As she passed between the rows, she glanced back once to where Carlo had stood, but he was gone.
Meg had assumed she would receive a cold reception from Lord Featherstone and Lady Vernon, but it was not the case. Lady Vernon clasped Meg’s hand. “That was simply wonderful, my dear. And such a surprise. You nearly stopped my heart when you . . .” She moved her hand back and forth pointing between the stage and the pianoforte. “But you carried it off magnificently.”
“Thank you,” Meg whispered, since the next number had begun.
Lord Featherstone leaned toward Meg, all traces of disgust gone from his face. “I am completely astonished.” His leg pressed against hers in a most improper manner, and Meg scooted closer to Lady Vernon. The earl did not move his leg, however, and Meg felt uneasy at his closeness. “Your passion as you performed is . . . stimulating,” he said, his mouth entirely too close to her ear.
“Thank you, my lord,” Meg whispered and leaned forward in her chair, attempting to look as if she were interested in the musical number.
The whispering in the audience had not only continued, but it had intensified. Meg noticed a number of heads turn in her direction, and she did her best not to allow it to unnerve her. She had known her actions would have repercussions, and she would have to live with the consequences.
When the final performance ended, Meg found herself the center of attention. Gentlemen and ladies alike asked to be introduced to her, and she found it quite annoying that Lord Featherstone remained nearly attached to her side as she was attempting to become acquainted with the other guests. The earl’s manners had shifted quite decidedly in a direction that made Meg’s scalp prickle, and she moved away, standing next to Serena.
A few of the young men she spoke to asked if they might call on her. One even reserved a dance at the masque. Meg was surprised that her performance had elicited such a positive response, but as one Mr. Newton confided to her in a low voice, “The musicale is one of the most tedious events of the year, and most of us dread it. But you managed to liven it up and make the night interesting.”
Meg smiled at this, proud of her performance and glad, not to mention relieved, that it had been so well received.
After a few more hours of refreshments and conversation, the party left to return to Thornshire. Lord Featherstone sat next to Meg in the carriage and hurried to alight before her in order to assist her as she stepped down.
He kept hold of her hand, tucking it beneath his arm as he led her into the castle. The others in the party dispersed in the main hall, but Lord Featherstone retained his grip on Meg’s hand. Once she had finally managed to pry it away and make her farewells, she hurried up the stairs, hoping to put as much distance between the earl and herself as possible. She did not know what had changed in his attitude toward her this evening, but where the earl had merely been annoying before, now Meg felt positively ill at ease around him.
Bessie helped her undress, and once Meg had crawled beneath the blankets, her mind returned to the events of the evening—one in particular, Carlo’s simple gesture of blowing a kiss. The melting of her heart that the memory elicited sent her to sleep with a sigh and a smile on her face.
Chapter 13
Rodrigo leaned against the windowpane in the attic room. He’d found that this particular spot in the dower house afforded a view of Meg’s bedchamber window, though he had to stand upon a chair and crane his neck awkwardly to see it. He’d climbed the stairs to this forgotten part of the house so many times in the last few evenings that he had lost count.
As he watched, the window at last went dark, and Rodrigo stepped down, brushing the dust from his jacket. He knew he should feel ridiculous checking every half hour to see if Meg had gone safely to sleep, but after two nights of reprimanding himself, he’d finally accepted that he’d get no rest otherwise and continued his nightly watch.
He’d not spoken to Meg since their practice session a few days earlier in the greenhouse, but he’d seen her often enough, taking carriage rides and strolls with the gentlemen who had begun calling at the castle following her performance. Meg’s recitation had apparently impressed society far more than she’d expected. The sight of her with these other men made his stomach burn. He hated the thought of Meg spending time with them, and even more when he imagined her laughing and looking at them through her lashes in the way he considered so utterly charming. Did any of the gentlemen touch her soft curls or notice the crease above her nose when she was lost in thought?
He hated everything about this situation. And it was all the more frustrating because it was of his own making. He would have never imagined it would go so wrong.
All it would take for him to join Meg’s throngs of admirers would be to simply reveal himself as Prince Rodrigo. But then, that is what he would be, only one of many. He uttered an oath that would have burned a priest’s ears. His friendship with Meg was unique, and he wanted it to remain that way. So he resigned himself to wait and hope that he would happen upon Meg in the stables or the gardens or see her in the library window—which he also checked multiple times daily.
A smile curled his mouth, and he patted the lump in his jacket pocket. He’d finally come up with something, a way to see Meg and watch excitement light up her eyes again. This simple object gave him the advantage over all her other admirers.
He set the candle on the desk in the study and sat in the soft chair. Pulling out a clean piece of paper, he dipped a quill into the ink and thought for a moment before writing.
Dear Miss Margarita Burton,
I have discovered an object I think will be of some interest to you, as you have a fondness for anything that is potentially terrifying, and I am seeking a compañera de aventura.
If you are feeling particularly daring and willing to risk all for an unknown quest, please meet me in the Oriental drawing room at 7:00 tomorrow evening.
Your mysterious friend
When he was finished, he leaned back and allowed the smile to spread wide across his face as he imagined Meg’s reaction to the note. If that didn’t pique her curiosity, nothing would. He read over it once more, and a roil of unease moved through him. He had talked to Serena about the household’s schedule, and she had told him that they had been invited to dine at the Newtons’ tomorrow. Meg would have to invent an excuse to forego the dinner party. Would she be willing to miss out on the gathering for him?
Rodrigo prepared for bed, but he could not fall asleep. He attempted to distract himself by reading from a volume of romantic poetry that he had borrowed from the duke’s library, but the verses did not hold his attention the way they had when Meg had spoken them, and he gave up the effort, tossing the book onto a table and blowing out the candle.
He spent a long restless night and was groggy and agitated in the morning when he sent the message to Meg, along with another to Serena, explaining his plan. By midafternoon, a note arrived from his sister. Meg would not be joining them for dinner at the Newtons’. She had apparently come down with a headache and decided to retire early.
Rodrigo’s chest swelled. He should never have doubted Meg. Or at least her taste for adventure.
***
Rodrigo watched from the library window as the carriages departed for the Newtons’, then he made his way to the Oriental drawing room to wait. He thought this room, with its carved Chinese furniture and samurai swords hanging on the walls, was especially suitable for the launch of an escapade.
It was exactly seven o’clock when Meg entered. When her gaze met Rodrigo’s, her face lit up. She rushed across the room, grasping onto his hand with both of hers. “Carlo, I have missed you. And I’ve not had an opportunity to thank you for attending the musicale.”
Any worries that she might have been hesitant about joining him fled, and the tension in his neck relaxed. “I could not have allowed an opportunity to hear about Christabel pass by.”
She tugged on his hand, shaking her head. “You’re being too gracious. I do not know wh
at pains you took to be there, but it touched me that you would come. I was not brave enough to follow through with my plan until I saw you.”
The only pains Rodrigo had endured were from escaping Lord Harrison, who, as soon as he saw that the prince was at the musicale, did not want him to leave. Rodrigo had finally resorted to acting as if he’d eaten something that disagreed with him and slipped out while the earl went in search of a servant to bring a cup of tea. But in Meg’s eyes, he had done something much more noble, and he did not mind her assumption.
“So, tell me, what is our adventure? And the mysterious object? I have wondered about it all day.” Meg’s eyes shone, and the sight delighted him.
“Before any mysterious objects are revealed, you shall need this.” He bent down behind the couch and picked up a cloak.
“Are we to go outside? If I had known I would have—”
“Worn your bonnet and gloves?”
Meg nodded.
“That is why I did not tell you,” Rodrigo said, squeezing her fingers. He pushed her loose curls aside as he wrapped the cloak around her.
Meg’s mouth opened, and her eyes widened in shock, but she did not reprimand him for his forward behavior as she was apparently distracted by Rodrigo’s efforts to straighten the wrap on her shoulders. She ran her fingers over the soft material. “This isn’t my cloak, Carlo. Where did you find it?”
“It is your cloak now, but you must hold still while I fasten it.” He tied the ribbons beneath her chin, delighted that the duke’s steward had managed to procure a cloak so close in design to the picture Rodrigo had seen in Meg’s sketchbook.
Meg spread her arms out, allowing the lightweight fabric to billow around her. “It is beautiful, but I cannot accept this gift. I . . . you . . . it must have been very costly.” She winced uneasily.
“Now is not the time to discuss a man’s salary or what he chooses to do with it. We have much more important matters to attend to.” Rodrigo held up an old key that hung from an iron ring.
Meg’s crease appeared above her nose, and she squinted, tipping her head in confusion. “A key? A key to what?”
Rodrigo moved the key closer, dangling it in front of her.
Meg took it, turning it over in her hands, then looked up at him.
He lifted his shoulders and studied his fingernails. “I was told by the duke’s housekeeper that it opens the door to the west tower. But I cannot imagine that being of any interest to you—”
“The tower!” Meg gasped, and her gaze moved to the French doors that led to a large patio. One could follow the steps from the patio down to the duke’s gardens. But there was another staircase that led up to the battlements that ran across the top of the castle wall. “I should love to explore the tower.”
Meg moved toward the doors, but Carlo stopped her. “One moment please.” He reached behind the sofa again, swinging a cape-like cloak around his own shoulders and buckling a scabbard around his waist.
“Why are you bringing a sword?” Meg asked, her eyes widening.
“One cannot be too prepared. Who knows what enemies to the kingdom we will meet in the tower?”
She giggled and clasped her hands together excitedly.
Rodrigo lifted a basket the cook had prepared for him and strode toward the door, opening it and then following Meg outside.
Meg stopped at the bottom of the staircase, but Rodrigo indicated for her to precede him. It was highly improper for a gentleman to follow a lady up the stairs, but this was Meg’s adventure. She should lead the way. And Rodrigo would not admit to her, but he wanted to remain close behind her in case she should trip on the steep steps. There was no railing.
The staircase ran next to the castle wall, and when they emerged onto the battlements, Rodrigo saw that his orders had been followed, and torches had been lit at intervals, illuminating the walkway.
Once they reached the door to the tower, Meg inserted the key into the old lock and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t move. She jiggled it and twisted it and then stepped aside to allow him to try. It took a bit of work, but the key finally turned with a screech of metal, and Meg pulled on the iron ring that served as a door handle. The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a gust of mildewy-smelling cold air rushed out.
Anticipation shone in Meg’s eyes. “What do you suppose we will find?”
Rodrigo looked up, tapping his finger on his chin. “Perhaps a dragon’s lair or the ghosts of brave knights or a smuggler’s hoard.”
Meg’s smile grew. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“After you, Margarita.” He pulled a torch from its holder in the balustrade and handed it to her.
She poked the light into the tower, exposing a curving stone staircase. Meg grabbed Rodrigo’s hand, squeezing it tightly. He knew she would never admit to being nervous, but the coldness of her hand, and the slight trembling gave her away.
Meg began her ascent. The torchlight illuminated a small sphere around them, exposing the ancient stone walls and steep stairs, but the rest of the tower was eerily dark. The firelight played over Meg’s hair, and Rodrigo stayed close behind in case she slipped or the old stones crumbled.
The narrow staircase curved around to the right. Meg held the torch with her right hand and his hand with her left.
“It is difficult to climb like this. I feel as though I am walking backward,” she said.
“This way, the attacker will automatically find himself at a disadvantage. If you were coming down, protecting the tower, it would be much easier. Your sword hand would not be in such an awkward position. Tower stairs were specifically built with defense in mind.”
“And how did you become such an expert in medieval tower construction?” Meg asked, and from her voice, he could tell she was smiling.
“I am an expert in a good many things, querida.”
Meg let out a huff of air through her nose. The noise sounded like a blend of laughter and exasperation.
Rodrigo smiled. Even though he could not see her face, he could imagine the exact expression upon it.
When they reached one of the tall, thin windows, Meg stopped. She released her hold on him and passed the torch in front of her to her other hand, shaking her arm to restore the blood flow as she looked out of the window. “I didn’t realize we had climbed so high already.” Meg began to transfer the torch back to her other hand but stopped, tilting her head. “Do you hear that noise?” she whispered. “It sounds as if something is ahead of us.
Rodrigo listened and heard a soft fluttering. “It is only bats.”
“Bats?” Meg’s gaze darted upward, but she could only see the underside of the stone stairs above their heads.
Since she was on the step above him, they were the same height. Rodrigo leaned toward her until their faces were merely inches apart. He raised his eyebrows. “Bats.”
Meg flinched and glanced upward again.
Rodrigo chuckled. “I would have thought you possessed more fortitude than that. Do not tell me my fearless partner is afraid of small flying rodents.”
She grimaced. “Please do not say that word.”
“Rodents?”
“I told you not to say it.”
“Margarita, bats are harmless.”
She nodded, but her eyes narrowed warily.
“Unless . . .” he muttered, pursing his lips.
Meg’s eyes widened. “Unless what?”
“Unless these particular bats are under the control of a malevolent vampire. Then you must beware that they do not carry you away to their evil master.”
Meg’s face relaxed, and a small smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She swatted at him with her free hand. “You’re right. I am in a much better position to attack from up here. You should remember that when you decide to tease.” She grasped his hand again. “Shall we face the minions of darkness then?”
They passed another window, and after a moment longer, the firelight lit up the ceiling. Rodrigo moved onto the step next to her,
handing her the basket and using both hands to push open the heavy wooden trapdoor. He climbed out and helped Meg step up onto the landing, closing the trapdoor behind. A low wall encircled the tower, and Meg stepped toward it.
Rodrigo joined her and took the torch, wedging it into a gap between the stones. Even though it was dark, moonlight bathed the land around them in silver.
A gust of wind blew Meg’s hair and billowed out her cloak. She wrapped it closer around her and turned toward him. “It is breathtaking. I have never seen a view like this.” She placed her hands on the wall and leaned forward, looking straight down at the duke’s gardens below.
Rodrigo’s heart jerked. He stepped closer and put a hand on her arm, pulling her back. “Cuidado,” he said. “Be careful. The mortar is old, and it is a long way to fall.”
Meg turned to him, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Carlo, does such a lofty height frighten you?” She shrugged playfully. “Then perhaps you should not have teased me about my fear of bats. I may have to repay the favor.”
He truthfully had never feared heights until he had seen Meg lean over the edge. The idea of her falling was terrifying. “I simply thought you might be hungry,” he said. “Come, help me spread the blanket for a picnic.”
They opened the blanket and sat upon it. Meg arranged her skirts and cloak, and Rodrigo leaned back against the wall, facing her. He handed her a plate with some small sandwiches on it. “I am sorry the food is so simple,” he said.
Meg shook her head. “It looks wonderful. I am so tired of fancy meals I could—”
“Throw rocks into an icy pond?” Rodrigo suggested.
“Yes.” Meg laughed. “I do not know how people do it every day, waking up to a grand breakfast, then a luncheon, and in the evening, dressing for an elaborate feast. I’m used to an occasional dinner party, but by far, the majority of our meals in Charleston we prepare ourselves.” Meg broke off a piece of bread and put it into her mouth. As she chewed, she looked up toward the sky. Moonlight lit her face and shined in her eyes.
Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince Page 12