Princess in a Strange New Land by Linda Skye Page B

snivelling aristocrats who thought of nothing but currying favour for their families. Of course, it didn’t hurt that rumours of his sensual prowess sent hearts racing across the English court. Women often flocked to him, pressing their ample bosoms against his arm and fluttering their eyelashes in the hopes of a tumble in his bed. And John welcomed the occasional tryst; after all, a hardened man such as himself needed a pleasurable diversion now and then. But none of these court women kept him interested for long; they thought of nothing but hair and clothes and royal favour, and engaged in nothing but witless, fanciful conversation. More often than not, John found himself craving biting banter or trading political ideas—something which no one cared to do while dabbling in luxury.
    He strode confidently through the hall—until he felt the king’s eyes on him. He looked up, and the imposing monarch beckoned to him with an open hand. King George’s face revealed nothing, but that did not necessarily bode well for John. His fickle companion, Albert, had already disappeared into the crowd. His lips thinning ever so slightly, John made his way to the royal dais, where the king sat waiting.
    “You are late, Sir John,” King George intoned, his tone deceptively light.
    “My most sincere apologies, Your Majesty,” John said with a low bow. “I was so caught up in the beauty of your realm that I lost track of time and returned late from my afternoon ride.”
    “After your years of faithful service in the colonies, you are of course entitled to some relaxation in your native land,” the king hummed thoughtfully. “But that does not excuse you for being late. Your service to me is far from over, Captain.”
    John bowed again. “I will do whatever is in my power to be of service to you, Majesty.”
    “A wise answer,” the king rejoined, “for I already have a task in mind.” He pointed a bejewelled finger to a group of visiting savages. “Do you know who they are?”
    “Yes,” John replied stiffly. “That explorer, Mr. Cartwright, brought back that group of Inuit with him from the Northern colonies, did he not?”
    “Indeed,” said the king. “They are here on a diplomatic visit.”
    “Diplomatic?” John scoffed. “You give them too much credit, Your Majesty. They are only travellers, and the court considers them nothing more than a passing circus.”
    “You would be wise not to underestimate the power of goodwill,” the king said. “These Inuit envoys may help us gain favour in the North. Or is battle all you know?”
    John pursed his lips, his brows lowering as he studied the group of Inuit. There were five of them: an old chief decked in lush furs and necklaces, three elders and one young woman. His eyes lingered on the woman’s shapely form. Her back was to them, but he could not help but notice the taut beauty of her arms, the elegant curve of her waist and the gentle arcs of her long legs.
    “What would you have me do?” he asked, turning back to his king.
    King George eyed him speculatively, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair.
    “Of all the nobles here, you know the most about the New World,” he said authoritatively. “So I am appointing you to be their guide and host during their visit.”
    John bit his lip, knowing better than to argue. But this was not what he had wanted upon returning to England. He had hoped to escape all reminders of the New World, not be an ambassador between the natives and his own people!
    “Well?” the king prodded. “Go and make their acquaintances.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty,” John said through gritted teeth as he bowed and then spun away.
    He made his way to where the Inuit elders were still clustered together; apparently the young woman had already wandered off. They turned as he approached, their wizened eyes locking on to his regal form.
    “The king has appointed me to act as your host for the duration of your stay,” John announced