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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Smart girl. He bowed in acknowledgment.

  “So there you are. Max and Dorothea are happy now because you gave them no choice but to come together. Your reward is assured.”

  “And you, Gwen,” he said gently. “You were to be happy, too.”

  “Me?” Her brow furrowed. “You cannot claim your reward if I’m not happy?”

  Then she popped from the bench and held out her arms. “But I am,” she said brightly. “Or I can be. I will be. Behold the happiest woman on earth.”

  He smiled. Precious Gwen, so determined to give him what he’d once thought of value. But if there was ever a useless existence, it was the one he’d set himself to reclaim. Better he take his chances with Proctor in the Afterlife than wreak more havoc as a mortal.

  On earth, Valerian Caine was nothing but trouble.

  Lifting his shoulders from the wall, he took a step forward. “My dear, you cannot fleece God. He knows, as do I, that you are not truly at peace. Pretending won’t help me, but your generosity is beyond any gift I’ve ever received.”

  With a fierce look in her eyes, she came directly up to him. “Valerian, I can never in this life be happy if you don’t get what you most want. Surely God will know that when he searches my heart. And if I am the only thing standing between you and your reward, what can I do to remove myself? For my soul, I’d give anything to help you. Anything.”

  He could barely hear her last words. The pulse of blood drummed in his ears, and her sweet, earnest face seemed to dissolve before his eyes. “Why?” he murmured. “How can you say that? You are young and lovely, with a new life ahead of you now that the feud is ended. Gwen, after tonight you must forget me and look to the future. You’ll find a man to love.”

  “I have already found him,” she said with a tremulous smile. “And any future I have is with you, Valerian Caine, be it only for a minute or an hour.” Her hands moved to his chest, near his heart. “You may not care, and it cannot matter when you are transported to wherever you must go, but let these be the last words you hear. I love you.”

  Tears welled in his eyes, blinding him as he took her in his arms and held her so close no Power from the Afterlife could have separated them at that moment.

  Distantly, he heard her say the words again and again. “I love you. I love you.” He tried to form a response, but his lips wouldn’t move. He could do nothing but hold her, absorbing her warmth and vitality and unconquerable spirit into the bleak desert of his own existence.

  Too late, this unexpected, impossible bliss. A century lay between them. Eternity would seize him, carry him away, and whatever his fate, Gwen would have no part of it.

  Never had he been so happy, or in such despair.

  She lifted her head, and he recognized the stubborn expression on her face. “We have now,” she said. “And if you were charged with my happiness, Valerian Caine, why are you wasting precious time? Make love to me!”

  Dumbfounded, he gazed into her eyes. They were positively radiant. And resolute. Gwen had made up her mind.

  “Is that such a repellent idea?” she demanded when he failed to respond. “It’s what I want. It will give me a memory to treasure. It will make me happy. And just possibly, the joy you give me will assure your own reward. Will not a born gamester toss the dice this one last time?”

  He swallowed hard. “Gwen, with all my heart, and all my body, too, I want you. Believe that. But—”

  “Then what are you waiting for? The clock is ticking.”

  “I’ll not compromise you,” he said staunchly. “Tonight is out of space and time for both of us, but come the morrow you will regret this generous impulse. And I’ll not be here to console you.”

  “Rubbish!” She fixed him with a pugnacious glare. “Of all the times for you to stand on high principles! You are supposed to be a rake. And for once in my life, I want to be a wanton woman.” She put a hand against his cheek. “I want you.”

  His last ounce of willpower dissolved like honeyed butter. Lifting his gaze, he made one last try to do the honorable thing. “Francis,” he whispered, “if this is wrong, take me now.”

  Gwen clutched his waist as if her strength alone could keep him earthbound. “Whoever you are, Francis, don’t listen to him! He is mine. For this one night, please let him be mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In his dreams, Vayle heard a voice call his name.

  “Valerian?” it whispered.

  Not yet, he begged silently. Please, not yet.

  But the voice persisted, and he opened his eyes to see the first light of dawn streaming through the window. Christmas morning.

  The reckoning was at hand.

  For a last moment, he cradled the sleeping Gwen against his chest. His beloved, for one unutterably beautiful night. How ironic to receive love, and find himself capable of giving it, when it was too late for either of them.

  Hours ago she had been brave, promising to face his departure without a single regret. She would try, he knew.

  But love was not so easily cast off. He had been unconscionably selfish, taking her virginity and accepting her heart when he’d nothing to offer in return.

  Gwen should not suffer for his transgression. By the mercy of Heaven, she ought to awaken with no memory of him, her innocence intact, free to love and marry a man wise enough to value her.

  He had never prayed before, not sincerely, but he prayed now for Gwen. In her name and for her sake, because he’d not earned the right to ask on his own behalf, he implored God to grant a miracle.

  And almost immediately he felt foolish and unworthy. Why should God listen to him? Gwen’s heart was pure, tempered by fire. A loving Deity would take her into His arms on her own merits.

  Meantime, he had been summoned to his own dreary fate. Careful not to wake her, he rose and pulled on his breeches. Proctor the Prude would not approve if he reentered the Afterlife in the altogether.

  He expected to disappear immediately, and when he did not he padded to the window and gazed outside. Below him was the garden where he had died a century ago.

  It was spring then, and the last thing he remembered was the scent of roses as he turned, lifted his gun, and fired. Now the courtyard was marked out with patches of withered bushes and leafless trees.

  The garden was as bleak and empty as he felt. Somewhere down there was the stone responsible for his death. He’d meant to look for it, but by now a hundred years of English rain must have smoothed the place where Richard Sevaric’s bullet struck before angling at his temple.

  “It is time,” said a gentle voice.

  Valerian turned to his right and saw Francis’s sweet, chubby face. And saw right through him, to the armoire in the corner. Obviously Francis had yet to perfect the art of materializing himself. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said crossly, “although I rather hoped you and Proctor would forget about me.”

  “I am your Guardian,” Francis reminded him. “I have been with you every moment.”

  “Then you already know I’ve botched everything. Proctor is doubtless chaffing to rub an I told you so in your face, and for that I apologize because I’m sure you did your best. As he predicted, I am a hopeless cause.”

  “Judgment is not mine to pass. Nor Proctor’s. Tell me, Valerian, how do you evaluate your own accomplishments and blunders? Have you achieved anything of worth?”

  Valerian sighed and turned back to the window. “A few good things have happened. The feud is at an end. Gwen has forgiven Robin. Max and Dorothea are married, and I have some hope they will do well together. But I cannot say that any one of them is truly happy. And since I was charged to make sure they were, I have failed.”

  “Perhaps not altogether. At the least, you can take credit for reconciling the Caines and Sevarics.”

  Valerian rested his forehead against the cold window glass. “’Struth, I spent more time pursuing my own pleasures than tending to my tasks. I wrote a letter to Dorothea, which brought her to London. I lo
cked a door when she and Max got themselves into a compromising situation. I did a bit of shuffling and tinkering when opportunities fell into my lap. My contributions were trivial, and if anything good came of my presence in this century, it cannot be credited to me.”

  Francis chuckled. “Remarkably humble of you, I must say.”

  “Out of character, you mean.” Valerian glanced over his shoulder to the bed. “May we go somewhere else for this discussion? I’d not have Gwen wake up.”

  “She cannot hear us,” Francis said. “Now, think carefully. If you stood as judge of your own actions, what would be your verdict? As you pointed out, we have come to the sticking point. What should be done with you?”

  “Dung beetles,” he said frankly. “I belong with the dung beetles.”

  Francis clucked his tongue. “That is no longer an option, although Proctor is vastly disappointed. He was so certain you would founder. But you have not, Valerian. Some would have done better, others worse, in your situation, but you did not disgrace yourself.”

  “No?” Astonished, Valerian pointed out the window. “Does that mean I wake up down there, after the duel, still alive? I go back to where I came from?”

  “That was the original agreement, and yes, you may reclaim your former life. Say the word and you will be Valerian Caine again, moments after your bullet struck down your opponent. His shot will have missed. You will be left with a difficult situation, of course, and must deal with the consequences of dispatching Lord Sevaric, but I’ve no doubt you will smooth things over.” Francis smiled with something that looked like affection. “You’ve always had a way of eluding punishment.”

  Valerian’s eyes burned. Soon he would be where he belonged. It was what he had most wanted. So where was the elation? Why the bitter taste in his mouth, and the dread of going back?

  “Will I be as I was?” he asked in a halting voice. “In all respects?”

  “Yes, indeed. Your life will proceed exactly as it would have done. You’ll remember nothing of what transpired since, not me, nor Proctor, nor the month just past.”

  “Not Gwen? I won’t remember Gwen?”

  “How could you?” Francis asked reasonably. “She won’t have been born.”

  “You are wrong.” Valerian fixed him with an icy gaze, not easy to do since Francis was transparent. “I don’t begin to comprehend how I can have lived then, and now, and then again. But I will never forget Gwen. Through all time and space I will remember her.”

  “Not if you go back,” Francis said firmly. “I sympathize, but rules are rules. You will be the same man you were, and must learn again what little wisdom you acquired from this extraordinary venture into the future. I can only hope you stumble upon friends like Max and Gwen Sevaric. As I recall, you rarely spent time in the company of decent people. And without a mission to compel you—” He winced. “Perhaps you will come about. I will still be your Guardian, although I am not permitted to interfere.”

  “Never mind me. What about Gwen? Will she remember that we met? Will she remember what happened tonight?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Valerian grabbed for Francis’s white robe, but his hands closed on empty air. “Why the devil must she remember when it can only hurt her, while I forget everything I’ve learned? What’s the sense of that?”

  Francis shrugged. “Now you understand why we don’t like sending souls back and forth in time. With God there is no past or future, so anything is possible. He merely grants a disturbance in the continuum of the universe. And when He approves a petition, He leaves the petitioner to clean up the inevitable mess.”

  “In that case, let me recall what I’ve learned and permit Gwen to forget she loved me. Why not?”

  “I agree, in theory,” Francis acknowledged. “It would be better for the both of you. But precedents have been established, and I’ve no authority to overrule them. Gwen must live with the decision she made this night and all the consequences. You, on the other hand, have a choice for yourself, if you’ll stop objecting long enough for me to tell you about it.”

  Hope surged in Valerian’s chest. “I am tamed,” he said, bowing his head. He saw Francis’s hand settle on his shoulder, although he felt nothing.

  “In truth, my son, you hedged the tasks assigned you, but that we expected. Max, Dorothea, and Gwendolyn had ultimately to choose for themselves. You… how shall I say this?… dredged them from their rut by your mere presence and occasional interference.” A smile lit his plump face. “And you did more, Valerian. Although tempted, you did not revert to your former bad habits.”

  “I wanted to,” Valerian confessed in a shadowed voice.“’Struth, I can’t imagine why I didn’t bed Lady Melbrook or spend the entire month drinking and gaming. That was my intent.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Francis replied with a shudder that made him flicker like a candle flame. “I almost despaired of you time and time again. But you resisted, and took upon yourself a responsibility Proctor did not assign. Robin Caine.”

  Valerian looked up in surprise. “He had nothing to do—”

  “Exactly! You could not profit by helping Robin, but you befriended him and guided him to a better life. For that, you are now permitted to Move Forward.”

  “To heaven? For teaching Robin to fence and giving him a few items of clothing, I’ve earned heaven?”

  “Good heavens, no.” Francis drew himself up in affront. “Do you imagine a handful of few good deeds merit an eternity in the embrace of God? But you did care for someone and gave with no hope of reward. For that you will be rewarded, but certainly not with the Beatific Vision. At most, and only with delicate negotiations on my part, you are now permitted to escape Proctor’s clutches. And I assure you that your next Monitor will be more understanding.”

  “A kindlier jailer, you mean.”

  “On the contrary. Given your poor start, it would ordinarily take eons for you to come within reach of what I can now offer you. Only by the combination of Proctor’s impatience and God’s mercy can you seize a chance to come wondrously near the ultimate goal. Measure this against your other option, the Earthly Life you wanted more than anything to reclaim. I pray you choose wisely.”

  The choice ought to be simple. Even automatic, or so Francis appeared to think. But it wasn’t, because he wanted neither alternative. Not anymore. Not since Gwen. Whichever way he went, to his former existence or a loftier position in the Afterlife, Gwen would still be compromised and without comfort. Alone.

  She deserved better. How could he claim reward and leave her to be punished with a life of dreary solitude?

  Perhaps in the eternal scheme of things a few earthly years meant nothing, especially to Beings who had never experienced what it was to be mortal. But he had lived twice. He knew. And he cared about what Gwen faced when she woke up, and the day after, and all the days after that.

  Valerian Caine had always been a gambling man, and without another thought he folded both the winning hands Francis had dealt him.

  “Send me back to Proctor,” he said flatly. “Let him do his worst, even if he crowns me king of the dung beetles from here to kingdom come. I’ll take whatever he metes out in exchange for your promise that Gwen will be happy.”

  Turning, he took a long last look at her slender form curled under the blankets, her disheveled hair against the pillow. Once he had thought her unlovely. Now her face was so beautiful to him his stomach clenched at the awareness he’d never see it again.

  “If I did anything good,” he said when there was no response, “give me this. Make sure Gwen is happy. If that requires dispatching me straight to Hell, do it.”

  The room brightened, as if lit by a thousand candles. He turned to Francis, whose head was lifted although his eyes were closed. Heat radiated from the mass of light that had been the Guardian’s pudgy form. Now his image, except the cherubic face, was enveloped in golden rays.

  After a long time the light faded, leaving the familiar, transparent outline. “It ap
pears that Gwen can only be happy with you,” Francis reported. “Objections were raised, and her discrimination questioned, but He has ruled that you may remain here.”

  Valerian’s mouth dropped.

  “You are now removed from all authority but your own,” Francis said solemnly. “Henceforth you are Jocelyn Vayle, a man without family or history, but still a man. What you make of this new existence is wholly up to you.”

  “You mean I get to stay here, with Gwen?”

  “Oh, do pay attention,” Francis said with unaccustomed impatience. “And I must say that if it weren’t easier leaving you here than returning you to your former life… but never mind all that. This unnatural reordering of the physical universe is so blasted confusing!” He began to shimmer.

  “Wait! Will I remember you and Proctor? Will Gwen remember who I was a hundred years ago?”

  “In part. You will know who you were, and Gwen will know everything you have told her. You will gradually forget the details of your existence in the Afterlife, though, including Proctor. And me.”

  “But I don’t want to forget you, Francis. You have been immeasurably kind.”

  “It’s my job, but thank you. And I shall be with you still, as Guardian, although you won’t know my name or feel my presence. Just as well, since you have a lamentable habit of addressing me aloud where others can overhear and then lying to cover your indiscretion. Eaten by lions indeed! My powers are virtually stripped away, Jocelyn Vayle, until you pass on again. I will pray for you, but henceforth you are fundamentally on your own.”

  And then Francis was gone as if he’d never been there.

  Vayle shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming. But the floor was cold under his bare feet, and the soft sound of Gwen’s breathing tickled at his ears.

  Sweet Gwen. Could it be true? Was he now permitted to live with her? Even make children with her? Grow old in this century, dandling grandchildren on his knees?

  That would be Heaven enough for him.