Unmasked Heart_A Regency Romance_Challenge of the Soul

by Vanessa Riley

  He stopped and gazed down at her. "You were saying, Miss Telfair?"

  She licked her lips. "I've always loved your dedication to science."

  "I hope my studies will lead to more plentiful corn. Then, Mother England will end famine worldwide. Oh, look at me running on." He patted her fingers. "Are you chilled?"

  "No. Tell me more of your research." She was quite warm, listening to the resonance in his low voice. The walk to Seren's should last forever.

  "Nonsense." Elliot took off his coat and draped it about her shoulders, then continued telling her things she couldn't understand.

  Gaia didn't care. Her horrible evening had restored her to a man who would never think her too poor with whom to associate, but would that sentiment remain if he knew the truth of her origin? Julia didn't think so.

  Elliot took the time to point out tall stalks of flowering yellow gorse, and the green twigs and seedpods of the broom bushes. His description of the three-lobed leaves of the wild strawberry runners made the common seem exciting.

  The more she listened, the more he seemed to want to say. If they married, would this be how their evenings would flow? How wonderful. It didn't even matter so much that he hadn't asked what she wanted. At least he didn't insinuate that she'd be content being a governess to his niece, or servant to his future children.

  Arrival at the Hallows' gate came too soon. Elliot released her hand and pressed on the wrought-iron spindles to open it.

  After folding his coat over his extended arm, she curtsied to him. "Thank you for a lovely stroll."

  He took her hands within his. His breathing seemed a bit labored, like the duke's. "The pleasure was mine; however, I do have a request."

  Her gaze floated over the tall man, the hero of whom she'd been dreaming, save the last three weeks. It felt normal and safe to be with Elliot. She smiled at him. "What would that be, sir?"

  He bit his lip, as if hesitating or hunting for the right words. "I request your first dance at the Masked Ball. I don't want to contend with any duke."

  Her pulse seemed steady, despite hearing such sweet words from Elliot. Was it so because of the hint of jealousy blended in his plea?

  She lowered her gaze. "Everyone will be hidden by masks. How will we find each other? I don't intend to miss any dances."

  He shifted his stance, knocking a rock with low shoes. "Then let's meet at one of the salons at the rear of the hall, say, nine-thirty."

  She nodded as he kissed her hand. The feel of his warm lips against her skin made her float up the drive. Oh, to tell Seren!

  Mary finally settled. William set her in her bed and pulled the blankets to her chin. She looked like a sweet flower, but for the last forty minutes, her banshee-like cries rattled the walls. Tiptoeing out of the room, he took a deep breath then closed the door. The handle felt loose. He'd mention it to his steward tomorrow. Now, to face his remaining guests...

  How could he have bungled things so badly? Gaia ran off, thinking him some callous rich man, wanting her for a governess. He wanted her friendship, needed her help. Oh, God, this was horrid.

  Heading for the stairs, he envisioned Miss Telfair's flight down the treads. His heart stopped beating until her slippers hit the floor. If she'd taken a tumble...

  He punched at his chest and took a deep, filling breath. What a time to realize that his feelings for Gaia had deepened, now that she hated him.

  With a final blow, he pounded down the stairs.

  Albert stopped him at the bottom. As his man straightened his livery, he whispered, "Miss Telfair made it safely to Southborne. A gentleman escorted her halfway to the Hallows' gate. Young Mr. Whimple."

  William nodded. His gut twisted. Did the man comfort her in her distress?

  Steadying himself against a tide of angst building in his stomach, he stomped to the drawing room. He planted his palms on the show table next to the doors. Two miles is a long stretch of the legs, particularly if one is upset, maybe crying. Did Whimple shelter her in his arms? Useful Mr. Whimple.

  Fist balling, William let out a deep breath and focused on Gaia, not the botanist, or the desire to smash the Dresden rhinoceros so close to his fingers.

  Despite his ire at Whimple's interference, William would never forgive himself if any harm came to Gaia. Moreover, he wasn't likely to forgive himself for allowing her to be belittled. With a houseful of guests, he couldn't jump on a horse and follow her. No, it wouldn't be wise; he'd say or admit to something a bachelor would regret. He straightened and eyed himself in the hanging mirror. His snowy cravat held wrinkles. Shadows of regret hovered about his eyes. He hated this helpless feeling.

  Maybe he should go get Magnus. What would he say to Gaia if he went to retrieve her? "Sorry. I do want your help. And ignore my clumsy talk and any hint of sentiment." No, that wouldn't do. Maybe it was better she thought him callous than an out-of- practice admirer.

  Meek as she was, the hornet sting in her stride forewarned it would not be easy to make amends. He stopped chasing after Elizabeth. That woman found fault with everything, intentionally provoking William in order to isolate him and stay true to her lover. His late wife had no want of peace in their marriage. Would he have peace chasing a friend?

  The temptation to crash the porcelain animal on the table again plagued his spirit. He took a breath and suppressed all the feelings raging within; anger, loneliness, jealousy. Driving one fist into the palm of the other, he released another belly full of steam. Anger never solved anything. He wasn't that man anymore, and he wouldn't run after another woman; not even a friend.

  With a lift of his head, he sidestepped the breakable objects and pushed on the doors to the drawing room.

  His cousin played Chopin. She raised her head and showed off her alligator teeth. Anyone who could find beauty in her pale, close-set eyes, hawk-like nose, or haughty character, had to be drunk on her money.

  Yet he couldn't take away from her playing. At least she possessed the good sense to come back down and entertain his guests. The sweet notes from the horrible woman circled the room, moving Mrs. Monlin's hands to the rhythm. Stelford and Mr. Telfair stood by the fireplace, steeped in conversation.

  The sweet scent of burning hickory fell on William. Maybe the memory of the hurt in Gaia's eyes would burn, too.

  The stepmother sat alone on the sofa. Her gaze locked with his as soon as he stepped inside.

  He strode across the tapestry, and dropped beside her. "Miss Telfair has left, and is visiting the Hallows'."

  Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned closer. "It takes a great deal to frighten my daughter away. What has happened?"

  "A misunderstanding, indeed, and it is my fault."

  Mrs. Telfair pushed out a sigh and eased her stiff posture against a tufted pillow. "I see."

  "Let her know my sorrow. Let her know she is highly esteemed, nothing less."

  A smile set in the woman's brown eyes. "My Gaia is not easy with words; it may take a long time to convince her of your sentiments."

  But what sentiment would he convey; friendship, the desperation of a father, or the foolhardiness of a smitten suitor?

  Two weeks since his ill-fated dinner with the Telfairs, and Gaia Telfair hadn't forgiven him or spoken to him. William even went to church, his father's old chapel, only to watch her whip past him. To witness that gentle countenance lift and turn from his direction was worse than the squeamish feeling settling in his stomach, sitting in the cold pew. Luckily, his father's ghost didn't appear and taunt him from the pulpit.

  Blinking, he hefted his flintlock. The scent of fresh- clipped heather blew across Ontredale's lawn as William aimed at the target. His thumb ran along the barrel of the gun. The cold metal teased his palm. Soon, the fire squelching from the long shaft would bring the heat and the heady smell of gunpowder. It had been too long since he’d held a rifle. Being a warrior at a time of peace seemed more difficult than he thought it should. Being at war with his head wasn't much better either.

  W
ith a quick squeeze of the trigger, he forced the flint to spark and explode. The bullet flew and pierced the center of the paper target.

  The tension in his shoulders lessened. His accuracy was dead-on. Things weren't so easy with a live target. What else could be done to get Gaia to accept his apology, without slipping back into that dangerous area of suitor? He'd sent a note, but received no answer. A showy bouquet would get a response, but was he ready for the response; a girl delighted, hoping for love, or one indifferent, decidedly against him?

  He'd been so close to getting Mary help. Why did she have to be in his arms, embracing him, making him hope for something he couldn't possess? The awareness of her, her curves, his loneliness, all made his speech clumsy. He could've agreed to nearly anything the way those hazel eyes pierced him. And what was so wrong at wanting to reward her, so she could buy shoes? He couldn't buy such a personal gift for her. Only a father or fiancé could.

  Well, he didn't want to be Gaia's father, and, after Elizabeth, being a fiancé or husband was out of the question. With the shake of his head, he peppered his gun, set the flint, and aimed. The trigger compressed with ease. The released bullet sailed into the same bullet hole. What was he going to do about getting Mary help now?

  "Well done," Stelford clapped, marching toward him, his boots scuffing a path down the lawn. He wasn't very steady. Too much drink this early? It was barely past nine in the morning. What had happened to his disciplined friend?

  William slung the gun down to his side. "Have you gotten my cousin to agree to leave?"

  Stelford adjusted his cravat. "Not exactly."

  Pivoting back to the targets, William nodded to a groom to set up another target. "Explain."

  "She won't leave until after the Masked Ball. That's the best I could do."

  Another two weeks of suffering the woman's voice and her awful flirtations--horrible. With a shake of his head, William weighed his pockets of lead shot. Enough for a few more kills. "Why won't Deborah leave me?"

  Stelford broke into a steady stream of chuckles. "She wants to be a duchess. I think she loves you."

  "Humph." William fired another shot. This one hit off- center. Waving for a fresh target, he took aim again.

  "Maybe Miss Smythen is the answer." Stelford pounded closer. "She would make sure Mary is unharmed, and kept respectable if Elizabeth's scandal is exposed."

  William lowered his gun. "The letters have stopped again. The storm may have passed. Why would I marry someone I don't love? I can barely stand her."

  "She's inarticulate, and pompous, but at least she loves you. Why are you drawn to the ones who don't?"

  With fingers tightening about the handle, he turned to his friend. "What are you talking about? Elizabeth loved me."

  Stelford pointed the barrel toward the ground. "Did she?"

  "Be very careful, Stelford." He pulled the weapon away, spun back to his target and raised the gun. This time, he perfected his aim. The shot hit dead-center.

  An audible swallow came from his friend. "And what of Miss Telfair? We have seen neither hind, nor hair of her since your big dinner.

  He squinted at his lecherous friend. William needed no reminder of Gaia's curves. "Careful, Stelford; she's an honorable woman."

  "The Telfair cook says she's been spending her days stitching an onyx domino, not with another man."

  So, Whimple hasn't been chasing her. William cocked the brow of his hat. "I didn't ask to you to set your spies on her."

  "The first girl in ages to bring joy to you, and you'd think I'd let you lose out. So send the chit some roses to impress her."

  Torn between gratitude for the intelligence and annoyance at his friend's take at managing William's life, he called out to Albert, "I'm done for today."

  Stelford took the gun from him and tapped the holder against his boot. "Well, you want the miss, don't you? She's too refined to come to you, but all fresh targets can be tamed if you aim for them."

  If he repeated, 'Stelford is my friend' a few times, maybe the notion would stick. "I need Miss Telfair's help with Mary. How many times must I explain it to you?"

  Rubbing his freshly-shaved chin, Stelford offered a sympathetic tone. "Fine; pretend she doesn't interest you, but it's obvious she's mad at you. And where there are fumes, there is fire. A little skillful cultivation will make it blaze."

  Could it be true? Could Gaia want more than friendship? Is that why she became so angered when it sounded as if William wanted her to be a governess? He looked down and kicked at a rock. "You are ridiculous."

  "If only you knew what the unusual chit liked; then you'd get the response you seek, Your Grace. That's what I've always done."

  What did Gaia like? A vision of her praying in the moors in the grassy knoll leapt in his head. Maybe she was there now, just as miserable as he about their disagreement. He pushed the thought out of his mind. To figure out what she liked would be the equivalent of targeting and pursuing her, as Stelford had said. Wasn't there a middle ground? How could he restore their friendship, eradicating the misunderstanding between them, without going back to that dangerous area of wanting more?

  A knock at Chevron's door gave Gaia an excellent excuse for abandoning dance practice. Though she wanted to be perfect for Elliot tonight at the grand Masque Ball, Julia and the dance master were too demanding. The couple was in each other's confidence, laughing and torturing Gaia and the other girls.

  On the other side of the library door, Gaia took a moment to collect herself. The hall held an air of peace. What would she say to Elliot when they danced? She would have to be bold, as Seren said. This would be her one and only chance. Since he hadn't been to Chevron in over a month, maybe his attachment to Julia had waned. Gaia surely had a chance.

  Yet dancing with Elliot didn't give her as much concern as did running into Cheshire. She'd been good to avoid him, his sea-blue eyes, and the guilt of not helping his daughter. Well, not so much on the last point. Perhaps, if she saw the duke, she could ask of Lady Mary and offer more suggestions.

  Another loud knock brought her running to the entry. Breathing heavily, she smoothed her wild hair and opened the door. Her mouth dropped.

  Cheshire stood there, a bouquet wrapped in peach-colored paper planted within his fist. "May I have a moment of your time, Miss Gaia Telfair? You've all but abandoned our meeting place in the woods."

  Her heart started to pound, but she refused to be swayed by the lost look in his sad eyes, or his admission of searching for her at her oak. "I've been avoiding the sun, in order to look perfect tonight."

  His brow scrunched. "So it's the sun, and not me, you're hiding from?"

  She couldn't admit to either or the fear of looking browner and coarse. "It would be rude to turn you away. Mrs. Monlin and Mrs. Telfair are in the parlor. I'm sure they'd like to see you."

  He shoved the flowers into her hand. "I am here to see you, Gaia. No one else will do."

  His saying of her given name gave her a shiver, so personal and yet sounding so dear from the austere press of his lips. Towering above her, his tall, muscular frame blocking the door, he rent his chocolate greatcoat and tugged on his silken waistcoat. "I will not be deterred. Too much time has passed, and my stubbornness and yours can't coexist. There is too much at stake. My daughter's happiness is at stake."

  Garlic fragrance assaulted her nose. Peaking at the flowers, she gaped at the lovely sight. Wildflowers, stalks of buttercups, white ransoms, and lousewort. The golden-yellow cones peered to the ceiling as the feathery lousewort guarded the buttercups' stems. This arrangement was so different from expensive hothouse roses she'd seen Seren receive.

  And her best friend's suitors were not as wealthy as the duke. Gaia spied dirt stains on his gloves as she took another sniff. He'd made it himself. It was a perfect gift. "Why have you done this?"

  He took her hand and towed her from Chevron's door. Releasing her, he pulled his arms behind his back and leaned against the framing limestone. "I am a desperate
father who lost a friend over a misunderstanding."

  "Go inside and speak with my family. I can't be out here with you. It's not proper."

  His frown deepened. "All these rules to remain respectable and I still lose. I keep losing."

  What was he talking about? He wasn't the one deemed a servant. Still clutching his flowers, she put a hand to her hip. "You are wounded? I'm just glad to have found out your game before.... Oh, never mind."

  His eyes widened. He reached out, as if he wanted to touch her, but stopped and lowered his hand to the side. His voice sounded raw and tight. "Before what?"

  Her pulse ramped, and she found it hard to swallow. She wasn't intimidated. No, something intangible filled her, making her almost breathless. "It doesn't matter, and if you will not speak with my family, I suggest you leave."

  "Then, we will speak tonight at the Masked Ball."

  He wouldn't stop pursuing her for his employment, and the month of not seeing him didn't lessen his dizzying effect upon her. She swallowed and looked up at him again. "Everyone will be in disguise. How will you know me?"

  A grin filled his countenance before he cleared his throat. "I will find you. This misunderstanding will end tonight, and I will have my friend back."

  He bowed stiffly and marched to his horse. "Tonight, Miss Telfair."

  Not knowing what to say or do, she stood there, watching the image of man and beast growing smaller until gone from her sight.

  Shoulders drooping, she walked into Chevron. Dropping the fine paper and wild flowers on to the show table, Gaia stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror. No sun for a month had left her very pale. Perfect. A smile of expectation set on her lips. But what drove this feeling; the chance to dance with Elliot, or the duke saying he could find her in a room of masked people?

  What would he say this time; another apology, another tortured explanation?

  "Gaia," Telfair's voice sounded behind her, "was that Cheshire?"