A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2)

by Jessica Scarlett

  I jerked my head away.

  His hand fell.

  “So you followed me,” I said, throwing away pretenses. “Why? To ensure my silence?”

  The smile spread slowly across his face. “Among other things. I would’ve preferred you wait until after we were married, but you were bound to discover the truth eventually. It matters not.”

  “It matters not?” I nearly shouted. “I never would have entertained your suit had I known you were keeping mistresses and embezzling funds—!”

  He laughed, the same sincere laugh I had come to expect from him, only this time I knew it wasn’t sincere. “Oh Eliza, how amusing you are. Half the ton participate in the same activities—do not pretend I am the only culpable one. Even your precious Bentley has had liaisons in the past.”

  A wave of protectiveness surged in my chest, remembering Iris’s story. How could anyone believe such things about William? He’d done a good deed, and in return society had turned around and stabbed him in the back. The vicious rumors still existed.

  William was a rogue, but not on the level that Allerton was. I just hadn’t seen it before.

  “Did you really think you would find some angelic man in your future husband?” Allerton clucked his tongue. “Commendable, but naïve.”

  My lips pressed in a thin line. “I am breaking our engagement.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, my dear. Not unless you want everyone to know about your mother’s condition.” Upon seeing my panicking expression he leaned in, whispering softly, concerned. “And what might that do to the old bird, hm? Do you think it would put her in a grave any quicker?”

  I shoved him away, but he caught my wrist. “Ah, so it would. Is the idea of marriage to me so reprehensible you would sacrifice that precious time you would’ve had with her? Steal it away like a thief in the night, from your brothers, from those who love her—you would purloin irreplaceable time for only a little freedom?”

  My eyes filled with tears.

  Still grasping my wrist, he pulled me closer, and I was too shaken to protest. “If so, you are a selfish girl indeed. But I know you, Eliza. You are a martyr. You believe in love, and heroines, and doing the right thing. Well, now’s your chance.”

  I had believed in such things—things William had always teased me about. But in this moment, in the face of this monster, I wasn’t sure I did anymore.

  “Why me?”

  His eyebrows lifted, obviously not expecting that question. “Because you were pretty, inexperienced, and came with insurance.” The insurance was the blackmail of Mama’s illness. His story about his aunt having the same physician didn’t seem so plausible suddenly. Who knew how much digging he’d done, what bribes he had placed to discover the truth?

  My lip trembled, not seeing any way out. All around me, the park was still.

  I was alone.

  “I will do it,” I whispered. His thumb brushed away the tear trailing down my cheek. I shuddered, recalling all the times we’d been together. How close we’d sat, and the way he’d touched me. Things that had seemed harmless at the time but were anything but harmless now.

  Chin jutting out, I said, “But you will not touch me. Not even after we’re married. Never.” His smile deflated, turning into something darker. My voice poisoned. “Keep your dalliances and your mistresses. For you will get no affection from me.”

  “You are jealous.”

  Repulsion clogged my throat. “Never.”

  “You think I don’t desire you. Oh, you are wrong, Eliza.” His smile—a smile I once would’ve thought soft—looked twisted and intense. Hand sliding around my lower back, he pressed me to him. “I have always desired you. Why do you think I singled you out in the first place?”

  I squirmed in his grasp. “Let me go,” I said, quiet but firm.

  His other hand came up to straddle the column of my neck. “Oh my love, you don’t believe me. Shall I prove it to you?”

  He squeezed, cutting off my air supply and any protest I might have made. I gripped his wrist with both hands, trying to shove it away, but he was too strong. With a push, my back hit against the trunk of a tree, and then he was leaning in closer, closer, nuzzling his nose in my hair, smelling deeply. My throat throbbed as I stared at the sky, and all I could think about was how wrong it looked.

  There were no stars. Dark clouds blotted them out, blinding my father of this moment and preventing him from coming to my aid. I called to him in my mind, to the sky, to the heavens. To anyone who would listen. But the clouds loomed closer, wrapping me in a shaded embrace as I begged for a single guiding light to pierce through.

  A tear slipped out the corner of my eye. Then another. Until all at once, my tears were splattering my hair and the ground and everything in London.

  Then the world grew to the darkest shade of black, and the clouds kept tumbling, roaring like I wished I could, and somehow in all of London, there was no one to notice the man leaving a slow trail of kisses along my jaw as he whispered my name over and over and over again. No one, no one . . .

  I was drowning again, a weight on my ankles as I drank in water, looking up at the glimmering surface toward the air, toward life.

  Out of reach.

  With a thud, I hit the ground. An earthen scent filled my nose and travelled to my lungs. Ears ringing, I gasped for breath, coughing into the grass. In my peripheral two sets of boots shuffled and scraped, moving quickly, moving . . .

  Minutes ticked by. Hours. I forced my feet to plant into the ground and push off. I fell. I tried again, slipping on the wet grass, then once more, finally managing to stand with a wobble.

  The rain came down harder, so thick I had to swipe at my eyes every few seconds in order to see. Free of its pins, my hair tumbled over my shoulder in chilly strands. Through the blue evening I spied two figures hunched on the ground.

  Pinning Allerton to the grass, arms trembling, chest heaving, eyes blazing, was William.

  He’d returned.

  Matthew stumbled onto the scene, ragged and out of breath, carrying a case. When William noticed him, he let go of Allerton and stood. Allerton scrambled to his feet. They were both bloody—Allerton on his jaw and nose, William on his temple.

  “You have compromised Miss Wycliffe’s honor,” William said.

  With the look on his face, I expected his voice to growl, but it was deadly calm. Never had I seen him so set, so certain of anything. My eyes whipped to the case Matthew carried.

  No.

  As if the skies gasped for breath, the rain suddenly let up, scaling back to a sprinkle. Matthew opened the case to reveal a pair of pistols that gleamed in the flashing lightning.

  No, no, no.

  “Allerton, choose your second.”

  Chapter 27

  “You like adventure then?”

  I nodded.

  A serious expression overtook his features. “Eliza Wycliffe. From this day forward, I vow to save you from the ocean’s depths, rescue you from sharks, and keep you from danger in all its forms. No matter what adventure you undertake, like parallel lines, you and I will be always together—so that when you need protecting, I shall be there to be the one to do it.

  “And even when you don’t think you need protecting . . . I vow to do it all the same.”

  I looked up into his green eyes, trusting. “Promise?”

  His face set, jaw sticking out a little. “I am no liar.”

  I am no liar.

  I am no liar.

  My heart stopped cold with frozen fear. Like a twisted reenactment of my daydreams, the man that I loved was about to duel in defense of my honor.

  He was about to die.

  William marched over to the case Matthew carried. With cool precision he tore the paper tubes with his teeth before pouring the powder down the barrel of each gun.

  Allerton gave a mirthless chuckle from where he stood. “I’m sorry, Bentley.”

  “Pick your pistol.” William continued to load the guns then pulled both
hammers back into half-cocked positions.

  “Gads man, you can’t be serious! I apologized.”

  “I don’t accept it.”

  Allerton scoffed, using his sleeve to soak up the blood at his mouth. “It’s not the way things are done.” Indicating me and Matthew, he said through his teeth, “Neither of them can possibly be trusted to act as my second. We will wait until—”

  William’s eyes flashed. “We will duel now, or I will call you out for the coward you are. Now pick. Your blasted. Pistol.”

  Silence reigned.

  Allerton hesitated, face blanching. But finally, his mouth set in a grim, determined line before he strode up and selected one of the pistols. “Boy!” he growled to Matthew as he handed him the firearm. “Inspect it.”

  Matthew flinched at the address, but set down the case and looked the pistol over, ensuring there were no flaws in the way it was loaded.

  Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by an echo of thunder grinding above us like an ominous premonition. Feet frozen to the ground, all I could do was stare at William with growing terror. He wouldn’t meet my eye.

  “William,” I whispered.

  Matthew finished with the pistol and gave it back to Allerton. “It’s ready.”

  “William.”

  He and Allerton lined up back to back and began walking their twenty paces. I counted each one—and each one seemed to drive a nail into William’s coffin. I ran.

  The distance between us felt like a mile. I caught up to him and snagged his sleeve, forcing him to turn around. “William! Don’t do this—please, don’t do this. Hang my reputation, you could die! You could—!”

  I stopped short when he finally met my gaze, hair wild, temple bloody, and face white. His eyes held an unspoken apology in them . . . a confession. We stared at each other for a second, an eternity. “I told you I was afraid of you,” he said softly.

  Afraid of me. Not afraid of Allerton, or the prospect of dying in the next few moments. He was afraid of me.

  William shrugged away and made the last six steps of his twenty paces before swiveling around. A tugging on my arm moved me out of the line of fire and into the safe edge of the tree line.

  “Ready,” Matthew called. An uncharacteristic tremor threaded his voice.

  William and Allerton took their stances, every muscle in each of their bodies rippling with tension.

  “. . . Aim!”

  They raised their pistols. The dark night made their figures only shadowy outlines, but I could see Allerton’s hand shaking. William’s was steady.

  William’s face bore no regrets—his stare resolute.

  I held my breath and covered my mouth, blood draining from my face.

  Matthew tensed beside me and gave my hand a squeeze before I’d even realized he’d taken it. “. . . Fi—!”

  An explosion cracked into the air. I screamed. The horse whinnied and reared, tromping in place. A strong sulfur scent hit my nose. A cloud of smoke billowed from William’s pistol. Slowly, he lowered it. He appeared unscathed.

  My gaze swung to where Allerton had been standing moments before, but he hadn’t crumpled there. He huddled on the ground several feet to the left. Then I remembered seeing a blur of movement out of the corner of my eye, just before William had fired. Allerton had leapt to the side at the last second.

  He lifted his head from the ground and patted himself, searching for bullet wounds. Eyes ablaze, he jumped to his feet and scoured the ground for his pistol. William was quicker, already levelling the weapon at Allerton, who froze.

  “You will break your engagement with Miss Wycliffe,” William said, “or I shall tell the ton you are a coward.”

  Ducking away was the most dishonorable thing he could’ve done—even more than if he’d refused to duel in the first place. It didn’t matter that he was a duke. If word of his actions this night got out, he would be ridiculed out of every respectable circle. His political career would be ruined. No one wanted to be friends with a coward.

  Allerton’s face was white. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “And you will keep your distance. If I see you so much as look in her direction, you will again find yourself on the other end of this pistol.”

  Allerton’s throat bobbed and he rocked back at the threat. William’s tone left no room for doubt. Allerton nodded once, slowly, before retreating toward his horse and mounting. Soon he galloped away, the night swallowing him whole.

  The calm that followed was eerie and misplaced. William said nothing as he stored the pistols in the case and handed it to Matthew. He shrugged out of his tailcoat and draped it over my quivering shoulders, smothering the flashes of fear that had rocked my mind since the moment Allerton came on the scene. I felt my frame relax at the familiar scent of his coat; warm, and promising safety. Then with his arm draped around my shoulders he held me tightly, guiding me back along the trail, out of the park, and up to our townhouse door.

  But William did not say anything, neither did he look me in the eye. He didn’t take his coat back, nor did he promise to call on me tomorrow. Instead he left me on the doorstep, his gentlemanly duty done. I watched his back until it disappeared down the street. Matthew stood dazedly at the bottom of the steps.

  “How did you find him?” I asked.

  As Matthew brushed past me into the house, he said, “He was at home.”

  I followed Matthew into the empty parlor, where a fire blazed. William had been at home? When had he returned?

  As if hearing my thoughts, Matthew said, “I knew Allerton would try something. And I couldn’t very well fight him with this broken hand of mine, could I? William was the only person I could think to go to. When I got there, William looked as if he’d just returned, perhaps only minutes before. All I said was that you were with Allerton and needed him, and he went straight for his pistols.” Matthew grimaced. “I didn’t even get around to telling him why. Seemed as if he already knew.”

  The scene repeated before my eyes—Allerton grabbing me, William suddenly ripping him off, then the challenge uttered from William’s lips. My heart squeezed in the knowledge that there could have be a very different ending to it all, one with William lying in a pool of his own blood, body cold. And if Allerton hadn’t dodged at the last moment and William had managed to shoot him, he likely would have gone to prison, or possibly even hanged.

  My frame trembled at the thought, and moisture gathered again in my eyes. For if there was anything the whole ordeal had shown me, it was that I was still in love with William. Hopelessly.

  I thought a moment more before realizing something else Matthew had said. I turned to him. “You went to William’s townhouse?”

  His nod was weary.

  “But that’s over a mile away! You could not have run the distance there and back in such a short time.”

  “By all England, Eliza—I can, and I did.” Matthew collapsed onto the sofa belly first, emitting a growling sound. “And if you ask me to do it again, I will shoot you myself.”

  Chapter 28

  “Where is she?”

  “In her bedroom,” I said.

  Peter nodded, face grave. I ascended the stairs, leading the way to Mama’s bedroom, and Peter followed.

  Two weeks had passed since the duel, and William still had not come. Mama had taken a turn for the worse, and as it was, she could hardly manage to get out of bed. In such a state, with death looming over her head, Mama had at last seen the wisdom in sending for Peter. I’d written him a soul-bearing letter, relieved beyond measure to finally have someone to share my grief with. He’d arrived sooner than expected.

  “And Lily and the baby?” I asked as we wound up the marble staircase. We paused on the landing.

  “They’re coming in a carriage—should be here day after tomorrow. I rode ahead to arrive as quickly as possible. I had to—I had—” Peter stopped, forcing me to turn around. His eyes gleamed. He swallowed. “. . . Why didn’t she tell us sooner, Eliza?”

&
nbsp; My heart squeezed. Peter already knew the answer; I’d spared no detail in my letter to him. But he was looking to me for hope, and strength, just as he had after Father passed away. I had to be strong for all of us.

  “Because Father’s death broke you, Peter, and Mama couldn’t bear to do that to you again. She wanted you both to be happy for as long as possible. And, as we are nearing the end,” I nearly choked on the word, “it is no longer possible.”

  Peter’s lips parted and he blinked at me. At last he said, “Both.”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘both.’ Me and Matthew . . . So you already knew?”

  My eyes filled with tears, throat suddenly thick. “Mama told me of her illness three months ago. She made me swear never to reveal it to either you or Matthew—though I wanted to, dreadfully.” My breaths became quicker and deeper, more desperate. “And oh, Peter, please don’t be angry with me, or Mama. Please don’t. I had to keep my promise to her—I did not want to, I knew it was wrong, but I could not break my promise. Not with her hacking coughs rattling the house each time—each time she—”

  Peter bridged the gap between us and wrapped me in his strong embrace. His warm hand cradled the back of my head as I cried into his shoulder.

  After my heart had broken from so much loss—first Father, then William, and now Mama—I’d tried to protect the fragile thing, wrapping it in a makeshift bandage that could never repair the deep wounds. As Peter held me, the mismatched binding began to unravel, ribbon by ribbon. My heart lay exposed; broken, but still beating. Perhaps now, with Peter here, gently shushing my cries as we swayed . . . perhaps now, it could begin to heal.

  For I was not alone. I never had been.

  At last spent, I backed away and swiped at my eyes, not feeling less despondent about the whole situation, but more at peace. I looked into Peter’s eyes, a strong blue that matched Matthew’s. My brothers knew the truth, and they were here. They would not abandon me.