Once Upon a Masquerade (Entangled Scandalous)

by Tamara Hughes

  “It was much windier earlier in the day.” She wondered at the ease the lies slipped off her tongue.

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Mr. Black watched her struggle to affix the large hat.

  She wished Mary was there to help her. She’d left a note asking her to act as chaperone for her ride with Mr. Westerly. Without the Endicott family in residence, Mary enjoyed the freedom of sleeping much later than usual. God only knew when she would arrive. Then again, she was supposed to be sick in Hazel’s eyes.

  Blast, how she hated lying to Hazel, insisting that family problems were the cause of all these outings. Which was largely true, but repeatedly slipping out of the house dressed like this…

  The stubborn stickpin dropped to the ground when she attempted to pierce the thick material. Mr. Black retrieved it and stilled her trembling hands, then pressed the pin through the fabric. “Is something troubling you?”

  She adjusted the pin from where he’d placed it as if well practiced at the art, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. Her pulse skipped a beat. She must look like a child playing dress up, as clumsy as she was with the oversized thing. She scanned the greens behind her, anxious to be away before she said or did anything else unseemly. “My maid has wandered off. I wonder if I should search her out.”

  Already a few people had begun to mill about the park. Given his penchant for pointing out her every blunder, she was surprised he hadn’t mentioned her lack of chaperone. “We’re planning to go coaching with Philip Westerly at midday.”

  A slight frown marred his features. “Permit me to help you find her.”

  She allowed him to lead her back up the steps, unable to think of a reasonable excuse to decline his offer. “Do you know Mr. Westerly?”

  “Not well. He moved to New York just before the season began in the fall.”

  The curt tone of his reply confirmed her suspicions. “You don’t care for him.”

  “No, I don’t.” His features hardened. “He strikes me as an opportunist. Somehow, he manages to take advantage of any situation.”

  His eyes smoldered into hers. With jealousy? Was it Mr. Westerly or her outing with Mr. Westerly that bothered him? The idea frightened and thrilled her. “You said yourself you don’t know him all that well.”

  “I’m a quick judge of character.”

  “Is that so? Have you judged my character as well?”

  “Of course.” Although his voice teased, his features held no humor. “You’re different from the other ladies of the bon ton.”

  “How so?” she asked, dreading his answer.

  “Most society ladies are cool and aloof. You’re carefree, vibrant.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Some might disagree, but I think so.”

  Shimmery warmth filled her chest. She tried to tamp down the unfamiliar feeling. It would only lead to trouble.

  “There’s a shyness about you, as if you’re trying to hide something from everyone. Or just from me.” He peered down into her face, his eyes searching, curious. “You are an exceedingly beautiful mystery, one that intrigues me and one that I plan to solve.”

  A jolt of panic seared through her. He was too observant by far. How long could she last before he saw through her charade?

  She picked up her pace, and her foot snagged on a rock nestled in the grass. Her breath caught as she fell forward. Strong arms encircled her and drew her back. Excitement pulsed within her when she came up against his solid chest. A part of her relished his embrace and the illusion of being protected and safe. But that’s all it was. An illusion.

  She straightened, her heart stumbling over itself. “You’re wrong. There’s no mystery to solve.” Seizing the cumbersome hat that had pitched to the side, she worked to set it aright, finding it no easier than the last time she’d tried.

  He handed her the feather duster that had dropped to the ground and adjusted the pins, easily securing the hat. His hand brushed her cheek, and his gaze locked with hers. “I think there is.”

  Her skin tingled, distracting her from the panic that threatened to consume her. She prayed for divine intervention.

  To her relief, she spied Mary making her way toward them. Not an angel from heaven, but she would do. “Mary, please don’t wander off like that again. We’ve been searching everywhere for you,” she scolded, sending her a meaningful look.

  With a sparkle in her eye, Mary played along, “I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me.”

  “No harm done.” Rebecca turned to Mr. Black, ready to send him on his way. “Thank you for keeping me company while I waited for Mary to return.”

  A pleased grin softened his features. Clearly, he was aware of her intent to be rid of him, and was amused by it all the same. “My pleasure.” The low timbre of his voice grazed over her flesh as sure as a gentle touch. “Good day, Miss Bailey.”

  “Good day,” Rebecca whispered as he strode off.

  “He’s a handsome devil,” Mary said once he was out of hearing range.

  “Yes, he is.” She continued to stare, confused by the sense of loss that weighed her down. “But it would be best to stay clear of him,” she said as much to herself as to Mary, tearing her eyes away from his broad back.

  “What? Why would you do that?”

  She stroked the fine feathers of her duster. “He’s already suspicious. I have no doubt he’ll soon remember me from his visit with Miss Endicott.”

  “You don’t know that. Most gentlemen wouldn’t remember the name or face of a servant girl if she stood before him naked.”

  “He isn’t like most men.”

  “I see,” Mary muttered knowingly. “Still, last night must have gone fairly well if you already have plans with… Who did you say?”

  “Mr. Westerly. And yes, I had a wonderful time. You can’t imagine what it was like, truly amazing, like a dream.” The image of a charming pirate clouded her mind. Forcing the thought away, she scanned the lawns, trying hard to focus on today’s outing. “Mr. Westerly should be coming any time now…” She spied him some distance off in a plum suit.

  “What is it?”

  “I see Mr. Westerly. He’s speaking with Mr. Black.” What could they be talking about? If Mr. Black disliked Philip Westerly as much as he said, one would think he’d avoid him. Yet, the two men appeared to be talking amicably, even shaking hands as they parted ways. “Here he comes.” Rebecca turned to Mary and clenched her hands together. “How do I look?”

  Mary nodded. “Good, good.”

  “Miss Bailey, how nice to see you again,” Mr. Westerly said as he approached.

  “Hello.”

  “I’m sorry I left you waiting. I ran into an acquaintance of mine, Christopher Black. He’s invited us both to dinner and the opera later this evening, if you’re interested. Are you free?”

  Rebecca swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. “I’d love to.” If it meant more time with Mr. Westerly, she’d gladly come along. She needed to save her father. Yes, this was her chance to save him. Which perfectly explained the anticipation blooming in her chest.

  …

  Outside the Endicotts’ home, Christopher waited in the carriage for Westerly’s return, his gaze fixed on the door although he looked at nothing in particular.

  His cousin leaned toward him. “I can’t wait to meet this woman who’s caught your eye.”

  He met Kimberly’s amused stare. “She hasn’t caught my eye.” He’d arranged this evening to gain Miss Bailey’s trust and to watch over her. Now that he knew she was the one Nathan spoke of, he had a duty to keep her safe…at least until he determined whether she was already safe on her own.

  The carriage door swung open far sooner than he would have suspected, and Miss Bailey stepped inside. He drank in her curly auburn hair, pert nose, and shapely lips like he’d been dying of thirst.

  She took a seat on the open bench across from him and busied herself with adjusting her skirts. After thoroughly completing the task, she cast him a furtive
glance, before her attention slid to the woman seated beside him.

  Westerly joined Miss Bailey on the bench and made the necessary introductions. “Miss Bailey, may I present Miss Kimberly Ives and, of course, Christopher Black.”

  Kimberly greeted Miss Bailey, and he thanked the heavens she’d agreed to join him on such short notice. His cousin hadn’t appreciated his impromptu invitation, and initially declined his offer, but she relented once she’d decided he’d fallen in love. Typical Kimberly.

  From the curiosity on Miss Bailey’s face, he could tell she wondered who this woman was to him. Her reaction shouldn’t please him, but it did.

  “Miss Bailey.” He lifted his top hat, forcing her regard.

  She nodded stiffly. “Mr. Black.” Quickly she turned her attention to Westerly. “Mr. Westerly, what opera will we be attending this evening?”

  Westerly replied with a bemused expression, “I don’t know.” With a bit of a laugh, he added, “It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? One only attends the opera to be seen. If we adhere to proper decorum, we’ll arrive after curtain and depart shortly after intermission, preventing us from watching the entire performance anyway.”

  “I—I see.” She shrank back in her seat and looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.

  Was Boston society all that much different from that of New York? His experiences were limited by his short excursions there, but he’d never thought so. Westerly could have been less pretentious nonetheless. “We’ll be seeing Edmond Audran’s La Mascotte at the Casino.”

  “Oh, I do hope we’ll have time to visit the rooftop gardens. You’ll simply love it, Miss Bailey,” Kimberly said. “Do you enjoy the opera?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never attended one.”

  Westerly chortled. “How peculiar. Everyone has been to the opera.”

  Miss Bailey turned from Westerly’s bemused stare. “Perhaps tonight will be the first performance of many I’ll see.”

  Her gaze darted to Christopher and held for a moment. A current, almost like static electricity, traveled between them in the intimate confines of the carriage. He itched to explore the matter further even though he would surely regret it later. She couldn’t be his. He’d best remember that.

  “Congratulations, Miss Ives, I understand you’ll be married soon,” Westerly said.

  Miss Bailey’s eyes flared wide when Kimberly glanced at Christopher. “Yes, thank you. I’ve come to New York to assemble my trousseau.”

  “Has a date been set?” Westerly asked.

  “Although I’d prefer sooner, Mother insists we wait until the fall when guests will be back from their summer retreats.” Westerly and Kimberly delved deeper into the arduous undertaking involved with planning a high society wedding, while Christopher peered at Miss Bailey from the corner of his eye.

  From all outward appearances, she remained calm and composed. Still, he detected something more. She sat with her back very straight and stiff, her fingers working her gloves as though looking to find just the right fit. As she stared intently at Kimberly, he guessed the cause—jealousy.

  Kimberly’s flawless ivory skin contrasted starkly with her vibrant sapphire eyes. He supposed she would be considered beautiful by most. He hated to admit it, but Miss Bailey’s assumption tickled him. Jealous. The emotion looked good on her. Quite good. Although… What if she wasn’t jealous because of him? She could simply be upset by Westerly’s preoccupation with Kimberly. Damn it.

  When Kimberly grasped Christopher’s hand and said, “The best man is a very good friend of ours,” he returned her slight squeeze, and Miss Bailey’s lips pressed into a thin line. His spirits lifted once more. Maybe her jealousy was for him. No, her outright glare bespoke of more. But what? Kimberly talked of marriage. Could it be she thought he was Kimberly’s intended?

  Miss Bailey noticed his questioning gaze. She lifted her chin and turned toward Westerly, feigning polite interest in the conversation.

  He could well imagine the frustration of discovering the man she’d kissed last eve would be married in the fall. If that was what she thought and not his imagination running wild.

  Once the carriage lurched to a stop, Westerly helped Kimberly climb down from the step. Miss Bailey stood to follow, and Christopher blocked her path, his actions so quick she nearly bumped into him. A glint of anger brightened her eyes to a lustrous shine as he descended. He winked to his cousin, and Kimberly continued toward the restaurant’s entrance with Westerly in tow, deep in conversation of wedding guests and caterers.

  Christopher waited for Miss Bailey. With obvious disappointment, she watched Westerly stroll away. Hesitating briefly, she slid her slim hand into his. She tensed and glanced down at his hand supporting hers.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, suppressing the urge to graze his thumb along her fingertips.

  “Yes.” Her voice a mite breathy, she tore her gaze away and stepped down from the coach, snatching her hand from his. Whatever terrible thoughts she harbored for him in her lovely head, she stayed by his side as they entered Delmonico’s, one of the finest restaurants in all of New York.

  Inside, globe chandeliers hung from a ceiling of polished wood panels. Several potted plants, tucked discreetly about, lent a welcome atmosphere amid the elegant table settings, but nothing could keep his attention from the woman beside him.

  Westerly and Kimberly walked some distance ahead to a private table near the back of the restaurant. As they followed, the same subtle scent of sweet, spicy cloves that had tantalized him in the Vanderbilt library invaded his senses. Her strides were swift, her lips locked together and her posture as stiff as a rod, and still she was the most beautiful woman in the room. “Have I angered you in some way? You seem out of sorts.”

  She stared straight ahead. “Why did you invite us here?”

  “I don’t trust Westerly,” he admitted. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he didn’t like the man. There was just something about him he didn’t care for.

  “And you’ve nobly decided to take it upon yourself to act as chaperone?”

  Hardly what he’d had in mind, and it rankled that she would now think of him as one. “If you’d brought a proper chaperone yourself I wouldn’t have to. Where is your brother? I thought I might meet him this evening.” Perhaps what she needed was saving from herself.

  “It’s none of your concern,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “He had other plans that couldn’t be changed eleventh hour, and I wanted to spend more time with Mr. Westerly. Besides, no one seems to disapprove but you.”

  Curse it. It bothered him more than he cared to admit that she preferred Philip Westerly’s company to his own. “Westerly certainly wouldn’t care. I’m sure he’s more than happy to accompany you without a chaperone, all the more opportunity to take advantage. He’s a rake, Miss Bailey, one who will soon move on to greener pastures.”

  “Just because you don’t care for him doesn’t mean he and I don’t suit.”

  Lowering his voice as curious stares turned their way, he pointed out the obvious, “You must be blind. He’s been a pretentious snob so far this evening.”

  “There is nothing wrong with Mr. Westerly’s behavior. It’s you who has gone too far. Really, Mr. Black, leave me be.” She raised her chin and hurried ahead to their table.

  He clenched his teeth. Damn, this wasn’t going as he’d planned. Instead of gaining her trust, he was driving her away.

  Westerly and Kimberly were already seated at a linen-covered table with gold-rimmed place settings. An eager attendant relieved Miss Bailey of her cape. Westerly made no move to assist her, and she reluctantly accepted the red cushioned chair Christopher offered.

  As she sank into her seat, he admired the sleek curve of her neck and the delicate skin just below her ear where a tiny mole begged to be kissed. How he’d love to caress that tempting spot. Instead, he handed his coat to the attendant and relaxed into the chair on her right.

  The waiter poured everyone a glass of w
ine.

  “No thank you, I’d best not,” Miss Bailey refused, with a sideways glance. Clearly she didn’t desire a repeat of the previous evening.

  She attempted to break into the conversation already in progress, undoubtedly eager to regain Westerly’s attention. “Miss Ives, I wanted to congratulate you on your pending nuptials. I should have said so earlier. I’m afraid I was deep in my own thoughts.”

  “I understand. I’m afraid I prattle on far too long about wedding preparations.” Kimberly directed a sly smile toward Christopher.

  Miss Bailey noticeably tensed. She’d seen it too, and her reaction pleased him to no end. Apparently, she cared far more than she let on.

  “Not at all. It’s a momentous day that requires much planning,” Miss Bailey replied as a waiter served the first course of their meal.

  “Christopher, this looks simply scrumptious,” Kimberly cooed, marveling at the golden crust pastry before her. “I can’t wait to see what else you’ve selected for us.”

  “My pleasure. I hope you enjoy the meal.” He hoped the menu selection also impressed someone else.

  “You mentioned the operetta tonight is La Mascotte?” Westerly took a bite of the pastry.

  “Yes, indeed it is.” Christopher sipped the full-bodied Bordeaux, wishing he could be alone with Miss Bailey. She was the shining light to an otherwise lackluster day.

  “I think I’ve seen this performance before. It played in Boston a couple of years ago.”

  “Did you like it?” Kimberly asked.

  “Yes, it was highly amusing.”

  Kimberly smiled. “I haven’t had the pleasure of visiting Boston. Tell me, what is it like to live there?”

  Westerly leaned in, clearly enchanted. “I’d be delighted to. Miss Bailey, please join in.” He turned back to Kimberly. “Miss Bailey also hails from Boston and no doubt knows more about ladies’ fashion and interests.”

  “Oh wonderful!”

  Although a pleasant smile bowed Miss Bailey’s lovely lips, a nervous glint sharpened her gaze. But why?

  “What are your favorite shops in Boston, Miss Bailey?” Kimberly asked.