The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (14 page)

"I'll finish my hair, Tate, if you would find Sarge," Blaine said, anxious to have something to do other than worry over the confusion of her affairs. "Then we can go home and seek our beds."

The dresser handed her the brush and hurried out of the room. Blaine closed her eyes, soothed by the restful brush strokes, but before long the face she had seen so often in her dreams formed in her mind and she jerked her eyes open again. Devil take that blasted man! she fumed as she glared at the single white rose on her dressing table.

The flowers had arrived the first night of her return to the theatre. White roses! The card had been signed in a single initial, a flourished D. And that evening Drew Farrington had been seated in his private box, his green gaze never leaving her for a moment. In a rage, Blaine had thrown the flowers in the alley behind the theatre. The next night flowers had arrived again and she went back to her usual habit of giving them to the girls in the chorus.

Part of her anger was at herself for allowing Drew's personality to charm her into forgetting the kind of man he was. She had actually grown to like and admire the man. Yet at the first opportunity he had returned to the theatre to ogle the woman he hoped to make his mistress. She had always known she could not trust men and she was furious that she had ever spoken to the hateful, depraved Lord Farrington.

She banged the brush down on the dressing table and quickly braided her hair and covered it with a close fitting bonnet. She stood up tiredly and reached for the cloak on the chaise longue. With a flip, she settled it on her shoulders, securing it around her throat.

And to make matters worse, Talbott Stoddard had also returned to plague her. In his case, she had little regret in snubbing him. There was something distasteful about the look in Stoddard's eye. At least within Drew's green gaze she had seen the light of mischief; in Stoddard's there was nothing but cold calculation. The man was definitely to be feared. As if her thoughts had conjured up the devil, her dressing room door opened and Stoddard walked in.

"How dare you!" Blaine cried, whirling around to face him.

"Softly, goddess," he said. "No need for such temper."

Stoddard closed the door and leaned against the wooden panels, his eyes caressing her body. Blaine pulled the cloak more fully around herself as if in protection from the blatant sensuality of his gaze. She shivered involuntarily as his eyes raised to hers and she saw the blaze of passion within the pale blue depths.

"Get out!" she snapped coldly.

"I think not, my pet. This is the first chance I've had to speak to you without the interference of your two bodyguards and I have no intention of scurrying away at your disdainful command."

Stoddard moved forward, much as a hunter stalks his prey. Although her heart was pounding, Blaine refused to give ground. She locked her knees, determined to face the man in anger, not cowering like some frightened spinster. Instinctively she knew that Stoddard would be pleased by her fear and she would not give him such an easy victory.

"Willing or unwilling, I will have you, goddess."

"I would sooner couple with a filthy dustman," Blaine said, raising an eyebrow, her expression carefully aloof.

She could see by the sudden tightening of his mouth that she had scored a hit but did not relax for a moment. The man was clearly dangerous.

"You will pay for that, my dear." His voice was a thin stream of ice. He moved closer. "I have been extremely patient but I grow weary of the game. I do not understand why you remain so coy. I am sure a woman of the world, such as yourself, is fully aware of my intentions. If you mean to hold out for a better offer, please know that I am prepared to deal well with you. I am an extremely wealthy gentleman."

"Those two words do not naturally follow." Blaine spoke crisply, her cheeks flushing with anger. "A gentleman would not offer a lady such an insult."

"An actress is no lady," Stoddard sneered.

Blaine felt the color drain from her face and caught the smile of satisfaction in the hateful man's eyes. She longed to spit in his face but she reined in her fury, knowing she was far too vulnerable to anger the man.

"Your words bore me, milord. I have nothing further to say."

Ignoring her dismissal, Stoddard stepped forward until they were only a hands-breadth apart. "Your beauty leaves me breathless. Beneath the makeup, your skin is flawless."

He reached out and ran his finger down her cheek, stopping at the corner of her mouth. The skin burned beneath his touch. Blaine's eyes blazed with fury but she did not move, even when she heard the door open behind Stoddard.

"I cannot believe the lady gave you permission to enter."

At the sound of Drew Farrington's voice, Blaine felt instant relief. She pulled herself away from Stoddard's hand, wanting to scrub the place on her face that he had touched.

"Until later, goddess." Stoddard nodded his head, turned and passed in front of Drew without acknowledging the man's presence.

As the door closed, there was silence in the room. Blaine looked at the anger on Drew's face and flinched as he approached her.

"Are you all right?"

There was such tender concern in Drew's voice that Blaine felt tears rise in her throat. She blinked her eyes, determined not to cry. He opened his arms and, before Blaine could stop herself, she had stepped into the shelter of his embrace. He held her as a friend, murmuring soothing words into her ears and slowly the tremors that had invaded her body quieted.

Drew closed his arms around the actress as if his embrace could shield her from all harm. He was surprised at her height, the top of her head came to just below his chin where his lips could kiss the top of her bonnet. Her curves fit the angles and planes of his body as if they were two pieces of a puzzle. He was aware of the scent of her, a fresh gardeny aroma that seemed strangely out of place in the muggy air of the dressing room, redolent with the smell of greasepaint. He was disappointed when she pushed at his chest and he released her slowly, reluctant to lose contact with her.

Blaine could feel the color rise to her cheeks in embarrassment. She could not believe that she had gone so easily into his arms. True, she had been shaken by Stoddard's appearance but to accept Drew's embrace could only lead him to the belief that she was susceptible to his charm and eager for his attention. Granted, his embrace had been one of comfort, not affection, she must keep her dealings with him on an impersonal level. She knew, with most men, one sign of weakness would give them the impetus to continue their pursuit. She hardened her heart to the magnetic force that seemed to emanate from the man.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Lord Farrington," she said, her voice carefully controlled to show nothing but friendly appreciation.

"Delighted to be of service, Miss Mason," Drew responded with a brief nod of his head. "Talbott Stoddard is an evil man. He is the kind of man who will risk much to satisfy his desires. You must beware of him. I have watched him and he is obsessed with you. Determined to have you at all costs."

"I am aware of his interest and in future shall be more on my guard. He is stupid to think he can woo me. I have neither need nor desire for any man's company. Some men find this impossible to understand."

"For myself, I find it impossible to accept," Drew said softly, smiling when she raised her chin in defiance.

"Go away, Lord Farrington. There is nothing for you here."

Blaine found it difficult to concentrate since her whole body seemed to tingle at Drew's nearness. She looked up into his eyes and found she was transfixed by the clarity of the green color. His gaze seemed to pierce her, seeking the secret corners of her mind and her heart. She could feel her heart beating, sounding loud to her ears but she could not break the power of his glance. Suddenly, his features tightened taking on a more wolfish gleam and now the green gaze lost its coolness and jolted her with a blaze of passion.

"You are truly a lovely woman," Drew said. His eyes slid over the creamy curves of her face, although he did not touch her. "It pains me not to be able to protect you from men like Stoddard. That he would dare lay hands on you is almost more than I can bear."

Drew's eyes caressed her where the other man's finger had touched. The contact with Stoddard had been repellant, leaving behind only a feeling of distaste. Under Drew's burning gaze, her skin seemed to glow as warmth radiated outward in an ever-widening circle of excitement. Her chest was constricted; her breathing shallow almost panted. A yearning filled her to be held once more in his arms.

"We belong together," Drew said, his voice a tender whisper as if he did not really want to say the words aloud. "I do not know how I know this but I feel that it is true."

Blaine licked her lips to ease the dryness of her mouth. "It is not possible, Lord Farrington."

"I tried to stay away, but I was drawn here as surely as a moth to a flame. Do you feel nothing?"

She evaded the question. "We belong to two different worlds."

"Perhaps," he answered, his face serious. "We could combine our worlds."

Blaine blinked, stepping back a pace as if to distance herself from temptation. "A half world is not enough. It would never satisfy either of us."

"A half would be preferable to nothing at all."

"You are wrong, Lord Farrington. Paste jewels have no value."

Blaine kept the expression on her face aloof, her head held regally erect. She focused her eyes on his cravat not wanting him to see the hurt she felt at his proposition. The anger would come later she knew. She pulled the cloak more securely around her body.

"Leave me alone, Lord Farrington. I have nothing to give you and you can give me nothing I want."

At her words, there was silence in the room. Drew studied her face and knew he had been dismissed. He stepped back a pace, gave her a curt bow and opened the door. As he walked down the hallway, his footsteps sounded a hollow beat in the nearly empty theatre.

Much later he sat in the quiet of his library and wondered what to do about the intriguing Maggie Mason. He rolled the name on his tongue but he did not like the sound. The name Maggie did not fit the beautiful woman with the golden-hazel eyes. When he spoke to her he could not use the name. La Solitaire was a sobriquet and he somehow felt it would be an insult to address her thus. Even in his fantasies, he found no suitable name for her.

She was never out of his mind and had even invaded his dreams. He had hoped his trip to Wiltshire would loosen the strength of his desire for her but his need had not diminished. When he returned to London, he sought her out immediately, wanting to see her, if only from the vantage point of his private box. He did not understand what there was about the woman that so entranced him. He wanted more of her than she exposed on stage. It puzzled him that unlike his other liaisons it was not solely for her physical attributes that he sought to possess her. He had a keen awareness that discovering the mind and soul behind the facade of La Solitaire would be more exciting than anything he had ever experienced.

Drew moved restlessly as his body responded to the thought of the actress. Where she was concerned he was no longer the self-possessed Lord Farrington. She brought out a side of him that he had not known existed. She inspired quick bursts of lust, curiosity and anger. He had been amazed at the fury that had taken hold of him when he saw Talbott Stoddard enter her dressing room. He had wanted to tear the man limb from limb for daring to touch her.

And yet was he any different from Stoddard? He also wanted La Solitaire for his mistress. But unlike Stoddard, he would care for her, treat her with tenderness and not merely use her.

This thought drove Drew to his feet. He poured brandy into a snifter and twirled it in his hand, inhaling the bouquet in a slow even breath. He walked to the window and stared down at the cobblestones in front of his townhouse. The streets were empty and damp from the brief shower that had passed overhead. He sipped the brandy and wondered why all of a sudden his life seemed filled with contrary women.

He wondered how Lady Yates was doing? It was strange to say that he missed her. Although Fleur was much in evidence, he had seen little of the old woman. She had been good company in Wiltshire and he had looked forward to her acerbic assessment of London society. When he questioned Fleur, she had said her aunt was much too infirm to take in the evening affairs. It was strange that everyone talked of Lady Yates ill health and yet the times that Drew had been with her, she appeared robust and almost youthful.

He had seen a great deal of Val Meriweather. He enjoyed rediscovering London through the eyes of the young boy. It was apparent that Val was in need of male companionship and Drew had asked among his friends to find boys suitable for the lad. He still liked taking the boy about and he smiled, remembering Val's wide-eyed enthusiasm when they went to look at horses at Tattersalls. Yet even with Val, another female of mysterious background intruded on his peace of mind. He was decidedly intrigued by the boy's references to Blaine Margaret Meriweather.

While it was true that Val did not speak of her constantly, it was the occasional mention of her name that piqued Drew's interest. From the small things that the boy had let slip, he had discovered that the girl was a half-sister and not as old as Drew had imagined. Blaine could not be more than twenty-five and unmarried, which suggested she might be either an antidote or a bluestocking. By now, he knew enough not to question the boy directly, since at the mention of Blaine's name, Val invariably looked conscious. Drew could not fathom what secret there was about the woman that needed to be so closely held.

Perhaps he should look in on the Meriweathers tomorrow. He could inquire as to Lady Yates health and perhaps he might be able to find out a little of the family history. They could compare notes as to the state of the romance between Robbie and Fleur. If Drew was correct, all was not well on that head.

He had watched Fleur as she entered in the whirl of society. After her sheltered life in Wiltshire, even the limited society in London prior to the season, appeared to be quite awe inspiring. Although the girl did not behave in a fashion that could be considered fast, she did revel in the attention that surrounded her. Perhaps if it were the midst of the season and she had been surrounded by other debutantes, she would be less likely to be the center of such a band of admirers. It would give her some perspective at least. As it was, she was a taking little thing and was naive enough to believe that the flirting of a bevy of gentlemen was of worth.