A Noble Masquerade

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  He pulled at the ruffles near his wrist. One of the problems with having a valet who was more friend than servant was that sometimes they took the opportunity to play elaborate practical jokes. Jeffreys had presented the brocade monstrosity with a grin stretched across his pointy face.

  He could try Griffith’s tactic of spilling food all over himself to create more work, but Jeffreys would probably do the same thing Ryland had done—throw the shirt away and tell his employer that he was rich enough to buy a new one.

  Stained or not, the rag bin was certainly where this ensemble was going. He had never been so hot, itchy, and uncomfortable in his life, and he had been in many uncomfortable situations.

  The first strains of a familiar tune reached his ears. He had arranged for a waltz to be played next. It would allow him the maximum amount of time with her as a somewhat captive audience. The time would be necessary to move her past the awkwardness of the letters before revealing the deeper deception of his also being Marlow. Ryland left his hiding place and made his way to Miranda’s side.

  “My lady?”

  She looked at him, hesitating for several heartbeats before placing her hand in his. “It’s a waltz.”

  “So it is.” He watched her, knew the exact moment when she decided to throw caution to the wind and get to know him better.

  She felt perfect in his arms. He led her around the floor twice before he remembered that he had things he wanted to say to her. There had been moments of physical closeness during their journey through the English countryside, but this was different. Here, in this moment, she was completely focused on him. Her hand in his was not because she needed steady footing but because she wanted to be with him. The knowledge meant more to him than he thought it would.

  Dragging his focus from the way her skirt swept around his legs was difficult, but he needed to move the conversation along to accomplish his plan.

  Miranda had other intentions. “Why didn’t you find me earlier?”

  The question was innocent and reasonable. Given what he knew from her letters—and from weeks spent under the same roof—he realized what she was really asking was why he had danced with Georgina first.

  “I wanted to get to know you first.”

  Her pink lips turned down into a frown. He wished he could slide her mask up her face. She looked adorable when she was confused.

  “But you weren’t talking to me.”

  “No, but I was learning quite a bit about you. As I mentioned, you have quite a reputation. Not to worry, it’s not a bad one.”

  “Oh.”

  They swirled around the corner of the dance floor, and Ryland pulled her the slightest bit closer. Her hair smelled like lemons. The deep conversation he’d envisioned would have to wait. His mere existence was giving her enough to deal with in one evening.

  “Would you like to know what that reputation is?” Ryland asked.

  “I . . . I suppose it would be best to know what others think of me.”

  He tilted his head to whisper in her ear. “You are exquisite.”

  Shivers passed through her shoulders and arms and into his own appendages. He continued whispering, using other couples to shield them from the most curious of onlookers. “It’s true. They say you are exquisite, and I must agree with them.”

  “Your Grace, it is really quite unfair of you to deceive me this way.”

  “Oh, but I’m not. They also say you are determined to remain unwed. I know this to be untrue, but it is certainly in my best interests to let them think it is.”

  Ryland attuned all his senses into reading her reaction to that sentence. He had all but declared himself to be courting her. How would she react?

  She missed a step.

  He tightened his arms to keep her from tripping. For a brief moment she was trapped to his side. As pleasurable as the experience was, the couples waltzing around them could only hide so much. In the next step he maneuvered her a more proper distance away.

  During his years in France he had slipped in and out of many balls and parties, coaxing secrets from and relaying messages to various attendees. It had kept his dancing skills sharp, particularly when it came to waltzing. While the ton was still unsure about it, the French had embraced it.

  “May I call upon you tomorrow?”

  Her gaze was glued to his. What did she see? Could she recognize him? He had forgotten to continue disguising his voice. It wasn’t like him to forget anything about a disguise.

  “I would like that.” Her smile was shy, but it was beautiful.

  They didn’t speak for the rest of the dance. After bowing to her and escorting her back to the edge of the floor, Ryland slipped out of the party via the back garden.

  Tomorrow he would call on her and everything would be revealed.

  Tonight she had been awestruck by him. Tomorrow she was bound to be spitting mad. He climbed into the carriage he had waiting in the alley and made himself comfortable. He had more plotting to do.

  Chapter 18

  “The Duke of Marshington will be coming by today.”

  Miranda’s needle slipped, jabbing her in the finger. She restrained the flinch and the urge to suck on her injured finger. Hearing her sister say the words that had been circling through her own mind all morning was more shocking than the missed stitch. How did Georgina know that he intended to call?

  “Darling, it was a masquerade.” Mother inspected Georgina’s hair and dress, giving a slight nod of approval. Not a blemish could be allowed on their first “at home” day since returning to London. “There are always one or two gentlemen claiming to be the esoteric duke at these things.”

  Miranda could have informed them that he was indeed the real Duke of Marshington, but then she would have to admit to corresponding with him, and that was certainly not going to happen.

  “He had the ring, Mother.” Georgina adjusted her skirts as she made herself comfortable on the white-and-gold settee.

  This was the most formal of all the drawing rooms in Hawthorne House. Decorated during Miranda’s second Season, it was done entirely in gold and white. Fortunately, by then she had convinced her mother to let her build her wardrobe with cream and the occasional light pink or green. The idea of wearing white while sitting on a white couch in front of white-on-white silk wall coverings had been enough to make her shudder. Georgina didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

  “The ring? I suppose that does make a difference.” Mother chose a gold brocade armchair. She settled into it with her own needlework. “Did you bring anything to occupy yourself between callers this morning?”

  Georgina arched her eyebrows at her mother. “I don’t think there will be any need. Several people mentioned calling on me today. We shall find ourselves quite busy. Especially when word goes around that the Duke of Marshington has come out of his self-imposed exile for me.”

  Miranda snorted.

  Her mother glared at her.

  She considered shrugging. It was what she truly wanted to do. In the end, lady lessons won out and she murmured a quiet, “Pardon me.”

  “You think otherwise, dear sister?”

  It was time to remind Georgina that while her older sister wasn’t as popular, she was not quite on the shelf yet. “Has it not occurred to you, dear sister, that maybe he wants to call on me today? You are not the only eligible lady in this house.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hurt your feelings. That was never my intention. But don’t you think if you were the enticement he would have come back sometime in the last three years?”

  A sudden urge to jam her embroidery needle through her sister’s perfect nose gripped her. The mental image was satisfying enough, so she stayed in her seat.

  “Georgina, that is uncalled for. A lady never mentions another’s unwed status, particularly if they have been socializing for a while. And Miranda, a lady never emits noises more suited to a pig.” Mother peeked up from her needlework to spear both of her daughters with her sharp green gaze. Her message
was clear. The visits today would set the tone for the entire Season, and she was not going to allow anything untoward to happen.

  “Yes, Mother,” Miranda said.

  Georgina murmured her own agreement.

  Ten minutes later Gibson, the butler, announced the first caller.

  He was a young gentleman Miranda remembered meeting the year before. She thought he might be a second son, which she knew would hold no appeal to her younger sister. Georgina’s rejection could take many forms and Miranda felt sorry for the poor man.

  “The flowers are beautiful Mr. Sherbourne. Were you aware that my sister, Lady Miranda, adores carnations?” Georgina’s face was the picture of angelic innocence. Her eyes were wide enough to disguise their slight exotic tilt, and her smile was soft and natural.

  Miranda wasn’t fooled for a moment—bitterness rose up her throat to coat her tongue as her sister’s game became clear. Anyone she didn’t want was going to be aimed in Miranda’s direction. She had to remind herself repeatedly that Mr. Sherbourne wasn’t at fault in this little play.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Mr. Sherbourne extended the bouquet to Miranda. “A lady should always have a bouquet of her favorite flowers. Please accept these, Lady Miranda.”

  “Of course. I am honored that you thought of me.” Miranda almost choked on the words. The truth was she had never been particularly fond of carnations. She much preferred tulips or lilies.

  They talked for a few minutes, Georgina constantly drawing the conversation back to Miranda. The skill would truly have been impressive if she had been helping Miranda land a man she actually wanted. By the time Mr. Sherbourne left he probably believed he’d arrived to see Miranda instead of Georgina.

  And so the morning progressed. Wealthy, attractive men with lofty titles or at least the prospect of a lofty title were met with coy smiles and soft laughter while Miranda was all but ignored. Everyone else was shuffled off as Georgina played the adoring younger sister.

  A few women stopped by to see Miranda, though more came to visit with her mother. Georgina’s friends were all having their own at homes or resting up for the night’s festivities. Few of them had been allowed to attend last night’s masquerade.

  The visitors were a steady stream through the drawing room. No one stayed overly long and everyone mentioned how lovely Georgina looked in her white embroidered muslin. Miranda wasn’t having a grand time, but it was not quite as bad as she’d feared.

  Then Gibson announced the Earl of Ashcombe.

  One glance at Georgina’s face revealed her delight. The earl was considered a decent catch. He was quite handsome, and his family had ample funds. The burn of bile rose in Miranda’s throat. She could not sit and visit with that man and maintain the ladylike civility her mother insisted upon.

  She rose to slip from the room through the side door that led into the dining room, but she wasn’t fast enough. The earl entered, his bright green coat catching the corner of her vision, and she couldn’t stop herself from stealing a better glance. By design, she had avoided him for the past two years—an impressive achievement considering the closeness of London’s high society.

  He was still breathtakingly handsome. He was a bit taller than Miranda, which would put him a good head over Georgina. His carriage was perfect, his smile held just the right level of enthusiasm. His eyes met Miranda’s across the room and he winked.

  The man winked.

  She darted through the door, hoping her mother would remember what he had done to Miranda during her first Season. Then she would understand why Miranda had fled and she would do everything in her power to move him along before he could shatter the innocent illusions of another Hawthorne sister.

  Ryland sat in the middle of Grosvenor Square, watching the callers coming and going from Hawthorne House. Colin sat next to him, rolling a plucked blade of grass through his fingers.

  “Think any of them are here to visit her?” Colin twisted the blade of grass into a circle and tried to toss it around a nearby branch.

  “Only the smart ones.”

  “So none, then.”

  Ryland laughed at his friend’s assessment of the parade of Quality. While he agreed with the sentiment for many people, there were a few men that had better heads on their shoulders. Of course, even a level head could be turned by a woman of Georgina’s beauty. Had Ryland not witnessed her shallowness while working at Riverton, he would have been a bit awed as well.

  Colin stood. “This isn’t a campaign, chap. We either go in or we don’t.”

  Ryland hated to admit that his friend was right. He couldn’t treat this courtship like a mission. He was officially retired. As hard as it had been, he’d turned over all of his findings on Lambert and the still-open investigation. It was time for him to move on and let someone else protect the country.

  The butler opened the door before they even had a chance to knock. Colin immediately extended his calling card. Ryland had actually forgotten about the practice of presenting cards with one’s name on it. Leaving a paper announcing your presence wasn’t high on a spy’s priority list.

  He stuck his hand in his coat pocket and removed a stack of parchment rectangles. Jeffreys had not forgotten. Ryland figured that made up, at least partially, for the atrocious outfit the night before. He held his card out to the butler.

  Where Colin’s had gotten him nothing more than a quizzical stare, Ryland’s card got them immediately issued into the front hall. It occurred to Ryland how easily someone could fake being him. He ran his thumb over the heavy signet ring on his right hand. It had been in the family for generations and was actually the only personal effect he had carried with him on his travels. Dangerous, yes, but he couldn’t risk his cousin finding it. It was the only proof he’d had when communicating with his managers.

  “If you will wait here, I will announce your presence.”

  “Hold, man,” Ryland said softly. “Who all is in the drawing room?”

  “Lady Blackstone and Lady Georgina, sir.”

  Ryland clapped a hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Enjoy their company, my good man. I’ve business with Griffith to take care of first.”

  Colin’s eyes narrowed.

  Ryland headed down the corridor before his friend could protest the arrangement. He knew where the study was, having spent time in the house as a boy. He had come with Griffith to town on a school holiday. Griffith’s uncle had traveled with them. None of the ladies in the family had been present.

  Trusting that Griffith would be hiding from the horde of callers, he knocked softly at the door. Instead of hearing a call to enter, he saw the door swing open to reveal Trent, Griffith’s younger brother.

  “Marsh! Good to see you without the mask on. I couldn’t believe it when you told me who you were last night.” Trent had been a few years behind Griffith and Ryland in school, but they had gotten to know each other some before Ryland’s sudden retreat from the country.

  “It is good to see you as well, Trent. Is Griffith within?”

  “Of course. My sister Miranda is as well. Said she couldn’t stomach the simpering anymore and needed a respite.” Trent pushed the door the rest of the way open to allow Ryland to enter.

  His hopes for arranging a private interlude with Miranda crumpled. The scene when he entered that study was not going to be pretty. It was going to take Miranda a moment or two, but she would be able to put all of his identities together.

  And then she was going to get angry. Well, he assumed she was going to be angry. Women tended to go a bit queer in the attic about things like this.

  Staying in the corridor would solve nothing, though. The last thing he needed was for her to encounter him there. At least the study provided a modicum of privacy.

  Time slowed to a crawl. Everyone seemed to move through water.

  The first thing he noticed was Miranda’s shy but excited expression. That she had been looking forward to seeing him again gave him courage. He heard Griffith moving around, maki
ng introductions, saying some nonsense about the party the night before. Miranda’s face filled his vision. As her eyes met his, he saw the brows lower in confusion. He could almost hear her thinking.

  She would be trying to explain away what her eyes were telling her.

  Every conceivable alternative would be flittering through her mind.

  Finally she would settle on the fact that the only option, no matter how ridiculous, had to be true. And that option did not put Ryland in a very favorable light.

  As understanding worked its way into her expression, he considered her possible reactions. He thought she might yell. It wasn’t the ladylike thing to do, but at her core Miranda was a bit too vibrant for a traditional lady. In moments of heightened emotion he was sure those emotional tendencies would escape. Leaving the room was another option for her. It was the exquisitely rude option for a lady to cut a man in that fashion though. Of course, the ultimate in ladylike behavior would have her properly greeting him and then making excuses about seeing to refreshments.

  He didn’t think that third option a very likely one.

  The journey across the study carpet took forever. Did time seem slower to anyone else? “Lady Miranda,” he said, executing a slight bow.

  Miranda’s fist connected with his nose.

  Chapter 19

  Miranda shook her hand out. Had she really just hit a man? The sting in her knuckles and the pain in her wrist indicated she had. So did the shocked and angry look on her eldest brother’s face.

  “That was an option I didn’t consider,” Ryland murmured. He brought a hand to his nose, a wry smile twisting his lips as his gaze remained fixed on her face.

  She grunted in irritation. If she was going to hit someone, couldn’t she at least have knocked him over?

  Poorly suppressed laughter sputtered through Trent’s lips, while Griffith rushed forward, berating his sister. “What were you thinking, Miranda? Marsh is a guest in our home.”