Poetic Justice by Alicia Rasley Read Free Book Online

four-month-senior friend as a preview of his own future, and since they turned thirty he lived in dread that one day he'd visit the Keep and find that Devlyn had gone gray or bald or fat. But he looked as he always did, calm and cool, frowning slightly as he contemplated the events of the world. It was a testament to Devlyn's inner serenity, John supposed, that even life with Princess Tatiana had not worn him to a thread or driven him to dissipation.
    John had sent a note round earlier warning of his visit, and now he could see he was expected. On the table next to Devlyn's chair were two glasses and an untouched bottle of brandy. John smiled at the excise stamp on the seal. "I see you've run out of the good stuff. I've probably still got a case or two you can have. Unmarked by English hands."
    Unstartled, Devlyn looked up, as if he had known all along that he was not alone. He rose and held out his hand, ignoring the reference to one of John's more nefarious former professions. But he didn't refuse the offer either. It was a good thing for the princess, John thought, that the Archangel Michael always proved so corruptible. He'd be unbearable otherwise.
    The legal brandy wasn't as bad as John had expected, and he sat down on the stone wall, letting the tension of the last few weeks fade in the warmth of the sun. The breeze was cool and the air sweet and salty. Far below him the sea was chopped into little white waves. Across the cove near the village, he could see his pretty Coronale bobbing. This was a perfect Dorset afternoon, and were they still boys, they'd likely be out on the bay risking their lives in a homemade sailboat.
    But they were both grown, and their converse was more formal now. With his glass, Devlyn gestured at the newspaper. "I see congratulations are in order."
    John wished for once the Regent would have shown a bit of restraint and left Parliament in ignorance of his latest acquisition. At the very least, he hoped, the Regent had been discreet about how little he had paid for the Jerusalem, or John's other clients would start expecting the same kind of deal. "Prinny made a public announcement again?"
    "Well, he always does, doesn't he? Every year, on the King's birthday. It's a law." When John only shrugged his incomprehension, Devlyn picked up the paper to study it again. "Perhaps I'm wrong to extend congratulations? I presumed it wouldn't have happened if you didn't want the honor."
    "Devlyn, give me the paper." John made a grab across the table and got a hold of it. "What on earth are you talking about?"
    Devlyn laughed and released his grip on the Times. "You mean you don't know?"
    "I brought the Coronale round from Chatham. I haven't been on land for four days." There was nothing on the front page about the Jerusalem Manuscript or anything else to do with John. He let the wind tug it open and scanned the notices.
    "Next page." In afterthought, Devlyn added, "Sir John."
    "Gemini." John drew a deep breath as he turned the page. "He didn't really knight me."
    "Worse than that."
    "Worse? What could be worse?" He located the column with the twice-annual announcement of royal honors and orders and ran his finger down the list. His own name—the one he had taken two decades ago, anyway—leapt out at him. "Baronet. Baronet? What in God's name is he thinking?"
    "I don't imagine God had much to do with it. This can't possibly be a case of divine revelation."
    It was too much to take in. John started laughing, remembering the Regent's promise to reward him. Presumably creating a baronet was easier than paying bills on time. "It would never have occurred to me to pray for this, I assure you. And I don't know how he came up with such an idea. Parliament will declare him mad as the King!"
    "I'd love to see Wellesley's face when he reads this. He's going to think it's because you've told Prinny about all those illicit operations you conducted for him when he was foreign secretary."
    "Such as conveying your