The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (6 page)

The conniving chit had set her trap well to enmesh the trusting Robbie. First refusing to allow him to meet her obviously disreputable family and then by letting him know how he could find her. And finally meeting with him secretly. Was there ever such an innocent? Drew muttered. "How long has this been going on?"

"Three months."

"Good God, Robbie! Have you compromised the wench? Is that what this is all leading up to?"

"Devil take it, Drew!" Robbie rose to his feet with a roar. "Fleur is not that kind of a woman!"

"They are all that kind of woman," Drew answered cynically. Then he waved a hand at the red-faced man across from him. "Sit down. Sit down. If I have misread this situation, my apologies. But get to the point, lad, before I succumb from apoplexy. I will take your word for it that Fleur Meriweather is an innocent maiden. What then is the problem?"

Robbie resettled himself after refilling his snifter from the cutglass decanter. Color rode high on his cheeks but he was back in control as he continued. "We were forced to these clandestine meetings because the aunt was never well enough to receive guests and would not approve of Fleur having callers. The old woman keeps her close and does not permit her to go out in company. Neither one of us liked the idea of meeting secretly but we did enjoy each other's company. I will admit, to my shame, that at first I was only interested in a light flirtation but I soon realized that she was too fine a person for me to offer her such an insult. Little by little I discovered that I had quite lost my heart."

Drew suspected that unless he took a hand in the discussion he would be regaled once more with the wondrous charms of the lovely Fleur. Clearing his throat to gain his brother's attention, he asked, "And, Fleur? Is her heart also engaged?"

For the second time in their unusual interview, Drew saw a wave of distress cross his brother's features. When Robbie raised his eyes, he could see the uncertainty and confusion in his mind.

"No," Robbie finally answered. "I do not think that Fleur is in love with me."

"Good Lord, what have you two been doing for the last three months?" Drew hoped his horrified tone might lighten his brother's mood, but the man was oblivious to anything but the gravity of his situation.

"Talking."

"Talking?" Drew asked in disbelief.

"On my honor, that was all we did. I confess that at times I contemplated less innocent pursuits."

"Well, I should hope so!"

"It is very difficult to explain but I was afraid of frightening Fleur. She has never really met any other men and at this point I think she looks on me as just a good and kind friend. I have wanted to declare my feelings but I did not wish to take advantage of her youth and inexperience. Am I making myself clear?"

Drew was hard pressed not to shake his head in exasperation but instead just nodded encouragement for Robbie to continue.

"Well, once I had come to understand the strength of my feelings for Fleur, I felt it would be logical for me to make the acquaintance of her aunt. I would be able to ask her permission to call on her niece. It is my belief that, when I can call on her formally, Fleur will then begin to look on me in the role of both a friend and a suitor."

"I see," Drew said, although in many respects he was sure he would never understand. He waited for his brother to continue but when he didn't, Drew prodded gently. "Now, Robbie, where exactly do I come into this affair?"

"Well, it occurred to me that if you came for a visit I would have an excuse to have some sort of a party. When I mentioned my idea and the possibility of your visiting quite soon, Fleur became quite excited. It seems that her aunt has been getting steadily better and she might be strong enough to receive visitors. Fleur has high hopes that if we ask her she might accept an invitation to the party."

"An invitation is always a singular restorative to women," Drew stated, aware that his sarcasm was wasted on his besotted brother. "I suppose I could arrange my schedule to afford myself the dubious opportunity to visit Fairhaven. How long would I be required to rusticate?"

"A month?" At the raised eyebrows, Robbie improvised quickly. "Perhaps a week or two would do the trick. You always had a way of charming the old tabbies. I'm counting on you to convince Fleur's aunt that I would make an admirable match for her niece. Then all I need do is convince Fleur."

"All right, puppy," Drew agreed. "I may assume you will be leaving in the morning which if I recall correctly is Monday. I will follow in a more leisurely fashion, if that is suitable."

"Thank you, Drew."

There was such a wealth of honest feeling in the words that Drew felt slightly guilty at his own subterfuge. Although he fully intended to go to Fairhaven, it was not part of his plan to aid Robbie in his affair with the lovely Fleur. Quite to the contrary.

"Seek your bed, Robbie. You've a long ride tomorrow."

After an incoherent babble of appreciation, his brother left and Drew sank back down into the chair and stared glumly at the pattern on the carpet. He could see little hope of extracting Robbie from the relationship heart whole. He was not looking forward to the trip to Fairhaven, since he could already imagine what he would find.

Fleur Meriweather was no doubt a scheming minx with some beauty and no fortune. It would not have been difficult to discover that Robbie was an extremely wealthy man with a prosperous estate. He was also Drew's heir which was common knowledge. No matter the story she had spun for Robbie's benefit, no young lady of good reputation would agree to secret meetings with a man she considered merely a friend. She sounded like some clever adventuress set to dig her claws into his brother. Thank God that Robbie was gentleman enough not to have compromised the girl or there might be no way to free him from the chit's clutches.

He supposed there would be trouble with the girl's aunt. There was a bad odor to the story of the sickly woman. The sudden recovery at the word of a possible invitation sounded both miraculous and highly suspect. He had sensed some hesitation on Robbie's part at the mention of the old lady and he wondered what rumors were rampant in the neighborhood. He suspected that it would cost a pretty penny to convince the girl and her unhealthy aunt to look elsewhere for prey.

He stretched his legs out and yawned. He hated the thought of removing to Wiltshire. A more godforsaken place he had never seen and it was a constant amazement to him that Robbie seemed to thrive there. He supposed he might as well leave London. His pursuit of La Solitaire was hardly flourishing. The Green Mews Theatre would be closed for a month while they prepared to mount a new production. With luck he would return refreshed from the country and then he could apply all his energies to gaining the affection of the fair Maggie Mason. He could only hope she would miss his attention and soften her attitude by the time he sought her out again.

In the windowless room of a gaming hell in another part of town, the air was heavy and the candles flickered in the wall sconces. Talbott Stoddard glowered across the table at his companions. His long white fingers played with a pile of chips, clicking them together with annoying repetition. His pale blue eyes reflected his impatience at the continued conversation.

"Then after Tattersalls, I took him round to White’s," Sir Edgar Willoughby concluded, his voice a monotone of boredom as befitted those aspiring to the dandy set. The fact that he was well under the hatches contributed to a slight slurring of his words.

"Your hospitality has been superb, cuz, but I much preferred yesterday. Spent the evening at a private establishment," James Chittenden announced, snickering at the remembrance.

"You old dog, Willoughby," Chester Morrison cried. "Don't tell me you went off to Madame Farrageau's."

"Well, rather," Sir Edgar drawled. "The Madame has a magnificent little blond who looks all of ten and three but has the ingenuity of a much traveled wench. Startling cornflower eyes."

"Devil take it, Willoughby, are we here to play cards or to discuss the attributes of every tart in the vicinity of London?" Stoddard snarled.

"I say, old chap, no need to go all toffy-nosed, just because you've had little success with the entrancing Maggie Mason," Willoughby smirked. Drink had made him brave and he was unmindful of the deadly coldness that entered Stoddard's eyes.

Chittenden and Morrison eyed each other in dismay but made no attempt to turn the conversation. For all their apprehension, there was an edge of enjoyment in watching the rising anger of the blond nobleman. Over the years, Stoddard had made many enemies by his unwarranted arrogance and vicious competitiveness. Now the men waited to see if he would rise to the bait.

"I do not recall that I intimated my intentions to acquire La Solitaire. If I had, I assure you even now she would be panting beneath me and you, sir, would be grinding your teeth in envy." Stoddard flicked a hair from his dark blue sleeve of Bath superfine in a patent show of disinterest.

The youthful Willoughby was too deep in his cups to perceive the danger of twitting the man. "The betting book indicates that Lord Farrington will mount her before you ever leave the stalls," he said.

Stoddard slapped his beringed hand on the table. His pile of chips scattered with a tinkling sound that was loud in the silence that followed. "Perhaps you would care to test your knowledge against mine?" he said, his husky whisper more menacing than a shout.

Chittenden rushed into the conversation, knowing full well that, in his present ugly mood, the nobleman was looking for a fight. "Willoughby's foxed, milord. Just running off at the mouth. No reason the rest of us fellows need take offense." He kicked his cousin brutally beneath the table and vowed he would trounce the doltish youngster for daring to risk angering Stoddard to the point of a duel. "Do apologize, Edgar, so that we might get on with our game," he ground out between clenched teeth.

An awareness of the danger he stood in seeped through to Sir Edgar and fear sobered him amazingly fast. He blinked owlishly at the malevolence visible beneath the angelic features of the furious nobleman. His body was bathed in sweat as he cravenly apologized for the stupidity of his words.

Stoddard was cognizant of the pulsing tension of the men at the table and the awareness of their alarm went a long way to lighten his mood. Fear in others excited him. He could smell it and the scent heightened his own pleasure. The remembrance of golden-hazel eyes flashed before his mind. La Solitaire feared him despite her sharp words. He had felt the jump of her pulse when he grasped her wrist. Her eyes had flashed with contempt but before he possessed her those golden eyes would respond as he wished.

Fingers steady, Stoddard gathered his chips into a pile. He smiled at the sigh of relief from his companions as the cardgame resumed, but beneath the cold mask of disdain, he was still filled with an angry core of determination. Drew Farrington would never win La Solitaire.

Drew had been his nemesis for many years. Since their schooldays, Stoddard had forever been in the shadow of the man. The pampered only son of a widowed mother, Talbott had learned at an early age that his angelic looks could be used to advantage. For the most part, he had only to ask for something and it had been given to him. The first time that he had wanted a woman and she did not fall into his lap, had been a bitter experience for him. It was Drew Farrington that the woman had chosen and, for that insult, Stoddard never forgiven the man.

A thin smile etched Stoddard's mouth as he remembered the revenge he had enacted. Drew's best friend was Jason Barringer, a man more comfortable with books than the more manly pursuits. Stoddard had gone out of his way to antagonize Jason until the man had finally insulted him. With steady purpose, Stoddard had demanded satisfaction and met Jason on the field of honor one cold winter dawn.

He could still recall the helplessness in Drew's eyes as he acted as Barringer's second for the duel. Stoddard had taken deadly aim after Jason had fumbled his shot, and it was with great satisfaction that he fired his pistol, killing his man. Granted he had been forced to leave the country for a short period, but it was worth it to see the agony on Farrington's face as he held the body of his friend.

It rankled that Farrington did not know that his friend's death was a well-planned revenge. Stoddard never baited Jason Barringer in Drew's presence and he was careful to have witnesses that would swear Jason had instigated the final argument that led to the challenge. Stoddard knew Farrington's proficiency with both swords and pistols and he would give him no provocation, gloating in the impotent hate he saw reflected in Drew's eyes.

Farrington did however try to thwart Stoddard whenever possible. It still set his teeth on edge when he recalled the set of chestnuts for which Drew outbid him. Later, he had entered a curricle race to Bath, and the damnable Farrington had entered as well, beating him soundly much to the amusement of the other men involved. The few times they had sat in on a card game together, Drew had stripped him of his winnings with a smile of derision that induced a deep loathing in Stoddard.

He had known of Drew's interest in La Solitaire. It was that which first drew his attention to the actress. Since she acknowledged to be unattainable, he wanted the status that would accrue in winning the prize, with the additional fillip that he would have beaten out Farrington. However once he had seen Maggie Mason, he was consumed by desire and the overpowering need to possess her. He pursued her with the single-minded fervor reserved for the Holy Grail. He would risk all to obtain La Solitaire.

Chapter Three

The carriage rolled from side to side on the bumpy road, nearly knocking Blaine off the seat. She was always amazed that Tate managed to sleep no matter the traveling conditions. By the simple expedient of wedging herself into the corner and pillowing her head on the bundle of her cloak, she had been snoring steadily since their stop for food at the Silver Stallion.