by Brenda Hiatt
"Terms?" Jack looked up suspiciously.
Havershaw pushed a packet of papers across to him. "The specifics are spelled out there. In brief, all monies not attached to the estates are to be held in trust until such time as the trustee determines that you have made the required transformation of character."
"The devil they are!" Jack exploded. "What utter nonsense! And just who is this trustee who will pass judgment upon me?"
"I am," replied Havershaw with a thin smile.
Nessa quietly closed the kitchen door and pulled her cloak and hood tightly about her face. Glancing up at the still-lighted windows of the narrow but imposing town house, she hoped her sister would not feel so concerned about her fictitious headache as to come to her room to check on her. If all went as planned, she'd be back inside of two hours. With luck, Prudence would never know she'd been away. Hurrying around the corner to the street, she hailed a passing hackney.
For the hundredth time she told herself she was mad to be doing this, and for the hundredth time she hushed her conscience. "King Street, St. James," she told the driver, climbing into the conveyance.
This evening was a present to herself. From the moment she'd first seen the notice in the papers about this masquerade ball, she'd been determined to attend. In London for the first real visit in her life, Nessa felt she deserved some enjoyment.
As the hackney lurched forward, she took the black feathered mask she'd bought earlier that day from the pocket of her cloak and fastened it over her eyes. No one would ever know, and she'd have a delicious memory to look back on—the first such memory in her whole sheltered lifetime. It was only fair she have this reward for leading such a virtuous existence, she reasoned.
The one thing that did cause Nessa a pang of guilt was the fact that her year of mourning still lacked nearly three weeks till completion. Not for a moment did she believe her husband would have understood, sharing, as he had, her late father's puritanical outlook on life. But she'd spent all of her four and twenty years conforming to the strictures of first the one and then the other. Now, for the first time in her life, she was free of them both—and ready to enjoy that freedom.
"This be King Street, miss," the hackney driver called back to her just then.
"Thank you," she called back. "Take me to the Upper Assembly Rooms, please. And if you could return in one hour, I'd be most grateful."
The driver assented and pulled the carriage to a halt a moment later. Nessa paid him generously, hoping thereby to ensure his return. Then, lifting her chin, she strode regally up the stairs to those same hallowed rooms that housed Almack's during the Season. Handing her cloak to one waiting lackey and her ticket to another, she swept into the ballroom.
A mere step inside the room she paused, surveying with bewildered delight this, her first masquerade. Gaily costumed revelers moved and shimmered in the candlelight of the chandeliers, dancing to the strains of a country tune or gathering in small groups to converse. Multihued dominoes vied with replicas of every historic personage imaginable.
Nessa glanced down at her own low-cut gown, smiling to think she had feared her costume too risqué. What pains she had taken to slip away from her sister and sharp-eyed abigail yesterday in order to purchase this cyprian's costume! Prudence would doubtless have a spasm if she found it hidden in the back of Nessa's wardrobe, but it was nothing compared to the plumage she saw here displayed.
"Eh there, me beauty! Might ye care to dance?" inquired a poor imitation of Henry the Eighth at her elbow.
Abruptly, she remembered her sister's objections when Nessa had first mentioned this masquerade to her, about cits and other vulgar sorts attending. In her excitement and determination to attend she'd shrugged it off, but now the evidence was before her.
"Ah, not just yet, thank you," she replied nervously, taking a step away from the man, who reeked of spirits. Somehow, she hadn't really thought about what she'd do at the masquerade. She'd focused all her energies on simply getting here.
The man stepped closer. "'Ere now, you're not refusing to dance with yer monarch, are ye?" he prodded with a leer. "Royal privilege and all that."
Nessa swallowed. "No, it's not that. It's only—"
"She has a prior obligation, to confess her sins," interrupted a tall, brown-robed monk. "Even Your Majesty must admit to the superior claims of the Church in such matters." The monk's accent was cultured, reassuring Nessa that this, at least, was a man of her own class.
The drunkard appeared disposed to argue, but a tilt of the monk's head and an ominous glitter of brilliant blue eyes from behind his mask dissuaded him. Muttering something about more wine, King Henry moved away.
"Thank you, sir," said Nessa, relieved. "He really was becoming most persistent."
"One can hardly blame him." The monk looked her over with a most unclerical gleam in his eye. "What do you here alone? Or is your protector busy procuring you a glass of iced champagne?"
"My—?" Nessa glanced down at her costume again and flushed. Perhaps it was a trifle too realistic. "No, I assure you I am here alone—but I do not intend to stay long. No more than an hour."
The monk smiled, and Nessa realized how very handsome he was, even with a mask obscuring much of his face. "Then pray, allow me to act as your escort for the brief time you mean to grace this gathering with your presence."
Nessa frowned, wondering if perhaps she had tumbled from the frying pan into the fire. "I, ah—"
"Surely you cannot feel less than safe with a man of the cloth?" he prompted. "Besides, our costumes complement each other so well."
That forced a chuckle from Nessa, making her instantly more comfortable. Surely a man with a sense of humor could not be too evil. Though why she should think that, she did not know. Neither her father nor her husband had ever shown the slightest hint of whimsy, and both had been regarded by the world as the most upright and estimable of men.
"Very well, Friar, I place myself under the protection of the Church for the present."
The tall, handsome monk took Nessa on a tour of the rooms, pointing out their shortcomings. "Makes one wonder what everyone sees in the place, doesn't it?" he asked. "But during the Season, ladies have been known to pine away or even leave Town in disgrace for being denied admittance to Almack's of a Wednesday night."
"I take it, then, that you are a regular attendee yourself, Friar?" asked Nessa, hoping to discover a bit more about him.
"Me? Hardly!" His laugh was almost a snort. "Not that I've attempted it, of course, especially since— Ah, here comes a tray of champagne! Would you care for some, milady?"
Nessa wondered what he'd been about to say. "No, thank you. Is there lemonade, perhaps?" She suspected her judgment was impaired enough this evening without adding spirits to the mix.
The monk spoke to the servant, who returned in a moment with the required beverage. With a flourish, he presented it to her. "In my present guise, I suppose I dare not request a kiss in return for such gallantry. But allow me to tell you your eyes are most haunting, even through that remarkable mask."
"You flatter me, sir." More than ever, Nessa suspected her escort's costume was decidedly at odds with the man underneath. He might be the greatest rake in all London, for aught she knew. She cast about for some way to discover his name—not that it was likely to mean anything to her, as unfamiliar as she was with London Society.
Apparently she was not alone in her curiosity. "Since you do not intend to remain for the unmasking at midnight, might I know the name of the lady I have taken under my protection?"
Though he was but mimicking her earlier words, his phrasing still caused Nessa a thrill of alarm. Surely he did not truly believe her to be as she dressed tonight, a woman of easy virtue? Considering what her life had been until now, the idea was both outrageous and highly amusing. More than ever, she knew she must guard her identity at all costs.
"You may call me Monique," she informed him. It was a name she'd always liked, and sufficiently French to fi
t her present role.
His well-shaped lips curved into a smile. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips—then cut off such thoughts, shocked at herself. Clearly, she was taking her masquerade role far too seriously!
"Might I request this dance, Monique?" A waltz was just beginning.
"First might I know your name, Friar?" she asked boldly.
"In return for the dance, you may call me Brother Eligius," he said loftily, taking her hand to lead her to the floor.
Nessa hung back. "One might ask what it is you are worthy of, Brother Eligius."
"Ah, a lady who knows her Latin! Worthy of this dance, of course—and anything else you might see fit to bestow upon me," he added with a lascivious wink. She might have been alarmed were it not clear he was teasing—and if his words didn't send her thoughts down most improper channels.
She stood her ground. "I see. Perhaps I shall bestow the next dance upon you, then. This one is nearly over." That was not quite true, but she could not bring herself to admit that she had never learned to waltz. Given her parents', and later her husband's, views on the dance, she had never even dared to ask.
To her relief, the monk did not press the issue, but stood trading quips with her about both of their pseudonyms until the orchestra struck up a country dance. The dance was lively, allowing little opportunity for conversation, and by its conclusion Nessa's hour was nearly up.
The two of them had drawn many curious stares, and as they left the dance floor a lanky man dressed as a harlequin approached them.
"What a sight this is!" he exclaimed. "Have you persuaded your partner to join you in a life of virtue, J—er, Friar?" A quick motion by the monk had prevented him from uttering the monk's name, to Nessa's frustration.
"Indeed, for her I believe it won't be so much of a stretch, despite appearances," he replied, making her wonder how on earth he had guessed that. "Am I not right, milady Monique?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not," she replied, stung that her attempt to throw off propriety had been such a failure. With sudden recklessness, she swooped up onto her tiptoes to plant a swift kiss square on the monk's mouth. Then, more shocked at her own boldness than he could possibly be, she turned quickly away.
"I really must be going, now," she said breathlessly, not meeting his eye. "I wish you success in your conversions, Brother Eligius." Before he could respond or even react, Nessa fled the scene of the most daring thing she'd ever done in her whole sheltered life.
The hackney was waiting when she stepped outdoors, and as she rode home, Nessa's brief elation ebbed. She should be pleased, she knew, that there was virtually no chance that she would ever again encounter the mysterious monk, as he'd likely identify her if she did. But somehow that reflection brought less than complete satisfaction.
Arriving back at her sister's, she again paid the driver and reentered the house as quietly as she'd left it. Her brief taste of freedom was over, with none the wiser.
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Author's Note
The Runaway Heiress is the second of my "Seven Saints Hunt Club" series of Regency-set historical romances. Like my "Saint of Seven Dials" series, it is set in the same "world" as my traditional Regencies and Scandalous Virtue, with a few of the same (fictional) peripheral characters. Though each of my books stands alone, complete in itself, some readers prefer to read them in order. My Regency historicals, in order, are listed below.
I originally intended to write a fifth "Saint" book, with Harry Thatcher as the hero, back in my Avon days, as well as more "Hunt Club" books, beginning with Violet's story. Those ideas were vetoed by my editor at the time but once I began putting up my backlist independently, I finally did write Harry’s book (Gallant Scoundrel) and plan to give Violet her much-delayed story, as well.
With all of my Regency historicals, I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to stretch my wings beyond the rather strict boundaries of the traditional Regency, while still preserving the feel and accuracy of the time period. For these reissues, I have taken the opportunity to clean up a few small errors of fact and proofing and have restored my originally planned titles to two of them. I am delighted to again share my stories with you in this new format.
If you enjoyed The Runaway Heiress, I hope you will consider leaving a review wherever you buy or talk about books to let other like-minded readers know they might enjoy it, too.
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For two FREE short stories (including a prequel to my Saint series) and the latest news about my books, please subscribe to my newsletter (click here) You can also visit brendahiatt.com and connect with me on Facebook or Twitter.
Also by Benda Hiatt
Historical romance
The Saint of Seven Dials Series
Scandalous Virtue
An overprotected widow ready to kick up her heels meets a notorious rake trying to reform. Each sees the other as a shortcut to change…until the sparks fly! A sparkling prequel to The Saint of Seven Dials series.
Rogue’s Honor
A runaway duke’s daughter is thrown into the arms of that legendary Regency Robin Hood, the Saint of Seven Dials. Love is the last thing either needs, but when was love ever wise?
Noble Deceptions
An American heiress and a duke's son are forced into a marriage neither wanted. Can unexpected passion turn to love while both hide secret identities? Trusting each other could lead to a lifetime of happiness—or to disaster.
Innocent Passions
A former spy becomes the next Saint of Seven Dials to hunt down a deadly traitor but is distracted by a studious and opinionated young lady. Is she the innocent bluestocking she seems, or the very traitor he’s been seeking? And which is in more danger—his heart or his life?
Saintly Sins
A penniless beauty assumes the identity of the Saint of Seven Dials to save her young brother from the streets. A nobleman, smitten and intrigued by the lovely newcomer, digs beneath the surface only to discover a secret that could ruin them both. But perhaps love is worth the risk...
(The above four books are also available in a value-priced boxed set, The Saint of Seven Dials Collector's Edition.)
Gallant Scoundrel
What secret in Harry’s past changed a celebrated war hero into a drunken wastrel? Is he already beyond hope, or can becoming the next Saint of Seven Dials–and the love of the right woman–transform him back into the man he always had the potential to become?
The Seven Saints Hunt Club Series
Tessa’s Touch
With a word and a touch, Tessa can tame the most unbroken beasts. But when handsome Lord Anthony gallops into her life, she finds herself faced with a greater challenge than any horse ever posed!
The Runaway Heiress
Dina’s inheritance will go to her wastrel brother unless she marries—quickly! While attempting an elopement, she rescues a naïve young lady from a fortune hunter. When the young lady’s grateful, eligible brother asks Dina to name her reward, she demands marriage. Can the spirit of Christmas turn this marriage of inconvenience into a love match?
Romantic historical fiction
Ship of Dreams Half a century before Titanic…
Set amid the true events of the final, ill-fated voyage of the SS Central America, a starched-up businessman and a desperate adventuress thrown together by circumstances find true love, only to have it threatened by harrowing events.
Traditional Regency Romance
Gabriella - A lost wager obliges a Duke to bring a pretty nobody into fashion for the London Season. Irksome duty turns into something quite different as he falls under the spell of his protege's innocent charm. Gabriella would rather help run her father's veterinary practice than fit into fashionable society but the more time she spends with the dashing Duke, the more conflicted she is. Could this be love?
The Cygnet - A young lady would rather write poetry than make her London debut until she meets a handsome marquis
and Cupid's arrow strikes. She transforms herself to attract him, only to learn he apparently has an aversion to her first love, poetry! Is all lost? (Originally published as The Ugly Duckling.)
Lord Dearborn's Destiny - After a fortuneteller prophesies a statuesque blonde as his perfect match, a skeptical Lord Dearborn meets just such a woman. Blinded by her beauty, he barely notices her cousin, a lively, witty brunette. Though he has more in common with the petite and impoverished Ellie than the divine Miss Rosalind, she is not in his style at all. Will his eyes be opened in time to his true Destiny?
Daring Deception - The new Earl of Seabrooke needs a fortune—fast! When a young buck cannot pay his losses at the table and offers his sister instead, Seabrooke agrees to wed her sight unseen. Appalled by her brother's bargain, Miss Chesterton infiltrates Lord Seabrooke's household as a servant to prove him a fortune hunter. But even as she gathers evidence, she finds herself losing her heart to the handsome Earl.
Christmas Promises (novella) - Lord Vandover regrets his promise to wed by Christmas until he meets lovely Miss Holly Paxton. Holly finds the handsome Marquess so serious she makes a promise, too: to bring joy and laughter into his life. A heartwarming courtship prequel to Christmas Bride.
Christmas Bride - Holly was so looking forward to Christmas! Not only is it her birthday, it's her first wedding anniversary. But now her husband Hunt, the Marquess of Vandover, is in jail, and it's all Holly's fault. Her attempt to help him advance his diplomatic career went terribly wrong and now her husband stands accused of treason. Somehow, she must save Hunt—and their marriage—and Christmas!
Azalea - After an arranged marriage, Azalea's new husband immediately sails back to England, but she is already in love. When he's lost at sea, she's devastated. Six years later, Azalea sails to England herself and learns that her husband is alive but has no memory of her or their marriage. Worse, he is betrothed! Can Azalea force Christian to remember the truth before he breaks her heart again?