“Not in so many words, but I had an impression you were pleased,” she smiled.
“Hmmm, more than pleased,” he agreed, placing small butterfly kisses on her neck which kept her giggling.
“Your cape, that’s the moon we watched together, the one you’re named after,” he observed, and then fingered the mother of pearl moon nestled in her hair.
“I recognise this too. My grandmother wore it for her wedding portrait. It was a gift from my grandfather.”
“She loaned it to me,” added Selina. “She says it’s to be a gift to your wife.”
James closed his eyes. His grandmother’s message to him was as unsubtle as it could possibly be. But how could he expect Selina to become his wife when the threat of a charge of treason hung over his head? Especially when the same threat attached to her brother?
He wanted to give her everything he had and more—the sun, the moon, his very life— but until Pitt’s intrigue was through, his life wasn’t his own to give her.
He had mingled with the ball goers for a couple of hours feeling like a fool in this damn costume and fearing that Sir Percy had played some kind perverse trick. It wouldn’t be below him.
James had been promised answers and until he had them, he ought to stay at arm’s length from Selina.
But as he held the woman he loved in his arms, he appreciated the absurdity of it all. And he started to laugh manically between desperate kisses and caresses he bestowed on her hair, cheeks, ears, and lips.
He meant what he told Selina. Damn the whole lot of them. Abigail no longer owned him and from tonight, no longer did the Parliament of England.
For better or for worse Selina would be his wife. ’Til death did they part’—that was the part he was desperate to forestall.
Although confused by James’ mercurial expression, Selina allowed herself to be carried along by her passion, thrilled to feel his hands and lips over her, yet she sensed that his lovemaking was desperate, as though this moment would be last they’d have.
“We’re getting married… next weekend,” he groaned.
Selina stilled, sick to her stomach. Whatever power or threat Abigail held over James had been too much to overcome. But she had to hear it fully from his lips that there would be no more misunderstandings or assumptions.
“Who?”
James stopped his assault on her neck and blinked at her.
“Who?” she repeated, and urgently grabbed his hands. “Who is getting married next weekend?”
He looked at her askance. The longer he failed to respond, the worse she feared the answer was going to be.
To Selina’s alarm, James dropped to one knee.
“I’m hoping that we are, my love. Well, obviously not next weekend, but as soon as the banns have been read.”
Selina’s mouth fell open and tears filled her eyes. She was speechless.
“That’s not the response I was hoping for,” he responded uncertainly.
Finally Selina found her voice. “Are you sure? I mean, can we?” she whispered.
“Should I take that as a yes?”
Selina nodded vigorously, tugging at James’ hands, and he stood, enveloping her in a relieved embrace.
“Good, we’ll announce our engagement tonight.”
“But what about Abigail and your investigation into the Pandora? I know of the threat to you and my brother.”
James groaned. “How?”
Selina was about to tell him about Viscount Canalissy when James shook his head.
“Never mind, I can guess who.”
Her resolve to face Canalissy alone now wavered. She realised she should tell James everything, but how would he react?
Unfortunately, she had a pretty good idea. James would ignore the threat to his own safety and confront Canalissy over the threat to her and her brother.
No, she decided. Better that she try to reason with the man on her own.
“We’d better get back before we’re missed,” she suggested.
Hand-in-hand they started back to the pavilion when four men emerged from the shadows.
“Ho, Robin Hood,” said the one in the centre wearing a lavishly ornate medieval costume comprising of red breeches and matching coat with puff sleeves slashed with green satin. The man’s features were covered with an elaborate mask.
James went instantly on alert. Despite their costumes, these men weren’t revellers; they were all business.
He let go of Selina’s hand to reach for the hilt of his sword. She noticed it was only a fencing epee designed for sport.
“We thought we might find you hereabouts with the delectable Maid Marion,” the man continued.
Selina felt James relax. He obviously recognised the speaker. She, however, was less inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Who are you?” Selina demanded.
“Now then, no need for concern, my dear. The Sheriff of Nottingham at your service,” the man said with a flourish, then to James, “She is a fine one isn’t she, James, no wonder you prefer her. I like them spirited.”
“If I recall the legends, meetings between Robin of Loxley and the Sheriff of Nottingham never went well,” James replied.
“Alas this is true, which is why I have to inform you of my intention to take you into custody.”
Chapter Twenty
To Selina’s astonishment, James laughed. All the men laughed, apparently all in on some kind of joke.
“Before my fiancée runs you through herself, you’d better introduce yourselves,” he advised after catching Selina’s perplexity.
The sheriff stepped forward, bowed, and took Selina’s hand.
“Fiancée! Congratulations to you, Miss Rosewall, and to you, James,” he exclaimed. “If I might introduce myself, I’m Sir Percy Blakeney, personal secretary to our Prime Minister and host tonight, Mr Pitt.”
Selina looked at Blakeney askance for a moment, then burst into laughter and curtsied to him.
Blakeney smiled broadly in response before a theatrical frown swept across his features. “Unfortunately we do have to monopolise a little of Lord Penventen's time, but I do hope to return him to you soon in not too worse a state that in which you found him,” he explained.
The group walked to the marquee where Selina spied Jackson dressed as an American Native in buckskin breeches, a shirt, and two long false braids that fell down his back and were held in place by an elaborately and colourfully beaded headband. A feathered tomahawk was tucked in a belt around his waist.
He was conversing with Lady Margaret and Lady Mary among a group of older women, all seated on chairs that had been brought from the house. The ladies were elaborately dressed but not costumed. Jackson was costumed but not masked.
On seeing the group approaching, Jackson excused himself and crossed to them. He broke out in a grin.
“Hau!” he grunted with hand raised.
“Priceless!” quipped the Sheriff.
James turned to Selina.
“I won’t be too long,” he said, and kissed her, ending his caress with a gentle touch to her cheek.
Jackson’s grin broadened further.
James and the four men took their leave and made their way to the house. Jackson walked Selina towards the circle of ladies.
“Can I assume congratulations are in order?” Jackson asked.
“For what?” said Selina, pretending not to understand the question. Her beaming smile belied the ruse.
“Come on, don’t tease,” he said. “Until I go home to Pennsylvania, my love life's experienced vicariously, so please tell me that James proposed and you’ve accepted?”
“Yes.”
Jackson let out his attempt at a native battle whoop, enfolded her in a bear hug, and swept her in a circle, her feet flying off the ground.
Lady Mary, observing the actions of Lord Penventen's decidedly unusual valet, turned to Lady Margaret.
“Do you know what on Earth is going on?”
Lady M
argaret smiled.
“I think my grandson has made the wisest decision he’s ever made.”
* * *
In public, Sir Percy Blakeney was assumed to be a vapid fop or a carefree bon vivant, depending on whether one liked him or not. Either assumption suited his purposes.
Tonight, he led a group of men through Boconnoc House and his expression was not foolish; it was deadly serious. The three men of the escort were accustomed to Sir Percy’s ability to switch personae and they trusted his judgement implicitly. In a corner of the house far away from the festivities, they entered a large library. At the far end of the room was a desk behind which sat King John.
He remained still and silent until the last man had entered the room and the door was shut and locked, then raised his mask and surveyed the group before him.
“I have to give you your due, Percy,” said Pitt, casting his eye at Robin Hood, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Will Scarlett, Little John, and Friar Tuck. “You do have a sense of the theatrical.”
“It does make it easier to find people in a crowd,” Sir Percy shrugged.
“Well, next time make me Richard the Lionheart, if you don't mind. Now James, let’s address this issue of Lady Abigail Houghall’s blackmail.
“The envelopes on my desk contain letters of commission giving you and William Rosewall diplomatic status as agents of the King. Anything you have done or will do in connection with this mission has the full sanction of the Parliament of England, so put your mind at ease on that account.”
“That’s welcome news indeed. Thank you, William,” James responded.
“Well, we can’t have the groom face the gallows before the wedding, can we?” Pitt suggested wryly.
James raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sir Percy. “News travels fast. I only proposed to Selina tonight.”
Percy examined his manicure and hid a small smile.
“On receipt of your letter, we’ve had men investigate Lady Abigail and learned she is heavily in debt and has been for the past two years,” continued Pitt.
“While the findings are still preliminary, we are aware her financial position became more perilous six months ago when the Prince of Wales’ common law wife found out about young George taking Abigail as his mistress.”
“And we know what a fierce temper Maria Fitzherbert has,” added Percy.
Everyone in the room nodded.
“Indeed,” said Pitt. “Lady Abigail’s standing in court has been diminished since Mrs Fitzherbert insisted the Prince to break off with her. She’s been forced to find another patron.”
James wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Well it hasn’t been me,” he said sullenly.
“Yes, we know that dear chap, and that is what’s caused us a deal of confusion,” Pitt continued. “Your return to England happened to be a fortunate bit of timing for her.
“Your squiring her around this season as the handsome reunited Lord is just the tale ready-made for the society pages. Our focus was so much on Radicals in our midst that we didn’t see the threat already under our noses.
“Lady Abigail has been a most accomplished spy.”
“For whom?” asked James, coldly.
“We can’t say for certain but there may be a clue in who is paying her bills—Randall Dobell, the Earl of Canalissy.”
James looked thoughtful. “That makes perfect sense,” he said. “There is a family connection there, cousins or some such.
“The Earl has made enquiries into my business arrangement with William Rosewall but I thought that might have been on behest of his son Geoffrey who developed an interest in Selina.”
“There’s something we need to tell you about Randall,” said Pitt. “He’s not the man you think he is, but don’t underestimate the son. He is just as cunning and ambitious as his father, but he has a short temper and that makes him far more dangerous.”
* * *
Selina accepted a handful of dances in between listening to Jackson being quizzed by the ladies and entertaining them with tales from the wilds of America that even to Selina's ears sounded completely fictitious. The men with whom she danced were, it seemed, entertained by her costume. Strange, thought Selina, that such a relatively short time ago she was concerned about too low a cut.
She declined her dance partners' further invitations.
Through the course of the evening, she identified Edith taking a walk in the moonlight with her Lieutenant.
Then she spotted Catherine, wearing an exquisite ruby and emerald coloured sari made even more remarkable with its elaborate embroidery in gold. The young woman was almost unrecognisable; not due to her mask, but because of the way she wore her hair loose to her waist and decorated with a filigree gold band along the centre part.
Much to Selina’s surprise—and the reason she was able to know her as Lady Catherine—was that she was accompanied by the uncostumed but uniformed Colonel Pickering and, further, seemed content to sit out the dancing and spend the evening in apparently pleasant conversation with him.
The reel ended and Selina curtsied and thanked her partner. Walking away from the dancers, she felt her bare arm snagged by a firm grip.
“I seem to recall asking for a dance two months ago,” said Viscount Canalissy, close to her ear. “I’m planning to claim what’s mine.”
He was dressed head to toe in black, its starkness relieved only by silver buckles on his belt and shoes, and by silver button cuff links. His black satin domino mask was edged in silver thread too.
With no more preamble, the Viscount dragged Selina back to the dance floor just as the opening strains of a waltz were played by the orchestra.
As they turned and moved in the crowd, Selina kept peering over his shoulder to see if Jackson had noticed where she was. It was impossible for her to see. Canalissy, on the other hand, kept his eyes focused on her face with a close stare that was unnerving.
By the end of the dance, Geoffrey had steered her to a far corner of the pavilion. She took two paces back to put some physical distance between them.
“Consider my debt to you paid, sir,” said Selina. He responded with a mocking look.
She felt his eyes roam over her and she reminded herself that she was not here by choice. Selina decided to remind him of that too.
“You claim to have evidence of wrongdoing by James and my brother. Where is it?” she demanded.
“My dearest Selina, you don’t expect that I would have it on me, do you?” he asked, raising his arms in emphasis. “You are welcome to search me if you like,” he added with a leer.
Selina could not prevent herself from expressing her distaste for him. “You’re disgusting.”
She turned to leave.
Canalissy gripped her arm, blanching it beneath his grip.
“Forthright, aren’t we? Not an attractive quality in a woman. Neither is impatience.”
“Blackmail is hardly amongst the list of virtues either,” she spat back, shaking her arm free, “so before we start comparing sins, show me what you believe you have against James and William.”
“Blackmail? Who said anything about blackmail? Have I made threats? Have I coerced you into doing anything against your wishes?”
No, thought Selina, he was too devious for that. Anything Geoffrey had done so far that she might call amiss could easily be explained away to a third party.
“Right now, for instance,” he continued, “I won’t make you accompany me to the stables. You will do so of your own volition. You will join me because you’re anxious to see the evidence I have that implicates Penventen and your brother in seditious acts against the Crown.
“As a loyal subject to our King, it is my duty to present this evidence to the appropriate authorities at the earliest opportunity—which might be as soon as tonight.
“You may even wish to strike a bargain with respect to it. But don’t call it blackmail, my dear, because I have asked you to do nothing.”
Selina realised that she was being out-manoeuvred
and warred with herself. This was a mistake, don’t listen to him, walk away now, one part screamed, while another told her that if there was the least bit of truth in Canalissy's claims, she owed it to both the men she loved to find out what it was.
“If it's your duty to present this evidence to the King, why tell me any of this at all?” asked Selina.
“Have you forgotten my offer of friendship? My vows of devotion? I’m doing this for you.”
Selina viewed him askance. “Doing what for me?”
“I’m not without influence,” he offered. “I can certainly provide evidence that would offer mitigation for your brother.”
“And for James?”
Canalissy let out a small laugh. “Alas, I cannot save him, from himself least of all. However, Lady Abigail might have more sway with those in power. Why do you think she’s so devoted to him despite the fact that he has strayed with you? His only protection is to marry her.”
“James has proposed marriage to me,” Selina said firmly, noting with satisfaction the surprise, or perhaps anger, that momentarily flared in his eyes. Then he sniffed contemptuously.
“My poor sweet innocent darling, don’t you know a man will promise anything to get a woman into his bed? Haven’t you ever wondered about the secrets he keeps from you? And why, for all his supposed antipathy for her, he still keeps Abigail at close quarters?”
“I trust him. There must be a good explanation,” she answered.
“I can tell you what that is and what Penventen will be forced to do if he wishes to stay alive,” Canalissy replied. He began to move away from her. “I’ll be in the stable, checking on my horses. It’s your choice to join me there or not.”
* * *
Pitt pressed a glass of whiskey into James hand, watching the young man’s ashen face with concern.
“I only learned of the rumour on news of your father’s death,” he explained. “I’m sorry to have to rake through family scandal but it may go to Lord Randall’s motivation and that of his son, come to think of it.”
“Do we know this as a certainty?” interjected Sir Percy.
Pitt shook his head. “I doubt Lady Christina would co-operate, there’s no advantage to her if the scandal became public knowledge.”
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