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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Chapter Fifteen

  After repeated knocks, Robin finally opened the door. Vayle took one look at his unshaven face and listless eyes, pushed him aside with his cane, and stalked into the dim room. “Don’t you ever clean this place?”

  “What for?” Shoulders slumped, Robin went to his cluttered desk and lowered himself to the chair. “No one ever comes here.”

  “Indeed? And what am I, a ghost?” Vayle swiped his arm against the tattered curtains, sneezing as dust billowed in gray puffs. But the afternoon light revealed what was better kept in the dark. “This room is a disgrace. And so are you.”

  “Then go away. You weren’t invited, and I prefer to be alone.”

  Vayle regarded him with disgust. Robin had been making progress until he lost Greenbriar Lodge to Max, but now he’d reverted to his former dissolute state. “Are you drunk?”

  “I would be, could I afford so much as a bottle of Blue Ruin. But I’m damnably sober, and have been wondering how many days before the landlord kicks me into the streets. Months behind in the rent, you know. He is making threats.”

  “Then he hasn’t heard the good news. Look lively now. A carriage waits for us and the horses must not be left to stand. We require hot water for your shave. How is it obtained?”

  “What good news?”

  “Water first. See to it and then I’ll explain what you should have figured out for yourself.” When Robin failed to stir, Vayle prodded him in the ribs with the cane. “I am an impatient man, sir.”

  Muttering under his breath, Robin rose and went downstairs.

  At least he was easily manipulated, Vayle reflected as he wandered back to the window and gazed into the filthy alley below. Not like Gwen, who had a will of iron. Once Max went haring off after his bride, Gwen had closeted herself in her room and even Winnie could not gain access.

  Nodcocks, the both of them. Gwen and Robin should grasp every ray of sunshine and any chance to laugh, even at life’s bad jokes. Too soon they would be shades in a murky void, subject to Proctor’s mean-spirited whims.

  If only they knew what it was like to be dead.

  Life was the most precious thing in creation, to be savored because it was so very brief. Vayle had learned that the hard way, and he would pry Robin from his misery, at swordpoint if necessary, before the boy wasted another minute that should be cherished. Gwen, too, if he could think of some way short of violence to reach her.

  Robin returned with a basin and plunked it on the desk, water sloshing over the greasy papers formerly wrapped around the street-fare he’d brought home to eat. “What good news?” he asked again, belligerently this time as he rummaged for his razor.

  Vayle gave him a wide grin. “Why, the alliance of Sevarics and Caines after a century of conflict. As we speak, the ton is ravenous for morsels of gossip about the wedding. We shall dine out for weeks on this story.”

  Robin regarded him balefully. “I know nothing whatever about that wedding, and I don’t want to.”

  “Shave! Your ignorance is a blessing. You will smile and shrug and be discreet, which will enhance your reputation. Meantime, I’ll sprinkle a few particulars about the ceremony to whet their appetites. This, Lord Lynton, is your chance to reclaim status among your peers. We shall be, for a time, the most intriguing fellows in London.”

  Robin’s razor slipped, and he swore and pressed a filthy handkerchief to the cut on his chin. “And what do you suggest? Shall I sneak through the servants’ entrance to balls where I’ve not been invited, or thrust myself into Almack’s on Wednesday next?”

  “Almack’s?” Vayle frowned. “Is that a place we ought to go? Well, never mind. For now, put on your best clothes. We have much to accomplish this afternoon.”

  While Robin pulled on a marginally clean shirt and breeches, Vayle wandered to the littered desk. Though he could not explain why, his fingertips itched as if something familiar was buried there. He fumbled through the rancid mess of paper and uneaten food until his hand met cold metal.

  Brushing the papers aside, he picked up the gun. “What is this?”

  Robin glanced over his shoulder. “A dueling pistol. Been in the family a hundred years. Somebody took it from a dead man’s hand and gave it to his brother, who happened to be my great-great-grandfather. If I knew how to prime the thing, I’d have put it to my head.”

  “I’ll have none of that sort of talk,” Vayle said automatically. He regarded the pistol with mingled fascination and nausea.

  It could only be the gun he’d taken from the velvet-lined case offered him just before the duel. The pistols had belonged to Richard Sevaric, and in his youthful pride he’d not bothered to examine them closely. Honorable men fought honorably, after all, and the affair was so rushed there was no time to procure seconds for either of them.

  But how had he imagined himself an honorable man? He’d thought nothing of seducing a married woman, although in truth Blanche Sevaric had been more aggressive than he. She was a passionate beauty, and he’d often bedded her before that fateful night.

  What happened to her after they were discovered together? he wondered for the first time. She was not present in the garden when he fought Sevaric. A young servant had brought the pistols and faded into the half-light of dawn, counting off the paces in a trembling voice.

  He remembered the pierce of gravel under his bare feet, the frightened boy calling eight, nine, ten. The jump of the pistol as he pressed the trigger. The bark of the gun when it fired. A searing pain at his temple, and then… nothing.

  Chilled, he ran his fingers over the carved handle and smooth barrel of the pistol that killed Richard Sevaric. A gun exactly like this one had killed him, too, with the help of an ill-placed stone.

  Pointless, all of it, beginning to end. No woman was worth dying for. “I’ll keep this awhile,” he said to Robin, “until you are out of the mopes.”

  “Give it to Sevaric.” Lethargically, Robin pulled on a pair of battered riding boots. “He has everything else we ever owned.”

  Including the mate to this pistol, Vayle thought as they made their way to the carriage.

  Entering the coach, Robin knocked over a stack of parcels wrapped in brown paper. “What the devil are these?” he said, pushing them to the side and slumping down on the seat.

  “The beginnings of your new wardrobe. Our first stop is a tailor who will recut them to fit you. We are nearly the same height, but you are of slighter build.”

  “You are offering me your cast-offs? I’ll not take charity, Vayle. You insult me.”

  “Pah! What you are wearing is an insult in itself. Think you to cut a dash in clothes a ragpicker would spurn? I wore one of those coats for a few hours, and the other items are new. Max chose them, and he has a lamentable partiality for drab colors. They do not suit me, and would hang in the armoire until doomsday had I not bethought me of this plan. For the rest—shirts, boots and the like—we’ll go to the shops where the proprietors know me.”

  “And pay with what? I’m quite done up, and could not muster credit to buy so much as a pint of ale.”

  “Ah, but now you have expectations.” Vayle pulled the door shut behind him and winked at Robin. “Gentlemen have been known to live for years on their expectations. Your brother-in-law is a wealthy man, and the shopkeepers extended me credit on his word. They will do the same when I vouch for you.”

  “Sevaric hates my innards.” Robin kicked sullenly at the other seat cushion. “And all of London knows it. What’s more, think what he’d do if he learned I had borrowed against his bankroll.”

  “I daresay he would commend your pluck.” When Robin snorted, Vayle couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well, not immediately, but neither will he skewer you. Dorie would not permit it.”

  “Blast it, now you want me to hide behind my sister’s skirts. Let me out of here. I want no part of this scheme.” He started to rise, but the coach lurched into motion and he fell back to the seat.

  Swallowing his irritation, V
ayle settled against the cushion and folded his arms. “Did you imagine there would be an easy escape from the hole you have dug for yourself? Now a lifeline has been extended and you must grasp it, even if certain factors offend your delicate sensibilities.” His voice grew serious. “Heed me, bantling. We are on a mission to make you respectable so that you will not further shame your family. Lord Sevaric is now part of that family, and he will eventually respect your efforts. Besides, you’ll borrow only enough for a decent wardrobe. If you dare extend Max’s credit for gaming or to buy spirits, I’ll skewer you myself.”

  Slowly Robin’s face brightened. “Will this please Dorie, do you think?”

  “She will be proud of you,” Vayle assured him. At least Robin cared about his sister’s approval. “Once we give her something to be proud of, that is. She worries about you, do you know?”

  Robin hung his head. “I know.”

  “You must restore yourself to full health, so that when she sees you next her anxiety will be relieved.” Vayle regarded him sternly, then let an encouraging note enter his voice. “When we’ve done at the shops, we’ll fence at Antonio’s. You have a decided flare, and because every eye will be on you, I shall contrive to make you appear more skillful than you are. For that humiliation, because I’m not fond of losing even a staged bout, I expect your full cooperation in all other matters.”

  Robin nodded briefly and then stared out the window, mauling his chin with a shaky hand. “Why did she marry him?” he asked suddenly. “Why Sevaric?”

  The question had been inevitable, but Vayle still had not come up with a plausible explanation. He shrugged. “Love at first sight, I suppose. Who can understand women?”

  “It’s because I left her no choice,” Robin said dully. “When I gambled away her home, she had nowhere to go and no way to live. How she must despise me. Now her life is ruined forever.”

  “I suggest you never express that ridiculous opinion in front of Sevaric. Most likely he fancies himself a good catch. Is it beyond all reason they might be happy together?”

  Robin laughed without a hint of humor. “Happy? After what he did? You were there that night. Sevaric is as guilty as I am. He played on my weaknesses and stripped Dorie of the only thing left for her to care about. She must hate him, too.”

  “Dorie does not strike me as a women who carries grudges. I agree that Max has earned whatever punishment she metes out, if any, but that is for him to deal with. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  He poked his cane at Robin’s chest. “If you care anything for your sister, you will do everything in your power to make up for your blunders. Max and Dorie are wed and will come to terms with each other. That you cannot control, but you can take charge of yourself and give her one less thing to worry about.”

  Robin gazed at him with unsettling awe. “How did you come to be so wise?”

  Vayle broke down in laughter. Proctor would be grinding his teeth if he heard that, which he probably did. And if he actually had teeth.

  “That was a compliment, not a jest,” Robin said.

  Unable to speak, Vayle waved a hand.

  Robin scowled. “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. When you’re done making fun of me, I wish you’d tell me about the wedding.”

  That sobered him immediately. “And where were you?” he demanded. “Dorie sent you a message and badly wanted you there. Why did you fail her?”

  Lowering his head, Robin admitted, “I went to the church, but could not bring myself to go inside. So I waited around the corner and saw them leave together. She did not look happy.”

  “Does that surprise you? She had to walk down the aisle alone because you were too cowardly to lend your arm and your support.”

  “I know. I was not there when she needed me.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “I have been nothing but a trial to her since we left the nursery. She will never forgive me now, and I’ll never forgive myself either.”

  “Oh, cut line, you stupid child! I weary of this mewling.” Robin was only a few years his junior, but right now Vayle felt every bit of a century older. “Concentrate on what you can do to redeem yourself. Imagine how pleased she will be to return from her wedding trip and find you have become a lion of society.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Perhaps a cub,” Robin said finally, with a diffident smile.

  Vayle clapped his hands. “A sign of life from you at last! From henceforth we look to the future. I shall bring you into fashion, a neat trick since I’m not precisely in fashion myself. But we will shine with such dazzling light that I defy anyone to turn us away. ’Tis all in the presentation, you know.”

  “If you can carry me off, you’ll have worked a miracle,” Robin said skeptically. “But I give you my word to do my best.”

  Vayle suppressed a groan. If only he had been granted miraculous powers. ’Struth, he could scarcely think what to do next, let alone how to do it.

  In fact, he ought to be concentrating his efforts on Gwen.

  He’d been assigned to make her happy, an impossible feat. Without question Proctor was resolved to see him damned, or at the least damnably bored, for all eternity.

  And he would probably have his way. Less than three weeks remained until Christmas, and Gwen was holed up licking her wounds. Deep wounds, Vayle had begun to realize, although there was no explaining them. Certainly she would have no intention of confiding in him. He had to find some way to draw her out.

  Once Lord Lynton was cleaned up, he’d make an acceptable escort. Gwen was stubborn, acid-tongued, and no beauty, but did Robin have much to offer himself? They would be an ideal match, or at least they were unlikely to do better by themselves. And if the two of them fell in love—ah. That would be a miracle indeed.

  Yes, a husband, however unsatisfactory, would provide Gwen with more than she could now hope for. She’d have a home of her own to manage as she saw fit, and children. For all her inexplicable bitterness, Gwen might be a wonderful mother. It was just unfortunate she could not marry and give birth before the Christmas deadline!

  A child would make her happy.

  He wanted her to be happy. There was little chance of finishing the job by Proctor’s deadline, but perhaps he could help Gwen make a good beginning.

  “You needn’t be concerned about invitations,” he said to Robin. “They arrive with regularity at Sevaric House, and now that you are Max’s brother-in-law, it will not be questioned if you attend balls and routs in company with his sister.”

  “No! That is out of the question.”

  Vayle gazed at him in surprise. Robin’s new spirit had vanished. Perspiration streaked his brow, and he wrung his hands as if he’d just been invited to put his neck on the guillotine.

  “Miss Sevaric despises me,” Robin said tersely. “I’ll not force my presence on her. Nor will she come along if I am one of the party. Trust me about this.”

  It was irrational. But it was somehow connected to the families’ enmity, he would warrant. And from the determined look on Robin’s face, there would be no swaying him on this point.

  “As it happens, Miss Sevaric doesn’t much care for me either,” he confessed, with a grin. “No accounting for it, but as I said before, who can understand a woman? Well, we shall spare her the ordeal of our mutual presence and fend for ourselves. When she chooses to go out, I’ll endure her scorn and stand in her brother’s place. But whatever invitations she refuses, the two of us will accept. Hold yourself ready.”

  “I have promised.” Robin sounded as if the concession pained him. “But if you attempt to foist me on Gwen Sevaric by surprise, damned if I won’t call you out.”

  Serious indeed, this puzzling hostility. Smothering the arrogant response that rose in his throat at the idea of Robin’s challenge, he managed a pacific smile. “Be still, cub. I’ve enough trouble dealing with the young lady without tossing you into the mix. Unless you care to tell me how you came to be at odds with Miss Sevaric?”

&nbs
p; “None of your bloody business, Mr. Vayle.” Robin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And for a houseguest, you meddle rather too much in Sevaric’s affairs. I wonder if he would approve this errand, in his carriage, with his name bandied to tailors and bootmakers as payer of the bills we intend to run up.”

  “What does it matter? Sevaric is leagues away, and won’t hear about it for weeks,” Vayle said seraphically. “Relax and enjoy yourself for a change.”

  Elation at Robin’s show of spirit fired the gloomy afternoon and his own natural optimism. The cub had some lion in him after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A week after his arrival, Max retired to his room under the eaves and wondered if this siege would ever be won.

  The fortress was inhospitable, the place of his angriest nightmares. His opponent was baffling, alternately defiant and conciliatory.

  She liked to undermine his defenses when he was supposed to be undermining hers. She might frown in that sad pretty way, and he would suddenly feel an urge to lay down his weapons and make a separate peace. Then he would retreat to restore some order to his tattered forces, only to weaken again when he saw her smile.

  The fight was telling on him. Especially now that he was so weary, his every muscle aching from his day’s work replacing shingles on the ancient roof. Both thumbs throbbed from encounters with the hammer, which had also worn blisters in his palm. With a groan, he climbed into bed.

  There it was, more undermining from Dorie, a hot water bottle warming the sheets. She never gave up these little tricks designed to win him to her side. But if she thought that a bit of comfort might reconcile him to separate beds, well, disappointment awaited her. When they finally negotiated their treaty, the conjugal bed would be Item One.

  He stared at the flickers the candlelight cast on the ceiling. The big crack in the plaster seemed to wriggle in the play of light and shadow, and the brown stain undulated obscenely.