Empire and Honor (Honor Bound 7)

“I was just doing my duty, Willi.”

I’m an Aggie, Willi. A graduate of Texas A&M.

It is a matter of pride with us Aggies that we never turn down a drink or a piece of ass.

“I got the impression that it went beyond that,” von Dattenberg said. “I know she’s really grateful.”

And she damn sure should be.

It’s a pity she’s not Catherine the Great of Russia—who is probably, come to think of it, a distant cousin of the baroness. Catherine was known to reward lieutenants of the Household Cavalry for sexual services rendered.

She made some colonels and a few—for outstanding stud service—she made dukes.

For my stud service—God knows Elsa the Great found no fault with it—I should now be Colonel James Cronley, the Grand Duke of Marburg.

Elsa would not look at him.

“I hate to break up this touching reunion,” Frade said at his ear, “but General Martín thinks we should get you out of that uniform, and he’s right.”

Jimmy turned to Clete. “How are we going to do that?”

“We’re going in there,” Frade said, pointing at a door.

“And I’m going with you,” Martha Howell said, as she walked up to them. “To make sure he gives you something nice. What’s your trouser size, Jimmy?”

“Waist thirty, length thirty-six,” Cronley said. He turned back to Elsa. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again while I’m here.”

“That would be nice,” Elsa said.

[FIVE]

“What is this place? It looks like a clothing store,” Cronley said.

“This was my father’s wardrobe. He was something of a clotheshorse,” Clete replied.

“What about shoes? What’s your shoe size, Jimmy?” Martha asked.

“Ten and a half D.”

“What size does that convert to down here, Cletus?” Martha asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s moot. El Coronel didn’t go to shoe stores. He had shoemakers come here. Or had his shoes made in London. But they fit me, and back in the days when I went to shoe stores like the common people, I was a ten and a half. And in the Marine Corps my trouser size was thirty, thirty-seven. You seem to have grown, little brother.”

“Pick out a jacket, Jimmy,” Martha ordered. “We’ll start with that.”

“Which jacket do I get, Clete?”

“Any one your greedy little heart desires. There’s plenty of them. El Coronel ordered them three at a time.”

“You’re kidding,” Martha said.

“No, I’m not. One went to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo, one went in here, and one went to Casa Montagna. I’ve been passing out those latter ones to the Good Gehlens.”

“You haven’t told me about the . . . Good Gehlens,” Martha said.

“I’m still making up my mind whether I will or not,” Frade said.

There were more suits than Jimmy could count hanging in the wardrobe, and on the other side as many sport coats. He found one—a tweed jacket with suede leather patches at the elbows—that he really liked. He held it out for Clete to see. When Clete gave him a thumbs-up, he took it from its hanger.