” she murmured, heading them both slowly down the dim limestone corridor, “I don’t know what I would do without you right now. You know what it’s like to have to be strong for your children. We’re supposed to be the ones who make everything all right for them, and I have to bend the truth so my daughters can’t see any more of my fear. They have enough on their minds with their father and their brother. I don’t want them worried about me, too.”

  She pushed her fingers through her hair, tugging loose another strand. “I’m just so grateful to you for taking over the dealings with the RET. I can’t imagine having to deal with all the political maneuverings right now. You are a true godsend.”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. Especially with the admiral. He can be so insistent.”

  There wasn’t much of anything the queen could have said that would have made Gwen feel worse than she already did about what she had to do. The woman thought she could count on her to keep the hounds at bay. Not open the gates to them.

  “I know. I’ve bumped into that insistence myself,” she admitted, though she wasn’t about to burden her with that. “And you may not think I’m so helpful after I tell you what he wants now.

  “I truly hate to bother you with this,” she said, hurrying on. “If there were some way I could just carry a response back for you, you know I would do it. I’ve even tried to figure out some way to stand in for you, but it’s you they want and I can’t.”

  Suddenly aware of the strain in her friend’s tone, the queen drew to a halt.

  “We stopped shooting the messenger a couple of reigns ago, Gwen. Stop hedging.”

  “They need you for a meeting tomorrow.”

  “They?”

  “The parties to the alliance.”

  The weary breath Her Majesty drew escaped with an audible sign.

  “Why?”

  Gwen told her exactly what Harrison had explained to her.

  “I have no idea how long it will take,” she concluded a moment later. “He didn’t say. If you only want to give them a half hour, I’ll tell him that’s what they’ll have to settle for. I really think they just need you to put in an appearance.”

  Gwen must have looked as torn as she felt. As the queen watched her, the quality of her frown seemed to shift.

  “How long have you worried about mentioning this to me?”

  “Only a couple of hours.”

  Shaking her head again, looking as if she thought them quite a pair, the queen started walking once more.

  “Considering how late it is, I assume the admiral badgered you into asking me this tonight?”

  “He was actually quite flexible about that. He was rather civil about all of it,” she conceded, grateful for her friend’s understanding. “He even served me a very nice wine.”

  For the first time in days, a spark of light entered the eyes of the woman who ruled Penwyck. “Of course he did,” she murmured.

  Dismissing what she clearly thought a joke, that light died in the next blink. “All they need is my assurance that the agreements will go through?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  A fair amount of resistance remained visible beneath the weariness. “You know that I will do what I must. If there is anything I understand, it’s duty. But please tell him that I will not be drawn into a negotiating session. I will continue to rely on you to act as my intermediary, if you will allow me. Especially when it comes to dealing with the admiral.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever you wish.”

  “You weren’t serious about the wine, were you?”

  Still confused by the earlier events of the evening, Gwen slowly nodded. “He had me taken to his home. He called it his ‘quarters.”’ As hard as he so often seemed,
she wasn’t sure the concept of home was one with which he was even familiar. “I had the feeling he was fitting me in between a meeting and before a telephone conference.”

  “He’s behaving himself, I hope.”

  “He’s my problem, Marissa. Don’t worry about it.”

  “That can only mean he’s not.”

  “No. He is,” Gwen insisted “He’s…”

  Her automatic defense put the spark of interest back in the queen’s keen eyes. “He’s what?” she asked when Gwen’s voice trailed off.

  “Confusing,” she finally decided to say. Confusing because there seemed to be a true sense of compassion beneath his hardness, a sense of compassion she wondered if he even realized he possessed. Confusing because he looked at her, touched her, as if he wanted her. Yet, he clearly didn’t want the attraction his own actions encouraged.

  Disquiet for her friend momentarily overrode all else that troubled the queen. “Are you attracted to him?”

  Absolutely, Gwen thought. “Maybe,” she murmured, a little disturbed by the immediacy of her mental response. “I don’t think he’s as ruthless as he wants everyone to believe.”

  “Or maybe he truly is,” the queen pointed out, caution heavy in her quiet tone, “and whatever he’s doing with you just proves it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One of the reasons the king always sought his advice is because Monteque inevitably knows how to control a situation. He’ll do what he must to best serve his purpose.”

  In other words, Gwen thought, he’d do what he had to do to make her easier to work with. The thought had occurred to her, too. She’d even called him on it after he’d shared the details surrounding her husband’s death.

  “Do you think he’s trying to manipulate me?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to speak for him. But unless you’re interested in something quick and discreet, I do think he is a man a woman needs to be careful around. He’s the first man you’ve shown any interest in, in all the years I’ve known you,” she reminded her, sounding as bewildered as she was impressed by that fact. Of all the eligible and interesting men her friend had been exposed to, Harrison was clearly not one she would have considered a match. “I just hope you’ll be careful, Gwen. I don’t know that any woman could ever get a commitment out of our admiral. He’s escaped far too long.”