Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (21 page)

Meg turned and spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “Carlo, you must leave. I fear the consequences to you are not worth the risk.”

“I would chance any penalty to dance with you, Margarita.”

Meg’s heart fluttered at his words, but it just as quickly dropped. “I could not bear it if you were punished because of it.”

“I will not be punished.”

She shook her head. “You do not know that. The prince is here tonight. What if he discovers you?”

The edges of Carlo’s mouth curled. “He will not.”

She pursed her lips; the sorrow she’d felt was dispersing as Carlo apparently did not take her concerns seriously. She was becoming irritated at his overconfidence “You cannot be sure. At midnight everyone will remove their mask, and what happens then? You must be gone.”

Beneath his mask, Carlo’s expression altered, becoming serious. “I must speak with you before midnight.”

“You are speaking with me now.”

“Alone.”

Meg shook her head. She could not ruin her reputation and that of the duke and Serena by taking the chance of being discovered alone with a man—and a man beneath her station at that. She could ruin everything if she took such an action. She would not. But she didn’t get the chance to voice her argument before Carlo spoke.

“Please. I must.”

She shook her head again but could feel her resolve wavering as his dark eyes held hers.

“Margarita, I am pleading with you. Meet me in the Oriental drawing room at quarter of twelve.”

“You know very well I cannot do such a thing.” Meg could not meet his gaze. She looked over Carlo’s shoulder as Mr. Newton approached.

Carlo lifted her hand and bent over it. “Tomorrow you leave. I will not have another chance. Do me this one favor, Margarita.” His voice was almost a whisper. Without a backward glance, he strode away.

Meg accepted Mr. Newton’s invitation to dance. Forcing a smile, she attempted to carry on a conversation as her mind spun. Why would he want to speak with her alone? She could think of no reason except to bid her farewell, and the familiar aching of her heart returned in earnest.

She hardly realized the dance had ended and another had begun. Meg’s mind continued to dwell on the inevitable parting as her feet luckily remembered the training the dance master had given. Carlo likely wanted to give her a keepsake, a memento to remember their time together. Perhaps he would ask for a lock of her hair to wear next to his heart as he lived a life devoid of joy because she was not in it. Maybe she would even allow him to steal a kiss. The possibility ignited a warmth in her chest.

The hours passed quickly, Meg moved from partner to partner, hardly remembering one from another and comparing each to Carlo. Although she would have loved to be swept away into a sea of bliss with each dance, it was not the case. Only one man had the ability to heat her skin with every touch.

She smiled and thanked the gentleman who escorted her from the floor, and the music changed again. Meg lungs contracted when she heard the orchestra start the minuet.

Lord Featherstone approached, reaching a hand toward her.

Meg could not even manage to summon a pleasant expression to her face as she accompanied him to the dance floor. Every time the earl clasped her hand or moved past her, Meg’s muscles clenched on their own volition. She kept her eyes firmly on his doublet, never allowing them to rise to his gaze. She answered his questions pleasantly enough, amazed that he had the audacity to speak so agreeably to her after their encounter in the woods. The man owed her an apology.

When the dance finished, Meg took his hand to leave the dance floor.

The earl walked slowly, moving his thumb over the back of Meg’s hand in a caress that made her skin crawl. As they passed the duke’s golden grandfather clock, she realized that if she planned to meet Carlo, she would have to hurry. She pulled her hand from the earl’s and bobbing in a quick curtsey, excused herself.

Meg walked in the direction of the ladies’ withdrawing room, certain that Lord Featherstone would not follow her there. She slipped through the crowd as well as she could in her oversized skirts and descended the grand staircase into the entry hall. She tried to look as if she were not heading to a clandestine rendezvous with a forbidden lover, but how could one hide such a thing? The thought of Carlo sweeping her into his arms made her stomach roll in anticipation. One night. One kiss, and then she would leave him forever.

She hurried through the corridor and into the room, but Carlo was not there. Meg untied her mask. She removed the starched collar from around her neck and the cuffs from her sleeves, rubbing her skin where the stiff fabric had chaffed.

She walked around the room, studying the Chinese tapestries and carved furniture by candlelight. She would miss Thornshire and all the memories associated with it. She looked toward the couch where Carlo had hidden her cloak the night of the tower picnic, and her eyes stung. That was the night everything had changed. The night she realized she had lost her heart to Carlo and, after his kiss, known it would ruin them both if she did not stay away.

Meg turned when she heard footsteps, her heart racing. But it was not Carlo who entered the room. Her chest felt hollow. “Lord Featherstone, what are you doing here?”

The earl held his mask in his hand. “Miss Margaret, come now. There is no need to pretend. Your face was flushed, and you could not look me in the eye. Then you rushed off to a private room, very obviously expecting me to follow. How could I not?”

Meg stared at the earl. “My lord, I assure you; I had no intention of leading you here. I simply wanted a moment to rest alone.”

The earl tipped his head to the side and shook it back and forth. “Margaret, we both know that is not the truth. But if it makes you feel more comfortable, I will play along with your charade of innocence.”

Meg looked toward the doorway. Where was Carlo?

“My dear.” Lord Featherstone continued to walk toward her. “I have wanted to find you alone for some time. There is something I should like to ask you, and it is a matter best discussed privately.”

Meg backed away until the wall prevented her from going farther. Her muscles tensed, and she looked toward the door again. What would Lord Featherstone do to Carlo if he should interrupt? What would the earl do to her if Carlo did not?

The earl was near enough that she had to raise her chin to keep eye contact. “My lord, I must insist you step back.”

“Margaret, your beauty has drawn me to you since the moment we met. Your passion at the Harrisons’ musicale—I have not been able to dismiss it from my mind.” He let out a sigh. “Though you are not accomplished as I would like and you are often outspoken, I am determined that I shall have you for my own.”

Meg put her hands behind her back so the earl wouldn’t see them shaking. She attempted to keep her voice calm. “Sir, how dare you insult me in such an atrocious manner and think it an acceptable proposal of marriage?”

Lord Featherstone raised a brow. “I did not intend you to understand that my offer included marriage.”

A hot stone landed in the pit of Meg’s stomach. Her lungs were tight when she tried to draw a breath. “My lord, when have I ever led you to believe I would consider such an appalling arrangement?”

“My dearest, I heard what you did
not
say.” His gaze lowered to her lips and downward to her throat. “I have spoken with Daniel, and I understand your family’s financial situation. I can be very generous.” He brushed his finger over her collarbone.

She felt the blood drain from her face and leaned back against the wall for support, hunching her shoulders. “My brother would never agree to such a thing.”

Lord Featherstone pressed his hand against the wall next to her head. His body trapped her in place. “It’s true that we didn’t discuss the particulars, but you must know, Margaret, this is likely the best offer you can hope to receive. You have no title, no money, your manners are not refined, your speech is . . . well, American. Aside from your beauty and passion, you have nothing to recommend you.”

Meg clamped her hand over her mouth. She was certain her stomach would heave. She pushed at the earl and struggled against him.

The padded front of the earl’s doublet brushed against the pearl beads on her bodice. He slid a hand around the back of her neck. “You should be grateful that I am able to overlook your obvious—”

He did not finish his sentence. His eyes bulged, and he flew backward with a yelp and the sound of tearing fabric.

Carlo held the earl’s torn collar. His face was red with fury. He yelled at the man in a battering of Spanish words that had Lord Featherstone cowering next to the duke’s Chinese tea table.

Meg thought her legs would give way. Tears rushed to her eyes. “You must not strike him, Carlo.” She did not intend for her voice to tremble.

“Carlo?” Lord Featherstone said, looking back at the man towering over him.

Carlo ignored the earl. He took her arm and led her to the couch. “Did he hurt you, Margarita?”

“Margarita?” Lord Featherstone said.

Meg could not bring herself to look at Carlo. Just the thought of the earl’s words squeezed her ribs and burned her skin. And Carlo had heard everything. Her humiliation at Lord Featherstone’s offensive proposal turned sour in her stomach.

They were ruined. Lord Featherstone knew Meg and Carlo had a relationship. Carlo had attacked him and would undoubtedly be punished for it.

It was suddenly too much for Meg. She pulled away and ran to the French doors, flinging them open then dashing across the balcony and down the stairs into the duke’s gardens.

She didn’t have a purpose in mind other than getting as far away from Thornshire Castle, Lord Featherstone, and Carlo as she could. Her dress was heavy, and she tripped over the skirts, but she managed to catch herself and continue. The greenhouse seemed a good destination, since the castle was filled with people and she didn’t know how much farther she would be able to run in her dancing slippers and burdensome gown.

She followed the path through the garden, nearing the edge of the woods behind the greenhouse. Moonlight shone strangely through the trees, casting dark shadows in the night. The sounds of laughter and men’s voices floated toward her from the main road, which was filled with carriages and footmen tending to horses as they awaited the end of the ball.

Crunching footsteps sounded on the gravel path behind her, and Carlo called to her. She stumbled again, and he caught her arm. He pulled her toward him.

Meg’s eyes ran with tears. Although she wanted nothing more than to sink into Carlo’s arms, she did not allow it. She shoved against his chest, shaking her head, since her ability to speak could not be depended on. Carlo must not be found with her. She tried to yank her arm from his grasp.

In spite of Meg’s struggles, Carlo pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and cradling her head. “There is no need to run, Margarita,” he said in a low voice. “Everything is all right now.”

Meg continued to pull away, but Carlo’s embrace was warm and strong, and she didn’t have the energy to resist any longer. Her muscles relaxed, and she melted against him, allowing him to hold her while she wept. Meg buried her face into his chest, and her tears soaked into his waistcoat until it was cold against her cheeks.

“I should have never come to England,” she whispered.

“If you had not, I would be lonely and miserable on this foggy island.” He continued to rub his hand softly over her back.

“No, you would be happily caring for Patito and not putting yourself at risk stealing into balls and assaulting noblemen.”

“It was worth the risk, as I told you before. And I assure you I was not happy. Not until my
compañera de aventura
arrived.”

Meg’s tears flowed again in earnest. “I should not have encouraged . . .” She choked on a sob.

Carlo lifted her face, leaning back so that she could see his eyes clearly. He cupped her chin and brushed her tears with his fingers. “Margarita, I have something to tell you, and though I have practiced countless times, I still do not know how to say it.”

Meg steeled herself for the words she wanted and feared. She knew the sound of Carlo pledging his love to her before they bid a tragic farewell would remain in her mind until her dying day.

His gaze was intense as he held hers. “Margarita, I am Prince Rodrigo.”

Meg blinked and then squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her face to relax before she opened them. “Carlo, stop. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

He raised his brows. “It is not pretend. And I am not Carlo. I am
Principe Rodrigo de Talavera
.” He gave a slight bow. “When we first met, I did not tell you the truth because you assumed otherwise, and once you became friends with Carlo, I did not want to—”

“Enough!” Meg pushed him away. “This is not a game.” She clenched her hands so tightly that her fingernails pressed into her palms. “We must stop this foolishness and face reality. I have seen the prince tonight, and you are not him. You care for Patito and work in the stables. And I am simply Meg, the American with nothing to recommend me to gentlemen of the
ton
.” Meg lowered her eyes. “That is the truth, and an imaginary scenario will not solve it.”

“I still intend to call that man out for his indecent proposition.”

“This is what I am talking about. Carlo, you cannot call him out. He is a nobleman, and you—”

Carlo covered Meg’s mouth with his hand. His eyes darted toward the tree line. “I heard something,” he whispered in her ear.

Meg listened for a moment and then pushed Carlo’s hand away. “Stop. I don’t want to play anymore.” This was becoming ridiculous.

Carlo reached for her, his finger over his lips, but she moved away.

“We must end this nonsense—” Meg heard a rustle and turned to see men stepping from the forest. They appeared to be footmen, although each carried a weapon—as was to be expected from another of Carlo’s games. The steel of their swords shone in the moonlight. One man lowered a musket, aiming it directly at them.