It was a well-known fact among those in the British diplomatic corps that whenever His Majesty, King William IV, had a sticky situation on his hands, Sir Ian Moore would get the assignment. No one else had a chance.
It was true that Sir Ian, thirty-five years of age, had a successful, decade-long career as a diplomat. It was true that he was unmarried, unfettered, and willing to be a roving ambassador, able to go wherever duty to king and country sent him. Of course it was true that his loyalty and honor were beyond question. But during this time of peace in Europe, truly sticky situations where a diplomat could make his mark were rare, and many of Sir Ian's colleagues wished His Majesty's favorite ambassador would retire to his estate in Devonshire and give the rest of them a chance to shine.
The Turks and Greeks were a perfect example. Those people would test the mettle of any diplomat, so when a minor skirmish between those factions threatened to break into all-out war, no one was surprised when Sir Ian was sent to Anatolia. But everyone was surprised when scarcely a fortnight after his arrival in Constantinople, he was recalled to Gibraltar. Ambitious young diplomats crossed their fingers, hoping that somehow, some way, Ian Moore had finally blotted his copybook.
Ian knew his copybook was still quite satisfactory. As to the reason for his recall from the East, however, even Ian had to confess he was baffled.
"Why fetch me to Gibraltar?" he wondered aloud, sitting in his cabin aboard the Mary Eliza, one of His Britannic Majesty's finest and fastest ships of the line. As the ship carried him across the Mediterranean, Ian studied the map of Europe spread out on the table before him. "What could it mean?"
His valet, Harper, looked up from the shirt he was mending. "It must be very serious indeed for them to send for you so suddenly. Something big is happening."
"I cannot imagine what. The Turkish situation is the only thing of significance in this part of the world at present, and they intend to replace me in the middle of it. To what end?"
"All I know is it's a shame. There we were in Constantinople, just settled in for a good, long stay, and then in the wink of an eye, there's a change of plan, and we're sailing off again." Harper shook his head with a sigh of regret. "Pity, that," he added. "Mighty fetching, those Turkish ladies looked in those trousers, and those veils of theirs ... makes a man wonder what's underneath. The sultan was going to give you one of his slave girls, you know."
"Harper, a true British gentleman would never own a slave girl. Barbaric practice."
"Maybe so, sir, but one of those Turkish girls would have worked on you like a tonic. Not to say you've been short-tempered of late, but--"
"That's absurd," Ian shot back, nettled. "I have not been short-tempered."
"If you say so, but you have been working hard for many months and haven't had any time for ladies." He paused, then added, "A man needs what he needs, you know."
Ian did not want to think about how long it had been since his needs in that particular area had been met. Too long. He shot a warning glance at the servant. "Harper, that's enough. Any more impudence from you, and I shall begin a search for a new valet."
The manservant, who had been valeting him since his fifteenth birthday, wasn't the least bit intimidated. The censure in Ian's voice slid off him like water off a duck. "Do you a world of good to loosen your cravat once in a while, sir, if you don't mind my saying so."
"I do...
)
A Royal Pain... The illegitimate daughter of a prince and a notorious courtesan, Lucia has been confined to schools and convents for most of her life. But that hasn't stopped her from causing one scandal after another. Exasperated, her royal father decides that his exquisite hellion of a daughter must be married immediately. And Sir Ian Moore, Britain's most proper diplomat, is the perfect man to choose her a groom. Diplomacy, not matchmaker, is Ian's forte, but he vows to get Lucia married off as soon as possible so that he may return to his real duties. Yet, despite an abundance of very eager, worthwhile candidates, none is a match for Lucia's spirit and fire. And the more time Ian spends with the infuriating beauty, the more reluctant he is to marry her off. Could it be that he has already found Lucia the perfect husband ... and it is Ian himself?
