An Alluring Brew (My Lady’s Potions #3)

Chapter One

“What was that about?”

Maximillian Palo, Earl of Artanges, tried to make his voice sound casual as he pried into the prince regent’s private affairs. Spying on Prinny was always difficult, but tonight the ruler was being especially grumpy.

“You know Lord Benedict,” Prinny said with a dismissive snap of his wrist. “Always something. It can wait until tomorrow.” He plucked a candied plum off a nearby tray and ate it with sloppy adoration.

They were having a casual evening in the prince’s private house, and the royal clearly had no interest in any affairs of state.

Nevertheless, a messenger had appeared and insisted on delivering a message straight into Prinny’s hand.

It was only because Max was near enough to recognize Lord Benedict’s handwriting that he became interested.

Lord Benedict never bothered Prinny with anything except urgent matters.

Add that Max had caught a single word writ large and he couldn’t stop himself from poking further.

That word had caught his attention as a boy when his uncle had returned from the far east with treasures of silk, tobacco, and a silver filigree box so fine that the best English silversmiths could not begin to imitate the design.

That word had settled deep into his bones later when a school friend ventured to the same land and come back with exotic—and erotic—tales of the far away country.

Thanks to Reggie’s stories, Max’s interest in China blossomed into a secret obsession.

He couldn’t go there himself. His responsibilities in England prevented it.

But oh, he was fascinated by everything that word whispered.

China.

Lord Benedict had sent a message about China, and the damned regent was too lazy to pay any attention to it.

“Is something happening at the Foreign Office?” Max pressed.

That’s where Benedict worked as second in command to Lord Castlereagh.

Together they formed the bulk of England’s relationships with every other country on the planet, including those they were at war with. “Has Napoleon done something annoying?”

Max already knew that wasn’t the case. Castlereagh wanted Prinny as far away as possible from the war with Napoleon.

Indeed, Max’s orders—or strong suggestion from Castlereagh and Benedict both—were to interest the Regent in anything except the war effort.

Which suited Max fine because his interest was fixed firmly on the Orient.

No fool, Prinny snorted. “As if he would message me anything about that. No, this is about an unofficial delegation.”

The damned man was being coy now just to toy with Max. He knew of Max’s interest. “A delegation from China, perhaps?” Max pressed.

“Unofficial. Of no importance. I am free to ignore them.”

“Ignore them!” Max exclaimed, knowing now that the prince was indeed playing with him. Prinny had nearly as much interest in Chinoiserie as Max did. It was one of the few things that created their friendship, though their conversations were mostly about gossip and politics, in that order.

“I suppose,” Prinny drawled, “that I could allow you to be here when I receive them.” He gestured vaguely at the throne room. “Tomorrow.”

“When?”

“Who knows when the ships come in? Could be morning, could be during supper.” Prinny grinned. “You’ll just have to stay through the night to make sure to be here.”

Max groaned, knowing he was incapable of resisting the lure.

Even if he was excruciatingly tired of carousing until all hours with the prince.

Even if he was bored to tears with the courtesans that constantly tried to attract him with overblown airs.

And even if another morning with a sore head was going to be death of him.

The prince wanted his company and was willing to bribe him with an interesting bit of Chinoiserie to keep him there all night.

“Very well,” Max said as he gestured to his empty glass. “How would you like to pass the time until then?”

Prinny grinned, knowing he had won. “I think we should discuss the idiocy of your father’s latest speech in Parliament.”

Max chuckled. Attacking the Tory party was one of Prinny’s favorite pastimes. “I cannot in good conscious entertain you with tales of my father’s stodgy, boring, ridiculously old-fashioned conservatism. He is, after all, my father and a highly respected duke.”

“Indulge me.”

Max did. It was the easiest thing he’d done all day. Unfortunately, it continued nearly to dawn.

*

Gongggggggg.

Max jolted awake, his head pounding and his eyes gritty.

“Bloody hell,” moaned a voice near him.

Max needed to squint to see his oldest friend Christopher, the Earl of Bloomsbrook, tightened into a ball on the nearest settee.

The man slept just like he had twenty years ago when they’d both arrived at Eton with knobby knees and a mutual terror of the aggressive older boys.

Last night, his friend had joined the party after midnight and was now looking worse for the wear.

He was gray beneath his straw-like hair which stuck out in every direction.

“Was that a gong?” the man rasped.

How the hell would he know? Max rubbed the grit out of his eyes. Damn it, his back was killing him. What had he slept on? And what was that nauseating smell? Ugh. He smelled like cheap perfume.

Gongggggg.

There it was again. Beneath the echoing, he could hear the murmur of anxious footmen and nervous secretaries. Good lord, Prinny must be beside himself with fury.

Then he remembered. The Chinese! A Chinese delegation was coming today and apparently, was already here. Max pushed to his feet, ignoring the way his temples throbbed.

“What time is it?” Christopher mumbled.

“Time to watch Prinny murder an impertinent delegation,” Max retorted. He had better hurry over to moderate any royal grumpiness. Max tugged on the bellpull then tried not to groan when a servant appeared with barely contained excitement.

“Yes, my lords?”

“Who is making that sound?”

The boy bounced slightly where he stood. “A whole group of Chinese, my lord. With a gong and a litter closed up with silk curtains.”

Gongggggggg.

Chris moaned. “Why won’t they stop?”

“They say they’ll bang it until the prince himself greets them.”

“Bloody impertinent,” Max grumbled. “Ringing a gong in a royal’s private palace.”

“They’re Chinese,” Chris said as he finished off a half glass of leftover wine. “What do they know about how things are done?”

Max didn’t answer. He was in need of some personal grooming.

Fortunately, there was a place for his toilet and a footman nearby who attempted to repair Max’s appearance.

It wasn’t possible. Not completely, but together they fixed the worst of the damage.

Max was debating the need for a quick shave when the gong rang again.

This time the sound truly did bother him. It was loud enough to wake the dead, which meant Prinny would be out soon, ready to chop off someone’s head.

“Come along,” Chris said as he banged on the door. “Prinny’s up.”

Max finished with his cravat and headed out, easily keeping pace with the shorter earl.

They followed the sound of the thrice-damned gong into the ante chamber of the throne room.

The place was stuffed to the gills with Chinese.

Two thick-armed men stood front and back between the poles of a curtained palanquin.

They were the bearers of the litter which must have been heavy because they were opening and closing their hands as if unused to that kind of work.

Two more big men stood behind and another two in front looking like officials.

One carried the hand gong. And at the head of them all, grinning at the spectacle, was a gruff sea captain.

At least that’s what was suggested by the braid on his lapels and the cutlass shoved into his belt.

Oh hell, the second official was about to bang that gong again.

Gonggggg.

The sound reverberated in Max’s skull hard enough to make him recoil. But then he looked at Chris and couldn’t suppress his grin. Both of them were anticipating a dinner tonight regaling friends with this tale.

“Stop that noise!” growled Prinny as he at last made it into the room.

The prince looked like he’d just pulled on a dressing gown.

The royal hadn’t even bothered with shoes, and his face was slick and slightly green.

They had consumed a great deal of…well, everything last night, and the prince did not enjoy early morning surprises. Even if it was after noon.

When the gong continued to reverberate, Prinny waddled forward, grabbed the offending brass, and ripped it out of the Chinese man’s hand.

“What the devil is this about?” the royal demanded as he tossed the offending instrument aside. One of Prinny’s footmen scrambled to catch it and silence the brass note as it clanged against the wall.

The captain cleared his throat, pulled off his hat and bowed to the prince.

“Your Highness, my name’s Captain Pugh, and I’ve been sailing between England and China since I was a boy.

It’s a right good living, Your Highness, and I’ve made friends, so to speak, so when the Wong patriarch needed a ship to deliver his gifts, he picked me. It was an honor, Your Highness—”

“Yes, yes, man. Get to the point or I’ll have you hanged.” Prinny dropped onto a settee and glared balefully about the room.

“Er…yes… Well—”

Before the captain could say anything more, the lead Chinese official stepped forward, his silk robes flapping about his feet.

He looked ridiculous to Max’s western eyes, especially the pointed red hat and the long black queue that descended down his back, but the man clearly took his position very seriously as he unrolled a parchment horizontally between his two hands.