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

by Brenda Hiatt

When she looked out again, she saw another flash from the tower and another cloud of smoke. When it cleared, the figure on the battlement had vanished. That marked her second cue.

  “Aaaieee!” she cried, getting into the spirit of things. Her hands were coated with phosphorescent ointment, and she waved them overhead as she mounted the footstool and ascended from the pit. “Aaaieeee!”

  Whitney spun around.

  “A thousand curses fall on your head,” she proclaimed, half chanting the words. “May open sores spring up on your putrid flesh. Arise, ye boils and carbuncles. Devour him alive from his skin down to the very marrow of his bones. He has offended all the powers of heaven and hell.”

  “Nooo! Please!” He backed away, staggering like a drunken sot until his heel caught on a rock and sent him to the ground. He landed on his buttocks with a cry of pain.

  Lucy only wished Diana were there to see this. She advanced a few steps, careful not to get too far from the pit, her shimmering forefinger pointed at his head as another roll of thunder echoed off the hills. “Because you have sold your soul for money, I condemn you to the gutters without a penny to buy a crumb of bread. Because you have brought pain, I judge you to feel pain a hundredfold. Because you have destroyed beauty, I rule a film shall coat your eyes with blindness so that you never more know the rising of the sun.”

  From behind the tower came the mournful howl of a wolf. When Whitney turned to look, two fires suddenly blazed from the battlement. For a moment Lucy was as astonished as Whitney must have been. Between the fires came another flash and a puff of smoke, and then the witch appeared again.

  Hurriedly, Lucy scampered back to her pit and drew the concealing serge over her cape. “Get ready, Fidgets,” she whispered, coaxing him onto her wrist. “We’ve practiced this. Look up there.”

  He kept looking down at the mouse she’d exposed until she planted her foot atop it. “Up, Fidgets. Watch the tower.”

  She did not see the motion that drew him away, but when he left her wrist she peeked out in time to see Whitney flatten himself on the ground as the owl whizzed by. Distracted by the motion, Fidgets circled him once before heading on to the battlement. Kit must have put something tasty on his shoulder. Fidgets landed there, white breast feathers glowing in the firelight as he gobbled up his snack.

  Her own part done now, Lucy watched from the pit as Kit began the coup de grâce.

  “Kneel, wretch!”

  Whimpering, the wretch obeyed.

  “You have heard your fate, pernicious one. On any other night but this, it would be firmly sealed. But tonight is Allhallows, when graves open and the spirits of the good and the evil stalk the earth.”

  The wolf howled again.

  “On this night, voices cry out to the Powers who rule us all. Petitions may be granted. Have you aught to say in your defense before I pronounce the words that damn you forever?”

  “H-how can I defend what I do not know? What is my crime?”

  “Dare you mock the Lord of Darkness?” With another flash of light the figure was again wreathed in smoke, but this time it did not disappear.

  “Diana, my sister in spirit since time began, bears the mark of your brutality. She can no longer fulfill her destiny. And still you seek her, and scheme to sell her to a creature more loathsome than yourself. Do you deny this, worm?”

  “But I never meant to hurt her. It was an accident.”

  “The scarring of her face? I know that. We all know.”

  Thunder again, and more howling.

  Kit was in full cry now, Lucy thought with grudging admiration as he held out his arms, sending the flames to his left and right flaring higher. She’d no idea how he was doing it, but the effect was stunning.

  “Wh-what can I do?” Whitney mewled. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Repent!” Kit’s voice sliced through the cold air.

  She couldn’t help herself. “Repent!” she echoed from the concealment of the pit.

  “Repennnnnt,” came a voice from the copse.

  “Repent!” Timmy piped from behind the tower, following up with a wolf call.

  “I do,” Whitney squealed. “I repent. Give me penance. I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “We ask nothing. We command! Free our sister.”

  “But how can I free her? I can’t even find her.”

  “Fool! We have her in our keeping. The Dark Angel holds watch with a sword of fire, and you could sooner catch the wind than seize her from our protection. Come near to her and you will surely perish.”

  “I’ll not come near her. I promise. Tell her she is free of me.”

  “You lie!”

  “You lie!” Lucy called.

  “Lie lie lie!” came from the copse.

  Timmy howled.

  Whitney huddled in a pudgy lump. “On my mother’s grave, I swear to free her.”

  “Do we believe him, sisters?”

  “Nooo.”

  “Nooo.”

  “Nooo.”

  Kit turned his face to the owl, as if consulting with his familiar. Then he flung his hands up, and one of them must have tossed a chicken leg over his shoulder because Fidgets swooped away and disappeared behind the tower. “We demand proof,” ruled the witch in sepulchral tones.

  Whitney lifted his arms in supplication. “But how can I prove what I say? What must I do?”

  “A way will be given you. Watch and listen. You will know it when it comes. We have been merciful this night, dog. But heed my warning. Fail to keep your promise, and the wrath of heaven and hell will be visited on you a thousandfold.”

  “Oh, I will. I mean, I won’t. That is, I’ll do as you say. Bless you. Thank you for your mercy. I—”

  “Enough! Go home. Meditate on your sins.” Kit pointed a finger at Robbie. “You bear guilt for your part in this abomination. Take this mound of dung to where you found him and hie yourself across the waters. If you be in England at next quarter moon, we shall come for you.”

  “I’m g-gone, Your Majesty.” Robbie practically threw Lord Whitney onto the back of the wagon and jumped to the driver’s bench. “And I ain’t comin’ back.”

  Kit sent another shower of sparks off the tower. “Hear me, Sister Timothea. Dissolve now into pure spirit and follow them on the night wind. And you others, daughters of Lucifer, brides of Asmodeus and Astaroth, come with meee…”

  In a flash of light and a puff of smoke, he disappeared.

  Lucy ducked back into the shelter of the pit as Robbie turned the wagon and guided it swiftly down the slope. My heavens. Lord Whitney had fallen into Kit’s trap like a witless rabbit. No rational man could possibly credit that demons and witches bothered with the affairs of puny mortals, after all. Surely they had better things to do.

  She removed her wig and luminous cloak and wrapped them tightly in the black serge. The chill wind knifed through her shirt. Speedily she drew on the greatcoat Kit had provided her.

  She always felt more secure wearing male garb, especially when it was much too large for her body. It became armor of a sort, protecting her from Kit’s heated glances and her own undeniable weakness. Her female clothes were waiting at the inn where the witches and wolves had gathered earlier that evening. Kit had planned well, she had to admit. Whenever she imagined a potential difficulty, he had already arranged a solution. There was a room for her at the Downy Duck if she chose to stay the night, and a coach and driver to return her to Candale whenever she wished to go home.

  Home? What a thought! Lucy Jennet Preston had never had a home—only places to be at the sufferance of those who allowed her to be there.

  She picked up the length of twine and swung the mouse overhead, hoping that Fidgets hadn’t gone off on an adventure of his own. He appeared within moments, though, and she snatched the mouse from his talons. Circling, the owl returned and landed near the edge of the pit, regarding her with round accusing eyes.

  She held out her right hand. “Come, Fidgets.”

  He waddled for
ward and halted just beyond her reach.

  “Yes, I’m a wretched tease. But we require Kit’s knife to cut through the twine, which I am persuaded would not agree with you.”

  With a snort, he hopped onto her wrist and allowed her to put him in the wicker cage. Owls were ever so much easier to reason with than little boys—or grown men who behaved like little boys.

  Timmy came bounding up the hill, waving his arms. “They be far gone now, sir.”

  Lucy gathered her bundle, the mouse, and the cage, set them on the ground, and climbed from the steamy, acrid pit. The last few hours had given her a new respect for peat cutters.

  When she reached the tower, Giles was crouched inside the door opening, using a tinderbox to light a pair of lanterns.

  “Catch, Timmy!” Kit tossed down his cape and the wig, which landed at Lucy’s feet.

  She’d not seen it close up before now. “What is this made of? It looks like horsehair.”

  “Mane and tail,” Kit said, fixing the prongs of the grappling hook and dropping a thick rope over the side of the tower. “Only place the wigmaker could find hair the like of yours.”

  How quickly he doused her secret vanity. Turning away, she went to stand in front of the tower door, cutting off the night wind that was making it difficult for Giles to ignite the lanterns. She hadn’t liked watching Kit make the dangerous ascent and could not bear to watch him come down. She heard his boots striking stone as he lowered himself, using the tower wall to slow his descent, and finally the dull sound as they hit the ground. Safe! Her heart returned to its usual spot in her chest.

  Two arms wrapped around her from behind. “You were unutterably splendid, Sister Lucy. Altogether magnificent! When you rose up from that pit, shining in the moonlight like a cold fire, I swear my hair stood on end.”

  With his warm body pressed against hers, it was impossible to think clearly. “Fidgets wants the mouse,” she said.

  “And well she deserves it!” Releasing her, he took the cage from her hand and addressed the owl. “A remarkable performance, madam. Flawless. So where is this mouse you covet?”

  “Here.” Lucy handed him the length of twine. “It needs to be cut free.”

  While Kit gave Fidgets his reward, she went to Timmy and helped him wrap the horsehair wig in the cape. He was thrumming with excited energy, very much like Kit, and probably disappointed that the adventure was done.

  “You were a prodigiously fine wolf,” she told him. “And how fast you scampered from place to place. I never knew which direction you would howl from next.”

  “It were so much fun, miss! I got to shoot the flare gun. Did you see?”

  “Yes indeed. It quite startled me, I assure you. So did the thunder.”

  “Mr. Handa made it, with a big piece of steel or somethin’. Next time I wants to make the thunder.”

  “So you shall,” Kit said, joining them and bowing to Timmy. Solemnly, he shook the boy’s skinny hand. “Thank you, young man. No one could have done better than you did this night.”

  “That man wuz cryin’ all the time I followed the wagon, sir. He thunk we all be devils.”

  “Good. Let’s hope he keeps thinking that long enough to sign custody of Miss Whitney over to Lord Kendal.” Kit turned to Giles, who emerged from the tower with both lanterns lit. “I thank you, too, sir. For all that you’ve elected to be an apothecary, you have the soul of a pirate.”

  “I have always thought so,” Giles replied calmly. “It was a pleasure to indulge a few of my secret fantasies, although I should not wish to do so on a regular basis. I have the will, but not the imagination.”

  “Give me leave to doubt that, sir. You surprised me constantly.” Kit made a sweeping gesture. “I pronounce us all brilliant, our melodrama a triumph, and rule that we toast our success over wine—lemonade for you, Timmy—at the Downy Duck. Come, sisters, and let us be off.”

  “But what about the footstool?” Lucy protested.

  Three pairs of startled eyes swung in her direction.

  “Oh, you know what I mean!” she told Kit sternly. “We cannot leave all this evidence of our trickery behind. And what of the rope and grappling hook? How in heaven’s name are you to get it down from the tower?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Kit replied with a shrug. “But I’ll figure a way when Timmy and I return to gather up the evidence. Not that I think for a moment that Lord Whitney would dare set foot here again. You needn’t worry, Lucy. When I’m done, there will be no trace of our presence for anyone to find.”

  She believed him. How could she not? His outrageous plan had come off exactly as he predicted, although she had balked at every step along the way. But he had swept her up with his enthusiasm and confidence, and she’d obeyed his instructions even as she argued with him because she could not help herself. When she was with him, she found herself believing in the impossible.

  And that, she reminded herself, could only lead her to disaster. Turning her back on him, she went to retrieve Fidgets’s cage.

  Kit took up a position beside her as they followed Timmy and Giles along the path that crossed Beetham Fell. Their destination was a trifle less than three miles away. Far too long to be in his company, she thought, knowing her own weakness and the powerful lure of Kit Valliant. “However did you produce such a display of smoke and fire,” she asked with false brightness, “from nothing more than a bedwarmer and a few hot coals?”

  “Oh, I’d considerably more to work with than that,” he informed her with a cocky grin. “In the last few days I made several trips up and down the tower with supplies. Giles helped enormously. Apothecaries make excellent co-conspirators, I have discovered. They know how to do such marvelous things. He prepared torches that would blaze up with the slightest application of a glowing coal and showed me how to cascade sparks down the side of the tower. The smoke and flash of light were produced by tossing a wad of gunpowder onto the coals. That was my idea. I used to throw gunpowder onto campfires when I was a boy.”

  Which you still are, she thought, keeping her gaze focused on the path because she dared not look at him. A handsome boy with the body of a man who delights in playing pranks and flirting with susceptible females. Few of them resisted him, she was certain. She was less certain that she could do so, what with him being all but irresistible, but she meant to try with all her might. Her already unsatisfactory life would be pure misery if she had to live it with a broken heart.

  “You were impressive, I must admit.” Lucy knew she sounded like a starchy governess, but at the end of the day, that was precisely what she was. “I thought you a trifle overtheatrical at times, but I suppose you could not help yourself.”

  “No indeed. I was quite caught up in the moment, and Whitney was such delicious prey. He groveled divinely, don’t you think? How was my voice? High enough? Did I sound like a female?”

  “Not like a human female. Timmy produced a better impression of a wolf than you did of a woman. What you said was clever, though,” she added grudgingly. “Except for the Latin bit, which made no sense at all.”

  He took Fidgets’s cage from her hand. “I was never any dab hand at Latin. Couldn’t see the point of learning it. Practically nobody speaks it these days but tutors and popish clerics, have you noticed? But a few words were drummed into my head at school and I thought I’d try them out. What did I say?”

  “Something to the effect that cabbage was the wine of the devil and we should all drink up.”

  “Cabbage?” He winced. “Well, let’s hope Whitney is no more a scholar than I. In any case, I am quite convinced that I belong on the stage. We younger sons require employment, you know. What do you think, moonbeam? Should I tread the boards? Would you come to the greenroom after the play and offer me carte blanche?”

  “Certainly not! And Lord Kendal would never permit you to take up such a profession. Have your wits gone begging?”

  Chuckling, he wrapped an arm around her waist. She’d have pulled away from him, but on the
narrow path, there was no away to pull to. Hawthorn bushes hedged them in on both sides, Giles and Timmy were directly ahead with the lanterns, and she could not go running back to the tower. “You are impertinent, sir. It is unfair of you to take liberties when I am unable to evade them.”

  “I do know how to choose my moments,” he said unrepentantly. “But you needn’t fear that your reputation is being compromised. Giles and Timmy know of our betrothal.”

  “Oh, infamous! I promised myself I’d remain in charity with you until we reached the inn, but already I am railing at you like a fishwife. Why do you deliberately set yourself to raise my temper? If you release me, we can have a civilized conversation or walk in silence, which I would greatly prefer.”

  “But I’m quite partial to your temper, Lucy. It gives me hope.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  His smile was singularly sweet. “There’s a saying I once heard. Perhaps you’ve heard it, too. ‘When the heart’s afire, sparks fly from the mouth.’”

  Her heart was afire. She could not deny it. The blaze consumed her from the inside out. But whatever he imagined, the source was fury. Not love. Never love. She refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d won her over the way he did all the other women he’d flirted with, or more, before discarding them.

  “I’m angry, yes,” she told him plainly. “Nearly all the time. But that’s because you came swanning in and took over everything—me, Diana, our plans, everything. You allow me no choices. You expect me always to do your will.”

  His fingertips pressed at her waist, and even through the heavy greatcoat she felt them burning against her as if they were touching her bare flesh.

  “I know how it is, moonbeam,” he said gently. “I’ve been a burr in your side. But stay the course a little longer. We are going somewhere wonderful, you and I.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taking a folded newspaper with him, Kit entered the formal parlor, selected an out-of-the-way chair, and settled back to observe the proceedings.

  His brother, somewhat to his surprise, had demonstrated a flair for the dramatic while arranging for this afternoon’s spectacle. The lord-lieutenant and the justice of the peace had arrived and were accepting glasses of sherry from a footman. Near the fireplace, the half-dozen solicitors who had been in residence at Candale this week were deep in conversation.