Unmasking the Hero, page 12
“We could keep these benches for our party,” Sir Nash suggested, indicating the nearest three or four benches scattered around the area.
“But the fireworks will not begin for another hour,” Bridget objected.
“When there will be a mad crush of people all pushing their way out of the pavilion to come here,” Sir Nash replied. “But if Madam Rose and I fend off all comers, then the rest of you may take your time and know you may still watch in comfort.”
“How selfless,” Phineas observed sardonically. “What a sacrifice.”
“It is impressive,” Grace agreed. “I, however, am much too selfish to agree! I would rather use my time to dance and take my chances in the crush.”
The whole idea was turned off with a laugh, but to Grace, it was an alarmingly blatant effort to be alone with her. What did he hope to achieve by that? Scandal? Revenge in the form of Wenning’s anger with her? He could truly care for her, of course, but inviting scandal was hardly the work of a man who cared.
It was Grace who, without waiting for a male arm to lean on, led the way back to the pavilion.
“I suppose this must happen to you frequently,” Mrs. Fitzwalter said, falling into step beside her.
“What is that?” Grace asked lightly.
“Gentlemen pursuing you to the edge of your ruin.”
“On the contrary, I have found most gentlemen to have a little more respect.”
“You are fortunate,” Mrs. Fitzwalter drawled, apparently amused. “But one can over-do the self-righteousness. I don’t believe anyone here is a tattle-tale.”
Grace stared at her. “If you really believe that, you are frankly naïve. But in this case, as in most, I am moved by personal inclination rather than fear of tale-bearing.”
“Truly?” The woman seemed both surprised and curious. “Yet the world knows Sir Nash has been at your feet for months. I don’t believe Lord Wenning would mind, you know.”
Outraged that another woman, this woman, would speak to her in such a way, let alone try to urge her into an affair she didn’t want, Grace nevertheless managed an amused laugh.
“Blatant indiscretion, ma’am, is as repulsive to his lordship as to the next man.” It might have been depressing that her infidelity would not break her husband’s heart, but he would certainly not care for the humiliation—a truth she was certainly relying on.
Chapter Eleven
The evening passed in somewhat hectic enjoyment. Grace drank champagne, she laughed and bantered, and danced with strangers as well as with members of her own party. And as midnight grew closer, everyone made their way to the garden by the waterfall to see the firework display.
It was indeed a bit of a crush, but they moved around the outskirts of the crowd for the best view. And just as the gentlemen began to force a passage through to a no doubt better vantage, Grace felt a light touch on her shoulder.
Glancing around with a suitably haughty expression, she felt the breath rush from her body. A tall man in a black and silver cloak and mask stepped back and vanished toward the trees behind.
She only had to stand still, and the space between her and Bridget was filled. Prince di Ripoli, who had been bringing up the rear, was distracted by a loud, barging man on his right, and without further thought, Grace slipped free of the crowd and hurried after Rudolf.
Straight ahead was a pretty, wooded area, to the left an ornamental maze that joined with the more enclosed garden she had walked in with Rudolf on her last visit. A line of lanterns had been threaded through the tree branches and across the front hedges of the maze. Grace had no intention of venturing into either wood or maze, but, thinking she might find him in the enclosed garden, she veered from the large oak at the edge of the wood to hurry in that direction.
Without warning, a hand shot out from behind the oak, closed around her arm, and yanked her behind it. Before she could cry out, she imagined a whisper of “Hush, it’s me,” although that might have been the breeze rustling among the leaves, and her mouth was covered by another.
The kiss was instantly devouring, passionate, and might well have scared her witless had she not worked out her captor was Rudolf. More than that, her heart, her whole body recognized him with a fierce surge of joy. And that did frighten her.
“Stop,” she gasped into his mouth, pushing against his shoulders. Her feeble shove was no match for his strength, but at once, he released her lips, and if he didn’t free her body entirely, at least his hold slackened.
“Why?” he murmured, his breathing not quite steady. “Are you afraid your husband will find out?”
Hysterical laughter tried to fight its way up her throat. “Oh, I mean him to find out,” she said shakily. “But I will not—you will not…” She scrubbed her knuckles against her forehead, trying to think. “I will be faithful, but he will think me unfaithful.”
There was a baffled pause. Then, “Why?”
“Because it might hurt him. It doesn’t matter. But that is what I want your help with, at my masked ball. But you must understand, it will only ever be pretense.”
“Why?” he asked again. He had a knack of shading available light with his head, so she could not read his expression, could barely even see his face. “Why deny yourself a little pleasure?”
“I will have all the pleasure I need if you agree to help me.”
“I already agreed,” he said slowly. “But still, I do not understand.”
“You don’t need to,” she said with sudden bitterness. “Suffice it to say, he is the heart and core of all my hate. And, it seems, all my love. I will not betray my vows.”
“But you will humiliate him?”
She had herself under better control now. “I am allowed some recompense,” she drawled. “And if you want to reconcile with your wife, you should thank me.”
Whatever he would have replied was lost in a sudden row of explosions from the hill. As one, they swung around to see the dazzling display of light and color against the blackness of the sky and the silvery reflection of the waterfall. It was stunningly beautiful.
There seemed no need for further talk, although his arm remained loosely around her waist. After a few moments, she realized she was leaning lightly against him, that the combination of the wonder before her and his nearness was producing a strange happiness, a comfort, and peace that was strangely familiar.
Familiar. That word again. If he knew her, then she must know him.
She glanced up at him as a fresh burst of pyrotechnics lit the sky. He met her gaze, and his lips quirked, and with that movement, in the glow from the sky, her world exploded, too.
Recognition, knowledge, fury, understanding, dread. Everything fell into place.
She had been attracted to him all over again. The same man, tricking her, testing her. Testing her. She should have known at once. Had Oliver not always been a wickedly clever mimic, able to change accents and voices like an actor?
Oh, but she should have known him… Only two years had blunted her memory of his appearance, and she had been afraid to look, really look at her husband since his return, in case she weakened.
And from the beginning, she had been fooled simply because meeting Rudolf had happened several days before the special embassy had returned to London. But she had not been paying enough attention to Mrs. Fitzwalter, who had told her in so many words that Wenning had not come home all the way home in company with his colleagues. Mrs. Fitzwalter had met him in Paris and returned with him. The rest of the embassy had not come via Paris but enjoyed a few days of rest in Lisbon before changing ship for the last leg of their voyage. Luck and the weather must have brought the earl home quicker, despite his extra mission. Early enough to have been here at Maida Gardens to steal the bracelet he must have recognized.
And now, now she would be sure beyond any doubt.
She reached up to his mask, to pluck it from his face. But something beyond him, in the nearby, thicker branches, caught her eye. A small round, dark hole protruding at the end of a barrel and pointing, it seemed, at him.
Without thought, she hurled herself against him, but abruptly, while fresh fireworks exploded, he fell to the ground, dragging her with him. The pistol barrel in the branches vanished.
His hands clutched her face. “Are you hit, are you hurt?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, terror for him uppermost in her mind. But before she could properly look or even ask, he was jumping to his feet, hauling her to hers. He shifted, letting the lantern light play on a hole in the bark of the tree as he probed it with his fingers.
“My God,” she whispered. Someone really had shot at them.
“Go back to your friends,” he commanded, already bolting into the wood. “Now!”
Even then, he used the voice of “Rudolf.” She didn’t know whether that was more funny or infuriating, and at this moment, it didn’t really matter, for she simply picked up her skirts and flew after him into the wood.
“How did I come to suspect,” he murmured as she joined him in his swift pursuit, “that you would not obey my wishes?”
“I suppose you must know me better than you think.”
He spared her a quick glance, perhaps trying to work out if he was finally recognized. But in truth, there were more urgent matters at stake right now, and she saw that he was chasing a light winking through the trees.
He paused, holding her back, and for a moment, they waited in silence, listening. The fireworks and the awed cries of the crowd had stopped. Behind them was only the much lower murmur of talk and laughter. Closer, nothing stirred.
Her companion—her husband—parted the leaves and sighed, stepping back to show her the lantern standing all by itself at the center of the little clearing.
“He fooled us,” the earl said in disgust. “I suspect as we blundered after him, he simply sauntered out of the trees to mingle with the crowd. My tactics were wrong. I should have gone with you to see who was missing.”
She stared at him. “Missing? You think someone you know shot at you?”
His gaze dropped to her face. “Or at you,” he said more grimly. Taking her arm, he began to walk back the way they had come. “It was a careful aim, and a narrow escape for us, judging by the hole he made in the tree.”
“But…but who on earth would do such a thing?” she demanded. “And why?”
“Why, I suspect, depends on the who.”
“But… Surely it is more likely to be some scoundrel, thinking to rob you when you lay…” dying. She couldn’t even say the word.
“With you still standing to make a fuss and identify him? Besides, who would murder for the amount of money someone has in his pocket halfway through a public ball? They would be better stealing your bracelet while they danced with you.”
“That certainly seems to be the preferred method of theft at Maida,” she agreed. “Though I doubt our friend wishes to see either of us again.”
“There, I would agree with you.” As they emerged near the oak tree, he paused, his gaze darting around the garden before he turned to walk past the maze. “Come, we’ll go back in by the other door to avoid the crush.”
Or to avoid the rest of her party? Did any of them know he was here? Was he here to dally with Maria Fitzwalter? She couldn’t quite believe that. His focus, at Maida at least, had always been on Grace. But it seemed he didn’t want any of them to recognize him. Would they be any quicker than she in spotting the Earl of Wenning? Phineas and Leyton both knew him very well or had done before he went away. Or were they in on this masquerade with him? And then, there was Maria Fitzwalter, whom she didn’t even want to think about.
Something else hit her with all the jolt of a punch.
Dear God, what had she said to “Rudolf”? She had let him dance with her, kiss her, had come to meet him here more than once against all sense. She had admitted she hated—and loved—her husband. Devastatingly for her plan, she had revealed her fidelity and her desire to make him suffer by evidence proving otherwise.
Heat flooded her skin. She only hoped he couldn’t see it in the lantern light.
“You are very quiet,” he observed.
“I have a lot to think about. Someone deliberately tried to shoot you or me.”
“Perhaps it was your husband.”
“Perhaps it was your wife,” she retorted, and suddenly she wanted to laugh. Hysteria, no doubt, caused by the sudden, unthinkable danger they had both come through. But she also felt a peculiar lightness, like a burden removed. Sheer relief because the man who had tempted her was the same man who always had, because her revenge was in ashes before it had begun.
And curiously, she no longer felt helpless. Revenge would not have made her strong. Exposing him to public ridicule would have helped neither his career nor her own happiness. But…if he were testing her, could she not test him?
They walked on through the masked throngs, and into the pavilion where the orchestra had again struck up, presumably for the last dance before the unmasking. Without a word, he took her hand and drew her into the waltz.
Some new excitement was pounding in her heart, churning her stomach. He did not know she knew. They had already learned things about each other that she had never known or spoken of before. Here at Maida, in disguise, they had been close and comfortable like old friends, as they had not been in the open since he came home.
Oh, don’t go down that path again, she pleaded with herself.
But there is a chance. I have a chance to win him back.
After he abandoned you without a backward glance and ignored you for two years? You had never won him in the first place, clearly, and after that, why would you want to?
His nearness, his warmth flowed through her. His scent filled her—masculine, woodland and citrus and spice… Even that had been a clue. A little of Oliver’s familiar soap and something more exotic from the east that he had brought back with him, something that had been fainter but still present when he was with her as the earl.
Why would I want to win him back?
Because he must have had a reason for what he did. Because he is not the scoundrel I told myself he was for my own sanity. Because I spoke the truth. I may win, I may lose and make a fool of myself all over again, but God help me, he is the center of everything. Heart and core…
“Grace, you must take care,” he murmured, his eyes serious behind the mask. “Never go anywhere alone, but only with people you can trust to protect you. Preferably at least two of them at any one time.”
“Then you must do the same.”
“I shall certainly pay more attention.”
“Rudolf?”
A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth told her he had acknowledged her use of the name as she had meant him to. Was he glad she still appeared not to recognize him?
“Grace?”
“Do you really have enemies who would kill you?”
“Apparently. With some level of planning, too. I never thought of anyone hiding a pistol beneath a domino cloak. But we mustn’t assume I was the target. It could have been either of us.”
Or both.
“Promise me you will be careful, Grace,” he said urgently.
“Of course.” However stupid, the pistol shot disguised as fireworks seemed distant from the ballroom, almost unreal. Dancing with him was real and wonderful, and she was reluctant to think of anything else, except for the glimmer of hope, pale yet intense, that if she managed things well, reconciliation, even happiness, might yet be possible.
If he was the man she still believed him to be, despite everything…
“Will you tell your husband?” he asked.
“Why would I do that?”
Something flashed in his eyes. “Because he might be able to protect you.”
“My husband has done nothing to protect me, ever. Why would he begin now?”
That sally seemed to deprive him of breath, for he took a moment to respond. “Because you are in danger.”
“I imagine he would be more comfortable with me dead. He could then marry someone more suitable.”
He did not blink. She wished she could see the expression behind the mask, yet she imagined waves of feeling sweeping over him, none of it pleasant.
“Forgive me,” he said at last, “but he sounds a terrible fellow. And yet you say he is the center of your world and hold me at arm’s length on his account.”
“Part of me still expects nothing of him. Ever. But if, somewhere, he is still the man I once believed him to be—still want him to be—I cannot close the door on the possibility of reconciliation. There must be a reason for what he did. I just don’t know what it is.”
There was another pause. “I’m beginning to think that this husband of yours deserves the thrashing of a lifetime. Would you like a friend, Grace?”
“A friend?” she repeated. Whatever she had expected, it was not that.
“Perhaps we can help each other understand our estranged spouses and find out who shot at us at the same time.”
The music was coming to an end, just at the wrong time. Or was it? Would he unmask? Would he tell her everything?
“You want us to meet again?” she said in a rush as the last note sounded, and the dancers stilled. “How? Where?”
He smiled beneath the mask.
From beneath the large wall clock at the back of the ballroom, a master of ceremonies cried. “Midnight! Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to face your partner unmasked!”
Amongst the buffeting, excited throng, her husband leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “Don’t worry. I will always find you.”
And then she was alone while he vanished through the crowd.
A man made a drunken lunge at her, apparently aiming to pluck off her mask. She dodged his lumbering person and flitted through the crowd in search of her own friends. But her heart was beating, her whole being smiling, almost like the first night she had met him.
For the first time in two years, she was happy.
