Chapter Twenty Five

Emma had committed the unpardonable sin of calling upon the King uninvited, and for that she had been sentenced to an interminable wait, while it was determined whether or not she would be received.

She would be. She knew she would be. It had been some time indeed since last she had received a summons, no doubt in deference to His Majesty's ill health. Months might pass between such summons, and under ordinary circumstances, Emma would never have been so crass, so uncouth, so damned indiscreet as to call without such an invitation. But these were hardly ordinary circumstances.

Once, weeks and weeks ago, Rafe had suggested that the likelihood was high that Emma harbored more than a few noble bastards within her household in all the years she had been taking in children. She supposed it was likely true, though the parentage of her children had never been of much concern to her. What she had not mentioned—what it would have been beyond the pale even to suggest—was that she had long suspected she harbored a royal bastard.

She would never have presumed to draw attention to it, because although it was a known thing in the way that all good gossip was that the King had likely fathered several children out of wedlock, he had never publicly acknowledged any of them. But the first summons from the King had arrived just weeks after Josiah had come into her care, and the King had inquired after him specifically.

He had continued to do so, every few months, for years now. It wasn't a friendship that they had established, per se—at least not one that she would have felt confident in presuming upon without proper evidence. She would be accusing his man, as it were, of a grievous crime. But it was a rapport of sorts, one which she hoped would serve her well.

Dannyboy had not yet arrived; a worrisome detail. She had considered carefully their options before she had left her home, and decided that bringing the proof herself would be too great a risk. Her residence had been not only watched but invaded in recent days, and she had doubted very much that Sir Roger would let her move about freely. That assumption had proved correct when her carriage had been stopped before she had even left her street, and she had smiled benignly into Sir Roger's face, blatantly enjoying his growing fury as he had made a wreck of her carriage in his search of it.

But she had had nothing on her, nor in her carriage, and so he had been obliged to let her go, though not without a fair few none-too-veiled threats on what she might expect did she decline his generous offer. And she had noted with a vicious twist of satisfaction the slack-jawed disbelief upon his face as a succession of other carriages had left her estate simultaneously. He could not possibly search them all, though he would no doubt try. He was only one man, even if he thought himself a master of the game.

And she—she truly had begun to think like a spy, to sow chaos and discord in a devious sort of harmony and to maneuver her pieces swiftly and without mercy, using the army at her disposal to thwart his every move. If all had gone to plan, Dannyboy had used the fracas to escape out the terrace door and slip down the street unseen, carrying the proof bound up beneath his shirt and tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

He had been pleased to do it. Proud to do it.

But he had not yet arrived.

A liveried footman slipped through the door in front of her and offered a brief bow. "The King will see you, my lady," he said, and indicated the door with a gesture of his hand.

Thank God, Emma thought. Thank God. Her nerves sang and her head swam with exhaustion as she climbed to her feet. Days without sleep had taken their toll upon her. But it would be over soon. "There is a boy coming to meet me here," she said as she neared. "He'll—look a bit rough. Sound a bit rough." Not the sort that would ordinarily be allowed within the confines of the palace. "His name is Dannyboy. He has got something of monumental importance to deliver to me. When he arrives, please see that he is sent in at once."

Though the request produced a quizzical look from the footman, still he offered her a gracious bow in assent.

And Emma slipped through the door to undertake the most important audience of her life.

∞∞∞

When Sir Roger arrived at the command of the King some two hours later, Emma found herself in high spirits. It was impossible to tell whether the strange euphoria she experienced was due to a delirium of exhaustion or due to the taste of victory coating her mouth, but it was a satisfying thing to see him walk into the room with an odd, pained stride, to see him give a helpless little jerk at the sight of her, his lips pursing beneath the whiskers of his mustache.

And to hear Dannyboy shout from beside her, "That's the blighter what tried to nab me!"

"Oh?" the King inquired, arching a bushy white brow in Sir Roger's direction.

"I kicked ‘im straight in the bollocks and got away," Dannyboy said, with a feral sneer at the offender.

The King's secretary, standing nearby, made a strangled sound beneath his breath and cast a bug-eyed look at Emma, which she interpreted to mean that she was expected to instruct her charge to mind his tongue in the King's exalted presence.

The King, however, hooted with laughter, his corpulent frame shaking with it. "Did you?" he asked. "Well, I daresay he deserved it." Gradually the mirth faded from his face, and his voice grew decidedly frostier as he turned his attention to Sir Roger. "Do sit, Sir Roger. We have been speaking of you."

To his credit, Sir Roger had donned an affable mask for the occasion, and as he sank into his chair, he affected an expression of confusion. "If I have offered some offense—"

"The boy says you grabbed him," the King interjected.

"I have met many liars in my time," Sir Roger said serenely, accepting the cup of tea offered by a servant. "If I bent my ear toward every word spoken into it, I should believe the sky to be green."

"Is that so? Well, then, I expect you shall not be bothered when I tell you that Lady Emma has informed me that you are a traitor," the King said, folding his hands over the ample girth of his stomach.

"Ah," Sir Roger said on a rich chortle. "That, I suspect, is due in no small part to the fact that I presently hold her brother and her lover both within the hallowed halls of Whitehall. They are traitors, Your Majesty—though I can hardly fault Lady Emma for her loyalty to them. Women are, after all, so very malleable. So easily mislead and manipulated."

"Malleable," the King said in a scathing mutter. "God's blood, would it were so."

"No doubt Lady Emma has spun quite a convincing tale," Sir Roger continued blithely. "I daresay I might be tempted to believe her myself, if I did not already know her to be in league with traitors."

Dannyboy leapt to his feet, his small face flushed with fury. "Now see ‘ere, you great—"

"It's quite all right," Emma said smoothly. "I have had my say already, Dannyboy." With one hand, she patted the place beside her upon the couch, and with a begrudging frown, Dannyboy took his seat once more. Sir Roger was being baited, and he did not even know it, more fool him.

"You would have no reason to know this, Your Majesty, since it was handled with all due discretion," Sir Roger said, "but Lady Emma's late husband was, ten years ago, discovered to be a traitor himself. Though it would have been right and just for the Crown to confiscate his monies and property, well—I found myself moved to mercy and argued on her behalf to save her from so cruel a fate." He heaved a great sigh, allowing his shoulders to slump with his next sip of tea. "It seems it is true that no good deed goes unpunished."

"In fact, I am aware of the particulars of Lady Emma's unique situation," the King said, his voice clipped with annoyance.

Sir Roger froze, shocked. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?"

"I am aware," the King repeated. "Lady Emma told me at once. Threw herself upon my mercy, if you can imagine. We've had a good, long conversation about all manner of things. She has brought to my attention the existence of the most interesting book. A ciphered journal belonging to her late husband, if you can credit it."

Sir Roger's eyes jerked toward her, two bright spots of color burning in his cheeks. She saw the moment he had sorted it out, this gamble she had made, and still he kept his voice light, hoping even now to save his skin. "Ah," he said. "Your Majesty, I regret that your valuable time has been wasted with such things. Regrettably, some ciphers are notoriously difficult to break. It is likely that we shall never know its true contents. Of course, I shall instruct the Home Office to give it the closest of attention—"

"No need for that," the King said dismissively. "Since Lady Emma has managed it herself." He shifted in his seat, turning the full weight of his attention upon Sir Roger. "Indeed, she was kind enough to give the most interesting lesson on the workings of it. I could not make out much myself—my sight isn't what it once was, I'm afraid," he said, with a vague gesture toward his eyes which were largely occluded with cataracts. "But my secretary followed along quite well and informs me it is all in order, exactly as Lady Emma has claimed. And what do you suppose we found within its pages, Sir Roger? A great deal about you. I am given to understand you had your hand in a great deal of illicit activity during the wars. Smuggling, counterfeiting—likely it has made you a tidy fortune, yes?"

"I—Your Majesty—" Sir Roger gawped like a fish, his mask thoroughly stripped away.

With a gesture of one large hand, the King silenced Sir Roger's stammering. "What I have seen and heard thus far is enough to hang a man ten times over, and yet I imagine that betwixt the two of us, Lady Emma and I know less than the half of it. The rest, I suppose, we shall have to learn from the gentlemen you have had held within Whitehall." His teeth flashed in a cunning smile. "I ordered them released shortly after I summoned you here."

"This—this has all been a dreadful mistake," Sir Roger said, and his teacup clattered to its saucer; a humiliating display of weakness for a man such as him. His gaze darted, no doubt having noticed the footmen who had begun creeping closer.

"I do not believe, Sir Roger, that one could call treason a mistake in any true sense of the word," the King said archly. "With such evidence against you, I cannot see any path ahead for you which does not lead to the gallows. How fortunate that the services of a hangman have already been engaged." He gave a low chortle, rife with a dark amusement. "Lady Emma, have you anything else to say?"

"Only this, Your Majesty," Emma said, lowering her eyes, unwilling to spare even a fraction of her attention for Sir Roger. "I understand Sir Roger considers himself something of a master of chess. I confess I have not the same talent for the game. But I do remember the most important rule: If one fails to protect the King, the game is over."

Sir Roger drew in a fierce, incensed breath, though his fury would avail him nothing.

"Above all else," Emma said, "I have always been Your Majesty's faithful subject."

Checkmate.

With a pleased chuckle and a gesture of his fingers toward Sir Roger, the King said, "Take him away. Put him under lock and key until such a time as he can stand trial." He directed his attention once more to Emma, studiously ignoring Sir Roger, whose dignity had deserted him as he was apprehended and forcibly escorted from the room. "With that nasty business concluded, Lady Emma," the King said, "do tell me—how fares Josiah?"