Once Upon a Masquerade (17 page)

Christopher groaned as he took in Spence’s long flowing robes and the leather quiver of arrows strapped to his back. At Rebecca’s questioning look, he explained flatly, “Meet Eros, the god of love.”

An arrow with a heart-shaped tip in hand, Spence strung his crimson bow, ready to shoot as needed. With a wink, he offered, “Let me know if you have need for my services, dear lady.”

Christopher scowled as Rebecca’s mood lifted before his very eyes. “Forgive me, oh great Eros, but wasn’t Cupid a wee child?” she asked.

“Who would be so foolish as to leave the matter of love and attraction to a mere child? Why, the prick of one of my arrows is so powerful it can produce uncontrollable desire or insurmountable indifference in the first person the wounded sees. Nay, this is a position that can only be filled by a man fully grown.”

Rebecca giggled at Spence’s nonsense as if he were the most amusing man she’d ever encountered. Was she trying to annoy him? Knowing her, it was probable.

“We’re all to be gods for a day,” Christopher interrupted. “It slipped my mind. Otherwise I would have forewarned you.”

“Pshaw. Don’t listen to him,” Spence insisted. “I’ve arranged to have a special gown made for you, Miss Bailey. You’ll be the great Artemis.”

“Artemis?” Rebecca questioned.

“Yes, the courageous, alluring huntswoman. I would have insisted on the goddess of love and beauty, but I’m afraid there are too many of those already. It seems everyone must be Aphrodite. What’s a proper host to do?”

Her glittering eyes stared into Christopher’s. “That suits me just fine. I’d rather be a huntswoman than the goddess of love at the moment anyway.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear it,” Spence muttered as he ushered her toward the door. “A seamstress will be attending you in your room any time now. So, if you would be so kind.”

Rebecca gave Christopher another hard look before she turned for the door. Although Spence raised a hand for Christopher to stay, he ignored the gesture and raced after her. He snagged her wrist, stopping her with a tug. “We’re not finished with our discussion here.”

“I think we are.” She jerked her arm.

He held firm. “These men are obviously looking for you. You were attacked in New York and possibly again here in the country.”

She frowned, no doubt annoyed by his poor choice of phrasing regarding last night.

Hoping to dissuade her from doing anything foolish, he pressed, “They may already know where you’re staying. If you go back now, you may lead them right to your father.”

Her gaze softened as if she mulled over what he’d said. Not good enough. “Be warned. I’ll have my driver watching to make sure you don’t leave without me.” Everything said that needed saying, he released her. Casting him a glare, she turned away without a word and climbed the staircase leading up to her bedroom, her hips swaying with each step. At the top, she disappeared down the hall, and he turned back to Spence, who watched him, his face set in a rare pensive expression.

Spence crossed the room and closed the heavy door. He reached into the V-shaped collar of his robe and pulled out an envelope. “This came for you. It’s marked urgent.”

Christopher opened the letter and skimmed its contents, amazed at how quickly Bryce’s men worked.

“Well, is our Rebecca the feared murderess?” Spence’s sarcastic tone made light of Christopher’s earlier suspicions.

“No. In fact, that seems even less likely. A similar murder occurred in Boston several months ago. There’s a chance the two cases are linked.”

“I thought you said Miss Bailey claimed she was from Boston. Wouldn’t that be a strike against her?”

“It would if I believed her. For someone who lived there, she knows nothing about the city and its culture. I have my doubts she’s even visited.”

“So where is the link?”

“The victim, Dr. Thomas Bellmont, died under mysterious circumstances, stabbed in his bed it seems. Like Nathan, his accounts had been drained, and from the clues at the scene, it’s suspected his killer might have been a woman, although no one has any idea who she might be.”

He scanned the note again. “Word on the docks is that three men are searching high and low for Richard and Rebecca Bailey. Bryce warns to keep her away from the city to avoid trouble.”

“Trouble seems to have followed you here,” Spence reminded him.

“So it seems. Did your staff see anything?”

“Afraid not. I’ve checked with everyone who was awake at that time and found nothing.” Spence paused briefly, before adding, “The only disturbance last night was the late arrival of Victoria Endicott and her parents.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. She convinced them to return from Chicago early. Poor thing was bored.”

“Wonderful.” Rebecca would be even more determined to leave once Miss Endicott made her grand appearance. “Why would you invite that bit of fluff?”

Spence shrugged. “She’s a little spitfire. She adds spice to most any occasion.”

“She annoys me,” Christopher growled.

A wide grin spread across Spence’s lips. “
And
she annoys you, which is very entertaining.” Taking a seat, Spence sobered. “I should also mention that Patrick Gebhardt is in attendance.”

“Nathan’s brother? I haven’t seen him in years.” Christopher had never liked the man. He’d been Nathan’s opposite, always foul-tempered and unpredictable.

“The very same. He came to visit his parents for the funeral and never left. It dawned on me that if he should suspect Miss Bailey of involvement in Nathan’s death…”

“He could want revenge,” Christopher finished for him. Nathan’s family had never given up on the case. While Christopher didn’t believe Bryce had given names, he knew the Chief had filled them in on what information they had so far. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” Walking toward the door, he folded the letter and stashed it in his pocket. “Thank you for inviting the whole Gebhardt clan. Seeing Adele again has brought back some fine memories.”

“What should I have done? My father and hers were practically brothers.” Spence sighed. “You can’t avoid her forever, my friend.”

Christopher strode to the door. He could do without Spence’s sage advice.

“I’ve added watches for tonight unless, of course, you plan to take it upon yourself once again to personally ensure Rebecca’s safety,” Spence said, his voice cool and distant.

He didn’t have to ask what Spence referred to. “How did you find out?”

“I have my sources.”

“Does anyone else know?” Although she only pretended to be a member of the
bon ton
, the thought of gossips snickering behind her back repulsed him.

“No, and no one else will.” Spence met him at the door, his gaze angry, intense. “Did anything happen?”

Christopher’s hand clutched the door knob. “That’s none of your concern.”

Spence pressed a hand to the door, holding it shut. “As much as you’d like to deny it, from what I’ve seen she’s a good girl, Chris. I’d hate to see her hurt.”

“You think that’s all I’m capable of?”

“No, I think you’ve already decided there can be nothing between the two of you. And even if someday you realize how wrong you were about her, nothing will make you change your mind.”

Now he was the stubborn bastard using a poor innocent girl for his own means? What the hell did Spence know about his relationship with Rebecca?

Christopher knocked Spence’s hand from the door. “Stay out of my business. Rebecca is my concern, not yours.”

Chapter Fifteen

REBECCA MARCHED INTO HER room, shut the door behind her, and flopped down onto the bed. “He can’t keep me here.” Or could he?

Mary stirred on the cot. “Hmm?” she asked, her voice groggy.

“I’m ready to go home.” Her heart turned into a dead weight in her chest, pushing her further into the mattress. She’d been a fool. When she’d awakened in Christopher’s arms she’d thought…she’d thought he’d finally come around.

“What?” The cot squeaked, and Mary propped herself up on one elbow.

Dear God. Rebecca scooted to the end of the bed for a closer look. “Your eye. What happened?”

Mary patted the purple skin around her left eye with her fingertips and winced, then rose and stepped to the vanity mirror.

Rebecca followed. “Did Philip Westerly do this to you?”

Sadness seeped into Mary’s features.

“Oh, Mary.” She brushed a consoling hand down Mary’s arm.

Heaving a sigh, Mary shook her head. “I’m fine. Now what’s this about going home?”

“You’re not fine—”

Mary’s warning look stopped her from saying more. All right. If that’s the way she wanted it. “I was saying that I’d like to go home, but Mr. Black is seeing to it that I can’t, with or without him.”

Mary’s brow wrinkled. “You’d leave without your Mr. Black?”

Rebecca’s gaze dropped to the floor, and her heart squeezed tighter. She took a deep breath. She would stay strong. “Yes, and he’s hardly
my
Mr. Black.”

“But I thought… When I came back this morning you were gone. I assumed you were with him.”

A dry lump formed in Rebecca’s throat. “I was. That’s why I have to leave.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He doesn’t love me.” Rebecca’s voice caught. She pushed past it. “He’ll never love me.”

“You weren’t looking for love. You needed money.”

“It’s not enough. I don’t think it was ever enough, not from him,” she whispered, her will to stay strong cracking. Although she’d doubted her love for him at first, she knew now without a doubt, she loved him with her whole heart and soul.

“But money is… My God, I forgot.” Excitement lit Mary’s face as she raced to the coat she’d worn the night before and dug into its pocket. “This should cheer you up.” She hurried back and pressed a wad of paper into Rebecca’s hand. “Look. One hundred dollars. Now you have enough to pay the debt.”

Dread raked its icy tendrils up Rebecca’s spine as she stared down at the crinkled bills. “Where did you get this?”

The smile on Mary’s face faded. “I borrowed it.”

“From Mr. Westerly?”

Mary’s silence said all she needed to know.

“Does Mr. Westerly realize the loan is for me?”

“He does,” Mary admitted. “Take it anyway. He’s a gambler. Last night, he won big.”

She tried to hand the notes back. “You shouldn’t have borrowed it from him.”

“Why not? What does it matter where the money comes from? After all I went through, don’t tell me you’re not going to use it.”

Someone rapped on the door, and Mary hurried to answer it, giving her no choice but to stow away the money, for now, so she stuffed it into her reticule. Mary admitted the dressmaker, and Rebecca’s transformation into Artemis, the huntswoman, commenced.

The Greek god costume fittings seemed to last for hours, which was ironic considering the resulting
gown
she wore. The white robe was akin to a sheet, admittedly a high quality sheet, embroidered with gold thread on all edges. A single gold cord held the cloth closed, preserving her modesty. It crossed between her breasts and encircled her waist before its ends dangled to the floor.

To make matters worse, neither she nor the dressmaker had sandals. When she suggested a non-matching pair of slippers, the older woman wouldn’t hear of it. How could she dare think of detracting from such a magnificent creation? The woman walked her out, but once beyond her sight Rebecca hid the bow and arrows she’d been given behind a potted plant at the end of the hall. They may have made her persona more realistic but were highly cumbersome.

At last she stood, barefoot and almost naked, at the top of the staircase to the main salon. Scanning the room below, she hoped to catch sight of Christopher. She would try talking sense into him again. They needed to return to the city. While he may not have a plan to save her father, she did.

She descended the steps. Mr. Westerly stood off to one side leaning against a wall. Along with his robes, he wore the helmet and armor of a soldier. When his brooding gaze swept in her direction, Rebecca hurried across the salon, praying he wouldn’t follow—she didn’t want to talk with him right now. She couldn’t bring herself to thank him for the money he’d loaned her. His mistreatment of Mary was inexcusable.

Rebecca followed white-robed guests as they made their way down a long hallway. The path led to a large solarium filled with a wide array of plant life. The air was pleasantly humid and warm, and the musty smell of soil and leaves teased her nose. Olive trees stretched up toward the etched glass ceiling as golden rays of sunshine streamed in through the windows, softened by the intricate carvings in the panes. Plush recliners lay hidden within a dense assortment of exotic plants, from pineapples to fig trees, and short marble pillars held busts of ancient Greek leaders. Although a large spread of food and drink covered a long table near the entrance, a swarm of servants bearing bowls of fruit and goblets of wine hurried about, eager to please as a harpist strummed in the corner. Apparently she’d found Olympus, home of the gods.

Everyone looked pretty much the same—ridiculous. Their expensive white robes bared pasty skin that Rebecca was certain had never felt the sun’s rays before. Worse, more than a few rounded paunches sagged over elaborate braided belts. She peered down at her own peculiar garment and laughed to herself. She looked no better.

Working her way through the solarium, she spotted Mr. Henley chatting with an older gentleman. She walked toward him, hoping he’d know where she could find Christopher. Halfway to his side, she heard a familiar shrill voice that froze her feet to the floor.

With a glance, she confirmed her worst fear. Victoria Endicott stood not more than ten feet away, addressing an avid audience about the horrendous journey she’d just returned from. The urgency of finding Christopher escalated one hundred-fold. She needed to leave this place immediately. Striding to Mr. Henley’s side, she plastered a bright smile on her face. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Anything for you, oh great Artemis.” Excusing himself, he guided her a short distance away to speak privately.

“Have you seen Mr. Black? I need to speak with him.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“That’s kind of you, but I…” Rebecca’s voice faded as Miss Endicott’s piercing whine intruded.

“Mr. Henley, I was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of love.”

Rebecca closed her eyes as Miss Endicott drew near, wondering if she should flee before the woman had a chance to recognize her. Rebecca’s eyes popped open when Mr. Henley brushed past her to meet Miss Endicott before she could reach them. “And so you are, my dear, and looking lovely as always.”

As Miss Endicott continued her tirade, demanding all others dressed as Aphrodite be asked to change, Rebecca attempted to sneak away, keeping her back to the pair as she made her way past. At first it appeared she might actually slip by until a tall form came out of nowhere to block her path.

Mr. Westerly couldn’t have timed it better had he tried. “Miss Bailey, we need to talk.”

She peeked over her shoulder. Miss Endicott had taken no notice of her, thank goodness. “About what? Your undying love?” The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back. He had loaned her a respectable sum after all.

“Not this time. I’m afraid I had a bit too much to drink last night and said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“No harm done,” she reassured him, anxious to be on her way. She should thank him for his money, but couldn’t force the words to her mouth.

Mr. Westerly blocked her path once more. “Had I known you and Christopher Black were engaged, I never would have approached you,” he beseeched a bit louder than what she would have liked.

When she glanced back again, Miss Endicott’s glare bored into her. “Did I hear correctly?” she asked, her pitch even more grating than usual. “Christopher Black has a fiancée?”

Rebecca cringed.

As if embarrassed at being overheard, Mr. Westerly limped away, leaving Rebecca alone to face her fate. With no small amount of dread, she turned about, ready for whatever was to come, when Mr. Henley chimed in, “Miss Endicott, may I introduce a friend of mine, Rebecca Bailey? Miss Bailey, this is Victoria Endicott.”

Rebecca held her breath.

Miss Endicott’s gaze swept over her from head to toe, her eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”

“Not that I recall.” Rebecca’s legs trembled so badly, she thought she might sink to the floor. Yet, somehow she’d managed to sound calm.

“I’m curious,” Miss Endicott said, her voice laced with annoyance. “How did you ensnare the most stubborn bachelor in New York? Do tell.”

If only she knew the truth. “I hardly know myself.” How was it possible Miss Endicott hadn’t recognized her? She’d worked for the Endicotts for the last five years. Incredible.

“So modest,” Mr. Henley interjected with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “I’ve heard tell Christopher dropped to his knees and begged for your hand.”

Rebecca couldn’t imagine such a thing.

Miss Endicott gasped, then tried to cover her mistake. “How nice for you,” she gritted out before gliding away toward her gaggle of cronies, but not before Rebecca caught her menacing glare.

“You shouldn’t have goaded her,” Rebecca said with a relieved exhale.

“I’m only having a little fun. She’ll survive.”

Yes, Miss Endicott would survive. If only she could say the same. Although Miss Endicott may not have recognized her as a maid, she would surely know Christopher’s fiancée when she saw her again. No matter what happened from this point forward, she would never work for the Endicotts again.

There was no going back now.

…

With the sun setting and torches lighting her way, Rebecca searched the shadows in the garden of the gods for Christopher. Blast that man. She’d been looking for him for hours. Was he deliberately hiding from her? So much for wanting her within his sight as much as possible.

Rebecca rounded the tall shrubbery on the far side of the crowded room and stopped dead in her tracks. Christopher stood in a clearing some distance away. He wore white like everyone else, but rather than looking foolish, he appeared very much the god. His robe tied at one muscular shoulder with a round gold clasp. From there it ran across his torso, baring part of his lean chest and both strong arms. The material passed through a wide leather belt before ending at mid-knee, displaying two solid legs encased in sturdy sandals that laced up his shins. His hand grasped a forked staff.

She’d never studied Greek mythology. Even so, she knew the great Poseidon, god of the sea, when she saw him. She wondered for an instant if he too wore nothing beneath his robes, and felt heat rise up her body.

It took a full minute before a greater shock registered in her dazed mind. Miss Endicott stood beside him, her golden girdle shining in the meager light, identifying her as the love goddess. Rebecca’s insides lurched. A deep frown marred Christopher’s handsome face. Had Miss Endicott realized who she was? This very moment, he could be learning that she was a liar, a fake.

Rebecca tried to calm her nerves. Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. In all likelihood, Christopher wasn’t fond of Miss Endicott. Who would be? He could be merely wishing her away. Regardless, she couldn’t chance meeting Miss Endicott again. Turning back to look for a discreet spot to sit until one of them moved on, she caught sight of Mr. Westerly approaching.

“Miss Bailey, I’m so glad I caught up with you. I wanted to apologize again.”

She didn’t understand why another apology was necessary. Of course, he might be waiting for her to show some appreciation. “That’s very kind of you. And I would be much remiss if I didn’t thank you for your generous loan.”

“My pleasure.”

With a forced smile, she stepped past him, eager to be away, when he added, “I’m sorry, Miss Bailey. I mentioned to Miss Endicott how gracious she’d been to allow you to stay at their home while they were away, and she reacted most foully.”

A moan lodged in Rebecca’s throat. This was the beginning of the end. It couldn’t be long before Miss Endicott would know the rest and relay everything to anyone who would listen, especially to Christopher. She needed to leave now more than ever and get Mary back to the Endicotts before she or anyone else in the household could be implicated.

Mr. Henley hurried over to them. “Miss Bailey, my dearest, may I have a word?”

“Certainly.”

He led her through the throng of partygoers to a quiet corner. Rebecca waited expectantly for what had been so urgent, and heard instead, “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” Taking a sip from the gold goblet he held, he no longer appeared the least anxious.

Now what was he up to? “Is that why you brought me over here, to ask if I’m having a good time?”

He studied the raised etching on his cup. “Typically lovers’ quarrels amuse me and add an interesting diversion to most any party. But seeing as we are friends, I thought this time I would intervene.”

Now he really wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?” Did he believe she and Mr. Westerly were lovers?

He looked at her, a bit surprised. “You didn’t notice the way Chris stared your way with murder in his eyes?”

Rebecca cringed. Christopher knew—probably not everything, but enough to become steaming mad.

“If I were you I would stay clear of Philip Westerly for a while,” Mr. Henley suggested, still acting as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

Mr. Westerly?

Mr. Henley took a sip of his drink. “If you’re trying to make Chris jealous, rest assured Victoria Endicott has been pursuing him for some time. He isn’t interested.”