Good, let him be concerned. Because she had a few weeks left on this island…and she was certainly going to use them to her best advantage before she went away and never saw his rude, arrogant, beautiful face again.
Drinking at nine in the morning was never a good sign. Grantham knew it, but he still held a glass of sherry in his hand, swirling the amber liquid as he stared out the window. He had dozens of duties to attend to. There was a meeting with representatives for the sailors to prepare for, a speech to write for a few weeks from now when he awarded a medal to a member of the navy, and the pile of correspondence on his desk was legion. Despite all that, here he was, watching Ophelia as she trounced across the lawn, her upset clear in every line of her body.
Her absolutely tempting body. She had left him a quarter of an hour before, angry enough to spit, and all he wanted to do was go after her. All he wanted to do was take back that claim that the kiss meant nothing. To tell her exactly what was going on in his life and his kingdom, to tell her that he wanted her to distract him with more of those kisses.
To drown in her and never resurface for air.
His grip tightened on the glass and he pivoted away from the window, slamming it down on his desk hard enough that liquid sloshed onto the wooden surface.
“Good God, you are in a state.”
He glanced up and pursed his lips as Jonah Crawford, Ilaria’s husband and the new Count of the Southern Realm of Athawick, stepped into his study and shut the door behind him.
“Does no one make appointments anymore?” Grantham grumbled.
Jonah’s eyebrows both lifted. “Are you angry because you’re consuming alcohol at an indecent hour or consuming alcohol because you’re angry?”
“Pick one,” Grantham said, slowly and succinctly. “What do you want, Jonah?”
“To help.” Jonah took a seat across from him without asking his leave and Grantham rubbed his fingers at his temples. This family would kill him. And then Lady Ophelia would pick his bones clean. It was a conspiracy, surely.
“Help with what?” he asked. “I don’t need any help.”
“Bollocks.” Jonah leaned back. “Now listen, I realize you want to keep your troubles from the family, that you think you have to bear all the weight of this uprising on your own. But you don’t. It has come to affect us all. My wife was nearly killed, as was Sasha. So we all have a vested interest. And considering I am now count of the very region where I have heard the trouble originates from, it seems it is my duty in that role to help, as well. So talk.”
Grantham stared at him a beat. Two. “You are…not incorrect that you should have information. The title of count is mostly ceremonial, but not entirely. And if you and Ilaria are going to make a tour of the part of this country that you now…er…lead, then I suppose a report on the issues there must be made.” He sighed. “Normally I would ask Blairford to compile one, but…”
Jonah arched a brow as he trailed off. “But you don’t trust him.”
“How do you know that?” Grantham asked.
“I am no fool, for one. And for the other, Remi told Ilaria about what happened a few days ago. When Priscilla was attacked by her parents, endangered by her father…Blairford admitted to telling them where she was, didn’t he?”
Grantham pursed his lips. “Yes. He did. He claimed it was a misunderstanding on his part.”
Jonah shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like one.”
Grantham thought of his head courtier. Blairford was a tall, thin man with a plethora of experience in his duties. He had served under the previous king. He knew all the secrets, all the lies. He had power and he liked it. Grantham had known that about him his whole life.
“It doesn’t,” he admitted softly. “I’m sure everyone must wonder why I do not simply sack him.”
Jonah shrugged. “If they do, it is because they don’t understand how dangerous that could be. A man who has guarded secrets could just as easily reveal them. A double-edged sword if ever there was one.”
“It seems my life is full of just those,” Grantham murmured.
Jonah leaned across the desk. “Let me help you.”
Grantham considered his brother-in-law carefully. Jonah had served in the Royal Navy with honor and he loved Ilaria with such a deep and abiding passion that it was impossible not to trust him.
“Actually, you may be in the perfect position to do just that. You and Ilaria do not return to London for a few weeks,” Grantham mused. “What do you think of taking a small tour down to your new seat of power, my lord?”
Jonah raised both brows. “You wish for Ilaria and me to tour in the hopes it will ease the tensions?”
“No,” Grantham said. “Well, yes. I’m certain that it would. Ilaria has always been deeply loved by our people and I’m sure many would like to meet you after the whirlwind in London. But it is for another purpose that I would send you. I have asked Blairford multiple times to find me a leader of this rebellion to treat with and he has all but refused.”
“Refused his king?” Jonah breathed.
“He pretends that the request is impossible, but I cannot believe that to be true. I fear he has some other purpose in keeping me from this person. But you…you I can trust. And if there is something nefarious going on in my court, it will set off no alarm bells if you and my sister take this trip. It is official business, nothing else.”
Jonah nodded. “I would be happy to do so. As I’m sure Ilaria will be. I will speak to no one but her about the true cause for the trip. Shall we plan to leave the day after Remi’s wedding?”
A weight felt like it had been lifted from Grantham’s shoulders. “Yes. That will be perfect. It will give staff the time to plan.” He hesitated. “In fact, I’ll ask Dash to lead the planning.”
“You truly are mistrusting of Blairford and the other courtiers,” Jonah said.
“I am. And until I can determine the truth of what is going on…I will have to be extra careful. Gather my friends and family close…perhaps my enemies closer.”
Jonah gave a soft smile. “And where does Lady Ophelia fall on that measure?”
Grantham froze. “What does Lady Ophelia have to do with anything?”
“I have eyes, Your Majesty. Brother.”
“They may deceive you, Jonah.” Grantham ducked his head.
“But they don’t. Come, Grantham, I saw the lady storm from your office not fifteen minutes ago, cursing and muttering to herself in a way most sailors would blush to hear. And you followed her from the parlor onto the terrace last night.”
“I-I did no such thing,” Grantham lied. “I needed a breath of air, I had no idea she had stepped out, herself.”
“I say this with all the respect you have earned as king: bollocks.”
“So none whatsoever?” Grantham asked.
Jonah laughed. “A great deal. But clearly her continued presence here is at least part of why you are…were…drinking before ten in the morning. I know a little about frustrations in love—”
“There is no love,” Grantham interrupted swiftly.
Jonah stared at him for a beat too long. “Romantic entanglements then. Whatever suits you. The point is, if you need an ear—”