Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince (9 page)

She pulled the bed coverings to her chin, straining her ears, and after a moment, it came again. But this time the scratching was accompanied by what she thought sounded like a chain being dragged over the floor.

Meg’s heart began to race. Surely she was imagining it. But when she heard the scratching for the third time, she mustered her courage and climbed out of bed quietly. She pulled a wrap around her shoulders and stepped to the door.

Her mouth was dry, and her pulse sounded in her ears as she opened the door of her bedchamber just a crack and peeked out. A large window at the end of the hallway provided a bit of moonlight, and Meg was relieved when she saw nothing. She opened the door wider and looked around the doorframe in the other direction. A jolt of terror shot through her when she saw a flash of white and heard the jangle of chains.

She pulled away from the door quickly, breathing heavily. She hadn’t imagined it. Something white was floating in the hall, glowing in the moonlight. An apparition? Her pulse sounded in her ears, and she breathed heavily. Her legs trembled, and she wanted to cry out or hide under her sheets, but the compulsion to investigate overrode her fear. She stepped into the hallway, creeping toward the place where she’d seen the ethereal form.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she stood in the shadows, trying to calm her breathing. She held onto the wrap with shaking fingers, attempting to gather her nerve to round the corner when she heard the chains jangle again.

A delightful surge of terror crept down her spine. She did not believe a true phantom could hurt her, and if she did not follow it, she would possibly never have another chance to see where it disappeared to. Meg closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then stepped around the corner.

In the hallway, she found not a specter, but
Carlo
. He crouched on the carpet, and it appeared that he was attempting to wrap a length of chain in a large white sheet.

Meg gasped.

Carlo raised his head. Even in the dimly lit hallway, she could see from his expression that he had not expected to be discovered.

He took a step toward her, and she stumbled back.

Carlo placed one finger to his lips, apparently hoping she would not scream. “Margarita . . .”

“Carlo, what are you doing?” she asked in a loud whisper.

He dropped his arms to his sides, took a step back, and glanced toward the sheet on the hallway floor before looking back at Meg. “I was trying to imitate a ghost.” He placed his hands on his hips. “But I never dreamed you would be bold enough to chase me.”

“A ghost?” Meg furrowed her brow. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Carlo looked decidedly uncomfortable. “You mentioned that you wished the castle was haunted, and . . .” He shrugged.

Meg looked from Carlo to the bundle upon the floor and then back as the entire scenario suddenly made sense. “You pretended to be a ghost in order to frighten me?”

Carlo’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No, of course not. I only—”

But Meg didn’t allow him to finish. She rushed toward him, and he lifted his hands as if to ward off her displeasure. “Carlo! I cannot believe you would do such a thing.” She held out her arm and pulled up her sleeve. “Do you see this? Gooseflesh! I truly thought there was a ghost in the hall.”

“I am sorry. I—”

“This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me!” She was still whispering, but somehow a twitter of a giggle entered her voice. “I was terrified when I heard the scratching . . . and then the chains. Terrified! Do you see? I am still trembling.” She kept her hand held out in front of her to demonstrate.

Carlo’s face had relaxed into a relieved smile, and Meg realized she had not seen the expression on him before. She also noticed that it was extremely handsome and that the moonlit shadows served to emphasize his high cheekbones and shroud his face partly in darkness. The dimple in his cheek deepened. For some reason this caused another chill to travel over her spine.

“Thank you for giving me a deliciously terrifying adventure,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. She closed her eyes and blew out a sigh. “It was completely wonderful.”

Carlo tipped his head to the side. “I am glad you apprehended me. For such a reward, I would willingly humiliate myself again.”

Meg was touched by his words; Carlo had not only done something thoughtful for her, but he had also placed himself in a dangerous situation. If a stable hand were discovered creeping through the castle hallways late at night, she did not know what his punishment might be. Their lightness of her mood was quickly replaced by a more serious tone as they stood together.

For a long moment he held her gaze, and in the shadows she tried to discern his expression. Though he was still a step away, Meg could feel the heat from his body. She became extremely aware of Carlo and his nearness, and she quickly recognized that they were together in the middle of the night, and she was wearing only her nightclothes.

He seemed to realize the same thing and took a step back. “Come. You have had enough adventure for one night. I must return you to your bedchamber.” Carlo took her hand and looked at her thoughtfully before tucking it beneath his elbow and leading her down the hallway.

The door was still open, and Carlo stopped. Though he still held Meg’s hand, he allowed her to walk the few remaining steps alone.

Meg turned in the doorway, stifling a yawn. “Thank you again, Carlo. I feel lucky to have such a friend.”

“
Dulces sueños,
Margarita. Sweet dreams.”

Rodrigo walked down the path to the dower house feeling more contented than he had in years. To be honest, he felt positively giddy. Assuming a man could feel such an emotion.

He’d left the castle directly after seeing Meg to her room, not returning to the side hallway to fetch the “haunting equipment”; instead he’d sent a servant. The duke’s well-trained man no more batted an eye at that strange request than he had when Rodrigo had sent him to procure the items in the first place.

Rodrigo could not remember doing anything so spontaneous or absurd—and for the sheer diversion of it. It had been foolish to creep around the halls in the dark of night wrapped in a sheet, but at the same time, he’d felt a rush of nervous excitement and could not attribute it only to the successful execution of a clandestine mission. He’d been anxious to see Meg’s reaction.

He had imagined her peeking out of her doorway and closing the door quickly, delighting in the fact that the castle was indeed haunted. But he would never have guessed in a million years that Meg would chase a ghost down the hall. The memory of her finding him brought a rumbling sensation very much like a laugh deep in his chest.

The entire situation had been silly and childish, and he should at this very moment feel completely ridiculous. But as he’d watched Meg’s expression as she realized what he’d done and seen her confused face soften into pure delight, he’d not regretted his actions one bit. He only wished he had thought of the entire scheme sooner.

When he reached the dower house that the duke had been gracious enough to allow him to occupy with a small staff, he made his way directly to the study, where he sank into the soft chair behind the desk. He leaned his head back and allowed himself to bask in the glow of the night’s events—the image of Meg in her nightclothes with her face flushed and her eyes wide as she smiled at him, the feel of her warm hand as he’d seen her to her bedchamber, and her smile when he bid her good night. His heart stuttered for a moment, and then he put the memories carefully away to examine later. When it came to shelving thoughts that might elicit too much emotion, he was certainly an expert. He sighed and lifted a pile of papers closer. It would be a long night, and he could not put off his task any longer.

He’d been working closely with the Cortes Parliament at Cádiz. They consulted him as they formed a new constitution for Spain. The entire issue of the country’s government had been in upheaval for years, even before the French invasion and Napoleon’s installation of his brother as the ruler. The factions within the country that had been at odds split farther apart, some embracing the French ideals, some clamoring for the return of King Fernando. The Cortes Parliament sought to rule Spain, doing away with the monarchy entirely. Rodrigo was torn between loyalty to his family and the ideals of equality the interim government was attempting to implement.

He had spent endless hours poring over documents and composing missives to recommend reforms as well as compromises. For a moment, his thoughts turned to his carefree days as a young prince. He’d been relatively sheltered from the unrest in Spain as he’d traveled. He’d basically occupied every moment engaged in pursuit of diversion or leisure. But necessity had forced him into the position of representative for the monarchy, and he did not permit himself to dwell in regret.

Rodrigo worked through the late hours of the night and into the morning without the luxury of sleep. He wanted to ensure that the missive he was drafting was ready as soon as a messenger was found to deliver it.

When he finally finished, the early-morning sun peeked through the curtains, shining bright lines across the wood floor and climbing up the walls. He stretched and made his way to his bedchamber to dress and then, after a hurried meal and word to his guards, left for the castle.

He was fatigued, but before he allowed himself to rest, he hoped to meet with Colonel Stackhouse, and he determined to do so while the remainder of the household was likely still asleep, supposing that a military man would not be lounging in bed late into the day. When he arrived at the servant’s entrance, he stopped a footman. Upon inquiry, he learned that the colonel had indeed eaten breakfast hours earlier, and the rest of the household was either in the dining room or had not yet made an appearance.

“Please inform the colonel that I will meet with him at his convenience in the library,” Rodrigo said. The man sent a servant to fetch Jim and then accompanied Rodrigo to the library, ushering him through a small side office. Rodrigo peeked through the door before he entered, relieved that the library was empty save for a maid who knelt before the hearth, lighting a fire. The footman excused himself.

While he waited, Rodrigo stepped over to the window seat and pulled aside the curtains. A thin blanket lay on the seat and at one end, a cluster of throw pillows. He smiled thinking of Meg arranging everything just how she wanted it. The view of the duke’s garden from this vantage point caught his eye, and he tried to imagine Meg’s thoughts as she’d looked at the same scene. Glancing around the small space, he saw books and periodicals piled at the end of the bench. He hesitated briefly, feeling as though he were intruding on something private, but his curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up one of the piles of books.

Some of the books, he realized, did not belong to the library but had Meg’s name written inside the cover. As he’d expected, she had quite a collection of Gothic romance novels. It seemed that
Romance of the Forest
was her favorite, since it was the most worn. He also found a book of poetry. Many of the pages had bits of paper marking them, and some of the passages were underlined. Again he was not surprised.

One book, hidden almost out of sight between the cushion and the window pane, appeared to be brand new. He pulled it out and looked at the title. “Rudiments of Genteel Behavior.”

Opening the cover, he read the inscription.

Miss Margaret Burton,

As it is apparent that your training in the matters of etiquette and politeness has sadly been neglected, I thought you might benefit from reading this book. Please accept my best wishes for your continued improvement.

Your well-meaning friend,

Anthony Devon Poulter, Lord Featherstone

Rodrigo’s stomach burned as he thought of Meg’s embarrassment upon receiving such an offensive gift. Etiquette and politeness indeed. Meg had more politeness in her small toe than the pompous earl. Imagining Meg with such a man sickened him. Lord Featherstone would only stifle the vibrant, intelligent young lady. She would never entertain the idea, would she?

He glanced at the book again and tucked it back where he’d found it, thinking that he’d not mind seeing the arrogant man at the business end of a French bayonet.

Rodrigo set the pile of books back down, carefully arranging them in the same way he had found them, and lifted a slim volume bound in moleskin. Thumbing through it, he saw it was a sketchbook, and while Meg was not a master artist, her sketches were interesting enough that he was engrossed in the small volume.

Some of the drawings were fanciful: a woman in a cloak standing upon a bridge with her hair blowing across her face, a pirate brandishing a cutlass, a skeleton clapped in irons hanging from a stone wall. A puff of air escaped his nose, and even though he was alone, he fought to hold in an amused snicker.

Other drawings seemed more true to life: a stone fort upon an island, the riggings of a ship, a close view of what appeared to be the sparse beginnings of a mustache. One drawing in particular tugged at his heart—a foal following a family of ducks. He could not help the smile that grew on his face as he studied Meg’s representation of Patito’s story.

“Likely one of the better ways to discover a person’s character.”

Rodrigo started when he heard the voice and, turning, saw a man he assumed was Colonel Stackhouse. He wore a patch over his eye, and Rodrigo cringed inside when he saw the jagged scar that extended over the colonel’s forehead and down his cheek.

The man waved his hand toward the sketchbook Rodrigo held, and the books that remained on the window seat. “Observing the books they read. However, in the case of Miss Meg Burton, the periodicals and the
Times
that she scours on a daily basis seem to be more telling. I’ve rarely encountered a young person with such an understanding of international politics. If my advisors paid half the attention to the enemy’s tactics as that young woman, I might be looking at you with two eyes, Your Highness.” The man bowed. “Colonel Jim Stackhouse at your service.”