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

by Brenda Hiatt

  “And that, I suspect, only whets your appetite for the hunt. Consider her feelings in this matter. Has it crossed your mind that she simply does not love you?”

  “I thought of nothing else the whole of last night. It was the worst night of my life. Did you know, Jimmie, that thoughts have claws and fangs? That they can shred a man from the inside out? It was quite the revelation to me.”

  “I have felt them,” Kendal said quietly. “Too often to count. You have been fortunate to have escaped those fangs and claws for so long a time.”

  “Last night was enough for any man, I assure you. But I wrestled the demons down.” He grinned. “Good practice for the next match with my formidable Lucy. I need the use of your curricle, m’lord. And the bays.”

  Kendal groaned. “Not the bays.”

  “The bays,” Kit said firmly, coming to his feet. “And a bit of the ready. Make it a large bit. I’ve no idea how long this is going to take.”

  “Dare I point out that you don’t even know where to go?”

  “Diana knows where she lives. I’ll wring the information from her.” At the door, he turned back. Kendal wore an expression of weary disapproval, which Kit had seen far too many times over the years. He’d given his brother more than enough reason for concern, God only knew, but this time he was aimed directly on target. “In case you are wondering, Jimmie, I do care about Lucy’s feelings. Profoundly. And in this instance, I know better than she does what they are. The moonbeam loves me, that’s certain, but she’s got it in her head that she can’t have me. I mean to convince her that she can’t get rid of me.”

  Kendal shook his head. “Coxcomb.”

  Laughing, Kit took the stairs two at a time and came upon Celia as she was leaving Diana’s room. She put a finger to her lips and drew him down the passageway to a small parlor.

  “You are in remarkably good spirits, Kit. I rather expected you to be downcast at the news.”

  “Being downcast accomplishes nothing, in my experience. I’m going after her, of course, but I need to speak with Diana. Unless you chance to know where Lucy is headed.”

  “Not precisely. She once mentioned that her employer’s estate was in Dorset, if that is of any use. Do please take a chair, Kit, before you knock something over.”

  “Sorry. I can’t stay still. Chafing to be off, actually. Why did you wish to speak with me?”

  “To prevent you from speaking with Diana, and you needn’t glower. I’m on your side, you know. Don’t forget that I pursued your brother quite shamelessly, with no regard to the rules of proper conduct, and I mean to help you as best I can. That does not include placing Diana in a difficult situation, however. She is unable to bear the weight of any more troubles, even if they are not her own.”

  “How so?” He was genuinely puzzled. “Everything has worked out far better than we had any reason to expect. I’d have thought she would be happy.”

  “Men! Sometimes I despair of the lot of you. Never mind that she is but ten-and-nine, has endured a terrible ordeal, has been brought to live among strangers, and will wear that scar for the rest of her life. She will be happy one day, please God, but not anytime soon.”

  Kit rubbed his head. “Lucy told me something of the like. And you are both right, of course. But why cannot I ask her one perfectly simple question?”

  “Where Lucy has gone to? I asked that question myself, and I assure you that if she would not tell me, she’ll not tell you. Lucy left her a good-bye letter, and apparently it contained a plea to keep her destination strictly secret. Think on it, Kit. Ought we to ask Diana to choose between loyalty to her friend and the sense of obligation she doubtless feels to us?”

  He had heard words much like those some weeks ago, but at the time they had come from his own mouth. He’d been advising Lucy not to put Diana in a position similar to the one he’d been about to create by demanding an answer she could not in good conscience provide. “No, Celia. I’ll not ask it of her. Forget I ever thought of doing so. But dammit, what am I to do? Call at every house in Dorset in hopes of finding Lucy there?”

  “If you must. But I expect you can catch her along the way.” She went to the escritoire and drew out paper, pen, and ink. “William Reese has made the journey south a hundred times or more. He knows the best places to change horses, have a decent meal, and spend the night. On the occasions James and I have traveled with him, he invariably stopped at the same posthouses.”

  “You’re a trump, Celia!” He paused to ruffle her curls on the way to the door. “Write them down while I pack. And instruct a footman to put out a ladder and unlock the attic, will you? I mean to rummage through a few trunks.”

  “Mercy me. Whatever for?”

  “Oh, there are all sorts of things up there. My ancestors were hoarders of the first order. Never threw anything away. You should have a look sometime.”

  Lucy made it through her first day on the road without a tear, but it took every ounce of her failing strength to hold them back until William Reese escorted her to her room at the comfortable posthouse where she was to spend the night.

  Then her tears fell in torrents.

  But by morning, which dawned cold and clear, she was dry-eyed again and even more firmly resolved to continue on. There had been times, a great many of them during her sleepless night, when she was tempted to turn back and accept whatever Kit could offer her, for however long it lasted. She had even come to the point of being willing to accept the pain when he tired of her and wandered off to another adventure and another woman. Surely a brief, shooting-star love was better than no love at all.

  But reason prevailed. She had maneuvered through a life mostly crammed with closed doors by being practical about the few opportunities that opened to her. Beyond doubt her only hope for a secure future lay with Jonathan Stiles.

  He no more loved her than she loved him, to be sure, but their circumstances did not permit either of them to be overly particular. A cleric in hopes of securing a parish of his own required a wife, and a governess longing for a home and children required a husband.

  Jonathan was kindly, unimaginative, and steadfastly devoted to his duties. He rather feared her, she’d often thought. She was too plainspoken and assertive. He invariably stammered in her presence and rarely looked her directly in the eyes. It must have required an act of courage for him to approach her with an offer of marriage.

  In the year that had passed since then, he had not dared to press her for an answer. Now and again, when they met after services or at a charity event, he referred obliquely to the pending matter of their betrothal. But she always suspected he meant only to remind her that he stood ready to honor the proposal he had made. He certainly showed no great enthusiasm, and he was clearly in no rush to meet her at the altar.

  She had done him a disservice, she thought guiltily, by withholding a response. He might have cast about for a more suitable bride had he not felt obligated to her. But he would have her answer shortly, and she would do her very best to make him a good wife.

  She was picturing herself taking the vows, wondering how many lies she would be telling when she did so and trying in vain to remember what her future groom looked like, when the carriage suddenly veered to the right and shuddered to a halt.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  Dear heavens. She leaned forward and looked out the window.

  Astride a gargantuan white horse, a spectacular creature brandished a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Sprung from a century or two ago, he was clad in midnight-blue brocade, with deep flared cuffs on his sleeves and bucket-topped boots that reached to his knees. Lace billowed at his throat and wrists. Atop a flamboyant black periwig sat a tall-crowned hat festooned with ostrich feathers.

  Oh, for pity’s sake! Lucy flung open the carriage door, jumped to the ground, stalked directly up to the would-be highwayman, and planted her hands on her hips. “What in all creation do you think you are doing?”

  “Why, I’m pillaging and
plundering, of course.” He boomed his lines as if playing a part in another of his overwrought melodramas. “Surrender your valuables, wench, and be quick about it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! And put away that gun before you shoot somebody.”

  “You quite disarm me, m’dear.” He slipped the pistol into his saddle pack. “It isn’t loaded, by the way.”

  “I should think not. The sword, too.”

  With a dramatic sigh, he slid it into the scabbard at his waist and swung down from the saddle. “Madam, you leave a gentleman of the road no choice but to pluck your treasures with his bare hands.”

  “Someone has plucked your wits, sir. Of all the fits and starts you have taken, this is the most addlepated yet. Now you get right back on that horse, Kit Valliant, and take yourself away this very instant!”

  He laughed. “Is this how you address the unfortunate young fellows in your charge, my terrifying little governess? No wonder they went after your hair with a pair of shears.”

  Her cheeks burned from that telling blow, but she quickly rallied. “This is precisely how I deal with feckless, refractory little boys. And wherever did you come by that foul wig? I just saw a moth fly out of it.”

  “Lucifer!” He ripped it off and flung it to the ground. “Devilish uncomfortable things, wigs. Good thing I wasn’t prowling about when they were all the crack. I rather fancy the lace, though.” He waved his belaced wrists in the air. “What do you think? Shall I take up the fashion?”

  She was seized with a pernicious desire to laugh. “Kit, do go away and allow me to proceed with my journey. Everything that needed to be said between us has already been said.”

  “I quite agree.” He moved toward her. “Let us proceed directly to the kissing.”

  She backed up hastily, raising both hands to hold him away. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Come now, sweetheart. We rogues have a reputation to maintain. Just one little kiss, for the road?”

  “I am a betrothed woman, sir. And an honorable one. I’ll not betray—” She couldn’t think of his name! “My betrothed man,” she added belatedly.

  “Ah. I’m glad you mentioned him. I’d nearly forgot my main purpose for accosting you this fine afternoon. Wanting to kiss you never fails to send my wits scattering to the winds.” He made a flourishing gesture. “Oh, look! There they go again.”

  The laugh rose in her throat, nearly choking her as she fought to hold it in. He truly was the most impossible man. “P-purpose,” she reminded him.

  “Wait.” He raised a forefinger to his temple. “Yes. It’s coming back to me now. I galloped all the way here to save a hapless cleric from a lifetime of misery.”

  Suppressed laughter transformed itself to fury. “That is a reprehensible thing to say! I shall make him an excellent wife.”

  “I’m certain you mean to try. But you will be unhappy, and perforce he will be unhappy. Stands to reason.”

  “Why should I not be happy? How little you understand, sir. I have wished above all things to have a home of my own to live in, and children of my own to care for.”

  “And marrying your curate is a means to that end, I presume? One might as well put an advertisement in the newspapers. ‘Ferocious young woman requires compliant male to sire children. Must be in possession of a house.’”

  “Oh, do stop it!”

  “‘He mustn’t mind that she is in love with another man, or that her thoughts will be with said other man on her wedding night and every night thereafter.’”

  That was so true that she could find no words to throw back at him. And because it was true, she accepted that she could not, must not, marry Joshua. Jeremy? The curate.

  The ground under her feet dissolved. She felt suspended in air. Any moment now she would plunge into a deep dark pit.

  Two strong arms wrapped themselves around her. “You have disappointed me, moonbeam. I had not thought it possible you would run away. What became of the daring girl who set aside all else to help a friend? What happened to my brave Lucy, who risked her life to save a smuggler on the sands of Morecambe Bay?”

  She drew a steadying breath. “I don’t know who she is, Kit. Someone who is not me. And I don’t know who I am either. I don’t seem to know anything at all.”

  “You know that you love me,” he said simply.

  Her mouth opened to deny it, but this was the one lie that she would never tell. She rested her head against his shoulder and said nothing.

  “The trouble is, has always been, that you have made up your mind I’ll hurt you.” His fingers slipped through her hair. “You are afraid to give yourself into my keeping, and take me into yours, because you assume I’ll not hold to my vows. Is that a fair thing to say?”

  She mumbled a yes into the fall of lace at his throat. She could imagine no greater pain than allowing herself to trust him, only to have him betray her.

  “Some people believe,” he said, “that if you save a life, you become responsible for that life. My life belongs to you, moonbeam. I trust you to care for it the way I mean to care for you. Will you put faith in me, beloved? You may as well, because you’ll not rid yourself of me. I’ll hound you from here to Dorset and from there to the ends of the earth. Spare us both the chase, I beg you, and say you’ll marry me.”

  Lucy raised her head, looked into his glorious blue eyes, and felt all her doubts and fears go up in flames. Just like that, she thought deliriously. Off they went like ashes in the wind.

  “Mmm,” he said, bringing his lips to hers. “I heard that yes you didn’t say.”

  A long time later, after a great many elephants had thundered by, she gulped a deep breath and produced a firm, heartfelt “Yes.”

  She saw him close his eyes then, and saw a tear escape one corner to streak down his cheek. He hadn’t been so sure of her as he’d made himself out to be, she realized, deeply touched. She held his happiness in her hands as surely as he held hers.

  Tears blinded her own eyes for a moment. But when she was able to see him clearly again, a smile that was purely Kit’s—cocksure and dancing with good humor—wreathed his handsome face.

  “Brace yourself, Lucy,” he said in a mournful tone. “We have one more difficult task ahead of us, and we must confront it together.”

  Alarm seized her for the barest moment before skittering away. She knew to trust him now. “And what is that, sir?”

  He contrived to look serious. “There is another female nearly as besotted with me as you are, I’m afraid. Have you forgot her, moonbeam? Just how are we to break the news of our betrothal, our real betrothal, to Miss Fidgets?”

  “Trust me, Kit,” she said, standing on tiptoe for a kiss. “He won’t mind in the least.”

  THE END

  Books by Lynn Kerstan

  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 Lynn Kerstan for you to enjoy.

  Traditional Regencies

  A Midnight Clear

  Regency Novellas

  The Drewe Sisters: Allegra and Maggie

  (Novellas by Alicia Rasley and Lynn Kerstan)

  A Change of Heart

  The Runaway Bride

  A Regency Holiday

  (Novellas by Lynn Kerstan, Allison Lane, Rebecca Hagan Lee and Alicia Rasley)

  Historical Romances

  Lady in Blue

  Raven’s Bride

  Lord Dragoner’s Wife

  Big Cat Trilogy

  Heart of the Tiger

  The Silver Lion

  The Golden Leopard

  Excerpt from The Rake and the Spinster

  She leapt to her feet, pulled out the gun, and leveled it at his chest. “Here is my answer, Keverne.”

  He gave her an exasperated look. “Put that down, girl. You aren’t going to pull the trigger.”

  “You think not?” She moved away from the table, the weapon
steady in her hand. “I want my things packed and loaded onto a carriage within ten minutes. Ring for a servant and give the necessary orders.”

  The Earl picked up his glass of wine and studied it thoughtfully. “Must we involve the staff? I’m afraid they would consider it their duty to attempt a rescue. Come now, Maggie, you can’t hold a gun to my ribs all the way to Falconthorpe. And how far will you get without me as hostage?”

  Maggie sighted down the pistol. “If I cannot escape, I may as well drop you now for the sheer pleasure of it.”

  “It has always been my intent to give you pleasure, sweetheart, although better ways come to mind.” He stood, tilting his head when Maggie growled low in her throat. “One last drink before my demise?” he inquired amiably.

  She took a step back, away from the reach of his long arms. “Will you take this seriously? A man inventive enough to bring me here without damaging my reputation can surely reverse the procedure. Simply give me your word to accomplish that, and I’ll reconsider killing you.”

  His brows lifted. “You would accept my word?”

  “I… have no choice.” She made a vague gesture with the pistol. “Besides, you once told me that you always keep your promises.”

  Looking bemused, he filled two glasses and picked them up. “A toast to honor, then,” he suggested, moving casually in her direction.

  “Keep your distance,” she warned, retreating another step.

  “Come now, Maggie, you could use a drink. I’ll just set your glass on that table where you can reach it.”

  She backpedalled rapidly. “Stop. I mean it, Keverne. Don’t—”

  She felt her heel strike against something hard and then she was tumbling backward, her elbows hitting the floor just before the rest of her. With a fearsome clap, the gun went off.

  Dazed, she heard a yelp of pain and gazed through a film of smoke at the earl's astonished face.