Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  He was barely aware of anyone else in the room. Even her maid’s sobbing hardly disturbed him. Until something about the slight noise at the door made him turn.

  It was Geoffrey Danielson.

  As Luc watched him, Danielson tentatively walked across the rug toward the bed. Nervously twisting his fingers, he looked at Ria, then his gaze darted back to Luc. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know. The doctor is on his way.” After glancing at Ria lying motionless in the bed, he looked back at Danielson and said, very softly, “You had better pray she is.”

  At his tone, Danielson paled and backed toward the door. “I’ll wait in the taproom.”

  Curtly Luc ordered, “Make yourself useful. Let the ladies at the manor know what has happened.”

  Luc gritted his teeth as he waited for Dr. Caughey to say something. Anything. It seemed an age since the doctor had begun his examination, but the only syllables uttered during the entire time had been murmuring such as “hmmm” and “ah.”

  That was, of course, after the doctor tried to evict him from the room. To no avail.

  He sighed as the doctor poured water into a blue and white bowl, washed his hands, then proceeded to dry them, very slowly and methodically, staring intently at the white towel.

  The doctor finally looked directly at him, pushing his spectacles that had slipped down his nose back into place as he did so.

  Luc straightened up from the wall he was leaning against and braced himself as the doctor began to speak.

  “The only injury I can detect is the wound on her head. That is the good news. Also the bad.” The doctor shook his head slightly, then sighed, “Head wounds are tricky things, very tricky indeed. I will dress her wound, but as for when she will wake up, I cannot say.”

  “Can she be moved?”

  Dr. Caughey shook his head. “Most unwise. It is best to leave her undisturbed in this room. Keep it quiet. Don’t have it too warm. A moderate, even temperature is best so just a small fire.”

  The lack of action unsettled him. “Would you have any objection if I seek another opinion?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I expected it.” He paused. “The nearest doctor would be Dr. Small. He is very experienced having been in practice for fifty years. I can tell you now what he will say if you like. He will tell you the pressure on her brain needs to be released. He has three ways of doing this. Either poking a sharp implement up her nose to make it bleed, bleeding her from the jugular with a lancet, or placing leeches on her temples. He might also wish to shave her head.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Luc looked at Ria lying helpless on the bed. He’d be damned before he’d subject her to any of that quackery.

  He looked back at the doctor, who was now busy writing. As he watched, the doctor straightened and handed him a note. “Here is Dr. Small’s direction and also Dr. Umbridge’s. If I do not hear otherwise, I will return tomorrow to check on Mrs. St. James.”

  As the doctor left, Luc looked once again at Ria and tried to excise from his mind the images evoked by Dr. Caughey’s words.

  Hearing a knock on the open door, he looked up to see Mary timidly standing in the doorway. He beckoned for her to enter. In the background, a loud commotion erupted in the foyer.

  Hearing familiar female voices, Luc excused himself and strode from the room. From the landing, he caught a glimpse of fluttering, colorful feathers in the wood-paneled foyer below.

  The ladies from St. James Manor had arrived.

  He descended the stairs and sidestepped around a footman carrying an alarming number of hatboxes, one of which he deftly caught as it began to topple. The ladies caught sight of him, wheeled in unison, and swooped, chattering all at once.

  “Is she all right? We couldn’t stay at the manor. We had to come.”

  “However did it happen?”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “If anything happens to our sweet Ria…” Aunt Charity’s voice trailed off, and all of them shared the same frightened, anxious expression.

  Luc felt humbled at their obvious concern and deep love and affection for Ria. What must it feel like to be so important to someone?

  He hastened to reassure them. “The doctor is sure she will be all right.” He ignored the rush of anxiety he felt as he spoke. She had to be all right—he would not permit anything else.

  Luc firmed his voice to sound more confident. “She is still sleeping and needs rest and quiet. There is nothing more to be done but to wait.”

  “I will go up and see her at once.” Aunt Charity gestured to the hovering innkeeper and asked to be taken to Ria immediately.

  Luc excused himself and looked into the taproom. Danielson was at one of the wooden tables near the large chimney corner, playing dice with a companion. He looked remarkably unconcerned, smiling at his companion and laughing at a quip he made before taking a sip from the mug on the table beside him.

  Luc eyed him appraisingly. Was it credible that a horseman like Danielson, generally accepted amongst their circles as a bruising rider, should lose control of his horse? It was possible but…

  Leaving the taproom, he strode along a wood-paneled hallway to the kitchen at the back of the inn. His sudden appearance in the room caused somewhat of a stir. An older woman kneading bread at a large, well-scrubbed table wiped her hands on her white apron, used the back of her hand to push back gray hair that had escaped from her cap, and asked, “Can I help you, my lord?”

  “I would like a couple of apples please, or carrots, and a knife.”

  The woman nodded to a young scullery maid who quickly left the room and came back moments later with a bowl of apples and carrots.

  The older woman presented it to him along with a vegetable knife. “Here you are, my lord.” She paused for a moment and then said, “We are very sorry about the young lady and hope she will be better soon.”

  Luc thanked her gravely and proceeded out to the stables.

  The gelding was in one of the stalls. Although its saddle had been removed, it had not yet been rubbed down.

  He put the bowl on an upturned barrel outside an adjacent stall, cut up one of the apples, and slowly walked up to the young horse. At his approach, it flicked its ginger ears forward but made no obvious threatening moves.

  He held his hand out flat, an apple segment resting on his palm. The horse stretched its neck and gently took the proffered treat. He patted the horse’s outstretched neck, but at his touch the horse jerked its head away. Murmuring soothing sounds, he slowly fed the horse the rest of the apple and part of a second.

  Settling, the gelding allowed him closer. While the horse was munching, he carefully checked its neck for injury. Seeing nothing, he gently lifted its mane. There he found what he was looking for.

  Small cuts. A lot of them. Beads of dried blood surrounded the puncture wounds and fine scratches.

  What could have made the wounds? Could they have occurred naturally? He couldn’t see how. Eyes narrowing, he realized a pin could have caused the damage. Like the one Danielson wore in his intricately-tied cravat.

  An icy chill ran down his spine. So it had been deliberate. Why?

  Why would Danielson deliberately cause his horse to rear?

  Why would he want Ria dead?

  He quickly made his way back to the taproom. As he entered, Danielson looked up, a smile on his face. The smile vanished as he saw who it was.

  Before he could say a word, Luc reached down and grabbed him by the collar and, with his other hand gripping his arm, hauled him from his seat, which toppled over with a loud crash.

  Luc dragged him out of the taproom and tossed him onto the floor of the private parlor opposite, narrowly missing the heavy wooden sideboard. He then stalked into the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Geoffrey made no attempt to rise, nor did he say anything. He lay on the floor in a heap as Luc, hands on hips, stood over him.

  “Your horse has cuts under its mane.” He reac
hed down and ripped the diamond pin from Danielson’ cravat. Holding it in front of his face, he said, “Cuts made by this.” Luc tossed it onto the floor. “Why did you do it?”

  Cringing, Danielson said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  As he stared at him, Danielson gingerly moved along the floor so he was sitting with his back against the wall. He gave a small nervous laugh. “Oh… the cuts. The fault of a careless groom, I’m afraid. He scratched the horse when he was combing the mane.”

  “The marks are fresh.”

  “It happened today.”

  “I want to talk to him. What’s his name?”

  The door opened, and Aunt Charity stood in the doorway, a look of horror on her face. Placing her arms on her hips, she looked at the two of them and demanded, “What is happening here?”

  Taking advantage of her presence, Danielson picked up his pin and gingerly got to his feet, keeping some distance from Luc. With a quick glance at Arden, he answered her, “Nothing, Aunt Charity. Just a slight disagreement.”

  Looking in the mirror on the wall, he arranged his blond curls, setting them back into place. He then lifted his chin, adjusted his torn cravat, and reinserted the pin.

  As he rearranged his clothing, Danielson answered Luc’s question. “I’ve dismissed him. Can’t have someone mistreating a horse so. He’s left already. Went home to his family somewhere in Wales.”

  Brushing himself off, he looked at Luc. “I’ll take no offense at your behavior, Arden. Obviously you are concerned for Mrs. St. James, and it has overset you. Must say I’m surprised—didn’t realize you knew each other, let alone were so close.”

  With a smirk, Danielson sidled around Luc, nodded at Aunt Charity who was watching him with narrowed eyes, and made his escape.

  Hands clenched at his side, Luc let him go.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Aunt Charity. One look at her, and he could see she was brimming with questions. Indeed, as soon as he glanced at her, she started.

  “Well? What was happening?”

  Luc walked past her and shut the door. Then he took her by the arm and led her to a red velvet chair. He waited until she’d settled before answering her question.

  Not wanting to add to her worry, he tried to prevaricate. “We were simply having a discussion.”

  Her head tilted. “A simple discussion—with him on the floor?”

  When he didn’t reply, Aunt Charity prompted him. “It was Geoffrey’s horse that kicked Ria?”

  He nodded in confirmation. “He lost control of it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And I assume what I interrupted had something to do with that?”

  “I was merely asking him some questions.”

  Abruptly she stood up. Standing ramrod stiff, she barked at him. “Young man, don’t play me for a fool! Who was he talking about when he said he dismissed him?”

  Aunt Charity had obviously forgotten who she was talking to. Or perhaps she didn’t care. Luc was torn between respecting her age and giving her a set-down. Still deciding, he raised an eyebrow, but she gave him no chance to speak.

  “Don’t raise your eyebrow and give me that look, young man. It won’t wash. I’m old enough and thick-skinned enough to be immune to set-downs, so don’t even begin.”

  Luc couldn’t recall being so disconcerted by a woman—apart from Ria, that is. What was it about the ladies who lived at St. James Manor?

  “And I’m very worried and scared right now, so…” Aunt Charity’s voice broke, and she bowed her head.

  Concerned, he immediately took her arm and seated her back in the chair. Ringing the bell, he asked the maid who answered for a strong pot of tea. With another glance at Aunt Charity, he also asked for brandy.

  While they waited, he answered her question. “I was asking him about the horse. What caused it to rear. He said it had been mistreated by a groom who he dismissed.”

  “So why was he on the floor?”

  Luc narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Her question and tone of voice was surprisingly sharp for a distraught lady. Surely she hadn’t been playacting?

  He watched her closely as he replied. “I might have been a little… enthusiastic in my request that he join me.”

  Aunt Charity gave a small tremulous smile. “Perhaps you were.” Then gravely she asked him, “Did you believe him?”

  Luc reflected back to his conversation with Danielson. He may have been telling the truth. He certainly sounded sincere.

  But he didn’t believe him. Not one word.

  “Of course I did. Of course.”

  17

  Ria wished the person groaning would cease. The noise was hurting her head. She went to ask them to stop but found her mouth was dry, her tongue swollen. Surprised, she realized the person groaning was her. She opened her eyes a little, but then shut them again quickly.

  She heard Mary’s voice ask, “Is the light too bright for you, madam? I’ll close the curtains.” This was followed by the sound of footsteps and a rattle as curtains were drawn.

  Cautiously Ria opened her eyes once again. With the curtains shut, the room was dimly lit by firelight. She couldn’t see the fire but could smell the burning wood, hear the crackling of the flames, and see their dancing shadows on the wall opposite the bed.

  Also on that wall she could see the shadowy form of a washstand with a porcelain bowl and jug set on top. Standing next to it was a dressing table and mirror. On the other wall was a chest of drawers next to windows hung with muslin curtains. A braided rug covered part of the wooden floor.

  None of it was familiar.

  Mary was standing by the bed smiling down at her. “You are at Golden Lion, madam. Lord Arden brought you here after the accident.”

  While Mary adjusted her sheets and plumped the feather quilt and bedcover, she quietly filled Ria in on the details. “The ladies are here. He arranged everything. Taken over the whole floor, we have. He—his lordship, that is—asked for it to be done, and before you knew it, we were all sorted. Almost as comfortable as if we were at home.” Mary looked across the bed and smiled warmly.

  Tentatively Ria moved her head to the side and was surprised to see Luc asleep in a chair by her bed.

  When Mary saw the direction she was looking, she smiled again, “He’s been here almost the whole time, madam. Wouldn’t leave your side, not even when the doctor tried to make him leave, or the ladies.”

  At Mary’s words, she felt a piercing feeling inside her chest. Not painful. It was a sweet, wonderful sensation.

  “The doctor said you should have some chicken broth as soon as you woke. I’ll just go and get it, madam.”

  Then before Ria could say anything, Mary was gone.

  She lay there watching Luc. In repose, his face was far gentler. She had never really studied it before. His nose was quite long. She liked his mouth. His lips were well defined, full, and very tempting.

  His surprisingly long black eyelashes began to flutter. He opened his eyes and, unlike her, was instantly awake and alert. Seeing her watching him, he smiled. In that moment, his expression was unguarded, his joy evident.

  Huskily, he asked her, “How do you feel?”

  “Like I was kicked in the head by a horse.”

  At her words, he looked surprised but then laughed. “Well, you haven’t lost your memory.”

  She shuddered. “No, I remember every moment of it.”

  “If you weren’t feeling so dreadful, I’d give you a lecture about not going near frightened horses…”

  She closed her eyes and groaned, fearing that despite his words he was going to deliver the lecture.

  Immediately he stopped talking. There was a sound of liquid being poured, and then he was asking her, “Do you want some water?”

  She licked her dry lips and in response gingerly raised herself on one elbow. Taking the proffered glass, she slowly sipped. The cool water trickling down her throat felt heavenly.

  Once she’d had her fill, she looked at Luc.
“I couldn’t leave Mary standing in the middle of the road. She would most certainly have been hit.”

  After gazing at her thoughtfully for a moment, he smiled ruefully, then very tenderly said, “No, I don’t suppose you could.”

  “Was Mary injured? She rushed off before I could ask her.”

  “She’s fine. A few minor bruises.” After setting the glass down by the water jug on the marble-topped washstand, he returned to her bedside. “You, on the other hand, have been asleep for two days. Dr. Caughey said once you regained consciousness you should have light food, such as broth. The headaches should subside in a day or two, and once you can stand movement and light, you can go home. That might not be for a week.”

  She once again licked her dry lips and asked, “Could I have some more water, please?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “The jug is empty. I rang for some more a while ago, but no one has come. I will get you some.”

  Ria lay there listening to his footsteps as he left. She felt unbelievably weak. She couldn’t even move her head to watch him walk out the door. Her limbs were heavy, and it was an effort to move them even slightly.

  To her horror, the wall opposite seemed to shift and shimmer. She feared her eyes were affected by the same lassitude afflicting her body. Alarmed at the extent of the distortion, she let out a deep sigh when Monty slowly materialized and immediately addressed her. “My dear, we have all been very worried about you.”

  Despite her pounding head, Ria smiled at him in reassurance. “I’m fine. Well, I would be if the drummer boy in my head would cease.”

  Monty glided further into the room. “You have quite a few people concerned about you, especially my dear lady relatives. And I’ve never seen Flowerday so beside himself.”

  At Monty’s words, she felt her eyes well with tears and gave a little unladylike sniff. She considered the people living at the manor her family, especially the ladies, Flowerday, and Mary. Knowing her feelings were reciprocated warmed her from the inside out.

  Luc walked along the corridor feeling much lighter and happier than he had for days. Ria was awake. She would be all right.