“Perhaps I can mark you,” said Cyn, a glint in his eyes.
Rothgar laughed, actually laughed. “Try it.”
The swords tapped together again, but this time one could see the
similarity of styles. One could also see that Cyn was having to extend
himself completely, but so was Rothgar. Wounds were frequently only a
hairsbreadth away. Once Rothgar’s sword slid toward Cyn’s face, and was
only just deflected. Chastity found she had her hands pressed over her
mouth.
A moment later Rothgar’s point went for Cyn’s face again, as if he
really intended to put out his eye. This time it was easily controlled.
“Glad you’ve finally remembered that one, Cyn.” Then the marquess
gasped as Cyn’s blade nicked his shirt over his heart and withdrew.
Rothgar stepped back, smiling, and saluted with the blade. “I forget my
own lessons. Never take time to gloat.”
The brothers embraced, Brand and Bryght came over to comment, and
soon even Fort and Nathaniel were part of a happy male coterie set upon
rehashing the moves, and learning new passes.
Elf, Chastity, and Verity shared a look and went off to discuss at length the insanity of the male of the species.
The marquess’ plan appeared to have worked, however. Fort was still
suspicious, but he was willing to work with the Mallorens. He had also
pledged his support for Chastity’s marriage to Cyn.
It was only later that he said to Chastity, “I won’t oppose your
marriage, but I’m still not sure of Rothgar. It’s not so much his honor
I question, as his motives. His plan may not be completely to our
advantage. Keep your wits about you, my dear. When the lines are drawn,
I expect you to be on the side of the Wares.”
The day of the ball dawned clear and sunny, if cold. Good traveling
weather, and the moon almost full so people could return home in safety.
Chastity knew that Rothgar expected her father to come to the ball,
but didn’t know how he could predict that. The earl would have to be
suspicious. For her part, she hoped her father wouldn’t come. She
didn’t want to face him again. Surely it would be enough to tell him
that they held the evidence that would ruin him.
She was nervous enough about this first social event since her
disaster, without adding other terrors. Certainly, there was some
safety in the fact that this would be a masqued ball, but Chastity
shivered at the thought of moving among people who would cut her dead
if they recognized her.
She also knew the ball would be a turning point. She didn’t know
exactly what Rothgar had planned, but her peaceful interlude was over.
After tonight she would either be restored to grace—unlikely as that
seemed—or forced to decide what to do with the rest of her ruined life.
She had been avoiding Cyn. He seemed to mean his vow not to take her
to bed, but that just made his nearness more of a torment. The sight of
him, the lightest brush of his clothing against her, could leave her
breathless with longing. But reason told her they must soon part. She
must prepare for that.
She hated it.
She had submerged her desire
in the preparations for the ball and everything
was now ready. Bright paper
lanterns had come from London to give light to the ballroom while
maintaining the exotic air. A cleverly illuminated pagoda had been
erected there, around which clockwork Mandarins walked.
A team of boys was responsible for rewinding the automaton, but
Chastity could almost believe it to be magic. There was something fey
about the Abbey tonight, as if miracles could really happen. Or perhaps
the coming event was just a mechanical toy, with Rothgar as the
clockmaker.
Torn by fears and hopes, Chastity wrapped a fur cape about herself
and escaped the last-minute preparations to walk on the West Terrace
and watch the setting sun gild the Abbey. Then Cyn came to stand by her
side. She should have left and sought the safety of company, but she
found she could not flee him now, so close to the end. She shivered,
not with cold. “I feel something building.”
“The excitement of the ball.” His voice alone was enough to melt her.
“No,” she said. “Everyone’s wound tight.” Then she thought of
clockmakers and wanted, with shattering intensity, to be safe in her
beloved’s arms. She turned to him. “Do you think my father will come,
Cyn?”
“If Rothgar sent the correct message.” His eyes told her his desires matched hers. Exceeded them.
“What message could that be?”
“I don’t know, but Rothgar will have found it.” He smiled suddenly at her. “What will you be wearing tonight?”
“A domino and mask.”
“As will everyone. Give me a hint.”
She made herself stay silent.
“No matter,” he said softly. “If I don’t find you, Chloe, I don’t
deserve you.” He took her hand, and that use of their private name
dissolved her ability to resist.
As they strolled along the terrace, Chastity’s heart and soul became
focused on the contact with his elegant swordsman’s hand. She twined
her fingers with his. “Why didn’t you tell me you fenced so well?”
He slid her a glance, his fingers responding to her play. “It’s
hardly the sort of thing one drops into conversation. ‘By the way, I
happen to have a gift for duello.’ ”
“Happen to have?” she echoed. “A great deal of work goes into a skill such as yours.”
His thumb caressed her hand. “I enjoy it. I often have trouble
finding an opponent who will test me, but in Canada I took a French
prisoner who was my equal. He honed my skills.”
She stopped and faced him. “You dueled with a
prisoner
?”
He raised her hand between them, still twined with his, and kissed it lingeringly. “For practice only, my heart.”
Chastity shivered under the sensual power this man had over her. How could she survive without him?
“It’s rapidly becoming an ornamental art, anyway,” he said quite
calmly, though his eyes were not calm at all. “It’s true, as Rothgar
said, that it’s useful to be skilled, so some bully-boy can’t steal
your life over nothing, but if death is required, a pistol is more
certain.”
Death. No, please don’t talk of death.
He rubbed her knuckles softly against his lips.
Chastity swayed with the need to be protected, and to protect him
from all hurt. “Why do men always end up fighting?” she protested
faintly.
His teeth rasped against her skin, the rough edge of danger sending
a jolt of hot desire through her. “Men sometimes do other things,” he
reminded her softly.
“Cyn, don’t,” she whispered, but weakly. If he wanted her here, now, on the cold stones, she was his.
He caught his breath and collected himself. “Perhaps I should teach
you swordplay,” he said lightly, “in case you go masquerading again.”
“I pray I never again have the need.”
“Did you find no pleasure in it at all?” There seemed to be meaning behind the question.
“A little,” she confessed. “I enjoyed the excitement, but not the
deceptions. And certainly not the shame…” She turned her hands so she
held his. “I enjoyed having a friend, though, a friend called Cyn.”
Like shifting clouds, his expression changed from the darkness of
leashed desire to the heavy darkness of regret. “Until I spoiled it by
seducing you.”
Chastity blushed. “I wouldn’t call it spoiling…”
“Wouldn’t you?”
She closed her eyes. Why did he always push for truth? “Things change, Cyn. It would be perfect if only we could marry…”
“We
will
marry,” he said roughly. “I take back my word. I
will never surrender you to any other man.” His hands slid beneath her
cloak to hold her tight against him. “I can’t live without you,
Chastity. These last few days have taught me that. But it’s not your
body I need most. If you wish, we will live as brother and sister all
our days.”
“Why on earth would I wish that… ?” she asked, her hips moving
against his with a will of their own. But then a sound alerted her and
brought back reality and all her fears. “I hear a coach!”
She pulled away, but his hold did not slacken. “Peace, love. It could be anyone.”
She shook her head. “It won’t be a guest, not this early, Cyn. It could be Father.” Pure fear had every nerve trembling.
He took her hands in a firm grip. “You are free of him. He will
never hurt you again.” As she steadied, he kept one of her hands and
led her toward the house. “Come along, love. If it is the devil
himself, let us face him bravely.”
They entered the marble hall to hear Henry Vernham’s drawling voice demanding his ward.
Cyn hissed between his teeth and surged forward. Chastity chased
after him to stop him killing the man who had ruined her, but Rothgar
was there before him.
“Ah, Vernham. Your ward?” he said, placing himself effortlessly
between Cyn and his target. “You mean young Sir William. You doubtless
want to assure yourself of his safety, but you would hardly wish to
remove him from his mother’s care when he is still at the breast.”
Vernham glared around uneasily at a gathering of Mallorens. Brand
and Elf had followed Rothgar into the hall, and now Bryght emerged from
the library. No doubt Vernham sensed malice, but he would be unaware
that they knew anything of him other than that he was the baby’s
guardian.
He took a pinch of snuff. “Lady Vernham is welcome to accompany her child.”
“But Verity is now Lady Verity Frazer, and her husband’s wishes must
be taken into account. Now, sir,” said Rothgar with a bucolic bonhomie
that would terrify anyone who knew him, “take some refreshment. If you
are come in response to my note, you know we have an entertainment
planned for tonight. You must stay.”
Despite his protests, Vernham was drawn into the Tapestry Room and
seated with a dish of tea in his hands. “I demand to see my ward!” he
snapped, then he saw Chastity. He blanched.
She smiled at him.
She had never seen eyes bulge before, but now she did.
“But of course you must see your ward,” said Rothgar, and sent for Verity and the baby.
By the time they arrived, accompanied by a hard-eyed Major Frazer,
Vernham was on his feet, uneasily eyeing his company. He gave the babe
scarcely a glance. “Good, then you will come with me now.”
“Of course I won’t,” said Verity firmly. “And you will not take
William, Henry. You will have to petition the courts, which I believe
can take a very long time.”
Vernham’s narrow eyes flickered about the room. All the Mallorens
were smiling, even Cyn, but Henry didn’t seem to find that comforting,
which proved Verity correct when she had described him as a shrewd man.
“I suppose that is true,” he said with an attempt at an easy manner.
“Nothing I can do, really, at this point if the youngster is all right.
I must not take any more of your time. I apologize if I have distressed
you, Verity, but I was extremely anxious about you. It was not kind of
you to leave no message, no indication of where you had gone.”
“But I was running away from you, sir,” said Verity simply.
He was thrown off balance. “Why, for God’s sake?”
Nathaniel stepped in at that point, to prevent an annoyed Verity
from saying too much. “Her reasons may have been misguided, Vernham,
but we must all rejoice that everything has turned out so well. I
intend to apply to be the child’s guardian, which I am sure you must
see to be proper, and thus administer the property.”
Vernham flashed him a look of pure hate, but smiled. “I will
contest, as you must expect. I am sure the courts will uphold my
brother’s will.” He drew on his gloves, still glancing uneasily around,
as if expecting to be prevented from leaving. “Which reminds me,” he
added with strained casualness. “A document is missing, Lady Verity,
one which my brother had in safekeeping. Did you by any chance take it
with you? It is a codicil to the will, I believe, and should be
delivered to the solicitors.”
Chastity held her breath and worked hard at not giving anything away.
“Oh, that,” said Verity vaguely. “Yes, I did take it for
safekeeping. I wonder where I put it. I believe it must be in one of my
pockets.”
Chastity could almost see Henry Vernham gnashing his teeth behind
his smile. The trouble was that she could also see the amusement in
Verity’s eyes. At any moment she would give the game away by giggling.
She never had been able to carry a lie.
“Do you think you could look?” asked Vernham tightly.
A distraction came in the shape of Fort, who burst into the room.
“They said… It is you. I have a score to settle with you, you wretched
cur!”
He had Vernham by the throat, and it took three Mallorens to get him
off. At least one Malloren was not being philanthropic. “You’ll have to
wait in line, Thornhill,” said Cyn. “He’s mine.”
“You’ll have to fight me for it,” snarled Fort.
Cyn just raised a brow, and Fort cursed.
Vernham held his hands to his bruised throat. “I offered to marry the slut!”
Fort knocked him out.
“How crude,” murmured Rothgar. He rang a bell. A footman came in and
was ordered to take away the unconscious gentleman and care for him.
When Vernham had been removed, Rothgar said, “I confess, though,
that I was a little perplexed as to how to prevail upon him to stay in
this lion’s den. You would all persist in licking your chops over him.
My felicitations, Thornhill.”
“Felicitations be damned,” said Fort. “I want to gut him.”
“Later,” said Rothgar. “First I want a confrontation between him and Walgrave, preferably before witnesses.”
The first guests began to arrive in the evening, uncomplicated local
people thrilled by an invitation to the Abbey. Some arrived already
masked—mostly the younger guests; others put on their disguises after
they had shed coats and cloaks. For some, the disguise was just a face
mask, but most also wore the encompassing hooded silken cloaks called
dominoes. In most cases little attempt was made to truly disguise their
identity, and they were constantly greeting each other.