The Royal Rogue (Tales of Lilleforth #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ E xcuse me, Captain?”

Thomas Malone tensed at the words. Judging by the speaker’s tone, he had a fair idea where this conversation was leading, and it was nowhere good. He turned to face the young guard who was hovering at his elbow. “What is it, Sam?”

The young man fidgeted. “Only, you said watch the duke and let you know if he does anything that might be a problem, and I turned away for a minute and now he’s, um. Well, he’s disappeared, is the thing.” Sam ducked his head to avoid Thomas’s gaze. “So, I thought that I’d better tell you?” The sentence ended like a question and Thomas had a pang of sympathy for Sam, who’d only been working at the castle for a month.

He suppressed a sigh and did his best to school his expression. There was no point in taking his frustration out on the messenger. This was his own fault. He should have known that bloody Evan bloody Devere, Duke of Ravenport, would turn out to be more than a match for a junior guard. The man was slipperier than a wet cat.

“Thank you for telling me. Where was he when you last saw him?”

Sam’s brow creased. “Last I saw, he was sharing a jug of wine with that visiting earl, the tall one?”

Thomas glanced around the room and his suspicions were immediately confirmed. The Earl of Aramanthe was also missing.

Bugger.

“Leave it with me, Sam,” he said before striding out of the ballroom, past the couples in all their finery who were watching the king and his husband performing a waltz, past the servants in their best livery carrying trays filled with wine. Thomas made a beeline for the staircase at the rear of the castle that led to the bedrooms and then headed upstairs. By the time he reached the top, the sound of the musicians playing was nothing but a faint echo.

As he approached the suite of visitors’ rooms where the Earl and Countess of Aramanthe were being housed, he heard other, less refined noises—ones that were far too familiar, at least where the duke was involved.

“Oh, yes! There! Harder!”

Thomas stopped at the end of the corridor leading to the bedrooms, closed his eyes, and let out the sigh he’d been holding back. Why did this happen almost every time the duke was left alone with a visiting dignitary?

When Thomas had taken over as Captain of the Royal Guard some months prior, the duke had been out of the country. He’d returned to Lilleforth several weeks ago, around the same time as the ambassadors for the current round of trade talks had begun to arrive, and had proceeded to flirt with a variety of visitors to the kingdom, charming more than one of them into bed.

Thomas was still finding his footing as Captain of the Royal Guard, and while it wasn’t strictly part of his job, he’d taken it upon himself to keep a weather eye on the duke in order to extract him from any potentially awkward situations.

His motivations were purely selfish. Thomas didn’t fancy being sent into battle just because a bloody duke had started a war by debauching the wrong person—no matter how annoyingly attractive said duke was. And if that meant Thomas had to stand here and listen to the sounds Evan always managed to draw from his partner, then escort him safely back to his own rooms before he started a diplomatic incident, it was a small price to pay.

A tiny, petty part of Thomas was tempted to go and knock on the door and spoil their fun, but on second thoughts he held back. He’d made the mistake exactly once of opening a bedroom door unannounced in his search for the errant duke, only to find a naked Evan balls deep in the representative for Weatherstone, who had been bent over the foot of the bed.

To make matters worse, Evan hadn’t even paused in his fucking. He’d just laughed and asked if Thomas would like to join them as he’d thrust forward in long, even strokes that made the muscles in his thighs flex in a most distracting manner. The man on the receiving end had been so lost to pleasure Thomas doubted he’d even noticed anyone else was present.

Thomas had stammered an apology and backed out of the room, but the sight of Evan’s long muscled legs and gorgeous arse had been burned into his memory ever since.

It truly was a magnificent arse, a perfect peach of a thing. If it had belonged to anyone else, Thomas would have been tempted by the offer.

It was just a shame its owner was such an irresponsible, addlepated fool.

Because that was what the man was, first and foremost—a fool. A handsome fool to be sure, but a fool nevertheless. The duke was charming, but his head was so empty that if there had been a single sensible thought in there, it would have rattled like a penny in a water jug.

His official position within the kingdom was something of a mystery—possibly because he wasn’t responsible enough to be put in charge of any one thing. He seemed to drift in and out of the country, travelling far and wide before reappearing in Lilleforth, usually leaving some tale of inappropriate behaviour in his wake.

There was a reason he was known as Evan the Embarrassment.

The duke sailed through life like a brightly dressed, slightly confused peacock, showing no interest in etiquette or diplomacy or politics. Instead, he spent his time bedding anyone who took his fancy and amusing himself drinking and carousing. He was easily distracted and prone to woolgathering. Thomas had lost count of the times in the past weeks that he’d found Evan coming out of the wrong bedroom in the guest quarters and had to guide him to his own rooms.

He sighed again and leaned back against the stone walls, getting comfortable. He had learned that Evan liked to take his time with his lovers, and judging by the glassy-eyed expressions of pleasure he’d glimpsed on the faces of those staggering out of his rooms, it was time well spent.

Thomas fought down a twinge of envy. It had been months since he’d bedded anyone. Between coming to grips with his promotion, training his new recruits, and now babysitting the duke, there simply hadn’t been time—which was a crying shame. There was nothing he would have liked better than to find a young man in town and take him back to his cottage for a night of fun and fuckery. Instead, here he was, holding up the castle walls and doing his best not to become aroused by the moaning and panting that echoed through the corridor.

The noises drifting from the bedroom grew louder and more frequent, the words replaced with incoherent shouts of pleasure. Thomas shifted against the wall, crossing his legs as his cock twitched despite himself. It didn’t help that he could so easily picture the smooth, round globes of Evan’s arse. Not for the first time he wondered if maybe he should have taken Evan up on his invitation.

No.

Unlike Evan, Thomas was not a fool. Evan might only be the cousin to the king and he might have commanded all the respect of a damp duck, but he was still royalty, second in line to the throne in fact, and Thomas was under the employ of the king. He had no intention of risking his nice new job and the comfortable cottage that came with it just for a quick fuck with a pretty idiot.

No, he’d go down to the town on his evening off and find a different pretty idiot. Just as long as they had startling green eyes, a wicked smile, dark hair, and a long, sinewy build with hips that swung like a pendulum when they walked.

Not that Thomas had a type or anything.

He pushed away thoughts of the duke’s attractiveness and busied himself with pacing the length of the corridor. Thomas was light on his feet, and he prided himself on his ability to glide silently into a room and take stock of a situation before anyone else had even noticed he was there.

Nobody expected stealth from a man who towered over them at over six feet four inches and was built like a brick privy, and it had come in handy more than once—especially with the newer guards who needed a close eye kept on them while Thomas sorted out which of them had potential and who had joined purely for the wages and the free boots. Plus it was fun to watch the young guards flail when he appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Thomas wasn’t sure how many times he paced the length of the corridor before the bedroom door creaked open and Evan popped his head out.

When he saw Thomas, his mouth pinched for just a second before he blinked and his face settled into a sheepish smile as he slipped out the door.

“Your Grace,” Thomas said coolly.

“Captain. Fancy seeing you here.” Evan ran a hand through his tousled hair, somehow making it messier, and tugged at the sleeves of his coat.

His deep blue coat, which was nothing like the emerald green one he’d been wearing earlier. That one had matched his eyes—not that Thomas had been paying attention to the colour of Evan’s eyes. It was just that he was trained to notice these things.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. “It appears you’re wearing the earl’s coat.”

Evan’s brow creased and he glanced down at himself, patting the front of the jacket in question. “Am I?” He shook his sleeves out and gave a shrug. “I’ll bring it back later when Remy is awake. I’m afraid I fucked him senseless and now he’s taking a nap.”

Thomas blinked at the man’s brazenness, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Sir, you need to show some caution! Are you not worried about the countess finding out about you and her husband?”

Evan smiled, apparently unconcerned. “Is that why you were hanging around?” His expression shifted to something mischievous. “Or were you hoping for an invitation to join again? Because if you just give me an hour, I’m sure I can?—”

Thomas’s jaw dropped at the implication. “Absolutely not! It’s my duty to protect members of the royal family,” he said stiffly.

Evan stared at him blankly for a second. Then something in his brain must have engaged, and his expression brightened. “Oh! Well, the countess is quite lovely, and she and her husband have a very accommodating arrangement. But it’s sweet of you to be concerned for my safety.” He stretched and let out a yawn. “You know, I think Remy might have worn me out as well. I’m going back to my rooms for a nap. Good night, Captain.”

And with that, he meandered down the hallway, whistling a jaunty tune. Thomas stared after him, caught between frustration and attraction. When he found himself still staring at the hypnotic sway of the man’s hips, though, he forced himself to look away.

The Duke of Ravenport was not someone Thomas could afford to be attracted to. No matter how wicked the curve of his smile or how attractive his lithe build, he was still a walking disaster, and not worth Thomas risking his job for.

He just needed to remember that.

T homas stood with his back to the wall, eyes ahead as befitted the occasion. There wasn’t usually a guard during breakfast—King Leopold and his husband, Prince Felix, preferred to eat in the kitchen given half the chance—but due to all the visitors for the trade negotiations, they were using the formal dining hall, which meant a guard was expected, and as the Captain of the Guard it was proper that he make an appearance.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was guarding the guests from—a randomly thrown bread roll, perhaps?—but he didn’t mind this part of the job. There were worse ways to spend a morning than listening to the chatter of nobility who seemed to think he was deaf and blind, and he heard all sorts of interesting things while pretending to be a coat rack.

Take the Earl of Aramanthe, for example. He’d been casting furtive glances around the room since he sat down, and he was twitchier than a startled ferret. For an awful, fleeting moment, Thomas wondered if the duke had been lying when he said the earl’s lady wife was aware of their arrangement and now the earl was in a world of trouble, but no. The countess was seated next to him consuming a poached egg in tiny, delicate bites with a serene expression on her face, and she gave no indication of being displeased with her husband for his adventures the night before.

The door swung wide on its hinges, bouncing off the wall and making Thomas jump. Moments later, the Duke of Ravenport lurched into the room, still dressed in last night’s clothing. He was clutching his temple with one hand. “I wish to complain,” he said loudly, “about the wine last night.”

King Leopold raised an eyebrow. “That was the finest wine in the kingdom.”

“Well, somebody must have tampered with one of the bottles I had because I feel like bloody death this morning,” Evan said, throwing himself into a chair and dropping his head onto the tabletop.

“One of the… seven bottles?” Prince Felix said wryly.

“Who even counts?” The duke flapped a hand. He grasped the stem of an empty goblet and waved it in the air. “Actually, another glass might be just what I need. As a restorative.”

King Leopold let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh as a servant rushed to fill Evan’s request.

After sitting up and taking a long sip from his glass, Evan let out a contented sigh. “Better. Breakfast?” he asked hopefully. A maid returned in minutes with a plate of porridge laced with honey and apple, and Evan fell upon it like a starving man. “Porridge! Do you know, I once visited a kingdom where they ate eels for breakfast? The thing about travel,” he said around a spoonful, “is that visiting other places is all very interesting, but foreign countries only seem to serve food that’s, well. Foreign.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wonder why that is?”

“They probably say the same when they come here,” King Leopold said.

Evan’s brow furrowed. “Well, no. Our food isn’t foreign. It’s real food.”

Thomas bit back a smile despite himself. Evan might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer—if anything, he was duller than a blunt spoon—but at least he was entertaining.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas saw the Earl of Aramanthe stand and move down the table, settling in the empty seat to Evan’s left. He didn’t say or do anything else, but Thomas’s curiosity was piqued. Perhaps the earl was hoping for a repeat of last night’s performance.

Conversation gradually picked up around the table, and it was when everyone was otherwise occupied that the earl leaned in close to the duke. Thomas took a subtle half step forward so he could hear better.

The earl spoke low and urgently. “I believe you have something of mine, Your Grace.”

The duke turned to face him, wide-eyed. “Have I?”

“Yes. That’s my coat you’re wearing, and I was wondering if I might have it back. It’s a favourite.” His hand darted out and he froze with his fingertips on the lapel, like he wanted to snatch the coat from Evan’s body but didn’t quite dare wrestle a member of the royal family out of his clothing.

Evan tilted his head, and his expression resembled that of a confused spaniel. “Why would I have your coat?”

The earl blinked. “We had… drinks last night, Your Grace.”

“Did we?”

The earl let out an indignant huff, nostrils flaring. “Surely you remember!”

Evan leaned forward, and just for a second, his vacuous expression brightened with a gleam of mischief. “Perhaps if you were to drop your trousers, it would help jog my memory?”

The earl made a choked sound, his face turning bright red. “I-I?—”

Evan laughed and wrapped an arm around the earl’s shoulders. “I was jesting, Remy. Of course I remember last night. How could I forget a lovely tight arse like that? It was delightful.”

Watching the array of emotions playing over the earl’s face as he decided whether to be flattered or scandalised at the duke speaking so freely about the state of his arse was the most entertaining thing Thomas had seen all week. The duke might be addlepated a lot of the time, but he kept things interesting.

In the end the earl gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. I would quite like the coat back, though.”

“Of course. It doesn’t fit me anyway.”

Evan stood and peeled out of the too-long jacket, slinging it carelessly into the earl’s lap. Then he plopped back down in his seat, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back. The front legs of his chair lifted from the ground and the back legs scraped across the stone, leaving him balanced precariously. Thomas darted forward, gripped the duke’s shoulders from behind, and pulled him to his feet a bare second before the chair fell backwards from under him, the wood clattering loudly.

The duke staggered back and Thomas clamped an arm around his belly instinctively, holding him upright. Evan’s full weight settled against Thomas’s chest, his dark hair brushing Thomas’s cheek as he let out a startled laugh. Thomas relaxed his grip and waited for Evan to step away, but the duke seemed content to stay where he was, which presented Thomas with a problem. As much as he was enjoying the heat of another man’s body, this was in no way appropriate. He could hardly stand here all morning cradling the duke.

He cleared his throat and removed his arm from Evan’s midsection. “Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Evan stepped from the circle of his arms and turned and perched his arse on the edge of the table, his eyes dancing with merriment. “You know, for somebody whose title is Your Grace, I really don’t have any at all, do I? Grace, that is.”

Thomas bit his lip. The duke wasn’t wrong, but Thomas wasn’t about to agree with him. He liked his job, thank you, and planned to keep it.

It seemed Evan wasn’t expecting a reply. He shoved off the edge of the table, wobbling slightly when he stood. “I think I shall go and recover in my rooms.”

Then he leaned over and stole a slice of toast and jam from the king’s plate before strolling from the room in a slow, rolling gait that would have been more at home in a bordello than a castle.

Thomas wondered briefly how it was that a person who was so inherently clumsy could somehow move with all the fluidity of a prowling tomcat before pushing the thought aside. There was only one thing he knew for sure about Evan Devere, Duke of Ravenport.

Attractive or not, he was a right royal pain in Thomas’s arse.