Page 10 of King of Rogues
Whatever it was, there was every chance it was going to cause him trouble. Prinny wasn’t one for showing grace or exchanging pleasantries, not unless there was a gain in it for him. There must be something that the prince wanted. But what?
What do I have that he feels it is worth his time to be nice to me?
Out of the corner of his eye, Monsale caught sight of an approaching footman bearing a tray of hot hors d’oeuvres. He made a strategic move sideways. Only a fool placed himself between Prinny and food. The servant had barely managed a respectful bow before the prince had liberated three of the morsels from the plate and stuffed them into his mouth.
Did you even take the time to look at them?
Monsale sensed an opportunity to make his escape. He bowed low and took a hurried step back, startled when another member of the royal entourage took a firm grip of his arm. The courtier leaned in. “Don’t forget the gala next week, your grace. His royal highness expects you to attend.”
“Of course, I would be both honored and delighted. I shall make certain that it is penned into my diary as soon as I return home.”
He was far richer than the prince, and in many ways more powerful, but no one refused a direct request from the future king. Monsale of course had no intention of attending the gala. Rather, a mysterious illness would befall him on that particular night, and he would send his deepest regrets at being so suddenly indisposed. He made a mental note to ask Adan to pen the letter in advance.
His appetite gone, Monsale made his apologies and promptly left. Climbing back into his carriage, his mind was focused on the machinations of the Prince of Wales.
Whatever it is that I have, does he plan to ask nicely for it, or just take?
By the time Monsale returned home, he had a long and thoroughly unpleasant list compiled in his head. Things which he suspected Prinny would love to get his hands on, as well as the possible reasons as to why.
The hour was late, but he wasn’t going to waste any time attempting to sleep. He marched up the main staircase of Monsale House, making a beeline for Adan’s private sitting room. If the Monsale estate steward stuck to his usual evening routine, he would still be up.
He marched into the room. His temper simmered on the edge of boiling over into full-blown rage. “What the hell does Prinny have over me?”
The gray-haired Adan set his book aside and slowly rose from his chair by the fire.
“Your grace. What do you mean?”
Monsale raked his fingers through his sandy brown locks. “The fat royal brat was sweetly pleasant to me this evening. He even asked if I was coming to the royal gala at Carlton House.”
The color drained out of Adan’s face. The Prince Regent was never nice to people unless they could give him something of value, or worse, he could hold a particular thing over them. He was avaricious to a fault.
“I haven’t heard a thing. But I will get onto it right away. Should I commence with your contingency plans?” said Adan.
Monsale closed his eyes, racking his brains as to what could possibly make the prince speak to him in such a charming manner. He didn’t want to panic, but it would be reckless for him to turn a blind eye to this sudden development.
“Have the yacht brought down the coast closer to Dover. In the morning, start working our sources for information. Someone has to know what he is up to, Prinny is not known for being subtle, especially if it means he can lord it over one of us. Me in particular.”
In the morning, Monsale would send word to Harry, Stephen, and George, informing them of this evening’s events. His note would also include directions for the rest of the England-based rogues of the road to immediately set to work on uncovering any sort of plans the prince may have with regard to the Duke of Monsale. If the English establishment were finally going to make a move on him, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
His friends had to know that they were also likely in danger. They may well have given up their criminal ways, but if the hammer was about to fall heavy on him, they would surely be next.
Adan made his way to the door, then stopped.
“To my way of thinking, Spain is currently the best option for a safe haven. The Spanish have enough going on in their country without wishing to deal with the trifling matter of an English duke on the run. I will have the travel trunks made ready for us.”
Monsale had friends in the north of Spain who would gladly give him sanctuary. Powerful men with connections in high places.
And while the choice to flee England would be hard enough for him, he wasn’t prepared to impose a life of exile on his loyal steward. Adan deserved to make his own choices.
“Keep our trunks separate. If they do decide to make a move, I want you to undertake a fast run to Monsale Castle and retrieve the chest. Where you go after that, will be your decision, not mine.”
No one need to make mention of the pirate’s treasure that Monsale had hidden in the family crypt at Monsale Castle. His steward was the only other person who knew that while the young Duke of Monsale had arrived in England dressed in tattered clothing, he had secretly brought with him the small chest which Nevis had handed over that fateful night in Bermuda. A chest filled with gold Spanish doubloons.
The contents of the chest were more than enough to allow the loyal Adan the freedom to decide whether he would follow his master into exile or start a new life on his own terms.
The steward reached for the door handle, then turned back to Monsale. “I swore a lifelong oath to serve the McNeal family and that is what I intend to do. I’ve yet to see your grace walk away from a fight, and I don’t expect I ever will. And while there is no shame in making plans, wherever you go—so do I.”
The pirate within him stirred and Monsale grinned. “Whatever it is that the prince thinks he has over me, he has no idea of what I am capable of doing.”
