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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Her hand was trembling so hard that he had to take the glass from her and set it on the table. She didn’t seem to notice. “The trip took forever, and I was sure I’d suffocate. I did lose consciousness for a time, because the next thing I knew I was being carried up a flight of stairs. I was still gagged, although the pillow slip was gone, and I recognized Hugo Caine, Robin’s uncle.”

  She paused to draw a quick breath, and went on. “He was my father’s greatest enemy, and the two of them fought like rabid wolves for as long as I could remember. He tossed me into a small, sealed room. There was no furniture, and no light because the windows were boarded over.”

  She flushed. “There was not even a chamber pot. What I remember most, in my dreams, is the stench of that room. And the cold. He took my pelisse and gloves, and even my shoes. Only by a crack of light through a knothole could I tell day from night. I was left alone for a long time without food or water. Then he came back with an enormous manservant who tied my hands and feet. I remember lying there on the floor with his filthy boots inches from my face.”

  “Why?” Vayle asked.

  She hugged herself, her arms across her chest, but her face remained calm. “He wanted the treasure, you see. The Caines have always been convinced our family stole it, and he thought he could bully me into handing it over. I’d have done so in a flash, were it possible, but we’ve never had the treasure. And I would have known, because I kept all my father’s records for years and years.”

  Her shoulders shook, as if she were sobbing, but there were no tears in her eyes. “Caine did not believe me, though. He took a horsewhip to me that night, and the night after that.”

  Vayle held still, his face impassive, though it took every bit of strength he could summon. Not that his reaction mattered—Gwen stared into her own private vision—but he longed to horsewhip Hugo Caine until pieces of him were scattered over Greater London. Even more, he wanted to hold Gwen and absorb her pain into himself.

  And because he could do neither, he sat quietly and listened, while his heart pounded in his chest like a creature separate from his body.

  “The third night he tried to ravish me,” she said with staggering calm. “He tossed my skirts over my face and lay on top of me. I thought I must surely die then, of disgust, but I did not.”

  Vayle’s fist clenched uselessly at his side. Stop, he wanted to tell her. Don’t say any more. But she continued in that remote voice.

  “And he could not. Whatever was required of him, he was unable to do it. I remember him standing over me after that, taking snuff. He dropped the box, and it fell near my eyes. I saw the crest on top, and the dragons carved around the sides.”

  For the first time, she looked at him. Gazing into her eyes, Vayle felt as if he saw the fires of Hell. But her lips curved in a mirthless smile. “That’s why I reacted as I did when I saw the snuffbox again. You took a bit of the punishment I’ve longed to visit on Hugo Caine.” Her head tilted. “Are you sure you wish me to continue?”

  Unable to speak past the rock in his throat, he nodded.

  “By now you must be wondering how Robin figures in. He was not there at the beginning, or perhaps he was and I didn’t see him. I soon lost track of time, although I was later told by the servants that I vanished on a Monday and found my way home the following Saturday.”

  She sighed then, as if remembering wearied her. Drawing her feet under her skirt, she leaned back against the sofa cushions. “At some point Robin appeared. I was delirious by then, and recall little of what happened. Suddenly he was in the room with the door locked behind him. He told me he’d been instructed to rape me but had rather not. If I would promise to tell his uncle that he succeeded, he’d not touch me. I was beyond promising anything, but I remember that he sat in the corner and vomited. He was probably drunk.”

  Locating her brandy glass, she leaned over and picked it up. “He was there another time, too, when his uncle whipped me again. He stayed when the others left and begged me to hand over the treasure. He said something else, but I don’t remember what. I don’t think I heard him.”

  She stopped and took a tiny sip of brandy. Her color was coming back, and she seemed more peaceable. The worst of the story was done, he realized. “What then?”

  “I woke up with the idea I’d pretend to know where the treasure was. I had some vague plan that would not have served. But I stumbled to the door and tugged at the latch. To my astonishment, it loosed and the door came open. The passageway was dark and no one stopped me as I found my way outside.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Someone had been careless and left a saddled horse near the front door. I thought to make use of it. But I’d the notion my absence would be discovered more quickly if the horse disappeared, so I made my way to a copse of trees and walked from there. I must have stumbled onto a road because a mailcoach nearly ran me down the next morning. The driver was kind enough to take me up and brought me to this house.”

  She turned to him and said, “So now you have heard it all, Jocelyn Vayle. What think you now? Did the telling of this story achieve anything beyond satisfying your curiosity?”

  With effort, he focused on her eyes. They were at once defiant and pleading, shimmering with new tears she would not allow to fall. Moving slowly, he set down the glass of brandy he’d clutched for what seemed like a lifetime, and silently wrapped her in his arms.

  This time there were no tears, and no words.

  At first she was stiff as a suit of armor, but he pressed his cheek against the side of her head and held her with all the respect and concern he felt for her. How splendid she was, this brave young woman. After all she had endured, she worried more for the consequences to her brother and his new wife than for herself.

  She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. “You needn’t feel sorry for me. Hugo Caine died soon after, by putting a bullet to his head. I content myself with thinking his suicide was brought on by my escape and his failure to win the treasure he’d spent his life trying to reclaim.”

  “I expect you are right,” he murmured.

  “As you guessed, I told Max the barest details of the abduction, nothing about the beatings and the attempts to do worse. Even so, he immediately called Robin out. Nothing came of it because Robin was too much the coward to face him. And I thank God for that, because I’d not have his death on Max’s conscience. My brother endured too much of death in the war and has earned peace of heart. But how can he attain it, married to Robin’s sister? Will there never be an end to this hellish feud?”

  Vayle let out a ragged breath. What a fool he’d been to think marrying Max Sevaric to Dorothea Caine solved anything. That wedding only raised the stakes for everyone concerned.

  His own failure to accomplish his tasks was nothing compared to the mess he would leave behind him. Already he had resigned himself to whatever fate Proctor chose. But he wished he could return to the miserable Afterlife knowing at least one person was better off because he’d spent a month in the nineteenth century.

  Sighing, he picked up Gwen’s glass of brandy and held it out. “Drink this. It will help you sleep.”

  When she finished it, he gave her the remains of his own brandy, and she swallowed that, too. Then she handed him the empty glass and managed a valiant little smile. But her eyes were so forlorn, he’d have gladly died to spare her another minute of pain.

  Except that he was already dead. And from experience he’d learned that a mortal’s death meant next to nothing in the universal scheme of things. Better he figure something of worth to do for her in the last few days allotted him on earth.

  He stroked her lips with the tip of his finger, wanting to kiss her but knowing he must not. “Thank you for confiding in me,” he said somberly. “Although you care nothing for my opinion, I admire your courage more than I can say. And I hope you are a little tipsy from the brandy.”

  When she nodded a bit absently, he helped her upstairs and fetched Winnie. “Take care of h
er,” he directed.

  And then, sword-cane in hand, he set out for a reckoning with Lord Lynton.

  Cold with fury, Vayle banged his cane on Lynton’s door. With Gwen’s tear-streaked face a haunting vision in the dim passageway, he felt more like Valerian Caine than peaceable Jocelyn Vayle.

  This time there would be no escape. Robin had eluded Max’s honorable challenge, but now he would face a man with nothing to lose. Valerian Caine, already damned, was hellbent on vengeance.

  Robin opened the door, smiling as he recognized his unexpected visitor. Vayle regarded him for a moment with contempt. Then he jabbed his cane into Robin’s stomach.

  When he doubled over, Vayle hit him again, this time with a hard fist to the jaw. Robin landed on his back with a thud.

  Stepping inside, Vayle closed the door and locked it. He planted a booted foot on either side of Robin’s waist and glared down at him.

  Robin gazed back, stunned. A stream of blood escaped the corner of his mouth. “Why’d y’do that?” he mumbled between swollen lips.

  “So that I wouldn’t kill you.” Vayle twisted the silver hand piece, slid the sword from his cane, and pressed the tip against Robin’s chest. “But I still want to. Give me a reason to change my mind.”

  Closing his eyes, Robin turned his head to one side. “I have none. Obviously you have spoken to Miss Sevaric. I was a fool to think you’d never find out. I hoped you would not. But every morning, when I awoke, I wondered if that would be the day my one friend discovered the truth. Now it has come.”

  “By God, Lynton, for all your sins, I never thought you capable of what you did to Gwendolyn. You were ever weak and dissolute, but cruel? No, that never occurred to me.”

  Robin sucked in a raspy breath. “Sevaric called me out when he learned of it, but I refused to meet him. I won’t meet you either, Vayle.”

  “Did I propose a duel? Easier to run you through now and be done with it. You are not worth an honorable challenge.”

  “I’d not defend myself in any case. There is no defense for my cowardice.” His face contorted. “But I never hurt her, I swear, except by failing to protect her. That was cruelty enough, I suppose, although I wouldn’t have had a chance against my uncle and Bouchard.”

  Tears poured down his cheeks, mingling with the blood from his cut lip. “I should have tried, though. Damn my black soul, I should have tried.”

  With a grunt of disgust, Vayle moved away and sheathed the blade. “Oh, get up, you sniveling boy. Wipe your nose.” He reached for his handkerchief, remembered he’d given it to Gwen, and headed for a stand of drawers in the corner.

  Robin sat forward and wrapped his arms around his bent knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Tossing him an unstarched cravat, Vayle began to pace the small room. “This paltry display of remorse will not serve, Lynton. Get hold of yourself and act the man for once in your life.”

  “What do you want of me?” He held the swatch of linen to his mouth, and a red stain spread from his split lip. “You already know what happened. I cannot change it now.”

  “I have heard from Gwen what she experienced, as much as she can recall or is willing to tell. You give me the rest. Why in bloody hell did you join your uncle in this monstrous scheme?”

  There was a tense silence. “I’ve no explanation that will satisfy you,” Robin said finally. “It’s a long story, from when I was a child.”

  “Find a way to make it short. And spare me a litany of excuses.”

  “I know there is no excuse for what I’ve become.” He wiped his eyes. “Where to start? My father died when I was eight years old, and Uncle Hugo became my guardian. He had control of the money, and me, and Dorie, too. But all he cared about was the feud, and he set himself to destroy the Sevarics.”

  Robin’s voice became bitter. “Mostly he ignored us, but when things went wrong he’d beat me. I was terrified of him. When I got older, I discovered the best way to hold him off was to pretend an interest in his obsession. So long as I was in league with him, I could anticipate his rages and hide myself until they blew over.” He drew himself up. “You won’t believe this, but I was more concerned for Dorie than myself.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  “Even so, I fancied myself her protector. When he put me in charge of household expenses, I made certain she had nice clothes and a governess. And I hid money in a secret account for her come-out.”

  Vayle nearly hit him again. “This from the loving brother who gambled away her home?”

  “That was unforgivable. But after the incident with Miss Sevaric, I lost what little hope for the future I had. Gaming has been my escape since Uncle Hugo taught me to help him cheat. He would deliberately lose, but I was to palm false dice later in the game because no one would suspect a clumsy boy. Bit by bit we robbed Basil Sevaric.” With mordant humor, he added, “I stopped cheating when my uncle died. That’s why Max has since won everything back.”

  Losing his last hold on patience, Vayle whacked his cane against the wall. “Cut to the night Gwen was abducted.”

  Holding his head, Robin rocked back and forth as if buffeted by the rush of memories. “I swear it, I knew nothing of his plans. He was desperate, though. Basil Sevaric had died a few months earlier, and then we got word of the victory at Waterloo. That meant Max Sevaric would soon be on his way home, and he was bound to be a fearsome opponent.”

  “He didn’t want the feud, you fool.”

  “Maybe not. But Uncle Hugo couldn’t count on that. Dorie was about to get married, but her fiancé had demanded a rich settlement. My uncle proceeded to lose much of what he’d won from Sevaric trying to come up with the money, and figured he could only come about by finding and selling the treasure.”

  Again, that bloody treasure! Vayle shook his head. “Gwen swears the Sevarics never had it.”

  “Maybe her father never told her where it was concealed, but my uncle was convinced she knew. He sent a message, instructing me to come to a place in Surrey where I’d never been before. He didn’t say why, and I was in no hurry to obey. By the time I went through all his papers to find the directions and made my way there, Miss Sevaric had been imprisoned for several days. He put me in the room with her, and ordered me to r-ra—”

  Vayle swore profoundly. “I know all that! Why didn’t you get her out of there?”

  Robin made a helpless gesture. “They would have stopped me. My uncle’s valet was enormous, and he carried a pistol. That first night, I went to a nearby inn and bought a stock of smuggled brandy for Uncle Hugo and Calvados for Bouchard. He’s from Normandy and could never resist Calvados. I thought if they were drunk, I could spirit her away, but I passed out before they did.”

  “You might have restrained yourself for once,” Vayle said coldly.

  “They watched me. But they started drinking earlier the next day, and I managed to unlock her door without them knowing it. I had told Miss Sevaric that I would, and asked her to be ready to leave. Late that night I saddled m’horse and left him tied up outside. I meant to go upstairs and get her, but Bouchard woke up and saw me in the hall. I went back to the kitchen and drank with him until we were both grogged. The next morning, she was gone.”

  Vayle’s killing rage was gone. Nausea remained. He straddled a chair and folded his arms across the back. ’Twas a wretched effort, Robin’s endeavor to rescue Gwen. But she’d managed to escape anyway, delirious from starvation and torture, without shoes or a cloak or money… dear God. A wonder she ever made it home.

  He took a long, calming breath. “It seems I must permit you to live, although I wish otherwise. You merit a worse beating than I gave you, Lynton.”

  Robin laughed harshly. “My uncle took care of that. Miss Sevaric failed to take the horse, you see, and I could not explain why it was saddled and waiting. He’d have beaten me in any case. Uncle Hugo always vented his rage on whomever was near to hand.”

  “Ah. Then I’m not even to have the pleasure of
hitting you again.”

  “Do so if you must, Vayle, if only for the weeks you played friend to a despicable cur. I should have warned you off.”

  “’Struth, I never heed warnings,” Vayle said with a rueful shrug. “What’s done is done. Now we must look to the future and how you can make amends.”

  “My uncle put a bullet to his head,” Robin said dejectedly. “Should I do the same?”

  Vayle gave him a withering look. “Enough of your puling, infant. It sickens me. Tomorrow afternoon you will present yourself to Gwen Sevaric and apologize.”

  With a plaintive cry, Robin buried his face in his hands. “Not that. Anything but that. I cannot face her. And what good would it do anyway?”

  Vayle came to his feet, seizing his cane. “’Tis a beginning. And you will face her, Lynton, if I’m forced to drag you there in chains.” He crossed to Robin and lifted his chin with the tip of the cane. “Look at me!”

  Robin gazed at him through lashes clumped with tears. “You tell her how sorry I am. You can find the words. Besides, she won’t admit me if I go to the house.”

  “I’ll take care that she does. Now listen closely. You will make no excuses for yourself, nor lie to her on any count. Miss Sevaric has an unerring sense of truth. If she asks questions, answer them honestly. If she calls you every vile name in creation, accept it as your due. Remember, your goal is to provide her whatever satisfaction she can derive. You are there for her sake only.”

  Eyes hollow with pain, Robin nodded. “I—I’ll try.”

  “You’ll do better than that!” Vayle tapped him lightly on the cheek with his cane before moving to the door. “Fail to appear, Lynton, and I will track you to the ends of the earth.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Dear Sister.

  Gwen, her elbows propped on the writing table, stared at those words. She couldn’t seem to read past them.