Unmasked Heart: A Regency Romance (Regency Romance: Challenge of the Soul Book 1)

by Vanessa Riley

  "I suppose you didn't get a chance to enjoy it the last time you rode through it."

  He spun from the glass and lifted his chin to the pianoforte. "I'd like to examine it now, if you don't mind. Could Miss Gaia Telfair be my guide?"

  The old man stared toward the two young people in the corner. Perhaps he didn't like Whimple either. "Yes, Gaia, you and Timothy show the Duke the grounds, while Mr. Whimple comes in and tells me and your sister of his London travels. Remember, Gaia, Timothy's your responsibility."

  The man's tone was firm, bordering upon harsh. Why would it matter who watched the child? From all the lad's adventures, it would be better if both William and Gaia oversaw him.

  The young woman stood. Her face blanked, as if she'd been slighted, but then lowered her head and closed up the music box. "Yes, sir. Come along, Timothy, let's get our coats."

  William tried to ignore Stelford's cheeky smile, and followed them to the door. The prayer warrior might be mad at his intervention, but it was for her own good. Falling too quickly for the botanist's charm would spell disaster. Yes, that was a good story to tell himself. Interrupting Miss Gaia was for her good, not the twinge of unease simmering in his gut at seeing Whimple flirt with her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Staking a Claim

  GAIA KNOTTED HER bonnet under her chin before buttoning up Timothy's deep blue coat. She should be glad that the duke continued to show her favor in front of her family, yet she wasn't. Something heavy-handed had transpired, and she felt like a pawn.

  But whose?

  Mr. Telfair who reminded her of his plans for her to be Timothy's governess?

  The duke who needed her to see the lawn when they'd ridden across it about a week ago?

  Or even Elliot who now saw that she breathed because of the duke's attention?

  What if Mr. Telfair subtly reminded her of her tenuous place in order to dissuade any designs she had on the duke? Her breath caught and trembled inside her lungs.

  Mr. Telfair wouldn't tell; not without exposing his plans. Her pulse slowed. At least his pride was good for something.

  Holding Timothy's hand, she moved past the parlor.

  Elliot still stood near the piano. His charcoal trousers and buff waistcoat made him look very elegant, yet he wore gaiters on his shoes. A small leaf stuck out, caught between the leather and his low shoes. Had he been tramping around with his plants before coming to visit?

  He lifted his head and caught her gaze.

  Oh, who couldn't forgive penitent sky-blue eyes?

  "Miss Telfair, shall we go?" The duke's baritone made her shiver, as if she'd been caught doing something naughty.

  She adjusted the bow on her bonnet again and headed toward Chevron's entrance. "Yes, Lord Cheshire."

  The duke stood in the way, his broad shoulders blocking a little of the sunlight spilling into the hall. He glowed and looked every inch a warrior. The glint in his eyes shined of humor.

  He held his palm to her and lowered his other to Timothy. "Ready, little man?"

  Forget the duke and his games. With the boy hooting like an owl, she traipsed past Lord Cheshire, out of the house.

  The wind whistled, bringing the sweet smell of spring to her nostrils. She kept walking, following an undergrowth of anemone. Their solemn white petals lined the path. The drooping curve of their leaves looked like a hundred shrugs. The plantings were just as confused at what was happening.

  Her glove slipped off with Timothy's fidgeting, and her bare olive hand clutched his small white one. A sigh fraught with frustration slipped past her pursed lips. She should be grateful for the duke's attention, for Mr. Telfair allowing her to partake in the duke's invitation. But why did gratitude feel like a kick in the stomach?

  "Pleasant weather we're having," the duke caught up to her, stride for stride. His freshly-barbered face made it hard to miss his square jaw with a tiny cleft, or the flat spot on his nose. He must've taken the bad end of a punch. Still, he looked very handsome, with a smidgen of a pout on his lips.

  Something in his boyish smile begged forgiveness.

  Gaia swallowed, clearing her dry throat. This wasn't the time to be charitable. "Why did you wish to see the park?"

  "I thought it best to remove you from Chevron before you fawned over Mr. Whimple, ruining our good work." He bent down to Timothy and placed his big top hat on her brother's head. "Don't run off, young man. I'm not at my best today. It would be hard for me to retrieve you."

  Timothy nodded as a toothy grin split his round face. He sat and gathered acorns from the massive tree offering shade from the noon sky.

  She put a hand on her hip and stepped in front of the duke. "Fawn? I don't fawn."

  A grin teased his mouth. "Yes, all young ladies do; particularly when they don't understand their appeal."

  "Speaking in riddles again, your grace? Is that what you old men do?"

  He frowned and put his hands behind his back. "I wouldn't know; I'm not that old."

  She took a step closer to him, so he'd plainly get her meaning. "I didn't think you are more than a decade older, but manipulating me into a walk when Mr. Whimple obviously wanted to chat? That's something Mr. Telfair would do."

  "You speak of your father in distant terms. Is there—"

  "No." Panic and fury filled her bosom, and she struggled to lower her tone. "Don't change the subject. Elliot Whimple has noticed me, and you interfered."

  Cheshire shook his head. "The botanist may be chatty now, but that was to reassess his position, to make sure you were still his champion. Once he determines you still like him, his attention will turn away again."

  It sounded true. It felt true. Her breath caught. She put her face into her hands. "Then how is he to love me?"

  A strong palm gripped her shoulder. "Give him something to chase. Every man wants to win love, and know that it's his alone. It'll be his greatest treasure."

  The buttery-soft leather of his glove stroked her chin. She lifted her gaze to his. His eyes held streaks of red, like the sea after a storm. What raged in him, and why did she feel compelled to help? "You didn't get much sleep last night?"

  Still holding her hand, the duke tugged Gaia with him as he leaned against the trunk. His skin looked flushed.

  Maybe the hot sun beat upon him too hard. He yanked a brilliant white cloth from his pocket, but it slipped to the ground.

  She scooped the monogramed handkerchief from the tall pea- green grasses, and almost mopped his brow. Her fingers hovered, frozen in the air. This wasn't Timothy. She had no right mothering this grown man.

  His palms covered hers and pushed the union to his forehead. "My meek girl. If you decide upon something, commit to it. Unwarranted deference or wavering will not gain you anything."

  Images of wanting to say something to Elliot and stopping filled her brain. Other pictures of him sailing past her danced there, too. Why did the duke have to be right again? Balling the handkerchief, she took a step backward. "I don't want anything from you."

  He released her hand. His eyes widened then a few chuckles left his mouth. "No, it is I who need something of you. I guess God loves the humor. I have everything but a way to make my daughter whole. And you want a man who may never deserve you. Maybe you should adjust your petitions. They are still amiss, prayer warrior."

  A harsh sigh left her nostrils. "Why do you joke so much, especially about God?"

  He dabbed his wrist to his temple. "Pity, it's hot today. I don't mean to make light. You've just made an impression upon me with your prayers."

  "Being a vicar's son, does that make you used to them?"

  "Not authentic ones." He swiped at his mouth. "You call upon the Lord, and I'd wager He answers."

  The man seemed sincere, but it was so difficult to tell when his lips thinned to a line.

  "God does answer when you cry out to Him. He's everywhere, waiting for an appeal. However, it has to be honest, not a jest. I think He responds to an open heart."

  The d
uke bent down, picked up a smooth stone, and rolled it in his palm. "He's not the only one."

  "Are you cynical because of the notes, or because of Lady Mary's struggles?"

  The pebble flew from his hand. The duke then fanned his face. His cheeks held a full blush. "Life has a way of testing convictions. Please tell no one what you overheard."

  "But what is this note? Why are you so afraid?"

  "I don't fear for my person, but for my daughter. There are things." His lips pressed together again. The frown deepened, threatening to swallow his face. Whatever the problem, he struggled mightily over it.

  His tone, the slump of his powerful shoulders made her sad. Gaia wanted nothing more than to reassure him. "I won't tell; you can trust me. I want to help."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  She reached out and put a hand to his arm. "If not me, go to God. He's available to everyone. I feel that He hears me, knows the sound of my voice, like a good father." For a moment, her heart smiled. If she could always remember God's fatherly love, then maybe the absence of Mr. Telfair's wouldn't hurt so much. "I like to think he accepts me, warts and all.

  If eyes could smile, the duke's stormy eyes smiled like the lifting of a storm. "I don't see any flaws, Miss Gaia."

  Something warm filled her middle and spread to her cold cheeks. They burned now. "That's your fatigue talking. You should go home and get some sleep."

  He stretched against the deeply creviced bark, as if it were a mattress, and closed his eyes. Would he nap there?

  "Gaia Telfair, you're very good at taking care of others."

  "Having siblings is training." Like a magnet, she let her fingers trace the weave of the handkerchief. Very fine cloth. "Why did you risk your health to come today? Surely, you could've sent a note."

  He straightened, as if he remembered his sagging posture. "I am not fond of notes right now, and you saw how I had to ask your father to secure your coming to dinner. But maybe I came because I had to see you."

  "Sounds as if you haven't made up your mind." Filled with concern, maybe even a tiny bit liberated by his foolish talk, she put one hand to his temple, and then tapped his ear. "You are a little warm. You should go home."

  He laced his fingers with hers. "I think I've come to stake a claim; wouldn't want to make things easy for Whimple."

  Her hazel eyes flared, and she wrenched her fingers away from William. He regretted his words as her smooth gloves left his skin, but he had to know her thoughts. Was she partial to him, even a little?

  He folded his arms and again gazed at her at her smooth, even complexion. No youthful blemishes marred her perfect, tanned countenance, and he couldn't look away from her questioning eyes.

  A single man who wished to remain such would do better to remain quiet than to stir calm waters. Why had he risked elevating her marital hopes, when he had no intentions of ever wedding again? He cleared his throat. "It was a poor joke. I shouldn't have said anything."

  She licked her lips as she removed her spectacles, cleaning the lenses with his handkerchief.

  With a quick swallow, he soothed his raw throat and scanned her long neck framed by the pleated frill peaking her short, tobacco-colored spencer. Buttermilk and brown spice. The blend would make an excellent tea, his favorite beverage since giving up spirits. "Let's change the subject. How did you know your tactics were working with your brother?"

  "I watched him most carefully, and saw he enjoyed repetitive tones and lots of attention." As if trying to choose her words with care, she looked down at her fingers and traced the warp of the linen threads. "I'd like to believe you and I are friends."

  A nice safe answer, but a tiny part of him wanted more sentiment.

  His stomach rolled, but it wasn't from sickness. Stelford was so right. William was attracted to Gaia. Magnus should kick him in the rear for traipsing about like a jealous court jester.

  The young lady smiled as her gaze lifted. "Yes, you are my friend."

  Something about the way she said friend, with her brow cocking and her gentle full lips parting, made him covet each word. Unlike Elizabeth's artificially brightened eyes created by drops of belladonna, the genuine light of Gaia's made his cold fingertips vibrate. "Friends? Similar to you and Mr. Whimple?"

  Her cheeks reddened, and she pivoted in Timothy's direction near a thick hedge of dead nettles. The white sand-colored bulbs shook their hairy upper lips in the slight breeze, calling the boy to come close and pluck them.

  Timothy made a loud hum then filled his small hands with the flowers.

  William pulled away from the oak and reached her. Even as he chided himself for acting like a schoolboy, a charge of energy swept through him as his thumb caught her cloak, burning like a fever. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

  "You, who caught me in the woods, know my feelings." She slipped on her lenses and rotated to face William. "It seems Mr. Whimple only notices me when you are near."

  "Then perhaps I should be near you always." He covered the words with a quick laugh. She didn't need to know the warring thoughts in his head.

  He looked down again at the sparkle in her clear eyes, brightened by the prism of her lenses. She'd put the handkerchief into her pocket and stooped to help Master Timothy's pursuit of the acorns. The woman was forthright; utterly beguiling.

  Shouldn't he have the good sense to tame his thinking? What was he doing pursuing another man's lady, or any for that matter?

  He shook his head, as if the motion would order his wandering mind. "I want your friendship, and I need your assistance. We must convince your father to let you help my Mary. I will press him when you come to dinner."

  Those lovely eyes widened as she stood and came near. "When I said I wish to help, I meant it, but not just with Lady Mary; but with you too. The notes, the she, tell me the whole of it. Trust me."

  His trust? Is that what she wanted? And how could she tell he hadn't fully offered it? He tucked his arms behind his back again. With a tortured sniff of air passing his nostrils, he lowered his gaze to his boots and her worn slippers. "More will be explained when we gain Mr. Telfair's permission."

  She motioned to Timothy, which made the lad leap up. Gaia brushed the knees of his breeches, gripped her brother's hand, and tossed the beaver hat back to the duke. "Then there is nothing more to say now. We are heading back to Chevron."

  William watched her for a moment, her curvy hips floating along the terrain. She didn't look so young. No, she was beginning to seem the right age.

  Sending Timothy into Chevron, Gaia waited at the door and waved at the sleek onyx carriage carrying the duke. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and allowed her pique to cool. Bothersome man. How could he be both secretive of whatever was going on and so certain she could help?

  She shook her head, turned, and rammed into Elliott.

  He caught her. His hands went about her shoulders for a second before dropping away. "In a hurry, little one?"

  Heart in her throat, all she could do was nod and count the familiar flecks of gold in his blue eyes.

  Arms folded, lazy smile on his lips, he cleared his throat. "Seems Cheshire is consuming your time these days. Do you like him?"

  No. Elliot couldn't think that. "Mr.—"

  "Come along, Julia." Aunt marched out of the parlor. "We can't keep Mr. Whimple waiting."

  As they moved to the door, her aunt tilted her head toward the parlor. "Dear, your stepmother needs you. I'm chaperoning Julia and Mr. Whimple today."

  Tipping her straw bonnet, she came close to Gaia. "Go on, girl. You've interested a duke. Leave something for your poor sister."

  With a frown, Elliot extended his arm to the ladies. "Miss Gaia, I wish there was room. I did want to talk with you. Seems we haven't done that—"

  Aunt tugged him out the door. "Come on, Mr. Whimple."

  Gaia's feet felt cold. Elliot missed talking with her. She leaned against the wall. Her dreams were coming true. A hum bubbled inside until Julia drew near. />
  "Don't go hoping for something that can never be. Elliot's not strong enough to handle the truth about you, but maybe the duke is."

  Julia's angelic face with big wide eyes loomed close, but that wasn't concern filling them. It had to be jealousy.

  Gaia wouldn't be frightened. With a hand to her hip, she pivoted, putting her back to her sister. "You're just saying that to make me give up on Elliot. I won't." She stormed away, not waiting for Julia's coercive pout.

  Head ringing, she pushed closed the parlor door, waiting in its shadow for all the noise to disappear from the hall. Alone, she allowed the confidence she'd displayed for her sister to disappear. Slouching against the wall, she willed away the urge to cry. Julia should be helping Gaia, not using every moment to remind her of their mother's failings.

  Yet was her sister right about Elliot? Was he not as strong of mind as the duke? Why else would he drift from Cousin Millicent to Julia, then possibly to Gaia?

  The man she loved would have to be strong to love all of her, both the black and white halves. Elliot had to be. He just had to be.

  Timothy yanked on her skirt. "Duke. Duke. Duke." He went on into the parlor.

  The nerve of Julia, trying to bring the duke into this. The man had his own problems. Cheshire was in trouble, serious trouble. Why else would he act so oddly and be so secretive?

  And his poor daughter…would Gaia's methods work? Could she restore the child's voice?

  Leaning against the cream-painted threshold of the parlor, she readied to bang her head against the molding.

  Cheshire put his hopes in her. If her methods failed, she would disappoint him terribly. Somehow, disappointing him pricked like a thorn along her insides. Lady Mary had to respond. She just had to.

  Her gaze fell upon the bowl brimming with cards. More than one neighbor had called while she walked with the duke; no doubt to see whether the duke attended the Telfairs. Nosiness was madness.