Page 100 of A Relentless Rake

He lifted a brow. “You hated the way I lived my life.”

“Yes, I did,” she admitted with a long-suffering sigh. “But I cannot find fault in the honesty of it or in relegating that old life to the past.” She leveled a hard look on him. “Especially if it means you’ll finally have the wife and children you should have had years ago.”

Alec gave a choked laugh. Isabel Sinclair was always true to form.

“And quite frankly, being with someone like Miss Everett might just be good for you. She’s not the daughter of a peer, but she’ll give your marriage respectability.”

His lips twitched. If she only knew the truth! The real Olivia who lurked beneath that painfully proper façade was a wild creature of her own, who possessed the daring to venture down dark alleys at night and into his arms…

Butheknew the truth about her. That was all that mattered.

“Do I have your blessing then, Mother?”

She beamed. “Of course. And you also have this.” She removed one of her rings and placed it in his palm. It was a delicate sliver of tiny pearls and aquamarines the same blue as Olivia’s eyes. “This belonged to your grandmother. I think she would be thrilled to have Miss Everett wear it.”

Unable to say anything past the knot clenching his throat, he closed his hand around the ring and kissed her cheek. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that he and his family might finally find happiness.

But there was one more stretch of hellfire that had yet to be endured before they could put the past fully behind them.

“There’s someone else who deserves to know the entire truth from the past,” he said solemnly, gesturing for her to return to her chair. She needed to be seated for what he had to tell her.

Worry darkened her face as she sank onto the chair, but thankfully, she didn’t interrupt.

“About my childhood.” He knelt beside her and took her hand. “And Father.”

Twenty-Six

The royal coach wound its way through Westminster toward Whitehall and the Thames. Around it, all the pomp and grandeur of the monarchy was in full view. Despite the ongoing drizzle, the Horse Guards stood out boldly in their red uniforms on their black horses, gold gilded carriages followed after in the long parade, and other dignitaries walked the puddled parade route from Carlton House to the Thames, where the regent and his party would transfer to the royal barge. But the unexpected cold and damp had succeeded in keeping home most of the spectators who would normally have crowded the route to watch the royal procession roll by.

A shout went up, and a captain of the Guards galloped past the line of carriages to the front of the parade. He reined his horse to a stop with a quick word to the master of ceremonies leading the procession. Behind him, the parade slowed to a stop, as it had done several times already and would undoubtedly do several more before reaching the Thames.

The footman expectedly flung open the door of the royal coach, and the guards allowed a man to climb inside. Dressed in silks and furs as formally as the retainers around them, he removed his black velvet hat and gave a reverential nod to the surprised prince regent on the seat across from him.

“Your Royal Highness.” Another nod, this time with as close to a bow as the seated confines of the carriage allowed. “My deepest apologies for the interruption.”

The regent’s bloated face pinched with indignation. “Who the devil—”

“Major Clayton Elliott, Home Office undersecretary and formerly of the Coldstream Guards.” Then Clayton added quickly to soothe the royal temper, “Who served proudly in your honor and in defense of the Crown and England. In truth, our field marshal at Waterloo only won the battle because of our field marshal in St James’s Palace.”

Clayton was enough of a diplomat to manage to spew that nonsense without his true disdain showing, and the flattery helped to smooth the regent’s ruffled feathers. Barely.

“What is the meaning of this?” the regent demanded. “Howdareyou interrupt—”

“Your Highness, I’m here on official Home Office business.” He reached beneath his velvet robe and withdrew a sealed message. “For you, sir. From Lord Sidmouth.”

The regent snatched it from his hand, broke the seal, and impatiently scanned the message. His ruddy face paled.

“Our plan is in motion.” Clayton signaled through the window at Reed, who nodded and raised his hand to order the parade to move onward. “The bridge was inspected before dawn, and all explosives have been removed. But we need to delay your arrival until the men who planned to detonate them have been arrested. I’ll remain here in the carriage with you as your personal bodyguard.”

The regent’s eyes darted between Clayton and the Home Secretary’s message. Stunned, his flabby jowls flapped as his mouth worked like a fish’s.

“Your carriage is going to be attacked by a mob of protestors when we reach the corner of the park. It’s all a ruse, orchestrated to make the crowds think that your visit to Waterloo Bridge has been delayed due to unrest rather than any kind of problem at the bridge.” Clayton leaned forward to stress the importance of what he was explaining. “You must remain inside the carriage with me, and you will not be hurt. I pledge my life on it.” He nodded toward the note, which now shook in the regent’s trembling hands. “So does Lord Sidmouth. You must trust us, Your Highness.”

Clayton kept his own face carefully impassive even as what little blood remained in the regent’s receded and left a ghostly pallor in its place.

“Riots happen all the time these days, Your Highness. No one will doubt that a mob struck out at you on your way to open the bridge. And you must not tell a word to anyone about me or what I’ve told you today. Do you understand?”

Stunned, the regent nodded. Surely, he was wishing that he was making his way to the bottom of a bottle of fine cognac at that moment.