No Marriage of Convenience (28 page)

“You are coming to the play?” Riley asked. She’d never been so nervous about an opening night in all her life.

“Of course,” Louisa said. “It will be a night to remember.”

If only Riley had known then that truer words were never spoken.

The Marlowe town house churned with activity. Servants hurried back and forth, while merchants continued to cart in the bottles of champagne, bushels of food, and other necessities for the coming-out ball of the St. Clair sisters.

Mason wove his way through the hubbub to find Lady Marlowe happily ordering about everyone who ventured within earshot. Riley was nowhere in sight—which for now seemed the best.

“Lord Ashlin, if you are not here to help, then you are only in the way,” Riley’s grandmother complained.

Mason wasn’t insulted. He knew his timing was terrible, but it couldn’t be helped. What he had discovered this morning confirmed everything he’d suspected. “I came on a matter of some importance, my lady. If you could spare me but a moment of your time.”

“A moment is all I can give you,” she said, leading him to an alcove in the ballroom and setting herself on a chair tucked inside it. “This will keep us out of the way in case those accursed musicians decide to arrive.” She folded her
hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “Now tell me what has brought you all the way over here in the middle of the day? Have you finally come to ask for Riley’s hand? If you have, I give you my consent. Always liked you Ashlins—your grandfather turned my head with his silvery tongue more than a few times when I was a young thing in my first Season.”

“I thank you, my lady. Now that I’ve turned my finances around, I feel worthy enough to make such an offer.”

“Worthy, you say? Bah, shaky finances or not—you’ve always been the man for her. You love her and she loves you, and that is all that matters.”

“And I have every intention of making her my bride before the month is out,” Mason said. “But first, I actually came on another matter. How much do you know about Lord Cariston’s business?”

She shook her head. “Very little.”

“And of his father?”

Her nose wrinkled. “Stephen’s father was hardly a favorite around here. A distant cousin of my husband’s, and as Lord Marlowe used to say, they were distant for good reasons.”

Mason nodded. “Your husband was a wise man.” He paused for a second and considered how to ask his next question.

The Countess didn’t give him much choice. “Out with it, man. I’ve never been one to mince words and don’t appreciate anyone coating what they say to me. Just have it out.”

“How did Riley’s mother die?”

She blanched, but only for a moment. “There was an accident. Her carriage overturned, and she was killed.”

He nodded. “And her husband?”

“Shot by brigands.”

Mason pushed a little further. “And the smith who married them?”

“There was a fight in a pub. He died of a knife wound.”

Mason leaned forward. “Did Riley tell you about the attempts on her life?”

Her grandmother shook her head. “The close-mouthed little jade! She spoke not a word.”

“Well, the morning you called her over for tea, a man broke into my house and tried to kill her. Luckily, it was prevented.”

“The servant who fell out the window,” the lady muttered. She glanced up. “I thought there was something odd about that.”

“There was,” Mason told her. “And I believe they are all connected.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Don’t you find it an odd coincidence that all these people died in such violent accidents, or that Riley has been plagued by a long string of murderous threats?”

“’Tis only fate,” the lady said, waving her hand at the matter, but her tone didn’t sound all that convinced.

“Fate or careful planning,” Mason said. “My lady, I have good reason to believe there was nothing accidental about any of these events.”

“You mentioned Cariston.” She shook her head. “He couldn’t be involved in this, at least not the earlier deaths. He was but a babe.”

“But his father wasn’t.”

Lady Marlowe frowned. “Whyever would my husband’s cousin, a Marquess in his own right and one of the wealthiest men in England, go to such lengths to secure the Marlowe lines? My husband’s title isn’t that old, and
certainly the properties offer a good income, but nothing like Cariston’s holdings.”

“They did when Cariston held them, but the lands you refer to no longer belong to that family. They haven’t for years.”

“What?” Lady Marlowe’s mouth gaped.

“From what I’ve been able to gather, Cariston is broke.”

She sat back. “That can’t be.”

“It is. Having been a bit up the River Tick myself until recently, I know all the signs. But I’ve also made some quiet inquiries about town, and your nephew has enough vowels floating around to sink an armada.”

“Everyone falls on hard times,” she said, shaking her head. “It hardly leads one to murder, as I assume you are suggesting. Cariston is many things, but capable of murder? He hasn’t the stomach for it. His father, on the other hand, I could believe him capable of any evil, but not his son.”

Mason shrugged. “Not all men think rationally when faced with disgrace—and your nephew is a very proud man.” He nodded toward McElliott, who stood waiting in the doorway. “Lady Marlowe, I would like to introduce you to Mr. McElliott, a Runner I hired to help me investigate these matters and the man the Marquess of Cariston engaged yesterday to murder your granddaughter.”

“Murder! If that is what is afoot, what in heavens are you doing here?” she asked. “Why aren’t you home protecting my granddaughter?”

Mason stared at her. “That is exactly why I’m here. To take her without delay to Sanborn Abbey, where she’ll be safe until I can have Cariston arrested and transported so far away, he’ll never see England again.”

But his words hardly seemed to be reassuring Lady Marlowe, for she frowned at him as if he’d already failed
her granddaughter. “But Riley isn’t here—she’s at your house.”

Mason’s heart lurched, then his temper flared to life. “That lying, conniving—”

“Go ahead and say it,” Lady Marlowe told him. “She’s played us both false. I’ll wager she’s been down at that theatre of hers. Determined she was to pay you back, and on her own terms. Stubborn, impossible girl.”

“Determined or not,” Mason said, bounding to his feet, “her play is about to have the shortest run in the history of Covent Garden.”

O
pening night of any new production found the Queen’s Gate fraught with problems, and this one was no different. Riley was being pulled in all directions as squabbles and questions erupted from the deluged box office out front to the prop room in the basement. Much to her delight, tonight’s performance had sold out, and even now there was a tremendous crowd outside clamoring for additional tickets.

She’d never seen such excitement surrounding an opening. It was as if the entire city of London wanted to see her production.

If only, her greedy heart wished, she could sell a ticket to all of them this very night. As it was, she’d sold tickets for every spare inch of the floor and added chairs for the patrons who’d begged to be allowed additional guests in their boxes.

Mason would be pleased with his portion of the receipts.

If she could get him to accept the money, she thought with a measure of chagrin. Then again, considering what Louisa had implied today, he didn’t need her money. He was probably escorting the ever-perfect and respectable
Miss Pindar somewhere highly exclusive this evening and far from the nefarious reaches of Covent Garden.

Riley shook off her pitiable thoughts. She still had to check with the lighting master, soothe the mutinous orchestra, and get into her costume and makeup.

“Riley, my love,” Aggie called out as she scurried past the men’s dressing room. “My ensemble is incomplete.” He strode out in the coat and breeches Jane Gunn had sewn for his first act role as the King, albeit missing the fur-trimmed robe, crown, and scepter they always kept handy for such parts. “Send that worthless Nanette to fetch my royal accoutrements.”

Riley groaned. All actors were responsible for retrieving their costumes from the wardrobe room and their accessories from the prop room. For some unknown reason, Aggie always found it difficult to find either room on opening night, demanding every sort of indulgence before he went on stage.

“Nanette is busy,” she told him. “You’ll have to do it yourself.”

Aggie’s look of horror told her only too well he was about to throw a majestic tantrum.

She sighed and made her way through the chaos of sets and props lining the back hall and awaiting their turn on stage. She went downstairs and along the hallway, when she saw the prop room door wedged open. The heavy door had a way of swinging shut and leaving the unhappy occupant trapped inside until someone else came along to free him.

’Twas probably the reason Aggie didn’t like the room—he’d spent a rather uncomfortable night down there last winter after he’d sneaked in to borrow a pair of prop pistols.

As she was about to call out to whomever was inside,
she heard a voice that sounded vaguely familiar.

“Say it again,” the woman entreated. “Tell me how much you love me, Roderick.”

Damn him
, Riley cursed.

She should never have hired the man—there was just something about him that didn’t play true, and now he was using his role as leading man to romance every female who came within his orbit.

First Louisa, and now some unsuspecting underling was getting her chance to worship him fifteen minutes before the curtain was scheduled to go up.

“Yes, I love you,” Roderick was saying. “With all my heart and all I have, I pledge you my troth.”

An earthy groan followed, with the sounds of kissing, and the rustle of clothing being displaced.

Riley yanked the door open the rest of the way, only to find a very familiar face glaring back at her.

“Louisa!” Riley said. She caught the girl by her arm and yanked her free of Roderick. Hauling her out of the prop room, she demanded, “What the devil are you doing?”

Louisa straightened, swiping at her tousled hair and flushed cheeks. “I am here to follow my heart. I want to act. To live my life with Roderick. And since I know my uncle will never give his blessing, we plan to elope.”

“Louisa!” Roderick groaned and shook his head. But to give him his due, he came out of their hiding spot and took his place beside his intended as if that was his right and due.

“Elope?” Riley repeated. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t marry him,” she said, pointing at Roderick.

“Now, see here—” he began.

“Oh, stow it!” Riley snapped. “If this wasn’t opening
night and your understudy wasn’t already too drunk to go on, I’d fire you this very minute.”

Roderick straightened up. His stance and demeanor reminded her of Mason when he was being his stuffiest. “Don’t bother,” he said, in a high-handed, overly
tonnish
voice. “I quit. All I ever wanted was this one chance to act on stage, and I’ll have that after tonight. But I won’t be alone out there.” He took Louisa’s hand. “This is my Aveline, or I won’t go on.”

Louisa? Play Aveline in front of the entire
ton
? Was the pair mad?

Apparently they were—for Riley realized Louisa was wearing Aveline’s peasant dress.

“Louisa, go upstairs and get out of that costume,” Riley ordered.

Louisa glanced up at Roderick, and then at Riley. She shook her head.

“I am sorry to do this, Madame,” Roderick said.

Before Riley could protest, Roderick caught her by the waist and carried her into the prop room, dumping her into a pile of leftover curtain fabric. Riley landed in a whoosh and a thud of old canvas. As she struggled to right herself, her arms and legs flailing about, Roderick and Louisa pushed the door shut.

“Will she be safe in there?” she heard Louisa ask.

“Yes,” Roderick told his paramour.

Riley gained her feet and flew across the room, grabbing at the door latch. She twisted and pulled, but it held firm against her. “Let me out,” she yelled, pounding on the sturdy oak door. “Louisa, unlatch this door immediately!”

Outside Riley could hear Roderick saying, “Oh, don’t look like that, my love. We’ll send someone to let her out once we are well on our way to Gretna Green.”

Then to Riley’s dismay, she heard their departing footsteps. “Louisa, Roderick! Don’t do this! Let me out!”

For a time she pounded on the door and screamed until her voice started to crack, but no one came to rescue her. Overhead, she heard the footsteps of the patrons coming in to take their seats. The orchestra first tuned their instruments and then began playing a selection of popular pieces to entertain the audience before the main theatrics began.

And they were about to begin without her.

She looked around for Aggie’s props, but found they weren’t there. They’d probably been in his dressing room the entire time and he’d found them the minute she’d come to fetch them for him.

Riley put her face in her hands and groaned. This was a disaster.

“I’m sorry, milord, but the curtain is up and the house is full—even with a ticket, I can’t let you through.”

Mason turned from the doorman in frustration. What if Stephen was inside? There was no telling what the man would do when he found out there was a warrant for his arrest.

Glancing about, Mason considered how he could get inside—then he remembered the side entrance he’d used the day Riley was attacked. Running around the edge of the building, he found that door guarded as well by a fellow just as unwilling to let him in as the man out front.

Discouraged, but nowhere close to giving up, he continued to circle the theatre until he came to a stop in front of a large heap of refuge. There, hidden behind the trash barrels was a small stairwell leading to the basement.

Mason leapt down the steps in a flash, pausing only for a moment to kick the door in.

As his eyes started to adjust to the poor lighting, he spied a staircase down at the end of the hall that he assumed led up to the stage area.

He was halfway down the hall when the sound of someone pounding on a door and calling out caught his attention.

Riley!

He rushed over to the door and pulled it open.

“Mason!” she said.

He rushed inside to wrap her in his arms, but instead of the warm greeting he expected, she cried “No!” and bounded around him, clawing at the door as it swung shut.

As the hinges stopped rattling, she let out a rather salty curse, one equal to any of Bea’s best vulgarities.

“You let the door close,” she said, standing before it, her head banging against the wood, her fists pounding on the panels.

“I take it, that’s a bad thing.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “It latches shut on the outside. We are locked in.”

Now Mason knew why he wasn’t getting his hero’s welcome.

Riley settled back down on her perch of canvas and old curtains, her feet swinging back and forth. At least Roderick and Louisa had left the candle lit or she and Mason would have truly been in the dark.

Overhead the audience laughed uproariously, then applauded with great cheer.

She looked up at the ceiling. “End of Act Two, your scene went over better than expected.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he said from his own spot across the narrow room. “Isn’t it rather odd that no one has noticed you missing?”

“Roderick and our new Aveline decided to stage a small revolution tonight. I’ve been upstaged by my understudy.”

“Ginny?”

“No, your niece—Louisa.”

Mason bounded to his feet. “Louisa! Why, that little—”

Riley waved aside his comments. “Don’t bother. I’ve already cursed her every way I can think of and even a few Bea probably doesn’t know.”

Mason crossed his arms over his chest. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t left, Louisa never would have gotten away with this.”

Riley’s temper flared. She clambered off the canvas and crossed the room to face him. She punctuated her words with her finger, prodding it into his chest. “My fault? I didn’t leave because I wanted to! I left because you’d decided to wed Miss Pindar!”

“What would make you think I’d choose her over you? I have no intention of marrying that chit.”

“You don’t?” She so wanted to believe him.

“Of course not. I made my choice the night of Everton’s masquerade. Why would I make love with you and marry another woman? There is only one woman I ever want to share my bed with and that’s you.”

Riley cocked her head. “But I saw the special license on your desk and Mrs. Pindar was holding Freddie’s vowels.”

Mason’s gaze rolled upwards. “That’s why you fled out of my study like you were on fire. Consider that license my last act of propriety.” He stepped closer to her. “I couldn’t understand why you gave in so easily. And then I thought perhaps you didn’t want to live a life of poverty.”

“And I would know what to do with riches?” she laughed.

He joined in. “Come to think of it, neither would I.”

Their laughter stilled, and when the silence seemed to fill the room, Mason folded her into his arms and kissed her.

“You aren’t going to marry Dahlia?” she asked, after several minutes.

Mason shuddered. “Never. I discovered I am not overly fond of shepherdesses or their sheep.”

Riley smiled, then laid her head on his chest. “What will you do about Freddie’s debts?”

“Don’t you worry about those. You should be more concerned about getting us out of here.”

Glancing at the door, she said, “Unfortunately, we are stuck here until the end of the play when the stagehands start clearing away the props.”

He waggled his brows at her and grinned. “Do you think we have time?”

She cuddled up into his arms. “Are you sure you aren’t going to marry Dahlia?”

“Positive.”

“Then I think we do,” she said.

Mason bent down and kissed her, his lips hungry and firm.

Riley answered back with her own blazing kiss. She’d spent a lot of time in the last few weeks remembering their night together and dreaming of having another chance to be with Mason.

Now that she did, she didn’t waste any time. She tugged off his jacket, pulling his shirt free next.

“In a hurry?” he asked.

“You recall those lines you made me cut out? We’d have more time if you’d let me keep Geoffroi’s speech.”

“Then we’d better not waste another minute.” Mason reached over and caught up a velvet cape that lay in a pile
of discarded costumes. Shaking it out, he laid it over the canvas pile, grinning at her from the side of their impromptu bed. She climbed into it, looking like a regal cat.

Just before he joined her, he spied a discarded crown, covered in paste jewels. Catching it up, he put it on his head. “You are now mine to command,” he said, repeating the King’s line from Act Three.

Riley laughed and said her part back. “Oh, command me, my lord.” She eased up the edge of her skirt, wiggling her bare leg at him in invitation.

Mason found himself fast becoming a great fan of the theatre. “My first edict is that you make a change of costume.” His hands roamed up the length of her bare legs until they reached her hips. He pulled her closer, and continued to undress her. “All my subjects shall go naked henceforth.”

“I don’t remember that line,” Riley teased in a stage whisper, opening his shirt and running her fingers over his chest.

“I’m rewriting the entire script,” he told her.

“I like it so far,” she purred, her hips writhing back and forth against his groin.

He pushed her gown all the way up over her head, leaving her clad in only her chemise. As his hands cupped her breasts and he went down to suckle the soft flesh, a breathy sigh escaped her lips.

Not to be the only actor in Mason’s new play, Riley pulled and unbuttoned his clothing, between fevered kisses and murmured words of endearment, until his jacket, shirt, and breeches landed in a scattered heap on the floor.

Enlivened by his mischievous spirit, Riley caught up a feather duster left on a box beside her. “Your scepter, sire,” she said.

Mason grinned, and used his faux royal accoutrement to tease her, along with stroking touches and long, fevered kisses, to ignite her flesh until she was on fire, panting and begging him to give her release.

Her needs, her breathless requests, left him ragged with his own desires, and Riley didn’t neglect them. Her hands trailed down his body, where she discovered he was hard and ready.