Benedict sank down onto one of the nearby chairs. He appeared perplexed and incredibly worried. “It was about that time that Mary’s curiosity, I’d even go so far as to say obsession, with finding out where we’d come from—who our true families were—had begun. But, there is still no good reason for her to have lied. I would not have prohibited her from coming to Bath even if that was her motivation.”
Adler cocked his head to the side. “You really don’t understand how keen the resemblance is between the two of you, do you?”
“No. I honestly do not see it,” Benedict said. “Though to be fair, I spend very little time looking at my own face. Beyond my morning shave, I see little point to it. When did Mary seek out Madame Zula? Had she arranged that before leaving London? I don’t trust what they said here.”
Adler held up his hand. “She wasn’t coming here to meet with Madame Zula. I think that was, perhaps, something she did impulsively. She came to Bath solely to gain more information and to observe Lady Vale.” Adler passed the small book to him.
“She became obsessed with the notion that you could be the missing heir to the Vale line. She believed it wholeheartedly based on what I read,” Adler insisted. “It was that which brought her to Bath.”
Guilt flooded him. “It’s my fault,” he said. “She’s been taken and it’s because of me that she was put in danger.”
“She’s in danger because somehow she garnered the attention of a kidnapper,” Adler said. “I spoke to some of the neighbors and to Mrs. Simms. They’d all seen that big bloke hanging about there, watching her. No one put any real stock to it until she went missing. Mrs. Simms was on the verge of selling her things to a ragpicker to cover the rent on her room. Lucky I got there when I did.”
“Is there anything else that you’ve discovered, Mr. Adler?” Elizabeth asked. The grim reminder of just how many days his sister had been missing appeared to have taken a toll on Mr. Mason. His expression was dark, his brow furrowed with worry.
“Not much else, miss. But I do have questions for you, Miss Masters—when did you go to Madame Zula’s to schedule the appointment?”
“It was on Tuesday,” she replied.
Adler nodded. “You scheduled your appointment the same day Miss Mason did. Given that she was watching Lady Vale, I’d have to wonder if she didn’t follow you there.”
“Oh heavens,” Elizabeth breathed out. “I hadn’t even considered that!”
“If they were watching the house on the Tuesday when the appointments were made, and then watching it again the nights when Mary was taken and when they attempted to abduct Miss Masters,” Benedict mused, “there is no chance at all that the mystic is not involved in some way in these disappearances herself. She would have to be.”
Adler nodded. “That is the truth of it. And that’s why the remainder of my investigation will be spent focusing on her and whoever comes and goes with any frequency from her home.”
*
After Adler left, Benedict opened the simple diary and began to read the most recent entries. It didn’t feel right to violate Mary’s privacy so, but given what they were up against, he had no other options. Every entry since coming to Bath involved all the ways she’d tried to insert herself into Lady Vale’s path. Going to the Pump Room, shopping at the same stores and merchants, frequenting a tea room near the Abbey to watch the comings and goings on days when she could not get into the Pump Room herself.
There were notations about Lady Vale’s companion, remarks about the large man who watched them from a distance. At one point, Mary even suspected that the man had been hired to protect them. How wrong she had been, Benedict thought.
“I am very sorry.”
The softly murmured apology drew his gaze to the very woman he’d been reading about. “What are you sorry for?” he asked.
“I cannot help but feel, since these men have been following Lady Vale and me for so long that, perhaps, your sister has been put in harm’s way because of us,” Elizabeth answered.
“As Adler said, the only people responsible are those who took her. What put her into their path is not anyone’s fault and it certainly isn’t adequate reason for her to be in danger. When I find these men, Miss Masters, and I will, there will be a reckoning,” he warned.
“You are very close to your sister,” she commented.
“Aren’t most siblings close?” he asked. Based on their earlier conversation he would have to imagine that her answer would be no. She’d never indicated one way or another if she even had brothers or sisters but, if she did, they had turned their backs on her.
“No, they most certainly are not,” Elizabeth answered. “You know that my past is less than proper. My own sister, who is much older and very advantageously married, gave me the cut direct in London not so very long ago.”
Benedict said nothing to that. There was nothing he could say. For the entirety of his life that he could recall, he’d always had Mary there to defend him and he her. The idea that he might never see her again was beyond painful, the idea that something might occur between them that would result in his willfully refusing to even acknowledge her was completely foreign to him.
Miss Masters crossed the room to the window, putting distance between them but, more than anything, he realized, giving herself the opportunity to shore up her weakening defenses. A sad smile curved her lips as she looked back at him, “She’s lucky in that regard, as are you, to have someone who cares so deeply.”
“And who cares for you, Miss Masters?” he asked pointedly. There was a deep loneliness within her. In moments such as this, with her guard lowered, he could see it. He recognized it because it mirrored his own. Yes, he had his sister, but there was a gaping hole in him. Where did he come from, where did he belong? For him, it was question after question. For Miss Masters, she had been given those answers. She belonged nowhere. No one mourned or searched for her. Her family had cast her off while his own remained a mystery.
“No one,” she answered. There was no self-pity in that statement. It was made matter of factly but with firm conviction.
“On that score, I would have to beg your pardon as I disagree in a most impassioned manner. You are cared for.”
“Mr. Mason—”
“Miss Masters,” he stopped her. “Do not think to tell me what I do and do not feel. I have made no professions of undying love. I have not sworn my unyielding fidelity to you. You have made your feelings on such promises from men quite clear. But mark my words on this account, if I tell you that I care, I do. And I will. Forever.”
Rising to his feet, Benedict kept the journal tucked into his hand. He advanced in her direction, his movements slow and deliberate. When he reached her, he placed one hand beneath her chin and tilted her face upward.
He had told her that he would kiss her again and for the right reasons. In that moment, as his lips descended on hers, it had nothing to do with inciting passion or initiating seduction. It was something much more tender and with far deeper meaning. The gesture, simple as it was, had been intended to bring comfort to both of them. And while it succeeded, it also complicated things infinitely more. With that kiss, the soft melding of their lips for only the space of a few seconds, neither one could continue to claim that what existed between them was only a simple attraction without deeper feelings involved.
Stepping back, Benedict felt the breath shudder from him as he accepted the undeniable truth. Miss Elizabeth Masters, for better or worse, was his. She might not know it yet, she might not be willing to admit it, but come what may, he would have her and he would keep her. “I’m going upstairs for a bit. I plan to read every single entry in this book, regardless of how uncomfortable some of them might be for me, and try to determine if there is anything else of use in it. I will see you at tea time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. She was exhausted but unable to sleep. Memories of his kiss plagued her. The fiery and passionate man from th
e night before, the sweet and tender man who had comforted them both that afternoon. Was it possible that both of those were simply facets of the same person? He accused her of not trusting men, and that was true to a degree. But more so, she no longer trusted her own judgment.
How long had it been since someone had touched her with such tenderness and caring? In truth, never. Her own family had been cold at best. She had not suffered as cruelly as Benedict and his sister had at the hands of their abusive, adoptive family, but she hadn’t been loved and cared for either. And while that kiss and the wealth of feeling she’d thought she read in his gaze had made her heart leap and inspired the girlish dreams of a grand love to once more spring to life, it was the other kiss that kept her awake. She was tormented by her own response to it—to him.
She had thought herself beyond such temptations, that perhaps she had managed to subdue that weakness within herself… after the last time. It had been years since she had felt a man’s touch, much less a kiss. Even then, she had been a girl and her lover had been little more than a boy. Benedict, however, was a man grown, with a man’s needs and far more skill than anything she had experienced in the past.
Turning onto her side, her eyes were drawn to the pale sliver of light that filtered in between the curtains. Her skin felt too sensitive, even the weight of her night rail against her flesh was more than she could bear. It wasn’t just the lingering desire ignited by his kiss, by the hard press of his body against hers, but also the disquiet of her own thoughts.
Being forced to acknowledge and to accept that she was not as far removed from the woman she had once been as she had thought was difficult to come to terms with.
“Damn,” she whispered. It felt so good to utter that curse into the darkness, to let some small bit of the wickedness inside her out into the world.
Unable to sleep, unwilling to continue lying in her bed and letting the frustration eat away at her, she shoved back the bed clothes and sat up. With her feet planted firmly on the floor, she rose and tugged her wrapper on, tying the sash with jerky and agitated movements.
There was brandy in the library. She would get a book and a little dram of it to help settle her nerves and, hopefully, lull herself to sleep.
Easing her door open, she stepped into the hall and peered carefully about her. She did not want to bump into Benedict—Mr. Mason, she corrected herself—in the dark. He was dangerous enough to her even in the bright light of day.
With the corridor deserted, Elizabeth made her way quietly down the stairs. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps after the attempted kidnapping she was more attuned to her surroundings. Regardless, halfway down the stairs, she stopped. With one hand clutching the railing and the other gripping the sides of her wrapper together, Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the sensation of not being alone.
“Hello?” she whispered. Part of her desperately wanted someone to answer while another part of her was terrified that they might.
“I won’t bite you.”
The response came from the bottom of the stairs, an acerbic tone to a voice that was becoming dangerously familiar to her. She’d left her bed to avoid memories of Mr. Mason and had, instead, run directly into the man himself.
“What are you doing down there?” she demanded. As if she had the right! It was not her place to question him.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. “I thought brandy might help. Dare I say that you seem to be suffering a similar predicament?”
“I heard a noise,” she lied.
His grin was evident in his voice. “How very brave you are, Miss Masters, to investigate it all by yourself. Brave enough that you deserve a reward… if you come down, I will share my brandy with you.”
The idea of being alone with him in the darkness, of letting him steal another kiss, was far more intoxicating than any brandy ever could be. Against all reason and defiance of everything she knew she ought to do, Elizabeth found herself descending those stairs to where he waited in the shadows below. It was far too late to retreat now. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
When she reached the small pool of light that poured from the library, she hesitated again. He stood just inside the door, a second snifter of brandy in his hand and a speculative gleam in his eye.
“I won’t accost you in the library… Elizabeth,” he promised.
His tone was low and alarmingly seductive. The way his lips positively caressed her name rang every warning bell that she possessed. But once a hedonistic and willful hellion, she thought, always a hedonistic and willful hellion. Try as she might to deny and crush that part of herself, it was still there, lurking beneath her prim, drab clothes and her stiff demeanor.
“I still have not given you leave to use my name,” she reminded him as she took the glass from his hand.
“I’ve tasted your lips, Miss Masters. Twice, as a matter of fact. It seems the worst kind of hypocrisy to retain such formal address when the intimacy of our acquaintance has already surpassed such nonsense,” he replied smoothly. “Tell me, what disturbing thoughts dragged you from the comfort of your bed this evening?”
“You, Mr. Mason.” It was not an admission of the nature of her thoughts, only that he occupied them. “I cannot help but wonder at your true identity and your true purpose here… at what manner of man you actually are. You appear to have a very changeable nature.”
“That again,” he nodded. “It is a conundrum, Elizabeth. I can assure you that I did not intentionally allow someone to shoot me just to gain entrance to this house. I have no designs upon a title that is most obviously not mine. Regardless of what you may think of me, financially I have no need of anything that belongs to Lady Vale. There are more than enough reckless young bucks willing to throw the family fortune upon any table in my establishment. More often than not, they leave a healthy chunk of it behind.”
“You do not aspire to her wealth… you do not aspire to her title and position. So what are your aspirations, Mr. Mason? What precisely, other than your conveniently timed heroics, has brought you into our midsts?” She wanted to anger him, to offend his honor in such a way that he would have no choice but to leave and she could at least attempt to put him from her mind and continue on with her peacefully boring existence. It was better that way, to force him out before she, once again, felt the bitter pain of disappointment.
He stepped forward, close enough that their bodies nearly touched. As he loomed over her, she had to tilt her head back to meet his steely gaze and to measure the tension of the ticking muscle at his jaw. She wanted alternately to step back and give herself space to breathe but also to provoke him, to tease the fire of his anger to the point that both of them would lose all sense. It wasn’t simply that she wanted to lose control, but to cast it off like an offending garment and embrace her inner wickedness.
When he spoke, his voice was perfectly modulated, his tone completely civil, and nothing in it indicated the cold fury she saw banked in his eyes. “To find my sister and nothing more. I could not sleep because every time I close my eyes, Miss Masters, I cannot help but envision all the horrors that could be visited upon her… the same horrors that might have been visited upon you had I not intervened. And I wonder, Miss Masters, what will become of you if I leave here as you are surely trying to encourage me to do.”
Despite the well-modulated and civil tone, there was a note in his voice, a hint that perhaps he had witnessed those kinds of horrors firsthand, that perhaps his sister had, as well. What did they know of him really? He admitted that his adoptive parents had been cruel people but, beyond that, they did not know anything of the couple. In truth, they knew nothing of him. And while her first instinct was to trust him, her instincts had been wrong in the past and she had paid dearly for it.
“Then why have you not left to find her, Mr. Mason? You are not being held against your will.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course. If he attempted to leave before Lady Vale was satisfied that he was not her missing son, she might very well attempt
it.
He didn’t answer immediately, but took a sip of his brandy instead. “Because I have to admit that I am not able to do so. Right now, if I were put in a situation where I had to fight for Mary and for myself, I would fail. Also, Lady Vale has resources at the ready, and as I am currently unable to adequately pursue her captors myself, I am dependent upon her assistance. Despite my initial misgivings, Mr. Adler is proving to be more than competent. That is all. I tolerated your accusations earlier because you had no knowledge of who I am or what I’m about. I find that I’m less inclined to tolerate it politely any longer.”
Elizabeth laughed at that. “Tolerate it politely! Ha! You are not a gentleman, Mr. Mason. Do not pretend to be.”
“And you are not a lady. I’ll drop all of my pretenses if you drop yours,” he challenged.
The accusation stung, primarily because there was more than a small kernel of truth in it. “How dare you!”
“I dare because you constantly accuse me of being untruthful, Elizabeth, when the only person lying is you. You lie to yourself and to the world at large every time you don one of your drab, ugly gowns and pretend to be meek and obedient. That isn’t who you are! Be true to yourself and what your cold-hearted and soulless relatives think of you will matter less and less every day!”
She drew her hand back as if to strike him. It was an instinctive response, a need to make him stop saying the things that echoed the traitorous whispers in her own mind. Before her hand could touch his cheek, he caught it, his long fingers wrapping about her wrist in a hold that was gentle but unbreakable.
“Do not test me, Elizabeth,” he warned softly. “You will find that I dare many things.”
“I am not afraid of you and I will not be cowed by you! You do not know me and you have no right to dictate to me how I should be living my life!” Her words were whispered, hissed out between clenched teeth as she glared at him. Because it felt good to be angry, because it released some of the misery she’d been carrying around inside her for so long, she continued, “You are not Lord Vale! You are not her vanished son returned to her! For the sake of her already broken heart, can you not at least attempt to make her see reason?”
The Vanishing of Lord Vale (The Lost Lords Book 2) Page 15