A Noble Masquerade

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  “You think you spared me embarrassment? How do you think I felt when I realized I had been exchanging letters with the valet?” Miranda yelled in his face.

  Ryland settled back into the corner with a cocky little grin. She had the feeling he’d been trying to get an outburst out of her. “Angry.”

  Miranda sputtered. She gritted her teeth. “You are despicable.”

  “Am I now? What part makes me despicable? That I was so intrigued by you that I didn’t want to wait six months to speak with you? That I took the opportunity the letters provided to get to know you in a way we would never be allowed to do in a ballroom? Or is it the fact that I fooled you? Maybe you don’t like the fact that I served our country as a gatherer of information.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous.” Her body began to tremble. Even her toes felt shaky. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Why did you? Become a spy, I mean.”

  “It was almost an accident, really. School was a trial for me. The sitting still, studying words someone had written for the sole purpose of teaching a particular thing. When we got word that my cousin had been trapped in France when the war restarted, I took the excuse to leave Oxford.”

  “You went to rescue him?”

  Ryland nodded. “I found him trying to buy his way home with information—claiming he was the Duke of Marshington. It didn’t have the effect he intended. They beat him and kept him prisoner in a little cottage in the south of France.”

  Miranda’s heart clenched at the look of anguish in Ryland’s eyes. She knew he wasn’t close to his aunt and cousin, but he obviously felt something for them, even if it was nothing more than responsibility. “But you saved him. I’ve seen him around Town.”

  He nodded. “I found him. It took me two weeks of hiding in the palace, listening and digging through partially burned correspondence. I wasn’t very good at sneaking yet, so they discovered I was coming and tried to burn the cottage down. Gregory’s leg was broken, but I hauled him out of there.”

  He blinked and the tormented shadows left his eyes. “An agent for the War Office tracked me down and offered to take care of getting us home to England. I told him some of the other things I’d learned while looking for Gregory and the next thing I knew they were training me and sending me on missions. To an eighteen-year-old it was infinitely more exciting than school.”

  Miranda smiled, picturing his excitement and youth. “I can imagine.”

  Ryland reached out a hand and skimmed his knuckle along the edge of her smile, as if he’d missed it and welcomed its return. “At twenty-seven it doesn’t seem as smart now. That’s why I got out.”

  “I’m glad,” Miranda whispered. She didn’t know much about what he’d done but knew it had been dangerous. Broken legs and burning cottages were enough to make her afraid for him. Her relief and newfound understanding warred with her irritation and left her feeling confused.

  Was Ryland right? Would she have allowed him to court her if the letters had remained secret? His prediction was plausible, that she would have been so embarrassed that she would have avoided his every advance.

  Ryland’s finger grazed her cheek until it came to rest under her chin and he could force her gaze back to his. “What will it be, Miranda?”

  Chapter 27

  Ryland almost stopped breathing as he watched the emotions play in her eyes. He couldn’t identify them but was simply thankful she wasn’t hiding them. “Are we going to move on and see if we could have a good life together?”

  He tried to think through any additional objections she might have. Anything he could eradicate now would only help his case. “My friendship with Griffith has survived nine years of secrets and long absences. I don’t think I need you to maintain that connection. It’s you and me at stake here. Nothing else.”

  Miranda bit her lip, looking as unsure as he’d ever seen her. Despite what most of London thought, he knew he wasn’t the best potential husband. And Miranda knew enough about him to know life with him wouldn’t be the safe and uncomplicated one she’d grown up with. She’d been raised by a duchess to be a perfect duchess.

  He didn’t need a perfect duchess. He needed one who could navigate between the world he’d lived in and the world everyone else lived in. Someone who would understand him even when his choices hurt her.

  The breath flew from his lungs.

  He’d hurt her. Why hadn’t he fully realized that before? He was always admiring the fire lying just below that ladylike surface. How could he not have realized that those vibrant emotions could be bruised? It wasn’t a temporary thing caused by shock and misunderstanding. It was real.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he blurted.

  She looked like she wanted to grin. “You said you weren’t going to apologize.”

  A bit of the tension eased from his chest, and he breathed a bit easier. He didn’t stop his lips from turning up at the corners. “I’m not sorry for what I did. I would do it all again. But I didn’t mean for you to find out in front of your brothers. I wanted us to have this conversation the first time I saw you in London. Not weeks later.”

  “And still in front of my brother.” Miranda’s smile flashed before her face fell into contemplative lines. “I’ll think about it.”

  Ryland’s gaze fell to his toes. At least it wasn’t a no. Her fingers curled and uncurled. Was she trying to get her emotions back under control? Trying to stuff them behind the mask of ladylike perfection? If she allowed him to court her, he had every intention of challenging that composure. No doubt that was one of the things she wanted to think about. “How long?”

  “Three days.”

  He could do three days. “I’ll give you three days.”

  “And you’ll stay away from me for those three days. No bribing servants to seat you next to me at dinners or suddenly showing up at balls I’m attending. And you’re not to send Colin round to my house either. I’ll not go riding with your investigator again.”

  Ryland wanted to laugh at the indication that his plan had indeed worked. The little things had gotten to her. In retrospect, sending Colin had been more desperate than wise, but it didn’t appear to have damaged his campaign too much. “Very well. Three days. I’ll come by Thursday to take you for a ride in the park.”

  Moments passed, heartbeat by heartbeat, as they stared at each other. He should go. She’d asked for three days, and he had every intention of giving them to her, but that meant they had to leave Trent’s study.

  Three days without the opportunity to do anything. Three days in which she would only have her memories of him to consider.

  He’d better make them powerful.

  Without warning he dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers. She stiffened in surprise. Ryland lingered until he felt her soften and sigh into the kiss. Then he made himself lift his head, clenching his hands around his trousers to keep from wrapping his arms around her.

  “Until Thursday,” he whispered.

  And then he turned and left.

  “Do you think this curl should stay here? Would it look better pulled up around this braid?” Miranda fussed with the bouncing ringlets framing her face. In the mirror she saw Sally pull a face as she adjusted the curl according to her mistress’s wishes.

  Miranda sighed. Her three days were up and she was a nervous wreck. “No, you were right. It looked better down.”

  “My lady, you’re going to be wearing a bonnet while you ride. He’s not going to see any of this.” Sally adjusted the curl once more and stepped back, silently declaring she was done with the coiffure.

  Miranda stood and then leaned down to examine her hair one last time. “He’ll see it when he comes into the drawing room to get me.”

  “It looks perfect, my lady.”

  Miranda gave her maid a smile. The poor woman had been very patient with her. First she’d gone through six different outfits. Sally had run downstairs twice to press dresses Miranda thought she wanted to wear. In the end she’d found her way ba
ck into Sally’s original suggestion. Now it had taken three times longer than normal to dress her hair. Even if it was her job to do so, Miranda decided the woman had displayed remarkable constraint.

  “Thank you, Sally. Have Mother and Georgina left yet?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. I’ll go down and see.”

  Miranda paced while she waited for Sally to return. When Mother and Georgina had mentioned going visiting and shopping this afternoon, she’d begged off, claiming a headache. It suited her well to be alone when Ryland came to call. She didn’t know what he would say when he arrived. She wasn’t even entirely sure of what she was going to say.

  The past three days had been difficult. Despite his promise to stay away while she considered things, she kept looking for him. Irrational disappointment always followed the realization that he was going to respect her wishes.

  Once she thought she saw him across the ballroom, but she wasn’t close enough to be sure. If it had been him, he’d spent the entire night in the card room and never once stepped out on the dance floor. She knew because she’d watched for him.

  One thing became clear very quickly. Life without Ryland would be pale and lifeless. Was holding on to her equilibrium worth throwing away her best chance to marry for love? Because if she didn’t pursue things with Ryland she knew she would never have another chance to find true love again. She would have to settle for one of those respectable men that wanted to increase their holdings or improve their connections.

  Someone like Ashcombe.

  The thought made her shudder.

  Sally returned and verified that, yes, the other two women had already departed. Miranda swept from the room, anticipation building and making her heart thump in her chest. She skipped down the stairs and couldn’t resist doing a little twirl as she entered the drawing room to wait for Ryland. Her life would no longer be dull, that was certain. While it was probable that her heightened emotional state would prompt many more lady lessons, it would be a good trade for the potential happiness with a man like Ryland.

  She plopped on the settee, allowing herself to bounce a bit. The closer the time came, the giddier she felt. Things were going to work for her this time. God was going to reward her diligence in accepting His plan and being at peace with the idea of being a doting aunt.

  After a few minutes, she grew restless and rang for a maid to bring her embroidery. She sat, the focus required to perfect an intricate flower momentarily distracting her. After finishing the cluster of pink and yellow roses, she glanced at the clock to find nearly two hours had passed. The fashionable time for riding in the park was fast drawing to a close.

  She shrugged. Being fashionable was not all that important right now. Eventually she would want to parade down Rotten Row at the height of the afternoon so everyone would see that she and Ryland were courting. It would help stake her claim among the other marriage-minded females. Maybe he wished for fewer interruptions today, and so wanted to ride a bit later.

  Hoping that the next bit of the pattern would be as mentally consuming, she applied herself once more to her needlework. A while later, she heard a carriage rattle to a stop. Voices could be heard beyond the window, the words and tones indistinguishable.

  Miranda leaped across the room to peer around the drapery. Her mother and sister stood on the steps, directing the servants who were unloading their packages. Heart racing, she spun around to face the mantel clock, unable to believe what was happening to her. The clock didn’t lie though. It was getting on into the time for the various evening festivities that would be taking place around town. No one would be going riding in the park this late in the day.

  She ran from the room, desperate to get upstairs before Georgina could see her. Of all the ways she had imagined this day going, him not showing had never seemed a possibility.

  Had he done some thinking of his own? Decided he didn’t want her after all?

  Given his impassioned plea in Trent’s study and all the little things he’d done since coming back to London, she knew he wouldn’t choose to stop his attempt to court her.

  Her heart wasn’t listening very well though. She escaped into her room, her emotions and her thoughts battling for control. The door slammed against the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. In a spontaneous fit of sensibility, she caught the door before it could slam closed and announce her upset to the rest of the household. After shutting it gently, she resumed her fierce pacing, grabbing a pillow off the bed on one of her rounds.

  Punching and squeezing the innocent lump of fabric and stuffing eased a bit of her frustration. Throwing it at the wall and pretending it was Ryland’s head was even better. Was this a sign of what life would be like with him? Wondering what he’d gotten himself into? If he’d been unable to leave his life of danger and ended up facedown in the gutter somewhere?

  She grabbed all the pillows in the room and hurled them at the wall. Chest heaving, she gathered them up and went at it once more.

  Energy spent, she crumpled into a little ball in the middle of the floor. Ryland Montgomery, Duke of Marshington, former valet and spy extraordinaire, would not be an easy man to live with.

  But if this was a sign of what life was going to be like with him, perhaps she should put more effort into trying to live without him.

  Ryland leaned his head back against the chair and allowed his arms to dangle over the sides. His feet extended toward the low-burning fire, crossed at the ankle. An apple hung from the hook on the mantel, spinning slowly on its string, firelight glinting off the shiny skin as the fruit roasted its way to a comforting snack reminiscent of his days at school. He watched the apple twist until his eyes crossed, and then he let the lids drift shut.

  He was the very picture of a relaxed gentleman with nothing on his mind but the next pleasurable pursuit, except perhaps thoughts of his last pleasant endeavor. The truth was something else altogether, but then again it usually was. Survival often depended on appearing one way while doing something entirely different. In this case, his body was relaxed, but his mind was tense.

  Flexing his mental muscle to twist and pull and stretch the problem so he could inspect it from every angle was exhausting, but it was the only thing left to do. He had names now. On the surface none of them appeared to be a traitor, but one of them was meeting with Lambert and it couldn’t have been with noble purposes.

  The couple from the tea shop had married last week before retiring to Yorkshire. The woman with the young girl had turned out to be a governess. One of the men was a baron and the other the second son of a viscount. Both in keeping with Colin’s description of the investor—high enough to want more and low enough to feel they had nothing to lose.

  And one of them knew he was getting close, though Ryland didn’t know how.

  The clock on the mantel chimed seven times. The fading tones of the final ding brought a wince to his face. What was Miranda doing right now? Mentally roasting him over the fire like an apple, no doubt. Three times this afternoon, he had drafted a note to send to her, to make some excuse, but he couldn’t risk sending it.

  He was sure his house was being watched and any messenger would be followed. Even if he could get the message out without detection, the man could be watching Miranda to see if a note arrived. While the man might know about Miranda, he couldn’t know the depth to which Ryland cared for her. Ryland couldn’t risk doing anything to change that.

  He’d already set up a rotation of servants to watch over Miranda’s house. They slipped out at odd hours, taking a circuitous route to Hawthorne House. Griffith would probably kill him if he learned what Ryland was doing. He’d considered telling his friend about the potential danger, but didn’t think Griffith would know how to properly protect Miranda in this situation.

  So he’d send his own people and beg for forgiveness later.

  The calluses on his hands scraped his face as he tried to physically wipe away thoughts of Miranda. Beyond setting up a discreet guard, there was nothing
he could do. His time would be better spent determining who his enemy was so he could roust the scoundrel and get back to his life.

  He hated sitting here, waiting for information. Everything in him wanted to go out and dig around himself. To find things himself. To catch the man red-handed instead of directing the effort from his desk.

  The snick of the door latch jerked him into the present. He forced his body to remain loose, while his senses reached out to determine the visitor to his study. One eye opened a crack to take in the hulking shadow slipping in the door.

  “Any news, Price?” Ryland eased his eye closed once more and allowed part of his mind to sift through what he knew about Lambert while he focused the bulk of his attention on Price’s report. He was quickly learning that one advantage to staffing his house with former spies and war survivors was the ready source of capable aid when he needed something strange done. Or information gathered.

  It might be killing him to not be out there, but he had every confidence that the people he had out there were the best. He’d sent word round to the War Office about their findings. While they claimed to be looking into it, he was fairly certain they were letting him take care of it on his own.

  Though they’d probably still take the credit.

  He heard Price move across the room to the fireplace. After a few moments of silence the smell of roasted apple drew nearer and the fruit was pressed into his dangling hand. Ryland lifted it to his mouth and let his teeth puncture the wrinkled skin. Warm juice flooded his mouth as he tore off a chunk of the now almost gooey fruit. “Make yourself one, Price. There’s a bowl of apples on the shelf behind the desk.”

  “Don’t mind if I do, sir. My mum used to roast apples for us at Christmas. I haven’t had one in years.”

  Ryland tracked the man’s movements out of habit. He thought he had left the life where knowing where everyone was in a room at any given moment could mean the difference between life and death. The note he’d received that morning said differently.