Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  THE END

  Books by Brenda Hiatt

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider posting a review at your favorite online bookstore or book discussion site, so like-minded readers can find it, too.

  Here are more books by Brenda Hiatt for you to enjoy.

  Traditional Regency Romances

  Azalea

  Gabriella

  Lord Dearborn’s Destiny

  The Cygnet

  Christmas Bride

  Historical Romances

  Scandalous Virtue

  The Saint of Seven Dials Series

  Rogue’s Honor

  Noble Deceptions

  Innocent Passions

  Saintly Sins

  The Saint of Seven Dials (complete set)

  Tessa’s Touch

  The Runaway Heiress

  Ship of Dreams

  Time Travel

  Bridge Over Time

  Mystery

  Out of Her Depth

  Starstruck Series (teen fiction)

  Starstruck

  Starcrossed

  Starbound

  Excerpt from Lord Dearborn’s Destiny

  “Won’t you at least consider it, Forrest? As a favour to me?” The Countess of Dearborn cocked her head at her son in a manner intended to be winsome, but which made her enormous purple turban tip dangerously to one side.

  “Don’t tell me you would actually believe anything this Madame Fortunata might say, Mother,” he replied with a snort, one golden brow sceptically arched. “I can assure you that I won’t.”

  “Then you’ll come?” Lady Dearborn was ecstatic. “I promise you won’t regret it. Fortunata isn’t Cora’s real name, of course; I knew her when she was plain Mrs. Lawrence, back when she did readings only for a few friends, but now she is become ever so popular. Having one’s fortune told is all the thing these days, you know.”

  “So is pink embroidery on one’s waistcoat, I have heard, but you’ll notice that my own singularly lacks it.”

  “Now, Forrest, don’t tease,” said the Countess, rising with a flutter of feathers and scarves to lay a tiny beringed hand on her son’s sleeve. “You know how much this means to me.”

  He did. For as long as Forrest could remember, Lady Dearborn had relied heavily on superstition, folk tales and charms to order her daily life. As a child, he had been forced to eat gooseberries, which he detested, every Whit Sunday as well as pancakes, which he liked rather better, on Shrove Tuesday. And he could still vividly recall, at a distance of some twenty years, his mother’s hysteria over a maid’s broken looking-glass, presaging ill luck for the entire household. The fact that her worst fears were never realized had no apparent effect on her blind faith in such omens.

  “I will come, Mother. But I warn you—” his eyes narrowed “—do not expect me to do anything foolish, no matter how many offspring your Gypsy foretells for me. If I marry, ’twill be to someone of my own choosing and in my own time.”

  “You did beautifully, Cora,” said Lady Dearborn after the door had closed behind her son. “I don’t think he suspected a thing.”

  “I’m glad I was able to find that old crystal. I couldn’t think of any other way to manufacture the description you suggested. Are you certain there will be a girl to fit it?” asked Mrs. Lawrence, removing her robe and turban. “I must admit you were right about the golden hair; it certainly made him prick up his ears.”

  “Dear Forrest has always preferred his, ah, ladies fair, though I doubt he knows that I know it,” said the Countess with a chuckle. “And never fear, I’ve not known a Season yet without its share of blond debutantes, by nature or artifice. Trust me to discover which one has the best pedigree and pitch her at him, reminding him all the while of his destiny. Do the stars really predict him to marry this year?”

  Mrs. Lawrence frowned at her chart, holding it closer to the candle. “Very possibly,” she admitted. “The constellations predict a Season of surprises for your son, with an emphasis on romance.”

  “Well, another opera dancer would scarcely be a surprise, so I will assume that means marriage,” decided Lady Dearborn with a bob of her turban. “The stars have never steered me wrong yet.”

  Buy Lord Dearborn’s Destiny

  Brenda Hiatt

  Brenda Hiatt is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of twenty novels (so far), including sweet and spicy historical romance, time travel romance, humorous mystery and a new young adult science fiction series. In addition to writing, Brenda is passionate about embracing life to the fullest, to include scuba diving, Taekwondo, hiking, traveling, and reading, of course! Brenda collects data on writers’ earnings, which she shares at her website.

  Learn more about Brenda and her books at:

  www.BrendaHiatt.com

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  www.Twitter.com/Brenda_Hiatt

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  Lucy in Disguise

  by Lynn Kerstan

  Cover

  Chapters

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

  Books by Lynn Kerstan

  Excerpt from The Rake and the Spinster

  About Lynn Kerstan

  Chapter One

  Late on a moonless night, a luminous figure walked the high cliff overlooking Morecambe Bay.

  Below, the tide was out. Starlight glittered on the rivulets of water left on the beach, silver ribbons across dark sand, soon obscured as clouds scudded overhead.

  In the far distance, Lucy Jennet Preston saw faint golden lights.

  Cocklers, perhaps, or mussel diggers. But she doubted it.

  She dropped to her belly and slithered to the edge of the cliff. The lights, four of them, moved steadily inland, and she guessed them to be half-shuttered lanterns. For a time she thought they were headed directly toward her, and then she decided they were angled slightly south. It was impossible to be sure.

  Ought she to stand again and hope to frighten them away? That was, after all, the whole point of being an apparition. But she held in place, watching the dim lights come ever closer, debating her next move. If they had some other destination in mind, the last thing she wanted to do was call attention to this one.

  Suddenly there were more lights, six or seven brighter ones, surrounding the four she had been tracking. Lanterns snapped open—at a signal, most likely—to reveal the silhouettes of a horse and wagon, two more animals laden with wide panniers, and nearly a dozen men.

  What in blazes was going on? She could see only shadowy figures illuminated by flickering red-gold light. For a minute or two no one moved. Then the donkeys were led away in a northerly direction.

  Three men stood near the horse and wagon, which was piled high with what she supposed to be boxes. One man reached out, and for a moment he seemed to be struggling with the horse. She heard a sharp sound, like a crack of distant thunder, and three men broke into a run. All were carrying the shuttered lanterns, and they aimed themselves south toward Jenny Brown’s Point.

  Meanwhile the bright lanterns went quickly in the direction in which the donkeys had been taken. One lantern lay abandoned on the sand near the wagon.

  Whatever had transpired down there appeared to be over. The men were soon out of sight, but she waited and watched for a long time in case they returned for the horse and cargo they had left behind.

  The horse!

  By now the wagon wheels were probably sinking into the muddy sand. The few times she had wandered any distance from the shore, Lucy had found that it didn’t do to stand in one place for very long. Should the stranded animal fail to pull the wagon free very soon, it was surely doomed.

  Lucy scrambled to her feet, sighing. However diligently one planned, something always came along to throw a spanner in the works. She didn’t even like horses.

  Grumbling, she stripped off her costume and rolled it into a tight bundle. If she had to go out on the sands, she would do better wearing only her shirt and tr
ousers.

  How she would unhook the horse from the wagon she had no idea. With any luck, not that she ever had much of it, there would be only a few buckles to unloose. Otherwise she could only hope that the wagon had settled on a patch of hard sand, making it possible to lead the horse and wagon to safety.

  She ran the short distance to Cow’s Mouth Inlet, where a steep path wound down from the cliff to the beach. A flat rock jutting from the limestone headland marked the place to start. Stashing her costume on a ledge beneath the rock, Lucy began the precipitous descent.

  In the dark she had to go by feel alone, but she’d made the trip any number of times in the past few days. She always told herself it was like climbing a tree and tried not to notice when pebbles dislodged by her boots clattered down the cliffside and landed with a hollow thud.

  Grasping for handholds, she lowered herself bit by bit until her feet touched the ground of the inlet. From there, the sands were invisible. She followed the narrow break in the cliff around a curve to the shoreline and aimed herself toward the lantern. At ground level, she could barely make it out.

  The air was charged with electricity. It caused the hair at her nape to spring out, as it always did just before a storm. Overhead, the clouds were rolling in, sometimes releasing fat drops of rain. Only now and again could she glimpse a few stars winking in the black night, and soon they disappeared altogether.

  Once her boot sank ankle-deep in a gully of soft sand, and for several terrifying moments she was not at all sure she would be able to wrench it out. But it finally popped free and from then on she moved more slowly, taking care to avoid any spot where water had pooled.

  Robbie had warned her that the sands were treacherous. When the tide turned, a high wave would sweep into the bay with the speed of a galloping horse. Perhaps she ought to have paid more attention to the schedule he provided her, but until now there was no reason to venture onto the bay. Already she was much farther out than she had ever been.

  As she drew closer to the fallen lantern she saw more clearly the outlines of the horse, which wore a saddle, and of the flatbed wagon. It was indeed piled with wooden boxes. An exceptionally large box had apparently fallen off and lay on the sand directly behind it.

  The horse nickered and tossed its head restively. No docile wagon puller, it was an enormous beast, eyes glowing like fiery coals in the lantern light. She approached it gingerly.

  “Please stay still,” she said in the most soothing tone she could produce from a constricted throat. “Truly, I won’t hurt you.”

  “I am relieved to hear it.”

  Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, her heart pounding. Surely not! Horses couldn’t talk.

  “Hullo,” said the voice. “I’m back here.”

  She could see nothing beyond the wagon except the outline of the fallen box. “Come out then. Slowly. And hold up your hands. I have a pistol.”

  “You, too? Is everyone but me carrying a weapon tonight?” There was a rumble of male laughter. “I would oblige you, to be sure, but at the moment I’m unable to move. M’foot is trapped under a box.”

  “So you say.” She advanced one cautious step in his direction. “How can I be sure?”

  “I suppose you could take my word for it. Or you could come and see for yourself. Do hurry, though. Time and tide wait for no man, or so I am told, and we will both be underwater fairly soon, certainly I will, if you cannot help me to extricate myself. You, of course, are free to leave whenever you like.”

  He sounded harmless. Even amused. And he could have jumped on her long before now if he’d a mind to, or if he were able to. She picked up the lantern and moved alongside the wagon, stopping when she reached the oversize back wheel. Sure enough, a black-clad figure was stretched out behind the box. As she looked at him he sat forward, propping himself up on one elbow. His right leg was buried under the sand from the knee down, and the box was planted where his foot would likely be.

  She raised the lantern for a better look at him. There wasn’t much to see. His hair was covered by a knit cap and his face had been blackened. White teeth flashed at her, though, when he smiled.

  “Well? Do you mean to help me or not?”

  Gazing at him, she sensed disaster. Alarm prickled at her spine. He was a large man, and powerful, if one was to judge by a set of wide shoulders and a broad chest. “Can you not kick away the box with your other foot?”

  “Believe me, I’ve been trying. Thing is, my buried foot hit a patch of wet sand and sank in. Then the box fell off the wagon and landed right atop it. Not to mention that someone shot me along the way. My left arm is fairly useless at the moment, and I can’t seem to get the leverage for a good hard push.”

  “Oh.” She moved from behind the dubious protection of the wagon. “Who are you?”

  “A smuggler, retired as of a few minutes ago. And a few minutes from now the bore tide will be upon us. Much as I hate to say this, m’dear, you really ought to head back to shore while you can.”

  She wanted to do exactly that, but of course she could not. After placing the lantern on the back of the wagon, she went behind the fallen box, knelt, and gave a mighty pull. It moved a fraction of an inch and dropped back again. Three more tries were equally futile. The box was heavy and it had sunk very deep.

  “Try putting your foot against the top,” she directed. “Shove as best you can when I give the sign.” Curling her fingers around the edge of the box near the corner, she planted herself firmly and took a deep breath. “Now!”

  He pushed, she pulled, and except for a sucking noise, nothing happened. They gave it several more attempts, but if anything, the box sank lower still into the quagmire.

  Still kneeling, Lucy wiped sweat from her forehead with her sleeve.

  “There’s a knife in the scabbard on my belt,” the man said quietly. “Use it to cut the horse loose and lead him to shore. His name is Jason. Take care of him, and I’ll put in a good word for you at the Pearly Gates.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” She jumped onto the wagon, looking for something to stuff underneath the box. There were only more heavy boxes, nailed shut, and a battered umbrella. Taking it with her, she dropped back to the ground, opened the umbrella, and proceeded to stomp on it until all the spines had broken and it lay flat. Then she knelt and used her hands like a pair of trowels to scoop sand from the base of the wooden box. Almost as fast as she dug, the heavy wet sand settled back again.

  She redoubled her efforts, frantically plowing the ground. Her nails broke down to the quick, but at last she was able to dig her fingers under the box and hold it up. It must be full of rocks, she thought, panting heavily. With her teeth, she tugged the remains of the umbrella to the very edge of the box and used her chin to push it forward, never letting go her hold on the box although her hands were aching like the very devil. She’d got the fabric of the umbrella scrunched up about two inches underneath when she absolutely had to give it up.

  Not at all sure the box wouldn’t crush her fingers in the process, she gave a quick mental count to three and snatched her hands away.

  The edge of the box collapsed onto the umbrella, free of the boggy sand for no more than a few seconds. She crawled rapidly to the man’s side and sat with her elbows on the ground and her feet planted near the top of the box. “Get ready, sir. Put your foot at the corner. When I give the word, push up and forward with all your strength.”

  “I’m set.”

  “Go!”

  Groaning with effort, they shoved and shoved. The box almost came loose, but then it fell back again.

  “You must leave now,” he said urgently. “I mean it.”

  “Go!"

  They pushed again until she thought her skin would burst. Slowly the box rose. This was it, she knew. Should it fall back, they would never be able to pry it up again. Together, they fought the pull of the sand, working side by side in what had to be their final effort.

  And all of a sudden, as if it were lighter than a rubber ball
, the box rolled over and away.

  Dear Lord. For a few moments she lay flat and stared dizzily into space. Then she was up again, tunneling into the sand that imprisoned his foot. Soon his boot was exposed, and in another minute he raised his leg and made cautious circles with his ankle.

  “No harm done. I’ll thank you some other time, but for God’s sake, get out of here.” He pulled a formidable-looking knife from its sheath and passed it to her. “Cut the horse free and ride him to shore. I’ll follow.”

  “We’ll go together.” She went to the harnesses and began sawing through them. “Can you get on your feet?”

  He scrambled to the box that had trapped him and used it to lever himself upright. From there he tottered to the wagon wheel and clung to it.

  Watching him from the corners of her eyes, she could tell he would be unable to walk more than a few yards, if that far. “Could you possibly get yourself up on the wagon, sir? From there, you’ll find it easier to slide onto the saddle.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  “Do it! And how can you be sure the tide is on its way in?”

  “We were cutting it close as it was. Delays before we started.” He heaved himself onto the back of the wagon and knelt with his shoulder propped against a box.

  When the horse was free, she led him to where the man waited to climb aboard. “There is no time for niceties, sir. Unless you can mount in one try, please settle for draping yourself over the saddle.”

  After restoring the knife to its sheath, he did precisely that. She took up the lantern and set out for the shore.