A Masquerade With a Marquess, page 1
A MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS
LORDS OF TEMPTATION
TAMMY ANDRESEN
Copyright © 2023 by Tammy Andresen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
A Masquerade With a Marquess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
A Vengeful Viscount
Prologue
Chapter 1
About the Author
Other Titles by Tammy
A MASQUERADE WITH A MARQUESS
She might be blind, but even she can SEE that he’s trouble.
The moment Mia’s fingers accidentally brush down Lord Kingsley’s rippling chest during a chance encounter at a masquerade ball, she knows that her life will never be the same. Because the passion that flares between them is hot enough to melt all her hesitation away.
He’s hell bent on revenge.
Until the broken little bird, Mia, lands in his path. But enemies take advantage of distraction and Mia is as stunning as she is passionate, making her the worst kind.
And thanks to that one ill-fated evening, she is also now his wife.
And perhaps an agent of his enemy…
Is she part of the plot against him or in grave peril at his side? How far is he willing to go to protect the woman he never wanted but might just be the one person he can’t live without?
It’s time to find out…
CHAPTER ONE
By all rights, Cade Kingsley should already be the Marquess of Kingsley.
Cade ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, staring into the fire that lit the hearth on this bitterly cold Cumberland day.
This was the last place in England he wished to spend his Christmastide, but there was nothing for it.
His weasel of an uncle couldn’t die in the normal way. No. He’d had to go start some secret underground war and then just disappear off the face of the earth.
Even for a Kingsley, it was dastardly.
Which left Cade in a bloody bad spot, if you asked him. The last place his uncle had been seen and recognized was the border of Cumberland.
At least that’s what his very expensive investigator had told Cade. But because his uncle’s body was nowhere to be found, they could not just presume him dead. He was a fucking marquess. Or he had been.
And while Prinny agreed that Kingsley was likely deceased and never to return, they had to keep up appearances and all that. Which meant that Cade, the heir presumptive, had to prove that his uncle was not coming back or wait years to assume the title.
And though Cade had always known his uncle was shady—and his investigation had proven that fact beyond a shadow of a doubt to the rest of the world—Cade, for his own sake, would have to find evidence that his uncle was gone without revealing any of his uncle’s crimes.
Crimes that seemed to haunt his family tree and if Cade wasn’t careful, his own future.
A knock sounded at the door of the study. “Come in.”
The harried-looking housekeeper entered, several bits of hair coming out of her pins and sticking out at odd angles. “My lord,” she said, making a distracted bob.
“Mrs. Grafton.”
“I was hoping for a moment”—she smoothed her rumpled apron—“I am trying to decide between two types of tablecloths, and I can’t…”
He stopped listening. He could not care less about the color of the linens for his upcoming Christmastide ball, nor about the food being served, nor which wine from the cellar was poured. He had no idea what wine the house even boasted.
The estate was his mother’s. Part of her inheritance from her father, gifted to her after her marriage to Cade’s father. Cade had never been here before, and he was unlikely to ever return again. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of the village the house lorded over. “Whatever you think best, Mrs. Grafton.”
“Yes, my lord.” The woman swallowed a visible lump, looking like she wished to ask more. He had some sympathy for her. No one from his family had been to this property in ages, let alone hosted a major event here. It was hell and gone from the rest of society and from everything that was important to Cade. It was given to his mother as a way to ensure that she’d have a home should her husband fail her…as everyone expected he would.
The staff was ill-prepared for such an undertaking, and the house was likely too small.
Neither deterred Cade in the least.
He didn’t give a whit if this party was a success. Only one detail mattered. “Have any more guests responded?”
The housekeeper gave a jerk of her chin, stepping into the hall and waving to someone he couldn’t see, likely the butler, Greeves.
Sure enough, the ancient man appeared, carrying a tray with several notes. His hands shook as he set it down in front of Cade, then stepped back to fold them in obvious relief.
Cade sifted through the letters, noting several locals had responded that they’d come.
“Oh.” Mrs. Grafton pointed at one note. “That’s from Baron Blackstone. His daughter is regarded as a great beauty.”
Greeves cleared his throat, grimacing. An odd gesture to be certain. Did beautiful women make him uncomfortable? Was she notoriously spoiled? Then he shook his head—it didn’t matter.
Opening the letter, he noted that the baron had agreed to attend. A good sign. The more distinguished the list of guests, the more likely his query would come as well.
He’d nearly reached the bottom of the pile when he found it—the letter he’d been waiting for. With impatient hands, he broke the seal and unfolded the sheet of paper. Triumph flared behind his eyes as he read the neat script.
The Duke and Duchess of Upton would be in attendance.
His trap was set. The bait taken.
“That will be all,” he murmured, tossing the sheet back onto the tray and leaning back in his chair.
It had begun to snow, and he watched the flakes drifting past the window with satisfaction.
Soon, he’d be able to get the proof he needed that his uncle was dead. And then he could leave Cumberland as the Marquess of Kingsley and never return.
Mia sat next to her mother as their carriage rolled through the darkness, the swaying lanterns the only light that cut through the night and penetrated her closed lids with their warmth.
She reached under her heavy cloak and smoothed down the silk of her gown, a deep blue, a color her mother had told her would offset her dark-blond hair. Colors eluded her.
She fidgeted with the lace cuff, her gloves catching on the delicate fabric. She was nervous.
Not for all the reasons a normal girl might be aflutter for such an event. She didn’t expect to dance, nor would she watch the parade of fashion that would surely be on display. But her mother had told her that the new Duchess of Upton would be in attendance and Mia very much wished to meet the lady.
Not because she was a duchess. Titles were another thing that Mia cared very little about. Despite being told she was beautiful, Mia didn’t expect to marry.
Yet another disappointment her father could add to his growing list of reasons his daughter was worthless. The very first reason, not being born a boy, had started their rocky relationship, one that grew worse by the day.
Which was why she needed tonight to be a success. She had to find a means to support herself.
She’d settle for a small cottage that had enough room for her to create, and a connection to help give her art much-needed exposure, and hopefully one day, a profit.
If she was even good enough as an artist.
She didn’t know. Her mother claimed that Mia had unsurpassed talent, but mothers often thought such things. It was not a measure on which to base one’s entire future.
Meeting with the duchess was important to furthering her cause. Not only was she in the upper echelon of society, she was a renowned painter. At the very least, Mia would appreciate the woman’s unbiased opinion.
She had a small marble piece tucked in her reticule to show the duchess. A replica of her favorite pet, her parakeet. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat.
The carriage began to slow, the sound of other wheels crunching as they rolled along the gravel.
“We’re nearly there,” her mother murmured, always attempting to narrate the world around Mia as though she hadn’t learned how to do so herself. Not that she didn’t appreciate her mother’s help. But at nearly two and twenty, what Mia craved most was to be treated like an adult.
“Thank you,” she replied, not bothering to remind her mother she was perfectly capable. It was an old conversation that would only result in an argument. Instead, she reached for her mask to place over her eyes. The slits were very narrow, purposely so, so that no one would see the discoloration of her irises. She didn’t exactly intend to lie to the duchess about her sight, but she did wish for the woman to assess the piece first.
“You’re welcome, darling. Now remember, our host is about to become a marquess.”
Mia frowned. They’d been over the details a hundred times. Her mother was convinced that of all the properties the heir apparent might have visited, he’d come to Cumberland, where his mother had hailed from, to choose a bride from the hardiest stock in England.
Mia had no idea where her mother’s theory had come from, but if it were true, he likely would not consider Mia a prospective bride.
She could see just enough to maneuver in a crowd, broad shapes and splashes of color and light penetrating her damaged eyes. But that was it. And a blind bride was not exactly hardy stock, even if she had lost her sight due to a childhood fever.
The carriage entered the queue of other vehicles waiting to drop the guests at the main doors.
Mia straightened her shoulders, clutching her reticule tighter. She’d not precisely told her mother of her plan for the evening. While her mother supported Mia’s art, the matriarch saw Mia’s pastime as the accomplishment that would help her daughter secure an excellent match, not a vocation for a lady to pursue.
And Mia saw enough of the world to know that despite her supposed beauty and her artistic talent, she was likely not going to wed. She’d been passed over at nearly every event she’d ever attended and this one would be no different.
It was time to begin testing alternative paths. Fortunately for her, her mother’s matrimonial plans were likely to fizzle out without any work from Mia. Men would continue to ignore her, and at nearly two and twenty, she’d soon be on the shelf.
But she needed to escape her father’s house and her only hope there was to be able to sell her work.
The carriage stopped once again, their footman snapping open the door. Lifting a hand, she carefully adjusted the mask that covered her eyes.
Her mother stepped out first, Mia second, the footman aware of the secure hand she’d need to make her way down.
She lifted her skirts in the other hand, attempting to move with as much grace as possible. Then, threading her arm through her mother’s, she joined the crowd.
With the loss of sight, all of Mia had learned to rely more acutely on her other senses. She heard the rustle of clothing, the fall of footsteps, the low murmur of voices.
They moved along with the others. “Steps,” her mother whispered faintly.
She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. She could make out stairs in the light of the day, but not as well at night.
The breeze blew cold air across her skin, and she lifted her chin to allow her nose to clear the surrounding scents. The ballroom would be full of perfumes and body odor. She’d take the fresh smell of cold winter night while she was able.
But as she drew in a deep breath, a different scent touched her nose. Strong and masculine, sandalwood mixed with pine and an earthy undertone that made her nipples tighten in the strangest way.
She paused, nearly tripping on the next step. She hardly had time to straighten when a hand was under her elbow.
Strong, lean fingers wrapped about the bare skin between the top of her glove and the sleeve of her dress, their firm, warm grip causing her to shiver.
“Careful, my lady.” His voice rippled over her skin, the deep timbre of it making her suck in a great gulp of air.
“My lord,” her mother gushed, “thank you for both your invitation and your aid.”
“You’re welcome. But I must confess, I don’t have the pleasure of knowing who I converse with.”
“Beg your pardon.” Her mother dipped into a curtsey. “I am Baroness Blackstone and this is my daughter Miss Amelia Blackstone.”
“Ah, the renowned beauty.” His voice, though deep, had a touch of honey to it, making it so pleasant, she thought she could fall into it. Lose herself in its rich tones.
“Hardly,” she answered as she dipped into a curtsey. His scent had so completely surrounded her that she had to fight the urge to lean closer, draw in more of him. “But I must also thank you, my lord.”
“Hardly?” he said, leaning close to her ear. She drew in another deep breath through her nose, his hand still on her elbow as that silky, decadent baritone whispered across her ear. “Every word was true.”
She nipped at her lip to keep from swaying into him. Never had she reacted so strongly to anyone. She swallowed, trying to find her composure. “And when they spoke of my beauty, did they also mention my clumsiness?”
He chuckled, the sound making her pulse skip several beats. “May I request a dance this evening?”
That stuttering organ in her chest stopped altogether. Dance? She could. She’d had instructors. And if there were enough candles, she’d be able to make out the outlines of the other dancers so as not to crash into them.
Still, it was a risk most men didn’t take. Dancing with the blind girl. Did he know of her condition? His sure fingers gripped hers, their strength helping her to make a choice. He seemed like the sort of man who could lead without question.
She could trust in that.
“I’d be honored,” she answered, and next to her, her mother gave a faint squeak. Mia would like to tell her not to get her hopes up.
The night was young, and Mia would hazard a guess that by the end of this evening, the marquess would have an entirely different opinion of her.
CHAPTER TWO
Cade watched the duke and his bride across the ballroom. The pixie-like blonde hung on her husband’s arm, smiling demurely as a ring of partygoers vied for her attention.
There was nothing demure about the Duke of Upton. He glowered at everyone around him, his heavy brow pulled tight above his eyes as he stood straight and tall. His sheer size and stern expression made more than one guest cut him a wide path.
His wife tilted her chin up and he immediately bent lower so that she might whisper in his ear. The ghost of a smile touched his mouth before he straightened, returning to his glare.
A lesser man might be intimidated. But not Cade. Instead, he made note of the fact that the only softness the man displayed was toward his wife. It was good to know an enemy’s weak points.
Stalking around the edge of the ballroom, Cade tried to remain in the shadows, not wanting to be caught by any guests himself.
His first step would be to listen from the shadows. He knew he was unlikely to discover anything of importance, but it was worth an attempt.
Next, he’d catch the duke alone for a conversation. One where he’d use everything he’d learned so far to work a confession from the duke. Perhaps that was ambitious. But he’d at least make the first chess move, so to speak. Let the duke know that Cade knew he was involved in his uncle’s death.
Upton owned three clubs, one of which had been in his uncle’s possession for a short time before the king had personally made certain the Den of Sins was turned over to Upton and his partners.
Gaming hells were not legal businesses. But Upton had been smart. He made certain the crown got its cut.
The second piece of information he knew for certain. His uncle had been seen socially with a Miss Natalie Blake, a woman his junior by at least ten or fifteen years. A woman who had married Upton’s friend, the Earl of Somersworth.
And three…his uncle had come to Cumberland at the same time as Upton. None of these things proved anything definitely. But all three…they told a story.
But he needed facts. And a tighter connection between Upton and his uncle. He finally reached the duke, then leaned against the wall and turned one ear toward the crowd gathered about the Duke and Duchess of Upton.
“And I was saying, of course you’d choose to live in Cumberland. Why wouldn’t you? The people here are made of sterner stuff.”
