Chapter Thirty-seven: Scandal Averted
"You again!" Sally Weeks let out a breathless laugh. "Mr. Monroe, what are you doing in Ireland?" She looked the tall Texan up and down, wondering what the queen's American lover was up to.
"Helping Jane, like always. Let's go." J.T. Monroe didn't waste words. But the way he helped Sally into the sleek rented sports car and sped off into the night made her realize this was serious.
"Mary's the one in trouble, isn't she?" Sally was new to the royal household, but she knew all this was highly unorthodox. Mr. Monroe wasn't part of the queen's household. He was her lover. And now here he was, zooming down a country lane in the middle of the night. Why did the queen trust him, of all people, to help Sally bring back the headstrong Tudor princess?
"You deal with Mary," the Texan said, his steely blue eyes never leaving the narrow, winding country road. "I'll take care of the people blackmailing her."
"Blackmail!" Sally was a London girl, and she'd been around, But she never dreamed anyone would dare blackmail the royal family. For a moment she wondered if her own brief fling with Mary had been leaked to the tabloids. But if so, why had the queen given her a new job, and a respectable position in the royal household?
John Travis Monroe stopped the car, gliding to a halt in a dark grove of trees by the side of the road. "All right, let's get to work. You go on up to the house, and get the princess. Bring her back here on the double. I'll make sure the coast is clear."
"Right, I'll just break into a stranger's house in the middle of the night!" Sally was a servant, but she wasn't a fool. If Queen Jane trusted this man, she had to follow his lead. The tough Texas oil baron could deal with whoever was blackmailing the princess. But she was taking a big risk. If there were dogs prowling about, or if the neighbors saw her, or if . . . or if . . .
"Bridget?" The low, husky voice came from the oak-paneled den, where a fire was burning low in the huge wood-burning fireplace.
"No, ducky. It's only me, Sally. Fancy a breath of fresh air?" Sally's sharp eyes saw clearly in the dim orange glow of the firelight. Mary was sprawled out naked and semi-conscious on the black leather sofa, her clothes all tangled on the floor. There were two glasses and a nearly empty brandy bottle on the table beside her.
"Bridget? Is that you?" Groggy and half-awake, Mary didn't offer much resistance as wide-awake Sally briskly began dressing her. But the Tudor princess kept calling for Bridget O'Flaherty, the beautiful Irish film star who'd invited her to spend the weekend.
"Big night, my lady? Maybe you've had a drop too much." Sally couldn't conceal a twinge of jealousy. The slim blonde wrapped her arm around the drunken brunette's waist, half-carrying her towards the servant's entrance at the rear of the house.
"So sleepy," Mary moaned, her steps dragging and her head sagging against Sally's firm shoulder. "Bridget, let's go to bed."
"Good idea," Sally chuckled, struggling to keep the drunken royal upright as they staggered down the twisting garden path. Part of her hated Mary for finding pleasure in the arms of another woman. But how sad it was that sweet and trusting Mary could never be loved for herself alone. Everyone wanted to use her!
The two young women had finally reached the end of the path, and Sally heard voices coming from the side of the road.
"Begging for it," murmured a throaty female voice. "She said she doesn't like doing it with men. And the man they want her to marry makes her sick. Mary hates being a royal, she hates her stepmother, and she really hates stupid bloody cowboys like you. Try keeping that out of the news!"
"Who put you up to this?" J.T. Monroe was shaking the beautiful film star back and forth, but voluptuous, red-headed Bridget only laughed in his face. Her car was parked close by, the engine still running. Sally could see that there had been a violent struggle. Two young men lay sprawled under the trees. Both of them had been knocked about, and were moaning softly just like Mary.
"Bridget!" Mary struggled to break free from Sally, but the loyal servant girl held her tight. Just then one of the skinny young lads working for Bridget jumped up and took a wild, desperate swing at J.T. Monroe. The Texan ducked the punch and knocked him cold, but the brief distraction gave Bridget the opening she needed. The red-haired film star yanked the other boy to his feet and the two of them leaped into her sports car and roared off into the night. Sally could hear Bridget's wicked laughter as they escaped.
"She's getting away!" Sally scowled at the tall Texan, who was loading the unconscious boy into his own bright red sports car. "Well, what are you waiting for? Why don't you go after her?"
"Scandal averted," J.T. grunted. He was checking the injured boy's pulse. "I grabbed her purse, and got the webcam footage. That girl had Mary on tape from the moment they got undressed."
"You mean she was going to make the video public?" Sally could picture the tabloid headlines, a spoiled princess making love to a movie star behind her billionaire future husband's back. Jamil Khan would have to withdraw his loans and break the engagement. The royal family would be ruined!
"Oh God, I'm going to be sick!" Mary Tudor made all the same connections that Sally did. But the Tudor princess was still drunk, and she could still remember Bridget undressing her by the fire and deceiving her trusting heart with false, lying kisses. Instead of getting angry, she collapsed by the side of the road and vomited.