The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (22 page)

Robbie smothered his laughter and continued leading Fleur and her aunt around the room. "Look to your left, ladies. If I'm not mistaken that figure in the alcove is Poseidon. I recognize the trident, although the costume has a faintly Roman air."

Fleur blushed at the lifelike statue, but couldn't prevent herself from taking a thorough peek. "Oh my," she uttered in dismay at the nakedness of the figure.

"One wonders where the sculptor found his models." Blaine cocked her head on the side, eyeing the statue with some amusement. "Demmed figure is malformed, Robbie, if you catch my drift. Although I am far too much of a lady to mention it, I seriously doubt any human has such a bulging of chest muscles. Besides, I thought Poseidon was supposed to be an old man."

"Old but apparently quite virile," Robbie declared. Aware of Fleur's interest in the bodily development of the figure, he quickly moved them around to the next alcove.

"Now, children, this must surely be the masterpiece," Blaine announced coming to a stop before the enormous tableau. "If I were to venture a guess, I would say Hera, Goddess of Marriage. For once, the dimensions are approximately right, although she appears to be a dash wide in the hips. I don't think this sculpture will do much to encourage viewers to wed. The lady looks none too pleased. Perhaps she is slightly apprehensive seated on the back of the cow."

"You'll have to admit, Lady Yates, that the peacock is a charming touch," Robbie whispered close to Blaine's ear. "See how our talented sculptor has caught the wide spread of the tail. Proportions are a bit off. Looks rather more like a partridge than that noblest of birds but then I am not much of a judge of this sort of thing."

Both Blaine and Fleur's eyes had begun to tear with suppressed laughter so that Robbie hurried them through the room to the buffet. Giggling madly, they filled their plates, and despite the heat in the room enjoyed themselves immensely. When the dancing began, Blaine moved to the section reserved for the dowagers and was thoroughly entertained by the passing parade.

Her eyes found Fleur and she watched her sister, her heart swelling in pride. The girl had done exceptionally well. Not only had she handled the newness of her social debut but she had had to contend with the worry that Blaine might at some time be unmasked. Fleur was not much of a dissembler but had made only a few mistakes. Perhaps the fantasy of Aunt Haydie was easier for her to deal with if she pretended it were true. Blaine had been amused at how often, even when they were alone, Fleur leaped to her feet to help her aged aunt to get out of a chair or to cross the room.

Robbie had seemed happier in the last few days so perhaps he was beginning to make some headway with Fleur. In the beginning of the London visit, her sister had been almost frenzied in her efforts to embrace every entertainment and to meet every available male. Now it seemed she was content to go about with a few close friends, a crowd that pleased Blaine for it was not the fast set.

"Have you seen the Pallas Athena?" a voice whispered in her ear.

Drew's sudden appearance sent Blaine's heart racing and she pressed her fingers to her chest in an instinctive gesture. Seeing the frown of concern on Drew's face, she immediately forced herself to relax and smile archly.

"Is it worth my getting up, young man?" she barked, safe in the role of Aunt Haydie.

"All I can tell you is that her suit of armor is most impressive. The sword is covered with jewels, however, it is my considered opinion they are paste." Drew held out his hand to assist her to her feet.

"If she's in the same vein as the rest of these monstrosities, I presume she has muscular limbs the size of tree trunks." Blaine placed her mittened hand in his, unable to hold back a slight tremor at the contact with his warm flesh.

"Not only tree trunks, my dear madam, but very old trees."

Drew smiled when the old lady snorted, but his face immediately sobered at how shaky she seemed. Perhaps he should have let her remain seated. Although he had seen little sign of it until now, he had been told her health was not good. He had seen how quickly she had placed her hands over her heart and he worried that the London pace was too much for her. Shortening his stride, he led her slowly around the rooms to the doors that led out into the garden hoping the fresh air would act as a restorative. Spring had arrived at last and the evening was warm, with little risk to the old girl's health.

"The earl may have little taste in ballrooms but at least he's a competent gardener." Lady Yates sniffed appreciatively of the lightly perfumed air.

"I will take you for a stroll among the plantings, if you feel you will not be compromised in the eyes of society," Drew said, leading her down the shallow marble steps.

"It's your reputation that will be in shreds, Farrington. If you're seen tramping through the brush with an antique on your arm, word will get about that you are dotty in the head," she retorted.

They meandered along the paths, leaning down occasionally to sniff a particularly pungent specimen. For the most part, their conversation was general, covering the news of the campaign against Napoleon and the latest troubles in Parliament among other topics. Finally Drew became concerned at the length of their walk and found a stone bench which he dusted off for Lady Yates.

"I had no intention of leading a pilgrimage, ma'am," he apologized.

"Fustian! I am not so infirm that I cannot enjoy myself," she answered, her throaty voice sounding strong to his ears.

Drew wondered how to broach the subject of Blaine to Lady Yates. He realized that the old lady would be shocked that he had somehow ferreted out the secret of her niece. Concerned for her health, he didn't know if she was up to such a jolt to her constitution. Perhaps he ought to wait for a few days until he could ascertain for himself that his news would not send her into a fit of the vapors.

The thought of putting off his discussion depressed him thoroughly. He was impatient to see Blaine again and eager to push forward his suit. He was sure that she could not be comfortable with Fleur and Lady Yates in London where, if her identity were discovered, they would be subjected to great humiliation. If he could spare Blaine even a day of worrying, it was worth the risk of upsetting Lady Yates.

"Might I bring you something to drink?" he suggested, thinking a restorative might be in order shortly.

"It would seem, Lord Farrington, that you have done more than enough to entertain me. You should be inside doing the pretty."

"I can truly say, madam, there is no one in the ballroom I would rather be with," Drew said with sincerity. "You know I enjoy your company."

Blaine was silent for a moment, then nudged him mischievously with her walking stick. "I'd hate to put you to such trouble, but a drink sounds most tempting." As Drew started back toward the ballroom, she called after him. "None of that namby-pamby punch, Farrington. Champagne would be preferred."

As his footsteps faded on the flagstones, Blaine sagged wearily against the back of the bench.

From the moment Drew had appeared at her side she had been torn between joy and sadness. She should never have accepted his invitation to walk about. It was painful to have him so close and have to treat him impersonally. She knew that soon she would only see him across the footlights if he continued to come to the Green Mews. As La Solitaire, she would never agree to see him again. She was far too weak to risk such a thing. He would quickly lose interest in the actress who rejected all communication. Eventually he would stop coming to the theatre.

She had told Tate that she asked for only one magical evening and then she would return to her life as Maggie Mason without grumbling. Now she realized the folly of such a statement. Perhaps she wouldn't grumble but her life would never be the same. Her heart had been given for all time and the thought of the loneliness of the rest of her years was enough to make her cry out in pain.

Since the night in the inn with Drew, Blaine had known she must plan to return her life to some order. The romance between Robbie and Fleur seemed to be progressing quite well. If the boy declared himself, she felt confident that her sister would accept. Blaine would push for a brief engagement and at the wedding she would give her final performance as Aunt Haydie. After that, Lady Yates would leave, ostensibly for a visit to the north of England, never to return. Robbie could be trusted to care for Fleur and to look after Val.

When she left Weathers to become an actress, Blaine knew that her reputation would be forfeit but it had meant little at the time. Since Fleur had come to London, she sensed that the girl would be ashamed if the truth of her identity were known and this brought home to Blaine a harsh reality. She could not stand the thought that her actions would cause her sister any embarrassment.

Val would be affected by any revelation that Blaine was La Solitaire. He was only eleven now but eventually he would be a young man going about in society and if someone slandered his sister, he would be forced to defend her. Most insults were defended on the dueling field and Blaine would never forgive herself if he were wounded or killed. Only her disappearance from Fleur and Val's lives, would protect them from possible harm. If she loved her family, Blaine knew she must cut herself off from them.

The thought of leaving her family forever was almost more than Blaine could bear. It was enough that she had given up Drew but now she would have nothing. She raised her face to the night sky, her eyes blind to the beauty of the silvered moon. How she wished that she were a young girl in her first season, waiting in the garden for the gentleman of her dreams. She was dreaming and wishing never made dreams come true. Blinking her eyes to hold back tears, she swallowed painfully over the lump in her throat.

Drew stood at the edge of the path, transfixed by the sight of the woman on the stone bench. Moonlight bathed the scene like the footlights in a theatre and with the insight of love he recognized what he should have known all along. Blaine was not only Maggie Mason but she was also Lady Yates.

He had been stunned at the earlier revelation but this new discovery literally took his breath away. He couldn't believe that, after noticing the family resemblance, he hadn't looked beneath the white makeup of the wasp-tongued Lady Yates. In his defense, Blaine was an accomplished actress but he should have suspected a double masquerade.

For a moment he was furious that she had so easily duped him. He ground his teeth as he remembered leading the sharp-tongued old lady around the garden while his mind had been busy with thoughts of her niece. He had fretted over the state of her health and was concerned that his news might distress her. While he mooned over La Solitaire in a darkened theatre every night, every day the contrary wench was seated in the drawing room of his aunt's house on Portman Square.

He stepped back into the shadows and leaned against a stone wall, knowing he was too upset to face her. With an indignant gesture, he threw the champagne glasses to the ground, stamping on them for good measure. The pulse at his temple throbbed with his rancor and his hands tightened as he contemplated wringing Blaine's neck.

Suddenly the humor of the situation struck him. He flopped down on the wall and put his head in his hands. By God, Blaine Margaret Meriweather would lead him a lively dance!

The final piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Now he understood he had so quickly fallen in love with La Solitaire after only the one evening at the Rose and Trellis. He was already acquainted with her in the guise of Lady Yates, so when he met her in the inn they had actually met as old friends. He could also see why she had so readily trusted him. He was not a stranger to her. She already knew a great deal about him.

What had possessed her to take on the role of Lady Yates? The yearly allowance! Drew suspected that the old lady must have died and Blaine had impersonated her in order to keep the desperately needed allowance. And Robbie's courting of Fleur had forced her to make an additional appearance.

The knowledge of this further charade did not change anything for Drew except to intensify his need to remove the Meriweathers from London before disaster struck. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about the risks of discovery Blaine had run. No wonder she looked tired. The cheeky girl had been forced to change characters with increasing frequency.

It annoyed him that he could not confront her immediately but the thought of unmasking her in the midst of a party was not to be considered. Brushing his hair back impatiently, he muttered at the embarrassing situations Blaine could fall into with her masquerades. He chuckled as he remembered the scene he had interrupted with the reluctant Wesley Upton. The deceitful chit deserved a severe tongue lashing at the very least. He wondered what punishment he might exact for her outrageous behavior. Suddenly his eyes lit with mischief and he rose to his feet. It was time Blaine Margaret Meriweather learned a valuable lesson.

He hurried back to the ballroom, searching the rooms quickly until he discovered the whereabouts of General Bartholomew Treadwell. The man was a septuagenarian who, luckily for Blaine, had more lecherous ideas than speed. It took little time at all to suggest to the general that he take Lady Yates some champagne in the garden. Drew hoped he hadn't been gone long enough for Blaine to feel abandoned and return to the ballroom. He supposed he ought to stay near enough to come to the rescue in case the old lecher should be fleeter of foot than reported.

After helping himself to a full bottle of champagne, Drew once more exited the ballroom, whistling softly under his breath. He strolled through the paths in a leisurely fashion, following the old general but stopped at a shadowed bench on the path behind the arbor that enclosed his lady love. After establishing himself comfortably, he raised the bottle of champagne to his lips and awaited his moment of revenge.

"What ho, my little flower." The general's cry rang out clearly in the night air as he spotted his prey.

"Good heavens," Blaine muttered as she recognized the figure tottering toward her. She started to rise, but realized the futility of trying to escape. With a groan, she subsided on the bench.