‘I am not happy about this,’ Mrs Bretton said as the three of them headed towards the door. ‘You are inviting trouble, Laurence. Mark my words!’
‘Nonsense, Mama. It is a masquerade. What could possibly go wrong?’
Chapter Ten
It was, Alistair decided, the last time he intended to give way to Isabelle’s demands. He liked attending masquerades even less than he liked attending the theatre, but at least at the latter, he wasn’t required to perform.
‘I think you make a wonderful Prospero,’ Isabelle assured him as the two mingled with a host of other masked guests. ‘Very mystical, but very powerful. And it goes perfectly with my being Miranda.’
Alistair grunted. He had bluntly refused his sister’s suggestion that he go as Mark Antony, but after hearing that Isabelle intended to go as the shipwrecked heroine from The Tempest, he’d decided that donning the robe-like costume of Prospero would not go amiss. If nothing else, appearing as Isabel’s fictitious father would hopefully lay to rest any speculation that he was romantically interested in her—a ridiculous notion some miscreant in society had had the audacity to put about.
‘I’m glad it meets with your approval,’ Alistair said as a sword-wielding gladiator strode by. ‘I would hate to disappoint on this, your very first masquerade.’
‘It is exciting though, isn’t it?’ Isabelle said. ‘All these beautiful costumes.’
Watching a rather tipsy Nero stumble past, Alistair was inclined to think otherwise, but given that enjoyment of the evening was not his main reason for coming, he kept the remark to himself. He was about to say something less controversial when Isabelle’s hand suddenly gripped his arm. ‘Oh, dear Lord, he’s here!’ she gasped.
Alistair turned in the direction Isabelle was staring. ‘Who’s here?’
‘Valentine Lawe! Look there, standing next to the lady in that beautiful Venetian gown. It’s him! It has to be!’
Alistair quickly picked out the couple in question, and though it was the gentleman who had caught Isabelle’s eye, it was the lady upon whom Alistair fixed his gaze—because she was nothing short of magnificent. Her costume was exquisite: the rich golden gown liberally trimmed with lace, the bodice cut daringly low, the waist nipped in tight. Her hair was piled high and adorned with an elaborate headdress of feathers and jewels, and her face was hidden behind a white, three-quarters mask into which eye slits and small nose holes had been cut. She could have stepped out of a seventeenth-century gondola.
It wasn’t until the couple started towards him, however, that Alistair began to smile. Only one woman of his acquaintance walked with that degree of confidence.
‘I’m afraid you are destined for disappointment, cousin,’ Alistair whispered in Isabelle’s ear. ‘The gentleman approaching is not Valentine Lawe.’
‘He isn’t?’ Disappointment rang in the younger girl’s voice. ‘Then who is he?’
‘I shall leave the determination to you, but I venture to say all will be revealed the moment he speaks.’
While his cousin waited breathlessly for the romantic playwright to approach, Alistair kept his eyes on Victoria. There could be no mistaking that measured gait. In the glorious Venetian gown, she could easily have taken her place on her uncle’s stage. Her poise and confidence would have assured her of the audience’s approval and her appearance would have inspired lust in the heart of every man present. Lord knew it did in his.
‘Good evening,’ he said as the pair drew close enough for conversation. ‘Did you come by way of carriage or gondola, my lady?’
He saw her mouth lift in a smile, the patch placed next to the enchanting curve of her bottom lip encouraging the eye to linger. ‘Alas, there are too few canals in England to allow the latter, good Prospero. But I see you have fled your enchanted isle to rejoin the ranks of us lesser mortals, along with your lovely daughter.’
Alistair bowed deeply. He should have known that Victoria would be familiar with the characters in one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays. ‘It would seem we are revealed, my dear,’ Alistair said to his cousin. ‘And though tonight Venice is missing one of its most radiant lights, we cannot be sure of the identity of her gallant escort. If I were to hazard a guess, I might think one of England’s foremost playwrights had decided to honour us with his presence.’
The gentleman laughed, his blue eyes twinkling behind the mask. ‘You would not be wrong, sir, for I am indeed the illustrious Valentine Lawe.’
‘But in fact or only in fiction?’ Isabelle enquired breathlessly. ‘For truly you are everything I imagined him to be.’
‘I cannot answer your question, dear Miranda. To do so would be to defeat the purpose of the evening,’ Laurence said gallantly. ‘Masquerade is, after all, about mystery and dark secrets.’
‘And a certain degree of discomfort,’ Victoria said, fanning herself. ‘I cannot speak for the rest of you, but I am finding the wearing of a mask uncommonly warm.’
‘Then, I wonder, dear lady, if I might suggest a stroll around the garden?’ Alistair said. ‘The evening air will serve as balm to your heated skin, and you need not fear any impropriety from a respectable father like myself. Besides, I suspect the garden is well inhabited by others seeking similar relief.’
‘I should like that, good Prospero.’
Alistair smiled, then turned to address the playwright. ‘Mr Lawe, I wonder if I might impose upon you to keep my fair Miranda company for a short time.’
‘I should be delighted.’
‘Excellent. I shall return your lovely partner in due course.’
As expected, the garden was crowded with masked harlequins and fine ladies laughing, flirting and generally enjoying the mood of the masquerade. Across the garden, Alistair was amused to see his good friend Valbourg in the guise of a pirate, enjoying a conversation with a young woman dressed as a shepherdess.
‘The gentleman makes a very convincing pirate and the lady a most winsome shepherdess,’ Victoria murmured at Alistair’s side. ‘Isn’t it fascinating how clothes can change a person’s appearance?’ She turned her head to look up at him. ‘Just as I look like a seventeenth-century Venetian, you appear every inch the powerful wizard you portray.’
‘I am no wizard, beautiful lady,’ Alistair said, looking around for a quiet spot where they might sit and talk. ‘If I were, I would use my powers to make all these people disappear and leave you and I alone in this scented garden.’
‘Ah, but that would not be proper.’
‘What do I care for propriety when mystery is the order of the night? Masquerade is about being someone else, if only for a few hours. A man might come with his wife, but flirt with another’s and no one would be any the wiser.’
‘Except for the lady and the wife.’ Slowly, Victoria began to smile. ‘So we are indulging in make believe?’
‘Until midnight, when we remove our masks and return to our everyday selves. Until then, let us enjoy these brief moments of supposed anonymity and speak of things we would not without the benefit of a mask.’
Victoria slowly raised her eyes to his. ‘What would you say to me now that you could not say before?’
‘Only that I am enchanted by you.’ Alistair knew what he risked in saying the words, but whether it was the magic of the night or the playfulness of Victoria’s mood, it was a risk he was willing to take. ‘That I have been, ever since the first moment of having seen you.’
He watched her glance away, plying her fan even as her smile faded. ‘You would do well to keep your flattery to yourself, good Prospero. I am no more suitable to you in that guise than I am in this one.’
‘On the contrary, I may not know who you are tonight, but I know who you were yesterday and who you will be tomorrow.’
He saw dainty white teeth tug at her lower lip. ‘I fear you do not. And while I have
already decided that the omission will be set right, I think it only fair to tell you that...what you know of me now is not...all there is to know.’
‘I don’t understand—’
‘And I would beg you not to ask. Not tonight. I do not wish to spoil the magic of the evening, for it is a night for secrets, as you say.’
‘And for unspoken longings.’ Alistair captured her hand and, raising it to his lips, breathed in the sweet scent of her skin. ‘If I could, I would conjure a gondola to take us away into the night. I would quote poetry to amuse you and reach into the sky to make a necklace of stars to place around your throat.’ He smiled and brushed his mouth against the softness of her fingers. ‘I would tell you things I should not and hope you would answer in kind. And tomorrow, I would listen to what you wish to tell me, knowing it could not change my feelings for you.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Victoria said sadly. ‘A deception has been enacted and I fear that when you hear the truth, you will not look at me the way you do now.’
‘I see no deception, beautiful lady. You have been truthful from the start. You told me there could be nothing between us. I was the one who took exception to the remark. But I will listen to what you have to say. And then I hope you will be willing to listen to what I have to say in return.’
‘Mr Devlin—’
‘Alistair,’ he whispered.
‘Mr Devlin,’ Victoria repeated, closing her eyes, ‘I beg you to listen to me—’
‘I don’t want to listen,’ he said, drawing close. ‘I want...this.’
And then...he kissed her.
* * *
Victoria had been kissed before: once by a fumbling youth in a childhood game and once by a friend in a Christmas theatrical. But she had never been kissed like this. Never been made to feel she as though was in danger of losing her mind. The searing heat of Alistair’s mouth obliterated every rational thought and, for a moment, she didn’t care that she must tell him a potentially damaging truth.
All she knew was that she was falling in love with Alistair Devlin. Whatever happened tomorrow would have no bearing on that.
Slowly, reluctantly, they drew apart, their eyes holding each other’s in the dim evening light. Victoria hadn’t
known it was possible to feel like this, but she did know that things would never be the same between them again. Soon, she would have to tell him the truth. Soon, she would have to explain why this secret life had been imposed on her. But in the aftermath of his kiss, all she wanted to do was draw his head down to hers and kiss him again. She leaned in towards him, eyes slowly closing. ‘Mr Devlin—’
‘Alistair,’ he whispered. ‘Say it, my love. It’s not difficult.’
My love. She wanted to laugh at the pleasure of the unexpected intimacy, to disappear into the darkness of the night with him and never return. ‘Alistair...’
Smiling, he bent his head and kissed her again, deeper this time as he pulled her against him, the
folds of his cloak enveloping them both. His mouth was soft, yet insistent, totally in control of the moment...and of her.
Strange. She had written about this desperate longing in her plays, framed scenes in which her characters had spoken of the depths of their feelings, but never had she imagined that it could feel like this. His fingers gently grasped her chin, angling her mouth, drawing her closer.
Victoria leaned into him, wanting this. Wanting him—
And then, a burst of feminine laughter...sensual and provocative...shattered the velvet darkness and broke the spell.
Muffling a gasp, Victoria drew back. Her heart was racing, her body heavy as a result of Alistair’s caresses, but it was madness to carry on. They were no longer alone in an enchanted garden.
A couple had emerged from the ballroom to stand on the candlelit terrace. Believing themselves unobserved, they drew close in a lovers’ embrace, the man’s arms sliding around the woman’s waist, the woman pressing her body wantonly against his. He wore the uniform of a naval officer; she was dressed in medieval garb, her long, titian hair streaming down her back. But while her face was hidden behind a full white mask, Victoria recognised the sound of her laughter and gasped in horror when she realised who the temptress was. ‘Signy!’
‘Signy?’ Alistair stared at the other couple and slowly recognition—and anger—dawned. ‘And that’s Collins. What in God’s name is he doing here?’
As they watched, the pair embraced, the passionate kiss they shared bringing the blood to Victoria’s face.
‘Fool!’ Alistair ground out. ‘He should have known better than to bring his mistress here.’
‘I suspect he thought it would be safe,’ Victoria said quietly. ‘Everyone is in costume. I would not have recognized Signy but for the sound of her laughter. But I must speak to her. If Lady Drake were to find out—’
‘No, it’s Collins who must be taken to task,’ Alistair said. ‘With any luck, we can get them out of here before anyone is the wiser.’ He strode across the grass and stopped at the base of the stairs. ‘Collins, a word!’
The lovers guiltily sprang apart. Collins’s expression reminded Victoria of a little boy caught doing something he knew was wrong. ‘I say, Dev, is that you?’
‘Fortunately for you, yes,’ Alistair answered in a tight voice. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Enjoying the masquerade, same as everyone else. But I say, what a splendid costume!’ Collins said, swaying just a little. ‘Don’t know who you’re supposed to be, but it looks damn fine.’
‘Silly, it’s Prospero, from The Tempest,’ Signy said as she fell giggling against him. ‘I should know, I played the part of Miranda last year. Mr Templeton said it was one of my finest performances.’ She turned to stare quizzically at Victoria. ‘But I don’t know who you are.’
Victoria sighed. ‘It’s Miss Bretton, Signy. And you must leave at once. If Lady Drake finds out you’re here, she will not be at all pleased.’
But Signy only laughed, too intoxicated to care. ‘Why should I leave? I am a celebrated actress. Admired by my fellow actors and adored by my fans. Why should she not be pleased that I have come to grace her silly little gathering?’
‘Because you are not a lady,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘And this is not a suitable place for the two of you to be seen together. Collins, take Miss Chermonde home.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Bertie!’ Signy said. ‘I don’t want to leave.’
But Collins was already wavering. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea—’
‘But nobody knows who I am!’ the actress cried. ‘And no one need know if we don’t say anything. We can leave just before midnight. Right before everyone takes off their masks.’
‘I think it best you go now, Signy,’ Victoria said. ‘Before someone recognises you and tells Lady Blake you’re here.’
The change in the woman was alarming. In a matter of seconds, her pretty smile vanished and her eyes turned hard. ‘I don’t answer to you, Miss Bretton. Your uncle is the only one who has the right to tell me what to do.’
‘That may be true, but I think we both know that if he were here, this discussion would not be taking place,’ Victoria said, purposely keeping her voice calm. ‘I would rather not have to tell him I saw you, but I will if I think it in everyone’s best interests. You know how he feels about members of his cast stirring up gossip.’
The actress hissed like an angry cat. ‘I don’t like being threatened.’
‘And I’m not threatening you. I am simply stating facts. The choice is yours.’
A tense silence followed as Victoria waited for Signy to make up her mind. The actress was clearly debating whether to stand her ground or to do as she had been told and make a hasty exit. Her focused stare was clearly an attempt to intimidate Victoria and to make her change her mind. But
Victoria was prepared to make good on her threat. She would not risk her uncle’s reputation by allowing a scandal to take place that centred on a member of his troupe, no matter how valuable that actress believed herself to be.
Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. Signy drew herself up, as though stepping into a role, and, tossing back her glorious hair, said, ‘Very well, I’ll go. I have no desire to repay Mr Templeton’s kindness by embroiling him in a scandal. But I owe you no such loyalty, Miss Bretton, and you have overstepped yourself tonight. You would do well to remember that I’m not the only one who plays a part, but at least I don’t try to disguise who or what I am.’
She made as though to return to the ballroom, but Alistair gently but firmly took hold of her arm. ‘Not that way. Collins, take Miss Chermonde out through the garden and on to the road. It would be better if neither of you ventured into the house again.’
Victoria remained silent as the drunken pair stumbled past, too stricken by the venom in Signy’s parting remark to offer any kind of retort. What had Signy meant when she’d said she wasn’t the only one playing a part? Did she know Victoria was Valentine Lawe? And if so, did she intend to expose her?
Signy knew she was the company’s most valuable actress. She was used to being admired for her beauty and fêted for her talent. The fact she had been told she wasn’t a lady and advised to go home would not sit well with her. She had an ego the size of London and Victoria knew she would take this as a personal slight. Her parting threat had been unmistakable...which made the necessity of telling Alistair the truth more important than ever.
‘Is everything all right, Victoria?’ he asked, sensing the change in her mood.
‘Yes, of course.’ Victoria tried for a smile, but failed. ‘But I think we should go back inside. It is nearly time to unmask. Besides, Laurence and Miss Wright will be wondering where we are.’
She turned to go, but was stayed by the touch of his hand. ‘They can wait a little longer. What’s wrong, Victoria? Are you sorry I kissed you?’
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