What a Duke Wants (22 page)

“Tea would be fine.”

“I will have someone take your bag up. Come. I have so much to discuss and I find I need your help.”

“You need my help?” Maybe Annie’s problems could distract her from her own. She would not think of all she had left behind, not think of Duchess. Mark would care for her.

Mark. She promised herself again that she would not think of him, not consider what she had lost. She would think only about what Annie needed and nothing more.

“Yes, I am afraid I do. I have set up this perfectly wonderful masquerade for tonight and now I find myself in need.”

Isabella followed Annie into the parlor and sat. The room was just as pretty as before. The rest of the home might seem lacking in feminine flourishes, but here every delicately arranged flower and figurine hinted at her friend’s touch. She took a chair across from Annie, running a finger over the flocked cotton upholstery. Soft green had always been Annie’s favorite. “What could you possibly need from me? It is I who am here seeking your help, in your debt.”

“What nonsense. We are friends, we help each other. There is no debt involved.”

After a statement like that, how could Isabella do anything besides help her friend? “What do you need?”

“I need you to come to my masquerade tonight.”

“You what?” That had not come out as graciously as she had meant. “Do you need another maid?”

“Of course not. How could you even think such a thing? I need you to come as a guest.”

“But I will be recognized. I cannot risk it. You should not risk it.”

“It is a masquerade.”

“But when the masks come off . . .” What was Annie thinking? She could never do such a thing. She had come here because she could think of no better hiding spot than heading off to the country with Annie. This was not in the plans.

“That is the beauty of what I need. You can be long gone when the masks are removed, the dominoes lowered. I only need you to pretend to be me for a few hours.”

“Pretend to be you? A few hours?”

There was a tap at the door and the maid entered bearing a full tray, not just the cup and teapot Isabella had been expecting. There were more of those fabulous cakes. Her mouth watered at the reminder of the thick, rich chocolate cream. The memory of the flavor filled her mouth—but her distraction lasted less than a single second. She waited for the maid to leave. “I don’t understand. Why do you need me to be you? And how would we ever accomplish such a thing?”

Annie took a cake and smiled, the grin spreading from ear to ear. “I’ve planned that already, but the friend who was going to help me cannot. Do take a cake. My physician has assured me it is not healthy for a woman to be too thin.”

That was far more than Isabella really wanted to know. “So tell me about tonight.”

“Oh, yes.” Annie leaned forward, her excitement palpable. She lifted her cake but did not bite into it. “I am going to the masquerade as the three Graces. I have the most delightful costume and wig—revealing, but not too much so.”

“You’re going as the three Graces?”

“Oh, stop. I am going as one of the three Graces, but I have friends who will dress as the other two.”

Ah, now Isabella understood. “And one of them dropped out?”

“No, but . . .” And now Annie hesitated.

A
but
was never a good thing with Annie. “Then why do you need me? I can’t imagine you want four Graces.”

“No, I definitely don’t want four—only I do.”

“That makes sense.” Isabella placed as much irony as she could in her voice.

“I am explaining this badly.” Annie bit into her cake and chewed.

Isabella bit into her own and waited.

“I want there to always be three Graces and I don’t want to always have to be one of them. I want to be able to slip away if I choose.” Annie began to turn red as she spoke.

“And why do you want to be able to slip away?” Isabella was afraid she already knew. There was only one person it was likely Annie would wish to hide from.

“I don’t wish my husband to know if I leave.”

Isabella closed her eyes. She should ask why, but surely there was only one answer. If Annie wished to hide from her husband, it had to be because there was another man.

She bit into her cake again, but it no longer tasted so sweet. “I thought you were trying to have a child.”

“I am.” Annie put her cake down, stood, and walked to the empty fireplace. She ran a finger along the gray-lined marble. “I am just not sure with whom.”

“Your husband, I would have thought.” The cake was beginning to taste like sawdust. Isabella could not believe that Annie meant what she said.

Annie picked up a delicate figurine of a couple embracing. She ran a finger down the line of the man’s back. “I thought so too. I cannot pretend to be happy with what I contemplate, but . . .”

If there was one thing Isabella knew, it was that life did not always grant fair choices. She would try not to judge her friend until she knew the full story. “I still can’t believe your plan would work. Even if we wore the same costume surely someone would notice the difference between us.” She gestured to her own figure and then Annie’s. “We are not exactly the same.”

Annie put the figurine down and turned back to Isabella, her soft green skirt swirling about her. “That is the beauty of my plan. With three, or four, of us dressed the same there will always be confusion about who is who. As long as three are visible nobody will question too closely if they do not recognize whichever one is closest to them. Lord Richard will just assume I am the Grace across the room.”

Isabella still had her doubts. She wanted to refuse—but how could she with all Annie was prepared to do for her? “Let me see the costumes.”

Chapter 22

“I
am surprised that she did not slit your throat as you slept.” Brisbane spoke quietly, but the words held their own power.

Mark kept his eyes focused ahead, looking only at the king, not looking at Brisbane or inviting others to listen to their conversation. “It is that bad? I asked my valet and trusted what he said. He has never steered me wrong before.”

“You trusted your valet.” It was said as a statement, but question and irony rang in each syllable. “You trust your valet that your cravat does not make you look a fool. You trust your valet that the stitching on your waistcoat is not too garish. You can even trust him to tell you that your court dress is too simple. But you never ask your valet how to pay your mistress.”

“But you do pay her?” Mark was feeling the fool and it was a feeling he did not like.

Brisbane sighed without making a sound. It was evidently one more aspect of being a duke that Mark would need to practice.

“You do not pay a mistress. You keep her. I do not believe coin has ever passed between myself and a woman whose company I enjoyed. It would be vulgar—in the extreme. A man should never be vulgar, unless he chooses to be.”

“Then what does she do for coin?”

“All her accounts are sent to you, discreetly.”

“What if she needs funds for something small, some worthless trinket?”

“I do not actually know, but I imagine that either the household accounts are exaggerated or that some piece of jewelry you have given her, that she does not care for, may disappear. That is her concern, not yours.”

Mark pondered this as he watched the king discuss how to maneuver with a cloak of such length and weight. And warmth. Why the man chose to wear ermine in July Mark would never understand. Why be king if you could not be comfortable? If he were king he’d outlaw neckwear that reached above one’s chin.

He was glad he had asked Brisbane about Isabella—not directly, no names had been given. It had been difficult to approach him about the question, but there had been nowhere else to turn. Still— “I am not sure I understand why it makes such a difference. Is it not payment no matter what form it comes in?”

Brisbane nodded to another gentleman across the room. “All I can say is that it matters. And I think it matters for us as well as them. If it’s as simple as throwing down a coin or two then you might as well visit a brothel. A mistress is for much more than that—at least mine always were.”

Mark did see the sense in that. His relationship with Isabella was about far more than sex.

“I trust I will see you at the Tenants’ this evening? It will be an event not to be missed. There will, of course, be other required stops throughout the evening. It will be a nuisance to stop home and change before heading to the masquerade.” Brisbane glanced at the king. He rose from his chair like a large cat stretching. “But Lady Richard throws a party not to be missed.”

“T
here’s nothing to it,” Isabella exclaimed.

“I think the half mask will cover your face quite well,” Annie answered. “I wanted to be quite sure that nobody could see our features. I made sure the mask was raised slightly above the eyes to leave them cast in shadow. The lips, of course, I left uncovered, but I did specify that we all wear the same color of rouge—and perfume. Perfume is always important.”

Isabella slipped her hand under the many layers of sheer silk. “It is not my face I was worried about.” In fact she had not even considered the mask, which demonstrated just how shocked she was by the bodice. “My chemise would show.”

“The Greeks and Romans did not wear chemises and neither shall we.”

“The other women agreed to this?” It was impossible to imagine any lady agreeing to such a costume. Even her sister, Violet, would have questioned the dress.

Annie picked the dress up and held it against her body, smoothing it over her curves. The single shoulder that held it up was clasped with a silver pin. The rest of the dress—if one could call it a dress—consisted of layers and layers of fine chiffon draped to drift with every movement. If the wind blew, the wearer was likely to be left completely bare—not that there was much wind in a ballroom. “I would admit there was some trepidation, but yes, they have agreed.”

“Can you wear anything under it?”

“You could probably wear Roman sandals, but I am considering that we should all have bare feet.”

“Bare feet? In public?” Isabella was not sure why this shocked her even more than the slightness of the dress.

“It will make a statement about how free we are feeling, about all the rules and propriety that we are willing to slip off for the evening.”

“I’ve never said I am willing to slip anything off for the evening.” Isabella looked at the single silver clasp that held the dress together. No, she was not slipping anything off.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I am talking of myself—and my other Cinderellas.”

“Why do you call them Cinderellas? I thought you were going as the three Graces. And who are they? If I am going to help with this plan then I should know.”

“So you will help? I cannot tell you who they are. I have promised to keep that a secret. And I call them my Cinderellas because they, like you, could never appear at my ball as themselves. Although of good birth, circumstances have forced them from society. I wanted to offer them a chance to attend a ball before the coronation, a ball in all its glory.”

“So I am one of your Cinderellas also?”

“I had not planned it that way. I truly do need your help, but I did think you might enjoy the chance to dance and flirt once more, to wear a gown, and drink champagne.”

It would be wonderful to dance. She had always loved dancing, the twirling, the patterns, the subtle movement and signal when palm met palm—and this time she would not be wearing gloves.

In truth, it was an opportunity she had never imagined having again. After the last days of worry, all her years of worry, the chance to be carefree for one night was too much to resist. “I’ll do it. But are you sure the dress will fit?”

“Trust me. I am sure.” Annie grinned. “One of the good things about the pattern is it really will fit anyone.”

“I suppose that is true. Let me go to my chamber and try it on.”

“I have put you up where the governess would go if we had one. I would normally put you next to me, but I do not want Richard to question anything until it is done.”

“What is it that you intend to do, Annie?” Her friend had always been daring, but never had her eyes been lit with such a reckless gleam.

Annie did not answer, but only called for a maid to take Isabella to her room.

A few moments later she was not worried about her friend.

There was a note upon her pillow.

Did you think you could escape us? You have two more days or we go to the authorities with what we know.

Despite the heavy flourish of the masculine hand, the heavy scent of lavender wafted up as Isabella lifted the note with trembling fingers.

T
his time she was gone. He had told her he did not care and she had taken him at his word.

Most of her belongings still hung on hooks in the dressing room, or were carefully packed away in drawers, but she had taken her favorites—and the carefully lined-up row of small empty purses could not be mistaken.

She was done being paid.

Mark swept the row into his palm and then tossed them in a fluttering mess onto the bare hearth. The desire was great to throw something else, something that would break with a most satisfying crash, but he held back.

He did not want the servants to know his upset, to know that he could not hold on to a mistress. He would sell this house and all its contents as soon as possible.

Now—now he would return home and dress for the night’s events as if nothing in his life had changed. Divers would be pleased not to be called to dress him in the early hours of the morning.

He only hoped that Divers had listened to him and found a costume that did not involve codpieces.

He could find another mistress whenever it pleased him.

Isabella was no different from any other woman.

Only she was. And she had left him.

A low meow had him turning. Duchess lay curled in a small forlorn ball on Bella’s pillow. Her wide blue eyes begged him to stay and pat her. He scooped up her small body and cuddled her to his chest. Bella must have felt desperate if she left the cat behind. He’d seen for himself how much Bella loved her.

If he hadn’t been a duke he might have allowed himself a solitary tear for what might have been.

Only he was a duke and a duke soldiered on.

Still holding Duchess, he headed home.

S
he could not be seen in this. She could not. Isabella stared at her reflection in the mirror. The half mask and blond wig were wonderful. Nobody would ever recognize her in them. Even her lips looked fuller and puffier with the mask ending just above them. And the rouge Annie had chosen—scandalous.

But it was the dress that was impossible. While the right breast beneath the single shoulder fastening was reasonably covered, the other one—well, the truly important parts were hidden, or at least mostly hidden. Bending forward, Isabella tried to decide if they would stay out of sight. It appeared that they would, although the impression was definitely the opposite.

She imagined that men would be watching all night hoping for that forbidden glimpse. At least they wouldn’t be staring at her face. She doubted there was a man alive who would recognize her from her breasts—well, perhaps there was one, but she wouldn’t think about that, about him.

“It looks wonderful on you,” Annie said as she entered the chamber. Her own costume was in place and for a moment Isabella could only stare. Did she look that way too? Each step caused a sway of the hip that bespoke a personal confidence that Isabella had never had. It said,
Look at me, dream of me, I can be all you ever wanted.
And then Annie smiled, slowly, seductively—and Isabella found herself swallowing. In truth it was Annie’s regular smile, but when combined with the mask the effect was powerful.

“I am not quite sure it fits.” Isabella tried pulling the fabric up over her left breast. “I keep worrying that it will fall.”

“It won’t, but even if it did you will be wearing a mask—and have three more of us in costume. Nobody would ever know it was you.”

“Somehow I don’t find that reassuring. I am really not sure I should be doing this.” That was an understatement. From the moment she’d found the note on the pillow she’d been determined to flee again. But where? She was very tired of running.

“Of course you should. When will you get another chance? Enjoy this night for all it is worth.” Annie stepped forward and arranged a curl. “I will need to go down soon to be sure all the arrangements are finished. And I need to let Richard see me in my costume. My plan will only work if he knows what I look like.”

“He doesn’t know what your costume is?”

“No, not at all. He has shown no interest. In fact, the only interest he has shown in the masquerade at all is to forward me a list to be sure I invite those he considers politically important. He didn’t even discuss it with me. Just handed the porter a list of those I should be sure were included. I’d invited them all already. I do pay attention, but he will never know that.” Annie’s voice grew quiet at the end.

“How soon after tonight do you think we can leave for the country? I am eager to be gone.”

“I can understand that and I assure you it will be as soon as possible—as soon as I know I am with child. I have no desire to linger.” Annie turned to the mirror, puckering her bright red lips to check the rouge. “I will go down— Oh, there is one more thing—”

“Yes?”

“I forgot to tell you. Your brother and sister will both be here tonight.”

H
e’d never shown his legs in public. Mark stared down at his bare calves. What had Divers been thinking?

“You’ll certainly have the ladies after you tonight—and that’s before they even know who you are.” Douglas was clearly enjoying this.

“Believe me, if I have to go in this—this thing, they will never know who I am.”

“If that’s how you feel why bother to attend at all? Your host will never know. Though I think you need to be there at midnight for the mask removal in order to be polite.”

“Blast. You are probably right.” Mark turned again. “Do you think I could just pull out my uniform and go as a soldier?”

“You’re a soldier now.” Douglas nodded at the sword hanging at Mark’s waist.

“I was thinking of a few thousand years later. I’ve never had a fascination for Romans. I much prefer a musket to a sword—even a decent one.” He pulled the sword from his belt. “I know I told Divers I didn’t want a large codpiece, but somehow this feels like revenge. It’s hardly even a toy. I can’t help feeling women will be judging me by it all night.” He held it out and the flimsy tip bent down. Quickly he shoved it back in his belt.

“Are you concerned about women—or one particular woman?”

Mark did not pretend to misunderstand. “She won’t be there. Why should her opinion matter?”

“I was thinking more of later in the evening—or earlier in the morning. I would think you care very much what she thinks of your sword.”

Pulling back his shoulders, Mark turned away. “I will not be seeing her then either. She has decided the arrangement does not suit her.”

Douglas made as if to pat him on the back, but pulled away at the last moment. “She’s probably right. I told you she didn’t seem the mistress type.”

“But she left—she just left. How will I know that she is fine if I don’t know where to find her?”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before.”

“Before what?” But Mark knew the answer—before he had made her his mistress and taken away her choices.

Douglas changed the subject. “Are you expecting to see the king tonight?”

“I could not say. I would not be surprised. He should be in church praying, but  . . .” He thought it unlikely that the king would spend the night on his knees—and Brisbane had hinted at the same.