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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Diana raised trusting eyes to his face. “No, sir. But surely you will not leave while it is still raining?”

  “If I wait, I’ll be forced to travel in the dark.” He drank the last of his wine and set the cup on the table. “Besides, the sooner I am gone, the sooner I’ll be back again.”

  Robbie came into the room carrying three pieces of luggage. “The beastie is saddled, and I ken he’s aching for a hard run.”

  “Well, so am I,” Kit said cheerfully. “Neither of us can bear being cooped up for any amount of time. Have you a place, Robbie, to secure Miss Diana’s possessions for a day or two?”

  “Aye. There’s storage in the rooms above the apothecary shop.”

  “Excellent!” Kit stood. “When I need to make contact, I’ll leave word for you there.”

  “That’s best. I’ll stay close to ground, there or here. Ye’ll have no trouble finding me.”

  “In that case, it’s time for me to go. Miss Lucy, will you come along with me to the cave? I’ll need directions how to proceed from there.” He paused by Diana’s chair and brushed a kiss on her scarred cheek. “Take courage, butterfly. All will be well.”

  Heart racing, Lucy went ahead of him down the stairs into the shadowy cave. A heavy mist hovered in the air, and the limestone walls streamed with condensed moisture. The horse was a dark, restless presence, digging at the ground with his hooves and sensing, she supposed, that he was soon to be free of his prison. She stayed well clear of him.

  “That galled you, admitting that I was right,” Kit said as he came up beside her. “Did it not?”

  “I’ve no idea what you are referring to,” she replied acerbically. “We should have asked Robbie to come down and help you mount.”

  He chuckled. “Confess, Lucy. It’s good for the soul. You were practically chewing iron nails when you told Diana that you approved my plan.”

  “Oh, I did tell her so.” Lucy waved a hand. “But I admitted nothing. You take my meaning, I am sure.”

  “A more bullheaded female never walked the earth,” he said, ruffling her hair. “But you did the right thing, moonbeam. I’ll not tease you for it.”

  “Thank you for patronizing me, sir. Above all things, I enjoy being treated like a nitwit.”

  He was standing so close to her back that she could feel the rumble in his chest when he laughed. And feel the heat of his breath against her nape, and then the hand that slipped around her waist and drew her against his body. Wings fluttered against her skin, inside her chest, everywhere that he was not touching her already. She could not account for how she felt, and it terrified her to experience such total—what? Longing? Weakness? Curiosity? She’d no idea. He snatched away every coherent thought and all but the last shreds of her will.

  Unable to speak, unable to move, she simply stood where she had no right to be, in the embrace of a man who found it amusing to flirt with her. He held her lightly, his hand resting beneath her breasts, taking no other liberties. She wondered if she would permit them if he tried. She wondered if she wanted him to try.

  “Diana will be perfectly fine,” he said quietly. “She’s a plucky little thing, and once the shock has passed, she will come about.”

  The sudden change of subject, the very arrogance of his words, snapped her free of his spell. She seized his hand, removed it forcibly from her waist, and turned to confront him. “How can you be so ignorant? You have no idea—none at all—what she has endured and what she will endure for years to come. Wherever she goes, people will stare at her. Some will remark on the scar, some will turn away, and always she will know what they are thinking.”

  “That is a most cynical view of life, I must say. The next time you are in a crowd, moonbeam, look around you. Do you flinch at the sight of a face pocked from a bout of smallpox, or take disgust when you see a man shorn of a leg or an arm? Some folks are cruel, others thoughtless, but not everyone passes instant judgment based on appearances alone.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” she protested. “Diana was meant to have a glorious London Season and marry well. It was what she was bred and educated to do. She knows nothing else. You are of her class, sir. What do you suppose would happen if she appeared at a fashionable ball? Would she even receive an invitation from a hostess who had actually seen her face?”

  He looked unaccustomedly serious. “Should she attempt to make her come-out, she would not take. I cannot deny that. But London is not the world, Lucy. There are any number of men who would count themselves fortunate to win her affections.”

  “Because of her considerable wealth, I daresay. The gleam of golden guineas will blind them to all else. There is little doubt she can wed a fortune hunter, if she so chooses, but is there any hope of marrying for love?” Lucy was in full cry now, and could no more have held her tongue than flown to the moon. “I expect—no, I am sure—that you have enjoyed the favors of a great many women. Was any one of them less than beautiful?”

  Color rose on his cheeks. “Must I answer that?”

  “You have already done so.” She gave him an icy glare of satisfaction.

  He met her gaze steadily. “Like most men, I am attracted to beautiful females. I’ll not deny it. As for my ‘great many women,’ you are not far off the mark. There have been more than a few. Were they all beautiful? I’m not certain if others would account them so. I am also drawn to women of wit and intelligence and courage. Women of passion. In some cases—perhaps most cases, although I cannot swear to it—they would not be regarded as Incomparables. But I assure you, they were beautiful to me.”

  The wind fell out of her sails with such a rush that she nearly toppled. And then she remembered that Kit was nothing if not silver-tongued. He could talk the bark off a tree. “Well argued, sir. So tell me this. If Diana were without a fortune, would you ever consider taking her to wife? Could you fall in love with her in spite of her scar?”

  His clear blue-eyed gaze never wavered. “I expect so. Indeed, I am certain of it. She is precisely the sort of woman I most admire—gallant and honorable and loyal—Lucifer! I could list the virtues I sense in her for another hour or more. Yes, I could love her and wed her, were she the one who captured my heart. But by the time I discovered Diana skulking in this cave and came to know and admire her, I was already head over ears in love with someone else.”

  “Oh.” Lucy felt small and foolish. Also devastated, although she could not have said why. His romantic attachments were none of her concern. “I beg your pardon, sir. I was speaking theoretically, of course. To be sure you could not wed Diana if your attentions are otherwise directed.”

  “And so they are. But I take your lesson to heart, moonbeam. You know better than I about Diana’s state of mind, and any man who tries to guess what a woman is feeling has attics to let. Shall we cry peace?”

  A prickly lump clogged her throat. It was one thing to know she could never have his love and something else altogether to know that another woman already had it. She felt as if she’d just awakened from a dream she couldn’t remember. “Sh-should you not be on your way?” she asked in a murmur.

  “Yes.” He untethered his horse. “Is there a way out of here other than across the sands? I’m not of a mind to play another game of tag with the bore tide.”

  “Turn to the left,” she directed, “and ride alongside the cliff. It ends about a mile down, and if you follow the track from there, you can pick up the road about two miles inland.”

  “I’ll find it. And Lucy, stay to ground until I return. No more—what did Diana call them? Ah, yes. No more hauntings. Where did you come by that long wig, by the way? From a distance, it looked exactly like your own hair.”

  “That’s because it is. Did not Diana tell you that I am a governess?”

  “Lucifer!” He laughed heartily. “No, she did not tell me, although I should have guessed it. But what has that to do with your hair?” He turned to her, his expression suddenly serious. “Never tell me your employer ordered you to cut it o
ff?”

  “She would not dare. I assure you, my employer does everything possible to retain my services against all but impossible odds. Before I came, no governess had survived longer than a fortnight, and I am paid exceedingly well to put up with five boys hell-bent on ridding themselves of all authority. For the most part, I have managed to keep the upper hand these last few years.”

  Lucy forced what she hoped sounded like nonchalance into her voice. “One night the oldest took a notion to rid me of my hair. He was ever on the lookout for my weaknesses, and must have concluded that I was vain about my appearance. So while I was asleep in my room he crept in with a pair of scissors, took hold of a sizable handful of hair, and sheared it off. I woke immediately, but not before the damage was done. There was little choice at that point but to cut off all the rest, and so I did. When I presented the remains to my employer, along with a list of demands, she gave me another rise in salary and dispatched my hair to Ede and Ravenscroft in London to have a wig made up. At the time I never imagined the use it would be put to, nor did I have occasion to wear it until I began playing the Lancashire Witch.”

  He was regarding her with a look she could not begin to decipher. “I see,” he said, dropping the reins he’d been holding. “Stay, Jason.”

  Before she guessed what he was about, she was in his arms and he was kissing her. Kissing her! And thoroughly, too, in ways she’d never imagined that kisses could be. Time stopped, moons and planets ground to a halt, and her mind spun away, leaving the rest of her to revel in her first taste of bliss.

  When he finally let her go and stepped away, she could only gaze blankly at him. Bewildered, bedazzled, she saw him swing onto his horse and look back at her with a smile on the lips she wished were still pressed to hers.

  And then he was gone.

  She stood for a long time, wondering what had just happened, amazed that she had let it happen. But eventually, she came back to earth. For him, it was only a routine kiss, the kind he gave to any female who raised no objections. To her shame, it had never occurred to her to object. And however soul-shaking and body-melting his kisses, she knew better than to refine too much on them.

  This incident had never happened. She would not think on it ever again.

  Chapter Nine

  The butler greeted him with a smile that immediately collapsed into a worried frown. “Er, welcome home, Mr. Christopher. I shall have a fire built in your room immediately. Would you care for a late supper?”

  “Hullo, Geeson. You are looking well. I, of course, look like hell, but I assure you that I am perfectly fine. Sorry to barge in without advance warning. I’d welcome a meal about two hours from now, after I’m done consulting with my brother. Where is he to be found?”

  “Lord and Lady Kendal are in the upstairs parlor, sir.” He headed for the staircase.

  “Thank you, Geeson. I’ll spring on them unannounced.”

  When Kit sauntered into the room, the earl was seated at a secretaire with a pen in his hand and Celia was half-reclined on a sofa by the fireplace.

  “How utterly picturesque,” he drawled. “A veritable portrait of domestic bliss.”

  “Kit!” Celia tossed her knitting aside and jumped up to embrace him. “What a lovely surprise. But what on earth has happened to you?”

  He arched his brows. “Why, Celia, I cannot think what you mean.”

  “Oh.” She fingered the fringe on his sling. “Well, then, forget that I asked.”

  His sister-in-law, bless her, always knew when to let him be. “Where’s the infant?”

  “Sleeping, I’m afraid.”

  “And as it required two hours to achieve this miracle,” Kendal put in, “asleep he will stay. May I inquire why you are limping?”

  “Am I indeed?” Kit made a show of examining his sandaled feet. “Which leg would that be?”

  “Ah. I take it, then, that questions regarding the somewhat flamboyant shawl you are wearing would be unwelcome.”

  “Of course they would,” Celia said. “Didn’t he just tell us so quite plainly? We’re very glad to see you, Kit, and I hope you mean to stay a long while this time. By the way, there are three letters from Charley on the dressing table in your room. He is doing exceedingly well at Harrow, despite the incident with the snake. I only wish the terms were not so long. We miss him enormously.”

  “I’ll nip over for a visit one of these days,” Kit promised. “Always a good idea to stay on good terms with the heir in case I need to borrow money.” Charley was Kendal’s son by his first wife, rising ten years old now, and Kit was especially pleased to hear news of a snake. There was a time the boy wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone get up to normal schoolboy pranks.

  Kendal steepled his hands under his chin. “That means, I presume, that you have dropped by to beg a loan. Or is it that the constable is hard on your heels?”

  “Alas, Jimmie, you always think the worst of me. But as it happens, you are right on both counts. Well, I am by no means certain the constables have twigged they ought to be chasing me, so perhaps they are not. At least it is the Lancashire officials I have run afoul of this time. Westmoreland has been spared my latest crime spree.”

  “You relieve my mind,” Kendal said dryly. “How much is this going to cost me?”

  “I wish I knew. What is the going rate for rescuing damsels in distress?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Satisfied that he had managed to flap his generally unflappable brother, Kit went to the sideboard and lifted the stopper from a crystal decanter. After one sniff, he put it back again. “Hog swill. You may know your brandy, old sod, but you’ve no respect for good wine. I need the money for the ladies, by the way. My services are free. And, I should add, unwelcome.”

  “They don’t wish to be rescued?” Celia’s dark eyes went wide with curiosity. “But who are they, Kit? Must you play these games? Do tell us what is going on.”

  “A more ungrateful pair of wenches you’ve never met. One of them, anyway. She would sooner see me hang than accept my help.” Kit gave the bellpull a hearty tug. “She is also the woman I mean to marry.”

  Celia emitted a squeal of delight.

  “Don’t believe a word of it,” Kendal advised her coolly. “Kit’s love affairs have the endurance of a snowflake on a griddle.”

  “My affairs, perhaps. But when, Jimmie old lad, have you ever heard me say that I was in love?”

  “Never,” Kendal replied after some thought. “I grant you that. So why is this different?”

  “I’ve no idea. How did you know you were in love with Celia?”

  “I believe that you pointed it out to me.”

  “So I did. Good of you to admit it after all this time.” He bowed. “Obviously I am able to recognize the symptoms of true love, and at the moment I’ve got most all of them. Oh, not the ones which had you behaving like a jackass, for I have been a perfect darling from the first. But Lucy persists in thinking me a villain, and I’ll not make any progress changing her mind until the other damsel is free of her dragon uncle.”

  “And thereby hangs a tale.” Kendal went to the sofa to sit beside his wife. “May I hope you will get to it in some comprehensible fashion before young Christopher Alexander starts howling for his next meal?”

  “Sorry. I’m partial to melodrama.” Kit gave himself a mental kick on the backside for even mentioning his personal interest in Lucy, which would only distract everyone from the immediate problem. Were she present, his beloved would inform him in no uncertain terms that he was being self-indulgent and more concerned with impressing—or shocking—his family than achieving his goals. Which was one of the reasons he so admired her, no doubt. It pleased him that she knew his flaws and weaknesses, of which there were a great many.

  Even though she had yet to notice them, he’d been gifted with a few good qualities, too. Splendid looks, or so he had often been told by more forthcoming ladies. Charm. Energy. Humor. A quick mind. Compassion. An ability to mingle
in any company, high or low. Considerable talent in the bedchamber. It was true that he’d put his gifts to waste or to no good purpose—not counting his skill as a lover—but he was yet young.

  “Sir!”

  The gaunt presence just inside the doorway sounded a trifle impatient, and Kit reckoned the butler had been trying to catch his attention for some time. “Sorry, Geeson. I was woolgathering.” He flashed one of his sure-to-disarm smiles. “Bring up the best bottle of wine in the cellar, will you?”

  With a groan, the earl signaled approval.

  When Geeson had withdrawn, Kit dropped onto a chair across from Kendal and Celia. “Fact is, Jimmie, I need your help. A young woman, not the one I mean to wed, is in considerable trouble. There are lots of missing pieces to the story, you will quickly divine, but I shall tell you as much as I know.”

  He was well into his tale, carefully censored to omit an accounting of the events on Morecambe Bay, by the time Geeson returned with a decanted bottle of wine. Accepting a glass of claret, Kit nodded thanks and took a long, necessary drink. He had just finished describing Diana’s scar and how she came by it, and his throat was painfully dry. It didn’t help that tears were streaming down Celia’s cheeks.

  Kendal gave her his handkerchief and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Go on, Kit. I assume we’ve heard the worst, and I’m beginning to understand where you are leading.”

  He charged through the rest, knowing his brother would wrench order into his disorganized presentation of Diana’s situation. “There is reason to believe she is no longer safe at the cottage where she has been hiding,” he finished. “If I found her, others could do the same.”

  “You wish to bring her here, then?”

  “Will you have her?”

  “Certainly, so long as you intend only for us to conceal her. But if you mean for me to undertake legal action against her uncle, which I expect that you do, Candale will be the first place he will look.”