A Whisper of Treason

by Connolly, Lynne

  Adam swept forward, past the half-dozen people occupying the room, and went down on one knee, lowering his head. “Your majesty,” he murmured. “I come to you with my heart in my hand.”

  “We are pleased that you have finally seen sense and returned to us.” The voice, reedy, holding a complaining tone, seeped through his senses. Adam tried not to let his dislike show. No, not dislike, but to even think a word like hatred here would be unwise.

  This man had overseen the near ruin of his family, had caused his father’s death. He still thought he had the right to wreck lives, for a cause lost ten years ago. They had taken his countrymen down with them, and never apologized, never looked back.

  Adam wore his society smile when he lifted his head. In response to the waving of long fingers, he got to his feet.

  The man who called himself king stared at him. Adam kept his gaze on the man’s cheekbones, careful not to meet those dark eyes set between a hawk nose in a narrow face. Such close scrutiny might be construed as insolence. In time, he’d show them insolence, but not now. Not today.

  He’d come for information.

  James Francis Stuart took his time. From his seat on a golden chair upholstered in red, the arms of Britain carved in wood above, he stared. His legs were crossed at the ankle, elbow resting on the padded arm. Finger against his lean cheek, he studied his new courtier.

  Adam had come to swallow his pride and beg forgiveness from this monster. So he’d better get on with it. “Your majesty, it does my heart good to see you so well.”

  “Not so well.” The pitch of his voice rose in complaint.

  He was glad The Old Pretender didn’t feel so well. The Stuarts could go to hell’s mouth for all Adam cared. He set his jaw.

  “However, to have an old supporter of my family return to the fold is pleasing to us.” Stuart gestured, those long fingers pointing at a sideboard.

  A man immediately went and poured two glasses of red wine, and brought them back. Adam bowed and took the concoction reverently, as if given something precious. “Thank you, I am grateful.”

  “You wish to take up residence in Rome?”

  “I have duties in Britain, sire.” He was close to the bone now. There were lines, that if he passed them, would cause a great deal of trouble, and seal his doom. Because of his father’s folly, people watched him, expected higher standards than they did from other peers.

  “You have seen our son.” Stuart spoke with disdain.

  “I have, sire. In Germany.” He had. The Young Pretender lived a peripatetic life these days. Officially he couldn’t visit France or Britain, but he had. However, his current residence was in Germany, though for how long nobody knew, not even his own household.

  “He refuses to face reality.” The melancholy features turned even more so, the lines graven between nose and mouth deepening, channeling their way to his chin. “But he was always the impulsive one.” He sighed as if the world lay on his shoulders. “He will do as he sees fit.” When Adam offered no opinion, he added, “As he always does. What is he doing now?”

  “Why would he confide in me?” Adam demanded.

  He was close. The Young Pretender had not confided in him, had, in fact, regarded him with suspicion. A frustrating waste of time. But here, with the man’s father—was he responsible for this mess?

  While saying James Stuart brightened would be an exaggeration, a muscle or two moved and his expression lifted a small amount. “Your father was a good man, loyal to the true crown. Our son may not believe you, but we feel your truth.”

  Adam bowed. He didn’t trust himself to speak. But he had made his bed now, and he had to accept it. As he straightened, taking his time, he considered what he could say and what he could not. He didn’t trust the people who’d sent him here any more than he trusted anyone in this room.

  “I am here, sire, to offer help and succor.”

  The man on the nearly-throne nodded. “We will not thank you as a king, but as a man. We appreciate what you have sacrificed in order to do this.”

  He didn’t know the half of it, Adam thought grimly. But he said, “Your majesty’s kindness overwhelms me.”

  “We are not without forgiveness,” the man variously known as The Old Pretender and the King Over the Water said. He had a low voice that thrummed with power, and Adam couldn’t deny the force of his presence. Those attributes had taken the Stuarts a long way.

  Adam had vowed never to let the conflicts of kings interfere with his life or the lives of the people he was responsible for ever again. And yet here he was, facing a would-be king who wanted to drag him back into the fight.

  Stuart touched his lower lip with his forefinger, pressed in, all the time keeping his attention on Adam. “You visited our son, then came here. Why? We would speak further to you on that subject.”

  At last, the man moved. As he got to his feet and shook out the skirts of his heavy, velvet coat, two men hurried up to assist him. He waved them off. “We are old, but not decrepit.”

  He was taller than average, but Adam overtopped him by an inch or two. Unfortunate. Supplicants should ideally have to look up to their patrons. Adam did his best, hunched his shoulders and bent at the knee, but not too much, or the bystanders would ridicule him.

  “Come.”

  Stuart moved away without looking back. Of course Adam followed him, but a small grumble added to his grievances against this man. A small one, true, but the arrogance rankled. Nevertheless, he followed, keeping his head bowed. Humility had to become his middle name if he was to speak to this arrogant fool. For even a clever man could be a fool. Adam was banking on it.

  Entering a smaller, even warmer room, Adam noted the portraits on the walls as Stuart took his seat behind a large, elaborately carved desk. Portraits of his ancestors, kings of Scotland and then England, Wales and Ireland. Now he was king of nothing.

  He nodded to one of two men who had followed them in. These men dressed plainly in sober colors, their wigs neat bobs, their deference that of servants rather than subjects. One opened an inkwell set in a pewter arrangement on the table and pulled a small stack of paper towards him. Ready to take notes.

  Adam sat on a chair the other man had pulled up for him, the seat and back hard wood unalleviated by cushions of any kind. The portraits on the paneled walls glared down at him. Adam fought to retain his humility. He was a supplicant. A damned supplicant. Lives depended on his actions now, one in particular.

  As the Duke of Kilsyth, Adam still had considerable interest for the king in exile. Even without his fortune. His acquisition would be a coup. That was his main bargaining counter, and the way he intended to get the information he needed. Was his brother involved in this plot to assassinate the royal family, or had the generals in Whitehall been misinformed?

  “You are staying by the Spanish Steps, I believe?”

  So the royal “we” went with the audience.

  Adam was not surprised that the man knew his address. He’d seen a watcher a time or two. He’d even prepared for it. “Yes, sire. I am staying in one of the apartments in the house. Together with my loyal manservant who insisted on following me from England.”

  Actually, he’d hired every apartment in the building, but why would he tell anyone that?

  The Old Pretender gave one of his tremendous sighs. “Does the usurper know you are here, and that you have transferred your loyalty to me?”

  Good question, one which Adam did not intend to answer. The weight of lies bore hard on him. “You mean the king in London?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I do not think so, your majesty.”

  The Old Pretender exchanged a glance with the man scratching away at his notes. “I will not insist on your oath at this time. I may have other uses for you before you take that step.”

  Adam suppressed his sigh of relief. “You think I could obtain reentry into the British court? Is that what you want?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps here in Rome.”

&n
bsp; The Old Pretender’s words gave Adam an opening. “I have some slight acquaintance with the new attaché,” he said. “Perhaps I should renew it.”

  Stuart nodded, apparently busy signing a document his aide had just put before him. “You could. That might be useful. Sometimes, discussion provides more fruit than violence. He will come here of course, but I could use a man who will tell me what he is really thinking.” He took his time putting the quill back in its stand before looking up. “But you walked in here and declared your loyalty to me. That could be difficult to explain, considering your family history.”

  A dance. This was nothing but a damned dance. The second man, heavily set, dressed in faded crimson velvet, brought another sheaf of papers over. What on earth was this man signing? He had no country, no property, no jurisdiction. The papers he signed remained just that—papers. They had no validity.

  The second man moved sharply, his coat swinging out and giving Adam a view of the brooch he wore at his throat, just below his neckcloth.

  Adam caught his breath. He knew that diamond-edged cameo. The gems were small, giving the ancient carved stone prominence. Few cameos this fine existed in the world today, much less ones that ancient.

  “You have a fine jewel,” he commented, forcing the edge out of his voice.

  The man lifted his bushy brows. “This?” He touched the brooch, and Adam wanted to kill him for it. “It’s a mere trinket.”

  “My mother had one similar to that.” In his mind’s eye, he saw the brooch nestling in its green velvet box, where it had lived when his mother was not using it. “May I ask how you came across it?”

  The man glanced at his master and, at his nod, unpinned it and gave it to him.

  The man who would be king turned the brooch over in his hand. The diamonds were set in silver to enhance their pinpoint brilliance. The cameo had a gold setting, slim and delicate, but strong enough to hold the fragile material. Held up to the light, the cameo glowed, the background thin, the central carving of Jupiter and Leda lovely.

  Adam knew it well.

  “A pretty thing.” He looked up, the sleepiness in his eyes completely gone. Now only challenge remained. “Would you like it?”

  Adam worked hard to keep his breath steady and even, even harder to maintain his calm expression. “I would greatly appreciate the trinket, sire.”

  This was what he had come here to discover, and Stuart knew it. “The last time I saw that brooch, or its twin, was on my brother’s coat, but I have not heard from him in some time.”

  “He could have sold it.”

  Adam shook his head. “My mother gave it to him when he took up his commission. He claimed it was his lucky piece, and it was always to be found about his person.”

  The Old Pretender smiled. “Then you could ask your brother for it when you see him. Lord Frederick, is it?”

  If he stayed here much longer, he would choke, and that had nothing to do with the heat. “Major Lord Frederick,” he said mildly.

  “Ah, a member of the traitorous army.”

  Adam jerked a nod. “The last I heard of him, he was with his regiment in Germany. One of my reasons for coming here, I confess, was to ask you if he had come to you.”

  Stuart gave him a pitying look and shook his head. “Your grace, I am not so foolish. You came to Rome destitute, or so you claimed when you saw me last. And yet when in Germany, you had your usual entourage, and your diamonds. What happened to them? I might not have an interest in my son any longer, but I do watch the son of one of my most loyal supporters. Especially one who gave the ultimate sacrifice in battle.”

  A little reminder of where Adam’s loyalties should lie. But what had that done to his father? The Stuarts didn’t give a rusty nail for anything or anyone but themselves. The cause had ended with the death of his father and the ruination of the estate. His father had donated to the cause over and over again.

  Adam knew where his loyalties lay. With his family and his country, in that order.

  “Naturally, I will help you in your search. However, I have a favor for you to consider.”

  He lifted a finger, issuing an imperious dismissal to his aides. Presumably, they had done their duty bringing the brooch to Adam’s attention. It still lay before the man, not close enough for Adam to examine it properly. Kept out of his reach, tantalizing him. Was it the same as the brooch his memory had conjured up? He had to have it in his hands to know for sure.

  The aides left the room, silently gliding out of a door at the back. They had done their work. Now The Old Pretender wanted to speak to Adam without witnesses. Adam had no doubt at least one of those men was listening at the door. Royal courts worked like that, which was one reason he generally avoided them.

  He waited until the door behind the desk was firmly closed, and then for Stuart to speak. The older man seemed to be in no hurry, but studied Adam as if he were an exhibit.

  Adam tried to ignore his rising temper, and waited. But he would not wait forever.

  “I believe we may help one another.”

  Ah. Here it came. “Sire, I will do anything in my power to find my brother.” He didn’t even know if Frederick was still alive. Only that he’d been assigned a special mission. A very dangerous one.

  “Family feeling is always to be admired. Unfortunately, families are not always as one might wish.” That was the nearest Adam had ever heard of the personal feelings of the man sitting before him. The sadness that invaded his eyes was habitual, so nothing could be construed from that.

  He let the man continue. “You have a connection with the new British attaché, do you not?”

  “I do, sire. A tenuous one, but it will hold.”

  “I do not wish for an extra official from Britain in the city. Rid me of this turbulent duke, and I am sure that Lord Frederick will reappear. I am not particularly concerned how that is done, but do it quickly.”

  That sounded very much like a threat. And a potent one. Did The Old Pretender have his brother in a cell somewhere?

  Adam fought to retain his cool demeanor. He wanted the order in plain speech.

  He wanted the bargain laid on the table, pure and simple, with no misunderstanding. “You want me to kill him?” He pitched his voice low and steady, purposely taking his time, desperately struggling for control.

  Stuart spread his hands. “Oh, nothing so crude, unless you would find pleasure in the act. Far be it for me to deprive a man of his pleasures. I would prefer him to stay in place, but be, shall we say, made more amenable.”

  Adam’s suggestion had found favor with Stuart. “I see. You wish me to stay close?”

  The slight smile broadened, although the man managed to retain his air of melancholy. Years devoted to the subject gave him practice. “Precisely. Get close to him. Let me know what he thinks, how he plans to exercise his duties. I believe you met one of the young ladies in his care, and shared what my informer suggested was an intimate moment.”

  So someone had seen him with Delphi. Suppressing his sigh, Adam nodded. He learned two things from that statement, the most important being that Stuart valued him. Otherwise, why have him watched? “Yes, I happened on Lady Delphi Dersingham.”

  He gave a brief nod. “You may wish to pursue that connection.”

  Finally, finally he pushed the brooch across the table. Trying not to appear overeager, Adam picked it up.

  The touch took him back ten years, to when his mother gave it to Frederick. She’d worn it almost every day until then, but when Frederick left, it became his. The oval cameo depicted Leda and The Swan, significant because of the swan supporters on their family coat of arms. This swan was twined around the naked woman, the carving a miracle, the scene sensuality in action. It stopped short of obscene, but only just.

  Tiny diamonds outlined the oval. He flipped the lovely thing over, and studied the back. The gold supports gleamed, the pin firm. And there it was—the engraved message his father had put there. Amo, amas, amamus. I love, you love, we lo
ve. A simple conjugation that meant so much more to his parents. At least in the early days, before Adam’s father had wound himself up in the cause so much he’d forgotten where his true loyalties lay.

  He lifted his head, found Stuart waiting. He met The Old Pretender’s melancholy brown eyes, his own flat and expressionless.

  “Yes, this is my brother’s brooch.”

  How had Stuart gotten hold of it? Was this a signal that Frederick had joined the Jacobites? He refused to believe it. That was not the Frederick he knew and loved. But he needed to find him, to make him answer for himself. Adam would not give up on Frederick until he’d heard his brother with his own ears.

  “Cultivate the acquaintance of the Duke of Trensom and Lady Delphi Dersingham. I am interested in their activities. And, your grace, your borrowed rags don’t impress me. Dress more appropriately when you attend my court, if you please.”

  The orders suited Adam’s plans. Once he knew Trensom better, he’d know how much of his work he could share with him. And he’d get to see more of Delphi Dersingham, which was never a bad thing.

  “Very well,” he said.

  Chapter Seven

  Although Delphi’s recovery from unsuitable love had hit a setback, life, especially of the social kind, went on. The next event on their social calendar came the day after Delphi had visited Adam’s lodgings. She would use it as a test, of sorts, to see if anyone had seen her rash actions.

  Lady Billingham had invited the Trensoms and their guest to spend the day at her villa, set in the hills above Rome.

  Traveling in state in the Trensom carriage, wearing her newest gown of pale yellow silk, Delphi traced the pattern of a flower woven into the fabric.

  As well as her residence in the city, she had a villa about an hour’s journey from Rome. It had extensive grounds and people flocked to her when she announced a day’s entertainment, as she had a week ago.

  Delphi had considered feigning illness, but that would only have delayed her reception. Better to get it over with, to see if anyone would comment on her severe lapses. Perhaps nobody had noticed, even in the febrile atmosphere of Rome. Perhaps. Or she could deny it. After all, she hadn’t worn her best, not like today.