Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (12 page)

But just as soon as he made up his mind to sever contact with Meg, the resolve fled as he remembered the sound of her weeping when she spoke to Colonel Stackhouse. She’d been nearly beside herself with worry for him—for Carlo—and the thought of the prince’s stable hand being punished had brought her to tears. The sound of her voice hitching as she’d pleaded with the colonel not to reveal their friendship had sent a jolt through his heart as he’d imagined her distress, yet at the same time, he had felt as if he’d been wrapped in a warm blanket. Did she really feel so strongly about a servant? Could she really feel so strongly about
him
?

The hope that the idea produced was nearly painful. Rodrigo wanted nothing more than Meg’s good favor, and he wondered why. She was, after all, an American, and if he did return to his holdings and his country, his loyalty to Spain and to the wishes of his parents would lead him to marry the woman they’d chosen for him. The thought was not as comforting as it once had been. He had only met Evangelina Gualtierrez twice, and though she was truly a Spanish beauty, she had not aroused feelings inside him the same way as the ginger-haired American woman.

In the few hours he had spent in Meg’s presence, she had filled him with joy and touched a place within him he thought had been destroyed upon the plains of his homeland when his parents were captured and his beloved country had erupted into a war zone. The feelings she elicited in him were addicting.

Perhaps he would see if Meg wanted to take a ride with Patito and Bonnie later today. The thought brought a smile to his face.

Rodrigo closed the stall gate behind Patito and fetched some grain to fill the animal’s trough. He moved to the box where he kept the horse’s brush but stopped short when he saw a roll of parchment tied with a length of twine, sitting on top of the lid. His mouth went dry as he lifted the scroll. Was it a missive from Spain? A threatening letter from the French? A ransom note? Colonel Stackhouse’s warning moved into his mind, and he took a sharp breath.

He slipped off the twine and unrolled the parchment. It was much larger than a typical piece of writing paper. It appeared to be a map. The parchment was worn and wrinkled, and he noticed that the edges were burned. Crimson stains of what looked like blood were splattered and streaked across it. Rodrigo sucked in a breath. Had a messenger died to bring this map to him? He squinted, tipping the parchment toward the window, but the light filtering into the stable wasn’t bright enough for him to make out the words.

Rodrigo carried the map out of the stable, ignoring the protesting whinny from Patito at his neglect. He stepped into the sun to study the map.

For a moment, he could not understand what he was looking at, but as he examined it further, the tension in his shoulders relaxed as apprehension turned into confusion and then melted into amusement when he began to recognize the depiction.

Bold script scrawled across the top of the page:

Warning:
Ye who hold this map, take heed. Chart your course, but beware. A brutal fate awaits he who steals a buccaneer’s treasure.

A large rectangle at one side of the map was labeled
Haunted Castle
, and in parentheses beneath, it said,
Beware of
el fantasma
in chains
. A chuckle rose into his throat at Meg’s use of the Spanish word for ghost. For there was no doubt in his mind that Meg Burton was behind this.

Landmarks of the area around the castle were drawn and labeled. A dashed line snaked through the estate, marking a path and terminating at a large
X
. The line began exactly where Rodrigo was standing, outside the stables—or as the map-maker had labeled them
Blackbeard’s Stockyard
—and though he could see precisely where it ended, he still followed the longer route.

Rodrigo could not help the tingling excitement that skittered over his skin. He felt like a young boy, and even imagined himself an adventurer in search of riches. This entire situation was utterly ridiculous, yet his heart was light, and he was as eager as a child anticipating Three King’s Day. How did this woman have such an effect on him?

He walked past the cook’s herb garden, which according to the map was “soaked in marauders’ blood,” climbed a small hill (
Gallows-meat Bluff
), and crossed over a wooden bridge (
Traitor’s Plank
) that spanned
Doubloon Creek
. The path led him behind the carriage house (
Blade o’ Fortune Brig
) and into the forest, which the map-maker claimed was the hideout of “murderers, marauders, and sea-wolves.” Finally he stepped into the clearing with the pond (
Jolly Roger Lagoon
), and obeying the instructions to beware of “mermaids that might lure him into the sea,” or the “ghosts of mercenaries that had been hung at low tide,” he followed the dotted line toward the
X
.

Rodrigo walked up the steps into the gazebo, his stomach fluttering. His fingers tingled in anticipation. It was not difficult to spot the treasure. A small trunk sat on one of the benches.

Kneeling on one knee, he lifted the lid of the treasure chest and found it filled with small wrapped packages. He lifted one and, looking closer, recognized that each bundle contained a cake of turrón. How he had missed his favorite Spanish sweet. A treasure indeed!

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. It had been so long that the sensation took him by surprise, but he had apparently not forgotten how to do it. It felt so unbelievably invigorating to release the tight hold he kept on his emotions.

He stood and walked to the edge of the gazebo, laughter still bubbling inside him. “Margarita,” he shouted, “where are you hiding?”

A movement at the edge of the clearing caught his eye. He strode toward it and found Meg hiding behind a tree. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along the path to the gazebo. Before she could protest, he broke off a bit of turrón and popped a piece into her mouth and one into his own, then he pulled her down to sit on the bench next to him.

“How did you possibly find turrón in England, Margarita Burton?”

Even while she chewed on the sticky treat, her eyes twinkled with mischief. She swallowed and smiled, tipping her head playfully. “A lady should not reveal all of her secrets.”

“You will not tell me how you were able to perform such a miracle?” He broke off another piece, put it into his mouth, then offered the rest to Meg.

She shook her head, indicating for him to finish it. “It was not actually so remarkable. I asked the Duchess Serena about it. She told me it is one of her brother’s favorites, and she described it to the cook.” She glanced at the piece he held in his hand. “I hope the flavor is right.”

Rodrigo searched her face for a moment but determined that she was still ignorant as to the identity of Serena’s brother. “It is perfect. The taste is exactly as I remember.” He broke off another piece, chewing and swallowing before he spoke. “And how long did you hide in the trees, waiting for me to arrive?”

Meg placed a hand over her mouth. “Were you so intent upon the map that you did not see me following you?” She schooled her face into a serious expression, waggling her finger at him. “Not a good habit for a buccaneer. An enemy with a cutlass could approach from behind and slit your gullet.”

Rodrigo noticed that when she attempted to be serious, a crease appeared above her nose. He thought how easy it would be to smooth it away with his thumb.

“I admit, the thought of treasure quite blinded me to the danger of being ambushed,” he said.

“Well then, you should be glad I followed you, if only to be on the lookout for scavengers of the high seas. Why, you might have ended up in Davy Jones’s locker if left to your own devices.”

Meg’s teasing words elicited another chuckle. She had upon her head one of those strange bonnets British women wore, tied beneath her chin with pink ribbons. But in Meg’s case, the headpiece did little to control the hair that escaped and blew around her face.

Rodrigo caught one of the curls near her neck and rubbed the soft strands between his fingers. “How lucky I am to have such a lovely protector,” he murmured.

Meg’s gaze locked with his for a brief instant, and the joking sparkle left her eyes, only to be replaced by something else. Something deeper. Something that made Rodrigo’s heart compress and his breath catch in his throat.

She lowered her lashes, and a flush spread over her cheeks. He wondered what she had seen in
his
eyes.

Meg moved to rise from the bench. “I should go. I must practice the pianoforte before Lady Harrison’s musicale tomorrow. They will be missing me soon, but I couldn’t resist following when I saw you approaching the stable.”

Rodrigo released her curl and lowered his hand to her shoulder. “Please, remain just a moment longer. I do not want my adventure to end so quickly.” He smiled in an attempt to put her at ease and return them to their former playfulness. If only he were the prince, he could command her to stay.

“But you already have the treasure.”

“Yes, but now I am uneasy about the warning on the map. What sort of fate do you think one would face when a pirate discovers his treasure missing?”

“Perhaps the creator of the map just thought to make it authentic and believed a threat to be appropriate, although she may not have had a particular penalty in mind.” Meg’s lips quirked, and her eyes twinkled. “But now that you mention it, I think a penalty is entirely suitable. How would you like to take my place at Lady Harrison’s musicale? You could play the pianoforte, and I have the perfect gown for you to wear. You should look lovely in apricot.”

“A harsh penalty to be sure,” Rodrigo said, rubbing his chin. “But for the turrón, it would be worth it.” He turned his gaze back toward her. “I would not want to deprive the
ton
of the opportunity to be enchanted by you, Margarita.”

Meg sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to perform. I play dreadfully.” Her shoulders slumped.

“And you cannot simply tell them that you do not wish to do it?”

Meg shook her head. The wayward curls shook with it, and Carlo’s fingers itched to touch them again. He balled his hands into fists upon his legs.

“The young ladies who will be presented this year are expected to either sing or play an instrument. And neither is my strong suit.” Her lips lifted in a sad smile. “If only it were a poetry recital.” She stood and brushed at her skirts.

Rodrigo stood next to her. “If the purpose of the exposition is to show each young lady in her best light, you should do the thing that you are most comfortable with. And I know you will render the
ton
speechless.” He tipped his head and leaned toward her until she met his gaze. “No matter the venue, I fully believe Margarita Burton will surpass every lady in question.”

Meg did not respond. She wrung her fingers, and he could tell that the idea of performing still troubled her. “Perhaps we might take Patito and Bonnie for a ride later today?” Rodrigo suggested.

Meg shook her head. “The other ladies and I are meeting with a modiste this afternoon to plan our gowns for the masque.”

The mention of the ball hit him like a blow. Was it truly in nine days? The event had seemed so far away when he had made his promise to the duke and Serena, but as it approached, he felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Meg would finally know the truth about him, but how would she react to his identity—and his deceit?

“I imagine choosing a disguise would be an activity pleasing to you, Margarita. You will select something extraordinary, no doubt. And the very idea of a masquerade must appeal to your adventurous spirit.”

“I hope to at least be able to choose the color.” Meg’s eyes were alight, leaving him in no doubt of her eagerness to don a mysterious costume.

“Yes, your remarkable hair,” Rodrigo muttered. “I hope the modiste appreciates how fortunate she is to work with such
belleza.
Such beauty.” He glanced at the curls that rested on her neck and shoulders.

Meg smiled shyly, looking toward the pond. “I have been able to declare a small victory in that department.” The corner of her lips pulled in a smile, and she glanced sideways at him. “The duchess told me she is to wear an apricot gown to the Harrisons’ musicale, and it would be a disaster for the two of us to arrive together in the same colored dress.” Meg’s face grew thoughtful. “It was almost as if she knew how I felt about the gown . . .”

“It sounds like
un
afortunado accidente
, a lucky coincidence.” Rodrigo made a note to thank his sister. “I hear the prince promised Her Grace that he will attend the ball.”

He watched her reaction closely, but Meg just shrugged her shoulders. “That is nice,” she said, and he did not know whether to be offended or pleased with her reaction. “I really must go now.” She dipped in a small curtsey. “Good day, Carlo.”

Rodrigo took hold of her arm, turning her back toward him. “Thank you, Margarita. I do not express my feelings well or often, but today, I was happier than I have been since leaving Spain—or possibly since I can remember.”

Meg’s face softened into a gentle smile. “I am glad to hear you laugh. I’d not heard the sound before.”

“I’d not had many reasons for it lately.”

“That is what friends are for, Carlo.”

Rodrigo stepped closer and brushed his knuckles over Meg’s cheek. “And is that what we are? Friends?”

Meg studied him for a moment, and he wondered if she saw the vulnerability that he felt, exposing himself in this way. “You are more than a friend, Carlo.” Her voice was soft, but she raised an eyebrow. “I consider you a partner in our quest for adventure, and that is much dearer.”

Crooking his finger beneath her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes were the golden brown of toffee, the lashes around them the same color. “
Compañeros de aventura
. I like that very much, Margarita.” Meg’s mouth opened the slightest bit, and his gaze moved to her lips.