Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

S everal days later, no one was surprised by the costumed figures posturing in the halls: lofty characters and low samples of foolery, old women, shepherdesses, sultanas, gypsies, kings, queens, chimney sweeps, sailors, Spaniards and Turks, all eager to participate in a masquerade. The highly anticipated event, a sort of blind-mans-bluff, had the entire household—both guests and servants alike—humming with excitement. Stage oddities moved from one room to another, two-by-two. Eclipsed faces protected secrets, and half masks and Harlequins were worn so close as to make it almost impossible to guess whether one was male or female. In addition to the fictitious transport, fumes of port and palatable wines, and cheerful laughter made clear that pleasure was found, and the orders received from masque warehouses in Town met with approval.

Tonight, Mrs. Management—Aunt Meg, posing as Hestia, the goddess of hearth and home—led the young and dissolute with revelry, turning propriety and sobriety on their heads. Meaner than bad theater, a hazard to virtue and innocence, a Venetian ridotto saved decency and behavioral license for the grand disclosure after supper.

For her part, Lora, garbed as a domino in a half-mask, took in the splendor with a heavy heart. Well-heeled Harlequins marched past, along with country parsons paired with unconventional nuns, and characters of Fortune who baited mythical gods.

An old crone leaning heavily on a cane got support from an Indian maiden. After years of tending to her father's infirmity, Lora recognized his unique gait. Her father's comical performance earned him a smile, while sympathy from said maiden—Mina—made him snicker. She was growing quite fond of Mina and her reviving nature. Though she had still to reveal what it was, in particular, that she was running from, it was plain that she was falling in love with Lora's father as they bonded over books and ballads. Ruth, her maid, was never far. Even now, she skulked about like a sentinel prepared to order one's doom.

Lora sincerely hoped Fortune smiled upon her father and Mina. Marriage might produce the heir that Papa so desperately desired, ruining Samuel's nefarious campaign.

Thinking of her cousin brought her up short. She spotted him almost immediately, dressed appropriately like a red devil and prepared to wreak havoc on innocent lives. His strange secrecy, outstanding gambling debts, and associations with moneylenders resulted in a disastrous combination. As such, the profusion of jewels and elegant dress flamboyantly displayed about them were tempting morsels for nimble digits.

Take the bait.

"Come one, come all," a gypsy cried as musicians struck up a waltz.

Would their quarry, Clyde, risk an appearance?

"Should we go over the plan one more time?" Myles asked, sweeping her into the Viennese waltz. In contrast, he wore muddied, tattered clothes like a peasant, the exact opposite of refinement and grace, and they shared a rare moment of emotion. "It's not too late to change your mind."

She hardly knew where this nightmare had begun or how it would end. She owed it to herself, to Papa and her sick uncle, to Aunt Meg and Mina and Eliza to see this through. Whatever that end might be. "If Samuel doesn't—"

"He will not pass up the chance to pay off his debts. Mark my words."

She smiled at her peasant, recalling the straw she'd picked out of his hair after their sensual interlude in the bothy. "I'd rather taste your lips again."

"I can arrange that," he said, spinning her around to avoid a jester attempting to identify them. "But not yet."

"Do you think anyone knows that I am your domino?"

"You will never be my domino. You are my Artemis." The red devil appeared, weaving through the crowded room. Lora caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Myles must have seen him too, because he said, "It's time."

They parted, separating slowly like ships in the night, tacking starboard and portside, Myles going right and Lora taking the left.

"Remember. You will never be alone," he'd told her in the wee hours of the morning. "My men are all over the estate and prepared to protect you and your family, regardless of the price to be paid. If we are to put a stop to this madness, we must get your cousin to confess."

The plan was sound. She had to trust it.

She wove her way through the crush as the Viennese Waltz ended, brushing past a woman in Elizabethan dress who began to sing an ode to victory over the French, the novelty putting everyone in good humor. Laughing gaily to fit in, she knew that foreign influence mattered little to their guests. Masquerades were Venetian in nature. The appeal loosened the harness of ceremony and form, gambling and music, and rewarded pleasure over deprivation. And happy voices signaled that the fête was off to a good start.

Indeed, Winterbourne had miraculously come to life. Dancers waltzed over the parquet floor, their disguises illuminated beneath gleaming candelabras and wall sconces that heated up the space. Beeswax and lemon hinted a tremendous amount of work had gone into preparing for the masque. And Aunt Meg had arranged for footmen to open the veranda doors late into the evening, the idea being to draw the eye outward to lighted garden paths, an invitation to anyone with a taste for adventure and a desire for fresh air. The open area also enabled guests to slip in unnoticed or easily escape—like her cousin.

Samuel, where are you?

There.

A pair of devil's horns skirted the crowded room then paused before picking up the cadence once more. Curious, Lora trailed him. Footmen poured spirits into glasses all around her. The clink of crystal, the merriment, the avarice, the speed with which her cousin pillaged unsuspecting women of priceless gems made her dizzy.

The pattern continued for nigh on twenty minutes until everything became clear. Samuel had resorted to thievery to pay off his creditors. If she hadn't witnessed the devilry for herself, she never would have imagined it possible.

A Hawkesbury driven to steal. The very idea!

The surname itself meant ‘deep water.' How far into the abyss was Samuel willing to sink in order to become the next Marquess of Putney? Worse. Had he poisoned his own father to get him out of the line of succession, as Myles had suggested?

She crept closer, distrust blackening her mind, as Samuel seduced yet another oblivious woman. He whispered something near the poor girl's nape before plucking a necklace from her heavily endowed bosom and swiftly stowing the accoutrement under his double-breasted coat before anyone was the wiser. Like a city pickpocket, the entire process took seconds, leaving the social butterfly purring with sublime ecstasy.

Samuel was skilled at this. He had done this before!

Feathers bobbed and turbans dipped as courtesies were exchanged, signaling the start of another waltz. Several bars later, the floor undulated with expectancy, and in the excitement, she lost sight of Myles. She chewed her bottom lip, unsure how to proceed. If she did not follow Samuel through the veranda doors, he, too, would be out of reach if she waited for the duke.

Lowering the hood of her cloak over her forehead, she quickly decided to follow her cousin, but before she could pass the threshold, someone grabbed her arm. Myles? "He is leaving," she said, thinking he'd come to fetch her.

"Who?" Not Myles. Eliza, dressed as a belle Parisienne . "Where are you going?"

Lora spun around at the sound of Eliza's voice. "I don't have time to explain. I must go quickly."

"Where?" she asked as Lora searched the gardens. "Never mind, I shall go with you. It isn't safe to be unchaperoned at night."

"Thank you," she said, desiring to keep her friend safe, "but I must do this on my own. There is one thing you can do for me, however."

"What?" Eliza asked. "Are you in any kind of trouble? Has your cousin upset you? A masque is supposed to be a comedy of errors. People pretending to be someone else. Surely—"

"It is Samuel," Lora said, allowing the reference to sink in. "Yes, indeed. He's gone into the gardens and I must follow him there."

"I cannot allow you to chase after Hawkesbury alone."

"You must." She squeezed Eliza's hand. "Find the duke. It is terribly important that you do. Tell him . . . tell him, ‘No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.' "

"But where?"

She didn't give Eliza time to argue. Dropping her hand, she slipped out onto the veranda and into the garden. The paths were well-lit, Meg's way of lessening the promiscuity when beaux forgot their sporting wit and belles their studied repartees.

Samuel had a head start, forcing her to rely on instinct, which told her that whoever Samuel was hastening to meet would not want witnesses. That increased the danger. Staying aware, she made her way through manicured hedges, taking an opening into another section of the garden, this one far removed from the main house. There, for an instant, she caught sight of a retreating red cape. Darting in that direction, she rounded the hedgerow only to have her arm grabbed from behind and a sharp knife put to her throat.

"Ye don't give up, do ye?"

"Clyde, I presume," she said, struggling to keep her throat as far away from the blade as possible.

"Don't hurt her," Samuel spat as he emerged from the bushes, waving his arms in the air and producing the pouch of stolen articles. "I brought what you demanded." He tossed the bag at Clyde's feet. It landed with a jingle on the thick grass.

"Take it and go. Inform the Jew King that I have settled my debts."

"Ye're daft. I'll take the lot, and 'er, too, fer me trouble." Clyde grimaced as she strained against him, then stopped when the dagger pierced her skin. "Else she takes 'er revenge out on me and I'm set before Captain Tom to go up the ladder to me bed."

"What do you mean?" Samuel asked, paling at the sight of blood trickling down her throat. "All you have to do is take the jewels and money and go."

" This is why." He jerked Lora around to face him. "Don't ye know who she is? She's the highwaywoman."

"Lora?" Samuel grinned. "You jest, surely. My cousin could not harm a fly. Why, she can't even shoot a bow."

"Are ye daft? Look at her hooded cloak."

"It's a domino costume."

"She can wield a bow. I've seen it. She 'unted with 'er brother and shot me in the back."

Intense astonishment covered Samuel's face. "But she—"

"Tricked ye. Argh. I should 'ave cut 'er down along with 'er brother, but ye bade me not to. I was a fool to listen to ye. She's been a thorn in me side ever since."

"What did you say?" Lora asked, fire burning in her belly.

"Ye 'eard that right." Clyde cackled gleefully. "Yer cousin ordered me to kill the earl."

"That isn't how it happened." The hollow denial flew from Samuel like a lightning bolt. "Don't believe him. He—"

"I will kill you for this!" The betrayal blinded her. She bucked and clenched her teeth, so furious she could barely speak.

"Ye see?" He yanked her closer, the blade pricking deeper than before. "Not so tame, after all. If only ye'd known this sooner, 'Awkesbury. Mayhap then I could 'ave saved ye the trouble of 'avin' to kill 'er now."

"Don't kill her," Samuel cried. He threw off his devil horns and reached out the palm of his hand as if to calm Clyde. "She's no good to me dead."

"I can't let 'er go. She knows too much. She'll be the death of us."

"No! No, she won't," Samuel reasoned. "Tell him, Lora. Agree to call off this vendetta of yours. I have a plan. It demands sacrifices, but when I inherit, we can marry. The two of us will have everything."

"Not my brother, and certainly not my father and uncle, who will have to die before your delirious dream comes to fruition. If you think for one moment that I would ever marry you after what you've done, and what I suspect you've done to your own father—"

"Poisonin' 'is father was easy. Got a maid to think she was bein' 'elpful with a tonic fer the master. 'Awkesbury, 'ere, can't get 'is 'ands dirty, ye see. Why, even 'is uniform is borrowed. 33 rd Regiment of Foot, my arse. If e'd been to France, e'd have one of Wellington's medals and 'e'd be carryin' it round, country-put."

Samuel must be a silly nube in order to have agreed to such degenerate behavior .

"But the dog booby faked 'is conscription and flashed it off 'alf seas over, usin' the blunt fer 'is commission to go a whorin' and gamblin' in Town, while me and me mate made it look like Kingston 'ad a problem with bandits. 'Twas the only way to keep Jack in 'is office."

Shock yielded quickly to fury. "You killed the duke's butler?"

"Aye. The old sot wrestled me to the end."

"Shut it!" Samuel shouted. "You're ruining everything!"

"Quit bein' a Spanish trumpeter. Ye forget I 'eard ye promise the Jew King ye'd be the next marquess, me lad."

Lora grabbed Clyde's hand to shove the tip of the dagger away from her neck. She had known Samuel was depraved, but she had never suspected the extent of his wickedness. "You despicable—"

"A debt unpaid is a life enslaved. 'E'll never cut even now. And so, it's time to tell yer pretty bird goodbye." Clyde lifted his hand, angling the blade against Lora's neck.

"Stop!" Samuel shouted.

"She'll never marry ye now, 'Awkesbury."

Lora took advantage of the distraction. She grabbed Clyde's arm, shoved the blade away from her neck, stomped on his foot, and then elbowed him in the ribs. Clyde's howl of pain confirmed, as she broke free, that she'd shot him while chasing him off the London Road. Enraged, he lunged for her, but before he could stab her, Samuel stepped in, taking the dagger up to the hilt. He let out a grunt and clutched at his stomach, staggering back, staring at his mid-section in disbelief.

Clyde charged. A searing whoosh whistled by her and a thump split the air before chaos ensued. Men swooped in from every direction, surrounding Clyde, who lay unmoving on the ground with an arrow impaled in his heart, and Samuel, who sank to his knees.

Before she could react, Myles was suddenly there. He dropped a bow and quiver and pulled her into his embrace. "I thought I'd lost you," he said against her ear.

She wrapped her arms around him, staring over his shoulder at the hedges, listening to the voices that blended together all around them. "Did you hear?" she asked, near tears.

"Everything." He withdrew and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it around her neck to staunch the trickle of blood still oozing from her wound. "No one will ever harm you or your family again. I'll see to it." He smiled and clutched her hand in his, declaring, "From this moment forward, we shall never be parted."

"What about Samuel?" she asked, trying to hide the faint tremor in her voice.

"Lora."

Samuel's entreaty snatched a piece of her soul. Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. She broke away from Myles, understanding Shakespeare's message, and approached her suffering cousin.

His eyes appeared enlarged and glassy. "Lora."

"I am here." Though she preferred to be anywhere else.

"I don't want to die alone."

"I am here," she repeated. Had he ever bothered to wonder how Nicholas felt the day he died? She bit back despair and took his hand, committed to standing guard and doing the unthinkable—watching the life drain out of his eyes. His undeniable and dreadful duplicity in Nicholas's death cut deep, his betrayal something she would never forget. "I won't let you die alone."

"I am sorry," he blurted out. "Nicholas had everything I wanted, and it . . . altered me. Something snapped inside . . . I couldn't control myself . . ."

"Shhh. Make peace with yourself."

"I cannot," he said, seizing. "I cannot go to my grave . . . knowing . . . you hate me."

She glanced at Myles, understanding the bonds we chose were more significant than the ones provided at birth. Myles loved her, and she loved him. Through all that they'd lost, there was still time to make lasting connections. Papa had found love and wanted to live again. Uncle Thomas was recovering. Aunt Meg would be satisfied knowing that Lora wasn't going to be a spinster. Eliza's future would benefit from Myles's influence.

Slowly, she let go of the heartache, the loss, the pain, and the lady sworn to vengeance. "I forgive you." When she glanced up, she fancied she saw an apparition of Nicholas standing by the hedge. He smiled in that rakish way of his, gave her a nod, and walked into the bushes, disappearing from sight. Swallowing back tears, she looked down at her suffering cousin. "I forgive you, Samuel."

"He's gone," Myles said, lifting her to her feet. "His hold on Winterbourne is over."

Was it? She hardly knew. She moved into Myles's arms, drinking in the comfort of his nearness. "I am sorry."

"What have you to be sorry for? It is I who should apologize to you. If I had just danced with you at the Templetons' ball, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"Don't do that. Don't wish the time we have away." She stared at him with longing. "You are here, now. We have saved each other's lives."

"Indeed, we have." He smoothed her hair and adjusted her cloak. "Have I told you that I love you, Lora?"

"No." She fought tears that refused to fall as the men dispersed and his heart thudded against her own. "Not in so many words."

"Well then." He held her hands and lowered to one knee. "I love you."

"What are you doing?"

"It isn't every day a man falls in love with a wallflower, only to discover that she is the highwaywoman terrorizing the countryside."

"I did nothing of the sort. Get up."

"I want to see what you look like from down here whilst I place you on a pedestal. Be prepared to live at lofty heights for the rest of your days, my love."

Several of the men hauling Samuel's body away chuckled and saluted Myles.

"Your Grace." A delightful shiver washed over her. "Which do you prefer?"

"You." He rose to his feet. "I shall love you in all your incarnations. Lora. Marry me, Lady Vengeance. Make me the happiest of men."

"Yes," she said, nodding and overcome with emotion. "A thousand times, yes."

"Yes?" He grinned. "In that case, I shall worship the ground you walk on for the rest of your days."

"That may be a very long time. Are you prepared?"

His mouth twitched with amusement. "I am.

"Then I must tell you that I love you, Myles. I always have. I always will."

"Brilliant. I shall request a special license straightaway." He placed her hand on his arm and began leading her back through the gardens, where music drifted on the breeze. "Are you ready to return to the masque? I intend to speak to your father."

"Please wait," she said. "That is, let him have his fun." No one could replace Nicholas, but there was contentment in knowing that Papa, that anyone, could start again. "Who knows? If we're lucky, we might have a double wedding."