Once Upon a Masquerade (18 page)

As if she would be jealous of that one. Besides, she would never use Mr. Westerly to get back at Christopher even if she was. Before she could correct Mr. Henley’s mistaken assumption, a messenger approached and handed her a note.

She opened it and stared at the forceful scrawl that nearly tore the paper.

Meet me at the gazebo in the gardens. – C. Black

Clutching the message to her chest, she smiled weakly. “It’s from Christopher. He wants to meet in the gardens.”

Mr. Henley gave a quick nod. “Go on then. I’ll find some way to entertain myself without you.”

Rebecca’s feet stayed rooted to the floor. Christopher would hate her once he knew everything.

“What are you waiting for?” Mr. Henley’s amused smile faded.

“He’s angry with me.”

“Why?”

Why indeed. Oh yes, because she’d lied to him, deceived him into believing she was an heiress when, in fact, she was only a maid. “I dare not say.”

“I assume you’ll meet with him?”

She liked to think she wasn’t a coward, that she would always do the right thing no matter how much it hurt. Christopher deserved to know the truth, and to hear it from her. She blew out a long breath and nodded.

“You’d better go,” Mr. Henley suggested. “Waiting won’t improve his mood.”

She pushed her fears aside and set out on her way, leaving the manor and heading to the gardens.

Several rows of budding rose bushes lined the path that swept around the white gazebo. Rebecca climbed the steps to the gazebo’s platform and looked up at the bright moon, hoping she would find the right words to say. There seemed no plausible excuse for what she’d done. Christopher wasn’t a man who would accept excuses anyway.

She would speak the truth and let Christopher react as he would. Simple enough, but her pulse quickened as the moment grew near. The clip of approaching footsteps heightened her anxiety. Christopher strode toward her, his body tense, evidence of the anger he would soon unleash.

Squaring her shoulders, she prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation. She wouldn’t back down no matter how enraged he became.

Christopher reached the path’s end and leapt up the first two steps. He grabbed her arm. “What are you doing out here alone? I told you not to leave my sight.”

She stared at the hand clasped over her arm, confused. “What do you mean? Your note instructed me to meet you here.”

“Note? What note? I didn’t send you a message.” He scanned the area around them and pulled her forward. “We need to leave at once.”

As her foot swept over the first step, a flash of silver sped through the night to land embedded in the wooden post beside her, nearly slicing her neck.

Christopher bounded up to the platform and stepped between her and the direction the dagger had sailed from. He squatted low, yanking her down beside him, and peered around the post that partially hid them.

She huddled on shaking limbs. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears, she was amazed she heard Christopher whisper to her, “Get ready to run.”

Lifting the hem of her skirts, she waited for his command. In a flash, Christopher yanked the dagger from the splintered wood before hauling her up and urging her forward. They took the shortest route back to the house, cutting through the bed of thorny rose bushes. Christopher followed behind, his body a human shield, protecting her if her assailant should pursue them.

The thorns from the shrubs tore at her skirts and the rocks beneath her feet scraped along her bare arches, but she didn’t slow her pace. She ran as fast as she could, fully expecting another knife to fly through the air from behind them.

She yelped when her foot caught on a sharp rock, the pain shooting up through her leg.

“Are you all right?” Christopher asked as he steadied her with a supporting hand.

“Yes,” she muttered, limping forward, her will to survive stronger than the stinging injury.

In less than a minute, they raced out of the rose bed and onto a patio that sprawled along the manor. Rebecca flew to the nearest doorway, and pushed her way inside.

A beam of moonlight gleamed off a massive piano positioned in the center of the dark room. As Christopher closed the door behind them, she limped to the instrument and leaned against it for support while she caught her breath.

Christopher strode toward her, concern in his eyes. Prepared to tell him she was fine, she straightened, and her foot slid out from under her. His strong hands caught her beneath the arms before she could hit the hard marble floor.

With relief, she twisted around to thank him, when he muttered an oath. She followed his downward gaze and spied a dark streak smeared across the floor leading to her left foot. A gasp escaped her as Christopher lifted her into his arms and marched from the room.

“You don’t have to carry me,” she assured him.

His arms tightened, bringing her closer. Beneath her hand, his heart beat a quick rhythm almost as fast as her own. She could argue with him, insist she could manage without his help. Instead, she clung to his shoulders, letting his strength comfort her. Dear God, she’d almost been killed tonight. The thought barreled over her like a runaway carriage. Would the killer dare follow them inside?

“You there,” he called to a passing servant in the hallway, “I need your assistance.”

The man rushed toward them, shock passing over his features, no doubt at the spectacle they made. “What do you require, sir?”

“Tell Mr. Henley I have need to speak with him,” Christopher said. “We’ll be in his study.”

“Yes, sir.” The servant turned away.

“Just one moment,” Christopher ordered, stopping the man. “Rebecca, take up that napkin from his tray.”

She did as he asked, and he nodded toward the servant to be off.

Christopher continued down the hall with purpose in his stride, his confidence and fortitude so reassuring, her fear melted away. She rested her head against his strong shoulder and relaxed into him, her pulse calming a beat or two.

They reached Mr. Henley’s study, and Christopher set her onto a chair. His body heat and comforting embrace gone, her nerves twitched and buzzed to life once more.

He pulled another chair close and sat down before her, plucking the dagger from his belt. She had to will herself to stay in her seat, her desire to crawl into his lap and feel safe again almost too much to resist.

Christopher cut the napkin in two, then returned the weapon to his belt and grasped a crystal decanter from Mr. Henley’s desk. The heady smell of brandy filled the air as he dribbled the amber liquid onto one of the napkin pieces.

When he picked up her foot and examined her wound, her first instinct was to pull away. There was no need for Christopher to treat her. She could attend to it herself. But his concern struck a chord. She could barely remember the last time anyone had shown her such tender care.

Her breath hissed as he pressed the cloth against her foot, the wound stinging despite his careful touch. His gaze met hers, sympathy shadowing their depths, then lowered back to her injury. Something melted inside her as he cleaned and dressed her foot with a gentle hand.

Spencer Henley entered the room, trailed by the servant who’d gone to find him.

“This will have to do until we have more time.” Christopher released her foot, now bandaged in the white linen.

“Thank you,” she said, and his hazel eyes branded hers.

“What’s happened?” Mr. Henley asked, eyeing her foot.

Christopher rose from his chair and met him at the door. “There’s been another attack—this time with a blade.”

Mr. Henley turned to the servant beside him. “Send word to the men in the stables. We need to search the premises.” The servant nodded and left.

“We’re leaving,” Christopher informed him, already halfway out the door. “Could you send Rebecca’s maid and our things in the morning?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“My thanks. I’ll go arrange to have my carriage brought around. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Wait,” Rebecca called out, rising from her chair. “My reticule. I need to get my reticule.”

Christopher raised a hand. “Stay here. I’ll get it,” he said and disappeared from the doorway.

Rebecca wished Christopher would stay. Her hands still shook. A killer prowled just outside, and they had no idea who it could be. What if he’d followed them in?

Mr. Henley closed the door and moved to his large mahogany desk. “May I offer you a drink? It looks like you could use one.”

She shook her head. Whoever had thrown the knife wasn’t after Christopher. He wanted to kill her. Christopher put himself in danger by staying near. “Maybe I should leave on my own. There’s no reason to put Christopher in harm’s way. Could you arrange a carriage for me?”

“Afraid not.” He took the seat across from hers. “He won’t let you leave without him.”

She stared at the bandage she wore as the sheer hopelessness of her situation weighed on her. “He deserves better.”

“Let him decide that for himself.” He cupped her hands in his warm, reassuring grasp. “He may surprise you. He’s always been one to surprise me. After all, he and I are an unlikely match and still, here we are the best of friends.”

“Christopher mentioned how you met as boys.”

He let out a short laugh. “Why he bothered to save a wretch like me, I’ll never know.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I believe I know the answer to that.”

Christopher returned moments later, anxious to be off. “Can you walk?”

Her cheeks warmed. He couldn’t keep carrying her around where others could see. “I’ll manage.”

Mr. Henley met Christopher by the door and shook his hand. “Keep her safe, my friend.”

“I intend to.”

Chapter Sixteen

IN THE DIM LIGHT WITHIN the carriage, Christopher studied the dagger that had come so close to killing Rebecca.

His gaze lifted. Rebecca sat across from him, staring out into the darkness beyond the window. Her hands lay clasped together in a tight knot in her lap, worry wrinkling her brow. Protectiveness welled up inside of him. Thank God he’d found her in the gardens in time.

“How’s your foot?” he asked, hoping to calm her nerves.

She jumped as his voice broke the silence. “It’s fine,” she murmured, pressing shaky fingers to her chest.

He held out a hand. “May I see?” She hesitated a moment before lifting her injured limb. A small spot of blood had seeped through the bandage. “Looks like it should be rewrapped,” he said, lowering her foot back down. He reached over to the pile of clothes he’d hastily gathered before they left and picked his garments from the messy heap. “I’ll change, and then I can cut these robes into strips for new bandages.”

“There’s no need for that. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Believe me, I don’t mind,” he assured her. “If I have anything to say about it, I won’t be wearing this again anyway.”

Christopher rose to his feet in the swaying carriage, his legs braced apart. He supposed, as a gentleman, he should wait until they were safely at his manor before he changed. But after their brush with Rebecca’s knife-wielding assailant, he was restless, on edge.

Feeling mischievous, he teased, “You can watch if you’d like.” He enjoyed the pink glow that rose to her cheeks and the long sooty lashes that fanned down as she looked at the floor. “Or you can do the same,” he invited impulsively, tossing to her the peach dress she’d worn earlier that day.

Even though the bottom of her robes were soiled and torn from their run through the thorny bushes, he didn’t expect her to take him up on his offer, which suited him just fine. He rather liked the way the cinched fabric of her costume hugged her feminine shape. To his surprise, she took the garment and stood, apparently eager to be rid of her divine robes. She began to shimmy the day dress up under her costume, and he understood better why she’d agreed.

Turning back, he stepped into his trousers and pulled them under his robe when a sharp elbow caught his ribs and a squeal rent the air. He whirled about, his trousers in hand. Rebecca lay sprawled on the seat, her body twisted in both garments and barely covered by either. One bare arm clenched her robes to conceal her breasts, leaving her slender back bare to his hungry gaze.

“I’m not sure why I thought I could do this on one foot,” she admitted with a pained smile.

“Especially in a moving coach,” he agreed. “When I’m through, I can help.”

“No, I’ll try again.” She pushed herself back to her feet.

“May I watch?” His eyes devoured her smooth skin.

“Certainly not.” She laughed, a sound he was glad to hear again. “Although I’m sure I’m quite the sight.”

Indeed, a sight to behold. Tearing himself away from the engaging view, he tried to focus on the task of changing, even as his defiant senses trained on the whisper of fabric on skin behind him.

Once they were changed and settled back into their seats, he cut strips from the robe he’d worn and set the knife aside.

“May I?” She held out her hand for the weapon.

He passed it to her and lifted her slender foot onto his lap to remove the soiled dressing.

Rebecca turned the dagger over in her hand. “Why would someone try to kill me? What have I done to deserve this?”

The puncture had stopped bleeding and merely needed time to heal. “I’ve been thinking about that myself,” he replied without taking his attention from the task of rewrapping her foot. He tucked the end of the new bandage beneath its outer folds, securing it in place. “Maybe they think you had something to do with Nathan Gebhardt’s murder.” His hands skimmed over the exposed skin of her foot, massaging the delicate curves, his fingers itching to explore higher. “Or they want it to look like you did.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a stricken look on her face.

“Nathan’s death was no accident. The police have come to suspect the woman Nathan had been involved with, and no one knows who she is. Needless to say, all eyes are alert to any suspicious behavior, any misstep.”

He lifted Rebecca’s other foot to rest next to the first. A quick glance showed no injuries other than minor bruising. “Then along came a beautiful young woman no one knows. She claims to be good friends with the Endicott family, who have been conveniently out of town. Although she dresses well, she’s clearly not one of them. Very suspicious.”

His fingers caressed Rebecca’s battered skin, the need to touch her, to comfort her, too strong to resist. “It’s no real secret I’m involved in the investigation, and we’ve been spending a good deal of time together.”

Rebecca’s back stiffened against the plush leather seat. “Is that why you stayed by my side? You thought I was a murderess?”

Wise or not, she deserved an honest answer. “Initially, no. Not until the clues started to weigh against you.”

“I don’t believe this.” She yanked her feet from his grasp. “I swear to you, I barely knew Mr. Gebhardt, much less have any desire to kill him.” The earnest look on her face and the pain in her eyes squelched all doubt.

“I believe you, but at the time, what else could I think? Nathan had given the comb you wore to the woman the police suspect killed him. You’ve continually lied to me, and you willingly walked through the most disreputable districts in the city to meet up with a band of thieves.”

“Miss Endicott,” Rebecca said in barely a whisper. “I borrowed the comb from Victoria Endicott.”

Christopher latched onto the surprising news, and quickly dismissed it. “From what I’ve seen, she’d always spurned Nathan’s advances.”

“We need to go back,” Rebecca insisted.

“No. Right now my primary concern is your safety. From here on out, you’ll stay by my side at all times.”

Her slender brows furrowed. “Just as I was within your sight today? Where have you been? I looked for you everywhere.”

“Patrick Gebhardt, Nathan’s eldest brother, was at Spence’s house. I thought it prudent to keep a watchful eye on his whereabouts. Believe me, Spence and I never lost track of you.”

“Until I left for the gardens.”

“Yes, until then. Spence had taken you out of the solarium so I assumed he was with you. It wasn’t until he came back alone that I realized something was wrong.”

Rebecca looked down at the blade she held. “You think Mr. Gebhardt wielded this knife in revenge?”

“Unlikely. I saw no evidence that he was aware of your existence, much less planning an attack. All afternoon he seemed to be enjoying himself with friends and didn’t so much as look your way.”

“Then who?”

“If the true murderer is aware you’re a suspect, maybe she hopes by killing you the truth will never been discovered.”

Rebecca released a long breath. “Perhaps the Fates are punishing me.” She reached over for her reticule and held up the knife. “Do you mind if I keep this?” At his questioning look, she added, “It seems I need all the protection I can get right now.”

“As you wish.” If it made her feel safer, he had no objections. He watched as she stowed the dagger in her purse. She didn’t deserve this—to fear for her life. She may have lied, but she was no murderer. “When we first met, I believed you must have been the woman in Nathan’s life.”

She nodded. “I remember you asking me about him.”

“He had me promise to protect her, although he died before he could provide me her name.”

“Oh.” Her eyes strayed to the reticule in her lap. “So all this time…all that you’ve done for me has been out of honor.”

Honor. If only that were true. “No. I don’t think any of my actions were done out of honor.” He shook his head as the bitter truth dawned. “I did all this for myself. Somehow I thought if I kept my promise or perhaps even found Nathan’s killer, some of my guilt might be absolved.”

She tilted her head at an angle, confusion in her eyes. “Guilt? For what?”

“Nathan asked me for money, and instead of trusting him, I refused, pointing out how much he already owed me.” His stomach twisted at the memory. “If only I had listened, given him the Godforsaken money, he might be alive today.”

“Christopher, you can’t let yourself believe that. You didn’t know what would happen, and you certainly didn’t kill him.”

Her soothing words helped to some degree, although much of the guilt remained. “I suppose you’re right.”

A frown bowed her lips, and her eyes darted away. “You told me once that you were a quick judge of character. And in my case, you were right to doubt me, to doubt who I am.” She released a sigh. “There’s something you should know about me.”

A heavy silence enveloped the confines of the coach as he waited for Rebecca to go on.

“My father isn’t a businessman, and I’ve never been to Boston. I work for the Endicotts as part of their household staff and have for the past five years.”

His heart warmed. Finally, she’d confided in him. Still, he wanted more. “Why the pretense?”

She gazed into his eyes with a look of sincerity and trust. “My father was in trouble again, and I didn’t have the funds to help him.”

“So you set out to seduce rich men for their money,” he finished for her. The knowledge that Rebecca might have used him rankled.

“Yes,” she answered before amending with a shake of her head, “That’s not all of it. Like you, I have to wonder if in some way, I’ve been acting on my own behalf.” Her hand rose to play with his lucky coin still dangling from her neck. “Ten years ago, my parents were members of society.”

A wistful look swept over her face. “My mother was a Waterford. Before she died, we were so happy, my father and I. All was as it should be. Once she passed away, everything I’d known up to that point changed. My father and I drifted apart, and all I had left were sweet memories. After a while, those too began to fade. He gambled away everything we had until he could support neither of us anymore.” Her gaze lifted to his, the glow in her eyes beckoning him to understand. “All this time, I hoped that if I helped my father—paid his debts, kept him alive—maybe someday I might get back the man I remember.”

He ached for her, the torment she’d suffered, but she had to see the truth. “Someday you may have to accept that the father you remember may never come back.”

“I know.” She swallowed, her shoulders slumping. “I’m truly sorry for all I’ve put you through.”

He shrugged. He’d do it all over again. “If nothing else, at least your charade gave me the chance to know you.” Rebecca was a kind-hearted woman, courageous and strong. Not only had she survived such troubles at an early age, she still held enough love in her heart to do whatever it took to protect the man who had deserted her. Spence had insisted he’d already made up his mind about her—that there would be no lasting relationship between them. Was he really so inflexible and stubborn?

Her hand clenched around the silver locket, the lucky coin also encompassed by her palm. He’d give anything to see a smile on her face once more. “You owe me a pair of trousers,” he teased.

She sent him a curious look, as if she wasn’t sure what to make of his comment, so he clarified, “That special blend of tea Miss Endicott was so keen on still stains them.”

Rebecca moaned. “Oh, I was mortified. I’d never done something so clumsy in all my life.”

“Not to worry. I’m certain throughout history there has been many a dampened lap.”

Her eyes hardened, and her back turned stick straight. “How long have you known?”

“For a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me…confront me?”

“Because I’m an idiot. I thought you were a murderer and that somehow your deception was all part of a larger plan.”

The glimmer of anger in her eyes faded. “Oh yes, how could I have forgotten? I’m a suspect in a murder case. You probably know everything there is to know about me.” She looked away, but he saw the flicker of pain that tensed her features. “Tell me. Do you always get so close to your suspects?”

By the bright blush that rose up her neck, he knew what she meant, and the question stung.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

He’d been drawn to Rebecca from the first, even before she became the high-bred lady. He’d never planned to bed her. Hell, he hadn’t planned to care at all. Somehow all that had changed.

…

They arrived at the Endicotts’ house in the early morning hours. Eager to find out if her father had tried to contact her, Rebecca flew down the carriage step, her reticule clutched in her hand. Christopher was convinced she would be safer in his home, and he was probably right. Still, she’d persuaded him to make a short stop before traveling on to his manor.

The house was dark and quiet inside. She lit an oil lamp left on a small table near the door.

“Stay here,” she whispered. “I’ll only be a moment.”

She wasn’t surprised when he ignored her request and followed. As she led the way to the servants’ quarters, she had to admit she felt safer with Christopher near.

They entered her room. A candle burned on her bed table and a large lump occupied her bed. With a perplexed look, she glanced back at Christopher. Nothing else in her quarters appeared to be disturbed. She crept toward the bed. The long figure beneath the covers moved and emitted a low groan. It appeared a beggar had taken residence there. A scraggly beard and mustache concealed much of the man’s worn face. A stark white bandage covered his forehead, and one eyelid was swollen and purple. It took Rebecca a full minute to recognize the man.

“Father?” she cried, rushing to his side. He was unconscious, and a quick survey of his body, with its many bruises and bandages, showed he’d been badly beaten. Smoothing the blankets back into place, she grasped his cold hand and kissed his weathered cheek, dread filling her chest like molten lead. “What have they done to you?”

Christopher’s hand came to rest on her shoulder as she knelt beside her father, and hot tears welled up in her eyes.

Hazel rushed in. “Oh, Rebecca, it’s you,” she sighed. “Thank goodness.”