To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(81)

“Indeed?” The king leaned forward in interest.

“Oh, yes,” Alistair said. “For instance, although the badger sow is a creature known for its unpleasant and even aggressive disposition, when it comes to her young, or kits, she shows a pretty maternal side that rivals even the most caring of animals.”

He paused to take another sip of wine.

“How extraordinary!” the king exclaimed. “We would never think a lowly badger to hold the higher feelings God has granted mankind.”

“Exactly.” Alistair nodded. “I myself was moved to sympathy by the plight of a sow when her kits were killed by a hawk. She cried most piteously for her dead children, running back and forth and refusing any sustenance for days. Indeed, I was afeared that she might starve herself to death, so saddened was she by the loss of her young.”

“And what has this to do with us?” Lister demanded impatiently.

Alistair turned slowly to him and smiled. “Why, do you not feel a small portion of sympathy for a badger so grief-stricken by the loss of her young, Your Grace?”

Lister sneered, but the king replied, “Any gentleman of true sensibility would, of course, be moved by such devotion.”

“Naturally,” Alistair murmured. “And how much more moved would a gentleman be by the plight of a lady deprived of her children?”

Silence fell. Lister’s eyes were narrowed to mere slits. His son was watching him in dawning understanding, and Hasselthorpe and Blanchard sat frozen. Alistair wasn’t aware how much the other gentlemen knew about Helen and Lister and their drama involving the children, but Lister’s son at least knew something. He looked quickly between his father and Alistair, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Do you speak of a specific lady, Munroe?” the king asked.

“Indeed, sire. There is a lady formerly acquainted with His Grace, the Duke of Lister, who has recently suffered the loss of her children.”

The king’s lips pursed. “They are dead?”

“No, thank God, Your Majesty,” Alistair replied silkily. “They are only kept apart from their mother, perhaps in honest mistake.”

Lister shifted in his seat. His brow had begun to shine with sweat. “What are you implying, Munroe?”

“Implying?” Alistair opened his eye wide. “I do not imply. I merely state facts. Do you deny that Abigail and Jamie Fitzwilliam are being kept at your London town house?”

Lister blinked. He’d no doubt counted on Helen not knowing where he’d hidden the children. Alistair had, in fact, only learned of their whereabouts this morning, via the simple expedient of sending a boy to bribe one of Lister’s footmen.

Lister visibly swallowed. “I have every right to keep the children within my house.”

Alistair was silent, watching the man and wondering if he saw the trap gaping wide.

The king shifted in his seat. “Who are these children?”

“They are—” Lister began, and then cut himself abruptly off when he finally saw where Alistair had led him. He shut his mouth and glared while Alistair smiled and sipped his wine, waiting to see if the duke was angry enough to throw caution to the wind. If he acknowledged the children in the presence of the king, they would have a claim on him and, more importantly, on his estate.

Kimberly turned to face his parent fully and murmured, “Father.”

Lister shook his head as if coming out of a daze, and his face assumed a polite mask. “The children are nothing to me—merely the offspring of a former friend.”

“Good.” The king clapped his hands together. “Then they can be returned immediately to their mother, eh, Lister?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lister muttered, and then turned to Hasselthorpe. “When do you propose to submit this bill to parliament?”

The duke, Hasselthorpe, and Blanchard leaned together in a political discussion, while Kimberly merely looked relieved.

The king waved for more wine and when it was poured, tilted his glass slightly to Alistair and said, “To maternal love.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.” Alistair gladly drank.

The king set down his glass, cocked his head, and said sotto voce, “We trust that was the outcome you were aiming for, Munroe?”

Alistair looked into the king’s amused blue eyes and permitted himself a small smile. “Your Majesty is as perceptive as ever.”

King George nodded. “Finish that book, Munroe. We look forward to inviting you to another tea.”

“To that end, I’ll take leave of this lovely luncheon with Your Majesty’s permission.”

The king waved a lace-draped hand. “Go, then. Just make sure you don’t stay away from our capital so long this time, what?”

Alistair stood, bowed, and turned to leave the room. As he did so, he passed the back of Hasselthorpe’s chair. He hesitated, but when, after all, would he have another chance to ask the man?

He bent over Lord Hasselthorpe’s chair and said, “Might I ask you a question, my lord?”

Hasselthorpe eyed him with disfavor. “Haven’t you already done enough for one afternoon, Munroe?”

Alistair shrugged. “No doubt, but this won’t take long. Nearly two months ago, Lord Vale wanted to talk to you about your brother, Thomas Maddock.”

Hasselthorpe stiffened. “Thomas died at Spinner’s Falls, as I’m sure you know.”