The Lion's Daughter (Scoundrels 1)

“Surely not now.” Esme put her arm about her cousin’s thin shoulders. “You have only just come, and—”

“Percival—pack!”

“Y-yes, Papa.” The boy fled the room.

Varian’s face remained politely blank. “Certainly I would not wish to keep you from business,” he began smoothly, “but—”

“You won’t keep me,” said Sir Gerald, just as smoothly. “Nor the boy, either. I don’t mean to let him out of my sight until we’re in England. And then not until he’s safe in school, where he might learn his duty at last at the end of a birch rod.”

“As to duty—”

“He knew it was his duty to go with you to Venice, sir.”

“That he did not was entirely my fault, as I explained in my letter.”

Sir Gerald smiled coldly. “I won’t call you a liar, my lord. You’d feel obliged to call me out, and I’m not such a fool as to duel over a boy’s nonsense—even if I believed in that medieval claptrap, which I don’t. Nonetheless, I know perfectly well it was no Italian who talked you into a cruise across the Adriatic. It was that blasted child, his head stuffed with his mother’s sentimental twaddle.”

Varian caught the blaze in Esme’s eyes, but she saw his quick warning glance, and said nothing.

“In any case, events have come out happily enough,” Varian said, his voice quite cool and easy. “Our detour brought me my lady wife…your niece. An occasion for celebration and forgiveness, I hope.”

Sir Gerald shook his head. “You may hope all you like, Edenmont, but the forgiveness you want isn’t in my power to give. You want at least ten thousand pounds of forgiveness if you hope to appease your creditors.”

Varian’s spine went rigid.

The baronet briskly continued, “I hope she brought you at least that much dowry, my lord, because I don’t see anywhere else on earth you’re to get it.”

The rage these words sparked came so fast and furious that Varian couldn’t trust his tongue. While he was fighting for control, his visitor turned his cold gaze upon Esme.

“Meaning no offense, my lady, but you know how family matters stand, even if your lord doesn’t.”

“I know well enough,” Esme answered icily. “I have told him. I have told him as well, that I should sooner die than seek your charity.”

Annoyance flickered in Sir Gerald’s eyes, but he answered with false amiability. “Properly and sensibly said. Because there’s no charity to be got, is there? Not in my mother’s case.”

His glance slid back to Varian. “Won’t be moved, not she, not an inch. Won’t allow the matter to be mentioned. Tried, I did, countless times. Especially after Percival was born. Thought a grandson would soften her. She told me she’d cut the boy off without a groat if I ever spoke my brother’s name again.” He shook his head sadly. “My hands are tied.”

He’d certainly tied Varian’s. “I see,” Varian said. “You would like nothing better than the family’s reconciliation. For your son’s sake, however, you dare not attempt it. Certainly, I should not dream of asking you to do so. Esme and I are fond of Percival. We should not wish to cause him difficulties. It would appear you’ve no choice but to take him home yourself. Were my wife and I to accompany him, his grandmama would take it ill, I collect.”

“Exactly, my lord.” Sir Gerald rubbed his hands. “A regrettable situation, indeed. Dirty linen and all that. So good of you to understand.”

“I understand,” Varian said, “quite well.”

Ali glared at the filthy beggar who stood before him. “Miserable wretch,” he said. “The grief you’ve caused me. I should let the lions make a breakfast of you. But my heart’s too soft. It tells me you’re not to blame that Allah gave you the brains of a jackass.” He looked to Fejzi. “Yet this deluded fellow thinks he’s the clever one and Ali the jackass. Because I’m old and sick, he thinks I’m blind and stupid as well. What say you, Fejzi? What should be done with this faithless dog?”

“I would not presume to advise your highness,” Fejzi answered. “Yet it would appear the man should be fed—and bathed—else the lions will turn up their noses.”

“Then go see about it,” Ali snapped. “And let me speak to this dirty creature in private.”

Fejzi silently withdrew.

As Fejzi’s footsteps faded away, Ali turned a reproachful gaze upon the beggar. “I won’t embrace you, Red Lion. I’m deeply offended.”

“I suppose it’s the stench,” Jason said. He dropped down to the carpet and arranged himself, cross-legged, at the low table. “Couldn’t be helped. When one hunts rats, one must go among them.” He calmly poured a cup of kafe for the Vizier, then another for himself.

“You might have let me hunt with you,” Ali grumbled. “But no. How many years have we known each other? Yet in this, you couldn’t trust me.”

“This was too personal. You’ve invested so much in your cousin. You’d great plans for him.”

Ali shrugged. “Ismal’s an ingrate. A European education he had. A complete waste. He still thinks like a barbarian. It’s a great pity, with those looks and winning ways. He was formed by nature for diplomacy. He could have made all the rulers of Europe weep for our plight and aid us against the Turks. So much he could have done for his people. He might have been a hero greater than Skanderbeg. It’s most disappointing. Where shall I find another such?”

“You’ve risen above many disappointments, highness.”

“So I have, and got my revenge as well.” Ali sipped his coffee and smiled. “This particular revenge will be especially amusing.”

Jason pushed his own cup away, untasted. “I won’t ask. I’ve done what I could to avert bloodshed. If you mean to strew the countryside with dead bodies, I can’t stop you.”

“Aye, why don’t you just drive your dagger into my heart while you’re about it? Twenty years and some—and this is your opinion of my intelligence?” Ali gave a reproving click of his tongue. “My cousin is confined to the finest apartments of the Janina palace. He’s gravely ill. The physicians grieve because he’s dying of love for the Red Lion’s daughter, and there’s no cure. One physician is so low in spirits

I fear he’ll die soon after my cousin does.”

“The one you’ve paid to poison him, I take it?” Jason asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Ali’s silence was answer enough.

“It’s a pity,” Jason said after a moment. “A sad waste. Had matters fallen out differently, I could have wished…” He trailed off, frowning.

“I know what you wished. The same I wished, once. But I saw with my own eyes, Red Lion. Your daughter gave her heart elsewhere.”

“Fejzi tells me she wed the cur a week ago.” Jason’s frown deepened. “I’d no idea. I was at sea—”

“That’s just as well,” Ali said quickly. “You needed your wits about you. And you couldn’t have interfered without risking your life and those of many others.”

“Someone should have interfered. The man’s a—”

“Whore. Aye, so they say. But he’s good-looking and strong. He’ll give your daughter tall, handsome sons. Even now, she may be carrying your grandson.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

“A grandson, Jason, who’ll be an English lord one day.”

“And a lot of good that’ll do him—or my daughter. What the devil’s Edenmont to do with another mouth to feed? Where’s he going to keep her? How’s he going to keep her?”

Ali shrugged. “I offered him money to leave her here. He refused. She ran away from him. He chased after her—even risked his life, I’m told. He’ll find a way to keep her, my friend. Don’t trouble yourself. When you meet him, you’ll see I’m right.”

“When I meet him,” Jason growled, “I’ll thrash him within an inch of his sorry life. I’ve more than one score to settle with that worthless piece of aristocratic depravity.”

“Then you mean to pursue them. You mean to abandon me, Red Lion.”

“I’d intended to leave when this business was finished.”

“It’s not finished. You haven’t told me who provided those ships.”

“I don’t know who provided them.” Jason looked the Vizier square in the eye. “And if I did, I wouldn’t—”