still might not know that Phillip has made his decision.”
“The note was delivered before last night’s celebrations,” Grayson pointed out. “The Wyndhams’ social secretary discovered it and gave it directly to the Grand Duke.”
“Montague couldn’t have known that he’d won the contract then,” Roland said.
“My marriage to Elizabeth might have led him to believe that Thortonburg had the edge and pushed him into action,” Rafe mused.
“It must be Montague!” Victor exclaimed, launching to his feet.
“It does bear investigating,” Grayson said carefully, “but we have to play this one close to the vest. The fewer who know what is going on the better.”
Suddenly Roland knew exactly who could accomplish the task of investigating the Montagues. He had played his role in the Thortonburg ruling family in relative obscurity. Never the heir, he was ignored by most in the upper echelons of government. He’d made sure to keep himself out of the papers and off the news. Moreover, the enmity between the Montagues and the Thortons had insured that a certain distance was kept by the families.
“We need someone inside Roxbury,” Grayson continued, “someone who can get close to the Montagues, someone utterly trustworthy who knows what he’s about and can make himself invisible.”
Victor nodded and asked of Grayson, “Do you have anyone in mind?”
Lance Grayson looked to Roland, saying, “Not exactly, but I think your son might.”
Victor looked at Roland in surprise. “Who?”
Roland, coldly purposeful, kept his smile tight and said, “Me.”
For an instant, just an instant, he expected praise to fall from his father’s lips, but in the end Victor reverted to type and snapped, “Don’t be absurd. A son of the royal house of Thortonburg?”
“Now, wait a minute,” Rafe said, raising his voice slightly. “Who could be more trustworthy?”
“And Roland has kept a low profile,” Grayson pointed out.
“The only Montague who’s ever laid eyes on me, except at a very great distance, is Damon, and the last time was years ago.”
“But the Thortons are very distinctive, dear,” Sara pointed out.
“In ceremonial dress, yes, but in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat, no one in Roxbury will know me from Adam.”
“You expect to just walk right into the manor and start asking questions?” Victor demanded.
Roland bit back an irate retort. He’d learned long ago that he got farther with his autocratic parent if he applied cold logic. “I expect to find a job somewhere on the place, possibly the stables. I’ve no doubt the Montagues have as much difficulty finding good help in that area as we do.”
Victor gave him a blank look, and Roland smiled inwardly. Victor was the last person to know about the difficulties of finding good help. He had others to take care of those small details of everyday life for him—and Roland was one of those others, especially when it came to an area of such intense personal interest for him as his horses.
Grayson was nodding. “It might work. It just might work, especially if you put in your first appearance in Roxbury before the festivities end.”
Rafe slapped Roland on the back. “Grayson is right. No one would expect a self-respecting royal to leave the party before it’s over.”
“You’ll be missed,” Sara worried aloud.
Roland smirked. “I haven’t been so far, Mother, not even by you, it would seem.”
“But you’ve been in attendance at every…” She broke off as Roland shook his head. “But you agreed…” When he shook his head again, she collapsed back against the sofa cushions in disgusted defeat.
“I agreed to accompany you and Father here to the festivities. I didn’t agree to take part in them myself.”
“But what have you been doing with yourself?” Victor demanded.
Raphael coughed to stifle a chuckle and said, “He’s been in the stables, I would imagine.”
Roland grinned at his astute brother. “Your father-in-law hasn’t anything to compare with Thorton stock, despite the size of his stable.”
Rafe clapped an arm around Roland’s shoulders. “I say Roland gets this assignment.”
“I agree,” Grayson seconded.
Victor studied Roland for a moment, then nodded his head sharply. “All right. Roland is our man in Roxbury. Grayson investigates Maribelle and coordinates the operation.”
“What about me?” Rafe asked.
Victor sighed. “You and I will quietly set about freeing up some of our assets. Whoever the blackguard is behind this, he’ll be asking for money, if only to throw us off the track and hide his real identity now that the shipping contract is settled. If all else fails, we’ll pay his bloody ransom.”
“And bring that poor girl home,” Sara added firmly.
The men shared a look among themselves, agreeing in silence not to mention the very real possibility to Sara that, even with the ransom in hand, the kidnapper might still be willing to rid him or herself of witnesses, most especially the victim. But they weren’t about to let that happen, not to a Thorton.
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Grayson said. “Whoever she is, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“If she’s our sister,” Raphael began.
“We’ll bring her home,” Roland added.
“Where she belongs,” Victor finished implacably.
For the first time, it seemed, the Thorton men were of one mind and one purpose. Shipping contracts and ceremony be damned. This was family. This was real. And Roland sensed that it was going to change them all.
Chapter Two
Roland stood atop a grassy knoll in the soft light of this spring morning, listening to the sound of his horse cropping the rich fodder beside him, and staring at the centuries-old seat of the Montague family. The island nation of Roxbury itself was smaller than its neighbors, but the house in the distance was, in fact, nothing short of a castle. Built in the Austrian style, it was a rambling confection spun of salt-white stone, complete with turrets and an apron wall that was once part of significant fortifications. The outer wall with its cannon platforms had been torn down long ago, leaving a nearly unobstructed view of the castle itself from this vantage point.
Roland shook his head. The castle was a beautiful sight, but he was not concerned with aesthetics. It was the sheer size of the place, the number of rooms that troubled him. A hostage could be hidden in any of several dozen places within those walls, but instinct told him that none was.
In
