Once Upon a Masquerade (11 page)

“I thought we already discussed the dangers—”

“I’ll be safe enough until you return.” Her words came out fast and anxious. “No one will barge into a fine residence like this one. If that were their intent, they would have done so already instead of using a note to lure me out.”

While her reasoning made sense, her desperation was curious. “I don’t mind,” he assured her, more to see her reaction than for anything else.

The hand on his chest tensed, pressing against him as if to ensure he stay back. “If you stay, leaving town will take that much longer.”

Her reluctance to let him inside had to stem from one of two things. Either the other servants had no knowledge of her efforts to act the lady, or…

“I’ll be here when you return. You have my word.”

He couldn’t question the sincerity in her eyes. She would be here as she said, and they had no more time to waste. He gave her a nod, and her hand relaxed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said as he walked away, heading for the waiting carriage. This trip would be beneficial in more ways than one. He would appease that deep need inside him that demanded he protect her, and perhaps he would get some answers along the way.

Chapter Nine

REBECCA WAITED BY THE front parlor window for Christopher’s carriage to approach, dread burning a hole into her stomach. She longed to catch sight of him, and at the same time, she wished he wouldn’t come. The time she’d spent in his arms came back to haunt her. Those heavenly moments were gone forever. There could never be anything real between them. She’d deceived him time and again. He still had no idea that she was nothing but a maid. If he knew, he likely wouldn’t be helping her at all.

Drat. Where was he? Hazel would be returning from the market any minute.

The sun was sinking into the horizon by the time he arrived.

“Mary, he’s here,” she called in a hushed tone and hurried to pull her luggage from its hiding place, then rushed to the door. Before he could climb the stone steps, she met him outside. “We’re ready.”

He crooked a brow. “We?”

“My maid is coming with me.” As if to punctuate her point, Mary emerged from the front door, a valise in hand. She seemed almost eager to be away. Now fully recovered from her “illness,” she’d asked Hazel for some time to assist in Rebecca’s family affairs. Would the lies ever end?

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, although his frown said otherwise.

Mary strode past with a wink, ready to sit up top with the driver.
Blast it, Mary.
Always the matchmaker. As if anything could come of a simple ride in a carriage. Besides, she’d rather not be alone with Christopher. She needed the distraction. “Please tell Mary she would be foolish not to ride inside the carriage with the two of us.”

Christopher glanced between the two women, then shrugged. “She’s welcome to join us, but she’s also free to make her own choice.”

“Thank you, sir. On a warm night such as this, I’d much prefer to enjoy the fresh air and sit up top,” Mary said with a satisfied grin, although the wool coat she wore contradicted her statement.

Rebecca suppressed the urge to argue further. It would do no good. Mary was determined to find her a rich suitor even if she had to arrange the union herself.

Her pulse leapt when Christopher’s strong hand clasped hers as he helped her into the carriage. She scrambled to her seat, and he climbed in behind her, reducing the size of the interior tenfold. Sinking onto the bench to her opposite, he rapped the roof and the carriage lurched ahead. Once they left the city, only the silver glow of the moon lit the interior of the enclosed carriage as its outside lanterns remained unlit to conceal them in the darkness.

Still, she couldn’t look at him. Instead, she adjusted her skirts and removed her hat, his words from this morning echoing in the confines of the carriage.
Last night should have never happened.
Her heart constricted. She was a fool to feel so strongly for someone. Surely, it couldn’t be love. She thought she’d learned better. People were human, fallible, and never failed to disappoint. Best to protect her heart from anyone who might hurt her again.

After all, Christopher hadn’t professed his love. He made no promises of the future. She imagined spending the next days by his side, certain he would never return her affections, that only his sense of honor demanded he protect her, and her hands clenched in her lap.

She pulled off her short black gloves and carefully folded them together, the action doing little to keep her senses from reaching out to him. Inside the confines of the carriage, his very essence made her skin sensitive, his every breath a whisper in her ear. Releasing a shaky exhale, she set the gloves on the seat beside her.

“I won’t bite, you know,” Christopher’s voice rumbled in the darkness, the sound brushing over her skin in a tantalizing caress.

With a tremulous smile, she smoothed her skirts once more. “I know.” Her mind worked feverishly for a new train to her thoughts and landed on the obvious. “Thank you once again for rescuing me.” Steeling herself, she raised her eyes to his. “I don’t know how you do it, but you somehow manage to be there when I need you.” She held his gaze as long as she could, then jerked it away to study the darkness beyond the window.

“I’m glad I could be of service. I hope there’ll be no need for my aid in the future.”

“As do I,” she whispered, wrapping her arms over her chest.

“Are you cold?”

His voice seemed closer, and she dared a glance, finding him leaning forward as if he would warm her if needed.

“No.” She uncrossed her arms and sank back in her seat, the pull to this man too strong.

Blessedly, he sat upright once more. “Hungry, then?” He gestured to the basket on the floor between them.

She nodded, although food was the last thing on her mind. “Allow me.” She opened the basket and set out two plates, then withdrew slices of Camembert, rye bread, apples, and a bottle of Madeira. At least it was something to do on their journey to God knew where. Handing him a plate, she asked, “Where is your country estate?”

He set the food aside and picked up the bottle, removing the wax from its neck. “I don’t have one. A good friend of mine, Spencer Henley, is having his annual post-season retreat. We’ll head there.”

“Spencer Henley. The name sounds familiar,” she mused, locating two pewter goblets and a corkscrew.

“I believe I saw you dancing with him at the Vanderbilt ball. You may remember him better as Hamlet.”

“Of course.” She remembered him well. “Mr. Henley was a lively partner. Does he frequently entertain himself by acting the drunken prince?”

“He does like to amuse himself any way he can.”

Eager to avoid her own miserable thoughts, she pressed, “Have you been friends a long time?”

“Since we were boys.” He uncorked and poured the aromatic wine, handing her a goblet. “One day my father and I were repairing the decking of
The Fair Maiden
when I spied Spence and his father walking down the pier nearby. His father had commissioned a new yacht and had stopped by to inspect the finished product.”

With a smirk, he set down the bottle and sat back, taking a long sip. “At some point, while his father argued with the builder, Spence was off leaping from one dock post to another.” He chuckled, no doubt recalling the sight. “I thought for sure he was in for a bath. At first I didn’t think he noticed me, until he hopped by our ship and waved. Not much later, my father asked me to pick up more nails from a store a few blocks down. On my way there, I came across a gang of boys in an alley.”

She drank from her goblet, mesmerized by the smooth timbre of Christopher’s voice as he told his tale.

“They had Spence surrounded,” Christopher went on. “He’d been knocked to the ground and was bleeding from his nose. I wasn’t sure if they wanted his money or to teach the rich boy a lesson.”

Oh, my
. “What did you do?”

“I picked up a board lying on the ground and charged in swinging.”

He did what? “Did you fight them off?”

“We tried. At least a few of them nursed injuries, but there were too many of them. We were both scuffed up when a policeman heard the yelling and chased the boys away.”

She stared at him over the rim of her goblet, sipping her wine, trying to understand who this man was and how his mind worked. “What made you charge in and help him, knowing you were outnumbered?”

He took another swallow from his glass. “If I hadn’t, I would’ve been no better than the boys who beat him.”

Standing by and watching someone get hurt was as good as hurting them yourself. An interesting philosophy, one she’d been living for years now. How else could she explain all the times she’d saved her father from his mistakes?

Christopher refilled their goblets, the stare he turned on her direct and purposeful. “What more do you know about these men your father owes?”

Where had this question come from? Perhaps the story of one brutal group had recalled another? She shrunk back into her seat. “Truly, not much.”

“If I’m going to help you and your father, you need to tell me everything,” he insisted, exasperation heavy in his tone.

Tell him everything about her father’s troubles maybe. Her own mess could wait. The thought of confessing to all the lies about herself made her sick inside. She stared at the lapel of his black jacket, afraid to meet his eyes. He had offered to help her, to protect her, despite what had happened between them last night. She did owe him what information she could give.

“They said someone was willing to pay six hundred dollars for your death,” he prompted.

The reminder stole her breath. “Yes.”

“Do you have any idea at all who might offer such a reward?”

Lifting a trembling hand, she rubbed her forehead, feeling a mite dizzy. “I wish I did.”

She began to pack away the largely untouched fare, the wine going straight to her head.

Christopher watched her complete the task, his silence almost worse than his questions. “Why didn’t you sell the comb?” he finally asked, his voice a mere whisper.

She closed the lid of the basket, her mind beginning to numb. “What?”

“If you needed the money, why not sell the emerald comb you wore to the Vanderbilt ball?”

She sidled closer to the carriage wall and leaned against it, the alcohol seeping into her bones, relaxing them to jelly. This much of the truth she could explain. “I’m embarrassed to say the gems aren’t real.”

Christopher shook his head. “I can assure you they are very real.”

Odd. “Why would you say that?” She stifled a yawn with one hand.

“I’ve been transporting jewelry for years. I’ve learned how to tell the difference between paste and the real thing.”

“In this case, you must be mistaken.” Mary had lent her the comb. The jewels couldn’t be real.

Her eyelids heavy, she closed her eyes and relaxed into the seat, her mind already drifting. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, the question floating into her head.

“You’re a woman alone, and in need.”

Her brows knitted, but her eyes remained closed, sleep beckoning. “Is that all?”

Christopher hesitated a long moment before answering, “Isn’t that enough?”

Something about the soft way he said the words prodded her. Her eyelids lifted a crack. “Tell me.”

He blew out a sigh. “I suppose I’ve grown too fond of you for my own good.”

“You’d best remedy that,” she murmured, her lids closing once more, although the sentiment made her heart flitter.

“I wish I could.” Several moments passed, the rock of the carriage lulling her so close to sleep, she almost missed Christopher’s next words, carried on a bare whisper. “From the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to think of anyone else.”

Her lips curved in a fleeting smile as pleasant dreams carried her away from the carriage and all her worries. Dreams filled with possibility and promise.

…

Rebecca’s breathing slowed, and she adjusted her position against the jarring of the coach. Taking pity, Christopher eased next to her and shifted her limp form into his arms, her head on his shoulder. She snuggled closer and relaxed into him, her long lashes fanned over her pale skin. Deep pleasure shot through his limbs when her softness pressed against his side. He debated a hasty retreat, but couldn’t bring himself to move. The scent of cloves teased his senses while the faint sound of her deep breaths tortured him. He’d never met a more tempting woman. Her very nearness triggered visions of her naked body glowing in the lamplight, beckoning his touch.

Forcing the image away, he studied the shape of her ear, the slant of her nose, the soft sweep of her lips. His lucky coin glowed dimly at the base of her neck. Sympathy surged within him. She was alone. Her mother long dead, her father nowhere to be found, and no brother to speak of. She had to survive on her own. And survive she did. She’d proven herself to be clever and strong against those men, a fighter. Which should only raise his suspicions regarding her guilt in Nathan’s death. And yet, she didn’t seem ruthless enough, hard enough, to take a man’s life. Or maybe he’d already gotten too close, letting his attraction blind him to her true nature.

One thing was certain—protecting her had become his primary goal, for Nathan. No, not just for him. In truth, he’d been so damned thankful she’d escaped those men, he’d been beside himself. He would let no one get that close to harming her again.

Still, for both their sakes, he would forget what had happened in his cabin. Nothing could come of it. Even if she was found innocent in Nathan’s death, Nathan had loved her beyond all else. Besides, a relationship built on lies would never last.

They arrived at the Henley estate late in the night. Rebecca awoke so groggy she probably didn’t even realize he’d held her while she slept.

She still looked dazed when she entered the manor, her maid following close behind. Spence spoke softly to a servant, who then led Mary away. “It’s been far too long, my friend,” he joked, joining them in the foyer as the butler relieved them of their coats. “Miss Bailey, a pleasure to see you again. No longer a maid, I see.”

Rebecca’s lips parted for an instant before her eyes lit up. “And you, sir Hamlet, have given up your prose?”

“I would gladly wax poetic if it would please you.”

In the light of the gas lamps, Rebecca’s face glowed pink. Christopher wasn’t sure if the flush from sleep stained her cheeks or if Spence’s flirtations caused the blush. The idea annoyed him. “Isn’t it a bit late to be spouting verse?”

Spence gave Rebecca a wink and goaded Christopher as he always did. “My friend here has a plentiful lack of wit.” Rebecca smiled as he looped her arm through his. “Join me for a drink before bed?”

Christopher agreed. “A fine idea. Lead the way.”

Spence escorted them down the hall to the parlor. The heat of the crackling fire welcomed them at the door.

“Sherry?” Spence asked Rebecca, steering her toward a chair near the warmth of the hearth.

“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, relaxing into the plush chair with a yawn.

Spence crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. “I expected you earlier.”

“I was detained by Bryce.” When he’d stopped by to report what he knew, the Police Chief had held him at the station for hours. He’d thought the questions would never end. Christopher accepted a snifter, the brandy’s rich fruity smell soothing.