by Gayle Callen
"Only for a highwayman daring enough," she said, then turned and threaded her way across the crowded floor.
She cruised the perimeter of the room, drinking, laughing, and never remaining with one group for long. Always she managed to meet Constable Leighton's wide eyes over her fluttering fan.
When Sir Charles Irving arrived, the evening grew serious. She watched as Richard greeted Charles at the high, wide double doors that opened into the ballroom. The two men looked at each other, both smiling, both about the same height and coloring, though Charles was several years older. Charles, too, wore a simple black mask.
There was a tension between them, even though Charles must wish he could pretend otherwise. The man was too excited for a mere masquerade ball, his grin too wide, his superior air far too apparent.
Meriel hoped it would be his downfall.
For a half hour, she flitted about the ballroom, occasionally catching the constable's eye. When Richard and Charles finally met up again and began to talk, Meriel's insides grew a little tighter. She turned to look for the constable and found him almost immediately, standing alone with a drink in his hand, watching her.
She gave him a slow, secretive smile, and he stiffened. She pantomimed drinking, and he lifted a wineglass from a tray and brought it to her.
"Miss Shelby," he said, bowing low. "I'd be honored if— after you drink, of course— if you'd do me the honor of dancing the— "
"Constable Leighton," she interrupted, sipping her wine and batting her lashes at him, "I would love to dance with you, but first I have a slight problem. Would you speak with me in private?"
His eyes widened within the mask and he followed her dutifully, only to look disappointed when she stepped behind another potted palm.
She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. "Constable, when I saw you, I knew you were the answer to our problems."
"Our?" he repeated, sounding wary.
"The duke would be outraged if he knew I came to you. He's a very proud man. But he could use your help."
The constable's chest swelled with importance, and he stood a little taller. "Of course, Miss Shelby. What is the problem?"
"Do you see him with his cousin, Sir Charles Irving?" She pointed between two palm fronds. "Sir Charles is…threatening His Grace."
He frowned. "Threatening? Why?"
She smiled as if nervous— which really wasn't a lie. "Sir Charles is next in line for the dukedom after Lord Ramsgate. He insists on being named the child's guardian, should anything happen to the duke. His Grace insists that Sir Charles means nothing by it, but I disagree." She sighed melodramatically. "If you could just come with me to follow them, and see how Sir Charles talks to the duke, the threat in his voice. I am quite frightened of him."
When he looked unconvinced, she gritted her teeth and played the silly female. "Oh, Constable, I know you can help me put my mind at rest. Then I'll be able to relax and enjoy the evening with you."
Again his face went scarlet, and he kept sneaking a glance at her breasts. She took a deep breath to bring them into better view.
Constable Leighton held out his arm. "Shall we move a little closer to the duke, then?"
Relieved, she led him through the crowd. When they got close to Richard, Meriel turned her back and smiled up at Constable Leighton.
He looked over her shoulder briefly, then resumed his cleavage watch. "I can just hear them. They're talking about horses."
"Well, of course. They're right where everyone can hear them."
"And now they're moving off," the constable said.
Meriel grabbed his arm and followed. At the last moment, Charles waved to someone and left Richard.
Though Meriel was disappointed, the constable didn't seem to mind. He asked her to dance, and she had no choice but to agree. It was another dance before Richard and Charles were talking, and then Charles wandered away again.
Meriel stomped her foot, but Constable Leighton only shook his head.
"Miss Shelby, Sir Charles doesn't seem to have much to say to the duke. And I have a card game that's beginning right now in the library."
"But Constable Leighton, the duke really needs your help!"
No amount of eyelash batting, lip trembling, or bosom thrusting mattered. The constable bowed and left her.
"Meriel!"
She gave a little start as Renee, dressed as a medieval queen, called her name.
"I've been trying to get your attention," Renee said, pressing her cheek to Meriel's. "Ouch, thorns!"
"But there aren't any thorns in my— "
"Just teasing! I so love the roses. A bouquet is an excellent costume. But now the treasure hunt is beginning," Renee said excitedly. "What a wonderful idea Cecil had for this year's entertainment! Come with me! I saw the torches leading all through the gardens. It will be a magical night."
"Renee, you'll have to go without me. I promised Stephen I would visit and tell him about the ball. And he so wanted to see my costume."
"Well, then I'll come with you."
"But you'll miss the hunt! And to be honest, I helped organize it, so I already know where the prize is." The treasure hunt had been her idea to keep their guests distracted from the true purpose of the ball.
"I should have expected you would be the one behind the hunt," Renee said. "Oh well, I have my first clue. I'll tell you all about it when I get back!"
The ballroom crowd was slowly thinning out, and Meriel was able to catch sight of Richard again. He and Charles were at the far end of the ballroom, going out a door into the house. She picked up her skirts and practically ran, dodging servants and guests. She hoped that the men would walk past the library, where she could grab Constable Leighton.
But instead they went out into the night under the half moon, away from the torches lighting the treasure hunt. Charles picked up a torch from the path and lifted it ahead of them. It was still difficult for Meriel to see, and only because she knew the grounds so well was she able to follow them without turning an ankle.
They were headed for the old castle ruins, and she didn't have the constable with her. She was failing Richard, thwarting their plan. Her only hope was overhearing what they said, so she could testify on Richard's behalf herself.
"Enough of this!" she overheard Richard say. "We could have talked in the house."
Oh God, Charles was the one leading Richard out into the dark grounds. She remained behind a clump of trees and caught her breath when Charles finally stopped and faced Richard. The eerie sight of the ruins behind them made the scene look like something from a novel.
Charles smiled. "I'm so glad you gave me another opportunity to see you, Richard. Perchance did you think you could kill me? Though murder isn't your style— you don't have the courage for it— I did plan ahead just in case. I'm sure you believe that Stephen is safe out there in the hunting lodge."
Meriel covered her mouth with her hand. Oh God, how could he have known where Stephen was? She wanted to run straight to the lodge, but she remained frozen in horror. Was Stephen alive or dead?
Richard moved closer to Charles, his hands fisted.
Charles laughed. "I've always been one step ahead of you, Richard. Your brother's steward has been in my employ for many years."
Jasper Tearle? Meriel thought, even as Richard said the name aloud.
"Don't be so surprised," Charles continued. "Cecil treated him abominably— hardly paid him what he was worth. I rectified that, and since then, he's been loyal to me. Cecil was too foolish to figure out how all his money was slowly being siphoned away. Jasper tells me he's been quite worried since you arrived, because you seemed suspicious of the account books almost immediately. Yet you allowed yourself to be distracted— by the pretty governess, perhaps?"
"Have you killed Stephen?" Richard ground out.
"Good heavens, no," Charles said. "I wanted to assess the situation first. Maybe, if he's a good boy, I'll let him live. For a while."
Meriel thought of
the threat to Stephen, and realized the little boy was now her only priority. She would trust Richard to deal with Charles. All that mattered was bringing the constable to rescue Stephen.
Chapter 25
Richard fought his every impulse to strangle Charles, to see the life leave his eyes. The man deserved to die.
But Stephen was still alive.
Wasn't the constable out there in the darkness with Meriel? Why didn't he come forward, especially after Charles talked about letting Stephen live?
"Is something wrong, Richard?" Charles asked softly, his smile fading as he looked around. "Waiting for someone?" Charles pulled a pistol out of his pocket and aimed it at Richard. "Come out, whoever you are, or I'll kill him."
Richard let himself smile. "Ah, Charles, you've underestimated me. I guess you've been out of practice, dealing with Cecil for so long. Kill me if you want, but it's too late. The constable must have heard all he needed, and went off to rescue Stephen. You better hope he gets there before your men do something drastic to my nephew."
Charles betrayed himself by a quick look over his shoulder, and Richard launched himself at the pistol. He deflected Charles's hand just as a shot went off, and he felt a momentary burn across his upper arm. Charles kicked him in the face, the stinging blow glancing off his cheekbone. As Richard rolled to the side and back to his feet, he saw Charles disappearing into the night in the direction of the hunting lodge. His torch lay burning on the ground.
No constable had appeared to apprehend Charles. What had happened to Meriel? Though it was difficult to forget his concern for her, Richard had to think about saving Stephen. He took off after Charles, leaving the torch so he wouldn't be seen. In the darkness, he could only hope he was heading the right way.
Occasionally Richard paused to listen, and he still heard someone running ahead of him on the gravel path. Off in the distance, the formal gardens lit the sky, and he could hear the shouts and cheers of the guests. He left that behind and crossed the last open grass before the woods. Up ahead, he thought he saw a shadow slipping between the trees.
His relief was great— until he realized that Charles might be desperate enough to kill Stephen before Richard got there.
Richard pounded down the path, the light from the half moon only occasionally filtering through the branches. He tripped twice over exposed roots, but he was lured on by the flicker of light up ahead.
He came out into a torchlit clearing in front of the hunting lodge and slid to a stop, sweat running into his eyes, his chest heaving. Charles was already mounted, and when he saw Richard, he reached to the far side of his horse and dragged something across his saddle.
Stephen.
Facedown, the little boy flailed, proving that he was still alive. Richard swayed with relief. Then Charles put the barrel of another pistol against the boy's neck. They must have terrorized Stephen with it already, because he knew enough to remain still.
Where were Richard's hired guards? He saw three men motionless on the ground near the lodge, and he prayed that they were still alive. A flicker of movement caught his eye. A wide-eyed Jasper Tearle looked frantically between Richard and Charles before slipping away into the woods.
"Don't move, Richard." Charles's voice was a snarl, no longer polished and calm.
"You have one bullet," Richard said. "You'd better shoot me, because if not, I'm going to kill you." It was dark— he prayed that he could dodge in time and save Stephen.
"So arrogant, the lot of you," Charles said. "Your brother was no different— but I beat him in the end, didn't I?"
"You killed a sick man. Not very sporting of you."
"I beat him long before then. To think, I loaned him his own money! When he owed me more than he could repay— and he knew that if he died, I would make sure I controlled Stephen— he offered me a deal."
Some part of Richard already knew what was coming.
"Strangely enough," Charles continued, his pistol still on Stephen, "he guessed that I would harm his son to control the dukedom. But it was already financially unsound, so he offered a trade. He would get you to masquerade as the duke, and then I would be able to hunt you. Because of course, once you're dead, Stephen inherits all your money. Please tell me Cecil didn't lie about that."
Richard remained silent, still trying to comprehend that his own brother planned his murder. He felt almost dizzy, as if his whole life was not what he'd thought.
"Now, your poor, ignorant brother thought he was saving his son," Charles continued. "I'd agreed to let Stephen live, and control everything through him. But between you and me, Richard"— he laughed softly, and patted Stephen's back— "I'm changing the rules. I deserve to be the duke. My mother was the eldest in the family. It's only fair that the title finally come back to me."
For a moment, Charles's words echoed strangely. Hadn't Richard just considered remaining the duke, as if he deserved it? The lure of such power overtook so many people.
"You can't kill Stephen," Richard said, "because then he won't be around to inherit my money."
"I'll think about it." Charles slowly raised the pistol and pointed it at Richard.
For a frozen moment, Richard waited, caught between diving away and concern that Charles would just kill Stephen instead. The boy was the only thing between Charles and all the power he craved.
Suddenly, from around them three men appeared out of the darkness. Richard recognized the constables, one of whom was holding a pistol trained on Charles. Richard remained still, not wanting to panic his cousin.
But Charles barely blinked an eye. He pointed the pistol up into the night sky and sighed heavily as if with relief.
"Thank goodness you've come, Constables. I was trying to protect my young cousin from this impostor posing as the duke. This man is the duke's bastard brother. He's already killed the duke, and I knew his next target would be poor Stephen. Thank goodness you've come to save us from him!"
"Stop!"
It was a woman's voice— Meriel. She walked into the torchlight alone, her hands raised. Her mask was gone, and the roses at her shoulders drooped. Richard's breath left his body at the danger she put herself in, all for him and Stephen.
She turned appealing eyes on Constable Leighton. "He's lying to you, Constable! I'll tell you everything. Won't you listen?"
Charles was watching her with sympathetic concern, as if Richard had fooled even her. One constable took the pistol from Charles and told him to dismount slowly. Then Charles lifted poor Stephen down and set the boy on his feet in front of him, holding his shoulders. Stephen turned wide, frightened eyes on Richard. Tears tracked dirty streaks down his cheeks.
Constable Leighton regarded Meriel thoughtfully. "You did come to me for help, and said that Sir Charles was threatening the duke."
"Sir Charles is right about one thing," she said gravely. "This is not the duke. He's Richard O'Neill, the duke's brother, and he's only here because it was the best plan I could come up with to protect Stephen."
"You'd better explain yourself," Constable Leighton said.
Richard thought the same thing— this wasn't part of the plan. What could she be thinking? He tried to warn her with his eyes, but she looked away.
"The real duke disappeared," Meriel said. "I knew that this would leave Stephen unguarded, ripe for any unscrupulous family member to exert his influence. By questioning the servants, I knew that Stephen's own uncle could be counted on to help him, to step into the role of the duke temporarily."
Stephen suddenly pulled free of Charles and ran to Richard, who bent down and hugged him tight.
"Uncle Richard!" Stephen cried. "That man tried to hurt me!" He burst into tears.
Charles shook his head. "The poor confused boy."
"He's not confused," Meriel said. "He knew about the masquerade the whole time. Do you think he wouldn't recognize his own uncle?"
Richard looked up at Meriel, knowing she held his whole life in her hands. And he trusted her with it, as he'd never tru
sted anyone before.
"Constable Leighton," he said, rising to his feet, yet keeping a hand on Stephen's shoulder, "my cousin Charles just told me that he's had the duke's steward in his employ for years. It will be a simple matter to get Mr. Tearle to testify to all that he did for Charles. And the falsified account books are at Thanet Court, in Tearle's own handwriting. He's the man who took Stephen away from his guards tonight, and Stephen will be able to vouch for that."
"That is ridiculous," Charles said, still sounding mildly amused. "If they've convinced their steward to lie, it has nothing to do with me."
Constable Leighton looked at him thoughtfully. "But I arrived here tonight in time to hear some of what you were saying, Sir Charles. You had a pistol to that boy's head."