Marquesses at the Masquerade

by Emily Greenwood

  “I’m sorry for my abruptness and harsh manner. I am a military man, and I lack the talent of delicate conversation. But it has been made apparent to me that Lord Exmore holds you in much esteem.”

  The dancers began to move, but Annalise remained still. “Why do you say this? It is not true.”

  He held out his hand. She stared at it and took it only after a neighboring dancer bumped into her.

  “Please heed my advice,” he said, leading her in a turn. “Take care to avoid him.”

  “Why do you speak this way to me?”

  He edged closer to her than the dance dictated. “He cares little for your feelings,” he said, only loud enough for her to hear. “He is a marquess and will have his way.”

  “Sir, again, do not speak to me this way. It is impolite.”

  “The truth is often impolite. He misused a lady. A lady I loved. He destroyed her gentle heart and her life. He… he killed her.”

  “What?” She yanked from his clasp. The dancing couples beside them turned, eyeing them. Annalise wanted to walk away, no, run, but knew the best tactic was to stay in the dance and then quietly slip into the crowd. Causing a scene wouldn’t improve the situation.

  “My apologies.” He lifted her hand and drew her back into the dance formation. “You may misunderstand. He did not kill her with his hands. He tortured her heart, slowly draining away her life. She died of grief.”

  Sorrow imbued his dramatic proclamation, and normally Annalise would have been more sympathetic, but she felt only annoyance. “People do not die of grief, Colonel Lewiston. I should know. Please do not speak any more on this topic. We are at a ball. Tell me, have you attended Astley’s Circus or Kew Gardens?” She pointedly attempted to change the subject to a more proper one.

  “As a compassionate gentleman, I urge you, do not fall under Exmore’s influence. Stay away from him.”

  The only man she wanted to stay away from was the colonel.

  She knew Exmore led another life as a rake in the dark belly of London. He visited places and did things she didn’t care to know about. She knew that sorrow changed a person, driving him or her to act in desperate ways. She couldn’t judge him, especially when she was ignorant of the particulars concerning Colonel Lewiston or his lady friend. But she didn’t want to be dragged into any sordid situation between the two men.

  Then a worrisome thought struck her: If Lewiston knew about her secret friendship with Exmore, who else did? Her gaze flew to her uncle. He was drinking champagne and speaking amicably with another gentleman.

  The dance began to feel like a sickening blur. She wanted to rip her hand away from Lewiston’s clasp. She didn’t want him touching her in any manner. Thankfully, he turned silent for the remainder of the dance, and they both moved through the figures. When the music ended, he leaned close and whispered, “I warn you. Stay away from Exmore.”

  She left the dance floor, shaking, and headed for the refreshment parlor. She heard the colonel say something about procuring her some punch, but she ignored him and continued on her own. How did their secret get out? She had told no one, and she trusted Exmore.

  A warm hand latched on to her elbow, and Exmore whispered, “I need to speak to you.”

  She slowly turned. Exmore’s face was politely composed but pain imbued his burning eyes. “Please.” His voice had a hollowed-out quality.

  She shouldn’t meet him here. Not at a crowded ball with her uncle hovering about. It was too dangerous. Yet, she replied, “Yes,” to his imploring gaze.

  He walked to a closed parlor door, opened it, and slipped inside. She glanced again at her uncle to find he was still deep in conversation with another gentleman. She paused a moment more, having second thoughts, but then slipped into the parlor with Exmore.

  * * *

  Exmore seized her shoulders, holding on to her as if they were in some swift-moving current and she would be cast away from him otherwise. “What did he say to you?” he demanded.

  Annalise didn’t need any more explanation. She comprehended him immediately. “That man Lewiston said… that you killed some lady he loved. That she died from grief that you inflicted. He was a horrible man. I couldn’t stand touching him. How dare he say these things to me? And at a ball. He is mad.”

  Exmore released a deep breath. He should have known Annalise would be sensible. “He is not mad, but he is a very angry and hurt man.”

  She held up her hand. “Please, don’t put me in this situation between you two. There are aspects of your life that I don’t need to know about. You are a m—”

  “I’m a drunken libertine.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.”

  “That’s what others say. But I need to tell you something. Something I—I haven’t admitted to anyone else.”

  The unspoken words had sat in his mind for years and affected every minute of his life, burned in his heart. His life was divided into two times periods—before Cassandra’s death and then after. He had planned to bury the secret with his death and Lewiston. Until that time, he had been prepared to live with the ugly truth day to day, hour to hour. But now, as he looked at Annalise’s compassionate eyes, the words were too heavy, and he couldn’t carry them anymore. Something in her face—in its unique contours—made him feel safe, as though she had some power that no one else possessed to heal him.

  “You can tell me anything you need to,” she encouraged.

  The truth he had held back so long burst out. “Lewiston loved Cassandra.”

  She blinked. “This—this is about Cassandra?” The machinations of her mind showed in her eyes. “Were they lovers? But—but you loved her!” she said fiercely, protectively. “You loved her so much! I remember what you told me that night. How you loved her with a depth I couldn’t conceive. Oh, Exmore.” She drew him into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not as it seems.” He buried his face in her silken hair, drawing in her vanilla scent.

  “Tell me now,” she whispered. “The truth. All of it. You needn’t worry about my feelings.”

  “I loved her.” The words emitted from a deep, despairing place. “I loved her too much.”

  “You cannot love someone too much, Exmore,” she said quietly.

  He drew her tight... He needed her warmth, her strength, her understanding. “Unless they don’t love you. Unless your love is unwanted.”

  She sucked in her breath. Her body stiffened for a moment, and then all the softness flooded back. “Oh, Exmore. No. I always thought… yours was the perfect marriage. I coveted it when I had been abandoned. I was jealous of it. I thought… I’m sorry. Oh God.”

  “I fell wildly in love with her from the start.” The truth had been poisoning him. He had to get it out. “My father advised me against the match, believing I was too young. I wouldn’t listen. She was all I knew, all I thought about. I didn’t know that she loved another. I didn’t. I thought her reserve was part of her calm countenance. Unknown to me, her father forced her to marry me because I was a future marquess, and Lewiston, then, was only the younger son of a baron.”

  He drew back until he could see her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  She caressed his shoulder. “Of course you didn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have encouraged her to marry me. I feel like a monster.”

  “This isn’t your doing.”

  “I never suspected anything. She was a good wife—a model wife. Yet, I felt she always kept something from me. Her elusiveness drove me wild. I couldn’t get enough of her. I spent years trying to steal into her secret world. I thought that was how love worked.”

  The tears he had never let himself cry filled Annalise’s lovely eyes.

  “The pregnancy made her ill. She couldn’t hold down water or food. It was torture to watch her body writhe with retching convulsion. She… she…” He swallowed. His throat burned. “She called out Lewiston’s name. Until then, I had never heard of the man. She begged her maid to come and writ
e a letter to Lewiston. Beneath her delirium, she knew she was dying.” He searched her face, soft with compassion. “I—I did something I shouldn’t have,” he admitted. “I betrayed her trust.”

  “In an emotional time, you act in ways you never thought you would. I can’t judge you.”

  “I read the letter.”

  She reached up and placed her gloved hand on his cheek. “What did the letter say?”

  He could tell she didn’t care about the letter. She knew he needed to confess, and she was giving him permission.

  “She said she was sorry that she wasn’t strong enough to run away with him.” His voice cracked. “That she thought of him when she touched me. She pretended the baby was theirs. That someday they—she, him, and her unborn child—would be reunited in a world without end. Just as her love for him was—without end.”

  Annalise slowly drew him back to her safe embrace. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She rested her cheek on his chest. He liked her there. Her touch penetrated all the way to his pounding heart. Damn that night years ago, and Patrick, and Wallis’s vile words. Annalise was the only true thing in his life. “I couldn’t keep our friendship secret,” he said. “Wallis Hume was insulting you at a club, and I wouldn’t have it. I couldn’t have him belittling you. Lewiston was there and overheard it all.”

  “Shhh.” She ran her fingers along his back. “Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “The other day you reminded me that I once told you that you would love again and more wisely,” he said. “Well, you don’t. Love continues, even for those who don’t love you. You knew that, and you fought for Patrick. I’ve never told you how much I came to admire you for that. You are the strong one.”

  “I don’t feel strong at all. I’m pretending that I’m strong, because it’s easier than owning how confused and sad I can be.”

  “Are you that way with me?”

  “No. I really have nothing to hide from you. You know all my secrets.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. How easily she gave herself away to him, letting him know her. She didn’t drive him wild like Cassandra had by hiding her true thoughts. She wasn’t a beautiful enigma. She readily gave herself and that sweet, radiant calmness that he recalled from the day at the print shop. He felt safe in her arms. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? How could a grown man feel unsafe? Wasn’t he supposed to be her hero and comfort her? He drew her tighter. “Thank you,” he whispered again.

  They didn’t say anything more but rested in their embrace. The music and chatter from the other room could have been miles away.

  Then the door swung violently open, the handle smashing against the wall. Mr. Sommerville and Colonel Lewiston stood on the threshold. Sommerville’s thin neck was red and corded, and his bulging eyes burned with anger. Annalise tried to leap away, but Exmore held her close. They wouldn’t get to her. They wouldn’t hurt his Annalise.

  “Thank you, Colonel Lewiston, for alerting me to this unfortunate situation,” Sommerville said while glowering at Exmore.

  Lewiston eyed Exmore. Triumph hiked the edge of his mouth. Lewiston surely thought he had done a great service to Annalise. He had saved her from Exmore’s supposedly vile clutches, avenging Cassandra through her.

  “What have you done, Annalise?” Sommerville demanded.

  “Shut the door,” Exmore said, keeping a protective hold on her. Behind them, guests were turning to see the reason for the commotion.

  Lewiston shot Exmore a smug look, so proud of himself, and then walked out, shutting the door.

  “You ridiculous, silly idiot,” Sommerville spat at Annalise. “You insist on shaming me, and at Lord Warrington’s ball. Have you any sense at all?”

  “Don’t speak to her that way,” Exmore growled, keeping Annalise’s back against his chest, his arm draped protectively across her.

  “Tell me, my lord.” Mr. Sommerville opened his hands. “Will you do the honorable thing by this witless girl? Will you marry her and be saddled with her for the rest of her life? She would disgrace the office held by your late beloved, perfect wife.”

  “No!” Annalise cried.

  Exmore remained silent, assessing her uncle and the situation.

  “Come away, now, you wicked child!” her uncle barked. No doubt, his voice carried to the other room. He took pleasure in his righteous anger and belittling Annalise. “You disappoint me in every measure.”

  Exmore made a quick calculation and reluctantly released his hold on Annalise… for now. “Go quietly with him,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of matters tonight.”

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  “I’m going to Holland,” Annalise whispered to herself as her uncle gripped her elbow, escorting her outside. The watch might as well have arrested her in the middle of Lord Warrington’s ball for all the curious looks she garnered.

  In the carriage on the way home, her uncle warned his wife and Phoebe to remain silent. Despite this instruction, her aunt begged, “What is wrong, Mr. Sommerville?”

  “It’s not for your innocent ears.”

  Phoebe cast Annalise commiserating looks but remained obediently silent.

  Annalise gazed out the window, watching the blur of light outside the glass. She felt oddly numb about her disgrace and coming journey to the Continent. Shouldn’t she feel more? Perhaps embarrassment, humiliation, or fear? Instead, her mind turned over Exmore’s words. His personal descent now made sense: the rakishness, the self-destruction, the pain. How disorientating to learn that the person you loved most in the world never loved you, that she had been pretending all along. Exmore had unwittingly built his marriage and life on lies. Annalise and Patrick had never shared the intimacy of a marriage bed or spent years building a life together. Yet, she had been devastated at his abandonment. She couldn’t imagine how Exmore must feel. Love, sadness, anger, remorse, and disillusionment. He had admitted that one never stops loving someone, and she knew that to be true, but she wished it was otherwise. She wished a powerful tide would sweep memories of old love away to a forgotten ocean, leaving a clean shore to start again, as if the past hadn’t happened. She wished so for Exmore’s sake.

  At home, her uncle sent his wife and Phoebe to bed as though they were five years old. Annalise knew wily Phoebe waited on the stairwell, listening.

  “Come to my parlor,” her uncle commanded.

  Annalise forced herself to take a long, slow breath. She wouldn’t let him anger her. “I’m leaving for Holland tomorrow,” she said calmly.

  He flung out his arms. “That’s it? You just leave? Do you have a ticket?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where you are going in Holland?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head incredulously. “You halfwit. I don’t know whether to be amused or angry with you.” He stepped closer, until Annalise could smell the tinge of his sour perspiration on his coat. “Tell me, my girl, have you opened your legs to him?” There was predatory anticipation on his moist lips.

  Annalise stepped back, keeping her spine erect, refusing to be dragged down to her uncle’s base understanding. “Lord Exmore and I are friends. You wouldn’t understand our relationship because you don’t comprehend beauty or grace.”

  “It is you who do not comprehend these things.” He pounded a side table with the padded edge of his fist. “Beauty and grace? What do you fashion yourself now? A poetess? What you need to learn about are decency and chastity.”

  “I won’t listen to your insults any longer. I’m leaving as soon as may be.”

  “You do not tell me what you are going to do.” He grabbed her arm. “You will obey my wishes.”

  A servant cleared his throat. “Sir, the Marquess of Exmore,” he announced.

  Annalise turned her head as Exmore walked in. His gaze drifted from her face to where her uncle squeezed her arm. His lips made the slightest tremor, his nostrils fl
ared, yet when he spoke, his voice was low and smooth. “Good evening.”

  Her uncle rushed forward, almost tripping on the foot of a chair. Barely recovering his balance, he performed a stumbling bow before Exmore. “My lord.”

  “I desire to speak to you in private regarding your niece,” Exmore said.

  “Annalise is a witless—”

  “Not another word dishonoring Miss Van Der Keer,” Exmore thundered. He pointed to the closed double doors at the back of the room. “Is this the study? It usually is in such drab, middling homes. How can you bear to live in this rodent’s hole?”

  Her uncle paled at having his home belittled by the great man. Exmore didn’t wait for him to answer but strode toward the parlor. He didn’t look back when he addressed the servant. “Have tea and biscuits brought to Miss Van Der Keer.” He opened one of the doors. “Come, Sommerville.”

  As her uncle passed, he looked to Annalise for sympathy at Exmore’s belittling of him. Annalise ignored her uncle. Exmore closed the study door behind the men.

  What was Exmore’s game? She had a nervous inkling that she knew the answer. She couldn’t let him do this. He didn’t love her but was acting out of honor.

  She wanted to burst into the parlor and cry, No, no, this isn’t necessary.

  She had only to survive one more night under her uncle’s roof, and then she would sail away, liberating herself and Exmore.

  The conversation between the men was quick, not five minutes, but it seemed like an hour to a fretting Annalise. When it was over, her uncle bounded out, his demeanor radically changed. He appeared overly pleasant, trying hard to be the congenial man he wasn’t.

  “Well, now, here she is. Hee hee. So beautiful. Ready to make you a very happy man.”

  Annalise’s gaze shifted between her uncle and Exmore. “Smile, girl,” her uncle commanded. “He wants to marry you.”

  “May I have a moment alone with my bride-to-be?” Exmore said.

  “Of course, of course.”

  Annalise waited until her uncle retreated from the room, bowing as he went. Silence permeated the room. When she opened her mouth to speak, Exmore rested his hands on her shoulders. “No, Annalise, don’t turn me away yet. Listen to my case.”