by Gayle Callen
But if only he’d come to talk to her!
Mary Anne had talked to her, she thought, feeling a rise in the unease she hadn’t been able to let go ever since Mary Anne left. Vauxhall Gardens could be a scary place for an innocent. What if something had happened to her there? Would she have anyone to talk to? Would she retreat from all the progress she’d made?
Elizabeth looked through the window and out into the dark night, telling herself she could do nothing—that she should do nothing. Only weeks ago she’d risked herself by going out into the night with her cousins to steal a painting, and so much had changed because of that one act.
She had discovered Peter’s love for her, and realized at last that she loved him in return. She might have spent her life miserably unhappy if she hadn’t taken that one risk.
Tonight Mary Anne had taken a risk—and had it worked for her?
Elizabeth needed to know. Buried in the back of her wardrobe, she found the boy’s breeches as well as the shirt and coat she’d worn that night to Peter’s club. It had kept her safe on the city streets once, and she trusted that it could do so again. She slipped out a side entrance of the town house and into the garden, where she ran past the stables and into the alley behind the house. At the corner, she was able to hire a hackney to take her to the Derby town house.
Approaching the front steps, she realized she could not simply confront the butler—she might even wake him. As she was trying to remember the layout of the house, and estimate which window was Mary Anne’s, she saw a thin sliver of light along the front door—it was slightly ajar.
Creeping up the stairs, she gave it a gentle push and peered in. There was no one in the entrance hall, but she could see light spilling out of the door to James’s study. On tiptoe, she crept through the hall, debating how to get past the partially open door and on to Mary Anne’s room unseen.
It was not James’s voice she heard, but Peter’s—and he was talking to Thomas! With her back against the wall, she remained frozen, listening.
“It’s late,” Peter said coldly. “I don’t understand why you need to speak to me.”
“I’m not here about Elizabeth.”
“I know. Now you’ve turned your sights on my sister. I won’t have it.”
“She didn’t consult you on that decision,” Thomas said impatiently. “She went with me and a group of friends to Vauxhall Gardens.”
“What?” Peter shouted.
Elizabeth heard some kind of scuffle, and she tensed, wondering if she should interfere.
In a strained voice Thomas said, “You won’t hear what I have to say if you strangle me.”
“Then say it and leave before I—”
“Mary Anne knows what I did to Elizabeth. I told her the truth, so she would understand everything about me.”
Elizabeth sagged against the wall. With Mary Anne’s history of fearing men, what might this revelation have done to her?
“That was the best thing you could have done,” Peter said coolly.
“I thought so, but she didn’t. She fled from me, and I briefly lost her in the crowd.”
“Did you find her?” Peter asked just as Elizabeth almost burst through the door with the same question.
“I was able to follow the hackney she hired. Don’t bother to look in her room, because she didn’t come home. She went to our club.”
“Oh God,” Peter said in a strangled voice.
“By the time I pulled up, I only saw the edge of her cloak as she disappeared into the servants’ entrance. She’s still masked, I believe, but I have no idea what she intends to do. I knew she wouldn’t listen to me, so I came for you.”
Elizabeth didn’t wait to hear more, only ran back outside and hailed a hackney. Another man had disappointed Mary Anne—the man she’d risked herself to know. Elizabeth had no idea what her state of mind was, but she had to be desperate to go to a gentlemen’s club, where women weren’t allowed.
A man couldn’t talk her out of whatever she had planned, but perhaps a woman could.
During the hackney ride through London, Peter said nothing, telling himself that now that Mary Anne knew the truth about Wythorne, she would settle down.
But would she? Elizabeth had told him about Mary Anne’s suffering. How would she handle learning that a man she’d begun to trust had hurt Elizabeth?
He glanced at Wythorne. His eyes were impassive as the gaslights of the city reflected in them, but there were lines of strain on either side of his mouth. He’d confessed the truth to Mary Anne; perhaps she wasn’t just a woman with whom to amuse himself.
At last they arrived at the club, and Wythorne fell back, letting Peter take the lead as they ascended the grand staircase two steps at a time. Peter stopped just outside the wide double doors to the main saloon, Wythorne at his back. They saw Mary Anne standing at the billiard table, the nude painting a scandalous backdrop. She was still cloaked and masked, and she held a cue in her hand like the scepter of a queen surrounded by her courtiers.
“They never allow women,” Wythorne said softly behind him. “How did this happen?”
“They think she’s someone’s mistress, a fallen woman,” Peter said. “Of course they’d let her remain to put on a show.”
“Are there many men who know her skill at billiards? Her hair is uncovered, after all. Would they guess . . .” Wythorne’s voice trailed off.
“I don’t think so. She took several family friends in a game once, but I don’t see them here.”
Mary Anne made several excellent shots, all to cheers and shouts of encouragement.
“What does she think she’s doing?” Wythorne asked quietly.
Peter felt both sad and frustrated, watching Mary Anne touch the mask repeatedly. “I believe . . . she’s thinking about removing that mask, exposing her identity.”
“But why? Surely she would know that she’d make herself a pariah.”
“She told me she doesn’t want to be married. This scandal would take care of that problem, don’t you think? It’s what she’s wanted all along, until she took a risk on you.”
“I don’t understand.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Peter really looked at Wythorne, who seemed bewildered and just as worried as he was. “I can’t tell you everything, but only know that when she was young, she was abused by a man. She’s never gotten over it.”
“And now she knows I hurt Elizabeth,” Wythorne said, his mouth twisting in disgust. “I shouldn’t have told her.”
“It was the truth. She deserved to know. And you didn’t know her background to anticipate how she’d react.”
Wythorne stared at him in surprise, and Peter turned away. He wasn’t here to make the man feel better.
He’d never felt so frustrated. Mary Anne continued to play, saying little, smiling the cold smile of a woman who knows she’s the superior player. She could best all these men, and was proving it. But she kept touching the mask—assuring herself it was in place, or ready to remove it?
If he quietly confronted her, Peter wondered, would she decide to reveal herself in panic? What was he supposed to do?
“There’s a message being delivered to her,” Wythorne said. “What do you think that’s about?”
Peter put aside his fears and focused on his sister. She’d stepped aside to talk to a messenger boy—and then he simply stopped breathing. He would recognize those breeches-clad hips anywhere.
“It’s Elizabeth,” he whispered. “Oh God.”
He heard Wythorne curse softly behind him.
Peter had asked her to guide his sister, to watch over her. Somehow she’d discovered what Mary Anne had done. He’d goaded Elizabeth for weeks about her recklessness, seduced her until perhaps she thought she wasn’t a proper lady anymore. And now she’d come to save Mary Anne, and risked ruining herself—all for him.
Had he somehow wanted her lowered socially, so he had a chance to marry her? From the moment he’d discovered the painting, he’d been trying to pr
ove to her how wild she still was. He’d thought he was over feeling unequal socially to her.
“How are we going to save them?” Wythorne asked quietly.
Peter pulled him back into the two-story entrance hall. “We have to come up with a plan.”
“Working together?” Wythorne asked, his eyebrows lifted.
Peter nodded curtly.
Chapter 25
Elizabeth stood near Mary Anne, hands in her pockets, trying to act like a boy who had no interest in anything but doing his job, waiting on Mary Anne’s supposed answer.
Elizabeth didn’t look at the painting over her shoulder—she’d seen it enough. But she saw other men staring at it, saw the laughter, the appreciation, the skeptical looks as they debated the identity of the model. Hunching her head lower between her shoulders, she looked out from beneath the cap’s lowered brim.
Mary Anne was watching another man take his turn at the billiard table, holding the cue beside her like a walking stick. But she wasn’t leaning on it. She was taller than many of the men, filled with purpose.
“Just come with me,” Elizabeth whispered. “We can talk.”
“No.”
“Then stop touching your mask!” she hissed. “You might dislodge it.”
“Perhaps that’s what I want.”
“Please—”
“You didn’t tell me what Thomas had done to you.”
“He apologized to me, and I felt he deserved a chance to prove he was sincere. I didn’t feel it was up to me to reveal all his mistakes. I’ve made enough of them myself.”
“Like using my brother?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Yes. And lying to people. Your brother forgave me. Will you?”
As if their conversation had conjured him, Peter walked toward them. Mary Anne stiffened but didn’t turn away.
Peter didn’t even look at his sister. His face impassive, he said to Elizabeth, “Boy, if you’ve finished your assignment, I need you to deliver a message for me.”
Elizabeth felt torn. How could she leave Mary Anne in such a fragile state?
“I’m done with him,” Mary Anne said, turning away.
“Then come with me,” Peter said, a note of beseeching in his voice. “I’ll pay you well to deliver this swiftly.”
Elizabeth knew she could not linger. It was a disaster to have two women in this club. Peter obviously had a plan to help his sister, because he wouldn’t abandon her, Mary Anne had to know it as well. But would it make her reveal her identity?
Elizabeth hurried after Peter, her cap pulled low over her eyes, afraid she’d lingered too long and ruined his plan. She followed him out into the open hall and across to a small unoccupied room with a single card table and chairs taking up most of the space. Old cigar smoke fouled the air.
With the door ajar, they could still see into the saloon. Elizabeth gasped as she saw Thomas going inside.
“Does he know—” she began.
“We came together. He’ll get Mary Anne out of there.”
Standing close to him, she longed to fling herself against him as if he could protect her from the world. Instead, she said, “And you trust him?”
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” he said mildly, looking over her head toward Thomas. Then he stared down at her, his blue eyes solemn, yearning. “We deserve one, too.”
“Oh, Peter,” she whispered, leaning against his shoulder.
Mary Anne was having difficulty concentrating on her game. She’d been stunned when Peter ignored her, then took Elizabeth away. Had he thought only Elizabeth could be saved from this disastrous situation?
But no, that was her nerves and fear talking. Peter must be at a loss for what to do next. And then she saw Thomas coming toward her, and she realized they’d split their plan between them.
Thomas and Peter, working together.
She stiffened as Thomas approached. He was still so handsome it made her hurt inside. His stride was confident—the very trait she’d been drawn to.
Her own confidence was such a sham.
Yet here she was, about to prove that she didn’t need a man. She put her hand on the mask, and Thomas came to a stop.
His voice full of arrogance, he loudly said, “Are you any man’s mistress?”
The crowd of men around the table burst into momentary talk and cheers and laughter, then seemed to hush with anticipation.
Mary Anne glared at Thomas through the mask. “I am not. No man is worthy.”
She knew that all these men had only allowed her to remain in the club because they thought she was of the demimonde, the class of women she’d heard whispered about, who survived on the pleasure of men. Now they wouldn’t know what to think.
Thomas’s eyes lit up, and with his hands on his hips, he said, “Then I suggest we play a game, and if I win, you’re mine for the night.”
She was disgusted—he would have what he wanted by any means necessary.
But was that her fear talking? She thought of the painful confession he’d made, realized belatedly that it must have been difficult for such a proud man to admit his faults. And now she saw a worry in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide. She tried to bolster her anger, but felt it softening inside her.
He was treating her as a loose woman—exactly what she’d been portraying to all these men. Thomas wasn’t the only man who would take her for the night if she allowed it.
If she allowed it.
She had the control, and it was time she took it back, instead of hurting her family, hurting herself.
“I’ll play you, my lord,” she said quietly, confidently.
Men gathered around, and she made the final game worth their while, allowing Thomas the lead, taking it back, then deliberately giving him the game.
With the win, he laughed with his friends, then tossed her over his shoulder to the roar of the crowd and carried her away.
Her stomach absorbed the pounding as he took the stairs to the ground floor, and went out into the warm night. She heard a carriage door open, and then he leaned inside, tossed her onto the bench, and climbed up beside her.
Peter helped Elizabeth in then, and climbed in as well.
There was a very tense silence as the hackney jerked into motion.
“All right,” Mary Anne said before anyone else could speak, “this was a foolish thing for me to do. I responded very badly to finding out how imperfect the three of you are—and I know I’m no more perfect than any of you. I’m sorry that I thought to throw away my reputation because of a man.” She stared pointedly at Thomas, who sat at her side. “I’m worth more than that.”
He nodded solemnly.
She turned back to the other couple. “Elizabeth, did Peter force you into doing something you didn’t want to?”
Elizabeth blushed. “No, of course not.”
“Peter, did Elizabeth force you into doing something you didn’t want to?”
“Never. I’ve wanted to marry her for several years.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mary Anne said with satisfaction.
“We need to talk,” Elizabeth whispered, taking Peter’s hand.
Elizabeth and Peter looked into each other’s eyes, and Mary Anne felt a warm envy of appreciation for the love they showed each other. A few minutes later, when the hackney pulled up at the Derby town house, Peter helped Elizabeth out.
“Nice painting,” Mary Anne called softly, smiling as Elizabeth winced.
Mary Anne sat forward in her seat, then turned to look back at Thomas. “I could have won that game if I’d wanted to. There will be no coercing me into doing anything—that’s assuming I allow you to court me at all.”
He grinned at her. “I’m quite confident I can influence your decision.”
And there was that confidence she’d been attracted to all along.
Elizabeth snuck through the Derby town house behind Peter, then breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to his bedroom without anyone seeing her dressed as a boy. H
e shut the door and leaned against it, watching her solemnly.
“We did it,” she whispered, hugging herself.
“We did. I still can’t believe she let Thomas win. Perhaps you risking yourself for her made her realize what she was doing.”
“I owed her more than that,” she said quietly.
He held out a hand and she went to him, sighing with relief when he enfolded her into his warm embrace.
“Elizabeth, my one love.”
It felt so wonderful to hear that word on his lips. Desperate relief and gratitude made hot tears sting her eyes. She lifted her face. “I love you, too, Peter. I am so sorry it took me so long to realize it.” Between kisses, she said, “I promise . . . I’ll never tell you . . . anything but the truth.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ve learned that lesson too well. I love you, Elizabeth. I didn’t know if you could feel the same way, until that painting. It made me see even more of you.”
“Peter!” she cried, feeling a hot blush stain her cheeks.
“No, I mean the you underneath, the woman ready to take risks again, the woman who is more real and wonderful than any idealized version of a lady.”
“I was so blind to what real love and romance are,” she said, smoothing down his waistcoat, sniffing back her tears of happiness. “To think because you and I began as friends, I thought to limit us that way. We had love all along. I was just so focused on everything being held to my strange idea of perfection. I never saw that life is unpredictable, even a normal, scandal-free life!”
He smiled, then touched her forehead with his. “I realized long ago that marriage to you will provide enough adventure and excitement to last a lifetime.”
“Not too much adventure and excitement,” she said. “We have to make some quiet time for babies.”
“Our babies,” he breathed.
“Thank you,” she murmured, “for not giving up on me.”
Their kiss was sweet with longing, warm with certain passion—and love.
Epilogue
On the evening of the Kelthorpe Masked Ball, Elizabeth’s entire family gathered in the drawing room of Madingley House to attend. She stood with Peter at her side, so happy to see her brother Christopher and her cousins, Matthew and Daniel, reunited with their wives. She sighed. If only Susanna and Rebecca could have attended, but she had not yet heard from them, nor Julian and Leo.
