Daring Masquerade

by Mary Balogh

  “More congenial than mine,” he said with a drawl, raising one cynical eyebrow. “I quite understand, ma’am, that you intend that remark as a setdown. Unfortunately I have been brought up to believe, in my code of ethics, that courtesy to a lady should be next only to loyalty to the king and devotion to God. I cannot retaliate.”

  “Hm,” she said, injecting a world of scorn into the syllable.

  “What a very quaint little beach,” he said, looking around him and feeling for the ribbon of his quizzing glass, forgetting for the moment that he was not wearing it with his riding clothes. “A wonderful retreat for a lover of solitude, I grant you, Mrs. Mannering. Is that a cave behind you? Is it large?”

  She stepped across to block the entry. “It is nothing,” she said. “A mere declivity in the rock. Disappointing, I assure you.”

  Nicholas was heartened. If she did not wish him to see inside the cave, she must feel that her memories of it were too great a treasure to share with someone of Sir Harry’s caliber. He glanced up the cliff path and felt his stomach lurch rather uncomfortably at sight of a pair of soldiers in conversation at the top and clearly in danger of descending the path. Would it be safe to return across the rocks immediately? Would he be able to pretend not to have heard them if they hailed him? Would the other two soldiers have left the main beach?

  Sir Harry Tate decided he must be his usual insensitive self. “I shall see for myself,” he said, strolling still closer to Kate, whose lips thinned when she realized his intention. “Perhaps we can discover a secret passage leading to a smugglers’ hideout or to some spectacular display of stalagmites and stalactites. Would that not be romantic?”

  “I do assure you,” she said, “that there is nothing.” The soldiers were definitely coming down the path. It was very possible that they had seen him already too, though they were not yet close enough to recognize him.

  He walked inside the cave, taking Kate by the hand as he passed her.

  “Come, Mrs. Mannering,” he said, “I do believe you are a coward and have merely pretended to explore. Are you afraid of dark places? You need not be, you know. I shall keep my hold of your hand.”

  “You will release me immediately,” she said, pulling indignantly at her hand. “I do not choose to be led where I have no wish to go, sir, like a child.”

  “Now, you are not afraid of me, Mrs. Mannering, are you?” he said with a sigh. “Has it just occurred to you that you are all alone with me here? But you are wrong in that too. There are two soldiers of the coast guard at this moment on their way down from the top of the cliff. They are making a routine check of the area, doubtless, thinking that by patrolling by day they will prevent smuggling or other atrocities by night.”

  “The coast guard?” Kate said nervously, though she could not think why she should fear them at this precise moment. Nicholas was long gone, and the smuggled goods were safely stowed in Mr. Evans’ cottage.

  “Your reputation could suffer irreparable damage at being found in here alone with me,” he said with that sneer that she hated. “Of course, mine will suffer no lesser fate. And I hate to be considered a womanizer, as I have mentioned before.” Sir Harry sighed. Nicholas Seyton was listening with almost every pore of his body. His timing was going to have to be just right. He gave her an arctic smile. “Shall we disguise our identity from them, Mrs. Mannering?”

  “There are footprints in the sand,” one male voice said from outside the cave.

  “Leading into that cave,” another voice said.

  Sir Harry pulled Kate toward him, his arms going around her, imprisoning her hands against his chest. She was looking up at him, eyes widening with surprise and indignation when he lowered his mouth to hers. One of his hands came up to hold her firmly behind her head below the little velvet hat so that she could not pull away. His mouth was closed but effectively covered her lips.

  “Two of them,” the first voice said. “And none coming out again, though there is a mess of prints just here.”

  They would be at the opening to the cave by now. Nicholas had his back to them. He slid his hands lasciviously over Kate’s body, moved his lips, still closed, over hers, and made sounds of appreciation in his throat. Somehow he had allowed her arms to escape his hold. They came around him, and her body arched toward his and molded herself against him. Her mouth trembled beneath his.

  “Oh, I say!” a voice said from behind Nicholas. And then an embarrassed cough. “Er, pardon me. Let’s go, Conlin.”

  “What?” Conlin asked, sounding rather bewildered.

  “Just a gentleman and his wench,” the other voice said, hushed.

  There was no further sound from outside the cave.

  When it seemed that there was no longer any danger of having to face the soldiers, Nicholas was finally at leisure to feel surprise that Kate had not pulled away from him. She was still arched into him, her arms around his waist, her lips soft beneath his own. He could feel the heat of her pliant body against his own. She knew! Did she know? And for the first time he was fully aware of her body against his, her mouth beneath his own. He allowed himself the full luxury of feeling for a few final seconds. Did she know?

  Sir Harry Tate lifted his head slowly and looked cynically down at Kate, his eyes half-closed, one eyebrow raised, his lips curled in a sneer. “Well, Mrs. Mannering,” he said, watching the dazed, vulnerable look on her flushed face begin to give place to awareness, “I believe we have saved each other’s reputations. I don’t think we need prolong the agony. Do you?”

  “What?” she said vaguely. And then full awareness had returned. “What exactly was the meaning of that, sir? You were saving my reputation? By behaving in that insulting manner? Did I say I was afraid to be seen by a couple of soldiers, sir? Let them think what they will. It matters not to me if they know my identity. I do not believe you had a care for my good name, sir. I believe you used the occasion for the gratification of your own desires.”

  She was bristling with indignation, he could see, her face still flushed, her eyes flashing, her hands in fists at her sides.

  “Mrs. Mannering,” he said with a sigh, “you flatter yourself. Did I not tell you yesterday that you are not the sort of female to appeal to my tastes? But perhaps I wound you by being so blunt about my feelings. I noticed that your own playacting was quite convincing. You prolonged our kiss for a quite unnecessary length of time after the soldiers withdrew in confusion, and you demonstrated to me in a quite shocking manner the shapeliness of your body. In fact, my dear, I am almost beginning to consider that perhaps I do not always prefer dark hair after all.”

  Kate’s nostrils flared as she drew in a loud breath. “How dare you!” she said. “Do you think I would kiss you in earnest?”

  “I would have said you were doing so a moment ago,” he said with a bored shrug. “Are you missing the late Mr. Mannering’s attentions, ma’am?”

  He was ready for that flashing palm this time. He caught her firmly by the wrist when her hand was a mere few inches from his face. “Oh, not again,” he drawled with extreme boredom. “You really must try to control your passions, Mrs. Mannering. I confess that I am not accustomed to living at such an intense emotional level.”

  “Never touch me again!” she hissed, glaring hotly into his lazy eyes. She lifted her free hand and wiped the back of it very deliberately across her lips.

  There was a gleam for a moment in Sir Harry’s eyes, but he did not relax his sneer into a smile. He released her wrist. “Well, Mrs. Mannering,” he said, “at least you will always be able to remember that you have been kissed in a cave that is almost large enough to be a smugglers’ hideout. Something to tell your grandchildren, my dear.”

  Kate gathered the skirt of her riding habit in her hands and walked past him, ostentatiously careful not to brush against him. “Thank you, sir.” she said, “but I hope to have put such a slight and unpleasant incident from my mind long ages before then. And I am not your dear.”

  “No, you ar
e not,” he said with a sigh, following her from the cave. “May I assist you across the rocks, Mrs. Mannering?”

  “You may certainly not, sir,” Kate said, clambering up onto the rocks and losing her footing in a quite inelegant skid. She gritted her teeth against the pain of a scraped wrist and continued on her way. She did not look back, or she might have been surprised to see the unguarded grin of Nicholas Seyton on the face of the man who came behind her.

  By the following morning Kate was eager to rise, and begin life afresh. She was thoroughly in charge of her own life now, she had decided before falling asleep sometime before dawn. She had nothing else to fear. She had experienced all the bad things that life could throw her way and had survived them. Now she knew all there was to know and could organize her life accordingly. She was into her brown cotton dress and already struggling with the buttons at the back of it before Audrey arrived with her morning cup of chocolate.

  She had been very inclined to feel ashamed of herself when she finally crept to bed the night before. It seemed that she had done everything wrong since coming to Barton Abbey. First of all she had fallen for the surface charm of a conscienceless adventurer. That had been stupid. Any normally experienced woman would have realized that a man who would not even remove his mask in her presence was not the person in whom to put her trust. And certainly not the person with whom to fall in love.

  She had done both. She had believed Nicholas’ claims to be legitimate—in fact, she still did. But she had also believed that he was of a strong-enough character to pursue his claims until he proved them true or false to his own satisfaction. And she had fallen in love with him. There was no denying the fact. He had seemed to offer her the sense of adventure she had always craved. And he had been charming and friendly. And quite impossibly handsome. She could not say that for sure, of course, because she had never seen his face or his hair. But if his height and physique and his smile were any indication, he was handsome, all right.

  It was a terrible thing to admit that she had fallen for such shallow externals. Of course Giles was partly to blame. If only his physical presence had not repulsed her so much, she would not have been so surprised and vulnerable when she discovered that not all men would arouse the same cringing nausea in her. It had been dreadfully naive of her to allow Nicholas to perform the sexual act with her merely because she rather enjoyed his touch. But that was what she had done.

  Well, she would put the experience behind her, she had convinced herself at last, lying in bed and staring at the patterns the light from outside was casting on the ceiling and the canopy of her bed. After all, no experience was instrinsically bad if one survived it and if one learned from it. Her father always said that. She had certainly learned to guard her heart more carefully in future. Of course, she was still suffering the painful aftermath of this encounter. It was really far more difficult to fall out of love than to fall in. However, she was no cringing, vaporous female. She would survive.

  The encounter with Sir Harry Tate, on the other hand, was far more shameful and Kate winced over the memories for a large portion of the night. She would not allow herself to push them from her conscious mind, however. She must analyze what had happened and why. Only by doing so could she understand herself and adjust her way of life more to her liking.

  She found him attractive. Physically. Not in any other way. She hated to admit as much, but the truth must be faced. She was attracted. Why? For exactly the reasons she had been drawn to Nicholas Seyton. Sir Harry too was tall and well-built, and he too was quite unusually handsome if one discounted the very unpleasant expression that seemed to be habitual on his face. No, not quite for the same reasons as she had fallen for Nicholas. Sir Harry had none of the charm and friendliness of the other, none of the dash and recklessness.

  Was it only his looks that attracted her then? At first she was inclined to think the answer must be yes, but if that were so, she asked herself, why was it that she felt no attraction to the Marquess of Uppington? He too was a good-looking man if one ignored the signs of dissipation in his face. No, she had to admit that in some perverse way she found Sir Harry’s company stimulating. Although she disliked him intensely and found him ill-mannered and annoying, she had to admit that he had a sharp mind, and there was a certain enjoyment in sparring with him verbally.

  But was the attraction she felt any excuse for what had happened that afternoon? Not the kiss itself. She supposed that there had been some excuse for that, though she could not really believe that Sir Harry was as worried about his reputation or hers as he sometimes pretended to be. But the kiss had certainly saved them from having to talk to the soldiers, a conversation that would probably have been tedious at best, embarrassing at worst. If they had mentioned smugglers, she might have felt uncomfortable pretending total ignorance and surprise.

  What really bothered her about that kiss, and what made her squirm now as she remembered, was that she had forgotten within moments of its beginning that the soldiers even existed. While Sir Harry was merely going through the motions of passion to persuade the intruders to withdraw, she had almost immediately become involved in the kiss as if it were real. She had moved her arms so that she might hold him, and she had fitted her body to his in an unconscious need to make of the embrace more than a mere meeting of lips. She had wanted him.

  What a dreadfully shameful admission to make even to herself! She had wanted to make love with Sir Harry Tate. Ugh!

  Well, it was the truth and it had to be faced. Unfortunately she had a sinking feeling that he knew very well what had happened to her. Now he would have very good reason for looking at her with that sneer every time their eyes met. She had lost ground with him. It might take her days to feel that she was back on an even footing with him, ready to give insult for insult.

  One thing was certain, at least. It was very possible for her to be attracted to men. Giles had not by any means represented the authoritative standard. Only two days before, she had given herself completely to Nicholas Seyton. And yet earlier this afternoon she had been almost ready to give herself again to another man in exactly the same location. The frightening thing was that for the few minutes of her embrace with Sir Harry the two men had fused in her mind. When he had raised his head and looked down at her, she had not been sure for a moment where she was or with whom. It had taken her some moments to realize that there were no black mask and blond wig, no wide blue eyes gazing passionately at her, no flashing white smile. Only those heavy-lidded, bored-blue eyes and that sneering mouth. She could have died of mortification.

  She could not understand why she had become confused. They did not kiss at all alike. Nicholas had not held her tightly to him as Sir Harry had, and he had not kissed her as hard. He had always kissed her with open mouth, using his lips and his tongue to caress and excite her. Sir Harry kept his mouth closed. She would not have expected that the sensations it created could be just as erotic as the way Nicholas kissed.

  But the truth was that she had become confused and she had responded to what had merely been meant as a diversion for the soldiers. What was the meaning of it? Was she promiscuous? Was she about to start falling all over herself to invite the attentions of every handsome man she set eyes on? Absurd. She was certainly not interested in the attentions of Lord Uppington or in the flirtation of Lord Poole. Even Lord Stoughton had made the occasional flirtatious comment and directed several appreciative glances her way. She had never felt even slightly tempted to encourage him.

  What was she going to do about her weakness? was the more pertinent question. The answer was really quite obvious. She must forget about Nicholas Seyton. And she must avoid Sir Harry Tate. The first was easy, or at least it was simplified by the fact that he had gone away. The second was more difficult, as she saw a great deal of the gentleman every day. But now that she had admitted the attraction and now that she realized that she was drawn to his company because she enjoyed their verbal battles, she could do what was best. And it was best t
o stay away from the man. It would be the final humiliation if she fell in love with him. And he would know. She did not think a great deal escaped Sir Harry’s lazy, heavy-lidded eyes.

  It was very late by the time Kate sorted through all these thoughts. In fact, she was half-expecting to see dawn lighten the windows at any moment. But before she would allow herself to sleep, there was one more thing she had to decide. If she were to put these two men from her mind, she must have someone or something else to put in their place. Life with Lady Thelma, even in the middle of a house party, was somewhat dull. If she had nothing with which to occupy her hands and her mind, Kate knew she would find it harder not to dream of Nicholas and not to gravitate to the mental stimulation she could gain in Sir Harry’s company.

  She would find out the truth about Nicholas Seyton, that’s what she would do. Not because she loved him or missed him or for any stupid reason like that. But merely for the challenge. He had given up and gone away. There seemed to be almost no way to prove his claim to be the legitimate son of Jonathan Seyton. But she would find that proof anyway. She would resume the daunting task she had set herself in the library. But she would not leave the matter there. She would put her brains to work and find some other way to unlock the mystery.

  When Kate finally closed her eyes as an invitation to sleep, she already felt excited at the dangers, frustration, and adventure that she might be facing. She would prove Nicholas Seyton’s claim, and then she could write to him in Shropshire and throw the information in his teeth.

  When she rose the following morning, Kate was still buoyed up by her new sense of purpose.

  Chapter 15

  The gentlemen had all joined Lord Barton in an extended ride out onto the estate to examine the fields and crops. Mrs. Carstairs had accompanied her two charges, in addition to Angela Lacey and Lady Thelma, into the village to see if the milliner there was worthy of their patronage. Lady Lacey and Lady Toucher were exchanging gossip as they sewed in the latter’s sitting room. Lady Emma was writing letters in the morning room. Kate had the afternoon to herself again.