The Englor Affair Read online

  Dedication

  To Ally, Willa, Jet, Luisa, Brenda and Kimber. The best critique partners, writers and friends a girl could ask for. I love you guys. Thank you for everything you do: Your support, your encouragement, for entertaining me with fabulous stories, and kicking my butt and making me work when I don’t want to. You guys are the best.

  Special thanks as always to Andre, my life, my love, my friend. I’d be lost without you.

  Prologue

  October 3, 4820: Planet Englor: Fischer House in London, Moreal (The ruling country of Englor)

  Bloody hell and imploding stars that hurt. He was going to be lame if this dance didn’t end soon. Simon smiled tightly at his partner. How long was this set anyway?

  “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” Lady Drucilla’s bottom lip quivered and she ceased moving. The girl was heavy on her feet for such a gangly thing. Those dainty little pink dancing slippers were lethal weapons.

  “Quite all right, milady, no harm done.” Simon tugged her hand just enough to get her going again.

  “But your foot…” Her big brown eyes brimmed with tears, reminding him how young she was.

  “It was my fault, not yours.” Glancing toward the edge of the dance floor, he spotted her mother, Lady Hemplewine, frowning. Damn. He’d have to ask Drucilla for another dance to keep her from getting in trouble with her mama. Galaxy, he didn’t know if the tops of his feet could take the abuse, but to keep her from a lecture, he’d grin and bear it. “I’ll allow you to make it up to me however. Perhaps you have another dance available on your card?”

  Her eyes widened and her steps faltered. “You don’t have to do that, Your Highness.”

  Simon glanced over her shoulder at her glowering mama and the line of debutantes staring at them. Gads, he hated balls. They made him feel like a piece of meat thrown to a pack of starving dogs. “I want to.”

  She smiled suddenly, her whole face brightening. One day she’d be a real beauty…once she grew into her limbs. At barely sixteen she was an awkward thing, reminding Simon of a fawn. “She is glaring daggers at me, isn’t she? Or are you hoping to escape the hordes of hopefuls vying for your attention?”

  Oh, she was a smart one. Simon chuckled. “Both actually.”

  Drucilla giggled and promptly stepped on his foot again. “Oh dear. I’m really rather terrible at dancing, aren’t I?”

  “Nonsense. It’s what? Your first season? You will improve by leaps and bounds. By next season you’ll be the belle of every ball.” Simon decided he’d make it so by dancing with her at every one of the blasted things he was forced to attend. He liked her. She didn’t flirt outrageously or chatter nervously. That in itself was unique. Most of the ladies of the ton did both things in his presence.

  “You are too kind, Your Highness. I volunteer to help you keep the ravenous ladies away, but please don’t worry about Mama. She will forgive me. As you’ve pointed out, it’s only my first season after all.”

  “Then I shall hold you to helping me fight off the marriage-minded ladies of the ton, milady.” Simon grinned as the music ended and offered Drucilla his arm. “Thank you for the dance.”

  She leaned close, she was nearly as tall as he, and whispered, “What makes you think I’m not one of the marriage-minded ladies?”

  The minx. Simon threw his head back and laughed. “Call it a hunch. Maybe because you hesitated so long when I asked you to dance. Your mother practically shoved you into my arms.”

  The crowd parted for them as he led Drucilla back to her mother. Simon couldn’t help but notice the eager females close in behind Lady Hemplewine. Darting a gaze around the crowded ballroom, he searched for an escape route.

  “Your Highness…” Lady Hemplewine began fluttering and curtsying.

  Drucilla let go of his arm as they drew close to her mother and said, “Isn’t that your friend Lord Biltshire beckoning to you by the refreshment table, Your Highness?”

  He owed the girl one for this. “It is indeed. Forgive me, Lady Hemplewine, Lady Drucilla, but I must see what he wants.” He bowed, winked at Drucilla and dashed away. Now if he could just get to the card room without being stopped, he was in the clear. He’d done his duty and danced a few dances, now he could leave. Maybe after a stop in the card room, he’d find a nice young man to spend the evening with. Or maybe not since the scandal was the talk of the ton and prospective dates were lying low.

  “Your Highness.” Lords Tettering and Avery nodded as he passed.

  “Milords.” Simon dipped his head in greeting, but didn’t linger. He was only a few yards from the ballroom entrance. Almost there.

  “Did you hear about Lord Keller’s youngest boy?”

  Upon hearing the venom in his mother’s voice, Simon stumbled, nearly plowing into a potted plant. He almost toppled. It took some work, with his shoes sliding on the polished pink marble, but he righted himself and ducked behind the large topiary. She too had apparently heard of the scandal and wasn’t above gossiping about it.

  She let out a sound of distaste very much like a snort. “Got caught with a footman. Disgusting! I tell you, those sodomites should all be executed. Deviants, every last one of them. We need to outlaw it and make it a mandatory death sentence. That will stop it. I’ve tried to get Howard to bring it up in parliament, but he hasn’t. So I’ve elicited help from Lord Devonshire, Lord Brotham and His Grace the Duke of Paddock. That should show my dear husband. I’ll get things done without his help.”

  Bile rose up the back of Simon’s throat, and he hoped she hadn’t noticed him. He’d always known how narrow-minded she was, but did she really think men should be hanged for preferring other men?

  Sweat dripped from his temple and he wiped it away. Hopelessness overwhelmed him.

  “Simon?”

  Bloody hell. Simon’s breath caught in surprise and he slapped a hand to his chest. When he whipped his head toward the voice, he came face-to-face with his uncle. “Dust, St. Albins.”

  Aldred Hollister chuckled. “Didn’t mean to scare you, boy.” He cocked one dark brow. “What are you doing hiding behind plants instead of enjoying yourself? This is a ball, you’re supposed to be dancing and having a good time.”

  Simon willed his heart to stop racing and smiled at his uncle. He glanced around at the couples dancing and milling about. The music had faded into the background of his mind and he’d totally lost track of where he was, but now it came back with new clarity. Peering over his shoulder, he looked to make certain his mother hadn’t noticed him.

  Simon turned back to his uncle’s inquisitive gaze. “I’ve just finished dancing.”

  “Hmm…” Aldred pursed his lips, studying Simon. He jerked his head toward the entryway of the ballroom. “Come join me for a drink. I doubt Westland will mind if we use his study.”

  It wasn’t a surprise that his uncle picked up on his mood. Caught off guard as he was, Simon hadn’t put on his poker face yet, but fortunately this was the one person he didn’t need to pretend with.

  As they made their way around the clustered groups of people in conversation on the edge of the dance floor, Aldred drew near to be heard over the orchestra. “What’s wrong?”

  Simon hesitated, only for a second. Aldred might even ease Simon’s mind a little. Although he didn’t see how. “Have you heard abo—?”

  “Your Highness, Your Grace, good evening.” Lord Dimplemore stepped away from a small cluster of lords and bowed to them. His gaudy bright purple waistcoat competed with the pale yellow and salmon colors of the Earl of Westland’s ballroom, hurting Simon’s eyes.

  Nodding, Simon acknowledged Dimplemore with a “milord”, but kept going. He’d learned long ago, if he hesitated at all, he was doomed. Normally, he didn’t mind, but t
he thought of his mother wanting to execute people for their differences had him off kilter.

  Aldred echoed Simon’s greeting and rushed to catch up to Simon. “Well done, my boy. Dimplemore is a windbag. We’d have been there for ages.”

  “You taught me well.” Simon grinned. His parents would have simply cut the man, but that wasn’t his uncle’s way. It wasn’t Simon’s either. It was probably the reason Simon looked up to Aldred as his mentor rather than his father. Aldred had always understood Simon better than anyone. “Have you heard of the scandal?”

  “You mean Keller’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah. Yes, I don’t believe there is a soul in London who has not.”

  True, the ton had been talking about it for the last two days. The reactions ranged from horrified to sympathetic. Likely the news was all over the countryside by now, and possibly the entire planet of Englor. Simon found the whole ordeal quite tragic with the lovers being shunned as they’d been.

  They reached the door and squeezed by several Lords and Ladies entering. Simon and Aldred both dipped their heads in acknowledgment as they passed.

  In the hallway, Aldred stopped in front of a slim tall lady with graying brown hair piled high on her head. When she turned, Simon recognized her as Lady Westland, their hostess.

  “Milady, might we borrow Lord Westland’s study?” Aldred asked with a bow.

  The countess practically fell all over herself, blushing and simpering like a chit right out of the schoolroom. “Why of course, Your Grace.” She curtsied to Aldred and then Simon. “Your Highness.”

  Simon caught her gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “Lady Westland, you look lovely as always.”

  She giggled and her cheeks grew even ruddier. “Why thank you, Your Highness. Please feel free to use Westland’s study as long as you need. I’ll inform our butler, William, that you’re not to be disturbed and that the room is not to be recorded.”

  “Thank you, milady.” Aldred bobbed his head and continued down the hall to their right.

  Simon hadn’t been in the Earl of Westland’s townhome enough to know where the study was, so he followed his uncle’s lead.

  When they reached the study, Aldred held the door open, allowing Simon to enter first before closing it. The small dark room was done in greens and blacks with a huge black marble fireplace. It had a masculine cozy feel to it, refreshing compared to the garish ballroom.

  Simon sat in a black leather armchair in front of the fire as Aldred crossed to the small mahogany side bar and began pouring two tumblers of scotch. “Tell me, what’s troubling you?”

  Simon stretched his feet out in front of him, relieved to be out of the public eye. “My mother.” Which was nothing new, his mother was a constant source of irritation. He hadn’t reached eighteen years of age without learning that she cared more for her looks, clothes and social rank than she did anything else, including her only child. This time though, she truly disturbed him, her attitude was…frightening. “She’s a dangerous woman.”

  “Ah. Yes, she is. Most people with access to a lot of power and very little intelligence are.” The statement was delivered matter-of-fact, without even a touch of malice. Aldred crossed the room and handed Simon a tumbler. He sat opposite Simon and sampled his scotch.

  Umm, the warm smell of scotch assailed his senses. Simon sipped his drink and used the moment to digest his uncle’s statement. The scotch was good, musky and earthy. It replaced the sick feeling he’d been harboring since he’d overheard his mother’s conversation. He’d never considered his mother an idiot, but it was true that she did not know a wide variety of things. “Why did he marry her? He could have had anyone. It’s all a game to her, a power trip to ensure her own gains.”

  Aldred pulled a silver cigar case from his inside coat pocket, opened it and offered it to Simon, then took one for himself before putting it away. “I should think that would be obvious. Your mother is a very beautiful woman.”

  “So are certain species of snakes…” Simon took another drink. “Ahhh…” That tingling when it went down was something. A few more of these and he’d be fine with everything. Too bad he had a conscience that wouldn’t allow him to overdo it and forget.

  Aldred laughed. “Indeed, but don’t be too hard on your father. You got your mother’s looks, thank Galaxy. How would you’ve liked to have been cursed with the Hollister ears?” He smiled over his drink, his gray eyes twinkling in merriment.

  Simon scoffed. His uncle was not an unattractive man. Simon would much rather have gotten the Hollister dark hair than his mother’s fiery red. Besides, Aldred’s ears weren’t anywhere near as big as Simon’s father’s. Being single and only in his mid-thirties, Aldred was still considered quite a catch. “I look like a Hollister.”

  “A Hollister with a nice smooth freckle-less complexion and ears the right size for your head. But that’s beside the point. What did your mother do now? And why were you asking about Keller’s boy?”

  Tapping the cigar against his glass, Simon sat back. “She wants to have homosexuality outlawed and punishable by death.” Little did she know her own son would be at the gallows along with all the other—what did she call them? Deviants? “I’m safe from her hatred and bigotry, but other Englorians are not.”

  “Ah.” Aldred pulled out a cutter and snipped the end of his cigar before lighting it. Tossing the cutter and lighter to Simon, he sat back and puffed on his cigar.

  The pleasant, almost sweet-smelling smoke of Aldred’s preferred vanilla-flavored cigars filled the air.

  Simon frowned, catching the lighter but missing the cutter. What does he mean, “ah”? He doesn’t sound surprised. Reaching down between his feet, Simon picked up the cutter off the emerald-colored carpet. He studied it then pushed the plunger down. It was like a mini guillotine. He winced, once again thinking about what his mother would like to do to people she considered freaks of nature.

  “That again? I thought she’d given up on the homosexual issue.”

  “She’s done this before?” Simon snipped the end of his cigar and stuck it between his lips. Sure she’d gotten on her high horse about other issues before, but she’d never tried to make something punishable by death.

  Aldred shrugged and pulled his cigar out of his mouth, holding it and his scotch in one hand. “She does it every few years, depending on who she’s associating with.” He took a puff from his cigar and crossed one black linen-clad leg over the other. “Let’s see, she’s been seen with the Viscountess Griffon and the Marchioness of Whipple lately. Both are patronesses of the Church of Englor. So, yes it makes sense. Plus with the recent scandal… Can’t let the morality of Englor suffer, don’t you know?”

  “Morality?” Simon winced. He hadn’t meant to shout, but damn it, how was this a morality issue?

  Aldred’s left eyebrow rose. “So she says. So most people say.”

  Disgusted, Simon shook his head and removed the cigar from his lips. “It’s no more a moral issue than some debutantes preferring orange to pink or some lords having a fondness for brandy over scotch. Morality is whether it’s right or wrong to kill someone, whether it’s okay to steal. Who one chooses to sleep with is not a moral issue nor should it be against the law. Isn’t adultery against the law? And yet over half the people in that ballroom behind us are adulterers, including my mother. You don’t hear her or her friends wanting to make that punishable by death.” Simon finally took a breath and tried to relax. Shouting at his uncle wasn’t going to help matters. Sticking the cigar between his lips again, he fumbled with the lighter.

  Gads, he was never going to get used to these things. None of it, the oddities of politics or the habits of the ton. They all seemed so shallow. He lit his cigar and promptly choked.

  “Put that out before you kill yourself. You do not have to smoke.” Aldred took another sip of his scotch and a puff off his own cigar, before tapping some of the ashes off in the green glass ashtray on the small table between thei
r chairs.

  Simon swigged his drink, trying to calm his hacking. It helped a little. “I keep thinking it will get better. I mean there must be some reason you and Father smoke the damned things.”

  Chuckling, Aldred shook his head. “Put it out. You don’t have to master everything.”

  Simon snubbed out his cigar and leaned back in his chair, smiling. His uncle knew him too well. “I don’t like it, Uncle.” His grin melted from his face. “A government should protect its people…all of its people. It’s not fair.”

  Aldred leaned forward, his own smile fading. “Life’s not fair, Simon.”

  “No, it’s not.” His stomach plummeted to his feet. Simon set his glass on the table then ran his hands down his face. “My friend Proctor is a perfect example of political unjust. Roc is being forced to join the IN and then the Englor Marines against his wishes because he is a commoner, from a wealthy family, but one without a title nonetheless. The flip side of that is my friend Wycliffe wants a military career but his father refuses to buy him a commission. He insists the future Duke of Amberley must remain out of harm’s way. What better way is there to learn to be a duke?” Simon sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. The unfairness of it all ate at him. “How can we expect people to respect us and follow our lead when the laws didn’t apply to us?” Hell, Simon himself had entertained the idea of fighting for his planet, but he’d never brought it up, knowing he’d be advised against it. “Why can’t leaders make laws to protect and help their constituents? Why is it they only do things to protect their own interests?”

  “I’ve heard all this before, my boy. Nothing has changed. This is the way it works. That is how it has always been done, you know that.” His uncle’s voice was soft, almost sad.

  “I do, but I don’t like it. I’ve never liked it and I never will.” That footman and Lord Gerald should be able to be together if that was what they wanted. Instead the footman was thrown out on his ear without a recommendation and Lord Gerald was sent to rusticate in the country.