Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  There was also his mother. Ria frowned. How could a woman call her child Lucifer? What was she like? When he’d told her his name, she had felt her resolve soften and her heart melt. With such a mother, what must his childhood have been like?

  At least she’d had two loving parents, even if only for a short while. To counter the pain thinking of her parents always brought, she focused on the pleasure she’d felt when she was with him.

  She’d enjoyed their conversation while walking in the shrubbery—part of it, anyway. For once, she had said what was on her mind, and it had certainly been fun to disconcert him.

  Then there was how she’d felt when he kissed her wrist. How could something so simple cause so much pleasure? That pleasure had certainly diminished her fear of discovery. The mere memory of how he made her feel was enough to make her breath quicken and stir sparks to life within her.

  This naturally led to frustration. She released the pillow and pushed down the sheet, now unable to bear even its’ light weight against her skin.

  Though her next thoughts dampened some of those feelings. He might still recognize her, and if he did she could lose everything. If there was only herself to think of, maybe she would chance it, but Ria couldn’t risk everyone else’s future. She just couldn’t.

  Could she?

  7

  How did he do it? Ria wondered as she saw Luc riding toward her. How did he manage to appear whenever she went out?

  Bringing his horse alongside, he greeted her. Then, looking at the baskets in the gig, he asked, “Are you visiting your tenants today?”

  Ria nodded in confirmation and then added by way of explanation, “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  The earl smiled at her and suggested, “I was out for a ride. Perhaps I might accompany you?”

  Good manners dictated she could not refuse outright, but Ria tried to discourage him, though she did wonder why she bothered. “Thank you, Lord Arden. However, it is not necessary. I only have one more visit to make.” She added hopefully, “I am sure you have other things to do.”

  “No, not at all. I was just out for a ride.”

  At that moment, they reached the Fords’, saving Ria from having to reply. Before her groom could assist her, the earl was offering her his hand to help her down. Ria reluctantly placed her hand in his, thankful she was wearing gloves since he was not. Just seeing him was enough to bring back memories of that night without touching his bare skin.

  She turned to see her groom struggling with a basket. Lord Arden indicated the man should stand back, and to her amazement Luc effortlessly removed it from the gig.

  Perhaps he was one of those gentlemen referred to as Corinthians and spent his time not only drinking and gambling but also practicing at Jackson’s boxing saloon and fencing.

  She could imagine him with a rapier, all charm and elegance. Even in a duel, about to pierce his opponent, he would no doubt do so with the utmost politeness and a small smile.

  Ria knocked on the cottage door. One of the children opened the door to them, then grinned broadly and stood back when he saw who it was. Ria led the way into the stone cottage, shrugging off her pelisse as it was warm inside.

  As soon as the other children saw her, they jumped up with cries of, “Mrs. St. James, Mrs. St. James,” and ran toward her.

  Laughing at their exuberant welcome, Ria hugged them, smiling over their heads at their mother. “Hello, Mrs. Ford. How are you today?”

  “I’m very well. Thank you, Mrs. St. James.” Then as the earl entered with the basket, she exclaimed, “My goodness, what is this?” and, a child balanced on her hip, cleared a space on the wooden table with her free hand.

  Ria smiled at the children, then looked back at Mrs. Ford. “As it is Christmas Eve, I had a special basket made up for you.”

  Turning to Luc, she introduced him, hoping he would not take offense when she named him merely as Luc Adair, omitting all mention of his title. He had done the same thing in the cemetery when he’d introduced himself to her, so she thought it unlikely he’d mind.

  As she suspected, he seemed unconcerned. He politely greeted Mrs. Ford as he removed his greatcoat. Jacketless, dressed in buckskin trousers and white shirt, he seemed far less intimidating but no less attractive. In fact, he took her breath away.

  Trying to hide her involuntary reaction and most of all not think about his invitation to have an affaire, Ria opened the basket.

  The children crowded around as Ria showed Mrs. Ford the contents, their eyes lighting up when they saw the Christmas pudding. One boy licked his lips and reached out to touch it. With a smile, his mother lightly slapped his hand away. “That’s for tea, Timmy, so you will have to wait a little longer.”

  Looking at Ria, she added, “I’d best be putting this all away before the children help themselves. Thank you so much, Mrs. St. James. We will have a fine Christmas indeed.”

  As Mrs. Ford went to put the baby down, Ria held out her hands. “I’ll hold her if you like.”

  “Thank you, madam. I won’t be a moment.”

  While Mrs. Ford put away the provisions, Ria sat down beside the fire.

  Balancing the little girl on her knee, Ria watched the earl from the corner of her eye. Timmy walked up behind him and tugged on the bottom of his shirt. As he turned, the boy showed him one of the small wooden soldiers his grandfather had carved for him for his birthday. Within minutes, the earl was on the floor with all five of the boys, playing soldiers.

  Luc, though playing with the boys, had positioned himself so he could watch Mrs. St James. When she’d removed her pelisse, his hands had ached to stroke her. Her body was lush and ripe with generous curves. She reminded him of peaches and cream on a warm summer’s day. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her.

  He’d seen the quick glance she gave him as she made the introductions and understood why she omitted his title. Mrs. Ford would have been far less relaxed in his company if she’d known he was an earl. Truth be told, it was refreshing being in the company of a family who did not know.

  Luc couldn’t help but compare Mrs. St. James—Ria—with his mother. Whenever his mother had visited tenants, she was very much the lady of the manor distributing bounty and made sure the tenants treated her like royalty. She would certainly never touch any of the children or allow them to touch her. Nor had she ever displayed the genuine care and attention Ria was showing Mrs. Ford.

  Once Mrs. Ford finished putting away the basket contents, she offered them refreshments. With a quick glance at him, Ria declined, explaining she was expected back at the manor shortly.

  Once they left the Fords’, Luc turned to her. “May I escort you home, Mrs. St. James?”

  She nodded, but to his hidden amusement made sure that the journey back was a silent one by setting a fast pace.

  On arrival at the manor, as he expected, she once again obeyed the dictates of polite society by inviting him inside.

  Smoothly he declined her invitation. “My host, Lord Lyons, is expecting me, so thank you but no.”

  A look of surprise flitted across her face as she said, “That is a pity.” Then in strangled tones, the words seemingly forced out of her, she said, “We are going to church tomorrow morning and then having friends to dinner. It will be a simple Christmas, but you and Lord Lyons are welcome to join us.”

  With a smile, he once again declined. He then remounted his horse and rode down the drive leaving her very much bemused. Just as he’d intended.

  Keeping her unsteady, not knowing what to expect from him, was one of his key weapons in their engagement.

  8

  Little Bridgeton, January 1814

  Mr. Perwick tugged at his cravat, then rubbed the back of his neck as he read the list of instructions she’d just handed him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Ria nodded.

  After again carefully scrutinizing the instructions, her solicitor looked back up at her. “You are certain?”

  “Yes.”


  “It is my responsibility to point out that if the St. James estate is put into a trust, you will be left with very little.”

  “I know, but it is something I feel I must do.”

  “Well, I suppose one consolation is you now have the farm up north.”

  Regaining his composure, her solicitor ventured a small smile and continued their earlier conversation. “The farm is north of York.” He beckoned to his assistant hovering by the door, and the young boy hurried over with a map.

  Her solicitor took it from him and pointed to an area near the Yorkshire moors. “The closest village is Bishop Malton, and the farm is here. It’s being run by the manager of the adjacent farm, an arrangement that has been in place for the past ten years, so you do not need to be concerned or rush to make arrangements.”

  Ria felt the tension in her shoulders ease at his words. She hadn’t been looking forward to going north in the middle of winter. There would have to be a compelling reason for such a journey.

  That left one more thing on her list of questions. “What about the house?”

  “The farmhouse? I believe it has been locked up. There was a housekeeper, but she was left a bequest and has gone to live with her sister. There is, I believe…” He looked down at the papers on his desk. “Yes. Here it is. Your cousin’s solicitor writes that there is the wife of a farm laborer who would be suitable to be your housekeeper if you wish. However, she wouldn’t be available to enter your service until the spring as she is staying the winter with her daughter to help her in her confinement.”

  Perwick leaned forward and gave her a beaming smile, “I trust, Mrs. St. James, in that regard I have been able to address your needs to your satisfaction?”

  “Yes, thank you. You have answered all my questions.”

  All he could. He couldn’t tell her why a cousin of her father, whom she had never heard of, left her his estate. Though, from what Perwick said, estate was too grand a word. Small farm was more appropriate.

  He peered at her over his glasses. “May I enquire as to what you intend to do with the property?”

  “I am not sure at present. I would like to visit it, but as you suggest there is no hurry, and traveling north in winter would be unwise.”

  “Yes, indeed. At this time of year, it would take you a week, perhaps a little more. I believe waiting until the weather is more clement is the best course of action, and you will have more time to consider your options.”

  Pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, the solicitor continued. “Regarding the other matter, setting up the St. James Trust, we will have the papers ready for you to sign within a few days.”

  “Thank you.” Ria hesitated and then said, “There is one more thing, Perwick. I did not realize my father had a cousin. Do you know if I have any other relatives?”

  Perwick avoided her gaze by looking at the papers on his desk. “Yes, well, it was most unexpected. At the time of your parents’ untimely demise, I did not know of his existence.”

  He shuffled the papers. “I have since gone back through my father’s documents as he was your grandfather’s solicitor. From what I can determine, you have no other direct relatives. I have, however, identified two people that you share a distant ancestor with. One has the adjoining property up north, and coincidentally, another has a property that adjoins St. James Manor. I refer to the Marquess of Lyons. But, sadly, you would have to go back as far as William the Conqueror to find the connection.”

  Disheartened, Ria thanked the solicitor, took her leave, and went out to the busy street, followed by Mary, her maid.

  As a gust of frigid air swirled around her, she shivered and tucked her hands deeper into her sable muff, then clutched it to her for extra warmth.

  Looking along High Street past the red brick buildings and the Norman church, she saw Geoffrey. He was speaking to two gentlemen standing near the stone obelisk erected recently to celebrate King George III’s jubilee.

  Her stomach dropped as she recognized the men. Luc and Devon—who was, surprisingly, a distant relative. Though so far removed it did not make much difference.

  Were they friends with Geoffrey? Surely not. If so, Luc was less discerning than she thought.

  From this distance, they certainly seemed friendly.

  Rubbing her chest, she took a deep breath. What if they were friends and Geoffrey told them he was contesting Monty’s will?

  Oh, how silly! It wasn’t likely he would. After all, it wasn’t a usual topic of conversation. What would he say? By the way, I didn’t think my uncle’s marriage was consummated so I challenged the will, and damn it, I was wrong!”

  Highly unlikely. Even if he did, Luc wouldn’t realize what she had done. Why would he?

  The men parted company. Geoffrey walked in the direction of the inn, and the earl and his companion headed toward her. As the two men came closer, Ria compared them. Both wore greatcoats, but despite the cold they were open so she could see they were similarly dressed. Their cravats were tied simply, and their merino waistcoats were plain. They both wore breeches tucked into riding boots. Why then did they seem so different?

  Luc was slightly taller, slimmer, and more elegant, his thick black hair neatly swept back.

  Lord Lyons was more solidly built, his brown hair liberally streaked with blond and slightly longer and untidy, as though he often ran his hands through it. A habit she remembered he’d had as a boy.

  If she were to liken them to swords, Luc would be a beautiful but lethal rapier, whereas Devon was a much less subtle but equally deadly broadsword.

  Why, Ria wondered, was she comparing two fashionable gentlemen with something as dangerous as a sword? She considered them once again. There was something about the men that projected action, ruthlessness, even danger.

  They were getting closer. Shaking her head at her strange thoughts, she sought refuge in the milliner’s. Much to her maid’s surprise, she pretended a fascination for a singularly hideous concoction made of puce feathers with, alas, a small stuffed bird perched on the brim.

  Unbidden, her thoughts led her to the earl’s proposal to have an affaire. Indeed, she had thought of little else lately. What would the harm be? Who would it hurt? As long as he didn’t recognize her, no one. Except, perhaps, her.

  After she judged enough time had gone by for the gentlemen to have passed, she left the shop. Though first she had to refuse, with a barely concealed shudder, the milliner’s suggestion she try on the feathered confection.

  After completing her errands, Ria and her maid made their way back to the inn where her carriage was waiting. Just before she reached it, a flash of light reflecting off metal in a shop window caught her attention, and she stopped to see what was on display.

  A deep voice behind her drawled, “And here I thought you would be transfixed at the sight of a shawl, dress, or another bonnet. I never dreamed you would be admiring weapons.”

  Ria briefly closed her eyes. The mere sound of Luc’s voice was enough to make her cheeks flush and nerves dance.

  He continued. “I believe the bird on the bonnet you were admiring in the milliners is already dead.”

  He’d seen her in the milliner’s. Embarrassment that he might realize she’d ducked into the shop to avoid him had her cheeks burn even brighter.

  She continued to look at the pistols until her blush subsided and then turned. “I wasn’t sure, and so thought to put it out of its misery.”

  He laughed, and a dancing light appeared in his green eyes as he said, “I believe it is quite definitely deceased, Mrs. St. James, so you may rest easy on that score.”

  “That is a relief. Thank you for your reassurance.”

  The light in his eyes dimmed slightly as he gave her an appraising look, “Are you a crack shot then, Mrs. St. James?”

  “I must confess I am not.” Feeling the need to explain her interest in the weapons, she added, “I do, however, have an appreciation for good workmanship.”

  With a smil
e, he gestured to a small brass and mahogany pocket pistol. “If you decide to purchase one for yourself, I would recommend that weapon. It would fit in your muff or reticule and be effective at close range.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I will bear it in mind. Perhaps it would prove useful for persistent suitors.”

  His smile broadened, but he did not respond. Instead he gestured to his companion. “Mrs. St. James, may I introduce Lord Lyons.”

  Ria, embarrassed at not having noticed Devon until that moment, smiled at him with more warmth than she would normally. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Lyons.”

  He returned her smile with one of his own. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. St. James.”

  After a glance at Luc, he added, “In the past I rarely stayed more than a night or two at Lyons House. During this sojourn, I’ve realized that was a mistake—there are attractions in the country of which I was unaware. I’m pleased my stay will be an extended one while I oversee the refurbishment of the house.”

  To her puzzlement, Luc frowned at his friend. When the marquess smiled at him, he gave him a black look.

  Ignoring their byplay, Ria deliberately misunderstood Devon’s comment. “Yes. Lord Arden said something similar the other day.”

  Judging by the marquess’s rueful smile, she thought he may have got her point about his lack of originality. Airily she continued, “Have you visited the Roman ruins yet? They are particularly fine in winter. The mist gives them an added air of mystery.”

  As she and Devon discussed other locations visitors would find interesting, Luc began to frown once again. She was confused by his manner. What was wrong?