Colonel Stackhouse blinked and looked up. He seemed to notice that Meg was near the point of sobbing and jolted in his seat. “Miss Burton, dash it all, do not weep. I understand the value of a good friend, and I will keep your confidence. Please, I beg you, do not start blubbering.”
Meg thought she might sink to the floor or throw her arms around the colonel, so great was her relief. She let out a sigh that was choked by a sob. “Thank you, Colonel,” she said, although he may not have understood her through her hitching breath.
“I’d not thought to cause so much distress, miss. I seem to have a knack for upsetting women.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let us talk about less troubling things. Perhaps you’d give me your opinion of the rumors that Napoleon thinks to invade Russia.”
Meg was nearly numb after the range of emotions the colonel had managed to elicit in such a short time. The swing in her mood gave her the distinct compulsion to giggle in relief. She scooted back in her chair, careful to maintain appropriate posture as she considered the colonel’s question. And made certain that she was calm enough to answer rationally. “In my opinion, sir, France is making much the same mistake of spreading her resources too thin, just as England has done.”
The colonel said nothing but motioned for her to continue. “Speak freely, miss. I seek to know your true thoughts on the subject.”
“Russia is the largest potential ally for both parties. Napoleon would be a fool not to attempt to get the czar on his side or at least prevent him from siding with enemies of the Grande Armée, but to invade Russia is a mistake. The campaigns on the peninsula are wearing down the emperor’s armies. Many cities have been under siege for more than a year, and the militias in the mountains undermine the morale. Should Napoleon muster a large enough force to march into Russia, he will leave his troops in Spain without reinforcements, Paris abandoned and ripe for a coup, and the Cossacks to contend with.”
The colonel’s mouth turned down, and he rubbed his fingers over his chin. “I wonder if you would ever consider working as an advisor. Your understanding of the conflict and its ramifications is remarkable.”
“Thank you, Colonel. But I’m afraid we are not on the same side.” She smiled. “I could be accused of fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Are we enemies then?”
“You and I are not, I hope, but I fear our countries will soon be hostile once again.”
“We shall see whether—”
Meg and the colonel turned toward the library door when they heard Lady Featherstone’s voice. They both stood.
“Colonel Stackhouse, I waited in the dining room for you all morning, only to find that you had eaten hours ago.” The countess entered the room carrying a jar and a face cloth. While still practical, Lady Featherstone’s expression seemed a bit softer today.
Meg curtseyed, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the colonel perform a rather stiff bow.
“Good morning, madam. Am I to presume you are here to torture me with more of that foul smelling concoction?” he said.
“It helps with the itching, and you know it is true. You are just too stubborn to admit it,” the countess said, waggling her finger as she walked closer to the fireplace. She turned her bright eyes toward Meg and nodded. “Good morning, Meg. I hope I have not interrupted anything.”
The colonel folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Burton and I were just speculating about the emperor’s next move. It is a very important discussion, and—”
Lady Featherstone pushed down on the colonel’s shoulder until he sat in the chair. “Nonsense. I am certain Miss Burton does not want to spend the entire morning talking about military strategy. Now sit still and let me look at this.” She began to pull on the colonel’s patch, as he attempted to hold it in place while arguing with her intentions.
“Please excuse me,” Meg said, fighting back a laugh. “I must . . .” But neither of them seemed to be listening, so she did not bother coming up with an excuse to escape the library.
She picked up a few books from the window seat on her way out. As she walked down the hall toward her bedchamber, she thought of her strange conversation with the colonel. Her emotions had been completely unpredictable, swinging from one extreme to the other, and she tried to analyze what had set them off. It had been upsetting and humiliating to realize that the man had deduced her family’s financial situation and Meg’s part in its restoration, but that had been nothing compared to the utter despair she felt when she’d thought Carlo might be in trouble.
Meg had been ready to throw herself upon her knees and beg for mercy for a man she hardly knew. Her reaction had wholly astonished her, and she did not know what to make of it.
She remembered the colonel’s words, “I understand the value of a good friend.” The sentiment described Carlo perfectly. Her heart felt light as she thought about the events the night before and the gentleness of his expression when he had bid her good night.
An idea began to form in her mind, and she grinned as she decided how to implement it. She left the books in her bedchamber—nothing could convince her to return to the library with Colonel Stackhouse and Lady Featherstone arguing inside—and headed toward the dining room.
Her grin grew until a giggle burst forth, and she pressed her fingers against her mouth. The idea was forming into a plan that pushed her fears about the musicale and the need for a rich husband far enough away to forget about them altogether. First, she would need to speak with Serena and then with the cook.
Chapter 9
Rodrigo allowed the reigns to go slack, and Patito immediately turned toward the duke’s stables. “Que desea para un dulce? Are you hoping for a treat?” he muttered, but his mind was not upon the horse. His thoughts had been a confused jumble since overhearing Meg’s conversation with Colonel Stackhouse the day before.
He’d gone over every word they’d both said, countless times, and had always arrived at the same conclusion: Meg was no different than all the other young ladies he had met in England. She was after a wealthy husband and would go to whatever ends necessary to secure one. She had said as much herself. Hearing this from Meg’s own mouth had stunned him. Rodrigo knew logically he should employ the same course of action he had come to rely on and avoid the lady completely. But the very idea of missing Meg’s company produced such an uncomfortable feeling that he shied away from it. He returned to the conversation he’d overheard, reviewing it again.
Rodrigo looked up and noticed that Patito had brought them to the stables. Out of habit, he raised his gaze to the library window, but Meg was not there. She had not been there at all the day before either. And he did not understand why this was so concerning to him. Was she still distressed? Had she taken ill? Or was she simply busy with the other ladies, preparing for a season and concocting schemes to ensnare a rich husband? An image came into his mind of Meg smiling and flirting with the gentlemen of the ton, and Rodrigo’s stomach turned inside out.
He hated that Meg was willing to sacrifice her own desires and marry a man for his fortune. It seemed such a waste. But even more, he hated the idea of her losing herself. Just as the colonel had said, it would be a pity to see a person so passionate about life and learning cease to exist. He felt a rush of anger when he thought of her parents putting aside Meg’s happiness for their own purposes, but something akin to pity replaced the emotion as he thought of how difficult it must be for them to put such pressure on their daughter. This feeling took him by surprise. It was not at all something he had ever considered as he’d regarded all of the young ladies of the ton with distaste. So why were things different with Meg? What made her so different? He remembered how she had laughed as the horse galloped across the meadow and then how she’d understood so compassionately when he’d spoken of Spain. Why was he allowing emotions to dictate his actions when it came to Meg Burton?
Rodrigo dismounted and led the horse into the stable. As he’d mulled these things over, one thing became certain. He would not re
veal himself to Meg. Not before the ball. If he was to ascertain her true feelings for him, he needed to keep his secret as long as he could. And a selfish and vulnerable part of him wanted Meg’s approval, not as a man with a title, but as himself. Or, he supposed, as Carlo. He wondered how she would act if she knew the truth about him. Would she flirt and pretend to be the lady she thought he wanted? He would never have believed her capable of such deception until she had confessed the same to the colonel.
But just as soon as he made up his mind to sever contact with Meg, the resolve fled as he remembered the sound of her weeping when she spoke to Colonel Stackhouse. She’d been nearly beside herself with worry for him—for Carlo—and the thought of the prince’s stable hand being punished had brought her to tears. The sound of her voice hitching as she’d pleaded with the colonel not to reveal their friendship had sent a jolt through his heart as he’d imagined her distress, yet at the same time, he had felt as if he’d been wrapped in a warm blanket. Did she really feel so strongly about a servant? Could she really feel so strongly about him?
The hope that the idea produced was nearly painful. Rodrigo wanted nothing more than Meg’s good favor, and he wondered why. She was, after all, an American, and if he did return to his holdings and his country, his loyalty to Spain and to the wishes of his parents would lead him to marry the woman they’d chosen for him. The thought was not as comforting as it once had been. He had only met Evangelina Gualtierrez twice, and though she was truly a Spanish beauty, she had not aroused feelings inside him the same way as the ginger-haired American woman.
In the few hours he had spent in Meg’s presence, she had filled him with joy and touched a place within him he thought had been destroyed upon the plains of his homeland when his parents were captured and his beloved country had erupted into a war zone. The feelings she elicited in him were addicting.
Perhaps he would see if Meg wanted to take a ride with Patito and Bonnie later today. The thought brought a smile to his face.
Rodrigo closed the stall gate behind Patito and fetched some grain to fill the animal’s trough. He moved to the box where he kept the horse’s brush but stopped short when he saw a roll of parchment tied with a length of twine, sitting on top of the lid. His mouth went dry as he lifted the scroll. Was it a missive from Spain? A threatening letter from the French? A ransom note? Colonel Stackhouse’s warning moved into his mind, and he took a sharp breath.
He slipped off the twine and unrolled the parchment. It was much larger than a typical piece of writing paper. It appeared to be a map. The parchment was worn and wrinkled, and he noticed that the edges were burned. Crimson stains of what looked like blood were splattered and streaked across it. Rodrigo sucked in a breath. Had a messenger died to bring this map to him? He squinted, tipping the parchment toward the window, but the light filtering into the stable wasn’t bright enough for him to make out the words.
Rodrigo carried the map out of the stable, ignoring the protesting whinny from Patito at his neglect. He stepped into the sun to study the map.
For a moment, he could not understand what he was looking at, but as he examined it further, the tension in his shoulders relaxed as apprehension turned into confusion and then melted into amusement when he began to recognize the depiction.
Bold script scrawled across the top of the page:
Warning: Ye who hold this map, take heed. Chart your course, but beware. A brutal fate awaits he who steals a buccaneer’s treasure.
A large rectangle at one side of the map was labeled Haunted Castle, and in parentheses beneath, it said, Beware of el fantasma in chains. A chuckle rose into his throat at Meg’s use of the Spanish word for ghost. For there was no doubt in his mind that Meg Burton was behind this.
Landmarks of the area around the castle were drawn and labeled. A dashed line snaked through the estate, marking a path and terminating at a large X. The line began exactly where Rodrigo was standing, outside the stables—or as the map-maker had labeled them Blackbeard’s Stockyard—and though he could see precisely where it ended, he still followed the longer route.
Rodrigo could not help the tingling excitement that skittered over his skin. He felt like a young boy, and even imagined himself an adventurer in search of riches. This entire situation was utterly ridiculous, yet his heart was light, and he was as eager as a child anticipating Three King’s Day. How did this woman have such an effect on him?
He walked past the cook’s herb garden, which according to the map was “soaked in marauders’ blood,” climbed a small hill (Gallows-meat Bluff), and crossed over a wooden bridge (Traitor’s Plank) that spanned Doubloon Creek. The path led him behind the carriage house (Blade o’ Fortune Brig) and into the forest, which the map-maker claimed was the hideout of “murderers, marauders, and sea-wolves.” Finally he stepped into the clearing with the pond (Jolly Roger Lagoon), and obeying the instructions to beware of “mermaids that might lure him into the sea,” or the “ghosts of mercenaries that had been hung at low tide,” he followed the dotted line toward the X.
Rodrigo walked up the steps into the gazebo, his stomach fluttering. His fingers tingled in anticipation. It was not difficult to spot the treasure. A small trunk sat on one of the benches.
Kneeling on one knee, he lifted the lid of the treasure chest and found it filled with small wrapped packages. He lifted one and, looking closer, recognized that each bundle contained a cake of turrón. How he had missed his favorite Spanish sweet. A treasure indeed!
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. It had been so long that the sensation took him by surprise, but he had apparently not forgotten how to do it. It felt so unbelievably invigorating to release the tight hold he kept on his emotions.
He stood and walked to the edge of the gazebo, laughter still bubbling inside him. “Margarita,” he shouted, “where are you hiding?”
A movement at the edge of the clearing caught his eye. He strode toward it and found Meg hiding behind a tree. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the path to the gazebo. Before she could protest, he broke off a bit of turrón and popped a piece into her mouth and one into his own, then he pulled her down to sit on the bench next to him.
“How did you possibly find turrón in England, Margarita Burton?”
Even while she chewed on the sticky treat, her eyes twinkled with mischief. She swallowed and smiled, tipping her head playfully. “A lady should not reveal all of her secrets.”
“You will not tell me how you were able to perform such a miracle?” He broke off another piece, put it into his mouth, then offered the rest to Meg.
She shook her head, indicating for him to finish it. “It was not actually so remarkable. I asked the Duchess Serena about it. She told me it is one of her brother’s favorites, and she described it to the cook.” She glanced at the piece he held in his hand. “I hope the flavor is right.”
Rodrigo searched her face for a moment but determined that she was still ignorant as to the identity of Serena’s brother. “It is perfect. The taste is exactly as I remember.” He broke off another piece, chewing and swallowing before he spoke. “And how long did you hide in the trees, waiting for me to arrive?”
Meg placed a hand over her mouth. “Were you so intent upon the map that you did not see me following you?” She schooled her face into a serious expression, waggling her finger at him. “Not a good habit for a buccaneer. An enemy with a cutlass could approach from behind and slit your gullet.”
Rodrigo noticed that when she attempted to be serious, a crease appeared above her nose. He thought how easy it would be to smooth it away with his thumb.
“I admit, the thought of treasure quite blinded me to the danger of being ambushed,” he said.
“Well then, you should be glad I followed you, if only to be on the lookout for scavengers of the high seas. Why, you might have ended up in Davy Jones’s locker if left to your own devices.”
Meg’s teasing words elicited another chuckle. She had upon her head one of those
strange bonnets British women wore, tied beneath her chin with pink ribbons. But in Meg’s case, the headpiece did little to control the hair that escaped and blew around her face.
Rodrigo caught one of the curls near her neck and rubbed the soft strands between his fingers. “How lucky I am to have such a lovely protector,” he murmured.
Meg’s gaze locked with his for a brief instant, and the joking sparkle left her eyes, only to be replaced by something else. Something deeper. Something that made Rodrigo’s heart compress and his breath catch in his throat.
She lowered her lashes, and a flush spread over her cheeks. He wondered what she had seen in his eyes.
Meg moved to rise from the bench. “I should go. I must practice the pianoforte before Lady Harrison’s musicale tomorrow. They will be missing me soon, but I couldn’t resist following when I saw you approaching the stable.”
Rodrigo released her curl and lowered his hand to her shoulder. “Please, remain just a moment longer. I do not want my adventure to end so quickly.” He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease and return them to their former playfulness. If only he were the prince, he could command her to stay.
“But you already have the treasure.”
“Yes, but now I am uneasy about the warning on the map. What sort of fate do you think one would face when a pirate discovers his treasure missing?”
“Perhaps the creator of the map just thought to make it authentic and believed a threat to be appropriate, although she may not have had a particular penalty in mind.” Meg’s lips quirked, and her eyes twinkled. “But now that you mention it, I think a penalty is entirely suitable. How would you like to take my place at Lady Harrison’s musicale? You could play the pianoforte, and I have the perfect gown for you to wear. You should look lovely in apricot.”
“A harsh penalty to be sure,” Rodrigo said, rubbing his chin. “But for the turrón, it would be worth it.” He turned his gaze back toward her. “I would not want to deprive the ton of the opportunity to be enchanted by you, Margarita.”
Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince Page 9