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

by Brenda Hiatt

  He bent over with laughter. “B-bloody hell, woman, what won’t you say? Next you’ll be telling me you regret picking me up along the way.”

  “I’ve had that thought on more than one occasion,” she informed him honestly. “In fact, I’m having it right now.” Standing, she plucked the empty tankard from his hand and carried it to the table. “I should tell you, I suppose, that Mrs. Preston has grown inordinately fond of your horse and is taking excellent care of him. Unfortunately, it falls to me to take care of you.”

  “You drew the short straw then. But I’ll be a good lad, moonbeam, and leave you in peace for a time. Fact is, there is probably more ale inside me than blood at the moment. I’m devilish near to falling asleep.”

  Sweeter words he could not have spoken. Lucy returned to the cot, lifted away the straw pallet, and helped him settle flat again with his head on the pillow. That required her to wrap her arms around him and lower him down, or so he insisted. He could not move without her help, he said, and she was too relieved that he meant to take a nap to argue with him.

  But her palms and fingers were burning from the touch of his skin and the provocative feel of a well-muscled male back when she was done. She rounded up her straying wits. “The blacksmith and the apothecary will be here as soon as the fog lifts, sir. Until then, sleep well.”

  “We’re expecting guests? Lucifer! I had forgot. Wouldn’t want to meet ’em in the altogether, would I?” He turned angelic blue eyes to her face. “This is not what I usually say to a female, Miss Luke, but could you possibly help me get into my pants?”

  “What a thing to ask!” she declared, her very bones on fire to imagine it. “Certainly not. Robbie will soon be here, and you can beg his assistance.”

  “Rather have yours,” Kit mumbled as his lashes drifted shut.

  Chapter Five

  Lucy kept her fingers crossed as Giles Handa removed the bandage and examined Kit’s wound through his thick round spectacles.

  “Ummm,” he said, poking at the swollen flesh around the bullet hole, which had already begun to seal itself. Kit yelped when Giles bent over to check the back of his shoulder.

  The apothecary took his time about it. He was an earnest young man, Lucy had discovered when first she met him at his small shop in Silverdale. Tall and gaunt, he had a self-effacing manner that belied his keen intelligence.

  At long last he straightened. “The injury is healing cleanly and with remarkable speed, but it should be closely watched. Should there be signs of a high fever, or red streaks radiating from the wound, a physician must be summoned immediately. For now, I should like to clean the area thoroughly and apply basilicum ointment. I also suggest the gentleman keep his arm in a sling until the opening has fully knitted.”

  Kit made a face.

  “Do whatever is necessary,” Lucy said before he could object. “Is he well enough to return with you to Silverdale?”

  “No,” Kit said.

  “Yes,” Giles said at the same moment. “In my judgment only,” he added. “The patient knows best how he feels, of course.”

  “Weak as a newborn kitten,” the patient clarified dolefully. “Nevertheless, it is certainly best that I go with you. My presence here is a great inconvenience to Luke and Mrs. Preston.”

  Indeed it is, Lucy thought, clamping her lips together. She’d wager he was feigning both the weakness and the offer to depart, which he’d rendered in a frail, resigned voice. The slight moan at the end had been a nice touch. Giles looked troubled, and even Robbie cast her a questioning glance.

  “The track is rough all the way to Silverdale,” Giles said hesitantly. “There is some danger that his wound will reopen.”

  “Oh, very well,” she said, glaring at Kit. He gave her back a tremulous, grateful smile.

  Giles opened his case of medicines. “Have you a length of fabric with which I can devise a sling?”

  “I’ll find something,” Lucy replied, glad for an excuse to leave the room and Kit’s mocking gaze. She rummaged through her portmanteau and found nothing suitable, unless she were to rip apart one of her two plain traveling dresses or demolish her flannel night rail. It seemed that only her shawl—her precious Norwich shawl—would do. She sighed. It was quite the nicest thing she had ever owned, and the colors, primarily deep red and rich purple, were her favorites. She draped it around her shoulders one last time before refolding it and returning to the main room.

  She was wickedly gratified to see Kit wince as Giles dabbed his shoulder with ointment. But when he saw her and caught her eye, he winked incorrigibly.

  Teeth clenched, she placed the shawl on the table before she used it to strangle him, which she was sorely tempted to do. “Robbie, shall we finish unloading the wagon?”

  She marched out the door and headed speedily for the cliff, muttering all the while. The foggy morning had given way to a warm, cloudless afternoon, but she took no pleasure in it. The crystal-blue sky put her too much in mind of a certain gentleman’s eyes.

  Robbie’s long stride soon brought him even with her and they ascended the grassy slope side by side. “A bit of a lad, he is. I dinna think he’s so puny as he makes himself out to be.”

  “He’s a thumping great menace, Robbie, not to mention insufferable. But Giles is correct. Being jostled in the wagon could undo everything, and I am still hoping to avoid summoning a doctor. Some physicians feel obliged to report shootings to the authorities, I am informed.”

  When the grass began to thin near the top of the hill, Lucy halted. “Wait here a moment.” She moved ahead cautiously, pausing again when she caught sight of Morecambe Bay. The tide was out, and miles of brown sand stretched to the horizon. Wishing she had thought to bring Kit’s spyglass, she scanned for human figures, found none, and beckoned Robbie to join her at cliff’s edge.

  “See there?” She pointed to the wagon, still piled with boxes, clearly visible in the bright sunshine. “That’s where I found him. I rather thought someone would have retrieved the other boxes by now.”

  “If they mean to come back, most likely they’ll do so after dark. Lowest tide will be ’round about three o’clock, which means they could be on the sands anytime between one and five of the morning.”

  “The witch must walk, I fear. Did Giles remember to bring the ointment? After a night in the rain, my cape has been washed quite clean.”

  “He brought it, but that don’t mean you should be usin’ it.” Robbie scoured his chin with an enormous hand. “Better I watch from the cliff tonight.”

  “You must take Giles home, Robbie, and you’ve already made two trips to the cottage today. There is nothing to fear, I promise you.” She gazed out over the flat expanse of mud and wet sand, where sunlight danced in the rippled pools left by the ebb tide. “I mean to go into Lancaster tomorrow,” she said. “Surely by now there is a letter for me at the Anchor Inn.” She spoke with more assurance than she felt. Miss Wetherwood, headmistress at the Wetherwood Academy for Young Ladies, had been planning to retire while Lucy was a student there. Her health had worsened by the time Lucy left to take up her post as a governess in Dorset, but she was still at the academy two years later when Diana completed her studies. Perhaps she was there yet. In any case, she was their only hope.

  “Lancaster is a far way to go for a letter that mightna be there, lass.”

  “Yes. But so long as I am in the city, I also mean to consult a solicitor.”

  “I dinna trust lawyers,” Robbie said gruffly.

  “Nor do I, although I’ve never actually met one, but we require legal counsel. Until now I thought it too great a risk, but as things have turned out, we have little choice. I only hope I stumble upon a solicitor who is both honest and competent, for I’ve no idea where to apply. And tonight I must invent a story that will draw from him the information I require without arousing his suspicions.”

  Robbie shuffled his feet. “I’ve not wanted to tell you, but there was a notice in the Camforth newspaper two days ago. And Cam
forth being not much of a town, I expect the notice has appeared from Lancaster to Kendal and beyond. A reward of five hundred pounds is offered to whoever discovers the whereabouts of Miss Diana Whitney. There was a description of her, too. A full description,” he added unhappily.

  Lucy’s stomach coiled into a knot. “Dear heavens. Such a fortune! Everyone and his brother will be on the hunt.”

  Robbie opened his massive arms. “Come here, lassie.”

  After a moment she threw herself against his broad chest and permitted him to hold her. The blows had been coming so rapidly that she feared she could no longer withstand them on her own. She was terrified of making a wrong move, of doing the wrong thing. “What would we do without you, Robbie?” she murmured, her face pressed to his rough leather waistcoat. “How can we ever repay you?”

  “Ach, never you mind about me. Miss Diana is the age my daughter would be hadna the cholera taken her. Give me one of your smiles now, lass, and let’s have no more talk about payment.”

  Lucy couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled and meant it. But she stepped back, carved her lips into what probably looked like a grimace, and blinked back the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was purely luck, or perhaps divine providence, that she had met Robert MacNab when first she arrived in Lancashire. If it was the Lord who had put Robbie in her path, perhaps He was watching out for Diana after all.

  On the other hand, it was surely the devil who had sent Kit to plague them. “I expect Giles has about finished with his patient,” she said, brushing her hands against her trousers. “Shall we unload the supplies?”

  “I mislike you going to Lancaster,” Robbie muttered as they descended the sloping hill. “But if you willna change your mind, I’ll come back in the morning with the wagon and carry you to the posthouse.”

  “Thank you, but it’s only a few miles, and I intend to catch the coach that comes by at six of the morning. With Kit snoring away in the cottage, I doubt I’ll sleep well anyway.”

  “You’ll be Mrs. Preston?”

  “Of course.” She frowned as new complications rose up to assault her. “Which means that Diana will have to spend the entire day in the cave, since I cannot be back here before late afternoon. And Kit will be alone in the cottage. Drat. There’s no telling what he’ll get up to. Can you come by and keep watch over him?”

  “Aye. I’ve a job to do in Beetham, but I’ll take care of it first thing and come here directly after.”

  They reached the wagon, and Lucy gathered an armful of folded blankets, towels, and a pillow while Robbie grabbed a heavy bundle of firewood. Three trips were required before they had carried all the supplies into the cottage, where Giles was closing his medicine case and issuing quiet orders to his patient.

  Kit, his arm in the sling and a saintly smile on his face, nodded as if he meant to obey them all.

  Not likely, Lucy thought as she walked with Robbie and Giles back to the wagon. “Be careful tomorrow, Robbie. He’ll try to quiz you, but tell him nothing. Thus far he knows only that my name is Luke, and he believes that Mrs. Preston is mute. Should he inquire where we have gone, say only that we shall return before nightfall. Giles, can he get about on his own?”

  “Impossible to say, Miss Lucy. I don’t know what to make of the gentleman. But I slipped a bit of laudanum in the ale I gave him to drink, so you’ll not be bothered with him for the next few hours.”

  “Bless you!” she said sincerely. Then she saw Giles place a large leather boot in the wagon. “What is that?”

  “He asked me to get him a pair of boots, what with one of his own being cut to ribbons. I’m taking this along for sizing.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! He’ll get into less trouble barefooted. Robbie can bring sandals for him tomorrow, but we’ll hide them until he’s well enough to leave.”

  “Very well, ma’am. I never meant to hurry the cobbler, you may be sure. And the gentleman was insistent, so I took the boot rather than quarrel with him.”

  She patted his hand. “I should learn tact from you, sir. Thank you.”

  When the wagon was on its way along the narrow track, Lucy went to the rock where she had concealed her cape the previous night. Was it such a short time ago? Twelve or thirteen hours only since she saw the lanterns on the bay? It seemed a lifetime.

  She shook her witch’s garb, soaking wet from the rainstorm, and laid it out on the grass to begin drying. Once Kit was asleep, she would take the cape and wig inside and stretch them in front of the fireplace.

  She gave some thought to bringing the horse up from the cave and tethering him where he could graze. This was an excellent opportunity to do so, what with the tide out and another hour or two remaining before sunset. But she simply didn’t feel up to the task. She’d have to lead him nearly a mile down the beach to where the cliff gave way to a slope he could ascend, and another mile back to the cottage.

  Besides, Kit might find him in the morning before Robbie arrived to stand guard. Better the horse remain where he was for now. He was in good hands, to be sure. Diana had taken her scissors to Cow’s Mouth Inlet and clipped fresh grass for him to eat, and he would be company for her tomorrow in the cave.

  She must be frantic to know what was happening, though. With a sigh, Lucy began the steep descent down a rocky path that any intelligent goat would balk at, marveling that Kit had managed to climb it in spite of his injuries.

  A man to be reckoned with, that one. She must never underestimate what he was capable of doing, or permit herself to trust him for a single moment.

  Kit woke, disoriented, sometime in the middle of the night. Except for the crackle of the dying fire, the room was eerily silent. Carefully he raised himself on one elbow and looked over at the pallet alongside the hearth.

  The blankets lay flat.

  He was almost certain he’d awakened earlier, and had a vague recollection of seeing Luke curled up with those blankets mounded over her. He had wanted to speak to her then, but couldn’t get his mouth to move. Even now it felt full of cotton wadding.

  That bloody apothecary must have put laundanum into the cup of ale. Lucifer! Next time he would be more careful, but dammit, he had liked Giles Handa. And for his sins, he forgot that Handa was in league with a pernicious female who seemed to like Kit Valliant best when he was unconscious.

  Well, he was wide awake now. So where was she?

  Probably she had only stepped outside for a few moments, females being subject to calls of nature, too. He lay back to await her return, resolving to try again to discover who she was and what the devil she was up to. Time was running out. She’d not been fooled by his display of weakness, he knew, although it was not wholly feigned. Almost certainly she would send him on his way tomorrow, unless he found some way to persuade her otherwise.

  He lay quietly for a few minutes, watching the play of firelight on the low ceiling, considering how best to approach her. If all else failed, he would be forced to identify himself and place the considerable resources of his family at her disposal. But he hoped that would not be necessary. He much preferred to rescue her on his own, assuming she required rescuing, and his instincts told him that she did. He fancied the opportunity to prove himself a knight in shining armor, even if he hadn’t so much as a pair of shoes to put on his feet at the moment.

  The soft wool of the shawl that held his arm immobile tickled his neck. He sniffed at it, detecting the faint scent of lavender he noticed whenever Luke leaned close to him. It must be hers, the shawl. He wondered if she had other female garb stashed away in that mysterious back room.

  Looking over, he saw that the door was closed. Perhaps she was in there with Mrs. Preston. He listened intently for the sound of voices, hearing only the crackle of the fire and the rustle of coals and ashes dropping through the grate.

  She’d been gone a devilish long time, and that was only counting the time since he woke up. No telling when she’d left the room. Losing patience, he swung his legs over the side of
the cot and sat upright, pleased when there was no trace of dizziness. His head was relatively clear, the pain in his shoulder had settled to a low throb, and a check of his ankle confirmed the swelling had gone down considerably. All in all, he felt in fine fettle and certainly well enough to go exploring.

  Giles had placed the walking stick where he could easily reach it. After coming to his feet, he limped to the door that led to the back room and pressed his ear against the rough wood. Hearing nothing, he gently raised the latch and pushed, but the door remained firmly sealed. It must be barred from within.

  After a mental debate, he gave up the idea of knocking for admittance and went to the black-curtained window farthest from the hearth. With one finger, he made a crack between the curtains and peered outside. The night was clear and dark, with the merest sliver of a moon suspended just above the place where woodland gave way to the sweep of grassy hill that led to the limestone cliff.

  Robbie had stuffed him into his breeches, but he remained barefoot, shirtless, and had minimal use of half his supply. Good sense demanded that he wait until she came back, he acknowledged, thoroughly disgruntled. In his usual state of excellent health, he’d have tracked her down if it took the rest of the night.

  Well, so long as he was up, he might as well pay a visit to the tree. A widemouthed jar had been shoved under the cot in lieu of a chamber pot, but he misliked putting it to use with two ladies in residence. Stepping outside, he paused to enjoy the cool breeze sifting through his hair and the smell of salt in the cold air. Overhead, stars winked against a black velvet sky. With a sailor’s eye, he immediately picked out the North Star and traced the position of the constellations in the October sky. It was close to three of the morning, he would guess from the lie of Orion and Pegasus.

  He made his way to the corner of the cottage, relieved himself, and had just buttoned his trouser flap when he caught sight of a greenish white light on the hillside. What the devil? Plastering himself against the tree trunk, he gazed past the gnarled bark at a startling apparition.