Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  Aware her legs were feeling shaky, she sat down on the window seat. “When my parents died, I planned on becoming a governess. Then Monty asked me to marry him. I said no at first, but he kept asking and finally said he was lonely, even though the ladies lived with him, and would be lonelier still if I left, seeing as my father was gone.”

  Lost in the pain of the past, she stared sightlessly at the view. Blinking rapidly to clear her suddenly misty eyes, she said, “Two important things we both have in common are my father and a love of reading.” She realized she was speaking in the present tense and quickly corrected her language. “Monty often quizzed me about the things I read and enjoyed debating with me, seeing patterns in events and challenging my intellect against his. He particularly enjoyed playing chess.”

  Ria gave a small choking laugh. “I cannot pretend complete disinterest. The manor had been a second home to me as long as I could remember, and after losing my parents I didn’t want to lose that too.” She shrugged, “So I finally said yes.”

  For the first time since she had started telling Luc about her marriage, she looked at him. There was no sign of condemnation on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Now for the thorny part.

  She took a deep breath. “Our marriage was…” She stopped when she heard the crunch of gravel just outside the temple. “What was that?”

  Hoping it was one of the gardeners, Ria got up from the seat and strode to the temple entrance. Her head drooped when she saw the cousins coming along the path.

  Agnes saw her and waved. “Ria, is it not a particularly fine day? I saw how lovely it was, and I said to Agatha, this is a fine day, Agatha. Let us not waste it indoors. Let’s go out and enjoy the day. And we are—enjoying the day, that is. Are we not, Agatha?”

  As Agnes and Agatha entered the temple twittering about the weather, Ria looked despairingly at Luc.

  He gave her a rueful grin and mouthed over the cousins’ heads, “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Ria, close to tears, nodded, desperately hoping tomorrow her courage wouldn’t fail her.

  23

  Tomorrow took an age to come, and when it did, Ria sincerely wished it hadn’t bothered. By the time late morning arrived, she wanted the day to start again.

  The day began pleasantly enough. The sun shone, and it was crisp and clear until midmorning when the clouds gathered and it began to pour with rain.

  But things had gone wrong before that, starting with when her favorite comb broke. Later, downstairs, she entered the dining room to a chorus of complaints from the ladies about burnt toast and underdone eggs and the news, gravely imparted by the housekeeper, that Cook was leaving.

  When she investigated, she found Mrs. Clover was offended at the lack of deference shown her by other servants and was no longer prepared to put up with it. For their part, the servants declared they could no longer tolerate Cook’s airs. While she sorted it out, the fine day turned dark and dismal.

  The only bright part of the day was the delicate diamond ring on her finger. After two days, it still felt unfamiliar. Whenever she caught sight of it, she was reminded of her engagement, and she felt a delicious thrill of excitement and wonder mixed with a dash of trepidation.

  But it was for another reason the day wasn’t as pleasant as it could have been. She hadn’t yet told Luc about her masquerade. And until she did, it didn’t matter what the weather was like. To her, every day would be dark and dismal.

  Luc arrived as she was still trying to placate Mrs. Clover and the other servants. By the time she was finished, he was ensconced in the library with all the ladies.

  When she walked in, Flowerday had just brought tea and Aunt Charity was pouring cups of the fragrant beverage for everyone. Luc and the ladies were sitting in chairs and sofas drawn up between the fireplace and the library’s tall windows so as to enjoy both the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth and what little winter light there was to be had.

  Ria looked at him as he reclined on a library sofa, relaxed and at ease with the ladies’ undivided attention and apparently not at all nonplussed by their never-ending stream of questions.

  When he saw her, he stood up with a welcoming smile. She sat down on the sofa he’d just vacated, and he sat beside her.

  The patter of rain hitting the library windows and the crackle of the fire had a soothing effect on her, and for the first time that day she began to calm down. The sweet aroma of the tea Aunt Charity handed her further helped her relax.

  Her serenity ended abruptly as Aunt Faith said, “Of course you can’t be married for at least a year. Ria is still in mourning; it wouldn’t be seemly.”

  Ria, with a quick glance at Monty in his usual position by the fire, said, “I believe Monty would be happy for me to marry without waiting for my mourning period to end.”

  At her words Monty nodded and smiled, and Luc looked relieved.

  Before Aunt Faith could proffer any further objections, Luc took Ria’s hand and firmly stated, “I will obtain a special license, and we will marry quietly in a small private ceremony, then honeymoon abroad until her mourning period is ended. Once abroad, she can come out of her mourning weeds.”

  Looking at him, Ria stated, “It will seem strange to wear colors again. I must confess to being heartily sick of black and, in particular, black bombazine.”

  The ladies murmured in agreement, and Agnes plaintively commented, “I look forward to attending a ball. I vow it is an age since I have been to one.”

  “Perhaps when you return we can hold a ball?” suggested Agatha.

  “Oh, I would like that,” said Agnes.

  “Maybe it could be a masked ball.” Agatha turned to Ria. “Could I borrow your mask? The gold one you embroidered with pomegranate seeds?”

  At Agatha’s innocent words, the blood in Ria’s veins turned to ice. A quick glance at Luc confirmed her dread that he had immediately recognized Persephone’s mask.

  All trace of emotion was wiped from his face, but sitting as close to him as she was, she’d felt it as every muscle in his body went rigid.

  A very grave sign.

  Unable to think of anything to say, she was glad when the silence was broken by a clatter in the fireplace. Looking over, she saw the poker had fallen onto the hearth, taking charcoal from the bucket with it.

  With an oath, Luc stood and cleared up the mess.

  Silently, Ria gave grateful thanks to Monty. Surely he had arranged the distraction.

  Luc stood up from the hearth, stumbled slightly as he turned, and then stiffly bowed to the aunts and cousins. “If you will excuse me, ladies, there are matters I must see to this afternoon.”

  He then turned to Ria and held out his hand. Not knowing what else to do, she stood and placed her hand in his. His hand closed over hers—his grip tight.

  Her heart pounding, mouth dry, she walked with him from the library. As they passed the empty drawing room, he drew her into it.

  When he looked at her, his eyes no longer held the tender look she had become accustomed to. Instead the green had turned so dark as to be almost black.

  Finally unable to stand the silence, she answered the question implicit in his eyes. “Yes. As you have guessed, it was I you met at the masquerade.”

  “Met,” he drawled. “What an interesting turn of phrase.” The tone of voice was Luc at his most chillingly polite.

  The aristocrat was back.

  Ria shivered. “After you asked me to marry you, I said I had something to tell you. That is what it was. I was trying to tell you yesterday.”

  “Convenient, and thus a little hard to believe.”

  “Luc, please, we need to talk about this. If you will let me explain—”

  Not giving her a chance to finish, he continued in the same polite tone, “There’s nothing to explain. It’s obvious why you were there, madam, and equally obvious that I’ve been mistaken in your character. You are more”—he paused—“worldly and less innocent and trustworthy than I thought.”
r />   “I am a widow. How innocent could you have thought I was? Surely not that innocent, since you did everything you could to seduce me.”

  “It’s one thing,” he drawled sardonically, “to be seduced by someone you know. It’s quite another thing to go to a masquerade and cavort with a total stranger. Are you trying to tell me if I hadn’t been there you would have left and not slept with anyone?”

  Time seemed to slow as he waited for her answer. The silence stretched out. Ria swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. Where to start. Half-completed phrases and sentences buzzed around her mind like bees unable to find their way out of the hive.

  Just as what she wanted to say began to take shape, he filled in the silence. He’d obviously taken her lack of response as a sign of guilt.

  “No, I thought not. That night you were like a cat in heat. Anyone would have done that night, wouldn’t he?”

  “No! If you would just let me explain…”

  “I understand perfectly. Everything you told me yesterday was a tissue of lies.” He shrugged. “Oh, I believe St. James was a family friend. But apart from that, I don’t believe your story bore any resemblance to the truth. I bet you did everything you could to entice St. James into marriage.”

  Ria’s stomach rolled at the look in Luc’s eyes as he gestured to her neck. “I bet he brought you that expensive locket you’re wearing.” He gave a harsh laugh. “But it wasn’t enough for you, was it? For a woman like you, it’s never enough. You must have been ecstatic when I started courting you. A rich peer. Someone to buy you more jewelry. Your reluctance was merely a game, wasn’t it?”

  “No! It wasn’t like that at all!”

  He continued as though he had not heard her, his voice clear, firm, and emotionless. “I don’t believe you. Not now. I could never believe anything a jade like you had to say.”

  As he spoke, her heart seemed to shatter, the pain so great she almost doubled over. Feeling as though she had been hit in the chest, she gasped for breath. Even if she could have spoken, she didn’t know what to say. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to listen.

  He stood there staring at her for a moment, then, with a grimace of disgust, left.

  Ria stood in the center of the room. Alone. Her dreams and desires lying strewn around her feet.

  Perhaps tomorrow he would listen to her. Let her explain. He had to.

  This couldn’t be the end. Could it?

  Monty was in his usual spot in the morning room, sitting near the fire. He looked up as she entered and asked, “Did he realize you were Persephone?”

  With a broken, humorless laugh she merely said, “Yes.”

  Sighing heavily, Monty looked back at the fire. “I suppose it was too much to hope he wouldn’t work it out.”

  “He wouldn’t give me a chance to explain. He…” Ria’s voice trailed off. Her throat felt tight, and her eyes stung. If she said anything more, she knew she would dissolve. Again.

  Collapsing onto the sofa opposite Monty, she stared at her hands. She’d never noticed the fine blond hairs on the back all grew in the same direction. How fascinating.

  Her study was interrupted by Monty, clearing his throat. When she looked up, he gently asked her, “What are you going to do now?”

  Choking back the tears that were perilously close, Ria rubbed her forehead. “Give him some time to get over his anger and then try to talk with him again. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  How quickly things change. A few weeks ago, she’d have been wounded, but now… what she was feeling went so far beyond that. This was pure anguish.

  Looking at Monty, she said helplessly, “I love him. What else can I do?”

  24

  Sprawled in a red velvet chair, Luc looked at Devon. “I was wrong. Ria and Beatrice are cut from the same cloth—motivated by self-gratification and greed.”

  The marquess frowned. “Are you sure that describes Ria? I find it hard to believe that Monty St. James would marry someone like that.”

  Devon paused and walked over to the sideboard. Holding up a decanter, he looked at Luc, who nodded. Bringing back the bottle, he refilled their glasses with claret, placed it on a table by their chairs, then continued. “You know what villages are like. Gossip is like air to them. I’ve never heard anything bad said about her. I believe she is highly regarded. Are you certain? Perhaps she had good reason for what she did.”

  Luc thought about it. He had done little but think about it since yesterday. His jaw clenched. Yesterday. He saw again the tableau in the library. The expression on Ria’s face when Agatha let slip the comment about the mask. He had known immediately who she was. How could he not?

  He couldn’t recall ever feeling such stone-cold rage. Almost twenty-four hours later, the rage was still with him. A deep-seated, glacial, white and blue flame.

  But for a faint moment it was pierced by a shard of hope. He was such a fool. “What possible reason could there be?”

  Devon shrugged, opened his lips as though to say something then shrugged again.

  “Exactly,” said Luc with a humorless laugh. What possible reason could she have? No, she was a doxy.

  He stared at the wine in his glass. “I never really knew Ria. The person I loved didn’t exist. It was all an act.”

  He drained his glass then refilled it and tried to ignore the hollow feeling those words had generated. “I saw what Beatrice did to my father. Her affaires tore him apart and made him a laughing stock. I’m not going through that—I refuse to recreate my parents’ marriage.”

  But what choice did he have? He’d asked her to marry him, and he could not end their engagement. Honor, society, his forefathers—all forbade it. He gasped as a stab of agony pierced his chest.

  At that moment, Devon’s butler appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. St. James wishes to see you, Lord Arden.”

  Before Luc could find the breath to indicate he wasn’t at home, the marquess spoke. “Show Mrs. St. James in.”

  At Luc’s glare, his friend looked innocent. “It won’t hurt to see her and listen to what she has to say.”

  Ria was surprised when the butler returned and asked her to follow him. She’d fully expected to be told Luc wasn’t at home to visitors.

  Telling herself this was a good sign, she followed the servant along a wood-paneled corridor lined with portraits and walked into what appeared to be a library.

  Although the Marquess of Lyons stood as Ria entered the room, Luc did not. He continued to lounge in his chair, his face stony, a glass of red wine in his hand.

  With a frown at his friend, the marquess gestured to the other chair by the fire. “Would you like to sit down, Mrs. St. James?” Then, with a stern glance at his friend, he left the room.

  As she went to sit, Luc brusquely said, “Don’t bother. You won’t be staying long.”

  “Luc, please…” Ria’s voice broke off as he looked at her for the first time.

  His face hard, he said, “Lord Arden to you.”

  At his words, the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, present since their last meeting, spread. Frozen fingers inched their way over her, bringing with them numbness.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Clearing her voice, she tried again. “Lord Arden, I request that you allow me a moment to discuss what happened with you.”

  With cold eyes Luc gazed at her, then rose and walked toward the door. “I’m not interested, madam, in whatever you have to say.”

  Seeing he was about to leave, Ria hurriedly pulled from her reticule a package. “My lord, I have here some documents. I would be obliged if you would look at them. When you have, perhaps we can talk.”

  She placed them on the study table, then—head held high—walked past him out of the room.

  Her butler entered the library, walked over to Ria, and presented to her a familiar package on a silver tray. She took the packet.

  “Thank you, Flowerday.”

  Recognizing the wrapping, she waited until he left the room. With t
rembling hands, she undid the bundle, fumbling with the string. The documents she had left for Luc to read tumbled out along with a brief note. Scrawled in thick black letters were the words, “Still not interested.”

  Ria cupped her hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. Behind her, she heard Monty saying in a reassuring tone, “My dear, I don’t believe he actually read them.”

  She briefly closed her eyes on the tears threatening to fall, then looked at Monty. “He opened it.”

  “Yes, but I truly believe if he’d read the contents he wouldn’t have done this.” Her doubt must have been obvious, because he added, “I think he merely opened it to slip his note inside.”

  Hoping he was right, she asked, “Then how do I get him to read the papers?”

  25

  The pages of the solicitor’s report fluttered as Luc tossed them aside. At the sound, Devon looked up from the accounts he was studying.

  Luc answered his unspoken query. “It’s a report from Pemberton on Danielson. He’s deeply in debt. His creditors are dunning him, and the fool went to a cent-per-center, which naturally made matters worse. He’s apparently fled to Ireland after selling his horses.”

  Devon grimaced. “Damn, I had my eye on his grays. Does the report say who purchased them?”

  Luc caustically replied, “No, it doesn’t!” In a more polite tone, he continued, “It does say the town house is closed up. A note from Liam McDermott is also included. The house has been stripped of the paintings, statues, anything of value.

  With a grin, Devon asked, “I wonder how he knows that?”

  As they both used the McDermott brothers’ services, Luc was sure Devon knew exactly how the information had been obtained. The brothers’ ways were sometimes unorthodox, to say the least, but effective. So were some of their less-than-savory associates.