Masque of Enchantment

by Charlene Cross

  “If you are to help my daughter, you must know of her past, correct?” His unwavering gaze questioned her as well, and Alissa nodded. “Then, Miss Pembroke, I will supply the details.”

  “She’s been mute since your wife’s death?” Alissa questioned, remembering the statement from his letter to Agatha, and watched as Jared turned his head briefly to look out the window. When his gaze again met hers, it had hardened, considerably.

  “Yes.” The word came out on a low, steely note. “Megan suffered a severe emotional trauma when she was four years old. There was a fire; Celeste, her mother, perished in it. Fortunately, Megan and I escaped, but she’s been unable or unwilling to speak ever since. It’s been two years. I’ve taken her to physicians, one after another, and they all say there is no physical abnormality. That’s why I sought you out.”

  With the recent loss of her own mother, Alissa could easily respond to his daughter’s hurt—the pain, the feeling of betrayal. Tears suddenly gathered as she thought of Rachel Ashford, but she quickly brushed her mother’s memory aside, for she was certain to flood the coach if she continued to think of her. Then, unheedful of her action, Alissa stretched her hand across the small space and touched Jared’s as it rested along his muscular thigh. “Your wife’s death was very tragic. I’m certain the loss has been great,” she said sympathetically. “For Megan, and for you.”

  Jared bestowed a lingering glance on her hand; Alissa immediately withdrew it. “For Megan, yes,” he said, “and that’s precisely why I must know if you are capable of handling this position. If not, I will have Mr. Stanley turn us around, and we shall head back to London.”

  Jared Braxton’s words were expressed without emotion, and Alissa was taken aback. For Megan, yes. But what of himself? What had transpired to make him seem so bereft of feeling for his late wife? Decidedly, it was indeed strange for a man to show not an ounce of remorse over the loss of a loved one, especially his mate. Unknowingly, she expressed her confusion aloud, “Why?”

  “Because,” he said, again misinterpreting her meaning, “Megan isn’t a very trusting child, especially of women. If—and I emphasize the word if, Miss Pembroke—by some chance you’re able to establish a rapport with her, I want to be certain you’ll be capable of carrying through on all you’ve promised for her. If not, it’s best we turn back now. I’ll not allow any further destruction of her emotions.”

  Like a heavy stone cast through the smooth surface of the water, self-condemnation rippled outward through Alissa’s mind, until her guilt-ridden conscience filled itself with ever-widening circles of remorse. She knew she could not fulfill any of his expectations, especially when he seemed to have placed his last ray of hope on Agatha Pembroke. Her shame mounted, brick upon brick, until she felt she would suffocate. Having known it was wrong from the start, she now truly realized Megan Braxton’s mental health was far more important than her own needs. And, again, despite the possible ramifications, Alissa attempted to state the truth.

  “Mr. Braxton, I must explain something. I—I hope you will be understanding when I’ve finished.” She tried to hold his gaze, but she found it impossible and shifted her concentration to her tightly gripped hands. “I—I—”

  “Yes, Miss Pembroke,” Jared broke in. “What is it?” The woman seemed to have gone even more pale than before. How, he was at a loss to say! “You what?”

  “I—I …” She hesitated again, then looked at him. Suddenly she feared his wrath, for she suspected it could be more destructive than a raging tempest.

  Becoming frustrated with her inability to verbalize her thoughts, Jared edged forward in his seat, tempted to pull the words from her throat. “Miss Pembroke, please! Be out with it!”

  “I, uh … I,” she stuttered again, for Jared was starting to glare. Then, like a frightened rabbit under the watchful eye of a wily fox, all her courage fled. “I have to use the convenience!” she blurted nonsensically.

  Jared threw back his head, and his deep laughter rang through the confines of the coach. “Your wish is my command,” he said, when his laughter finally subsided into a chuckle. Leaning toward the door, he rose slightly and opened it, then shouted up to his coachman. “Pull into the next inn, Mr. Stanley.”

  “Aye. Be about five minutes to the Bell in Stilton.”

  “Good.” He glanced back at Alissa, noting the tight expression on her face. “Hurry, please. Miss Pembroke is in dire need.”

  “Aye, gov’nor,” Mr. Stanley called, snapping his whip; the steady pace of the bays increased to a full gallop.

  With the sudden surge, Jared lost his balance. As he cursed Mr. Stanley’s parentage, his arm thrust forward, his hand hitting the seat near Alissa’s head, stopping his descent to her lap. Then, he shoved himself back into his own seat. “My apologies,” he stated. “Obviously, Mr. Stanley is most sympathetic to your plight.”

  Under her makeup, Alissa turned red to the roots of her hair, embarrassed by her ridiculous outburst. Jared’s laughter continued to ring inside her head, as did his vivid expletive, and she found she still suffered the effects of their near collision. The combined force of his handsome face, having been so close to hers; of his clean, masculine scent, laced with a hint of spicy cologne, its headiness still surrounding her; and of his exquisitely carved mouth, which she’d glimpsed fleetingly, prompting her to wonder again about its masterful embrace, made her feel somewhat giddy. Confused by her teeming emotions, she instantly wondered what she’d gotten herself into!

  Jared viewed her odd coloring with dismay. It was, to his estimation, the strangest hue of yellowish-pink he’d ever seen on a human. He could only equate it with the decaying salmon that washed up on the banks of the River Ettrick near his home, not far from Selkirk.

  Fearing she was becoming ill, he tried to soothe her. “We’ll be at the inn in a moment. I’ll arrange for a private room for your needs. After you’ve rested and eaten, we’ll be on our way, either to my home or back to London, whichever you choose.” Alissa started to speak, but he waved her off. “You can give me your answer after you’ve rested. However, Miss Pembroke, should you decide to continue on, be very certain you are capable of fulfilling your promise.” The coach slowed, and Jared glanced out the window. “Ah, we’re here.”

  Alissa’s gaze followed his, noting the hustle and bustle along the busy section of the Great North Road. Two inns, the Angel and the Bell, sat opposite each other, staring stonily across the twenty-yard span separating them, for their competition was fierce. Coaches entered and exited both inns at a pace that was hard to believe. Jared Braxton’s own coach stood in line, waiting to enter through the gates into the courtyard of the Bell. In the midst of all the hubbub, flocks of gray geese waddled along the middle of the thoroughfare, scurrying from under horses’ hooves and coach wheels as they were herded south to the London market. Oxen, as well, traveled in the same direction on newly shod hooves, the iron shoes preventing injury or wear along the way.

  Alissa hadn’t expected all this frenzied activity. Instantly she feared she’d be recognized by one of the numerous travelers taking repast at the inn. Then she decided it was unlikely. Yet, she’d feel a great deal more secure if there were fewer people milling about.

  As the coach slowly made its way through the stone archway into the courtyard, Alissa looked at Jared. “How far have we come?”

  “Seventy-five miles.”

  Her eyes widened. “On one team of horses?”

  Jared chuckled. “Hardly, Miss Pembroke. We stopped several times during the night for a fresh pair. You slept soundly through the entire event.”

  “Oh,” Alissa commented and glanced out the window.

  Soundly? Jared questioned silently. Not quite! She’d stirred several times while in the throes of a bad dream. What had she muttered? Run, run, he’s after you. No! Roads. … Jared had missed the rest, her babble nothing more than incoherent little sketches. But later, she’d moaned, then shouted, His blood! or God’s blood! Whichever it was, he
couldn’t recall. How she’d managed not to awaken herself, he had no idea, for he’d practically jumped from his seat when she’d yelled the words. Then he wondered if last night’s tactless queries had possibly stirred the specters of her past into action, causing her nightmares. His brow furrowed, and again, he doubted the wisdom of continuing on their northward journey.

  The coach finally pulled to the entry, and Jared stepped from its interior. Preoccupied with her thoughts, Alissa slid to the edge of her seat. With any luck, she’d be able to escape him here in Stilton and book herself on a stage, heading north, or west. Anyplace, so long as it was away from Jared Braxton and her pursuers. If she were careful, she could find her way from the Bell over to the Angel and board the next public coach and be safely on her way. But first, she needed to fetch her hidden savings from her case. Unfortunately, there wasn’t even a farthing in Agatha’s purse.

  Jared offered his hand. “Miss Pembroke.”

  Alissa placed her small hand in his, noting its gentle strength. Then in a rustle of skirt, she alighted with grace.

  “I see we are making progress.”

  Confused, she gazed at his handsome face. “Progress?”

  “Yes.” He nodded toward their joined hands.

  Realizing his meaning, Alissa slowly slipped from his grip. “I suppose we are, Mr. Braxton.”

  “Good.” He withdrew a step, deciding not to press her too quickly. “Fears can be overcome, if one only tries.”

  “I’m certain they can,” she said as she glanced around the bustling, sun-fused courtyard. While she pushed her bonnet forward, she searched for a feasible escape route.

  Jared noted how she always fussed with her bonnet, apparently trying to hide her face, and suspected her plainness made her feel self-conscious. Yet, he remembered, while viewing her this morning, he’d noticed she had good bone structure, plus a classically straight nose, and nicely shaped lips, the lower slightly fuller than the upper. If it weren’t for her deathly ill color, she might be quite pleasant to look upon. Or at least passable, he conceded. “Shall I have Mr. Stanley fetch a bag from the boot?” he asked, dismissing his wild meanderings.

  “Yes, please. The small black one.”

  “Certainly.” He strode several feet from her side, then looked up at his tired coachman. “Mr. Stanley, please bring Miss Pembroke’s small black case when you come.”

  “Aye. I will, soon as I tend to the horses.”

  “You’d best tend to yourself, Mr. Stanley. A hot meal shall await you when you’re through.”

  “Right, gov’nor,” he said with a tip of his hat, then guided the coach to the livery area.

  “After you, Miss Pembroke.”

  Jared swept his arm before him, and Alissa headed toward the door. But before she could enter, a small, rotund man came scurrying up from behind them. Without so much as an “excuse me,” he nudged Alissa aside, and heaved himself through the opening, leaving her wide-eyed and mouth agape. Such rudeness was uncalled for, she thought, glaring at the man’s back. Apparently, Jared thought the same.

  “Hold, sir!” He grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him back through the entry. “A lady was before you. You’ll wait your turn.”

  The smaller man pivoted, ready to take issue. But when he saw the size of his towering opponent, he thought better of it. “Begs yer pardon, ma’am,” he said with a gulp, “but I have urgent business with the Justice o’ the Peace. He’s here breakfasting with his regulars,” he added, referring to the local constables. “There’s been a bit of trouble in London, and word’s out to check all coaches headin’ north.” Normally, he would never have shared the information, but the look in the tall stranger’s eyes had loosened his tongue. “Excuse me, but I must be goin’.” He bobbed his head and started to make his way back through the door, but Jared’s words stopped him.

  “We’ve just come from London. Is there a great emergency?”

  Suddenly Alissa felt nauseated, weak. Keeping her head bowed, she listened to the man’s every word.

  “Nothin’ serious. Just some viscount gettin’ his head split in two by an actress at Covent Garden. They’re lookin’ for her. Cain’t say I’d like bein’ in her shoes when they find her.”

  Jared turned curious eyes on the man. “Covent Garden, you say?”

  “Sure ’nough. Been there, has ye?”

  “Several times.”

  He reserved the knowledge that the last time was only yesterday. Then he wondered if the young actress—his Hermia—and the woman the harried man had mentioned were one and the same. He had dreamed of her last night—held her in his arms and felt his masculine needs stir. Then just as his lips were about to meet her yielding mouth, his gaze traveling over her vague features, his vision of her became distorted, then changed. The face of Agatha Pembroke had appeared in her place! Needless to say, he’d jerked himself awake. As he thought on it, Jared shuddered anew, wondering how such a lovely fantasy could turn into such a distasteful bugbear.

  Clearing the distressing episode from his head, Jared said, “Please go ahead.” He waved the man through. “Your mission is obviously most urgent.”

  To Alissa’s relief, the small man puffed himself up and waddled through the door. With an odd rolling gait, he sped out of sight. Fortunately, she had escaped detection this time. But for how long? Especially with the Justice and his regulars in the building! Then she felt Jared’s hand on her arm, urging her forward. But her feet refused to move; they seemed rooted in the stone step. Finally, she gazed up at him. “I fear I really must find a place to rest.” Anyplace! she thought in desperation. So long as it was away from the many curious eyes at the inn.

  Viewing her, Jared was amazed at the ghastly colors the peculiar woman could turn. Before it was yellowish pink, now it was paste gray, an exact match to the stone wall behind her. Without hesitation, he hustled her through the doorway, practically carrying her to the counter, pushing several patrons aside who were in his path. “I need a room, immediately,” he said to the clerk without preamble.

  “You’ll wait yer turn,” the young man answered, echoing Jared’s words spoken outside the door.

  “I need a room, my good man,” he repeated with controlled force, his voice low, threatening. “Now!”

  Indignation written on his face, the clerk raised his narrowed gaze, ready to refuse. However, he took one look at Jared’s hard green eyes and glanced at Alissa. “God A’mighty! She ain’t dyin’, is she?”

  “Not if you get her a place where she can rest, undisturbed—immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk called a young servant girl to the counter and handed her a key. “Take this here lady upstairs … be quick about it.”

  “Thank you,” Alissa whispered. As she turned to follow the young woman, she heard the clerk’s aside to Jared.

  “She ain’t catching, is she?”

  “No, young man. She has a frail heart.”

  “Should I fetch a croaker?”

  “If she needs a physician, I’ll let you know.”

  Pretending to be extremely weak, Alissa followed slowly up to the second level. Once inside the room, the young woman curtsied and hastily started to flee. “Wait!” Alissa called. The girl slowly turned to face her; Alissa noticed she kept her hand on the latch. “Could you please tell me if there’s a public stage due at the Angel soon?”

  “Can’t say. I don’t work at the Angel, mum. This here’s the Bell.”

  “I know it is!” Alissa practically snapped the words, time being of the essence. The girl edged herself closer to the door, her back now against the latch. Obviously, she was frightened, and Alissa realized why. “Please, don’t be afraid. I assure you I have no disease, nor am I contagious.” The girl still seemed cautious, but at least she’d stopped her anxious movements. “How many stages pass this way?” Alissa questioned, hoping to get some information from her.

  “Oh, lots, mum. But I don’t know the times, especially at the Angel.”

&
nbsp; “Do any head west from here?”

  “None I know of, mum,” she said, shrugging. “London’d be your best place to catch one, I’d say. ’Course, you could go north to Leeds. I have an uncle there, and I took one once to visit him. I suppose you could catch one going west from there.”

  Frowning, Alissa thought of her options. London was definitely out of the question. Yet she had hoped she could travel a different road than Jared, but the Great North seemed to be the way of both their paths.

  Both women jumped as a sudden rap sounded on the door. The latch turned, and without waiting for Alissa’s call, Jared strode through, carrying her black case. The servant girl quickly scurried out, almost beneath Jared’s feet. He frowned at her abrupt departure, then closed the door. “It’s difficult to get good help these days,” he commented as he walked toward the bed where he set the bag. “I’ve ordered up a tray for you. I took the liberty of sending a lad over to the Angel for some of Miss Worthington’s famous Stilton cheese. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m certain I will.”

  “Is there anything else you need?”

  Alissa shook her head. “Rest, that’s all. I thank you for your concern.”

  Jared hesitated, momentarily, then he retraced his steps to the door. “I’ll have someone come stay with you.”

  “No! I mean, I’d rather you wouldn’t. Everyone here seems a bit nervous. I think they’re afraid I might carry the plague. Besides, I know my own needs better than anyone. Truly, Mr. Braxton, there’s no cause for alarm.”

  “Are you certain?” he asked, but she didn’t answer. She just stared. “Miss Pembroke, please understand, if you feel the need for a physician, tell me. You won’t be putting anyone out by doing so.” Jared took a step toward her, and Alissa immediately backed away. Suddenly he realized he’d shut himself in the room with her. There had been no intent on his part, yet she possibly thought otherwise. “Should you decide you’ve changed your mind, please let me know.” With that, he left the room.