Free A Wild Night's Bride by Victoria Vane Page B

gallery is the guard room.”
    The centuries-old palace at St. James was a dreary place during the day but extraordinarily eerie by night. Its stone walls and floors failed to emanate any warmth, and its long passageways resounded with eerie echoes. Luckily they had not far to travel, having entered the gate nearest the staircase leading to the state apartments.
    Dousing the lamp, they ventured stocking-footed up the grand staircase. One at a time, they slinked through the long gallery which had once served as the armory and upon whose walls were still mounted every conceivable kind of weapon. Phoebe suppressed a shiver at the menacing gleam of an executioner’s ax on prominent display. With her heart racing, she scurried past the guardroom where several Yeomen dozed while others played at cards and dice and held her breath until reaching the safety beyond in the adjoining chamber.
    After the trio slipped through well-oiled doors, Phoebe rekindled the lamp to reveal the “old” presence chamber. “Look at that,” Ned said on a drawn breath, pointing to the carved shield above the huge fireplace, a remnant from the Tudor reign. On the foreground were the initials H and A united by a lovers’ knot, and in the background, a fleur-de-lis of France, the arms of England, and the rose of Lancaster. The relic only made Phoebe think again of the headsman’s ax.
    “Come,” she whispered hoarsely. “Just beyond are the state apartments.”
    Three sets of softly treading feet passed through the elaborate chamber that once served as Queen Anne’s drawing room and past the larger-than-life portrait of George III, staring with blatant disapproval at the errant intruders and into the throne room.
    There in the vast presence chamber decorated entirely in crimson velvet and gold lace with a soaring, white marble chimney and massive ormolu gilt chandeliers, on a raised dais surmounted by a crimson velvet canopy of state, was the ancient seat of kings, the very throne occupied by a succession of English monarchs for six centuries.
    “What are you gawking at?” DeVere asked Ned who looked like he was fighting the impulse to genuflect.
    “It’s—it’s rather awe-inspiring, don’t you think? To be alone in this room before the king’s very throne?”
    DeVere laughed. “It rather comfortable-looking, don’t you think?” He swaggered across the gleaming parquet.
    Ned gave him a warning look. “Don’t you dare.”
    “Don’t I? But I’ve always fancied the role, you know.” DeVere caressed the scarred arm. “What think you, Kitty dear? Would it not suit me better than that pompous prig who reigns? Shall I warm my arse on the velvet cushion?”
    “I think you’d do best to enact your fantasy on the stage if that is your wish, my lord, for to sit even for a moment on that seat would be a treasonable offense.”
    DeVere raised a mocking brow. “More treasonable, you suppose, than frolicking in his bed?”
    “Please, my lord,” Phoebe said. “There is little time. The palace staff rises early. We haven’t long before we greatly increase the risk of discovery.”
    “I assume the king’s and queen’s private apartments are on the other side of that door?” He inclined his head to a massive oaken portal.
    “Aye,” she said.
    “Pity,” DeVere said with a look of yearning to the throne. “Perhaps another time?”
    “Damn it, DeVere! Just get on with the business!” Ned growled, his irritation increasingly evident.
    At what he knows will come next? Phoebe wondered with a pang of satisfaction if mayhap he was not so immune to her after all.
    “Perhaps it’s best if you wait here?” DeVere pulled the flask from his pocket. He offered it to Ned with a smirk. “For your nerves, ol’ chap. You appear rather on edge.” Ned snatched it from his hands and had already downed a great swallow before she and DeVere disappeared together behind the door.
    ***
    Although Phoebe had often accompanied the young princesses to