Page 58 of From London, With Love
“Although,” he drew the word out with relish, “according to Mr. MacGregor, you did have something to do with its inception. I had him view the court from one of the galleries an hour ago, and he pointed you out without a qualm. You ordered the scarab made two months ago. A gift for a rival, you told him, and he is willing to testify in court.”
Princess Imogen hissed under her breath, tipping her chin high. “Is this some little plot you’ve formed, Malloryn? A way to cast such aspersions on my character and have me removed from court? You’re not the only one with power, you know. I have friends in high places, and I shall see you flogged for this.”
“I doubt it.” Princess Imogen should have been a blue blood of the Echelon. She owned the same arrogance and sense of invulnerability. His smile slipped. “I’m not done yet, and I doubt even your friends can save you. I have a witness who saw you with the cook who slipped cyanide into the queen’s honey cakes and cordial. I have your mech’s confession. I have the boy you paid to deliver a rope to the dungeons so Guardsman Wallach could hang himself.”
He tugged a small slip of paper from his coat pocket. “And this is a withdrawal slip from your bank. For the precise sum of five thousand pounds, which, conveniently enough, is the exact sum someone used to bribe Wallach. I can bury you in court with a half dozen witnesses. You are finished.”
Princess Imogen moved to slap him, but he caught her wrist.
“You piece of filth,” she hissed. “Unhand me! Servants? You think to use those unwashed ingrates to bring me down? You have nothing, Malloryn. You probably paid them yourself.”
“Don’t make another mistake,” he warned her coldly. “You may be the queen’s cousin, but I’m not certain she’s feeling very fond of you at the moment. Besides…” He leaned closer, to enjoy playing the trump card. “I don’t just have the servants in hand, you little bitch. I have Eugene too. Your dear little brother bleated like a lamb and told me everything.”
“That idiot!” Princess Imogen tore at his grip. “It should have been me on the throne! The prince consort was courtingmebefore Alexandra stole him away! He would have married me and put me on the throne, but she couldn’t have that, could she? She took everything. She always took everything! My uncle spent years failing to have a child, and he finally managed to beget that sniveling little spawn on his bitch of a wife? Eugene was named his heir. And she stole it all!”
“By being born?” Malloryn shook his head. “You fool. You have riches, an estate, more than most people could possibly imagine—”
“The crown was ours! And it would have been ours again. I just had to take it! But she couldn’t even have the good grace to die!”
There.
A confession.
Finally.
Malloryn let her go. “Thank you, Princess.” He stepped aside as Sir Gregor strode out from the nearest drawing room, followed by a pair of guards. “Have you heard enough, Sir Gregor?”
Her Royal Highness gasped.
“Quite.” The captain of the Coldrush Guards grabbed the princess by the arm, his expression one of loathing. “Your Highness, you may consider yourself under arrest for the attempted assassination of the queen.”
“Malloryn!” she screamed, trying to throw herself at him and rake those nails down his face. “You bastard!”
He clasped both hands on the cane. “Enjoy your confinement, Your Highness. And your new notoriety. I’m going to make sure your likeness is plastered across every newspaper in London. Perhaps we’ll use the Frogmore caricature, shall we? I believe that was your favorite, following your ill-fated rendezvous with the Spanish ambassador. You’ll be the most famous woman in London.”
Princess Imogen’s snarls of rage echoed in his ears as she was dragged, rather unceremoniously, to her cell.
Chapter 16
The Duke of Malloryn climbed the tower slowly, rubbing at his knuckles. He’d dealt with the Imogen situation and then requested a private audience with the queen.
There were a thousand conversations he’d rather be having right now.
She’d been betrayed by almost everyone in her inner circle, and now her only remaining relatives had plotted to take the crown from her head. He felt a certain sense of pity.
At the top of the tower, the queen turned around with a whisk of her skirts. “Will it never end?” she demanded. “They stole my country from me and murdered my people. And when we finally won our freedom, they sought to cast me down. They burned my tower and tried to assassinate me again and again and again. And yesterday, a good man was nearly killed trying to save me! When will it end?”
“Your Majesty—"
“I mean it!” she cried. “I am done with these wretched plots. I am done being fair and benevolent to those who think to overthrow me. The blue bloods and the Echelon don’t want me ruling over them? Then fine. I’ll put them all in a bloody grave.”
“Alexandra,” he said, capturing her by the shoulders. “It wasn’t a blue blood.”
She froze. “Not a blue blood. Then who sent the guard? Who is behind this attempt? I want their head!”
Malloryn eased out a slow breath. “It appears we have a mole in the council chambers. It seems your cousin Imogen somehow heard we were considering naming Eugene as your heir, with a regency set in place. She sought to hasten matters and forestall a sudden marriage.”
“Imogen?”
