Page 19 of From London, With Love
Clara returned his glare with a steady gaze. “They were three feet apart, though I suspect they were closer before I entered. The queen was breathless, her skirts a little creased, and her lips reddened. There was no sign of her usual equilibrium and her gaze kept straying to Sir Gideon’s back. He turned away from me the moment I entered, perhaps encumbered by something he couldn’t quite hide. Either they were having a heated discussion, Your Grace, or they were embracing. And I suspect Sir Gideon enjoyed it.”
Good grief. “You’ve been spending too much time with Gemma.”
Gemma snorted, stirring her tea with a finger. “If she’d been spending too much time with me, she’d have been blunter. Sir Gideon had a cockstand on him the size of Africa, I’ll wager.”
Malloryn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for that image, Gemma.”
“My pleasure, Malloryn.”
He ignored her. Arguing with any of the Rogues, he’d discovered, was like trying to herd cats. “Thank you, Clara.”
She curtsied, then dismissed herself.
Gemma set her teacup on its saucer. “Perhaps you should simply suggest the queen marry him, Malloryn. I daresay there’s no need for these elaborate games. She seems quite fond of him, from what I’ve seen.”
He peered down his nose at her. “Have youevertriedto make the queen do something you suggested? Headstrong does not quite cover it.”
“Perhaps she is tired of being pushed and pulled in every which direction by the men who’ve tried to steal her power.”
His eyes narrowed. “I havenevertried to steal her power. I have only ever tried to protect her and the throne.”
“Protect her? Or control her?”
His mouth gaped open.
Gemma shook her head, pushing to her feet. “I love you, Malloryn, but you grew up in a world where you were a male born into an aristocratic blue blood house, and hence had all the power in the realm. I understand why you fight for the oppressed, but you have never been one of them. You can see their struggles, but have never personally felt them. And the queen, for all her power, has.
“Perhaps you don’t try to steal her power, but you certainly try to control it. And while you may argue that you’re the type of man who tries to control everything, when it comes to the queen, what makes you any different than any of the others?”
The heat blanched from his skin.
He was not—
He did not mean—
Gemma leaned down to kiss his cheek. “To truly serve your queen, perhaps you need to start listening to her and not presuming you know best.”
* * *
Gemma’s wordsstayed with him throughout the day, until Malloryn was almost pacing with frustration whilst Adele attended her toilette. They were due at the opera within the hour, but he could barely think of anything else.
“Do you think I am too controlling?” he asked.
Adele looked up from where she was rolling a stocking up her leg. In most instances, he’d have been focused on removing it right now, but not even she could distract him. “In what way? In an ‘I am the Duke of Malloryn and I know best kind of way?’ Or in an ‘I am the Duke of Malloryn and I am trying to protect the people around me kind of way?’” She cocked her head on an angle. “Sometimes they both seem a little similar, if one is being honest.”
Malloryn sank onto the bed and repeated what Gemma had said to him, feeling again the horror of shame. “I mean well—”
“I know,” she said blandly.
“And I’ve only tried to….” To help. To steer.
Adele listened to him, her blue eyes unblinking, and then she sighed. “You have good intentions, my love, but sometimes intentions aren’t good enough. Do you try to control the queen? Sometimes. Why do you think she always pushes back against you?”
To hear it from Gemma was bad enough, but Adele wasn’t trying to even pull her punches.
“Sometimes, I think she walks into council chambers prepared to fight you before you even open your mouth,” she continued. “If you think her headstrong, then perhaps you’re to blame for creating such a drive within her.”
He collapsed back on the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m tired of fighting with her. And the worst thing is, I wish she trusted me more, but perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m to blame for nurturing that distrust. I’ve pushed her too hard in the past. And now, arranging this little coup, pushing her into marriage—”
