Unmasking Deception, page 1
Unmasking Deception
Pleasure Garden, Book 2
Mary Lancaster
© Copyright 2021 by Mary Lancaster
Text by Mary Lancaster
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition October 2021
Kindle Edition
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All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Pleasure Garden Series
Unmasking the Hero (Book 1)
Unmasking Deception (Book 2)
Unmasking Sin (Book 3)
Unmasking the Duke (Book 4)
Unmasking the Thief (Book 5)
Crime & Passion Series
Mysterious Lover
Letters to a Lover
Dangerous Lover
The Husband Dilemma Series
How to Fool a Duke
Season of Scandal Series
Pursued by the Rake
Abandoned to the Prodigal
Married to the Rogue
Unmasked by her Lover
Imperial Season Series
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Rebel
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
The Wicked Gypsy
The Wicked Wife
Wicked Christmas (A Novella)
The Wicked Waif
The Wicked Heir
The Wicked Captain
The Wicked Sister
Unmarriageable Series
The Deserted Heart
The Sinister Heart
The Vulgar Heart
The Broken Heart
The Weary Heart
The Secret Heart
Christmas Heart
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fed to the Lyon
Also from Mary Lancaster
Madeleine
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
About Mary Lancaster
Prologue
Lord Dominic Gorse, youngest son of the Marquess of Sedgemoor, woke up furious. With a vague recollection of falling asleep in a similar state of mind, he scratched around his brain for the reason, and growled to himself.
Crawley.
Not only had the man enticed away from him the most alluring ladybird ever to grace Covent Garden, but he’d almost won the shirt off his back at hazard last night, too.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, over-indulgence hammered away inside Dominic’s head like a too enthusiastic blacksmith at an anvil—in annoying counterpoint to the more distant battering on his door.
“Go away, Dobbs!” he commanded and pulled the pillow over his ears. Dobbs was the retired butler from whom he rented these rooms, and in the absence of a valet, it was on Dobbs he relied to keep callers away when he was in no state to receive. The system had worked well until now.
But the voice bellowing back at him was not Dobbs’s.
Dominic let the pillow fall back and threw off the covers. Since he was stark naked, he snatched up his dressing gown from the floor as he strode into his sitting room toward the pounding and yelling. Scowling ferociously, he unlocked the outer door and threw it wide.
Through his alcohol-clouded ire, he vaguely registered that among the men glaring back at him from the hall was Dobbs himself, looking both frightened and apologetic.
His protective instincts aroused, Dominic glowered even harder. “What the devil do you want? If you’ve been harassing Dobbs, I’ll kick the lot of you—”
“Lord Dominic Gorse?” the man at the front interrupted without apology. He was a stocky, muscular individual in a red waistcoat, with a nose that looked as if it had been broken once too often.
“Of course I am,” Dominic retorted. “Who else would I be in these rooms at this time of the morning?”
“Then, sir,” said the red-waistcoated man with some relish, “you are under arrest on suspicion of murdering Mr. Haversham Crawley.”
Dominic had already raised his arm with every intention of pushing the loud man none too gently toward the stairs. But at this, his eyes widened, and his arm dropped to his side. “What?”
“Mr. Crawley is dead, sir,” Dobbs said miserably. “And they’ve found his things behind the plant pot at my front door.”
“What?” Dominic repeated. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it. “I need to dress,” he said abruptly, but when he swung the door shut, the man in the red waistcoat stopped it with his foot and stepped inside.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “And then you need to come with me to the magistrate.”
Chapter One
Waltzing beneath the stars delighted Viola. In fact, she loved everything about Maida Pleasure Gardens, from its enchanting walkways to its gurgling fountains, from the elegant music to the informality of its masked guests. And her own mask, of course. That, most of all.
Because of the evening’s warmth, the pavilion had been opened up along one side to allow dancers to spill out into the garden beyond, the outdoor “dance floor” being bounded by tables and chairs beneath the trees.
“Your eyes are more brilliant than the stars,” her partner breathed.
“Only because they’re closer,” Viola replied, not without regret. She liked complements as much as the next person, but flummery tended to spoil the spell.
In any case, the music was coming to a close.
“Will you walk with me?” her partner invited. He was a spry young fellow with a green striped waistcoat, and matching mask, from which merry eyes regarded her with predatory intent.
It was a night for throwing caution to the winds. Relaxed by the casual atmosphere, comfortable in the anonymity of masks and dominos, Viola was tempted. But she was not entirely naive, and she guessed her amusing partner was also quite untrustworthy.
“Alas, no. I must stay with my friends.”
Only mildly crestfallen, he released her with reluctance but did not abandon the chase. “Then may I join you at your table?”
“That is not up to me,” Viola replied, casting him a quick smile as she spun away from him—and straight into the arms of another man.
Before she could apologize, for she had bumped into him with some force, she found her hand snatched up and was swung back onto the verdant dance floor, even before the music resumed.
It all happened so quickly that for a moment she could only gaze up at her new partner in sheer bemusement. He was tall, wearing a voluminous dark green
“Even here, it is polite to ask!” she said indignantly.
His gaze lowered to her face and his lips quirked. “Forgive me. I thought you wished to dance with me.”
“I can’t imagine why, since neither of us said a word to the other.”
“Between us, words are clearly unnecessary,” he said gravely. “You arrived in my arms so enthusiastically, it would have been rude of me to refuse.”
“I did not see you,” she said with dignity. “I apologize for walking into you, but since neither of us has any interest in dancing with the other, I would like to be released.”
That caught his wandering attention which returned to her once more with something like surprise. “But I have every interest in dancing with you.”
“In order to gaze at some fairer lady on the other side of the room?” she asked sweetly.
He laughed with what seemed genuine surprise. “Lord, no. I was merely distracted by a commotion over there.” He nodded toward the main path leading from the gate to the pavilion, even turned her so that she could see the men remonstrating with the major domo. The men were clearly not dressed for a masked ball, but pushed roughly past the irate manager and his staff, and swarmed around and inside the pavilion.
“Who are they?” Viola asked, suddenly uneasy. “What do you suppose they want? The manager should call for the Watch.”
“They are the Watch,” her partner told her wryly. “And at least one Bow Street Runner—see his red waistcoat? That’s why they’re known as ‘redbreasts’ in certain quarters.”
“Goodness!” Viola said, interested in spite of herself. “Someone must have had their pocket picked. Or some lady has lost her jewelry, perhaps.”
“No,” said another man dancing alongside them. “Apparently some desperate character has escaped from Newgate.”
Viola blinked, returning her gaze to her own partner. “Why would an escaped convict come to a pleasure garden?”
The long lips curved. Drawing her hand with his, he touched his mask.
“Ah! Hiding in plain sight,” she exclaimed. “Clever.”
“Or desperate.”
“I wonder what he did?” Viola speculated with a little shiver of excitement.
“Possibly nothing.”
“Then why would he be in Newgate?” she demanded.
“That is a very good question. I am continually amazed by the odd places people pop up. For instance, what brings you to such an unfashionable, not to say improper, event as a public masked ball at Maida Gardens?”
She regarded him warily, trying to peer behind his mask to a man she might recognize. Did he really know her, or was he guessing? “What makes you think I am either fashionable or proper?” she asked lightly.
“The way you dismissed your previous cavalier. The haughtiness with which you tried to dismiss me. And yet here you still are, dancing with me because it has been dinned into you that a lady never makes a scene in public. And you are afraid you will only be rid of me before the end of the dance by making such a scene.”
It was oddly frustrating that even as he delivered his annoying insight, his attention was still not fully with her but divided between her and the men milling around in search of their escaped convict. Some were scouring the pavilion, others spreading out through the grounds, beating the bushes as they went as though facilitating a bird shoot. The major domo remonstrated once more at such behavior, for a few lanterns fell off their perches, and an embracing couple was dislodged with an audible squeal.
Viola’s partner released a breath of laughter before he dragged his gaze back to her face. “Am I right?”
“No, as it happens. If I were so very proper, would I be here in the first place?”
“One can be curious as well as proper. I don’t imagine you came alone.”
“No, I came with my married friend and members of her family. Though I don’t see what business it is of yours. Do you believe you know me?”
“No, but I was a gentleman once, and I am still subject to inconvenient bouts of chivalry. I would not like you to be preyed upon by anyone with less scruples than I.”
“Thank God I bumped into you,” she said flippantly. “Who knows what might have happened to me in the few yards I had to walk to my friends?”
“Clearly, you fell into the hands of a desperate character who did not even have the decency—let alone the charm—to ask you to dance.”
“Exactly how desperate are you?”
His eyes smiled, a teasing, glimmering smile that, even behind the mask, took her breath away. “Appallingly so. I apologize for snatching you like a highwayman. If you wish, I will make amends by conducting you civilly to your friends.” His gaze flickered to the guests seated beneath the trees, where one of the Bow Street Runners was now prowling watchfully, and returned to her. “Or, if you have not taken me in complete disgust, we can continue dancing, and you can tell me what mischief you are up to.”
“I am not up to any mischief,” she protested. “Merely, I wished to attend a Maida ball for myself.” She allowed herself to answer the glimmering smile in his eyes. “Perhaps because it was forbidden,” she admitted. “Though I know for a fact my fashionable cousin has been here several times. It’s true she is married, and her rank—” She broke off, aware she had almost been beguiled into revealing too much. The man already guessed she was a lady of the ton. Whoever he was.
“How did you manage it?” he asked, apparently intrigued. “Did you climb down from your chamber window on a rope made from tied bed sheets?”
“Nothing so adventurous,” she said with a faint sigh of regret. “I had merely arranged to spend the evening with my childhood friend who is married. And we decided to come here.”
“Then your friend does not have the same scruples as your mother?”
The anonymity of masks and, perhaps, the unconventional appeal of her partner, were clearly threats to one’s natural discretion. Viola nearly blabbed that Amelia, being married to a banker rather than a gentleman of birth, did not live by precisely the same restrictions. And that their visit here in the company of his cousins had as much to do with punishing said husband as with entertainment. But these were hardly details to be revealed to a stranger.
“Like me, she sees no harm in attending a masked public ball,” Viola said.
“Despite being beset by convicts and Bow Street Runners?”
Viola laughed. “Actually, that makes it all more exciting, though I don’t suppose it happens every evening.” Her hint of regret seemed to amuse him, for his eyes narrowed as though in laughter. She cast another glance around her. “The park is quite large, is it not? It will take them ages to search everywhere. Perhaps the fugitive is gone already.”
When she returned her gaze to him, his was fixed on her face, and a little thrill passed through her body. This was a fresh and unexpected enchantment to the delights of Maida. For suddenly, she was very aware of the stranger holding her, the warmth of his ungloved fingers, every movement of his big, loose-limbed body as he led her in the dance, gliding and turning. He moved with grace, held her with propriety, not trying to drag her closer as some of her partners had, and yet for some reason, she felt closer, warmer, too sensitive to the casual brush of his thumb, the advance of his thigh as he stepped and turned.
“What of you?” she asked, just a little breathlessly. “What brings you to Maida? Desperate former gentleman as you claim to be.”
“I came to dance with you, of course.”
“But you do not know me,” she argued. I hope. “Flummery does not suit you. Or me.”
“What a stickler you are. Very well, I came to dance and am very glad you ran into me.”
“I have a tendency to clumsiness,” she admitted. “Sorry.”
There was that smile again. His lips quirked upward and caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach. The hood of his cloak had slipped, allowing a glimpse of fair, thick hair. And she realized with disappointment that the dance was coming to an end.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I am not.”
There was a moment when neither of them moved. The music had stopped, couples were separating, but she was reluctant to tear herself away. His arm fell from her back. He lowered her hand and, for an instant, seemed to lose his balance. From instinct, she tightened her grip, and he straightened. A rueful smile flickered in his mysterious eyes, and for the first time, she saw pain behind it.
