Nowhere Near Respectable

by Mary Jo Putney

  Praying that Mackenzie and Will had escaped the cellar explosion unscathed, Kiri followed Black Rod through the crowd, Adam right behind her. They were taken to a small audience chamber nearby.

  The prince regent still wore his magnificent formal robes and he sat in a high-backed carved chair that bore more than a passing resemblance to a throne. Princess Charlotte sat beside him. Her gaze and a smile went immediately to Kiri.

  Kirkland was present, presumably to explain what the devil was going on. As Kiri and Adam entered, Mackenzie and Will came in through an opposite door escorted by a different court official.

  Kiri smiled at the brothers, putting all her relief in her eyes since she was pretty sure she shouldn’t speak unless spoken to. Mackenzie looked even more battered and disreputable than earlier. She wouldn’t have thought it possible. But the weary smile he returned set every fiber of her body on fire.

  The regent dismissed the other official but kept Black Rod. Adam murmured to Kiri, “The Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod is responsible for security in the House of Lords. Usually the post is honorary and ceremonial.”

  But not this time. Based on the prince regent’s stormy expression, heads might roll. It was time for Kiri to be very, very quiet and ladylike.

  She was tired enough to make that easy.

  Mac watched the prince regent warily. The man had visited Damian’s a number of times and had demonstrated that he could be volatile, gracious, melodramatic, charming, willful as a spoiled child, and occasionally even kind. Here’s hoping that today his better qualities were on display.

  The prince took in the disgraceful appearances of Mac, Will, and Kiri. Even Kirkland looked as if he was staying upright by sheer willpower.

  Tartly the prince said, “Mackenzie, you’re looking remarkably sprightly for a dead man. Kirkland, you and your people are to be commended for stopping this plot short of disaster, though sooner would have been better.”

  “Intelligence work is a chancy business, sir,” Kirkland replied.

  The prince scowled. “Have you cut off the serpent’s head? I’ve had quite enough of French assassination attempts.”

  “The ending came so quickly that I’m unsure of the details myself,” Kirkland replied. “Mr. Mackenzie, Lady Kiri Lawford, and Lord Masterson can better supply them.” He glanced toward Mac and Will, silently turning the discussion over to them.

  “Most of the story belongs to my brother and Lady Kiri,” Will said. He looked ready to keel over from the pain of his broken arm, but one didn’t sit in the presence of royalty without invitation. “They have spent weeks investigating possible leads to the conspirators, while I returned from the Peninsula only two days ago.”

  Mac drew a deep breath as he tried to organize a concise explanation. The prince had a notoriously short attention span, and he already knew the basics of the plot.

  “Lady Kiri and I started investigating after the attempt on Princess Charlotte,” he said. “We are just returned from Kent, where we learned that the kidnappers were led by Lord Fendall and his half brother, Rupert Swinnerton. They are first cousins to Joseph Fouché on their mother’s side. Apparently the aim of the plot was to restore Fouché to power by weakening Britain to the point of wanting a peace treaty.”

  The royal brows shot up. “Fools. Fendall was the mastermind?”

  “Yes, with Swinnerton in charge of mayhem. Apparently Fouché promised his cousins great wealth and power if their plot was successful.”

  “Has Swinnerton been captured?”

  “I found him attempting to set off the bomb under the Woolsack,” Mac replied. “I removed the fuse. In the ensuing struggle, he died when a small grenade went off.”

  “That was the explosion heard in the cellar?” Kirkland asked.

  Mac nodded. “He wished to share the explosion with me, but succeeded only in killing himself.” Kiri and Kirkland winced at his flat words.

  “A pity,” the prince said coldly. “I should have liked to see the man drawn and quartered for treason. What about Lord Fendall?”

  “I don’t know his whereabouts,” Mac replied. “My guess is that when he realized that his plot had failed, he fled the House of Lords. He can’t have gone far, so if a search is set in motion immediately, it should be possible to catch him.”

  Though it might be hard to prove a case against Fendall. The only evidence Mac had was hearsay. If he was clever and kept a cool head, Fendall might still be in the Palace of Westminster, ready to glibly disclaim all knowledge of the plot. He could blame everything on his brother, who was in no position to dispute that.

  Ashton discreetly cleared his throat. He and his sister stood side by side, looking very much like each other: strikingly attractive in a dark-haired, green-eyed way. Contained. Dangerous.

  “If I may interject, Your Majesty, Lord Fendall has not escaped,” the duke said. “When Lady Kiri told me he was behind the plot, we moved to stop him from fleeing the palace. Unfortunately, he fell while trying to escape and died of his injuries.”

  “How did that happen?” Will asked with a satirical glint in his eyes.

  “The fault is mine,” Ashton said, looking misleadingly regretful. “Fendall attacked my sister, and when I yanked him away from her, he fell and broke his neck.”

  The prince regent gave Ashton a hard glance but didn’t pursue the matter. “Well, that will save scandal. No need for the public to learn how close the French came to assassinating the royal family.”

  “There is a furnace below the chamber,” Black Rod volunteered. “It can be announced that it failed and the evacuation was a precaution taken in case fire took hold. The explosion occurred as the furnace was shut down.”

  “That will do nicely. The less said, the better. But before I resume the ceremony”—the prince gave Mac a basilisk stare—“it sounds as if Mr. Mackenzie has seriously compromised Lady Kiri. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Mac felt skewered as every gaze in the room—including Kiri’s great green eyes—locked onto him. His throat closed. Good God, how could he possibly speak about something so vital and intimate?

  After swallowing hard, he said haltingly, “Your Majesty, during the course of this investigation, I have come to have the utmost respect for Lady Kiri’s intelligence, loyalty, and courageous service to the Crown.”

  He flicked a worried glance at Kiri but couldn’t read her expression. “I would marry her if the lady would have me, but I realize that the difference in our stations might make such an offer seem an insult. The very last thing I would ever want to do is insult the bravest, most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”

  The room was so silent that a falling pin would have been audible.

  “It would hardly be conducive to good order in society for an illegitimate gambler and businessman to marry one of the highest-born young ladies in the land,” the prince regent agreed, “but the situation is demmed improper.”

  “Indeed it is, Your Majesty.” Will smiled at Kiri. “But as head of Mr. Mackenzie’s family, I would give such a union my wholehearted blessing.”

  Mac felt a lump in his throat the size of Tower Bridge. “Lord Masterson has always been the best and most supportive of brothers, and I am grateful beyond words for his approval of my deepest wish.” His gaze returned to Kiri. “But my fear is that her family would disapprove, since she is the one who would be accepting far less than she deserves. I . . . I don’t want her to be the cause of becoming estranged from her family.”

  And her family was represented in this room by Ashton, the reserved, enigmatic duke who had just broken the neck of a man who had been fool enough to attack his sister. Though Mac had always liked Ashton, he found the other man more than a little intimidating. He braced himself for Ashton’s verdict.

  “My sister is very dear to me and I wish for her to find as much happiness in her marriage as I have found in mine,” the duke said slowly, his gaze fixed on Mac. “If she wishes to marry Mr. Mackenzie, I will not object. I bel
ieve that her mother and stepfather would also accept the marriage, given Mr. Mackenzie’s exemplary service to the Crown. But the choice, of course, is Lady Kiri’s.”

  Mac stared at Ashton, shocked speechless. The prince, however, did not suffer such shock. “Still demmed irregular,” he said peevishly. “Demmed irregular!”

  “Papa.” Princess Charlotte spoke for the first time. She was enjoying this immensely, her fascinated gaze going from Kiri to Mac and back again. “I believe I know a way to mitigate the disparity in their stations to some extent.” She leaned over to her father’s chair and whispered something in his ear.

  The prince looked first startled, then wickedly amused. “An excellent thought, Charlotte.” He got to his feet and fumbled through his layers of robes. “Where the devil is that ceremonial sword? Ah, here it is.” Rather awkwardly, he pulled the long, elaborately decorated sword from the sheath on his left hip. “Mr. Mackenzie, kneel before your sovereign.”

  Mac stiffly knelt before the prince regent. Every muscle in his body protested the abuse he’d suffered in the last few days.

  The prince rapped Mac’s right shoulder sharply with the flat of the sword. “Damian Mackenzie, in recognition of your honorable service to your country and your sovereign, I bestow on you this knighthood.” Another sharp tap, this on his left shoulder. “Arise, Sir Damian Mackenzie.”

  The back of the sword clipped Mac’s ear as the prince lifted it away. Mac could only be grateful it wasn’t the sharp edge of the blade.

  Dazed, he persuaded his aching muscles to get him to his feet. He was Sir Damian? A knight? “I . . . I thank you, Your Highness. You honor me beyond what I deserve. Any loyal Briton would have done the same in my place.”

  “But they might not have done it so well.” The prince sheathed his sword. “This narrows the gap between you and Lady Kiri. So, will there be a wedding to regularize your behavior?”

  Kiri hadn’t spoken since entering the room, and her fists were clenched at her sides. “I don’t know, Your Majesty. Mr. Mackenzie hasn’t asked me.” Her eyes narrowed. “The matter would need to be discussed.”

  “Well, get to it then,” the prince said impatiently. “Charlotte, Black Rod, come along. The ceremony must be resumed without further delay.” They left the room, Charlotte glancing bright-eyed over her shoulder.

  When the royals were gone, Will said with a glint of amusement, “We three peers should also be in attendance for the royal speech, but I’m not dressed for it, so I think I’ll go to Mac’s house and sleep for a couple of days.”

  “Maybe you should get that bone set first,” Mac suggested. “But otherwise an excellent idea. Kirkland, how about you head for home before you drop in your tracks?”

  “What, and show common sense?” Kirkland murmured. “I’ll last long enough for the ceremony. Then I’ll go home and sleep for a day or two.”

  “If we leave now, Kiri and Mackenzie will have a chance to settle matters.” Ashton laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “My carriage will take us home to Ashton House after the ceremony. Kiri, you don’t have to make a decision today if you’re not sure about it.”

  The three lords left, leaving Mac alone with a green-eyed warrior queen.

  Chapter 43

  Mackenzie was watching Kiri with a mixture of hope and wariness that would have amused her if she hadn’t felt tied in knots. “You should sit down,” she said tartly, “before you fall down.”

  “Can’t sit when there’s a lady standing,” he said with a crooked smile.

  Damn that charming smile. She sat in the prince’s throne chair and drummed her fingers on the carved walnut arm. “How embarrassing to have your sovereign prod you into making an indirect offer for me. And in front of such an audience!”

  Mackenzie dragged the princess’s chair so that it faced her and sat down with a speed that barely missed being a collapse. “I certainly hadn’t planned on proposing in the midst of chaos, but doing so did produce a surprising amount of support. Your family, my family, the prince regent, and Princess Charlotte. Probably even Black Rod.” He frowned. “The only exception seems to be you.”

  “Our time-out-of-time is over, Mackenzie. You can go back to your club, I can return to my family, and it’s like the last weeks never happened.” She stared down at her hands.

  There was still blood under her nails from bandaging Mackenzie’s head. “Isn’t that what we both want?”

  He took her hand between his and said gently, “It’s not what I want, Kiri. How about telling me what you want?”

  She stared at their joined hands. Her tan half-Hindu skin, his bruised and powder-blackened fingers. So different. Too different, apparently.

  Her usual confidence had splintered away in slow, agonized pieces when he expressed stuffy admiration for her to the prince regent, then followed up with all the reasons a marriage shouldn’t happen. She had thought what was between them was rare and special, but that belief disintegrated as he spoke. She was a mixed-blood slut with too few morals, and he was a dashing gambler with no desire to wed.

  She smiled mirthlessly at her self-deception. She had told herself that it would be enough to have him for a little while. Now that the time had come for them to go their separate ways, she felt as if her heart was weeping tears of blood.

  “Kiri? What’s wrong? Please?” When her hand clenched hard on his, he said coaxingly, “Maybe you could give a hint of what you want from me?”

  Saying the words aloud would make her pain even worse, but for her own self-respect, she must be honest to the end. “I want to be loved,” she whispered, knowing how weak and foolish this would sound. “I wanted you to . . . to tear down the social barriers and be deliriously romantic and willing to change your life. I didn’t want the barriers to tumble and then see you scramble to find a way out.”

  After a startled moment, he said, “That’s easy, then.”

  Before she could react, Mackenzie scooped her onto his lap with her head on his shoulder. “Damn, every muscle in my body is sore,” he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head.

  “I love you truly, madly, and deeply, my sweet and indomitable lady,” he said softly. “I fought that knowledge because I couldn’t see how it would be possible to be with you for always. But when the waves were crashing around my knees and rising face, I recognized that you are the most important person in my life. The only woman I’ve ever felt I could trust completely.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “There hasn’t been much chance since then to tell you.”

  She tilted her head up and stared at him with tear-filled emerald eyes as she searched his face. What she saw caused her face to relax into a crooked smile. “I . . . I’m sorry for my foolishness, Damian, but I needed to hear the words. When you spoke to the prince regent, you were so detached and worldly that I thought you . . . didn’t want me.”

  He’d never seen her look younger or more vulnerable. Loving her even more, he said, “I had trouble adjusting my thinking to believe that marriage is possible. Not to mention the difficulty of speaking the most private things in my heart in front of the most terrifying audience imaginable.” He thought a moment as he caressed her glossy hair. “No, it would have been worse if General Stillwell was here, too.”

  She gave a hiccup of laughter, then buried her face against his shoulder and began sobbing. “I never cry,” she said in a choked voice, and wept even harder.

  He was surprised and moved to realize how love made everyone vulnerable. Even this magnificently strong and independent girl needed him as much as he needed her. He’d have to start believing in miracles.

  She had made herself vulnerable, and he could do no less. When her sobs abated, he swallowed hard, then tore away every shred of frivolity to say with painful honesty, “I need to hear the words, too, my warrior queen. I need to hear that you love me. I need to hear that a beautiful, well-born lady with the blood of queens in her veins can love an unrespectable bastard gambler whose own m
other told him his birth was a mistake.” His mouth twisted. “I need to know that . . . that I’m not just your rebellion and that one day you’ll regret choosing a man so far from your station.”

  “Oh, my foolish beloved, haven’t you noticed that I’m not terribly respectable myself?” She cupped his unshaven chin and caught his gaze, concealing nothing. “I love you, Damian Mackenzie. Love your wit and good nature and wickedly attractive body. I love that you claim not to be respectable, but I’ve never met a truer gentleman.” She smiled provocatively. “Did I mention the wickedly attractive body? And your wonderful, unique, and utterly male scent drives me mad!” She leaned in for a sizzling kiss.

  Her kiss melted any lingering doubts. Though they would have a formal wedding and much rejoicing, this was their true marriage. Their vows and commitment were being made now, through word and touch and emotions too powerful to fit into mere words.

  “Kiri, my darling,” he said huskily, “I never thought I would marry, because I could never imagine a woman as unique and wonderful as you.”

  “I always assumed I would marry, but I never imagined that I’d be so happy about it!” Her brow furrowed. “I hope you won’t mind that I’m a considerable heiress. Some men get all prickly about the possibility that the world might think them fortune hunters.”

  He grinned. “Owning a luxury gaming club may not be respectable, but it’s insanely profitable. I’ve made enough money in the past few years that even high sticklers would be willing to overlook the source.” He considered. “Shall I buy us a fine country manor so Sir Damian and Lady Kiri Mackenzie can become country gentry?”

  She slanted a glance through her thick lashes. “Actually, I own a fine country manor. As part of my inheritance, Adam signed over a property that marches with his.”

  Mac groaned. “I am impressed by Ashton’s generosity, and terrified that we will be neighbors forevermore.”