Unmasking Sin, page 10
“Ludovic Dunne,” she read aloud. Her suspicious gaze came back to his. “What are you doing here?”
“The gentleman is asking after the young master,” the butler pronounced.
The maid narrowed her eyes. “Why aren’t you asking her ladyship?”
Unease crept over Ludovic. “Because she is not at home.”
“No, but she is answering your invitation!”
“My…”
The maid thrust a piece of paper into his hand. He read it with furious speed and almost threw it back at her as he was already leaping down the front steps.
“I did not write that,” he flung over his shoulder and ran in the direction of Oxford Street and the nearest hackney stand.
He took no time to go home and change into evening dress or even to collect mask and domino. Instead, he bought a mask at a fairly exorbitant price from the young man at the ticket booth, who also lent him an abandoned domino cloak for free. Still tying on the mask, Ludovic hurried toward the pavilion.
As before, the dancing was mostly outside on the lawned garden, and the dancers, the same motley collection. But one table caught his eyes almost immediately—ladies and gentlemen of fashion, and among them, shrill and condescending, he recognized the same Mrs. Belfont who had attended Adam’s charity luncheon and spent her time spreading nasty rumors about Rebecca Cornish.
That made him pause. There was no doubt in his mind that Rebecca had been tricked into coming here. And if anything, the presence of her social enemies proved it. The table beneath the chestnut tree was empty, though only one chair stood behind it. A glass had overturned, its contents dripping onto the grass beneath. The spillage was recent, and so, he guessed, was Rebecca’s absence. Watchfully, trying not to draw attention by hurrying, he moved around the edge of the dancers, looking for her.
And there she was, being all but dragged into the dance by a man he had never seen before. Her whole body screamed not just reluctance but outrage, if not downright fear.
“Where is Mr. Lovell?” asked a well-bred voice from the fashionable table, now just behind him. And as if that was a cue, all the lady’s companions began to look around.
The trap. Clumsy but effective. He didn’t hesitate but fell drunkenly against the table in question. As though desperate to save himself, he threw out both hands, sending bottles and glasses and reticules flying across the table. Everyone sprang up, shouting at him, as red wine, brandy, and champagne splashed over everyone’s expensive attire.
“Get away, you drunken buffoon!” one of the gentlemen commanded.
“Shorry. Sorry,” Ludovic mumbled, and just to be on the safe side, tipped up the table as he rose to his feet, sending anything left there cascading over the ladies. “Oh dear,” he said with a hopeful grin, and catching sight of two burly waiters advancing on him from different directions, he hastily stumbled off among the dancers.
And was just in time to see the man forcing Rebecca to dance, untying the ribbons of her mask. Her hand flew up, holding the mask in place, just as Ludovic barreled into her partner with enough force to send him crashing into two other couples, who promptly shoved him out of the way, calling quite uncouth curses after his retreating back.
Rebecca stared up at Ludovic in complete bewilderment. She blinked, still holding her mask in place with one hand, then said bitterly, “Your turn, now?”
*
How could she have been so stupid? To fall into this trap, to have trusted him… But she was still in the same boat, unable to cause a scene, unable to walk away, for his arm slipped around her back, drawing her with him in the waltz. Without meaning to, she followed him, as though her bewildered body was incapable of doing anything else. And to complete her humiliation, his other hand came up, not even to take hers in a pretense of the waltz. It moved, behind her, brushing against her nape, her hair, so that every nerve in her body sprang to some deeper awareness.
But his hold was loose. She could escape him easily. Only the sudden realization that he was not tugging off her mask by the ribbons but deftly retying it, kept her moving with him in the dance. She stared up at him, wondering wildly where this new approach was leading.
He was not even looking at her anymore as he took her hand in a more conventional manner, and she was able to drop her hand from her mask to his arm. Beneath his sleeve was unexpected hardness, muscle.
“My turn,” he agreed. “The fashionable appear to be leaving.”
She blinked. “What?”
He turned her, and between the dancers, she saw the whole troop of glittering women and their escorts in bright domino cloaks almost marching toward the main path.
“Why are they going so soon?” she wondered aloud. Nothing disastrous had yet occurred, and it seemed they had left no one behind to witness it when it did.
“They got a bit damp and wine-stained.”
She fixed her gaze to his once more. The whole business of changing partners and retying her mask had taken only a few seconds, and none of the dancers seemed to be paying them any attention. “Am I to believe you are responsible?”
“Some passing drunk. One has to put up with all sorts at Maida.”
“It seems one does.” He had been that drunk. But why? What was he about now? Did he disapprove of the clumsiness of their methods? Or… Another idea seeped into her mind, unexpectedly exciting. Like his eyes between the slits of the mask, which, in the mixture of moonlight and lantern light, were not cool and impersonal at all. His hold was nothing like Edward’s bruising grip. She could, in fact, have walked away from him at any time.
But then, she would not discover the uncles’ plan.
Testing her theory, she subtly parted her lips and allowed the very tip of her tongue to flick over her upper lip. His gaze dropped to her mouth for the slightest instant and then, determinedly, returned to her eyes.
But it was enough. She had seen the flare of desire, and the warmth still lingered. And that, at last, was something she could use to her advantage. There was a certain thrill to revenge, to knowing she could triumph in even a small way over this clever, attractive man who had used her as the fool.
“Who is the man I…dislodged?” he asked.
“Edward Lovell. He is married to Theo’s cousin Louisa,”
“Your friend Mrs. Belfont was among his companions.”
“I know. It was not kind of you to bring them.”
Perhaps it was a passing shadow, but it looked as if a frown flickered over his brow. “Is that what you think?”
“I think I walked into a trap through some foolish desire to believe in your… integrity.”
“You still think I wrote that note?”
She smiled, “Your very knowledge of it is proof.”
“Then why are you still dancing with me?”
“Because you waltz rather well.” He did, with confidence and grace and none of the stiffness she might have associated with his profession. If he danced too close, well, that had been necessitated by retying her mask, and neither of them had changed that. But his sure hold, his faint, clean smell of woodland, were somehow more overpowering than she had imagined they would be, even with the support of her slow, burning anger.
“So do you.”
“So that is all you have to show me at this assignation?” she asked. “A weak compliment rather than the means of my safety?”
“I believe I have provided a temporary safety. Which is more than one usually gets from an assignation.”
“Then why do I not feel safe?”
There it was again, that intense flame of desire in the cool, gray eyes. “Perhaps because I’m holding you too close for propriety.” The flame flared. “Or perhaps because you are allowing it.”
Nerves skittered in her stomach. She let her fingers slide slowly down to his elbow and gripped. Obediently, without unfixing her gaze from hers, he stopped dancing, and she drew him through the dancers, beyond her table, now clean with the wine glass removed, and behind the chestnut tree.
The music and chatter seemed to fade so that she could hear the rushing of the nearby waterfall and the hammering of her own heart. She turned so that they stood together as closely as in the dance. Although his expression gave little away, she could hear the rapidity of his breathing, and knew she had him.
Smiling, she lifted her face closer to his, felt the hitching of his breath, yet, except for her hand on his sleeve, she was not even touching him. “What will they do next? Theo’s loving uncles.”
“I have no idea.”
She drew back just a fraction. “But you came to me here the first time because they sent you.”
“Yes.”
Though she knew it, it still hurt, feeding her anger. Deliberately, she moved her face closer again. “They paid you.”
“Yes.”
She reached her free hand to his shoulder so that she could stand on tiptoe, bringing her so close that she could feel his uneven breath on her lips. “And now? For no payment, would you work for me?”
He said nothing. His gaze had dropped to her mouth, but still, he did not move to embrace her or to try to kiss her. Only his tortured breathing gave him away, so she touched the lobe of his ear and at his sharp gasp, brushed her lips across his.
“You don’t need to kiss me to obtain my help,” he said in a harsh whisper.
She smiled, then. “No? Only cold, hard coin?” The words were barely out when his mouth sank into hers.
Triumph shot through her. Now I have you. Only she was too muddled to know whether she wanted his punishment or his information… Or just his kiss.
For no one had ever kissed her like this. Bowden had not bothered at all, and Theo’s kisses had been big, smacking, and half in jest, solely to persuade her to bed. But this, all tenderness and taste, a slow, sweet, caressing, this was…wonder. Her mouth opened to the gentle pressure of his, and nothing in the world had ever felt so intimate, so thrilling. Butterflies swept through her body, spreading heat and pleasure and slow, heady desire, for his arms were around her now, his hand cradling her head, while he kissed her and pressed his tall, lean body to hers.
Stricken, she knew before he even ended the kiss that it was she who had been caught, enslaved, fooled once again.
He raised his head only slightly. “My previous ties are broken,” he said, low. “Now, I can help you. And I will.”
Humiliated and enraged by her own foolish weakness, she grasped on to her original purpose in bringing him here behind the chestnut tree, in pretending to seduce him.
She gathered the tattered remnants of her dignity back around her, at least enough to smile directly into his clouded eyes.
“Why, how kind of you, Mr. Dunne. The thing is, I would not accept your help if I were drowning. Good night.”
And with that, she strolled away, back onto the lawn, fiercely glad of the moment of shock she had glimpsed on his face. And then, following her on the honeysuckle-scented breeze came his soft, surprised laughter.
“Nicely played, my lady.”
Chapter Ten
Nicely played. Was it? It certainly didn’t feel well played. It felt as if she had juggled with fire and had her fingers burned. She should have known she could not win that game, and certainly not with him, not when she had already been aware of budding attraction, liking. She had let anger defeat her, and now he could tell the uncles that she had tried to seduce him behind the chestnut tree at Maida.
Only there were no witnesses, largely because he had necessitated their departure, which confused her even more. Would he tell the uncles that she had tried to tempt him or punish him? Did he know the difference? So long as he didn’t know she was the one not only tempted but devastated.
“Thank God,” Simmie said devoutly, almost as soon as she was in the front door at Barclay Square. “We’ve been worried sick.”
Her stomach plunged. “Why, what’s happened? Is it Tom?”
“No, no, of course not, nothing like that, but that man you went to meet came here.”
Rebecca paused at the foot of the staircase, one foot on the first step. “He came here? Why?”
“To ask after little Tom. But he showed Dawson his card, and I read it. Mr. Ludovic Dunne.”
“Tall, with hair so fair it looks silver?”
“That’s him. And it was so clear he never wrote the wretched thing that we were scared witless what trouble you’d walk into.”
“None, as it turned out.” She frowned. “So he didn’t send the note? He only came when he knew I’d been tricked…”
Which didn’t make any sense either. What game were he and the uncles playing now? Had he rescued her from the clumsy trap just to wriggle into her trust? It seemed ridiculously convoluted, but nothing about her life seemed to make sense anymore.
She slept that night and rose again in the morning with her lips still tingling from the memory of Ludovic Dunne’s kiss. Even though she was no innocent girl but a mother, twice widowed.
But then, I have a history of unsuitable attraction. I married Theo. Still, now that she had been made so shockingly aware of her weakness, she would never go near Dunne again.
He offered to help, she reminded herself. Which had been what she wanted, so that she could throw the offer back in his face. She could not trust his help any more than her own, lonely body. Both were treacherous.
Just as she prepared to go out with Tom for the afternoon, taking Annie and James with her, she noticed a couple of calling cards sitting on the hall table. Surprised, for she could not remember the last time anyone but the uncles had called upon her, she picked them up.
Lady Calvert and Lady Henry de Vere.
She frowned. “When did these ladies call, Dawson?”
“Just half an hour ago, my lady. They only left cards.”
As was only polite, she supposed, for she was sure she had never met Lady Henry. Lady Calvert, who she could only vaguely recall as a beautiful, lively creature of fashion, was a very distant acquaintance. She could only suppose they had come for a glimpse of the Black Widow or that they would call again later in the week for the same purpose.
She shrugged it off and walked down the steps with Tom to the waiting carriage.
*
Napper, being an old soldier, was used to filling long periods of boredom, either with sleep or other forms of entertainment. In recent days, he had become quite a familiar face around Barclay Square and the mews behind. He was playing dice in the mews a few buildings down when the Cornish carriage was hitched up to two matching horses.
He finished the game, yawned, and scooped up his dice before ambling off round into the square in time to see her ladyship climb in with the nipper and the nursemaid. A liveried footman folded up the steps, shut the door, and climbed up onto the box with the coachman.
Napper contemplated following the carriage, but there didn’t seem much point. Her ladyship appeared to have adequate protection, and Dunne had told him to keep an eye on the house, not on its occupants. A quick sweep of the square found nothing more interesting than a maid hurrying down the area steps on the other side, a gentleman jauntily swinging his walking stick as he strolled off about his daily leisure, and a cove who looked like a barrow boy resting without his barrow, lounging on the corner.
So, although Napper would have rather stretched his legs hastening after the carriage, he sighed and ambled around the square in a large circle before emerging once more into the mews behind the Cornish house. His dicing partner had vanished about his duties elsewhere, and the Cornish stable was quiet, save for the snoring of the groom. Somewhere nearby, he suspected Frankie was still lurking, but the boy was doing a splendid job of keeping out of sight.
Napper glanced into the deserted Cornish garden and blinked. For while there was no one actually in the garden, a man was climbing onto the roof of the outhouse adjoining the main building. Without hesitation, Napper leapt lightly over the garden gate to avoid the screaming of its unoiled hinges and strolled over to the outbuilding.
By the time the man—who looked very like the supposed barrow boy Napper had noticed earlier in the square—was standing upright on the outhouse roof and reaching up both arms to grip the first-floor windowsill. Napper didn’t hesitate but jumped, catching hold of one of the would-be burglar’s feet, and tugged hard.
The housebreaker crashed down onto the outhouse roof and rolled off it with Napper still hanging on to his ankle. He’d no sooner hit the ground with an “ouff” as all the air left his body, than Napper rolled him, hauled both arms behind his back, and sat on him.
The back door flew open, and the Cook and a footman flew out, closely followed by a kitchen maid, the housekeeper, and the butler.
“Caught you a burglar,” Napper said amiably. Some movement in the lane distracted him long enough to see Frankie peering over the gate and to nod to him. As the boy hared off back to Dunne’s office, Napper smiled at the stunned servants. “You want to talk to him before we hand him over to the Watch?”
*
On arrival in Barclay Square, Ludovic hurried down the area steps and knocked on the kitchen door. He was admitted by a maid while Napper loomed behind her.
“What happened?” Ludovic asked briskly as he walked into the kitchen. At one end of a worktable sat a man surrounded by several servants so that Ludovic couldn’t at first see his face.
“Caught him trying to break in from the outhouse roof,” Napper said laconically. “But he’s not saying much.”
Among the group around the table, the housekeeper stepped back and glared haughtily at Ludovic by way of recognition. Ludovic merely inclined his head and dropped his gaze to the revealed burglar.
“We meet again,” he said mildly.
“Oh, not you again!” the burglar groaned. “It was too dark that night. You can’t recognize me.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure until you opened your big mouth,” Ludovic admitted. “But I would think there are few people so determined to rob this particular house.”
“He claims,” Napper said, “to have seen her ladyship and several servants go out, so thought it was a good time to try his luck. And it’s true he was loitering in the square when their carriage left.”
