A Heart's Masquerade (33 page)

He had barely given her a thought until Devlin had forced him to recall her existence. Edward winced at the memory of Devlin's contempt, blaming the chit. If not for her, he might never had been dragged into Devlin's presence again.

As if that ordeal had not been enough, then the mysterious duke had descended upon him, threatening him as though he were nobody. It was all too much, and he turned to the bottle, depleting the cellars at Wellshire before passing out on a couch in drawing room.

The limited staff could only shake their heads at the state of the household. The housemaid ventured out to clean in the morning, but gave the drawing room a wide berth after discreetly closing its doors. They had discovered that the best way to deal with their new master was to keep out of his way.

"Now, what is it?" asked the butler with a groan, upon hearing the arrival of a coach. It was a breach of etiquette that never would have happened before Edward's tenure.

"Why, it's Cat, sir," squealed a maid at the sight of a familiar figure alighting from an elegant equipage.

With a wide smile on his face, the butler held the door open as word spread with amazing speed that Catherine was home and stepping out of a fancy vehicle with a huge golden crest.

And she swept through the entrance to her old home with far more elegance and style than she had ever exhibited before her departure. But once inside, Cat nearly broke down at the sight of every member of the small staff lined up inside to greet her.

"Welcome home, Miss Catherine," the butler intoned, and Cat's eyes misted over as she held out her gloved hand and spoke to each one in turn.

Unfortunately, the reunion was interrupted by the arrival of Edward, stumbling out of the drawing room. "What the devil?" he shouted.

For a long moment he stared at Cat, as though unable to recognize the poised, well-dressed woman commanding the hall as the young girl he had tried to murder. Then he paled.

"Get back to your duties," he ordered. But his words came out in a mumble, and few rushed to obey him. The butler appeared not to have heard at all and remained stiffly at the entrance as if to watch over Cat.

"Cousin," Cat said softly, surprising herself with her cool tone. "Would you care to speak privately?"

Edward nodded, scowling, and the two moved into the drawing room, where Cat wrinkled her nose at the odors of refuse, unwashed male, and spilled wine. It looked as though her cousin had caroused well into the morning hours, and yet he still seemed to harbor a thirst.

Walking to a side table where a decanter of sherry stood, he poured himself a liberal portion. He took a healthy swig and then turned to face her.

"Well, well." He practically spat the words. "If it isn't little Catherine, all grown up, and dressed up. And jumped up, too."

Cat regarded her cousin closely. His handsome face was marred by days of dark stubble, and the shirt, hanging out of his breeches, could only be described as slept in. He certainly did not look capable of besting anyone, let alone Ransom.

"Where is my husband?" Cat asked.

"What?" Edward appeared so puzzled by the question that Cat allowed herself to savor a small measure of relief before questioning him further.

"Don't fence with me, Edward," she said. "I know he was here. When did he leave, and where did he go?"

Edward shrugged. "How should I know? Perhaps you should keep a tighter rein on him. Or is he already bored with your... charms?"

Cat did not blink at the taunt. "Shall I be blunt, Edward? So far I have kept your past misdeeds quiet, but that situation can easily change," she warned. "Prove to me that he left in good health, and I will not send for the authorities."

For a moment Edward stared at her blankly, as though unable to believe she was threatening him. "You little bitch," he snarled, and his arm shot out to grasp hers in a deadly grip, pulling her toward him.

But the changes Edward had noted in his cousin were more than superficial. Since their last meeting Cat had been through battles and storms, brawled with sailors, escaped from a pirate ship, and cheated death more than once. And she had faced opponents who made him look like the sneaky little weakling he was.

With a grunt, she slammed her foot down on his, then raised her knee where she knew it would do the most damage. Edward fell back against the side table with a cry, while Cat dusted herself off and walked to the door.

"I'll kill you!" Edward shouted. Roused from his lethargy, he stumbled after her, but the door was flung open, stopping him in his tracks.

For a moment, Cat thought that the poor butler was rushing to her aid, but he was only announcing the arrival of a man who walked right past him. Small and rotund, with dark eyes and a dark pointed beard, the fellow was a complete stranger, yet he entered as though he owned the place.

Despite his girth, he moved smoothly and quickly, and Edward did not question his abrupt appearance. In fact, her cousin dismissed the butler with a curt order. When the servant lingered, as though loathe to leave Cat, another growl from Edward sent him scurrying away.

Cat felt no unease as she turned to face the stranger, for she had proven herself able to handle Edward. And the butler was probably standing outside the door, ready to step in with a word from her.

"Your grace! It is such a pleasure to meet you at last," the man said, and Cat caught a faint whiff of exotic spices. "You cannot imagine how anxious I have been to make your acquaintance."

He motioned for her to take a seat, and Cat perched on the edge of the nearest chair, uncertain why he was acting as host in the house she had once called her own.

"When my sources told me you were heading south, I did so hope that you would stop at your former home, for the baron here is an old friend of mine," the man said. He nodded toward Edward, but his expression was not one of warmth.

For his part, Edward looked even paler than before as he sank onto a small couch, making Cat wonder just who would cause her cousin such dismay, perhaps even fear. And suddenly, she knew the answer. This man pretended politeness, but showed no deference to a baron or a duchess, and his seemingly bland exterior hid the menace beneath.

It was Devlin.

He must have caught the flicker of recognition in her eyes, for his thin lips tightened into a cruel smile. "I gather you have deduced my identity. How clever of you! But then, I knew you were gifted. I am Tremayne Devlin."

His gaze never leaving hers, he spoke over his shoulder to her cousin. "Lock the door, Edward."

"Just a precaution, my dear," he said to Cat. "I don't want you going anywhere. You see, I have plans for you."

"Do you?" Cat asked. She did not point out that she had thwarted his previous plans for her.

"Yes, I do," he said, the tone of his voice changing to a more threatening one. And the look he sent her made Cat suppress a shiver. She fought back a surge of alarm, for she needed to keep her wits about her.

"I'm afraid your husband is pursuing me quite aggressively, and I need something to hold him up a bit - just until I can leave the vicinity. And holding you for ransom - no pun intended," he noted with a smirk, "should be just the thing."

"And do you imagine that I'll sit still for that? That you can take me prisoner in my former home, filled with servants?" Cat asked, incredulous.

"Oh, yes," Devlin said, pulling a small pistol from his coat. "Naturally, you may scream all you like, but by the time anyone should come up with the courage to disobey their master and break down the door, you will be dead."

He smiled, a chilling turn of the lips. "You see, it is just a matter of time. The more you cooperate now, the longer you will live, though the chances of your ultimate survival are remote. You already know that Edward here longs for your demise," he said, with a nod in her cousin's direction.

"I am not in the habit of indulging his whims, but your death will serve both as revenge upon Duprey and retribution for poor Richard, who gave up his life trying to end yours. So, my dear, which is it to be... now or later?"

"Never," said a voice behind her, and Cat nearly jumped from her seat as she recognized her husband's rich tones. She turned to see him, tall and handsome and calm, as he stepped from behind the curtains covering the French doors. He, too, held a pistol, and it was pointed directly at Devlin.

"Did you really think I had lost your trail from London?" Ransom asked coldly. "You've gone too far too often, and now it is over."

Devlin's expression twisted with hatred, but he did not flinch. "Shoot me, if you like," he said, smirking. "But your dear wife will most certainly die, too." He spoke the words with complete conviction, but Cat could see he did not take her into account, dismissing her as a frightened female.

And that was his mistake. His attention was focused solely upon Ransom, the loathing he felt for her husband seeming to fill the room. And while the two of them traded threats, Cat reached for her precious silver blade.

It sang through the air with deadly accuracy to lodge in the fat flesh of Devlin's shoulder, but it did not stop him. He pulled the trigger, discharging the weapon at the very spot where Cat had been sitting.

She had moved when she threw the knife, but the ball was still close enough to give her pause even as it cracked harmlessly into the now-empty chair. Then another shot rang out, and Devlin topped forward, his features altered by an uncharacteristic look of surprise.

Edward, slumping forgotten in a corner, suddenly sprung to life. "You bitch! You are to blame for everything." Spitting out the words with startling venom, he lunged toward her, and Cat glanced helplessly around for a weapon.

But Edward, too, soon wore a look of surprise. Recoiling at a sharp sound, he stared down at his chest in amazement. Than, he fell backwards, and Cat was shocked to see Ransom's coachman step through the window with his blunderbuss, still smoking.

"Was that satisfactory, your grace?" he asked.

"Excellent, Ralston," Ransom said. And for the first time, Cat saw the strain in her husband's face. He turned toward her and caught her up in a tight grip, murmuring something about it all being far too close for comfort.

***

That night as she lay in her childhood bed, Cat banished any old ghosts that lingered in her rooms and said a prayer for the lonely old sailor who'd befriended her one stormy night. Without Budd her life would have taken a very different turn, and the thought made her press a light kiss upon the hand that rested on her shoulder.

"Hmm?" Her husband's grunt made her smile.

"I thought you were asleep," Cat said, nuzzling his neck.

"No," he said. "I was just thinking about the little girl who grew up here. You know, my love, this room reflects you, with its odd combination of lace and wooden ships, books and birds' nests."

He laughed softly, then eyed her more soberly. "We can stay here, if you wish."

"Oh, no," Cat said, knowing that she would take the good memories with her wherever she went, while leaving the worst behind. "I will be glad to go home."

Ransom lifted a dark brow. "Even though you complained about the big house full of strangers?"

"Yes," Cat said. "Just as long as you have no future travel plans that exclude me."

"Hmm, let me think..." Ransom rubbed his chin as if mulling over his answer, then yelped as Cat nipped at his finger.

"No, I plan to stay put," Ransom said. "But what of you, my little Cat? Have you any dangerous trips in the offing?"

"No," Cat murmured, knowing that her visit here was still a sore point between them.

"No more masquerades or outlandish adventures?" he asked.

"No, captain," Cat whispered, as she settled against his chest. "I see nothing ahead but smooth sailing."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A former journalist, Deborah Simmons is the author of twenty-eight novels and novellas, published by Avon, Berkley, and Harlequin.

Among her works are a USA Today Bestselling anthology and her popular series on the medieval de Burgh family. Two of Simmons' books have been finalists in the Romance Writers of America's annual RITA competition for excellence:
The Gentleman Thief
in 2001 and
A Lady of Distinction
in 2005. And two have been finalists in the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence in Mystery/Suspense,
The Gentleman’s Quest
and
Glory and the Rake.

Simmons has sold more than two and a half million books in North America, and her work has been translated and published in thirty-one countries, including illustrated editions in Japan.

DeborahSimmons.com

facebook.com/authordeborahsimmons

OTHER WORKS BY DEBORAH SIMMONS INCLUDE:

A Man of Many Talents

A Lady of Distinction