A Heart's Masquerade

by Deborah Simmons

  The thought of those bygone days made Cat think longingly of dear Budd. At first, she sat down to pen a letter to him, but when she received a short message from her husband claiming he would be delayed in London even longer, she had another notion.

  Turning over the single page of vellum that constituted her husband's missive, Cat frowned in disappointment. Her melancholy turned to annoyance as she waved the sheet back and forth. Well, she did not intent to cool her heels waiting for Ransom to pay a visit. She would go visiting herself.

  Holding the edge of the letter to her cheek, Cat smiled. Now that she was married, she could travel without questions, and as a duchess, she had vast resources at her fingertips. Why remain here, feeling abandoned and out of her element when she could see her oldest and dearest companion?

  She soon discovered that the smooth workings of Ransom's staff extended to making travel arrangements as her trunk was packed and preparations were made for her departure the following morning. Cat chose the young maid who had been attending her, Emily, to travel with her. The head coachman and an assistant would round out the party, for Cat refused the suggested outriders.

  Blissfully unaware of the usual size of a duchess's entourage and the appropriate complement of trunks, Cat settled back in the elaborate coach, looking forward to a familiar face. And no matter what Budd’s situation, she was determined to persuade him to return with her to Worcester. He could even bring his lady friend along, she thought with a smile as she leaned back into the plush cushions.

  As the miles went by, Cat was thankful for the well-sprung conveyance and her choice of company. A tiny sprite, Emily was even more talkative than Amelia and kept up a steady stream of chatter during the long journey. And Cat's new status assured them the best of rooms and service from the inns along the way.

  And yet, Cat decided that sailing was much preferable to overland travel, for although the coach was the epitome of luxury, it was still a confining vehicle. Longing to stretch her legs for more than a few minutes at a time, she was heartily glad when they arrived in Coxley.

  A flurry of activity greeted her arrival, and Cat knew that tongues were already wagging when the elegant coach stopped in front of the inn. Mr. Tyber rushed out to meet the elegant coach and was visibly surprised at its occupant.

  "Miss Amberly! Where have you been keeping yourself? And what's this?" he asked, squinting at the ducal crest emblazoned on the side of the conveyance.

  "It is my husband's coat of arms, Mr. Tyber," Cat said, letting him escort her back inside his establishment, where the best room was readied for her.

  She turned aside any questions about her old home. She had no idea where Edward was, but she was no longer a scared, defenseless girl, alone in the world but for his guardianship. She was a powerful peer's wife, with resources at her beck and call, as well as the ability to handle a variety of weapons, including the knife she always kept close.

  When she finally escaped the kindly, but inquisitive innkeeper, Cat made her way to the home of Budd's lady friend. Dismissing her horrified maid, Cat went to the door alone. After several knocks, it was opened by a buxom female with the kind of flaming red hair Cat had only seen on certain females in the kind of establishments frequented by pirates and privateers.

  "Mrs. Bottoms?" Cat asked.

  The woman's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

  "I'm a friend of Budd's," Cat said, smiling.

  At the mention of the old sailor's name, the suspicion left the woman's face, to be replaced by an expression Cat found equally disquieting. But she gestured for Cat to enter, so Cat stepped into a narrow room.

  "I'm Mrs. Bottoms," the redhead said, motioning for Cat to take a seat at a small table. "So you're the little lady," she said, eyeing Cat from head to toe. "Some wine?"

  "No, thank you," Cat said. "Is he here? I am most anxious to see him."

  "No, he's not here, miss," the woman said, as if hedging. "Say, he said you were always a right one, and you look like you're doing nicely for yourself. Are you?"

  "Where is he? Is he ill? In prison?" Cat's voice remained even, but her hands clenched together in her lap.

  "No," Mrs. Bottoms said. With a frown, she heaved a sigh of resignation. "Well, I suppose you might as well know sooner as later. The man passed on less than a fortnight ago," she announced matter-of-factly.

  When Cat gasped in shock, Mrs. Bottom's shook her head. "There was nothing anyone could do for him. It was the consumption, plain and simple." Mrs. Bottoms's steady gaze showed that she had seen too much life and death.

  Although Mrs. Bottoms appeared to be little affected, Cat was so stunned that she could only stare blindly at the water marks on the wall, unable to move or speak. The redhead waited expectantly, then clucked her tongue and rose from her chair, returning to push a none-too-clean glass toward her guest.

  "Here, drink up, miss," she said, giving Cat a nudge. Obediently, Cat closed her fingers around the glass and brought it to her lips. The wine, sweet and potent, made her blink.

  "There now, that'll get you going, won't it?" Mrs. Bottoms asked.

  When Cat did not reply, Mrs. Bottoms rose to her feet. "You all right? I don't want any trouble, miss. Come on outside with you. Let's get you some air," she said, helping Cat to the door, as though eager to be rid of her.

  On the threshold, Cat finally remember herself. Groping in her reticule, she pressed some money into the woman's hand.

  "Why, thank you, miss! I knew you was a decent sort. If I can do anything for you, why you just stop round any time." Tucking the money into her ample bosom, she shut the door, leaving Cat standing alone on the steps.

  Cat made her way back to the inn in a daze, ignoring Emily's looks of concern, and went directly to her room. There she remained well into the evening hours, an untouched tray of food beside her, as she alternately watched the activity on the street below and brooded on Budd's death.

  Somehow, Cat thought that she should have been able to prevent his passing. And if not, at least he should have been taken care of in his illness. She should have seen to it.

  Cat spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning on the narrow bed, while going over what she could have done differently. If only she had taken him with her when she left England, she thought miserably, although she knew that Budd never would have approved of her scheme to join a sailing crew.

  Morning found her puffy-eyed, and although she finally roused herself after luncheon, she was still pale and listless. She stood by the window, staring unseeing at the road below while her trunk was taken from the room and Emily bustled about, her chatter unheard.

  "Your grace, all is ready," the maid said.

  "You go ahead, Emily. I'll be along in a moment," Cat said. With one final look at the inn she never expected to visit again, she managed to corner Jenny and give her a little extra something, as well as even more for Jim, who had inadvertently provided her means to escape when she was last here.

  "Miss Amberly - um, beg pardon - your grace," Jenny said, flushing. "We just wanted to congratulate you on your marriage, and may I say that we were all fair swooning when your husband came through."

  "Ransom - er, the duke was here?" Cat asked. Why would business bring him to this area - unless that business was with Edward?

  "Oh, yes," Jenny said, with a nod. "Just a few days ago, and he was so handsome and not a bit high in the instep like some of his sort, if you know what I mean." She flushed again.

  "Did he stay long?" Cat asked.

  "No, your grace," Jenny said. "He was off to the manor."

  Cat's heart lurched at the words Jenny spoke so casually. Had Ransom seen Edward and left again, or was he still at Wellshire? Although Cat no longer thought her cousin as fearsome as she had when she was at his mercy, he was not above some trickery - like shooting a man in the back.

  Thanking Jenny, she hurried to the coach, directing the coachman not to Worcester, but to Wellshire. Across from her, Emily looked concerned, but Cat could wa
ste no energy on the maid. She was too busy praying fervently that her husband still lived.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Ransom was on someone else's mind, too. Still smarting over the cavalier treatment he'd received at the Blue Ruin, Edward had slunk home to Wellshire to lick his wounds and try to bleed the estate for more money.

  The life of power and ease Edward had envisioned acquiring with the title had turned out rather differently than he expected. He had gained no influence, and it seemed that, of late, he garnered little respect.

  The money he had wanted - needed - so desperately brought him no peace, for the pleasures it bought dulled over time. And now he owed Devlin something for nothing.

  Edward blamed the girl. Why all the sudden interest in her, anyway?

  He had barely given her a thought until Devlin had forced him to recall her existence. Edward winced at the memory of Devlin's contempt, blaming the chit. If not for her, he might never had been dragged into Devlin's presence again.

  As if that ordeal had not been enough, then the mysterious duke had descended upon him, threatening him as though he were nobody. It was all too much, and he turned to the bottle, depleting the cellars at Wellshire before passing out on a couch in drawing room.

  The limited staff could only shake their heads at the state of the household. The housemaid ventured out to clean in the morning, but gave the drawing room a wide berth after discreetly closing its doors. They had discovered that the best way to deal with their new master was to keep out of his way.

  "Now, what is it?" asked the butler with a groan, upon hearing the arrival of a coach. It was a breach of etiquette that never would have happened before Edward's tenure.

  "Why, it's Cat, sir," squealed a maid at the sight of a familiar figure alighting from an elegant equipage.

  With a wide smile on his face, the butler held the door open as word spread with amazing speed that Catherine was home and stepping out of a fancy vehicle with a huge golden crest.

  And she swept through the entrance to her old home with far more elegance and style than she had ever exhibited before her departure. But once inside, Cat nearly broke down at the sight of every member of the small staff lined up inside to greet her.

  "Welcome home, Miss Catherine," the butler intoned, and Cat's eyes misted over as she held out her gloved hand and spoke to each one in turn.

  Unfortunately, the reunion was interrupted by the arrival of Edward, stumbling out of the drawing room. "What the devil?" he shouted.

  For a long moment he stared at Cat, as though unable to recognize the poised, well-dressed woman commanding the hall as the young girl he had tried to murder. Then he paled.

  "Get back to your duties," he ordered. But his words came out in a mumble, and few rushed to obey him. The butler appeared not to have heard at all and remained stiffly at the entrance as if to watch over Cat.

  "Cousin," Cat said softly, surprising herself with her cool tone. "Would you care to speak privately?"

  Edward nodded, scowling, and the two moved into the drawing room, where Cat wrinkled her nose at the odors of refuse, unwashed male, and spilled wine. It looked as though her cousin had caroused well into the morning hours, and yet he still seemed to harbor a thirst.

  Walking to a side table where a decanter of sherry stood, he poured himself a liberal portion. He took a healthy swig and then turned to face her.

  "Well, well." He practically spat the words. "If it isn't little Catherine, all grown up, and dressed up. And jumped up, too."

  Cat regarded her cousin closely. His handsome face was marred by days of dark stubble, and the shirt, hanging out of his breeches, could only be described as slept in. He certainly did not look capable of besting anyone, let alone Ransom.

  "Where is my husband?" Cat asked.

  "What?" Edward appeared so puzzled by the question that Cat allowed herself to savor a small measure of relief before questioning him further.

  "Don't fence with me, Edward," she said. "I know he was here. When did he leave, and where did he go?"

  Edward shrugged. "How should I know? Perhaps you should keep a tighter rein on him. Or is he already bored with your... charms?"

  Cat did not blink at the taunt. "Shall I be blunt, Edward? So far I have kept your past misdeeds quiet, but that situation can easily change," she warned. "Prove to me that he left in good health, and I will not send for the authorities."

  For a moment Edward stared at her blankly, as though unable to believe she was threatening him. "You little bitch," he snarled, and his arm shot out to grasp hers in a deadly grip, pulling her toward him.

  But the changes Edward had noted in his cousin were more than superficial. Since their last meeting Cat had been through battles and storms, brawled with sailors, escaped from a pirate ship, and cheated death more than once. And she had faced opponents who made him look like the sneaky little weakling he was.

  With a grunt, she slammed her foot down on his, then raised her knee where she knew it would do the most damage. Edward fell back against the side table with a cry, while Cat dusted herself off and walked to the door.

  "I'll kill you!" Edward shouted. Roused from his lethargy, he stumbled after her, but the door was flung open, stopping him in his tracks.

  For a moment, Cat thought that the poor butler was rushing to her aid, but he was only announcing the arrival of a man who walked right past him. Small and rotund, with dark eyes and a dark pointed beard, the fellow was a complete stranger, yet he entered as though he owned the place.

  Despite his girth, he moved smoothly and quickly, and Edward did not question his abrupt appearance. In fact, her cousin dismissed the butler with a curt order. When the servant lingered, as though loathe to leave Cat, another growl from Edward sent him scurrying away.

  Cat felt no unease as she turned to face the stranger, for she had proven herself able to handle Edward. And the butler was probably standing outside the door, ready to step in with a word from her.

  "Your grace! It is such a pleasure to meet you at last," the man said, and Cat caught a faint whiff of exotic spices. "You cannot imagine how anxious I have been to make your acquaintance."

  He motioned for her to take a seat, and Cat perched on the edge of the nearest chair, uncertain why he was acting as host in the house she had once called her own.

  "When my sources told me you were heading south, I did so hope that you would stop at your former home, for the baron here is an old friend of mine," the man said. He nodded toward Edward, but his expression was not one of warmth.

  For his part, Edward looked even paler than before as he sank onto a small couch, making Cat wonder just who would cause her cousin such dismay, perhaps even fear. And suddenly, she knew the answer. This man pretended politeness, but showed no deference to a baron or a duchess, and his seemingly bland exterior hid the menace beneath.

  It was Devlin.

  He must have caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes, for his thin lips tightened into a cruel smile. "I gather you have deduced my identity. How clever of you! But then, I knew you were gifted. I am Tremayne Devlin."

  His gaze never leaving hers, he spoke over his shoulder to her cousin. "Lock the door, Edward."

  "Just a precaution, my dear," he said to Cat. "I don't want you going anywhere. You see, I have plans for you."

  "Do you?" Cat asked. She did not point out that she had thwarted his previous plans for her.

  "Yes, I do," he said, the tone of his voice changing to a more threatening one. And the look he sent her made Cat suppress a shiver. She fought back a surge of alarm, for she needed to keep her wits about her.

  "I'm afraid your husband is pursuing me quite aggressively, and I need something to hold him up a bit - just until I can leave the vicinity. And holding you for ransom - no pun intended," he noted with a smirk, "should be just the thing."

  "And do you imagine that I'll sit still for that? That you can take me prisoner in my former home, filled with servants?" Cat asked, incredul
ous.

  "Oh, yes," Devlin said, pulling a small pistol from his coat. "Naturally, you may scream all you like, but by the time anyone should come up with the courage to disobey their master and break down the door, you will be dead."

  He smiled, a chilling turn of the lips. "You see, it is just a matter of time. The more you cooperate now, the longer you will live, though the chances of your ultimate survival are remote. You already know that Edward here longs for your demise," he said, with a nod in her cousin's direction.

  "I am not in the habit of indulging his whims, but your death will serve both as revenge upon Duprey and retribution for poor Richard, who gave up his life trying to end yours. So, my dear, which is it to be... now or later?"

  "Never," said a voice behind her, and Cat nearly jumped from her seat as she recognized her husband's rich tones. She turned to see him, tall and handsome and calm, as he stepped from behind the curtains covering the French doors. He, too, held a pistol, and it was pointed directly at Devlin.

  "Did you really think I had lost your trail from London?" Ransom asked coldly. "You've gone too far too often, and now it is over."

  Devlin's expression twisted with hatred, but he did not flinch. "Shoot me, if you like," he said, smirking. "But your dear wife will most certainly die, too." He spoke the words with complete conviction, but Cat could see he did not take her into account, dismissing her as a frightened female.

  And that was his mistake. His attention was focused solely upon Ransom, the loathing he felt for her husband seeming to fill the room. And while the two of them traded threats, Cat reached for her precious silver blade.

  It sang through the air with deadly accuracy to lodge in the fat flesh of Devlin's shoulder, but it did not stop him. He pulled the trigger, discharging the weapon at the very spot where Cat had been sitting.

  She had moved when she threw the knife, but the ball was still close enough to give her pause even as it cracked harmlessly into the now-empty chair. Then another shot rang out, and Devlin topped forward, his features altered by an uncharacteristic look of surprise.