The Lady Unmasked

by Ava Stone

  What did Lila even have to be hurt about? The fact that he was searching out some other girl?

  He winced at the thought, even though there was no reason to do so. He hadn’t behaved inappropriately or in a way that should make her expect anything from him. He hadn’t made any sort of declarations to her. He hadn’t even kissed her, no matter how often he’d wanted to. The most he’d ever done was carry her back to the vicarage when she’d been unable to walk the previous year, and then yesterday, he’d held her hand as he’d lain injured in the road. That was the extent of the liberties he’d taken, even if he’d wanted to take more. But taking more would mean…Well, taking more would require things like proposals and promises and…Things he’d never truly considered giving to any girl. The very idea terrified him more than death, more than any ghost, more than even that terrible thing he’d seen yesterday along the side of the road.

  “There you are, old boy.” He smiled tentatively at his horse and then tossed the stable lad a coin for his troubles.

  A moment later, he rode out of Ravenglass, though his mind was still on a certain brunette who was back in town and the pained expression he’d seen on her face. Damn it all, he was fairly certain he’d see that expression when he closed his eyes to fall asleep that night. How bloody inconvenient that was.

  He rode straight to Braewood, every thought in his head focused on Lila Southward the whole way – her pleasant disposition, her ebony hair that he would quite like to run his fingers through, her soft skin that he’d revel in touching if he got the chance, and those perfect lips of hers. The things he could do with those lips.

  “Milord,” the Braewood stable boy greeted him upon his arrival, breaking Quent from his reverie.

  Good thing the boy had done so too, or he might have ridden right back to Ravenglass, scooped Lila Southward up in his arms and kissed her perfect lips like he’d wanted to when he first met her. And what a foolish thing that would be. He dismounted and handed the reins to the lad. “Give him a few oats, will you?”

  The boy nodded quickly, and Quent started for the manor’s entrance.

  Muckle met him at the front door before Quent could even knock. “My lord, do come in,” the butler said, holding the door wide. “You’ve come for—”

  “Oh thank heavens, Quent!” Grace called from the threshold of the parlor. “I’m so glad you got my note.”

  Note? What in the world had he missed now? “Has something happened?” he asked, hastening towards his sister, a slight panic in his voice.

  “Braden is saying we can’t attend tonight. But it’s your masquerade. Talk some sense—”

  “Do not think to play us against each other,” Braden grumbled from inside the parlor.

  Damn it. They’d had this argument in London and Quent had been fairly certain the matter had been satisfactorily resolved. The triplets had, after all, traveled to Ravenglass with Braden’s permission. Quent squeezed Grace’s shoulder as he stepped into the room. “I’ll take care of it,” he muttered, loud enough for only her to hear.

  His brother was rubbing his brow as though he suffered from the worst sort of headache. “Do not start,” he began, glancing up at Quent. “I’ve heard all the wailing I can take for one day.”

  If he’d told the girls they couldn’t attend the masquerade, there was sure to be more wailing and even more wailing until it was time to depart for Marisdùn. And if he never relented, there’d be wailing all the next sennight as well. He must realize this.

  Quent heaved a sigh. “Braden, we’ve been through all of this. We’ll all keep an eye on the girls. There’s no reason they shouldn’t attend.”

  His brother tipped his head back and met his gaze with a wary one of his own. “They’re up to something, the three of them. I can tell it.”

  “We’re not up to anything,” Grace protested, stomping her foot in the process. “We haven’t even done anything wrong, Braden. This is completely unfair.”

  Braden scoffed, leveling the girl with one of his iciest gazes. “You are most definitely conspiring about something together, Grace Post. I’ve known the three of you all of your lives. I am not a simpleton. Please do not treat me as though I am.”

  Grace stood a little taller, her chin jutted out rather stubbornly. “We are most definitely not conspiring. And I am quite offended—”

  “You can save your breath,” he grumbled. “You’re not going and that’s it.”

  That was fairly harsh, especially as the girls had been so excited about attending the masquerade. “What makes you think they’re conspiring?” Quent asked.

  Braden glanced from Grace back to Quent. “The three of them have been huddled together for nearly a day, whispering back and forth, stopping whenever they spot me as though I’m too half-witted to notice. They are up to something, Quent. And with all the people that will be at Marisdùn tonight, their identities hidden by masks, I’d be a fool to let the three of them run wild when they’re very clearly plotting something.”

  “We are not plotting anything.” Grace harrumphed and folded her arms across her middle, quite indignantly.

  “What are the three of you talking about?” Quent asked. “Just tell Braden whatever it is and all will be well.”

  A blush instantly stained Grace’s cheeks. Damn it. They were plotting something. Braden was right. What the devil were they up to? “Grace…?” he urged.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Braden shot Quent a look that made it quite clear he didn’t believe that for even half a second. And neither did Quent.

  “Grace,” Quent tried again. “What are the three of you up to? You know we’ll find out in the end. Better just to come out with it.”

  “We’re not up to anything!” she insisted.

  “And that, my dear sister,” Braden began, “is why the three of you will be remaining at Braewood this evening.”

  “We haven’t even done anything.” She glared at him, green fire flashing in her eyes. “That is completely unfair, Braden, and—”

  “And as your guardian, I intend to see that you don’t do anything foolish,” Braden returned. “If you can’t be trusted—”

  “It’s nothing even untoward,” she said hastily and then winced as though she shouldn’t have said that.

  “What’s not untoward?” Quent asked. “If you’re not plotting something, there’s no reason you can’t tell us what the three of you have been up to, is there, love?”

  She heaved a giant sigh. “It’s nothing that should prevent us from attending the masquerade.”

  “Wonderful,” Braden said. “Why don’t you tell us what it is, then, dearest?”

  It was a shame Patience was nowhere in sight, she would have broken long before now. That must be why Grace was the one down here with Braden and Patience was…somewhere else.

  “We’ve just been talking about Lila Southward is all, and that is it. I swear it, Braden.”

  Lila Southward? Quent frowned at his sister as his heart twisted a bit in his chest. “What about Miss Southward?”

  Grace’s gaze dropped to the floor and she shrugged. “I’ll tell Braden, but I don’t want to tell you.”

  To hell with that. “What the devil is it, Grace?” Quent barked, his patience very close to gone.

  Her eyes flashed back up to his, but she clamped her lips closed. Damn it, she did have to be the most stubborn of all of them.

  “Patience!” Quent bellowed. “Hope! Where are you?”

  “Hope is, once again, crying her eyes out.” Braden scrubbed a hand down his face. “And Patience is by her side, calling me all sorts of unflattering names, I’m sure.”

  Quent folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes on his most stubborn sister. What the devil was the trio up to in regards to Lila Southward? Just the idea that they’d been conspiring against the pretty brunette made his blood boil slightly. “Last chance, Grace. Patience will break, we both know it. And then when she does, I won’t let any of you attend the mas
querade, no matter what Braden says.”

  “But you promised…” Her brow furrowed.

  That was before they’d conspired against Lila. Why would they even do that? He thought they liked her. Lila was the most charming, most perfect girl. Why would they single her out for some nefarious plan? “Yes, well, punishment for your stubbornness. So either tell me now what you’re plotting for Miss Southward or your whole journey to Cumberland will have been for naught.”

  “Very well.” She snorted, which would have earned her quite the reprimand if her mother had been present. “I don’t know why we were trying to help you anyway, you stubborn, overgrown—”

  “Yes, yes,” Quent replied. “Out with it, Grace. What’s this about Miss Southward?”

  “We want you to kiss her,” she said, completely and totally taking Quent off balance. Of all the things he thought she might say, that wasn’t even on the list.

  He actually stumbled slightly. “I-I beg your pardon,” he couldn’t help but stammer. What the devil had gotten into his sisters? They wanted him to kiss Lila? He wanted to kiss Lila, but that was certainly none of their concern.

  “Well—” she glared at him “—you said you’d recognize your angel if you kissed her, and…Well, we think you should kiss Lila instead.”

  Quent couldn’t find his voice to respond to that.

  “Who Quent does or does not kiss is none of your concern,” Braden began.

  “We think he might enjoy kissing her, just as much as he enjoyed kissing his angel and—”

  “And,” Braden cut her off. “Miss Southward is quite above reproach, Grace. I don’t imagine she would appreciate this conversation or your interference for that matter.”

  “But she’s perfect for him, Braden. We’ve all seen it. He’s just so focused on finding some figment of—”

  “Do not finish that sentence,” Quent warned.

  She glared petulantly at him. “You’re an idiot if you don’t see it yourself, Quentin. Your visage softens around her. You’re more charming. You’re—”

  “I hardly think Miss Southward would be interested in kissing Quent,” Braden remarked under his breath.

  But Quent heard him and his blood boiled anew at that. “Thank you very much for that, Braden.”

  His brother gaped at him in surprise. “I hardly think you’re her sort.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded, more irritated than he probably should be.

  “That she’s a pious vicar’s daughter and you’re…you.” He flicked his gaze towards Grace, silently stating that he wouldn’t say more than that in their sister’s presence.

  So Quent was a bit rakish. Damn it, he was more than a bit reckless from time to time too. But he refused to acknowledge that his brother might have a point as Braden’s dismissive air was more than insulting. Besides, as Lila’s pained expression from that morning flashed once again in his mind, he was fairly certain that the pious vicar’s daughter in question would kiss him if he ever got the chance to get her alone and into his arms.

  But none of that was Braden’s concern, and none of it was his sisters’ concern. Quent flashed his gaze back at Grace and said, “You will mind your own affairs and leave Miss Southward alone. Do you understand?”

  “If you insist on being an idiot, why should it matter to me?”

  He was done at Braewood. He glanced at his brother and said, “I wanted to ask your opinion about the blacksmith’s pension, what I should offer his widow. But I’ll talk to you when I’m not so annoyed with everyone under this roof.” And then he turned on his heel and strode right out of Braewood’s doors.

  Twelve

  Quent headed back to Marisdùn, more annoyed when he arrived than he had been when he left Braewood. And the next several hours spent in his study did nothing to improve his mood.

  Marisdùn still didn’t feel right. There still wasn’t any ghostly laughter filing the air. There weren’t any unexplained creaks or groans. And Quent hadn’t felt a ghostly breeze blow through his hair for a couple days. It was almost as quiet as a church…And that, of course, had his mind drifting right back to Lila Southward.

  Kiss Lila.

  Quent’s masquerade was only a few hours away. He had a castle full of Londoners. And an odor in the castle that he still hadn’t resolved, but all he could think about was how much he really, truly wanted to kiss Lila Southward. Damn Grace and her unsolicited suggestion.

  Not that he hadn’t thought about kissing Lila well before Grace had suggested it, but hearing the words from someone else made the idea impossible to shake. Was he different around Lila? Had his sisters really noticed such a thing? And if he was different with her, what did that even mean?

  Once upon a time, everything in his life had made some sort of sense. But ever since he’d returned to Ravenglass—

  “Ah!” came Henry Baxter, the Earl of Kilworth from the threshold of Quent’s study. “So this is where you’re hiding, is it?”

  “I’m not hiding,” Quent grumbled, even if he might be hiding from the hordes of Londoners that had descended upon his castle. “I’m sorting through a few things.” And coming up completely empty.

  Kilworth grinned as though he could tell Quent was lying. He probably could. Liars always did seem able to spot each other. “The, uh, stash of treasure you stumbled upon?”

  That was as good as any other excuse, so Quent nodded. “Heard about that, did you?”

  “Wolverly mentioned it in passing. Treasure can be a subjective word, however. Did you find anything of real value?” he asked, dropping into the overstuffed chair across from Quent’s desk.

  “Perhaps. Looks like there’s a Roman officer ring from the 2nd Century.”

  “Indeed?” The man’s eyes lit up. Of course, Roman history was a love of Kilworth’s too. They’d spent many bottles of whisky discussing the topic in the past.

  “If it’s authentic.” Quent shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure if anything we found is worth anything at all. I sent the jewelry to the blacksmith for cleaning, but the fellow ended up dying in his forge. So I’ll probably just wait until I get back to London to have it properly cleaned and appraised there.”

  The earl nodded as though that made the most sense. “Wouldn’t mind looking at the ring, if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind at all.” Kilworth had looked at just as many Roman relics as Quent had over the years.

  “As for the rest, you know I have that fellow in Cheapside. The one that crafted that delightful parting gift I gave Catherine.”

  It had been a very nice necklace too. Intricate design with delicate rubies. A very expensive send off for the man’s demanding ex-mistress. Though it was probably more economical than keeping the girl on. How Kilworth always ended up with lightskirts who possessed royal tastes, Quent had never understood.

  “Actually,” the earl continued, “he recently crafted some very nice earbobs for me. So I’m sure he’d be happy to take a look at whatever it is you’ve found.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Quent nodded in thanks.

  “So—” Kilworth slid forward in his seat “—I know we were supposed to bring everyone we did last time, but I have absolutely no idea how to find the companions I had with me last year. I hope you don’t mind.”

  The two paid companions he’d found somewhere between London and Ravenglass? There wasn’t any way that Quent’s angel was one of those women…And if she was, he’d rather spend the rest of his life not knowing the truth. “Not a problem at all.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” The earl grinned in response. “And I, um, haven’t spotted Lady Hope yet.”

  And if Braden had his way, it would remain like that for an eternity. And truly, Kilworth should know better. He’d just referenced an ex-mistress and two lightskirts right before asking about Quent’s sister. He had no shame at all. Or perhaps just no decency. “She’s at Braewood, with my brother watching her every move.”

  “One
would think his marchioness could be counted on to distract him.”

  “Normally,” Quent agreed, leaning back in his chair. “But she has spent the day with her friends from the district. And he has threatened to stick your head on a pike should you come within ten feet of any of our sisters. Might be wise to take him at his word on this.”

  Kilworth smirked in response. “And what would be the fun in that?” Then he pushed out of his seat, tipped his hat in Quent’s direction and started for the door. “Hope you don’t plan to keep yourself locked up the rest of the day, Quent. So much to do in Ravenglass, I’m sure.”

  Except the only thing in Ravenglass Quent truly wanted to do was find Lila Southward, slide his arms around her waist and kiss her for all he was worth. He snorted at his own stupidity. What the devil had happened to him?

  It was all Lila could do to keep from crying. Lord Quentin seemed just as determined as ever to find his blasted angel, which stung quite a bit. Especially as it truly seemed that there was something between them, a spark, something drawing them together. But it must all be in her mind, which only made her feel worse about the whole thing.

  And then to top that all off, she’d spent the whole morning with Callie and Daphne and listened to tale after tale about her friend’s new lives. It was one thing to hear about such things in letters and another to see the happy glow on her friends’ faces and the exuberance in their voices. She was happy for them, of course. She loved both Callie and Daphne quite dearly and always had. She wanted them to be just as happy for the rest of their lives as they were today, she just…Well, she just wished she had a fraction of that happiness herself, that the man she was in love with could love her like Lord Bradenham and Lord Wolverly did Callie and Daphne. But he didn’t, and each moment spent with her joyful friends was a constant reminder of that fact.

  That night, she managed to get through dinner without falling into a puddle, not that anyone else noticed. Anna and Tilly both seemed to have their heads in the clouds, and that only made Lila feel more isolated from everyone around her.