Unmasked by her Lover, page 22
She knew it was he, mainly because he was the only man who wore his hood over his head, and in his arms, he held her friend, his betrothed Meg Winter. Although Meg wore a white domino rather than her own gold one, Juliet had never seen her look at anyone the way she did at Harry de Vere. Which meant she would have to be careful lest Garrow guess, too.
But Juliet needn’t have worried. As soon as the scarlet domino caught Garrow’s attention, he did not so much as glance at Harry’s partner. Almost abruptly, he danced Juliet away, turning her so that he could not see the hooded man. But a moment later, Harry and Meg danced gracefully past them, and when Garrow turned again, they were there, too, only closer.
“I’m so sorry I had to leave you and the children,” said a sad, slightly Scottish voice just as they danced away and melted into the crowd.
“Impossible!” Garrow exclaimed angrily, and yet it wasn’t anger but fear in his eyes.
“What is?” Juliet asked politely.
“That man in scarlet,” Garrow blurted. “Do you know who he is?”
“Scarlet?” Juliet repeated, looking about her. “I see a rust red and a burgundy, but no scarlet.”
“They were right beside us a moment ago!” Garrow said irritably. “He spoke with a Scotch accent!”
“I didn’t hear it,” Juliet said, surreptitiously crossing her fingers on his shoulder.
Clearly rattled, Garrow danced on, saying little and only answering in monosyllables when she tried to make conversation.
Then he said suddenly, “There! Look!”
Juliet followed his gaze to her right, and there was Harry and Meg once more. Meg’s hood was up now, too, and she was gazing into Harry’s cowl-covered face with unblinking, frighteningly glassy eyes.
“It was not my choice,” said the Scottish voice. “It was not even battle. And I won’t let it lie. He will pay.”
Garrow jerked, as though he would drop Juliet and seize the figure in scarlet.
Juliet clung to him. “Look at whom? There is no one in scarlet anywhere near us.”
Garrow stared at her. “Of course there is! He’s dancing with a woman in white. She looks…”
Dead? Juliet thought, impressed by her friend’s performance. She looked again, in time to see Harry and Meg, hoods down, melting into the crowd. “There is no such couple, sir,” she said, concerned. “Look for yourself.”
With clear dread, Garrow gazed slowly to where he had last seen Harry and Meg. And swallowed.
“Perhaps we should sit down,” Juliet said kindly. “You do not seem very well. Can I fetch someone to you?”
*
“I almost feel sorry for him,” Meg said as they left the dance floor, right beside the alcove where they had kissed before the first dance.
“I don’t,” Harry said grimly. When she squeezed his arm, he forced a smile. “He spoiled an otherwise delightful waltz.” They slipped inside the alcove where Hazel sat enveloped in Meg’s gold cloak.
“Well?” Hazel asked, rising and passing her the cloak.
“It went excellently,” Meg reported. “I made my eyes so dead that Harry didn’t know whether to shake me or laugh. And Garrow betrays all the fear of a very guilty conscience. What of Barden?”
“He recognized me. And he knows Joe and Dan Stewart are here. Joe says he is definitely rattled.”
“Then it’s nearing time to entice him away,” Harry remarked. “Aline has him in her capable grip.”
“Good,” Hazel said, and with a quick smile, slipped out of the alcove.
Harry placed the gold cloak around Meg’s shoulders, and she took his face between her hands. “Harry, it won’t bring him back,” she murmured. “Punishing Garrow is one thing, but revenge will not make you feel better.”
“It might,” he said huskily and kissed her hand. He smiled, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t know how I can be so happy with you and yet so angry about—”
“I know.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. “We will do this, and then there will be just us.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We must meet again,” Barden said as the waltz came to a close.
The charming French lady in the rose domino smiled. “I believe I would like that.”
Barden, restored to his usual self-confidence by her admiration, smiled back. “Perhaps even this evening, if all goes well.”
“I look forward to it,” the lady said.
“Not making assignations, are you?” asked another voice just a shade too loudly, and the tall, unmistakable figure of Lord Fishguard loomed between them.
“Hardly,” Barden uttered with what he hoped was convincing hauteur, for he had caught a few amused glances cast in their direction.
“Don’t be silly and jealous, Fish,” the lady said, taking Fishguard’s arm, although she glanced back over her shoulder, and Barden was sure one of her eyes closed.
Barden grinned to himself as he turned away. Oh yes, he would prosper tonight, in spite of the presence of his enemies. The last laugh would be on them. Now, where was Lady Meg?
Glancing around the ballroom, he was irritated to see her emerging from an alcove with an officer in a scarlet domino. He was fairly sure that was Harry de Vere, his rival for Meg’s hand. Damn him. Although he had tried after dinner, he doubted de Vere was the kind of man who could be scared off. And the duke, presented with two penniless suitors for his daughter’s hand, either of whom would cost him dearly to set up comfortably, would no doubt be swayed by Meg herself.
It was time to convince Meg of his worthiness. But he would not be so unsubtle as to approach her while de Vere hung around her. Snagging a glass of champagne from the side table, he sat on a vacant sofa to await his moment and plan the finer points of his speech.
Unexpectedly, two people sat down, one on either side of him.
The lady in a domino of palest blue and matching mask smiled at him. “What a pleasant reunion, my lord. I do hope you have no pistols with you tonight.”
Deborah Halland. Dear God. Nothing in the world could have prevented his head jerking around to the gentleman on his other side. Inevitably, Christopher Halland, his intense eyes unmistakable, even surrounded by the black silk mask.
“So many old friends,” Halland observed. “But I do hope you remember, I have quite a bone to pick with you. You ran off too quickly from our last meeting.”
“And you must excuse me also from this one,” Barden said hastily, jumping to his feet. He bowed to Deborah. “Madam.” He then nodded stiffly to her husband before stalking away.
Speaking to Meg, convincing Meg, was now urgent. Fortunately, she seemed to have parted ways with de Vere, whom he could see was buttonholed by some other man—surely the officer who imagined he and Barden were allies? In any case, Meg was some yards away, her gold domino shining among a group of young ladies, and Barden headed directly toward her. With some relief, he recognized no one dangerous among her companions, such as Hazel Sayle or Juliet Stewart. Most assuredly, he had to get to her before Deborah Halland. Unless—his blood ran cold—unless Deborah had already told her everything.
But no, he had seen none of these ladies or their husbands since his arrival. They must be even more recent than he, and there could have been no time for confidences. Please, God.
He bowed to the group in general. “Ladies.” Since a country dance was in full swing, he could not invite Meg to dance, but he did ask her with great respect and courtesy if she would care to take a turn about the room with him.
She agreed readily enough, rose, and even placed her fingers lightly on his arm.
“I do particularly wish us to have a talk,” he confided. “And hopefully begin to know one another a little better.”
“In what way?” she asked.
“In every way. But in particular, to do with our marriage, I wish with all my heart to convince you of my fitness to be your husband.”
“It will be uphill work,” Lady Meg said frankly. “I know what you did.”
“But you do not know why,” he countered. “How could I—a poor man, I confess—approach your father for your hand without some extra advantage to—er… persuade him?”
“Is that why you tried to ruin three other women, too?”
“Collateral damage that I regret,” Barden said smoothly.
She turned her head to look straight into his eyes. “Then you did not try to force Hazel to be your mistress?”
“My lady, I am shocked to hear you say such a thing!”
“But you do not deny it,” Meg noted.
“I do deny it! If Lady Sayle says differently, she is merely reversing her own pursuit of me in order to placate her husband. I have only one goal, to make you the wife of my heart.”
“I see. Then you did not propose also to Juliet?”
Damnation! “I merely called upon her father to persuade him to return money he as good as stole from me in my youth. To enable me to approach His Grace with some money in my pocket.” Don’t mention shooting at Deborah, please don’t…
She didn’t. “I find it hard to reconcile this supposed passion for me with the fact that you more or less ignored me whenever we met.”
“I never ignored you. But I never dared draw myself to your attention until I made this last desperate push to win your hand.”
He could not read the expression in her eyes. For an instant, he thought it might be amusement, but no, her eyes were serious, thoughtful.
“You do put a different complexion on things,” she allowed at last. “But…no. On the whole, I believe I would rather marry Harry.”
“You are fond of him, of course,” Barden said meekly. “As an old friend of your family’s. You and I have no such history. However, it would still be within your power to help him. Within my power. I can, you understand, bring his preferment to the Regent’s attention.”
She frowned. “Lord Staunton, Harry’s brother, is not a poor man. He is quite able to buy Harry’s promotion when the time is right. And he will always have the recommendation of his superiors.”
“But, my dear lady, in peacetime, promotion is so much harder. And he would find it even more difficult if the Regent were to block him.”
Her eyes widened. “You would do that?”
“I? Of course not,” he claimed in shocked tones. “But His Highness has many people asking for favors. De Vere could easily be left behind if I did not speak for him. I could arrange a very quick promotion for him if you wished it. And as I have said, once you have given me an heir, if you still pine for your Harry, although it will break my heart, you may have him. Discreetly, of course.”
She was silent for some time. “You have given me much food for thought,” she said at last.
Inwardly, Barden sighed with relief. Outwardly, he smiled and led her toward the terrace door. “Then come, let us talk further, for I believe you and I could rub along very well as husband and wife.”
*
Harry saw Meg and Barden walk out on to the terrace with some alarm. This was somewhat earlier than he had planned, and he did not want Meg left alone with him. He started after her at once, but coming from the opposite direction, Martha caught his eye and glided out after her sister.
“De Vere,” someone said, catching at his sleeve, and he turned to see Garrow, unusually agitated, peering into his face to be sure, perhaps, that it was him. “Mrs. Dewar is not dead, is she? Our Dewar’s wife?”
Our Dewar. Harry wanted to knock his teeth down his throat. As it was, his hands clenched, but this was not the place, and with Barden outside with the twins, he had other troops to mobilize first.
But it seemed he had trained his troops well. A quick sweep of the room showed him Robert, Calvert, Johnny, and Aline, all looking expectantly in his direction from their own conversations. He nodded once.
“She is dead?” Garrow exclaimed in dismay.
“I have no idea,” Harry said impatiently. “I have not yet gone north to see her. Why, what is it to you?”
“I thought I saw her. With him.” Garrow gave the ghost of a laugh. “What if he is not dead? What if he is here?”
“I don’t think you’re quite well, Garrow.”
“Is he dead?”
“Of course he is!” Damn you to hell and whatever is beyond.
Garrow’s wild eyes came back into focus, and he scowled. “You are wearing a scarlet domino!”
“Yes, I am. So what?”
“Didn’t you see him?”
“Who?”
“Dewar!” Garrow dragged his fingers through his hair, leaving it uncharacteristically wild. Harry had meant to deal with him after Barden, but it seemed the time was now.
“Come outside,” Harry said. “I think you need air. I know I do.”
Harry had never known him so biddable. He was able to usher Garrow through the nearest terrace door without any objection at all. At the other end, Meg and Martha were listening to Barden with what was, no doubt, flattering fascination.
“We always make our decisions together,” Martha was saying, without any truth whatsoever.
Another couple stepped outside between them and Harry, which gave him the excuse to urge Garrow down the steps from the terrace and farther toward the path to the woods. Shadows flitted along the path. A lantern flashed between the trees as Harry paused, keeping Garrow’s back to the activity.
“What is this nonsense about Dewar?” Harry asked.
Garrow breathed in the night air like a starving man and gave a slightly shaky laugh. “I don’t know. My wits must have gone begging. But I could swear I saw him, heard him. Once on his own, once dancing with his wife. As though they were both ghosts.”
“Ghosts,” Harry repeated with mockery.
“Yes, ghosts!” Garrow said angrily. “For the girl dancing with me did not see them! Unless…” He glared at Harry. “Unless she was in league with you. Unless you were playing some trick on me, pretending to be Dewar’s ghost.”
“And why should I do that, Garrow?” Harry asked softly. “Come to that, why would Dewar haunt you? Why would you even believe so easily in such a bizarre haunting?”
In the dim light filtering down from the terrace, Garrow’s eyes changed, sharpened. “I was fond of Dewar. His death hit me hard.”
“Oh, I think it was his survival that hit you hard,” Harry said softly. “Don’t feed me any more of your pathetic lies. I know you killed him, and I know why.”
Garrow had gone very still, his eyes searching Harry’s face. “You can know no such thing. Dewar was killed by a Frenchman who stole the orders I’d just passed from Wellington.”
“No, he didn’t. He found you, and you killed him rather than give him those orders. You then returned to Wellington, while my men held their position and were slaughtered for it. It’s small comfort to their families, to Dewar’s wife and children, that we prevailed in the end, that we won the city, and your master was chased down at last and forced from his throne.”
“I don’t have to listen to this nonsense,” Garrow said. “Did Dewar rave in his delirium after all? Why would you believe such rambling?”
“Because we have proof,” Aline said, gliding out of nowhere.
Garrow jerked around to face her.
“He did not rave about your treachery, your murder,” Harry said tightly. “But he exposed you for all that. While he waited to be found, he carved your name on his ring and gave it to me.”
“That is not proof!” Garrow exclaimed, backing away from the murderous expression which no doubt spat from Harry’s eyes. “And what the devil does it matter to you anyway?” he demanded of Aline.
“Oh, my dear husband, you have it all wrong,” Aline mourned. “I never spied for Bonaparte, only the British. And the Spanish, a little. It was never an accident that you and I met before coming here. We’ve suspected since Toulouse that you were the traitor because of Captain Dewar’s death.”
Garrow took a panicked side-step away from both of them. “Then it was you tonight!” he flung at Harry. “You pretended to be Dewar, you sick—”
“Unnecessary, I know,” Harry said coldly. “But the temptation was too strong. As is the need for you to know that Barden will never pass on the names of your foolish and treacherous naval officers. They will never go near Elba.”
Garrow’s gaze cast wildly between the advancing Harry and Aline. Wildly he swung at what he saw as the weaker enemy, meaning, no doubt, to run, but Harry leapt forward, blocking the blow, and before Garrow could move again, Aline drove the barrel of a small, pearl-handled pistol into his side.
“Come with me, my husband,” she purred. “Let us go to the coach house. It is time to leave.”
Harry moved to escort them, but Aline said, “We shall be fine. You have other business to attend to.”
A quick glance at the terrace showed him it was empty. From inside, the orchestra had struck up a new dance. And Barden must be alone with the twins in the woods.
“Are you sure?” he breathed to Aline.
“Dear Captain Harry, we shall be fine.”
She had, he reflected, faced greater dangers than this, and she undoubtedly had the upper hand against Garrow at this moment. Harry had little doubt either that her allies, the same men who had once played highwaymen, were lying in wait to help her. He hesitated only an instant, then cast one last look of loathing at the man who had killed his friend and been responsible for the deaths of far too many of his soldiers.
And then he loped off toward the woods.
*
It was not difficult for Meg and Martha to keep Barden too occupied to notice what was happening elsewhere. Harry’s original plan had been brought forward somewhat, so they had a little time to kill. Besides which, it had been meant to be the capable Aline who enticed Barden into the woods, but she clearly was engaged now with Garrow. Meg did not mind. She wanted to be there when Harry struck, and she rather thought the other ladies-in-waiting should be there, too.
Unfortunately, she could see no way to summon them. And besides, she did not want to spoil Harry’s plan, just discover what it was he had not told her.
