Shall We Dance? by Kasey Michaels Page B

cannot—”
    â€œMa’am?” Amelia interrupted, offering the queen her nearly untouched glass of sherry. “Perhaps it was unwise to leave your chambers? You did say you were unwell.”
    Queen Caroline snatched the glass from Amelia’s hand and downed its contents in one long gulp, while Perry did his best to pretend an interest in the rather depressing hunt painting hung over the fireplace.
    The next thing he knew he was on his feet again, as the queen had risen, looking about distractedly as Amelia took her arm, urged her toward the hallway.
    â€œMy Queen,” Perry said, bowing yet again (dear, dear, but there was a lot of bowing and such to deal with when in an audience with one’s queen).
    â€œNot just yours. England’s queen, Brentwood,” the queen countered, flecks of sherry-colored spittle gathering in the corners of her mouth. “I am England’s queen, and he tells them I am England’s whore.”
    â€œOh, look, ma’am, here’s Rosetta, come to tend to you. Would you like me to attend you, as well?”
    â€œA splendid idea, Miss Fredericks,” Perry said quietly, realizing that the queen was all he’d heard andmore. “I am sure someone will direct me as to where to locate Clive, and then we will be gone. Until tomorrow, for the Promenade?”
    â€œYes, yes, fine,” Amelia said as the queen leaned heavily against her and the two women departed the room, leaving Perry very much alone.
    His uncle would probably tell him to take advantage of such an unexpected stroke of luck, and go investigating in cabinets, in corners, in drawers.
    But Perry had never planned to do any such thing. He’d accomplished what he’d wished to accomplish—he’d gained entry into the queen’s domicile. He never intended to do more, no matter how adamantly his uncle requested more of him. It was only important to keep his uncle from summoning the thoroughly unscrupulous Jarrett Rolin to take his place.
    Besides, he already had seen enough, more than enough. The queen was more than candid, more than indiscreet. She was on the verge of losing her mind, if she had not already crossed one bridge too many in her hatred for the king.
    Henry Brougham had to know, as he had access to the woman. Many of the most powerful of the Whigs had to know. Yet they would fight this Bill of Pains and Penalties. They would stand behind their queen, in the hopes that her success would mean their return to power.
    It was sad, that’s what it was, and Perry felt very much in need of a bath, not because of his Tory uncle who would only be delighted if Perry brought him evidence of the queen’s supposed adultery, but because ofhow all of England had their own plans to use, and then most likely discard, this poor, ruined queen.
    Perry picked up his hat, cane and gloves and walked into the hallway, to look up the winding staircase. In the middle of all of this intrigue and selfishness and, yes, madness, Amelia Fredericks shone like a beacon of true devotion to her queen, with no notion of personal gain.
    He admired that; he admired loyalty. He admired the fact that she seemed to ask for no reward, and not expect one, either.
    Spying for England, working to defeat Napoleon, had been what Perry had sought to do, and the thought of recognition, of reward, had been repugnant to him.
    He recognized Amelia as a kindred spirit in that regard.
    But he was not so simple as to believe that one slim girl could protect the queen from those who would destroy her, or from those who would “save” her for their own benefit. His uncle was a very powerful man, with powerful friends. Liverpool could be formidable.
    Brougham? The man had ideals, which made him vulnerable. He did not have the instincts of a shark detecting the scent of fresh blood in the water. But, ideals or not, Brougham, too, seemed more than ready to use Caroline for his own ends, or else he would