Moonstruck Masness

by Laurie McBain

  Percy's face paled and he clenched his fists as he heard Kate's gasp of rage. "I'd like to cut you open to see how rotten you are, Lucien," Percy threatened.

  The Duchess banged her cane on the table, attracting their attention. "Enough! You carry on like brawlers in the street While under my roof, you will act civilized."

  "I apologize, Grandmere, for offending you," Lucien said coldly, "and now I must bid you adieu, I've appoint­ments to keep." His bow was just short of being insulting by its briefness.

  "Lucien!" the Duchess called out in a shaky voice, but he had gone.

  When Lucien reached his home he was not in the mood for further irritations, and so it was with anger in his eyes that he stared down at the papers on his desk impatiently. Nothing. Not one word, not one clue to the whereabouts or identity of Bonnie Charlie or her two cohorts. This re­port his servants had sent up from the country was useless. How could someone just vanish into thin air as she had? No, he scoffed, it wasn't magic—it was just not knowing where to look or whom to ask. These villagers were notori­ously close-mouthed when it came to discussing their own with outsiders. They'd probably spun a pretty tale for his servants, sending them on a wild-goose chase to God knows where, and laughing all the while.

  He should be able to forget the little wretch, but here he was, still mooning over her like Lysander, who, with love juice clouding his vision, fell madly in love with Helena. But his life was not a Shakespearean play with fairies causing mischief and mayhem.

  Enough is enough, he thought in disgust. He would join the social whirl and enjoy himself. There were several balls and routs he should take Blanche to, and he would renew certain acquaintances he had neglected recently.

  Reaching out, he poured himself a brandy from the de­canter on his desk, and raising the glass in a toast said beneath his breath, "That black-haired, violet-eyed vixen be damned."

  "Thought I must be seeing a ghost when I walked in and saw that damned scarred face of his," Percy cursed as he threw down his cane and gloves onto a satin chair, and began to pace nervously up and down.

  Kate tossed her burgundy velvet cloak onto the bed, her cheeks still flushed with anger as she turned on her brother. "I thought he would be dead this morning." She laughed harshly. "One more failure to add to the list. I don't know why I believed that this time he would be fin­ished off. You haven't had the best of luck in your past at­tempts. How you imagined that bungler Jensen could kill Lucien in a duel is quite beyond my comprehension. I've come to suspect that our dear cousin, Lucien, leads a charmed life. What is it now, the third accident we have rigged that he's managed to survive?"

  "If I remember correctly, the first two were your ideas. Let me see, first we hired a couple of cutthroats from the docks to accost and murder Lucien in the street some eve­ning after leaving Vauxhall, the unfortunate victim Of a brutal robber—just one of many such incidents that hap­pen all of the time. So what happens? Lucien drives his sword through one, and puts a bullet in the other."

  "Fools," Kate commented coldly.

  "Fools?" Percy laughed nervously. "I think we're the fools to think we can get rid of Lucien. Let me see, what was our other, oh so clever, plan? We paid that charming little actress from Drury Lane an exorbitant price to seduce Lucien, and then while he slept stick a knife in him."

  He sent a speaking glance to his twin. "I believe she left town quite suddenly, suffering from a broken wrist, and doesn't plan on returning to England in the near future. Oh, yes, we've been absolutely brilliant, have we not?"

  "Oh, do shut up, Percy, you're giving me a migraine," Kate told him sharply, tapping her fingers with their reddened nails thoughtfully on the dressing table.

  "I tell you though, I am becoming quite peeved. One can't get away with anything anymore. Try to plan a simple murder, and you have countless busybodies hanging over your shoulder. And these absurdly ridiculous Bow Street Runners of the Fieldings. I don't know what Lon­don is coming to."

  "Damned interference, but what are we to do, Kate?" Percy demanded in despair.

  Kate fingered the golden cross around her neck uncon­sciously as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  "If our side of the family hadn't been Catholic, and in­volved in so many damned plots against the Crown, we wouldn't be in this fix now," Percy said bitterly.

  "If we weren't all spendthrifts we wouldn't find our­selves in this fix today, m'dear," Kate corrected him acidly. "The awful truth of the matter is that we spend money with an unsparing hand."

  "Well, hang the expense, Kate!" Percy cried. "What the blazes is money for if you can't spend it and enjoy your­self?"

  "Yes, well, it's quite a shame that we should be the im­provident branch of the family, rather than our dear cousin."

  "Damned pinch-fist. Treats us pretty shabbily, making us go down on hands and knees so he can dole out a few pence," Percy said resentfully, a truculent look on his face.

  Kate got to her feet and stared around her in despair. "Bills, bills, bills. Lud, but I grow fatigued of dodging the creditors, and I'd like to once answer the door without fear of it being some low-browed lout demanding to be paid. We must, at all costs, keep Lucien from inheriting his estate. Since he seems unwilling to die, I think we'd better put our other plan into action," she told Percy deci­sively, a cruel smile curving her lips. "You should enjoy that."

  Percy smiled slyly. "I've been most discreet, m'dear, and have the little pigeon in the palm of my hand." He squeezed his hand together, his fingers curving into his palm like a vise.

  "What a pity, and how embarrassing for poor Lucien, to be stood up at the altar, for I fear that is what is about to happen to him."

  Percy gave a low laugh. "You'd love to see Lucien humiliated, wouldn't you? I've often thought, dear sister, that you suffered from a case of unrequited love for our dear, arrogant cousin. But he's never looked your way, has he? Not surprising, considering what you did to his face."

  "Careful, brother dear, or I'11 have your wretched heart carved on a platter for dinner," Kate replied tightly.

  "I call truce," Percy laughed, holding up his hands pla-catingly. "As a team we are invincible and shall see our fondest desires. We shall have Lucien groveling in the mud at our feet."

  "When do you plan on kidnapping Lucien's fiancée?" Kate asked curiously. "Time is running out for us, so we must act now."

  "Oh, I think tomorrow evening at the ball being given by Lord and Lady Harrier will be soon enough," Percy told her complacently.

  Kate smiled in anticipation. "It should prove to be an interesting evening."

  "Breathe in," Mary ordered as she pulled tight the laces of Sabrina's corset and tied them behind snugly. The front was low, with black, crisscross lacing down its length, and barely covered the top of Sabrina's breasts.

  Sabrina sat down on a chair, sighing deeply as she rolled black silk stockings up over her knees and secured them with two frilly garters tied with silver ribbons.

  Mary glanced at her worriedly. "Too tight? I wish the Contessa would hurry up with her toilette so we could use the maids. I'm afraid I'm not too good at this," Mary apologized.

  "You're doing just fine, Mary. Now help me into this hoop." Mary held the wide hoop while Sabrina stepped into it. Next came a black petticoat, the fine silk shot through with silver threads, and then the gown of white satin with black and silver embroidery and frilly, black lace flounces falling from the elbows and opened down the front to reveal her petticoat.

  "It's exquisite, Sabrina," Mary said in awe as Sabrina slipped her feet into white silk shoes trimmed with silver, the heels high and slender.

  "Rather' startling," Sabrina answered in amusement, "but then that is what the Marquis has in mind," she said dryly as she fastened ice-cold diamond drops in her ears and then clasped a diamond pendant around her neck.

  "You first," she told Mary, indicating the velvet patches in the small box before her. Mary stuck a small, black silk patch on her cheek, then looked
into the mirror to see the effect.

  "It isn't quite me, I think," she laughed as she removed it, leaving her cheeks smooth and pink, her gown of white silk damask, heavily embroidered with flowers and birds, rustling as she turned from the mirror.

  Sabrina took a small, heart-shaped black velvet patch and carefully placed it near the corner of her mouth; then taking a small pot of color, rouged her lips. She stared back at her reflection as if seeing a stranger. Her black hair had disappeared beneath its lavish powdering of white and sparkled with a spray of diamonds behind one ear when she moved her head.

  "You look beautiful, Rina," Mary told her simply, her own red hair powdered white and held in place with gold hairpins. A small gold locket hung from her neck, matching the gold rings in her ears and a golden girdle buckle set with pearls around her waist. "It was kind of the Contessa to lend you some of her diamonds," Mary said as she stared at the sparkling gems.

  "Kind?" Sabrina repeated doubtfully, then standing up she pulled on her musk-scented, elbow-length gloves and picking up her fan and purse, turned to Mary. "Shall we go?"

  The Marquis and the Contessa were waiting in the salon, the Marquis finely attired in a cream silk suit em­broidered in claret, while the Contessa was resplendent in burgundy damask with blood-red rubies clasped around her neck.

  "Belle," the Contessa whispered beneath her breath as she stared in amazement at the two sisters, her eyes glow­ing with pleasure at the result.

  "My God, I had no idea the contrast between you would be so startling," the Marquis said, clapping his hands in excitement, the impatient expression that had been on his face immediately lifting as he stared in awe at his two beautiful daughters. "This is marvelous. I am so pleased, but now, to add a touch of mystery, put on these masks," he told them, handing them each a black velvet half-mask. "It's quite in vogue."

  Sabrina tied hers on and stared at herself in the mirror, a grin widening her mouth as she started to laugh. She turned to face Mary, who after a startled gasp of dismay, started to laugh also.

  The Marquis frowned ominously. "What is so damned funny?" he demanded peevishly, looking from one masked daughter to the other in exasperation.

  "I always wondered how it felt, Rina," Mary said with a nervous laugh.

  "How ironic that I should attend my first ball in a mask," Sabrina chuckled as she straightened the mask over her small nose.

  "Well, damned if I know what you two are talking about," the Marquis grumbled. The Contessa was silent, a thoughtful look in her eyes as she continued to stare in fascination at Sabrina's masked face.

  "There is something so familiar . . ." she spoke softly, a puzzled look on her lovely face.

  "Come, we must go, we're already much too late as it is," the Marquis interrupted. "Here, these just arrived from the dressmaker's." He handed them each a scarf to cover their shoulders, Mary's white velvet, and Sabrina's a thin gauze that encircled her shoulders in a silver cloud.

  They rode in silence along the London streets, the coach wheels on the cobbles the only sound as they moved towards Berkeley Square until the noise of other coaches, with yelling coachmen directing fellow coachmen to unsa­vory places, disturbed them.

  "Damned traffic," the Marquis cursed as he looked out at the long line of coaches waiting their turn to unload their passengers at the party.

  They lurched forward, then stopped, then moved for­ward a little, time and time again, before finally coming to a halt before the well-lighted entrance of the great town house, the liveried footmen escorting the guests along the red carpet rolled across the walk and up to the doors.

  Mary's fingers closed over Sabrina's as they followed the Marquis and the Contessa into the crowded entrance hall, chandeliers glowing with light above their heads as they moved through the throng, the Marquis crying out greet­ings to acquaintances as they passed. He smiled smugly at the curious and interested stares he was receiving as he as­cended the grand staircase surrounded by his beautiful wife and daughters.

  "Darling James," a bejeweled woman cried joyously at sight of the Marquis. "I was hoping you would return to London in time for my little ball." She turned her avid gaze on the two masked figures standing silently beside the Marquis. "I've already met your wife, the Contessa," she said, giving the Contessa a slight smile, "but did I hear correctly? These surely can't be your daughters, darling? Why, I had no idea you even had a family," she remarked with feigned surprise, and giving the Contessa a sly look, added delicately, "Of course, they could be the Contessa's daughters? You are old enough, I suppose, to be their mother?"

  The Contessa smiled thinly. "No, they are James' first wife's daughters, but soon I shall be the mother of his child," she informed Lady Harrier, and making a moue of her mouth, said regretfully, "A pity, is it not, when a woman becomes too old to bear the child, eh?" She looked at the older woman understandingly.

  Lady Harrier drew in her breath sharply, her mouth tight. "Why haven't I seen these daughters of yours before7 Keeping them hidden away, have you?"

  The Marquis smiled artlessly, his face the picture of in-nocence. "How can you think such a thing, Lady Jane? I've merely been waiting for the proper opportunity, shall we say, of introducing my lovely daughters to proper soci­ety." He turned a beaming face of fatherly pride on his daughters. "Allow me to introduce you to Mary, my eldest, and little Sabrina, who I am told takes after her fa­ther," he said modestly.

  Lady Harrier smiled thoughtfully. "Ummm, I can see that this evening will be quite extraordinary, you devil. You shall have all of my guests, especially those in breeches, burning with curiosity to have a peek beneath those tantalizing masks."

  "Do you really think so?" the Marquis asked ingenu­ously.

  Lady Harrier gave a disbelieving laugh. "The devil take you, James, now go and find some rich suitors for these daughters of yours."

  As they moved on, joining the crowd milling about, the Marquis seemed to be searching for certain faces, intro­ducing Mary and Sabrina to select persons only, snubbing those he felt were beneath him. Sabrina couldn't help but become caught up in the excitement as the drifting sounds of musicians warming up rose above the din of conversing voices, her small foot beginning to tap in anticipation.

  The Marquis stopped abruptly before a plump young man in pale blue brocade, pulling Mary and Sabrina close beside him. "Your Grace," he began audaciously, "you've not met my rustic beauties on their first visit to town. Mary, Sabrina, meet the Duke of Granston, my daughters, Your Grace."

  They curtsied politely, the Duke kissing their gloved hands, a spark of interest in his pale eyes. "M'pleasure, ladies," he slurred drunkenly. "Care t'dance?" And with­out waiting for an answer he swept Mary off into the dancing crowd.

  "Devilish rich," the Marquis whispered to the Contessa, a satisfied smile on his lips. "See how easy it will be, Luciana? We'll be rich enough to buy half of Venice if we want."

  The Contessa laughed mockingly. "It would be wise, caro, not to anticipate too much, just yet," she cautioned gently.

  "Yes, my lord," Sabrina added caustically, "one needs an acquiescent bride, and then, of course, a willing groom. Do you believe your good fortune will run to both?"

  The Marquis gave Sabrina a look of dislike. "I knew the first minute I saw you, you were a troublemaker," he sneered, "but just don't you forget what I told you, remember?" He looked at her meaningfully, then said to the Contessa, "I'll be back shortly, I see someone I want to have a word with."

  Sabrina's mouth was mutinous beneath her mask as she watched the Marquis walk jauntily off into the crowd. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she jumped when cool fingers touched her arm.

  "Child, it does little good to fight him," the Contessa said softly. "He will have his way, and I think there is little you can do about it."

  "You think not?" Sabrina replied bitterly.

  The Contessa shrugged. "I know you do not have the feelings of love for James, and I admit that he has not , been the good papa, but he
is my husband now. I know his faults, but when I look into his violet eyes, so much like yohrs, then all is forgiven and forgotten.

  "Someday a man will look into your eyes, little Sabrina, and he will forget your faults, as well. Oh yes, you have the faults your papa does. You think not? You are obsti­nate, temperamental, willful, and very beautiful. You are used to getting your own way, and now your papa has come and upset your plans. I am sorry for this, but I must look after my own. We are in need of money, and if you were to marry a rich man, well"—she smiled apologetically —"it would be acceptable for us to receive a settlement"

  "In other words," Sabrina said angrily, "a payment I am to be bought by the richest customer."

  "You do not put it so very nicely, but it is true. It is the way it has always been. A man either marries for beauty or money; unfortunately, they do not often come together. So, in your case, it will be for beauty. He will have to be very rich to get you, Sabrina."

  Sabrina turned from her in disgust, the glitter of the ball suddenly looking tawdry and sickening her.

  "You are too cynical for one so young," the Contessa commented, giving Sabrina a penetrating look. "Of course it has not been easy for you, this I understand. You have had to support your family, which puzzles me much. How is it that your family has managed to live? I know for a fact that James has sent no money."

  Sabrina shrugged. "We have made the estate pay, and we had a little from my mother's father," she lied, giving the Contessa a cold stare.

  "So, I mind my own business, Sabrina.85 The Contessa laughed, not offended by her stepdaughter's aloofness. "You are the proud one, eh? I think your papa is going to have trouble with you."

  Sabrina smiled, her eyes glinting behind their mask. "More than he could possibly believe. Mi scusi, Contessa," Sabrina murmured before being led away by an overly ea­ger partner.

  The Contessa's mouth dropped open momentarily as she remembered another masked face that had spoken in the same husky Italian. Dio mio, she thought in disbelief. It could not possibly be! But there had been something puz­zling her about that highwayman—and also about this little one. She had thought her suspicions ridiculous at the time, but now, she was not so sure. It is something only a woman would have sensed, a certain recognition despite the disguise.