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

by Brenda Hiatt

  Juliana pondered Lady Bentwood’s words for a moment, and concluded they were uttered in a spirit of mischief. Did Lady Bentwood think she could influence her into breaking off her engagement to Lord Amberley?

  “I trust it does not cause you pain,” she said, in a tone of spurious sympathy.

  “No—well, only a trifle. He is such a handsome man, of course, and quite charming as well,” said Lady Bentwood, with a coy smile. “A bit of a rake, just like all the Redwyck men, of course, but what woman does not have a soft spot for a rake?”

  “What woman indeed?”

  “Well, I have long lost count of the silly country girls who have lost their hearts to him,” said Lady Bentwood, then tittered. “As to anything else they may have lost, well, I would be loath to speak of such a thing to an innocent miss like you.”

  “I cannot imagine what you mean,” she replied, assuming a wide-eyed expression, as if she did not understand Lady Bentwood’s attempts to blacken Amberley’s character. In fact, she had it on good authority—Polly’s—that Lord Amberley was nothing like the sort of scoundrel who pinched housemaids’ bottoms. Though he could not be as inexperienced as he claimed, he was no despoiler of innocents.

  Juliana noted the disappointed pout on Lady Bentwood’s lips with satisfaction. More than ever, she was convinced this was a scheme to gain control of Amberley’s estate. She had no intention of letting the Bentwoods think they might succeed.

  “I do think Lord Amberley quite the handsomest man I have ever seen,” she said, with a sigh. “Of course, Lady Bentwood, you must be so happy in your own marriage that you are no longer conscious of his charm.”

  “I am, indeed,” said Lady Bentwood, but her words sounded forced.

  Juliana was pleased to see she had rendered Lady Bentwood speechless. A moment later, Mrs. Redwyck entered the room.

  “Good morning, Lady Bentwood. Perhaps you would care to join us for a cold collation in the small dining parlor,” she said. Her words were polite, yet there was something intimidating in her manner. Clearly, Mrs. Redwyck disliked and distrusted Lady Bentwood.

  Juliana was not surprised to see Lady Bentwood heave herself awkwardly off the sofa and make her excuses. She and Mrs. Redwyck saw her to the door. As Lady Bentwood’s carriage drove off, Mrs. Redwyck turned to Juliana. Her expression, which had been almost angry, softened.

  “I trust Lady Bentwood has not ruined your morning, dear,” she said, watching her closely.

  “Not at all. Her visit was no more than an annoyance.” Juliana decided not to tell Mrs. Redwyck that Lady Bentwood’s visit had had the opposite effect of what she had intended.

  “Well, thank goodness for that. Shall we join the others? I hope your grandfather and dear Marcus have decided to shut their dusty books by now.”

  As they entered the parlor, Amberley looked up. Across the room, her eyes met his. He looked worried, but there was nothing she could say to reassure him now. Instead, she busied herself with helping Grandpapa and herself to cold meats, and trying to decide how to broach her new plan to Amberley.

  As they finished their meal, he offered to drive her about the estates again, to show her the lands that bordered Lord Plumbrook’s. She thought about making her proposal in that narrow-seated little gig, and decided it would not do.

  “Perhaps another day,” she said, conscious that everyone was listening eagerly to their plans. “Today I should really like to take a stroll about the gardens. If you are not too busy to show them to me, that is.”

  She blushed, hating how very forward she sounded.

  “I should be delighted,” said Amberley.

  Fifteen minutes later, having donned a bonnet and apple-green spencer, she joined Lord Amberley at the entrance to the gardens. He offered her his arm, and she accepted it, conscious of Grandpapa’s gaze from the French doors behind them. A little tingle crept up her arm as Amberley tucked it in his own, and she tried to ignore it.

  “I am afraid we have not been able to afford a gardener in recent years,” he said, smiling down at her. “Mama does what she can to tend the roses, but I am afraid the rest of the garden is quite untidy.”

  She looked about, seeing that the garden was laid out in a series of “rooms”, surrounded with high, overgrown hedges, some of them with formal flower-beds which at present sported spring blooms and wildflowers. Canes of rosebushes sported new leaves and buds that promised glorious color and scent in a few months. In a number of places garden seats had been tucked into secluded nooks, often sheltered by trellises bearing climbing roses and other plants, and nowhere was there a clear view from one room to another. It was a place made for lovers’ trysts. Had any of the rakish lords and beautiful ladies she’d seen in the gallery made love in the seclusion of these arbors? Or did their ghosts continue to sport together out here in the moonlight?

  The warm tingle Amberley’s touch had stirred in her spread. She drew slightly apart from him. It was time to ask him some questions.

  “Lady Bentwood had some very interesting things to say to me,” she began.

  Amberley’s arm stiffened. His expression became guarded, but he said nothing.

  “She said that you once paid court to her,” she continued, not wishing to say too much, hoping he would volunteer his side of the story.

  “I did at one time try to fix my interest with her, but I’ve since been glad that it came to naught.”

  “What happened?”

  He paused, a hint of pain in his eyes. “This,” he said, gesturing down toward his leg. “After the accident, Arabella—Lady Bentwood, told me she had a natural revulsion against deformity, and could not bear to see my limp. She asked me not to call upon her any more.”

  “What a stupid, unfeeling chit!”

  “No, not stupid, actually. I believe her revulsion was actually against the circumstances that led to the accident.”

  “How did it happen?” she asked. “I see talking about it pains you, but I do truly wish to know. When we first met, I wondered if you had been wounded in a duel.”

  “Nothing so romantic, I’m afraid,” he said. His mouth twisted. “The servants’ wages were in arrears, so I went up into the attics to see if there was anything stored there which might be sold. The floorboards were rotten, and I fell through, dislocating a hip and breaking a leg.”

  “It must have been dreadfully painful,” she said softly.

  “Yes.”

  No doubt it had been even more painful to discover that his young love was so appalled by his circumstances that she broke off their courtship. Juliana’s resolution to thwart the Bentwoods’ scheme grew.

  “Well, my lord, I am not shocked by your circumstances. Perhaps I can help.”

  Amberley turned to stare at her, cautious hope in his eyes.

  “You will marry me?” he breathed.

  She detached herself from his arm and stepped back a few paces.

  “Yes, I will marry you. Upon certain conditions.”

  The glow in his eyes faded. “What are they?”

  She clasped her hands together, so they would not shake.

  “My lord, in the past few days I have concluded that you are a man of honor. I know that the law gives a husband many rights over his wife, and I will have only your word that you will abide by the terms of our agreement. I trust it will be good enough.”

  “If we make an agreement, I will not break it,” he said. “What are your conditions?”

  “That I stay with you here for a reasonable period, so that I can see that the improvements you spoke of are set in motion. During that time, we will be husband and wife in name only. Afterwards, you will allow me my freedom to go where I wish.”

  Marcus stood still as he tried to grasp what Miss Hutton was saying. For an instant, he’d known a pure, unreasoning joy that she would marry him. Then her talk of conditions had chilled him like a March rain. How could he agree to such terms? The past few days with her had only increased his longing for her. He wanted her in hi
s bed, but also by his side, working with him, laughing with him… But it was hopeless. He had won her trust, apparently, but not her heart. Perhaps she found the real Marcus a sad bore.

  He gazed across an expanse of rough grass at Miss Hutton, who stared back at him watchfully. He sensed the risk she felt she was taking in trusting him, and his own disappointment was tempered by concern for her.

  “Miss Hutton, you need have no fear that I will be a domineering husband, and I would not expect you to live always at the Hall, as Lady Bentwood implied. In fact, once my affairs are in better order, I have every intention of taking an active role in Parliament. Although I must attend to my duties here, we could live in London much of the year.”

  “That is not what concerns me,” she said. “I wish to be free to go as I please, and set up my own establishment.”

  The hard resolution in her voice cut him, but he could not give in without at least an attempt to persuade her otherwise.

  “I know we have been thrown together in awkward circumstances, Miss Hutton. But I had hoped that we would, in time, form a real marriage.”

  Bland words for what he really wished, but how could he tell her he loved her? She would never believe him. The moment was not right, and it might never be, with his needs and her money between them.

  “I don’t wish for a real marriage.”

  “Can you not at least give it some thought?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. “As your husband, I would always respect your rights and wishes. The past few days have proven that we could go on well together. And we know we are compatible in—in other ways…”

  He trailed off, wondering if he had said too much.

  “If we marry, you must promise not to kiss me, or—or touch me. Those are my conditions,” she replied, her eyes huge and dark. A flutter of lace at her throat testified to her quickened breathing. His blood stirred at the sight. So she was not as indifferent to him as she pretended. Perhaps there was hope for them, after all.

  “Very well,” he said, roughly. “I have no choice but to agree to your conditions. All I ask is that you agree to one of my own.”

  “And that is?”

  “That I have the right to try to change your mind. At any time.”

  She swallowed, and he watched the subtle ripple down her neck, wishing he could trace it with his lips. Her prohibition only made him think of exactly how he wished to touch her.

  “Very well. You may try anything you like, as long as you do not touch me,” she said, a suspicious huskiness in her voice.

  “I shall have to think of other ways to convince you.”

  She raised her brows skeptically, but a delicate blush tinted her cheeks. His spirits rose.

  “Do we have an agreement?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord. We have an agreement.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Juliana breathed a sigh of relief at Amberley’s capitulation. She had not expected him to agree readily. It would cause a considerable scandal when she left him, and like most men, he probably hoped for an heir of his own body. But bearing his child would mean an end to all her plans. He would have to content himself with knowing that some obscure cousin—no doubt he had one—would carry on the line.

  “Shall we return to the house now?” she asked. Now that they had decided everything, it was time to let the others know.

  “If you wish,” he replied. “May I offer you my arm, or is that against your rules?”

  “I meant—oh, you know what I meant!” She broke off as she saw the hint of a wicked grin on his face. “Of course you may offer me your arm. People would remark on it if you did not show me such ordinary courtesies.”

  “Thank you. I am glad you will allow me at least such small pleasures,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take.

  Again, a tingle crept along her arm at the slight contact. He made no attempt to bring her closer, but he radiated possessiveness. Glancing up and seeing his smile, she made a shocking discovery. He clearly thought he could change her mind. No wonder he had given in!

  There was nothing to be done about it now, but prove to him that this time he would not be able to seduce her so easily. She cast about her mind for an impersonal topic of conversation.

  “Grandpapa is very interested in your plans for improving the estate. We both look forward to hearing more about them, my lord.”

  “I am glad, but please, call me Marcus. It will look odd if we don’t drop this cold formality.”

  “Very well… Marcus.”

  “It sounds lovely from your lips… Juliana,” he said, caressing her name with his voice.

  “Don’t try your flummery on me, my—Marcus,” she scolded. “Perhaps I should have made it a rule that you not speak to me.”

  “People would certainly wonder about that,” he replied. “I do quite like being addressed as your Marcus.”

  She decided to keep her gaze firmly ahead, and remain silent for the rest of the walk. Perhaps once she had become more used to their arrangement, Lord Amberley… Marcus would not be able to cast her into such a flutter.

  As Juliana expected, Grandpapa was delighted with their news. If he wondered at her sudden change of heart, at least he did not ask any awkward questions. Both he and Mrs. Redwyck threw themselves eagerly into planning the wedding, and before Juliana knew it, she found herself swept along in their plans.

  Having decided on this course of action, Juliana would have preferred to proceed quickly, but she was overruled. A hasty wedding by license would give rise to too much gossip, she was told. Instead, she and Marcus would be married at the Redwyck church, in a month, which would give ample time for her hair to return to its original color, and for Grandpapa to make all the lavish arrangements he wished for the long-awaited event. It pained her to think of his future disappointment when he learned that her marriage was a sham, but there was nothing she could do about that. She could only go ahead, and look forward to a time when she would finally be her own mistress.

  A few days after Juliana accepted the earl’s proposal, her new riding habit was ready, and Marcus gave her her first lesson. They met in the stable yard, where he awaited, beside a dark bay mare.

  “Juliana, this is Sonnet,” he said. “She will teach you as much as I will. Come and meet her.”

  Suddenly shy, she approached the mare. She’d never actually stood so close to a horse before. Sonnet was big.

  “Try stroking her nose, and her neck.”

  Tentatively, she lifted a hand. Immediately, Sonnet’s head came up and her ears flicked around alarmingly. Juliana hastily retracted her hand, then Marcus murmured some inaudible endearment to the mare and patted her neck. Sonnet lowered her head once more.

  “Try again, and don’t be afraid. Sonnet is perfectly gentle, I assure you.”

  Burning with embarrassment, Juliana took a deep breath and raised her hand back to the mare’s neck, stroking it as she had seen Marcus do. Sonnet’s dark coat was amazingly soft, and her eyes were large and a dark brown, with purplish lights in their depths. She did look gentle, now that she stood perfectly still except for the occasional swish of her tail.

  “Very good,” said Marcus. “Now you’ll learn how to lead her about.”

  He showed her how to hold the reins, but the first time Juliana tried to lead Sonnet, the mare stayed in place as if rooted to the ground.

  “Don’t look back at her. Just walk ahead as if you’ve no doubt that she’ll go along.”

  Juliana gritted her teeth and did as he bade her. To her relief, Sonnet went along obediently, and Marcus did not laugh.

  After a few turns about the yard, he took the reins back and directed Juliana to watch as he explained the parts of the sidesaddle, and how she was to arrange her legs. Then he brought Sonnet over to the mounting block and held the mare while Juliana climbed aboard for the first time. She put her right leg over the pommel, as he’d shown her, then tried to locate the stirrup, hampered by the voluminous skirt of her
habit.

  “Let me help,” he said, turning the mare slightly and coming alongside. He arranged Juliana’s skirt, adjusted the stirrup length and helped her foot into it. Although his movements were deft, and he made no untoward comments, Juliana tingled with awareness of his touch.

  “Shall I hold the reins now?” she asked, to cover her confusion.

  “Not yet,” he replied, his own voice slightly unsteady. He cleared his throat before continuing. “First, you must learn balance. If you snatch at the reins, you could hurt Sonnet’s mouth. It is a very sensitive part of a horse. If it is abused, the horse can become ill-tempered and unresponsive.”

  “I had no idea,” she said, looking nervously down at Sonnet, whose ears wiggled around as Juliana and Marcus spoke. She certainly didn’t want to do anything to put this huge creature out of temper.

  “Just hold your arms quietly at your sides. If you feel you must grasp something, let it be the mane,” said Marcus. “Are you ready to walk on?”

  She nodded, and he led the mare off at a placid walk. A sudden, humiliating rush of panic swept through Juliana. She had not realized quite how high she would be sitting on a horse’s back, or how strange it would feel to have such a great, living, breathing beast moving beneath her.

  “Are you quite comfortable?” Marcus asked, smiling as he looked up at her.

  “Quite comfortable, thank you,” she replied, determined not to reveal her craven feelings. She took a few deep breaths, and forced herself to relax. By the time they had reached the grassy paddock where the lesson was to take place, she began to feel more accustomed to the motion.

  Marcus attached a long rein to Sonnet’s bridle and began the lesson, letting the mare circle him at a walk as he instructed Juliana.

  “Sit very tall and straight, and look forward, between your horse’s ears,” he said.

  It was rather like being with Monsieur Léon again, Juliana reflected, then concentrated on following Marcus’s instructions. Apparently there was more to this riding business than she’d thought.