Masque of Enchantment

by Charlene Cross

  Alissa braced herself for their face-to-face encounter. But as she reached the third to the last step, she slid in Agatha’s shoes, losing her balance. Keen reflexes allowed Jared to catch her arm before she completely upended herself, and he assisted her until she reached solid footing.

  “Thank you.” Alissa’s whispered words floated upward to the man who stood head and shoulders above her. Suddenly she realized the curtain had risen—Act I, Scene i—and could only pray it would not fall before this farce of a melodrama had been played out! Pulling free of his firm grip, she explained, “I suppose I’m not yet as steady on my feet as I had thought.”

  “It’s understandable. Your illness has naturally weakened you.” Jared had noticed her quick escape from his supporting hand. Perhaps she was embarrassed, he thought, for she had almost tumbled at his feet. Not wanting to distress her further, he stepped back a few paces. “I apologize for my late arrival,” he continued, his deep, mellow tone vibrating through her, “but my man became confused in the fog. We took several wrong turns before we finally found the correct street. Unfortunately, I’m no longer as familiar with London as I once was.”

  “Apology accepted, Mr. Braxton, but you are not to be held accountable for this dismal night,” she said in Agatha’s proper tone as she desperately tried to rid herself of his compelling charm. He possessed an extraordinary power to attract the opposite sex, she knew. Beware! her inner voice warned. He’s a devil—a devil! “London is notorious for its sudden blinding mists,” she continued priggishly. “It’s a common occurrence.”

  She’s certainly a prim little baggage, Jared decided while he perused her. Plain as a brown paper wrapping, too. Then he wondered if his precious Megan would take to this woman. She seemed too staid and standoffish to establish an easy rapport with any child, let alone his own.

  Perhaps, he concluded, she felt uncomfortable in the presence of a man—he in particular. Having saved her from certain disaster, he’d felt her stiffen under his touch. But he couldn’t very well have let her fall flat on her face! Whatever had caused her prudish behavior, it was no concern of his. Her exceptional talents had come highly recommended, and he was anxious to return to Scotland so she could put her expertise to work. Above all else, Megan needed her help.

  “The fog is one thing I’ve not forgotten about,” he offered, again smiling. When he viewed her more carefully in the dim light, he noted the dark circles under her eyes and the gaunt hollows in her cheeks. Although he was eager to be on his way, he thought better of it. “Miss Pembroke,” he ventured, “considering the late hour and your weakened condition, perhaps we should wait until morning before we—”

  “No!”

  Alissa and Eudora had cried the word in unison, then they both fell silent. Obviously the solicitous Mr. Braxton had been taken aback by their distressed outburst. Hoping to rectify the situation, Alissa drew from all her training on the stage. Straightening her shoulders, she looked directly into Jared Braxton’s eyes—long-lashed green eyes that could melt a woman’s heart. Or freeze it just as quickly. “What Mrs. Binnington and I meant was she has already let my room. The new tenant has moved in, so I no longer have a place to stay. Besides, the sooner we leave for Scotland, the sooner I can begin working with … uh, Megan,” she quickly supplied, having almost forgotten the child’s name. “My time is precious.” Alissa’s tone grew pompous, too much so, even for her own ears. Yet she forged onward in the same vein without thought of possible repercussions. “I simply cannot abide delays. Other children do need my help. So let us not tarry, sir.”

  One dark brow arched as Jared stared at the haughty woman. He hoped she wasn’t threatening him, for demanding females set him on edge, and his tolerance toward this one was slipping fast!

  Already in ill humor, precipitated partly by the fog, but mostly by his disappointment at losing out on an introduction to a very intriguing young lady, earlier in the evening, Jared felt like exiting without a backward glance. But a vision of his daughter passed before his eyes, and he decided he must remain civil, no matter how much he detested the thought of doing so. For Megan, he would do anything.

  Then something caught his attention. Although the woman appeared to be on death’s doorstep, her eyes were a clear, sparkling cobalt-blue. Indeed, they had far too much life in them for someone who had recently been so ill. His curiosity aroused, he stepped closer, hoping to examine the insolent woman more thoroughly.

  His steady gaze upon her, Alissa’s immediate reaction was to retreat, but she stood her ground, offering up a thousand praises that the lighting was somewhat inferior. That, plus the jutting brim of the poke bonnet, kept her face shadowed. Yet, she felt her composure waver. The man made her nervous. He was far too forceful, too imposing for her liking, and something in his manner told her that he viewed the opposite sex with disdain. But perhaps it had nothing to do with women. Maybe he had hit upon her attempted deception!

  With her gaze never vacillating from his, she made a final push. “Well, Mr. Braxton, do we leave? Or shall I consult my list for another name—one who will be more appreciative of my time and expertise.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. Ultimatums boded ill with him, as well, and despite his earlier decision to endure her irksome manner, he found he could no longer keep up the pretense. “By all means, Miss Pembroke,” he stated in clipped tones. “We shall be on our way.” He turned to the wide-eyed man in the doorway. “Mr. Stanley, fetch Miss Pembroke’s luggage.” With that, he strode through the entry, the heels of his black boots echoing his anger as he disappeared into the night to cool his rising temper.

  Alissa’s questioning gaze sought Eudora’s. With a reassuring nod, the older woman turned to the short, wiry man still hovering on the doorstep and smiled. “Mr. Stanley, please follow me.”

  “Yes, mum,” he said, head bobbing, hat in his hand. But when he reached Alissa’s side, he stopped and ducked his head again. “Don’t pay him no mind, miss. He’s in a foul mood tonight, me gettin’ lost and all.” He looked at his well-worn hat as he twirled it nervously in his calloused hands. “Uh, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, Mr. Braxton’s a bit touchy with the ladies. Has been ever since—” He cleared his throat, and Alissa realized Mr. Stanley felt uneasy about his shared confidences. “His daughter, Megan, she’s his whole life, now. She needs yer help, so if ye could find it in yer heart to overlook his fits of temper, I’m sure, uh … that is …”

  “I understand, Mr. Stanley,” Alissa reassured him as she lightly touched his forearm. “Believe me, his daughter is my first and foremost concern.”

  And indeed she was, as Alissa doubted the wisdom of continuing her charade. Megan Braxton deserved far better than Alissa, posing as Agatha Pembroke, could ever give. In the end, the child might suffer a devastating blow to her emotional health if Alissa’s duplicity was found out, which seemed inevitable.

  Eudora watched Alissa’s thoughts gallop full speed across her face, thoughts that could lead her straight to the gallows. “Mr. Stanley, Miss Pembroke’s bags are in my room,” she said. “If you don’t mind retrieving them yourself, I have no objections.”

  His craggy face split into a crooked, long-toothed grin. “That’ll be fine, mum. Be most happy to fetch ’em.”

  “Upstairs, and first door on the left. You’ll find three cases there and a small trunk in the hallway.” Then Eudora waited until Mr. Stanley was out of earshot. “The play will let out at eleven and someone will surely find the viscount’s body, if they haven’t already,” she whispered. “There’s not much time. At best, a half hour. You’ve no choice but to go.” Alissa started to protest, but Eudora cut her off. “At least use Mr. Braxton’s coach to get safely out of London. Once you’ve reached Scotland, if you decide not to portray Miss Pembroke any longer, so be it! You can escape the man well before you ever meet the child. Please, Alissa,” she implored. “Use your head. You must leave. Immediately.”

  Alissa sighed. “Eudora, I … oh, all right. I’ll do w
hat you ask. But I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t have to like it. When you find the opportunity to flee Mr. Braxton’s company, do so as quickly and with as much thought as possible. Whatever you do,” she added, “don’t leave a trace of yourself. I detect the man has little patience with dishonesty, especially in a woman. And take care not to provoke him. I suspect he’s only willing to tolerate the impression you’ve made as Agatha for his daughter’s sake, and hers alone. Heaven only knows what he’ll do should he discover you’re not the woman he believes he hired.”

  “I’ll be careful. I fear I overacted my part, but the man makes me exceptionally nervous.”

  “Agatha certainly was prim and proper, but she had far less spirit than you’ve displayed. My suggestion is to keep Alissa’s temperament under control, then you’ll have mastered your part as Miss Pembroke.”

  “I’ll try,” Alissa said, but feared it would be a futile attempt. Then she wondered why the man couldn’t have been a dull, unassuming individual equal to the late Miss Pembroke. She’d have no problem playing her role, then. As it was, though, she would have to watch her every step. In more ways than one, she thought, gazing down at her oversize shoes.

  With a grunt, Mr. Stanley reappeared at the top of the stairs, and both women glanced at him. Knowing she had but a few seconds more, Eudora affectionately squeezed Alissa’s hands. A hug might have drawn suspicion. “God keep you safe, dearest, and write me as soon as you can.” Then she turned. “Ah, Mr. Stanley,” she called cheerfully. “You found them without any trouble, I see.”

  “Yes, mum,” he answered as he juggled the cases: two gripped in a small, but meaty right hand; the third tucked under his arm; while the trunk, secured in his left hand, bumped down the steps beside him. “Uh, mum,” he said when he reached the bottom, a somewhat awed expression on his face. “If ye don’t mind me askin’ … uh, was ye an actress?”

  Alissa stiffened and quickly looked to Eudora.

  “I saw ’em posters and stuff. Ye was quite a looker, ye was … I mean, ye still are, mum, but … uh …”

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Stanley.” Eudora smiled as relief washed over her. “Thank you for the compliment, but as you have guessed, that was years ago.”

  “Yes, mum, but yer still a fine-lookin’ woman.”

  “Mr. Stanley!” Jared Braxton sharply addressed his man from the shadows beyond the opened door; Alissa jumped. “If you are through chatting,” he said, sarcasm lacing each word as he entered the foyer, “we’ll be on our way.”

  “Aye, gov’nor, I was just leavin’.” He lifted the heavy trunk again, and headed for the door. “Sure has a frightful case of the mulligrubs, he does!” the man grumbled loud enough for his master to hear.

  Jared’s dark scowl followed Mr. Stanley’s hasty escape. If he didn’t owe the disrespectful cuss his life—the man had fished him from the waters near the docks in Glasgow after he’d been set upon by thugs, twelve years past—he’d boot the old salt straight into the Thames! Then he turned a corrosive eye on Alissa. “Miss Pembroke, if you would, please?”

  She gazed at his proffered arm, wondering how long he had been on the doorstep, then became fearful that he had overheard Eudora’s words. No, she quickly decided, for if he had, he would have instructed Mr. Stanley to dump her bags, and the two would have departed. But not before he’d delivered a caustic, well-deserved rebuke at her person.

  Holding her head high, Alissa moved to his side. “Thank you, Mr. Braxton.” Her voice rang strong and steady. Yet, oddly enough, she discovered she clutched her purse in front of her. It was a worthless shield, indeed. “I appreciate your consideration, but I can manage on my own.” His arm slowly fell away, and she turned her gaze to Eudora. “And thank you, Mrs. Binnington, for all you’ve done. My stay here was most pleasant.” Although her words were formal, the deep affection she held for her friend shone in her eyes. Suddenly she felt the sting of tears, and before they fell, she quickly swept down the steps, leaving Jared Braxton behind.

  Jared watched as Mr. Stanley assisted the odd, little woman into the coach. Estimating her age close to his own thirty-two years, he decided she was a plain, impertinent female who held little attraction for his gender. Yet, there was something about her graceful carriage that contradicted his opinion. And her eyes. Unable to fathom what it was, he felt certain a dark secret lay behind those clear, blue irises. Knowing his frame of mind slanted distrustfully toward all women, however, he quelled his suspicions. “Mrs. Binnington.” He nodded his good-bye, then he, too, descended to the coach.

  Eudora watched as he swung into its interior, then the conveyance rolled away into the misty night. She kept her vigil until it turned the corner, then closed the door and fell back against it. “God help her,” she whispered, “should he ever discover the truth.”

  As the lumbering coach rolled and swayed along the dark streets, Alissa sat in the corner of the dimly lit vehicle, gazing out the window. In turn, Jared Braxton sat opposite her, perusing his daughter’s new governess. She felt his steady gaze, yet he said not a word. The silence prevailed until finally her taut nerves could no longer withstand the lengthening void.

  “How far do you think we shall travel tonight?” she asked, her gaze turning from the street.

  “As long as Mr. Stanley can keep atop his seat. I’ve made arrangements with several coaching inns for fresh horses along the way. If possible, we’ll travel the night. I assume that meets with your criteria for speed and efficiency? I certainly wouldn’t want to cause you any unnecessary delays, Miss Pembroke.” Then he fell silent, his eyes never leaving her.

  Alissa held his gaze for a moment and looked out the window again. She refused to answer his snide comment, for she sensed he was purposely trying to bait her! Heed Eudora’s counsel, she reminded herself. Control your temper and all will go well. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself of it, his continuous stare began to fray the edges of her sanity. She almost blurted the truth, when the sudden pitch of the coach caused her to swallow her confession. With a violent jolt, the coach stopped, and she flew forward, her face smashing into Jared Braxton’s broad chest.

  His quick hands caught her before she flopped to the floor between them. Gently he settled her back onto the seat. Long fingers gripped her upper arms, pressing against the sides of her full breasts, while his eyes remained intent upon her face. A peculiar scent invaded his nostrils, and he identified it as lavender and … brandy? No, Jared decided. Most likely, it was some type of medication, prescribed for her condition. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

  “Quite,” she answered stiffly, worming her way from his grasp. Uncomfortably close, his face only inches from hers, an odd chill shivered through her body. Then, realizing her bonnet was askew, she quickly pushed it forward to shadow her face. Nervously she brushed at her clothing, hoping to distract his searching gaze.

  In that instant, a rise of angry voices drew Jared’s attention, and he stepped over her feet and out the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Alissa breathed an audible sigh of relief. With a curious ear, she listened to Mr. Stanley’s tirade from atop his perch.

  “Ye bloody fool, cain’t ye see I had the right o’ way?” And, with an expert’s flair, he added a colorful phrase, causing Alissa to blush.

  “Mr. Stanley!” Jared intervened sternly. “Calm yourself! I’m certain these good men have urgent business.”

  Wondering what could be causing the commotion, Alissa poked her head outside. Instantly she withdrew it. Her heart racing wildly, she started to tremble. Quickly she debated whether she should flee or if she should stay in the coach. Her decision made, she huddled deeper into her corner and pulled her cloak more securely around her. For what seemed an eternity, she waited and prayed.

  “Back it up, Mr. Stanley.” Jared’s call finally filtered to her ears, and with a thump, the coach wheel rolled from the sidewalk. A few seconds later, he settled into his seat again.

  “Wh
at was that all about?” Alissa asked cautiously.

  “Mr. Stanley and a prison van decided to occupy the same width of street at the same precise moment. Fortunately, he was able to avoid a disaster.”

  Certain the van was on its way to Eudora’s, she was thankful they’d left when they had.

  “Was there any mention of their mission?”

  “They were in a hurry. They didn’t have time to make polite conversation.”

  “Oh,” Alissa commented, relieved to hear it.

  “Do murders intrigue you, Miss Pembroke?”

  Her gaze snapped to his face. But nothing in his close scrutiny indicated he suspected anything. “Murders?”

  His green eyes remained steady on her face. “Yes, murders.”

  “Did they mention such?”

  “No, but I presume by their haste, they weren’t merely after a pickpocket.” Jared continued to watch the tight-lipped woman across from him. “Well, do they?”

  “Do they what?”

  “Murders … do they interest you?”

  “How utterly ridiculous you should ask such a thing,” she answered primly and watched as a rather strange grin split his chiseled lips. Despite herself, she could not help but stare. As an actress, she was no stranger to kisses, she simply did not offer them freely. But as she gazed at Jared’s handsome mouth, intuition again told her, if he were to use those pliable lips on a woman’s, they could be either persuasive and tender, or hard and demanding, whichever he chose. She shook the thought from her head. “You have a dark and disgusting mind. Murders, indeed!”

  “My apologies, Miss Pembroke,” he said as he settled back. “I dispute your comment about my mind. But of course, that is a matter of opinion. I asked because I was just curious as to why you were so interested in the constable’s … uh, ‘mission,’ as you put it.”

  “I, too, was just curious.”

  No longer able to hold his amused gaze, she lowered her eyes. Then she saw it. Powder smudged his black cloak, and she knew precisely what it was! When she’d rammed, headlong, into his hard chest, her cheek had grazed its solid wall and part of her makeup had remained behind. She raised her hand to cover the exposed area on her face. With several subtle strokes, she tried to blend the missing patch over. A quick glance at her glove, however, told her she was botching the repair job by wiping more off.