by Jo Goodman
Tanner caught Rhys’s feint out of the corner of his eyes and straightened quickly. “As lovely as you are, Kenna, I am not prepared to fight a duel for you.”
“Very wise,” said Rhys. “And where is your wife? I have a mind to ask her to dance.”
Tanner laughed and pointed to the pirate dancing with a lovely, dark-haired woman dressed as the Greek goddess Hera. “Don’t spoil her fun by asking her to dance, Rhys. Only a few people realize it’s Alex under all that black and they’ve sworn secrecy. That’s my sister Emma she’s dancing with now.”
Rhys and Kenna could not help staring at Alexis. She was wearing a loose fitting black silk shirt and dark breeches which concealed her feminine curves. Her golden hair was covered by a black bandana and her face, with the exception of her striking amber eyes, was hidden beneath a cloth mask the color of midnight. She threw back her head and laughed huskily at something her partner said.
“Now she looks fierce,” Rhys said admiringly.
“Oh, the dark lady is,” agreed Tanner. “And please don’t tempt her into a mock duel. She knows how to use the rapier at her side.”
“I believe you,” he said feelingly.
Tanner chuckled. “Come with me. I want you to meet our guests from New Orleans. We met them several years ago when Alex and I were running blockade at the port. We were married in their home. Their presence is the reason we’re hosting this masque.” He led them across the floor, skirting the dancers, and brought them to a couple watching the dancing from the sidelines with obvious enjoyment.
Tanner’s guests had at least a score of years on him but their welcoming smiles were young. The woman’s silver hair was attractively arranged high on her head and adorned with tiny powder blue bows. The bodice of her dainty flowered gown was laced with ribbon of the same color and a white apron slanted across her hips. In one hand she held a staff, decorated at its crook by a large blue ribbon.
Kenna held back a smile, thinking that there would always be shepherdesses at masquerades, and looked from the woman to her companion. The gentleman was dressed as a 17th century courtier and he made a handsome leg as Kenna approached.
Tanner took a step toward the couple, taking the shepherdess’s hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Canning, I would like you to meet—” He never finished his sentence. Much to his surprise the Comtesse Lescaut tore free of his hand and launched herself at Rhys.
“My dear, dear boy!” She hugged him, pushed at his shoulders to look at him, then hugged him a second time. “I never, never thought to see you again. Oh, this is delightful! Wonderful!” She turned to her husband. “Do you see who it is, Etienne? It is Rhys. Rhys Canning!”
“I see very well, my dear,” said the Comte. As his wife stepped aside he took Rhys firmly by the shoulders and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “This is indeed a pleasure!” There was a faint sheen of tears in his eyes as he stepped back, studying Rhys from head to toe. “A pleasure!”
Tanner was feeling a trifle superfluous. “You know each other?” he asked finally.
“Of course we do,” the Comtesse answered. “This is our dear Rhys Canning!”
“I know who he is, Madeline, but how is it that you know him?”
Madeline looked at Tanner as if she could not understand his confusion. “We told you about him, I’m certain of it. This is the young man who helped us flee France!”
“You never mentioned his name,” said Tanner. His eyes were faintly accusing as he looked at Rhys as if to say, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew the Lescauts?” then he remembered he had failed to tell Rhys the name of his guests.
“Didn’t I? How careless of me.” She gave a beautiful Gallic shrug. “Well, this is he! And a friend of yours, too! C’est incroyable! Rhys, you must meet Michael. Michael Devereaux. Do you remember him?”
“I do,” Rhys said, smiling. “I thought he was still in London.”
“He came to New Orleans not long ago. He’s been staying with us and Tanner was kind enough to include him in the invitation to visit Boston. Oh, he will be delighted to see you!”
The comte’s attention shifted from Rhys to Kenna who had been watching the proceedings with stunned pleasure. “You must introduce me to your lovely companion, Rhys. Dare I hope she is your wife?”
“She is.”
Kenna found her voice at last, sweeping into an elegant curtsy for the comte, and the comtesse. “Do you not remember me, Uncle Etienne? Aunt Madeline?”
“Uncle?” sputtered Etienne, his brows knitting together. “I have no niece.”
Kenna smiled. “You said I might address you as such when you came to stay in my father’s home.”
The Comte’s eyes widened further. “Could it be? Non! C’est impossible.”
“Kenna Dunne!” Madeline announced breathlessly. “Why you were just a child when we stayed at Dunnelly Manor. And look at you now!” She pulled Kenna to her ample bosom, greeting her in the same manner she had Rhys. “What has become of your fiery hair? Please tell me you are wearing a wig!”
“It’s a wig,” Kenna said quickly. “But I’m afraid the hair beneath is not the veritable torch it used to be.”
“My dear Kenna,” Etienne said fondly. “Forgive me for not recognizing you.”
“It has been a long time. And I think I’ve changed a little.”
“You always were a diamond, darling,” said Madeline enthusiastically. “But I think you’ve acquired a polish. Isn’t she stunning, Etienne?”
“Stunning,” he agreed dutifully, but meant it with all his heart. “Will you honor me with this dance?”
Kenna agreed happily as the orchestra struck up another waltz and glided onto the floor with her handsome partner.
“If you’ll excuse me, Madeline. Rhys. I must be greeting my other guests.” Tanner shook his head ruefully as he saw Alexis circle the dance floor with another feminine partner. “I fear Captain Danty is going to break some hearts this night.”
Madeline laughed lightly as she watched Tanner stride away. “Now there is a man hopelessly in love with his wife.” She looked at Rhys slyly, tapping his shoulder with her staff. “But I think you have some knowledge of that state of affairs, yes? These old eyes observed how you looked at Kenna.”
Rhys held up his hands in mock surrender. “You have found me out.”
“I cannot believe you are standing in front of me! And married to Kenna Dunne! You must tell me everything! How is it that you’ve come to Boston? How long have you been married?”
Laughing, Rhys drew Madeline onto the dance floor and proceeded to answer her barrage of questions, albeit with a fair amount of prevarication. There were some secrets he would not share even with the Comtesse Lescaut.
Kenna was enjoying herself immensely. Etienne was an excellent dancer and she had no difficulty following his lead. He spoke fondly of the weeks he had spent at Dunnelly recovering from his illness and when he mentioned Robert Dunne it was with great respect. Kenna was pleased she could listen to Etienne’s recollections without experiencing a familiar tightening in her stomach. She was able to respond to his inquiries about Nicholas and Victorine and never indicated the circumstances in which she left England were the least unusual, Etienne partnered her through two numbers before he reluctantly released her to her husband and joined his own wife.
“Etienne did not hold me so closely, Rhys,” Kenna said as the large hand at her waist drew her nearer.
One of his eyebrows arched in question. “It’s Etienne now? What happened to Uncle Etienne?”
“He said it made him feel uncommonly old now that I was no longer a jeune fille.”
“I see.” He executed several quick turns, lifting Kenna off her feet to keep her in step. She was beautifully flushed when he set her down and clung to him. The pressure of his hand was incidental. He kissed her temple. “One would never suspect you are but a novice at this dance.”
“Etienne said I learn very quickly,” she said, fluttering her lashes again.
; He chuckled at her attempt to make him jealous. There was no point in telling her he already was. She would not believe he had been envious of the comte for having the pleasure of leading her in her first waltz. “What else did Etienne say to you?” he asked.
“He said you are very fortunate to have married me.”
“I know that. Did you tell him how I came to be so fortunate?”
“Yes, but don’t alarm yourself. I said nothing awkward.”
“He has no contact with anyone in England then? No one to whom he might mention he saw you?”
“I cannot be certain, but I think not. Many of his friends have emigrated to the French quarter in New Orleans.”
Rhys breathed a little easier. “Madeline says much the same. It does not appear she has any close friends in England. I was stunned to see them here this evening.”
“Rhys? Mayhap we should tell them the truth. Then we would be sure they wouldn’t say anything. Etienne says he owes you a debt he has never repaid. He would consider what we ask a very small price indeed.”
Rhys spun her again. “Let me think on it. There is still the matter of Michael Deveraux. If he left England only a short time ago then it is possible he heard of your abduction and your death, and more than possible he still has friends in London. Please, until I can decide what is best, avoid him if you can.”
“How am I to avoid someone I can’t remember? Can you point him out to me?”
Rhys shook his head. “I haven’t seen him in years and I cannot recognize him for all these costumes. I will have to wait until Madeline or Etienne introduces us—or Michael recognizes me.”
“Doesn’t Monsieur Deveraux owe you a debt also?”
Rhys did not want to worry Kenna unnecessarily, but his memories of Michael Deveraux did not point to a man who believed he owed anyone anything. “Perhaps he thinks he does,” he said. “I’ll know better once I’ve spoken to him.” There was a lull in the music and Rhys was going to ask Kenna if she wanted some refreshment when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder. He did not have to turn to know who it was. The amusement in Kenna’s eyes told him everything. He gave Kenna over to the only person he could watch her dance with and not feel the smallest twinge of jealousy. “Do not tread on her toes, Captain Danty.”
Kenna’s laughter covered Alexis’s deeper tones as the music began again. “You are a rogue, Captain Danty,” Kenna said, falling in step.
Alexis’s amber eyes sparkled. “The charade is soon at an end, I think. I find that I want to dance with my husband. Even Cloud draws the line at partnering me while most of the guests think I’m a man.”
“I can see his point.”
“Would you mind if I took off this mask and bandana while I’m dancing with you? If you can laugh at yourself for dancing with another woman, then I think the others will also.”
“Of course you can take it off.”
“Good,” she sighed, then added quickly, “At the end of this waltz.” The ballroom floor had become more crowded as guests continued to arrive. Laughter and music mingled pleasantly, as if giving sound to the bright array of colors the dancers wore. “I had a word in passing with Cloud. He told me you know the Lescauts.”
Kenna nodded and briefly explained their relationship. “It was quite a shock to see them here tonight. A pleasant one though.”
“It is odd to think that if Rhys had not helped the Lescauts leave France, Cloud and I would never have had the opportunity to know them. I would—Kenna? What is it? You’re pale!” Alexis’s steps faltered as her eyes darkened with concern. “Do you want to stop?”
“No!” she said hurriedly. “No. Please, keep dancing.” Her gaze was fastened on a point beyond Alexis’s shoulder. “Who is the man speaking to my husband?”
Alexis turned Kenna so she could see Rhys. “The devil?”
Kenna nodded. “Yes, the devil. Do you know him?”
“That is the Lescauts’ friend, Michael Deveraux. Haven’t you met him?”
“No. That is, I haven’t met him tonight.” She smiled weakly, fighting for composure. Her heart was pounding rapidly. “There is something vaguely familiar about him.”
“He frightened you,” Alexis observed shrewdly.
Kenna shook her head in denial. “The costume…it startled me.” Deveraux wore a close fitting crimson leotard and carried a trident which he leaned on while talking to Rhys. A blood red satin cape covered his broad shoulders and fell in an elegant line to his knees. The upper part of his face and his entire head was hidden beneath a hood. Kenna could only make out the shape of his mouth and chin but the familiarity of those features tugged at her memory in an unsettling fashion. “I’ve seen one like it before. Years ago,” she added on a mere thread of sound. “Please, is there some place I could go to rest a moment? I’m not feeling quite the thing.”
“Certainly.” Alexis quickly escorted Kenna off the floor and took her upstairs to a guest bedchamber. She discarded her mask and bandana, tossing it on a chair, while Kenna lay back on the bed. “Is there something I can get you? Tea? Brandy?”
“No, nothing, thank you. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
Looking at Kenna’s pale face and trembling hands, Alexis doubted it. “I’ll send Rhys here.”
“Please. Don’t mention anything to him until he is alone.”
Alexis’s brows drew together. “Kenna, is it the costume that has made you uneasy or the man?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. Now that she was away from Michael Deveraux she could not remember his features clearly. It must have been what he wore that troubled her. “See to your guests, Alexis, and please don’t put on that mask again. I fear Captain Danty’s ruined my reputation by accompanying me to a bedchamber.”
Alexis laughed because she knew it was expected of her. When she shut the bedchamber door, however, her smile was bleak. She wished she had Kenna’s confidence so that she might somehow set what was bothering her friend right again.
As minutes passed Kenna began to feel like the veriest fool for taking to the bedchamber. She was made of sterner stuff, she told herself staunchly. Hadn’t she climbed a rigging in gale force winds? Hadn’t she overcome an addiction? What was it about that devil that made him so difficult to face? What did she know that she did not want to remember?
She was sitting up, holding her fingers to her throbbing temples, when the door opened again and Rhys entered the room. He crossed the floor quickly and sat beside her.
“Alexis says you are not feeling well. What is it?”
“A headache, nothing more.”
“An odd sort of headache that begins when you see a man looking like Satan himself.”
“Oh, Alexis told you.”
“A good thing she did, else you would have not. Why?”
“I feel so foolish, Rhys. Why should I react so violently to the man?”
“I was startled when he approached me also, Kenna,” he admitted. “With his head and most of his face covered, Michael looked very much like Nick did at the masque at Dunnelly. For a moment I imagined myself back ten years.”
Kenna’s head lifted sharply and she looked at Rhys with troubled eyes. “Nicholas? That is how Nicholas looked?”
“Yes. You really don’t remember, do you?” He wondered if he would ever get used to Kenna’s distorted memory.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But if he looks like Nick did, mayhap that explains why I reacted so. Or it could be he reminds me of the man I spoke to that evening while Victorine and my father were dancing. It could be the same person. Michael Deveraux’s name was on Victorine’s guest list. Maybe I am beginning to remember.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “Perhaps you are, but don’t force yourself, Kenna. Would you like to go home?”
“Oh, no! I am fine, really. I’d like to stay. But what about Monsieur Devereaux? Have you told him who I am?”
“I didn’t have to. He already knew you were Robert Dunne’s daughter.”
>
“How odd,” Kenna said slowly. “I’m certain I never met him formally before.”
“Any one of Tanner’s guests might have told him your name and he made the connection. Kenna is not of the common mode, you know.”
“Could anyone have told him my maiden name as well? Only Etienne and Madeline know it.”
“Then they must have said something to Michael before I had the chance to speak with them.”
“I suppose.” Kenna was not convinced. She hadn’t seen the Lescauts speak with Deveraux, hadn’t even noticed him in the room until she saw him with Rhys. But then, she reminded herself, there were any number of guests she had not really seen because her attention had been all for Rhys.
“If it concerns you overmuch then we’ll leave,” he offered. “I would not have you making yourself sick with worry.”
Kenna looked at him appealingly. “I want to stay, Rhys.”
Rhys relented to the persuasion in her dark eyes, but he stayed by her side the remainder of the evening. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution as Deveraux never introduced himself to Kenna. In truth, it troubled Rhys that Michael seemed to be avoiding them, though he told himself he was making much of nothing. If Deveraux was with a group of people and Kenna and Rhys approached, the man made some excuse and quickly left. Though Kenna danced with many different partners, Deveraux was not one of them. Because Kenna appeared to notice nothing odd, Rhys kept his thoughts to himself and after a time he put his worries to one side.
It was an easy thing to do, given the number of new acquaintances Rhys and Kenna made that evening. The Clouds’ guests were friendly, gracious, and many took it upon themselves to offer Rhys their support for what he was doing with Canning Shipping. Neither Rhys nor Kenna quite understood how the business dealings of the line had become common knowledge but they accepted the assistance gladly.
Rhys and Kenna were enjoying a precious moment alone, sipping chilled wine by the doors that opened onto the verandah, when Tanner interrupted them.
“Widdoes just brought me a message from two of my men who were patrolling the wharf tonight. Wilson and three others were caught while trying to set a fire at your construction site. Garrison and Springer are waiting outside for instructions. Would you like to speak with them?”