A Royal Kiss and Tell

A LIGHT RAIN had begun to fall when Leo reached the Upper Brook Street mansion where Hawke and his sister resided most of the year. Hawke had said once that in the unbearable months of summer they decamped to a family house in the Cotswolds. Leo was flanked by Kadro and Artur as he jogged up to the door. Kadro reached forward and rapped on the door. Several moments passed before the door swung open and Hawke filled the frame. He was still wearing his dressing gown. Dark shadows accentuated his green eyes, and his darkly golden hair appeared to be standing on end. Leo’s first instinct was that Lady Caroline had died.

But then Hawke grinned and said jovially, “Highness! You’ve come just in time. The fever broke last night.”

“That is welcome news indeed, friend.”

Hawke threw his arm around Leo’s shoulders and hauled him inside. “Come in, come in, all of you. No need to guard him here, eh, lads? We’ll have ale. No! Better yet, we’ll have gin. A toast to my sister’s health. Garrett! Where are you, Garrett?” he bellowed, calling his butler.

Kadro and Artur did not move from their post at the door. Hawke didn’t seem to notice. He let go Leo and padded into the salon, barefoot, his silk dressing gown billowing out behind him. “Garrett, come here!”

Leo glanced back at his guards and, with a tip of his chin, sent them outside to wait, then followed Hawke into his study. The place was disastrously cluttered. Books had been tossed onto the settee; more of them, once stacked near the hearth, had toppled over. Morning papers were stacked haphazardly on a table. There was a pile of what looked like clothing, but Leo wasn’t entirely certain. On the desk, dishes from a previous meal. It appeared as if Beckett Hawke was living in this room.

Garrett entered and bowed, then offered to take the flowers and whisky from Leo.

“What good news it is to hear your sister has recovered,” Leo said.

“She still drifts in and out of sleep. It’s to be expected. She’s hardly eaten a thing,” Hawke said. He made his way to the sideboard, waving off Garrett, who juggled the flowers and the whisky in his hands. Hawke uncorked a bottle and poured gin into two glasses.

“Has she spoken yet?” Leo asked.

Hawke looked at Leo and grinned. “Oh, but she has. She accused me of causing her fever by hovering so close to her side and sent me from her room.” He laughed. “That is a very good sign. If she is cross with me, she is feeling herself again. Is that not so, Garrett?”

“Yes, milord.”

“And the doctor? What has he said of her health?”

“The doctor, the doctor,” Hawke said with a shake of his head. “He says the same thing he’s said all along. He presses his horn to her chest and says she has a heartbeat as dependable as a drummer boy, that there is nothing to fear.” He signaled his opinion of that by flicking his wrist dismissively. “She nearly died, I tell you. Had we not opened the windows to clear her room of bad air, and Mrs. Green had not made a poultice for her feet to draw the fever out, she would have certainly died.”

“Then God’s grace smiles on you today, my friend, for she did not,” Leo reminded him.

“No, she didn’t,” Hawke agreed, and paused to ponder that. He nodded and looked at Leo. “You’ve convinced me.”

“I’ve what?”

“Convinced me that her health has returned to her.”

“I have?” Leo asked, confused.

“I am to the club! You’ll wait, won’t you, while I tidy up a bit? I insist you accompany me and tell me what you’ve been about.” He picked up his glass and downed the gin. “I suspect you’ve been a naughty boy, Your Highness.”

Leo smiled thinly. “I would be honored if you would call me Leo when you mean to chastise me.”

Hawke laughed. “Then you must call me Beck. Not Beckett—sounds too much like bucket, doesn’t it? Garrett, have hot water brought to my rooms. And do something with those,” he said, gesturing to the most excellent whisky and the flowers. “Caro will like the flowers to brighten her room. Oh, yes, and see to it that His Royal Highness is kept comfortable until I return.”

“Aye, milord.”

“Do make yourself comfortable, Highness,” Hawke—or Beck—said as he swept out of the room behind Garrett.

Leo didn’t know how he’d make himself comfortable in a room as chaotic as this one. And really, what Leo wanted to do was sneak out of here and find Miss Marble. He had a feeling that once Lady Caroline was fully recovered, his access to this house and the servants would be abruptly curtailed.

He moved closer to the door, so that he could see into the hallway. He was standing in front of a painting of a fox hunt. The rider on a black steed, bent over the horse’s neck, was Beckett Hawke. In the distance was a stately home that Leo supposed was their country seat. He was studying the dogs racing alongside the idealized version of Beck when he heard the butler in the hallway just outside the door.

“Susan? Susan!”

Leo leaned forward slightly, listening.

“What have you got there?”

“Linens, Mr. Garrett. We’ve changed her bed linens.”