The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (20 page)

Did Drew know that La Solitaire was living at Portman Square? Stoddard doubted it and that thought did much to raise his spirits. How rich to be able to tell him that the wench had been right under his aristocratic nose. Despite the fact he had been meeting Maggie Mason at the inn, Stoddard was convinced that Drew had not been successful in bedding the actress. What sweet revenge to succeed with La Solitaire and flaunt her before the arrogant Lord Farrington.

His eyes kindled at the thought of possessing the beautiful actress. She would pay for rejecting his offer. He would have been gentle with her then, but now he would make her regret her insolence. Once he had her in his hands, he would see to it that no man would ever want her again.

Chapter Eleven

"Why on earth did I ever consent to accompany you, Fleur?" Blaine said as she eyed the gilt chairs set out in neat rows in front of the stage. "Surely Puff would have done as well."

"She has a ferocious cold and is forever wheezing or snuffling into an enormous handkerchief," Fleur said with the uncompromising honesty of a child. "Besides, I prefer your company. When things get dull, I can count on you to whisper some sharp comment that makes me giggle."

"Pretty words, you naughty puss, surely meant to get around me," she said, her throaty voice sharp with sarcasm. Blaine sighed at the fresh-cheeked cheerfulness of her sister. "Sometimes, Fleur, I do feel as old as Aunt Haydie."

"Piffle, Bl-uh, ma'am." Fleur's eyes fluttered in horror at the slip. "Sorry, Aunt Haydie."

"If you wouldn't look so conscious when you make such a mistake, no one would notice," Blaine hissed in aggravation. At the sight of the girl's crestfallen expression, she quickly softened her tone. "You are doing prodigious well, Fleur. You just do not happen to be a very good liar. I would suggest you not consider making your fortune as a government spy."

Fleur immediately giggled at the ridiculous idea and as the smile returned to the girl's face, Blaine relaxed slightly. It would not do to have her upset. It had been amazing so far that she hadn't blurted out the truth of their bold masquerade in the midst of Hyde Park.

"How is Cousin Lavinia?" Fleur asked.

For a moment Blaine's mind was a total blank and then she remembered to look concerned for the woman whose companion she was supposed to be. "I have heard nothing from the doctor so I can only assume that my presence is still not required."

"I think it's the outside of enough that I still have not met our father's cousin."

"Her health has never been good, dear. Having a flighty chit fluttering through her rooms would give her a fit of the vapors at the best of times. Now of course, she is far too unwell." Blaine winced at the continuous stream of lies she was forced to tell in order to allay her sister's curiosity.

"Despite your words to the contrary, I can tell you are fond of Cousin Lavinia. Since she became so ill, you have looked quite blue-deviled and several times I have seen a redness about your eyes that indicates your distress. I know you are far more attached to her than you let on. It is only natural since you have been with the woman for six years now." Fleur patted her hand as if to console her for her imagined unhappiness.

Guilt at her deception, pricked Blaine's conscience and she was delighted when Robbie Farrington arrived to lure Fleur away to a quieter spot. She fanned herself briskly after the two young people left and closed her eyes as if she were dozing but her mind returned to the night at the inn.

Immediately her mind whirled with her latest round of deception. After her escape from the inn, Blaine had realized she did not have the strength to see Drew immediately. She knew he would return to the theatre to pursue her. Although she hated to lie to John Tibbles, she sent him a note saying that she was ill and would not be returning to the theatre for several days. In order to explain her presence in the house at Portman Square, she had told Fleur that the fictitious Cousin Lavinia had taken a turn for the worse and was now under a doctor's care, relieving Blaine of her duties until her health returned.

She was surprised that Fleur had noticed her distress. When they first arrived in London, the girl had been so caught up in her own concerns that she had little awareness of the feelings of those around her. Lately, Blaine had seen signs that indicated her sister was taking a more thoughtful turn. She seemed less light-hearted and flighty, and her eyes had a more contemplative look. Perhaps the irresponsible girl finally was changing into a sensitive young lady.

Another sign to be applauded was the fact that the girl was treating Robbie with more favor. After her last talk with her sister, Blaine had noticed a softening in Fleur's attitude toward him. It still was not a loverlike relationship but at least there was some reason to hope. She opened her eyes, smiling contentedly as her sister and Robbie returned.

"We've brought you some punch, Aunt Haydie," Fleur said as she offered Blaine a delicate cut-glass cup. "Robbie said it would be just the thing."

"Much you know, young man," Blaine muttered as she raised the cup to her lips and sipped the bland liquid. "Tastes like bathwater."

"Aunt Haydie!" Fleur gasped, looking around in embarrassment that the comment might have been overheard. In annoyance, she nudged Robbie who had gone off into smothered fits. "Don't you encourage her, Robert Farrington. She'll only become more outrageous."

"Don't glower so, girl," Blaine said archly. "It will put permanent wrinkles in your skin. Old ladies are permitted a certain latitude in their speech. It's to compensate them for the infirmities brought on by advanced age."

"Surely you're bamming us, Lady Yates," Robbie said, struggling to compose himself. "You have always struck me as a particularly youthful woman. You can give your contemporaries at least twenty years."

Blaine flashed a look of warning as Fleur bit her lip in dismay and smiled sweetly up at the charming young man. "A fine speech, Robbie. You show yourself to be truly a gentleman. And as your reward for such gallantry, I will permit you to retrieve another cup of this loathsome punch. I must fortify myself for the coming musical recital. If it follows Lady Amberley's usual pattern, we are destined to be most suitably bored."

With another hearty laugh, Robbie good naturedly took her cup and moved off through the crowd. Blaine's eyes flickered past Fleur's shoulder and she braced herself as she saw Talbott Stoddard approaching. She could not hold back a shudder of distaste as the pale blue eyes targeted her sister. There had been rumors circulating for years and she could credit many of them as she noted the coldness of his glance. The man was definitely dangerous. For a moment she wanted to pull Fleur to her side and lash out at Stoddard with her walking stick. She shrugged away such nonsense but her fingers instinctively tightened on the cane.

"Greetings, Lady Yates," Stoddard said, bowing before her.

"Lord Stoddard." She nodded her head in brief acknowledgement.

"You are looking exceptionally well. It would seem that the hectic pace of London is a restorative to one of your age."

Blaine narrowed her eyes at his words, longing to give the man a firm setdown. Before she could open her mouth, he had turned to greet Fleur.

"Are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Meriweather?" Stoddard said as the girl rose from her curtsy.

"Ever so much, milord," Fleur said blushing at his pointed attention.

The girl did look well, if one's taste ran to such simple innocence, he thought. His eyes surveyed the youthful body beneath the white muslin dress. Give her a few years and he might reconsider but he suspected she was not worth the effort. For now it was information he was after and he would stay his hand at the actual seduction of the chit. He would flatter her with attention and treat her with the courtesy of an older brother.

"With your aunt's kind permission, perhaps you would care to take a turn around the room. I would be more than pleased to introduce you to some of the people with whom you may not already be acquainted." The gaze that he bent on her was one of bright interest and he was amused to note her relief at his lack of amorous intent.

"I would like that very much, Lord Stoddard," Fleur answered breathlessly. "Aunt Haydie?"

"Watch your manners," Blaine said in warning and waved her hand in dismissal.

Her eyes followed the progress of the blond nobleman and her sister as they moved around the room. She had noted the passionless scrutiny of the man. There was something havey-cavey going on for Stoddard to take an interest in the girl that was not physical. A vague uneasiness invaded her and she jumped as Robbie returned with the punch.

"Sorry, Lady Yates," he apologized. His mouth tightened as he followed the direction of her gaze. "Damn and blast!" he muttered under his breath, totally unconscious of his words until he noticed the start of surprise from his companion. "My apologies again, madam."

"No need, Robbie," Blaine said. "The words were on the tip of my tongue already."

"I cannot like the fact that Fleur spends any time with Stoddard. She is much too innocent to recognize the kind of man he is." He shook his head in frustration but as he followed the couple with his eyes, a frown of puzzlement rode between his brows. "That's strange. I have watched Stoddard over the years and he appears to be treating Fleur with the attention of an older brother. Perhaps, for once in his life, he is being kind. A token gesture for the hospitality he received in Wiltshire."

"And pigs may fly," was Blaine's retort. Startled by her words, Robbie made as if to go after the pair, but she caught him before he could move away. "She is safe enough in this squeeze."

"I do love her, you know," Robbie said, pulling awkwardly at the lobe of his ear.

"You have been the soul of patience, sir. It has been difficult for you, I know. Fleur is a good girl at heart which is the only thing that has stayed my hand. I can tell you though, I have been strongly tempted to violence by her flighty behavior." She smiled to take the edge of anger from her words. "I have spoiled her and overprotected her and this is the result."

"It is easy to spoil her, Lady Yates," he admitted. "I find myself torn between wanting her to enjoy herself in London and wanting to shut her away from the eyes of others. Drew says it is like that when you are in love. He says she has good values and will eventually tire of this social scene."

"There are times your brother amazes me with his insight," Blaine said.

"He has his moments," Robbie agreed. "He is not at his best today and I am sorry for the brusqueness of his greeting."

Blaine had been so happy to see Drew that she had not minded the black look he had worn when he and Robbie arrived to escort them. She had not seen him since the night at the inn and she chastised herself for the pounding of her heart at the very sight of him.

"No need for apologies, Robbie. Your brother is probably annoyed that he is stuck in the company of a flighty chit, a lovesick swain and a doddering old lady," Blaine said. "Run along and fetch Fleur. I do believe the festivities are about to begin."

Drew sat on the small gilt chair at the side of the room, his arms folded across his chest. Several people approached him but one look at the grim set of his features sent them scurrying away to seek more congenial company. He did not want to be present in the Amberley's ballroom and the fact he had promised to accompany Robbie, Fleur and Lady Yates was the only reason for his attendance. He had kept to his word but he saw no need to pretend he was enjoying himself.

Felicia Amberley was the sort of hostess he most detested. She was decidedly long in the tooth and yet she persisted in thinking herself a young deb. She wore clothes at least twenty years too young and moved with the fluttery gestures of a schoolgirl. There was something sad about the large woman with the well-lined face and droopy-lidded, mournful eyes. Drew might have been able to abide an evening of boredom but to make matters worse Felicia was convinced that she was a patron of the arts and delighted in holding recitals for her latest protégés, all of whom were male with the oily manners of cicisbei.

Beneath his half-lowered lids, Drew watched as Felicia, dressed as usual in maidenly pink, introduced Gaylord Ledger, a young man with deep-set, brown eyes which were trained on his patroness in soulful admiration. She simpered as he kissed her hand, while flapping a long scrap of pink chiffon with the other. Drew had to admit that the woman's gown was a triumph of the dressmaker's art. Made up of thick swatches of chiffon which billowed and writhed at every movement of her large body, reminding him strongly of some sort of window hanging gone berserk. As the young man began to sing of the agonies of lost love, Drew closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall behind his chair.

Immediately La Solitaire's face filled his vision. The apparition was so real that he jerked his eyes open, in the hope that she was not merely a figment of his imagination. Disappointed, he returned to his daydream.

For the past few days he had been consumed by thoughts of La Solitaire. Returning to the theatre the night after their meeting at the inn, he had been informed that Maggie Mason was ill and had taken leave to recover her health.

He was convinced that her absence was only an extreme measure to avoid him. When she had run out of the room at the Rose and Trellis, he had forced himself not to pursue her. She had told him she would send him a note and he would have to trust that she would. After three days, he suspected she had merely used the excuse to make her escape.

He winced when he remembered the evening at the Rose and Trellis. From the moment Miss Mason entered the shabby room, Drew knew he had made a mistake. It was apparent that she had come to the inn for no other reason than to have dinner. He had seen the disillusionment in her eyes as she looked around the room and, for the first time in his life, he cringed in shame. At that moment he had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms to apologize. When he did, the trusting eyes she raised to his face, sent a jolt of pain through his very vitals. There was something in her face and in the defensive way she held her body that told him she was an innocent. Her beauty had a radiance that took his breath away and in a sudden flash of intelligence he recognized the character of the woman all of London called La Solitaire.