A Masquerade in the Moonlight (42 page)

He stopped, then stepped in front of her. “Actually,
aingeal
, we aren’t—not anymore,” he admitted, sensing the time had come for absolute honesty between them—or at least as much honesty as he could give her without frightening her. “I’ve always had my doubts about your members of The Club. I stood back, watching you go about your revenges, just to see how well you succeeded. Think about it, Marguerite. Do I really wish to involve the honor of my country with men who are so inept that they fall like ninepins before the schemes of one small, if delightfully brilliant, young woman? I think not.”

So you’re retiring from the field?” Marguerite asked, her tone hopeful.

“Absolutely. I want nothing to do with their schemes and neither, I’m certain, will my president once I report to him. Although I doubt I’ll inform Harewood and the others of my imminent defection. I do so hate seeing grown men weep.”

“And you won’t interfere with
my
plans?”

Thomas smiled, shaking his head, impressed by her determination. He decided to be honest with her on that hand as well. “Ah,
aingeal
, I can’t promise you that. Chorley may be on his way to debtor’s prison, and Totton has probably already boarded ship for the West Indies or some other place where he’s unknown, while I am confident Mappleton is in for some sort of rude surprise later this evening. But, as I said before, Harewood and Laleham are dangerous. Especially Laleham. I’ll watch, as you want me to, but if your plans begin to unravel, I’ll be there to step in. I mean to protect you, whether you want me around or not. Besides—if Harewood and Laleham figure out I’ve decided to drop out of their little game, they might just take umbrage and decide to punish me. I don’t intend to come to a messy end at their hands just when I’ve found my life’s true love. That, and I really can’t leave them lying about at loose ends to think up yet another treasonous scheme, this time with Napoleon, now can I?”

“Don’t worry, Donovan. They won’t be in any position to harm you, scheme at treason, or do much of anything, in fact, once I am finished with them.”

“Really? Of all your attributes, dearest Marguerite, I do believe I admire your modesty most.”

She glared up at him. “You think I can’t do it by myself? That I am incapable of destroying them? That’s what you’re saying, Donovan, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you something. I’ve handled them so far, and I can—”

She was growing angry again, and Thomas decided he’d been slapped enough for one evening. He pulled her up against his chest with enough force to silence her, then lowered his head and slanted his mouth against hers, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as she immediately slipped her arms around his waist, allowing him to win this one argument.

Or so he hoped. But, just in case he hadn’t, he promised himself either he or Dooley would stay as close as sticking plaster to Harewood and Laleham until it was over. Then, he thought fatalistically as he led Marguerite back down the path and toward her waiting chaperone, he and Dooley would be forced into action.

It was one thing for Marguerite to embarrass the men, to force them into at least temporary retirement from society. Her revenges would soothe some of her pain, her loss, and free her to get on with her life.

How long, he wondered, would it take for his beautiful, intelligent Marguerite to see what he saw, what he had hinted without saying? Would she realize, as he already knew, that his country’s release from Harewood’s and Laleham’s treasonous schemes required a much more
permanent
resolution than mere banishment from society?

“Donovan,” he heard Marguerite say just as Mrs. Billings waved to them from the rented box where she sat sipping ratafia, “a word of advice. When you meet with Ralph, address him as ‘my friend.’ Say it several times, softly, as you look deeply into his eyes. And when you’re leaving him, please make certain to say
good-bye
.”

He looked down at her, puzzled by both her words and her smile. “Why?”

She shrugged. “As Oliver Goldsmith once wrote, ‘Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no fibs.’ Strange—that line appears in
She Stoops to Conquer
. How fitting.” She squeezed Thomas’s forearm. “Just do it, Donovan. It will ease any tensions in your meeting with Sir Ralph considerably, I promise.”

Sir Ralph chafed at the notion he, a man of importance and social standing, had been reduced to skulking through the darkness in a mask and domino, hunting for an elusive American. He didn’t have time for such foolishness.

He’d been working on his confession all that afternoon, reluctant to leave it until he had finished at least two rough drafts. Writing it all down, seeing his life flow from his pen, condemning him, condemning William and the others, had freed him in some ways, but had reminded him yet again of Geoffrey Balfour’s terrifying final agonies.

Tomorrow evening couldn’t come soon enough. He had to expunge the guilt, the memories, and be, as Maxwell had so enticingly put it,
reborn
. The rest of it would be easy. He would most certainly shun his comrades in intrigue and crime. Perry and Stinky would be easily ignored, as they were now beyond the pale, disgraced and most probably banished. Arthur, the fool, would not even notice that he no longer sought him out, for the man was completely engrossed in making a mockery of himself with that Rollins chit in order to gain her fortune.

Leaving William. Sir Ralph put his fist to his mouth, wondering not for the first time how he would deal with William. He didn’t need him—that was certain. William had never soiled his hands by working in any lowly government office. No, he had stood back, kept to the shadows, pulling the strings but never exposing himself. His only power had been personal—his eloquence in Parliament, his persuasive manner, his quick brain, his penchant for money-making schemes.

But not anymore. Not after tonight! Sir Ralph was going to make his own deal with the American, circumventing William. He had to, for he was going to be reborn to a new and eternal life, and living forever took money. Lots of money. And power. The crown would sit his head just as well as it would sit William’s. Maybe better. What a king he would make, he and his Shield of Invincibility!

Sir Ralph was pulled from his musings as he saw the American approach, his arrogant, lengthy strides separating him from the Englishmen who leisurely strolled the pathways, always careful to be seen and admired.

“There you are, Harewood,” Donovan greeted him, grinning, Sir Ralph thought, like the cat with canary feathers sticking from the corners of his mouth. “So glad you suggested we meet here. The scenery is wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Country bumpkins with manure still sticking to their boots seem to believe so,” Sir Ralph answered coldly, steering Donovan into the shadows and out of the way of the endless stream of party-goers bent on shamelessly debauching themselves without worrying about being recognized. “Have you brought the letter from your president?”

“Such haste, Harewood. Do you have an appointment in the shrubberies yourself? I’ve been tripping over amorous couples all evening long. Ah, but I have a better question. Two, actually. Have you begun shipping goods to my warehouse? Are the agreed-upon number of ships—fifteen, I believe the number was—already loaded to the bulkheads with goods and on their way west?”

Sir Ralph’s hands balled into fists. “No, damn you. You know none of that can happen until I have the letter. I have to protect myself.”

“Such animation, Harewood! This is not like you, although I consider it an improvement. But, if I may, might I remind you that you also have to find a replacement for Totton in the War Ministry, unless I’m missing something. After all, this is but the first of the shipments.  We need that show of good faith before we enter into any long-term relationship with you fine fellows. Or am I missing something, Harewood? Yes. Yes, I am. I’m missing a third question. The money, Harewood. Is the money on its way as well, or is Mappleton so besotted with his Miss Rollins that he’s been shirking his duties at the Treasury?  Dear me, it’s all unraveling, isn’t it?  I suppose we’ll have to leave it to Madison’s other emissaries to attempt to avert a war, hmm?”

Sir Ralph pushed up his eye mask, as he was beginning to perspire profusely and the itchy thing was slipping down his nose. “Show me the letter,” he bargained, needing something, some sort of proof that the American was not toying with him. “Just show it to me.”

“That’s twice in as many minutes you’ve taken me for a fool,
my friend
,” Donovan said in low tones, staring at him, and Sir Ralph blinked quickly several times, suddenly feeling strange—almost the way he felt when gazing into Maxwell’s black eyes. “Once, by calling me names, and now again, believing I’d be so silly as to keep the letter on my person. A man could be robbed, my friend, on such dark pathways as these.”

“But you do have it?” Harewood asked, then heard himself adding, “Please, Donovan?”

“Dear me, yes. It is rather a long swim to return to Washington to fetch it, don’t you think? Tell you what, my friend—we’ll meet again tomorrow night. You bring proof you can deliver all you’ve promised—even now, with Totton gone—and I will bring the letter. Agreed?”

“Tomorrow night?” Sir Ralph slapped his right fist into his left palm, trying to think, desperately wishing to please. “I can’t. Not tomorrow night. I’m so sorry. I—I have another engagement.”

“Truly? It must be an extremely important appointment, my friend, to have you refusing to conclude our bargain before your former ally, the Earl of Laleham, can deduce what you’re about.”

“William?” Sir Ralph’s head shot up, dislodging the hood of his gray domino. Clearly he hadn’t been giving the American enough credit. He should have, for the man really wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought him. He was rather nice, actually. “What do you know about William? You never saw him—”

“Except at Gentleman Jackson’s charming establishment. Yes, I know. But we Irish, Harewood, we’ve the second sight, don’t you know. If you wish to cut the fellow out it’s fine with me. Cut them all out, as you’ve already hinted. Just get me my goods, and my ships—and my money. Never forget the money, my friend. In return, you’ll get your letter, promising we’ll stand back and let you have your own Tea Party, as we did so many years ago. Why, when this is all over, we’ll be allies, won’t we? How cozy. I know our American sailors will be extremely pleased to know they can go back to plying their trade without fear of being boarded and impressed into serving your king.”

“Yes, the money. You’ll be skimming some of the money for yourself before passing the rest along, won’t you, Donovan?” Sir Ralph asked, feeling more relaxed and confident every minute. At last he understood the American! “Perry thought you wanted power, but it’s money you’re after. You don’t care a fig about those sailors, or any embargos, or any thoughts of war or
anything
! You don’t care if I cut William out, him and the rest of them. Loyalty means nothing to you. Why didn’t I see it before? We’re alike, you and I. No wonder I felt I could deal with you!”

“The meeting, my friend,” Donovan prompted shortly, ignoring Sir Ralph’s revelations, which, to Sir Ralph, was as good as agreeing with them.

He could feel victory pulsing through his blood. He just needed a little time—time to allow Maxwell to perform his magic, making him invulnerable, immortal. Time to eliminate William. Some people might term him crazy, Sir Ralph surmised, but he knew differently. He trusted Maxwell. He trusted his own instincts, his own needs and desires. He trusted Donovan. It would work. It would all work. It
had
to work!

“Sunday, Donovan,” he hissed, suddenly eager to be on his way, back to his house and to his confession, to give it one more reading before penning a final copy. To pen a note to William, instructing his nemesis, his victim, to come to him at two on Saturday night, after he returned from Green Park with his Shield of Invincibility. It was all coming together so wonderfully, now that he had Maxwell. “Sunday morning. Early. You can come to my house at nine—no, eight. Come to the front door. There will be no more need for hiding by then and, er, I may have a small favor to ask of you—some, er, rather large
package
you might help me dispose of discreetly. I’ll have all the papers ready—proof that I am a man of my word. Are we agreed?”

“Anything you say, my friend,” Donovan replied smoothly—too smoothly? No, Sir Ralph knew he was looking for bogeymen now, and that was ridiculous. He was so near to his goal. And Donovan called him his friend.
My friend
. Such comforting music to his ears. “Paddy will be vexed, as he’ll be forced to miss Mass, but when duty calls, heh? However, for now I have agreed to meet with Miss Balfour for the unmasking, and it is very nearly midnight. Would you care to join us?”

“I prefer to leave before midnight,” Sir Ralph answered, already walking away, for he had seen William skulking about and wished to be gone before William saw him. “Until Sunday morning?”

“Yes, indeed,” the American answered, bowing, his assured manner setting off another niggling jangle of warning bells in Sir Ralph’s brain, a warning he once more refused to heed. “Until Sunday morning. It should prove to be a most interesting day. Oh, and Harewood,” he ended, smiling, “
good-bye.
”