A Scoundrels Kiss

by Shelly Thacker

  Stole all feelings but love.

  Stole all rational thought but one.

  Incandescent.

  Whitehall was an imposing, gold-encrusted cavern of a place, even more grand than Max had anticipated. He had never been to court before, had never expected that one day he would find himself walking these corridors, following a pair of footmen to the King’s private meeting chamber in the heart of the royal apartments.

  When he had requested this meeting, he hadn’t been sure that the King would see him personally. The sovereign had been ill of late, after more than seventy years of robust good health, and he had been deferring more and more of the affairs of state to his cabinet of ministers.

  But he evidently preferred to deal with this particular matter himself.

  Max found himself ushered into the royal presence with alacrity. One of the footmen opened the chamber door, announced him, then bowed and gestured for him to step inside.

  Oddly enough, he felt an uncanny calm, a feeling that was becoming familiar when he found himself in potentially risky situations.

  Some of it, he suspected, came from the fact that Marie was always with him in his heart even when she wasn’t at his side.

  Stopping a few paces beyond the entrance, he bowed deeply. “Your Highness.”

  The ruler of the British Empire sat in an ornate chair before a blazing hearth, his garments barely visible beneath heavy robes of blue and gold velvet. Only the frothy lace cravat at his throat could be seen, an odd counterpoint to his squarish face, heavy jowls, and pronounced nose.

  “Good of you to present yourself, D’Avenant,” he said, his English marked by the pronounced German accent of the house of Hanover. “I was about to dispatch some men to look you up.” He waved the footmen away and they departed soundlessly, closing the door behind them.

  Max straightened from his bow. “I hope my letter explaining the delay was satisfactory, Your Highness.”

  The King didn’t reply for a moment. Despite his advanced age and infirmity, the eyes studying Max, from beneath an old-fashioned, full-length white periwig, were keen and penetrating.

  King George II, Max had heard, was renowned for two qualities: his bravery and his temper.

  But the latter wasn’t in evidence. At least not yet.

  In fact, after a moment, the King nodded as if in approval. “With Fleming’s whereabouts unknown, you were wise to remain in hiding.” He gestured for Max to approach. “So where is this compound that you say isn’t worth the terrible price we paid?”

  Max withdrew a pouch from inside his frock coat, walked over, and handed it to his king with a bow. “I’m afraid it’s useless, Your Highness. Mademoiselle LeBon did her best to reproduce it—”

  “You are certain of that?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s a very frightened girl. She doesn’t wish to have the military of two countries hunting her for the rest of her life. I’m convinced she’s given me her complete cooperation.”

  That last bit, at least, was true. His explanation of events might be an embellished version of the actual facts, but he sincerely believed it was the best for all concerned.

  He hated having to paint a false picture of his brilliant lady, hated that he couldn’t praise her talents as she so richly deserved. But it was the only way to protect her.

  And she had agreed to this, reluctantly, finding it ironic that the very disrespect she had resented her entire life was the one thing that could ensure her safety now.

  The King hefted the pouch in one hand. “You say she agreed to trust you with the formula because she came to have feelings for you?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. As I said in my letter, I’m afraid that she originally created the compound quite by accident. She’s not an evil genius as we once suspected. In fact, she’s not much of a scientist at all. Merely a curious young woman who was puttering about at her hobby. She discovered the compound by mistake while toying with some formulas in her late grandfather’s notes. He was a renowned scientist, a fellow of the French Académie des Sciences. As for the mademoiselle herself…” He chuckled. “She never expected to produce a weapon at all, but a fertilizer.”

  “A fertilizer?”

  Max nodded. “For her garden. For better peas, she said. She didn’t understand its destructive properties. And I’m afraid that all the notes she relied on to create it were burned in the fire that destroyed her home in France. She can’t reproduce it without them.” He paused for emphasis. “No one can.”

  “So we no longer need to fear the French doomsday weapon.”

  “They won’t be using it against us again, sir. I don’t believe they have any of it left. And I doubt they’ll pursue further research into destructive compounds—I understand they’ve had very back luck with chemicals lately.”

  “Yes.” The King chuckled. “Rather colorful bad luck.” He tossed the pouch onto a game table beside his chair. “And they’ve also lost Chabot, the only creative military mind they had to their credit.” He sighed wearily. “I expect that we’ll all return to the old-fashioned methods of trying to blow one another to kingdom come.”

  Max smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid so, Your Highness.”

  “Hell of a thing, that we lost Wolf for nothing,” the King said with soft regret.

  Max paused for a moment, remembering the man who had lost his life in service of his country. “Yes, sir.”

  “And what of you, D’Avenant? I understand that you’ve received no compensation at all for your efforts.”

  “I ask none, sir.”

  “Come, come, man. You took a bullet for your country and I can’t even award you a medal. Not if we’re to keep our intelligence matters secret. But there must be something.”

  Max hesitated. “There is one thing, Your Highness,” he said thoughtfully. “Instead of turning that compound over to the military, you might turn it over to your agricultural minister. I’ve a feeling it might just work as a fertilizer.”

  The King raised an eyebrow. “That seems rather poor compensation for all your efforts. There’s nothing else you would ask?”

  Max smiled, thinking of the whiskey-eyed lady who awaited his return. “I’ve all I need in life to be happy, Your Highness.”

  “How I envy you,” the King muttered. “Very well. Consider it done.”

  Max bowed, expecting to be dismissed, but the King spoke again.

  “There is one other matter I would like to discuss, D’Avenant.”

  Max straightened. “Your Highness?”

  “We need to rebuild our intelligence ministry, from the ground up. We’ll need good, strong, loyal men who aren’t afraid to take risks. I would like to offer you a position.”

  Max blinked in surprise. “Your Highness, I’m…flattered.” He shook his head. “But regrettably, I must decline. Other matters demand my attention at present.”

  It surprised him to realize that he actually did feel a twinge of regret.

  “Matters of more importance than king and country, D’Avenant?”

  “Family matters, Your Highness.”

  The King nodded, slowly. “Understandable.” He dismissed him with a regal incline of his head. “You may go, D’Avenant. With my thanks.”

  Max bowed again and backed toward the exit as etiquette demanded.

  “But don’t be surprised,” the King continued after a moment, “if the Crown calls on you again someday.”

  Max looked up. He found himself smiling at the prospect. “It would require more than that to surprise me, sir.”

  The older man chuckled. “You’ve rather a lot of grit for a young man.”

  “Runs in the family, Your Highness.”

  He exited with his sovereign’s hearty laughter following behind him.

  The Lady Valiant commanded attention even among the dozens of magnificent vessels that crowded the East India Company’s London docks. A nine-hundred-ton ship with a gleaming hull of dark Indian padauk wood, glass-enclosed galleries, three soaring masts, a
nd a crew of more than a hundred, she was the queen of the Company fleet.

  Sailors swarmed over the ship in the brilliant midday sun, fitting out the canvas and rigging and loading supplies in preparation for setting sail.

  Max swung down from the coach even before the vehicle pulled to a stop. Stepping out onto the wharf, he waved at the bon voyage party that had gathered at the ship’s rail, then started up the gangway. He didn’t make it halfway before he was almost knocked off his feet.

  “You’re all right!” Marie threw herself into his arms. “Mon Dieu, you took so long!”

  He hugged her close, laughing as he fought to maintain their balance. “Careful, ma chère, or we’ll be celebrating our wedding day with a swim in the Thames.”

  “I-I thought they might have arrested you, or…or…”

  “No, nothing like that.” He kissed her before leading her the rest of the way up to the deck, one arm around her shoulders. “I had to wait for an audience with the King. He wanted to see me personally.”

  “It went well?” Saxon asked when Max reached the top of the gangway.

  “Better than we hoped.” Max helped Marie over the gunwale. “In fact, he offered me a position.”

  “As chief minister of the royal chamber pot?” Julian asked with a grin. He stood at the rail between their mother and Ashiana, a rakish black patch over each eye.

  “No, that job is already taken.” Max smiled at his brother’s joke, grateful that Julian’s sense of humor had returned. “He asked me to be part of his new intelligence ministry.”

  Saxon clapped him on the shoulder. “Quite an honor, little brother.”

  Marie gasped. “You didn’t—”

  “No, I don’t plan on putting myself in the path of another bullet anytime soon,” Max assured her, stroking her cheek.

  “See that you don’t,” she said sternly.

  He tilted her face up. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today, my bride-to-be?” She wore a summer dress in a delicate shade of lavender, the bodice embroidered with flowers, her magnifying glass on its silver chain around her neck. He kissed her again.

  “Pardon me.” Saxon tapped him on the shoulder. “But I believe the honeymoon is supposed to come after the wedding?”

  “And shouldn’t we hold the ceremony soon, Captain?” Ashiana asked lightly, handing Marie a bouquet of red and purple roses and French lavender, picked fresh from the garden at the town house and tied with silver ribbons. “Especially if they are to sail within the hour?”

  Saxon turned to his wife and slipped an arm around her waist. “You spoke to me!” he exclaimed with a grin. “Does this mean the silent treatment is over?”

  She tapped him on the chest with one finger. “Only if you promise not to roar at me again.”

  He whispered something in her ear that seemed to win him forgiveness.

  Smiling at them, Max tightened his arm around Marie’s shoulders. “And where is your brother, ma chère? I gather he declined our invitation?”

  She nodded. “Armand is being difficult. He said he hated to miss this, but he wouldn’t feel comfortable around so many well-armed Englishmen. I’m afraid Saxon’s men made quite an impression on him yesterday.”

  Max frowned ruefully. “And what about the other matter you were going to propose to him?”

  She shook her head. “He refuses to accept any money. Even as a loan. He insists he’s going to make a fresh start on his own, no matter how difficult it might be. Perhaps in the colonies.”

  “Well then,” he assured her softly, “we’ll just have to look him up for a visit one day and see how he’s faring.”

  “Max,” his mother interrupted with a forlorn sigh, glancing from her present daughter-in-law to her daughter-in-law-to-be. “Are you certain it’s necessary for you and Marie to leave?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mother. Saxon and I made arrangements to deliver a sample of the compound to the French, and they’ll be receiving it in a few days, along with a letter containing the same explanation I just gave the King. I hope it will convince them that it’s useless to keep hounding Marie, but we can’t be sure of their reaction.”

  “Especially after what they did to Fleming,” Saxon agreed. “It’s best to get Max and Marie out of reach until things cool off, Mother.”

  Marie left Max’s side just long enough to take her future mother-in-law’s hands in hers. “Duchess, I promise we’ll come back as soon as we can. I’ve barely had the chance to get to know you at all.”

  “Call me Paige, my dear child.” She wrapped Marie in a warm hug. “I’m certain we’ll have so much to talk about. And all the time in the world.”

  “And a great deal of fun,” Ashiana added, hugging Marie in turn. “Hurry home.”

  “Yes, we will. We’ll hurry…” She smiled brightly, tears in her eyes. “Home.”

  Watching them, Max felt more happiness than he had ever known in his life, pleased that the women in his family so readily welcomed the woman he loved.

  Marie would have not only a home, but a family.

  One of Saxon’s crew, the grizzled first mate, Wesley Wodeford Wyatt, came up with an armful of charts. “Here’s the ones ye asked for, Cap’n.”

  “Thanks, Wyatt.” Saxon took them over to the barrel-like capstan and unrolled them. “So, Max, what’ll it be?”

  “How about the Grand Tour you never had?” Julian suggested. “Venice. Florence. Rome.”

  Max studied the nautical maps. Saxon wouldn’t be coming with them. He was sending them off in the experienced and reliable hands of his first mate and crew. The ship’s direction, however, would be up to Max and his lovely bride.

  The Lady Valiant would take them anywhere they chose, for as long as they chose. A year, perhaps more. When the war ended, it would be safe for them to return.

  “The Aegean Sea,” Mother suggested. “Greece and Santorini. So many wondrous ancient sites to explore.”

  “I think the Caribbean would make a lovely place for a honeymoon,” Ashiana said.

  “Or…” Saxon pulled out another chart. “I know this great little deserted island just off the coast of Malabar.”

  Max caught the secret, sizzling glance that passed between Saxon and Ashiana. The island. Their island. Where they had spent their own honeymoon after marrying in India.

  Max looked down at Marie and felt his blood warming as he thought of beaches and sunsets and tropical nights with her in his arms. “How does that sound?”

  “I don’t even know where Malabar is.” She laughed. “I’ve spent my whole life in a house in a small village in the country.”

  “And I’ve spent most of my life in a house in London.”

  “Anywhere we’re together sounds perfect.” She smiled up at him, light dancing in her eyes.

  “How about all of them, then?” he murmured. “Let’s go and see what we’ve missed.”

  “Starting with the island.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him again.

  “Malabar it is, then.” Saxon rolled up the other charts.

  “But first, little brother,” Julian said, “I believe it’s time to get this wedding under way.”

  Max hugged Marie close. “To think I once believed that I’d had enough adventure to last a lifetime.”

  “On the contrary, mon cher,” Marie whispered. “The adventure of a lifetime is just beginning.”

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  I hope you enjoyed spending time with Max and Marie in the pages of A Scoundrel’s Kiss. I’d love to keep writing books that touch your heart for many years to come. Readers like you make it possible, and I’m so thankful for your support.

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