Mary’s brow wrinkled. “You’d leave without your Mr. Black?”
Rebecca’s gaze dropped to the floor, and her heart squeezed tighter. She took a deep breath. She would stay strong. “Yes, and he’s hardly my Mr. Black.”
“But I thought… When I came back this morning you were gone. I assumed you were with him.”
A dry lump formed in Rebecca’s throat. “I was. That’s why I have to leave.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He doesn’t love me.” Rebecca’s voice caught. She pushed past it. “He’ll never love me.”
“You weren’t looking for love. You needed money.”
“It’s not enough. I don’t think it was ever enough, not from him,” she whispered, her will to stay strong cracking. Although she’d doubted her love for him at first, she knew now without a doubt, she loved him with her whole heart and soul.
“But money is… My God, I forgot.” Excitement lit Mary’s face as she raced to the coat she’d worn the night before and dug into its pocket. “This should cheer you up.” She hurried back and pressed a wad of paper into Rebecca’s hand. “Look. One hundred dollars. Now you have enough to pay the debt.”
Dread raked its icy tendrils up Rebecca’s spine as she stared down at the crinkled bills. “Where did you get this?”
The smile on Mary’s face faded. “I borrowed it.”
“From Mr. Westerly?”
Mary’s silence said all she needed to know.
“Does Mr. Westerly realize the loan is for me?”
“He does,” Mary admitted. “Take it anyway. He’s a gambler. Last night, he won big.”
She tried to hand the notes back. “You shouldn’t have borrowed it from him.”
“Why not? What does it matter where the money comes from? After all I went through, don’t tell me you’re not going to use it.”
Someone rapped on the door, and Mary hurried to answer it, giving her no choice but to stow away the money, for now, so she stuffed it into her reticule. Mary admitted the dressmaker, and Rebecca’s transformation into Artemis, the huntswoman, commenced.
The Greek god costume fittings seemed to last for hours, which was ironic considering the resulting gown she wore. The white robe was akin to a sheet, admittedly a high quality sheet, embroidered with gold thread on all edges. A single gold cord held the cloth closed, preserving her modesty. It crossed between her breasts and encircled her waist before its ends dangled to the floor.
To make matters worse, neither she nor the dressmaker had sandals. When she suggested a non-matching pair of slippers, the older woman wouldn’t hear of it. How could she dare think of detracting from such a magnificent creation? The woman walked her out, but once beyond her sight Rebecca hid the bow and arrows she’d been given behind a potted plant at the end of the hall. They may have made her persona more realistic but were highly cumbersome.
At last she stood, barefoot and almost naked, at the top of the staircase to the main salon. Scanning the room below, she hoped to catch sight of Christopher. She would try talking sense into him again. They needed to return to the city. While he may not have a plan to save her father, she did.
She descended the steps. Mr. Westerly stood off to one side leaning against a wall. Along with his robes, he wore the helmet and armor of a soldier. When his brooding gaze swept in her direction, Rebecca hurried across the salon, praying he wouldn’t follow—she didn’t want to talk with him right now. She couldn’t bring herself to thank him for the money he’d loaned her. His mistreatment of Mary was inexcusable.
Rebecca followed white-robed guests as they made their way down a long hallway. The path led to a large solarium filled with a wide array of plant life. The air was pleasantly humid and warm, and the musty smell of soil and leaves teased her nose. Olive trees stretched up toward the etched glass ceiling as golden rays of sunshine streamed in through the windows, softened by the intricate carvings in the panes. Plush recliners lay hidden within a dense assortment of exotic plants, from pineapples to fig trees, and short marble pillars held busts of ancient Greek leaders. Although a large spread of food and drink covered a long table near the entrance, a swarm of servants bearing bowls of fruit and goblets of wine hurried about, eager to please as a harpist strummed in the corner. Apparently she’d found Olympus, home of the gods.
Everyone looked pretty much the same—ridiculous. Their expensive white robes bared pasty skin that Rebecca was certain had never felt the sun’s rays before. Worse, more than a few rounded paunches sagged over elaborate braided belts. She peered down at her own peculiar garment and laughed to herself. She looked no better.
Working her way through the solarium, she spotted Mr. Henley chatting with an older gentleman. She walked toward him, hoping he’d know where she could find Christopher. Halfway to his side, she heard a familiar shrill voice that froze her feet to the floor.
With a glance, she confirmed her worst fear. Victoria Endicott stood not more than ten feet away, addressing an avid audience about the horrendous journey she’d just returned from. The urgency of finding Christopher escalated one hundred-fold. She needed to leave this place immediately. Striding to Mr. Henley’s side, she plastered a bright smile on her face. “May I speak with you a moment?”
“Anything for you, oh great Artemis.” Excusing himself, he guided her a short distance away to speak privately.
“Have you seen Mr. Black? I need to speak with him.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“That’s kind of you, but I…” Rebecca’s voice faded as Miss Endicott’s piercing whine intruded.
“Mr. Henley, I was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of love.”
Rebecca closed her eyes as Miss Endicott drew near, wondering if she should flee before the woman had a chance to recognize her. Rebecca’s eyes popped open when Mr. Henley brushed past her to meet Miss Endicott before she could reach them. “And so you are, my dear, and looking lovely as always.”
As Miss Endicott continued her tirade, demanding all others dressed as Aphrodite be asked to change, Rebecca attempted to sneak away, keeping her back to the pair as she made her way past. At first it appeared she might actually slip by until a tall form came out of nowhere to block her path.
Mr. Westerly couldn’t have timed it better had he tried. “Miss Bailey, we need to talk.”
She peeked over her shoulder. Miss Endicott had taken no notice of her, thank goodness. “About what? Your undying love?” The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back. He had loaned her a respectable sum after all.
“Not this time. I’m afraid I had a bit too much to drink last night and said some things I shouldn’t have.”
“No harm done,” she reassured him, anxious to be on her way. She should thank him for his money, but couldn’t force the words to her mouth.
Mr. Westerly blocked her path once more. “Had I known you and Christopher Black were engaged, I never would have approached you,” he beseeched a bit louder than what she would have liked.
When she glanced back again, Miss Endicott’s glare bored into her. “Did I hear correctly?” she asked, her pitch even more grating than usual. “Christopher Black has a fiancée?”
Rebecca cringed.
As if embarrassed at being overheard, Mr. Westerly limped away, leaving Rebecca alone to face her fate. With no small amount of dread, she turned about, ready for whatever was to come, when Mr. Henley chimed in, “Miss Endicott, may I introduce a friend of mine, Rebecca Bailey? Miss Bailey, this is Victoria Endicott.”
Rebecca held her breath.
Miss Endicott’s gaze swept over her from head to toe, her eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”
“Not that I recall.” Rebecca’s legs trembled so badly, she thought she might sink to the floor. Yet, somehow she’d managed to sound calm.
“I’m curious,” Miss Endicott said, her voice laced with annoyance. “How did you ensnare the most stubbor
n bachelor in New York? Do tell.”
If only she knew the truth. “I hardly know myself.” How was it possible Miss Endicott hadn’t recognized her? She’d worked for the Endicotts for the last five years. Incredible.
“So modest,” Mr. Henley interjected with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “I’ve heard tell Christopher dropped to his knees and begged for your hand.”
Rebecca couldn’t imagine such a thing.
Miss Endicott gasped, then tried to cover her mistake. “How nice for you,” she gritted out before gliding away toward her gaggle of cronies, but not before Rebecca caught her menacing glare.
“You shouldn’t have goaded her,” Rebecca said with a relieved exhale.
“I’m only having a little fun. She’ll survive.”
Yes, Miss Endicott would survive. If only she could say the same. Although Miss Endicott may not have recognized her as a maid, she would surely know Christopher’s fiancée when she saw her again. No matter what happened from this point forward, she would never work for the Endicotts again.
There was no going back now.
…
With the sun setting and torches lighting her way, Rebecca searched the shadows in the garden of the gods for Christopher. Blast that man. She’d been looking for him for hours. Was he deliberately hiding from her? So much for wanting her within his sight as much as possible.
Rebecca rounded the tall shrubbery on the far side of the crowded room and stopped dead in her tracks. Christopher stood in a clearing some distance away. He wore white like everyone else, but rather than looking foolish, he appeared very much the god. His robe tied at one muscular shoulder with a round gold clasp. From there it ran across his torso, baring part of his lean chest and both strong arms. The material passed through a wide leather belt before ending at mid-knee, displaying two solid legs encased in sturdy sandals that laced up his shins. His hand grasped a forked staff.
She’d never studied Greek mythology. Even so, she knew the great Poseidon, god of the sea, when she saw him. She wondered for an instant if he too wore nothing beneath his robes, and felt heat rise up her body.
It took a full minute before a greater shock registered in her dazed mind. Miss Endicott stood beside him, her golden girdle shining in the meager light, identifying her as the love goddess. Rebecca’s insides lurched. A deep frown marred Christopher’s handsome face. Had Miss Endicott realized who she was? This very moment, he could be learning that she was a liar, a fake.
Rebecca tried to calm her nerves. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. In all likelihood, Christopher wasn’t fond of Miss Endicott. Who would be? He could be merely wishing her away. Regardless, she couldn’t chance meeting Miss Endicott again. Turning back to look for a discreet spot to sit until one of them moved on, she caught sight of Mr. Westerly approaching.
“Miss Bailey, I’m so glad I caught up with you. I wanted to apologize again.”
She didn’t understand why another apology was necessary. Of course, he might be waiting for her to show some appreciation. “That’s very kind of you. And I would be much remiss if I didn’t thank you for your generous loan.”
“My pleasure.”
With a forced smile, she stepped past him, eager to be away, when he added, “I’m sorry, Miss Bailey. I mentioned to Miss Endicott how gracious she’d been to allow you to stay at their home while they were away, and she reacted most foully.”
A moan lodged in Rebecca’s throat. This was the beginning of the end. It couldn’t be long before Miss Endicott would know the rest and relay everything to anyone who would listen, especially to Christopher. She needed to leave now more than ever and get Mary back to the Endicotts before she or anyone else in the household could be implicated.
Mr. Henley hurried over to them. “Miss Bailey, my dearest, may I have a word?”
“Certainly.”
He led her through the throng of partygoers to a quiet corner. Rebecca waited expectantly for what had been so urgent, and heard instead, “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” Taking a sip from the gold goblet he held, he no longer appeared the least anxious.
Now what was he up to? “Is that why you brought me over here, to ask if I’m having a good time?”
He studied the raised etching on his cup. “Typically lovers’ quarrels amuse me and add an interesting diversion to most any party. But seeing as we are friends, I thought this time I would intervene.”
Now he really wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?” Did he believe she and Mr. Westerly were lovers?
He looked at her, a bit surprised. “You didn’t notice the way Chris stared your way with murder in his eyes?”
Rebecca cringed. Christopher knew—probably not everything, but enough to become steaming mad.
“If I were you I would stay clear of Philip Westerly for a while,” Mr. Henley suggested, still acting as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Mr. Westerly?
Mr. Henley took a sip of his drink. “If you’re trying to make Chris jealous, rest assured Victoria Endicott has been pursuing him for some time. He isn’t interested.”
As if she would be jealous of that one. Besides, she would never use Mr. Westerly to get back at Christopher even if she was. Before she could correct Mr. Henley’s mistaken assumption, a messenger approached and handed her a note.
She opened it and stared at the forceful scrawl that nearly tore the paper.
Meet me at the gazebo in the gardens. – C. Black
Clutching the message to her chest, she smiled weakly. “It’s from Christopher. He wants to meet in the gardens.”
Mr. Henley gave a quick nod. “Go on then. I’ll find some way to entertain myself without you.”
Rebecca’s feet stayed rooted to the floor. Christopher would hate her once he knew everything.
“What are you waiting for?” Mr. Henley’s amused smile faded.
“He’s angry with me.”
“Why?”
Why indeed. Oh yes, because she’d lied to him, deceived him into believing she was an heiress when, in fact, she was only a maid. “I dare not say.”
“I assume you’ll meet with him?”
She liked to think she wasn’t a coward, that she would always do the right thing no matter how much it hurt. Christopher deserved to know the truth, and to hear it from her. She blew out a long breath and nodded.
“You’d better go,” Mr. Henley suggested. “Waiting won’t improve his mood.”
She pushed her fears aside and set out on her way, leaving the manor and heading to the gardens.
Several rows of budding rose bushes lined the path that swept around the white gazebo. Rebecca climbed the steps to the gazebo’s platform and looked up at the bright moon, hoping she would find the right words to say. There seemed no plausible excuse for what she’d done. Christopher wasn’t a man who would accept excuses anyway.
She would speak the truth and let Christopher react as he would. Simple enough, but her pulse quickened as the moment grew near. The clip of approaching footsteps heightened her anxiety. Christopher strode toward her, his body tense, evidence of the anger he would soon unleash.
Squaring her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation. She wouldn’t back down no matter how enraged he became.
Christopher reached the path’s end and leapt up the first two steps. He grabbed her arm. “What are you doing out here alone? I told you not to leave my sight.”
She stared at the hand clasped over her arm, confused. “What do you mean? Your note instructed me to meet you here.”
“Note? What note? I didn’t send you a message.” He scanned the area around them and pulled her forward. “We need to leave at once.”
As her foot swept over the first step, a flash of silver sped through the night to land embedded in the wooden post beside her, nearly slicing her neck.
Christopher bounded up to the platform and stepped between her and the direction the dagger had sailed from. He squa
tted low, yanking her down beside him, and peered around the post that partially hid them.
She huddled on shaking limbs. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears, she was amazed she heard Christopher whisper to her, “Get ready to run.”
Lifting the hem of her skirts, she waited for his command. In a flash, Christopher yanked the dagger from the splintered wood before hauling her up and urging her forward. They took the shortest route back to the house, cutting through the bed of thorny rose bushes. Christopher followed behind, his body a human shield, protecting her if her assailant should pursue them.
The thorns from the shrubs tore at her skirts and the rocks beneath her feet scraped along her bare arches, but she didn’t slow her pace. She ran as fast as she could, fully expecting another knife to fly through the air from behind them.
She yelped when her foot caught on a sharp rock, the pain shooting up through her leg.
“Are you all right?” Christopher asked as he steadied her with a supporting hand.
“Yes,” she muttered, limping forward, her will to survive stronger than the stinging injury.
In less than a minute, they raced out of the rose bed and onto a patio that sprawled along the manor. Rebecca flew to the nearest doorway, and pushed her way inside.
A beam of moonlight gleamed off a massive piano positioned in the center of the dark room. As Christopher closed the door behind them, she limped to the instrument and leaned against it for support while she caught her breath.
Christopher strode toward her, concern in his eyes. Prepared to tell him she was fine, she straightened, and her foot slid out from under her. His strong hands caught her beneath the arms before she could hit the hard marble floor.
With relief, she twisted around to thank him, when he muttered an oath. She followed his downward gaze and spied a dark streak smeared across the floor leading to her left foot. A gasp escaped her as Christopher lifted her into his arms and marched from the room.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she assured him.
His arms tightened, bringing her closer. Beneath her hand, his heart beat a quick rhythm almost as fast as her own. She could argue with him, insist she could manage without his help. Instead, she clung to his shoulders, letting his strength comfort her. Dear God, she’d almost been killed tonight. The thought barreled over her like a runaway carriage. Would the killer dare follow them inside?
Once Upon a Masquerade (Entangled Scandalous) Page 18