Roland looked her up and down in mild disbelief. “The mistress of disguise? It’s a good thing I swept the room earlier. For bugs,” he added, catching her raised eyebrow.
“Well, that was prudent. You look great, too.” He’d dressed in a black tuxedo, she noted with relief. He’d taken her seriously; she’d been a little worried. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Through there.” He looked doubtful.
“Back in a minute,” she said, ducking inside.
She closed the door, hastily untied her servant’s apron, shook her hair out of the borrowed mob cap, then spent a minute fumbling with her waistband. She stripped off the servant’s outerwear, then paused to look in a mirror. “Go kill him, girl,” she told herself. She deftly rolled on a coat of lip gloss, installed earrings and a single string of pearls. Finally she pulled on her black evening gloves, did an experimental twirl that set two thousand dollars’ worth of evening dress swirling, blew herself a kiss in the mirror, and stepped out.
Roland was waiting outside, holding a goblet of wine out toward her: He nearly dropped it when he saw her. “You look absolutely spectacular,” he said, finally. “How did you do it?”
“Oh, it wasn’t hard.” She shrugged her shoulders, which were bare. “You could conceal an arsenal under one of those maids’ uniforms.” I know. I did. She took the glass from him, then took his hand, led him to the sofa. “Sit.” She sat herself, then patted the leather seat next to her. “We need to talk.”
“Sure.” He followed her, looking slightly dazzled.
She felt a stab of tenderness mixed with regret, unsettling and unexpected. What am I really doing here? she half-wondered, then shoved the thought aside. “Come on. Sit down.” He sat in the opposite corner of the huge leather sofa, one arm over the back, the other cradling his glass in front of him, almost hiding behind it. “I had my chat with Angbard today.”
“Ah.” He looked defensive.
She took a sip from the glass and smiled at him. The wine was more than good, it was excellent, a rich, fruity vintage with a subtle aftertaste that reminded her of strawberries and freshly mowed lawns. She fired another smile at him, and he cracked, took a mouthful, and tried to smile back.
“Roland, I think the duke may be lying to us-separately. Or merely being economical with the truth.”
“Ah, ‘lying’?” He looked cautiously defensive.
“Lying.” She sighed, then looked at him sidelong. “I’m going to tell you what he told me, then you can tell me if that’s what he told you. Do you think you can do that? No need to reveal any secrets…”
“ ‘Secrets,’” he echoed. A shadow flickered across his face. “Miriam, there are things I’m not allowed to tell you, and I don’t like it, but it’s possible that-well, some of them may be seeds.”
‘“Seeds’?”
“Tests, for me, to see if I can keep secrets.” He took a mouthful of the Cabernet. “Stuff that, if I tell you, will probably make you do something predictable, so that he’ll know I told you. Do you understand? I’m not considered trustworthy. I came back with ideas about, well, about trying to change the way things are done. Ideas that upset a lot of people. The duke seems to like me-or at least think some of my ideas could be useful-but he certainly doesn’t trust me. That’s why he keeps me so close at hand.”
“Yes.” She nodded thoughtfully. Her opinion of him rose yet again: He doesn’t lie to himself. “I guessed that. Which is why I’m going to tell you what he told me and you’re just going to decide whether to confirm it if it’s true.”
“Uh, okay.” He was intensely focused on her. Good, she thought, feeling a little thrill. She slid one leg over the other, let a calf encased in sheer black stocking sneak out. The game’s afoot, she thought to herself, then noticed his response and felt her breath catch in her throat. Then again, maybe it’s not all a game.
“Okay, this is what he told me. He says I’m in an exposed position and liable to be attacked, maybe murdered, if I don’t dig myself inextricably into the Clan power structure as soon as possible. He says I have some discretion, but I ought to marry within the families and do it soon. Which I think is bullshit, but I let him lead me on. So he’s sending me to the royal court with Olga, for a formal presentation and coming-out. We leave tomorrow.” When she said tomorrow he frowned.
“There’s more.” She paused to drink, then put her empty glass down. Her stomach felt warm, relaxed. She met his eyes. “Is what he told me about expecting me to find a husband among the families what you heard?”
“Yes.” Roland nodded. “I didn’t know you were to leave tomorrow, though,” he said, sounding a little disappointed.
Miriam straightened up and leaned toward him. “Yes, well, he also discussed you,” she said. “He said he’s going to marry you off to Olga.”
“Bastard-” Roland’s raised his glass to hide his expression, then drank its contents straight down.
“What, no comment?” Miriam asked, her heart pounding. This was the critical moment-
“I’m sorry. Not your fault,” he said hoarsely. “I’d guessed he was going to try something to tie me down, but not that crude.” He shook his head frustratedly. “Stupid.” He took a deep breath, visibly struggling for control.
“I take it that’s a no.”
He put his glass down on the low table beside the sofa. As he straightened up, Miriam laid one hand on his arm. “What you told me the other day-he wants you nailed to a perch, just an obedient little branch on the family tree,” she said urgently. “Angbard wants you to make an appropriate marriage and breed lots of little Thorold - Lofstroms to look after him in his old age. With Olga.”
“Yes.” Roland shook his head. He didn’t seem to notice her hand on his arm. “I thought he was at least still interested in-¦ shit. Olga’s loyal. It means he’s been stringing me along with his warnings to shut up and play the political game-all along, all the time.” He stood up and paced across the room agitatedly. “He’s been keeping me here on ice to stop me getting my point across.” He reached the fireplace and paused, thumping the heel of his right hand into his left palm. “Bastard.”
“So Uncle Angbard has been messing you around?”
“ ‘Uncle’-” he shook his head. “He’s much more your uncle than mine. You know how the family braids work? There are several deaths and remarriages in the tree.”
Miriam stood up. Don’t let him get distracted now. This is the point of no return, she realized. Do I want to go through with this? Well, the answer that came to mind wasn’t “no.” She screwed up her courage and walked over to him. “Olga would lock you in and throw away the key.”
“She’d-no, not deliberately. But the effect would be the same.” He didn’t seem to notice her standing a few inches in front of him, close enough to feel her breath on his cheek. Is he completely blind-or just too distracted to notice what his eyeballs are seeing? Miriam wondered, half-turning to face him and pushing her chest up as far as she could without being blatant about it-which was difficult, given what she was wearing. “He wants to tie me in with children, a family. I’d have to protect them.”
On second thoughts… he was looking her in the eyes, now, and he’d noticed her, all right. “That’s not the only option,” she murmured. “You don’t have to surrender to Angbard.”
“I don’t-” He trailed off.
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What you said earlier,” she tried to explain. “You offered to help.” She looked up at him, still maintaining eye contact. “How serious are you?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He blinked slowly, his expression thoughtful, then she saw him focusing on her properly, and it did something odd to her. She felt suddenly embarrassed, as if she’d made some horrible faux pas in public. “It wouldn’t be sensible,” he said slowly. Then he embraced her, hugging her tightly. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”
And now she really felt something, and it wasn’t what she’d expected when the idea of compromising Angbard’s plans for Olga stole into her mind. “The door’s locked. Who’s going to know? A serving girl goes in, a serving girl goes out, I’m in my bedroom working, it’s all deniable.” She pressed her chin into his shoulder. “I want you to pick me up, carry me into your bedroom, and take my clothes off-slowly,” she whispered into his ear.
“Okay,” he said.
She turned her head and laid her lips alongside his. He’d shaved. After a moment she felt his jaws loosen, exploration begin. Her whole weight fell against him and he lifted her, then put her down on her feet.
“Over here,” he said, arm dropping to her waist, half-leading her.
The bedroom furnishings were different. A big oak four-poster with a red-and gold-tapestried canopy dominated the room, and the secondary items were different. She pulled him toward the bed, then paused in front of it. “Kiss me,” she said.
