My Rogue, My Ruin
Page 10
“You are impossible.” She skipped forward a few more steps and raised her eyebrow. “Now come on—let us race to the house!”
With the head start, she had decent odds of winning. Until, of course, Gray decided to show off, rushing past her while running backward, a smug smile upon his face. “What did the turtle say to the hare?”
“Not fair!” she panted, still keeping the cloak tightly drawn around her to conceal her bloodied clothing. It was a burden, but she still caught up with him at the side of the house, near the servant’s entrance. “You have longer legs than I!”
Brynn collapsed against the brick wall, breathing hard. A sharp pain caught her unawares in the chest. Oh no. She clutched her torso and buckled over, a series of dry coughs racking her body. Not again. She’d thought the attacks were over. Gone forever. The more she tried to stop them, though, the more violently they came, until she was hunched over wheezing.
“Brynn!” Gray stooped down beside her. She stalled him with a hand as another wave of coughs rendered it impossible for her to speak. He would know, just as she did, that once started, it would be better to let the coughing run its course.
“Fine,” she sputtered between coughs. “Be fine…moment.”
“Fetch Mrs. Frommer,” she heard him say to someone out of her line of sight. “And not a word to anyone, Percival.” The stable boy. He could be trusted to keep quiet on the errand to find the housekeeper, though Brynn detested he or Gray, or anyone at all, having to fret over her and her damnable weak lungs.
“Of course, milord.”
Minutes later, Percival was back with their housekeeper. Brynn could barely see, her eyes watered so. Someone pressed a cup to her lips. Despite being intimately familiar with it, she almost choked at the sour herbal taste. It was the remedy the cook made, which usually eased the affliction, though it tasted like an underripe cherry wrapped in mint leaves. She forced herself to finish it, as she always did, and the herbal tea made its way down her throat, clearing her passages. After a few moments, her breathing, although punctuated by a few persistent coughs, started to return to normal.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her brother’s anxious face as he tucked a blanket around her. She hated causing that expression, and though she knew it was unfounded, felt guilty for it. “It must have been the early morning air. I took a chill, that’s all. I’m fine now.”
Gray placed a hand to her cheek. “You are cold as ice. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know,” Brynn said, her teeth chattering at the sudden brutal chill in her bones. The truth was she simply hadn’t noticed, given the shock of the last few hours. The night’s chilly temperatures must have taken hold.
“Come, let’s get you inside,” Gray said with a frown. Thankfully, he didn’t push the matter further.
Mrs. Frommer threw a second woolen blanket over her shoulders and ushered her up the staircase, scattering the servants with a look. Having Gray at her side helped clear their path as well. A few stairwells and corridors later, Gray was ushering Brynn into her rooms and thanking the housekeeper for her confidence before closing the door behind him.
Lana stepped from the attached dressing chamber, the day dress she’d selected for Brynn draped over her arm. She took one look at Brynn—at her wan face and the blanket and dusty old cloak around her shoulders—and dropped the mint green muslin onto the bed. “My lady!”
“I’m fine, Lana, truly.”
Brynn’s maid cast a glance at Gray, seeking a second opinion no doubt.
“She is not,” he replied. “Lana, please ring for a bath to be drawn.”
Brynn speared her brother with a glare. She tried not to tremble with cold, but it was a challenge.
“I don’t want a bath. I just want to rest.” As terrifying as the last few hours had been, they were also somehow…gratifying. It was pure madness. The warm, weighty feeling of exhaustion, paired with the events of the morning, were all driving her toward a very long nap.
“The bath, Lana,” Gray insisted. Irritation heated his tone, and though Brynn knew it was his concern for her health, she still saw her maid bristle at the coarse command.
“As you wish, my lord,” she said and, with a curt nod, Gray slammed out of the room. “My lady, I should help you out of your—”
Brynn finally cast off the blanket and cloak. They landed heavily on the floor, and Lana’s expression grew even more alarmed.
“It’s not my blood,” she said quickly and her maid blinked her relief, her parted lips sealing again.
Without questioning whose blood it was, Lana stripped off the shirt and breeches. “Shall I put these to be cleaned and mended, my lady?”
Brynn stared at the clothing with rancor. “Burn them, please. And my apologies for my brother,” she added. “I fear I have angered him beyond reproach this time.”
“There is nothing you could do that would push him to such end, my lady.” Lana crossed the room and tugged on the bellpull. “Master Gray cares for your well-being.”
As it turned out, a hot bath had been exactly what she had needed to get the remnants of the chill out. After having a late breakfast in bed, Brynn decided to remain where she was and rest. She slept for hours, thanks to the medicinal effects of the tea, and woke only when Lana brought her evening meal.
Brynn sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Is Mama worrying about me yet?”
“I told her ladyship you slept poorly last night,” Lana said, setting the tray on the bed beside Brynn. “She blamed the ruby necklace.”
Thank heavens for Lana. And, it would seem, for the rubies.
Brynn rubbed her chest as her maid disappeared into the dressing room. The coughing fit had left a slight soreness across her breastbone. She hadn’t had an episode like that in years, and she’d started to believe the childhood ailment had been firmly behind her.
It was all that masked criminal’s fault! If she hadn’t run into him robbing that carriage, she’d have ridden Zeus and returned home. Instead, she’d scuttled around, chilled to the bone, playing nursemaid. She should have left him to rot.
It would have been a waste, though—even for a lady as inexperienced as she, Brynn knew enough to realize he was an impeccably fine specimen of a man.
Oh for goodness sake, Brynn chided, get ahold of yourself. He’s nothing but a filthy thief who deserves to be given no quarter.
By the time Brynn enumerated all the ways in which the bandit should be punished, she’d worked herself up into a fine froth. Anything to stop herself from thinking about the lean cut of his legs and the sprinkling of dark hair that had covered them, or worse, the provoking, sinful contour of his masculinity showing through his linen smalls. When he had pulled her against him, her bound breasts had been further flattened against his powerful chest. In such close proximity, Brynn couldn’t help remembering his pleasing scent, which set her to reconsidering her theory that he was, in fact, a gentleman.
One who had given her a necklace worth more than any common bandit would consider parting with.
Taking the wooden case from the bedside table to her lap, she studied the box for a long moment before lifting the lid to examine the contents. With a swift indrawn breath, she slammed the lid shut. And then opened it again, barely a second later. She sighed, marveling at the perfect cut and color of the jewels. The rubies, a deep crimson with the barest hint of violet, were magnificent. She had to admit that Lana had been correct—the man did have exceptional taste.
A part of Brynn wanted to believe that they were a gift, and not something that had been stolen. Now it seemed that Lana’s inane romantic notions were starting to spread. She allowed herself the brief, if reckless, fantasy that the gentleman thief had bought the spectacular gems just for her. The tempting memories of his sculpted lips, his chiseled length, and those uncalloused fingers grazing the slope of her nape slid into her mind. With a gasp, Brynn shook her head in self-disgust.
Could she be any more foolish?
Brynn slid her forefinger across the glittering row of gems, her heart quickening. Perhaps there was a way she could discern the identity of the bandit, if he were indeed a peer of the realm as she suspected. Maybe he’d be in attendance at the Gainsbridge Masquerade. After all, there were still a few families left in Essex before the season drew them back to London. The thought made her heart race into a full gallop.
It’s a game, nothing more, she told herself. A game she’d play to determine the identity of the infamous Masked Marauder. Suddenly, the prospect of the Gainsbridge affair became much more appealing than resting in bed with a sore chest and an overactive imagination.
“Lana,” she called, after taking a moment to be sure of her decision. Her maid reappeared in the dressing room entrance, her arms piled with Brynn’s clothing. “Please let Mama know that I’m well and will attend the ball.”
“I am afraid Lady Dinsmore has already left, but your brother is still here.”
Brynn suppressed a thrilled smile. It was as if the fates were aligning to her cause. “Wonderful, please pass along that I will be accompanying him.”
Lana grinned in delight, and she dropped the clothes into a chair. Something wistful appeared in her eyes for a second but it was quickly shuttered. “Which gown will you wear? The lavender silk?”
“No.” Brynn had other plans. She’d show that pompous thief what the opposite of being “in mourning” was. “The silver satin.”
Lana’s eyes turned into round, shining orbs. “You’re going to wear the rubies, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Do you think he’ll be there? Your gentleman thief?”
Brynn didn’t bother to argue that he wasn’t her anything. Instead, she quirked an eyebrow. “I hope so. Otherwise, it will be a waste of a perfectly lovely dress, wouldn’t it?”
Chapter Seven
After Lana had tied her corset to the point of pain and closed the final fastenings of the dress, Brynn looked in the mirror with a critical eye. She wanted everything to be just so—and for the dress to be the perfect foil for the necklace. She squinted at her reflection. Her hair should be up, leaving the slim column of her neck bare. Lana seemed to know this instinctively, and she quickly set about twisting and tucking Brynn’s hair into a simple upswept style. She pinned it at the crown with a diamond-encrusted comb, pulling a few tendrils free to frame her face.
“Now for the rubies,” Lana said.
As the maid draped the cool jewels across her bare throat, Brynn drew a deep breath and had a brief moment of panic. What if she did recognize the thief? And what if he recognized her? What then? Brynn discarded the thought. He’d been delirious and had thought her a boy. No, she would be safe. She’d deal with recognizing him if the moment presented itself.
“My lady, you have never looked more radiant,” Lana breathed.
“Thank you, Lana, but I expect that’s because of the rubies, not me.”
Brynn studied herself. The dress itself was stunning, comprised of layers and layers of silvery chiffon and satin with a daringly low bodice—lower than she’d ever worn. She had seen a fashion plate of the dress in Cordelia’s Costume Parisien earlier in the summer, and she and Cordelia had fawned over it. Brynn had ordered one to be made for her straightaway, but had never thought she’d actually wear the revealing confection. Until now.
The only splash of color was the ruby necklace, the largest gem dipping nearly into the hollow between her breasts and drawing attention to the flushed expanse of her décolletage. Lana deftly fastened the scrap of silver silk she’d fashioned into a fetching demi mask with a handful of white feathers, and the final effect made Brynn’s lips part in sublime delight.
Hawksfield won’t know what hit him.
Brynn blinked at the unexpected thought. She intended to lure the bandit, not Hawksfield. Then again, she was feeling rather daring in this dress. Perhaps she would render Hawksfield speechless for once and discover her masked highwayman.
“You are definitely going to set the ton on its ear. Perhaps even upside down.” Her maid grinned as she helped Brynn down the stairs into the foyer, where Lana held her own middle and spun in a graceful circle, her eyes alight. “Have a dance for me, if you please.”
Brynn shook her head at Lana’s giddy, if odd, request, and tugged the velvet stole over the neckline of her dress. There was no need for her brother, who was waiting in the carriage, to see the plunging cut of her bodice and insist she return to her room for a more appropriate gown.
“You look lovely, sister,” he said as she joined him, his inspection a mere cursory glance in the shadowy carriage. He nodded to the coachman, and they were off.
“And you look rather dashing,” she said. He was immaculately dressed in a black jacket, waistcoat, trousers, and a snowy-white shirt.
Gray didn’t respond to her flattery. Instead he eyed her with a serious look. “Are you feeling quite well?”
“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t go otherwise.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Now stop smothering me at once, or I’ll tell every lady you dance with tonight how you were afraid of the dark and used to sleep with dolls when you were a boy.” She smiled wickedly. “And still do.”
“Point taken,” he conceded. “But you will tell me if you start to feel unwell.”
“Yes, Gray.” She smiled at the arrogant command. They sat in companionable silence for most of the ride, until Brynn noticed that Gray wasn’t wearing a mask as she was. “Where is your mask?”
“I don’t do masks.”
“Then everyone will know who I am if we enter together,” she said, her face falling. “What’s the point of going to a masquerade if you don’t wear a mask? You’re such a spoilsport, Gray. I won’t go in with you, then.”
“You can’t very well go in there without an escort,” he said and sighed. He pulled a black headpiece that looked like a horned devil and tied it into place just as the carriage pulled into the brilliantly lit and crowded Gainsbridge courtyard. “There. Happy?”
Brynn shivered at the fierce mask. She’d expected nothing more than a boring domino. “I think I prefer you without it.” She stepped from the carriage, her gloved hand sliding into Gray’s.
“This is a huge crush,” she said, looking around at all the people descending from various conveyances. She hadn’t imagined the masquerade would be this well attended. The bandit had to be here. There was no chance he’d miss an opportunity such as this, not if he truly was one of the ton as she suspected. Then again, he had been shot less than twenty-four hours ago. Maybe this was all for naught after all.
“Gainsbridge has clearly spared no expense for this event. I daresay it’s larger than last year’s,” Gray said, turning toward her. “Ready for the hordes?”
“Ready.” Brynn let the stole slide from her fingers as they entered the foyer. Gray’s eyes landed on the bodice of her dress and his brows shot to his hairline. Brynn stifled a smile at his reaction.
“Where is the rest of your dress, Brynn?” he hissed under his breath. “It’s…indecent. We are leaving at once.”
However, they had already been swept into the throng of guests. Leaving now would be like fighting the current of a river. Brynn laughed, the tinkling sound drawing admiring stares from a nearby group of men. She was glad for the mask—it made her far braver than she would have normally been. She laughed again as he drew her to a nearby alcove. “Gray, this dress is the height of fashion. And we’ve just arrived. People will notice should we leave now. At least allow me the luxury of one dance.”
“Mother is going to kill me. Wait.” His eyes narrowed on her throat. “Are those…my god, you’re wearing the necklace.”
Br
ynn steadied her shaky nerves. She felt naked and on display with all the attention, but the truth was, it made her feel powerful, too. She lifted her chin and acknowledged a young buck she vaguely recognized. He was nowhere near as tall as the bandit, however.
She chose to ignore Gray’s remark about the rubies. “Mama will not kill you, brother dear. She’ll worship you for making her daughter the belle of the ball. One dance.”
“Fine. One dance,” he muttered. “But what were you thinking, wearing those—”
“Don’t you look lovely, Lady Briannon!” a soft female voice exclaimed, interrupting her brother’s admonishment.
It took Brynn a moment to place the voice, and when she did, Brynn turned to find herself the recipient of a warm smile from Hawksfield’s half sister. Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. With a gorgeous plum-feathered mask and matching satin dress, Eloise looked radiant. If not for her familiar voice, Brynn wasn’t sure she would have recognized her.
“Forgive me, I know it is a masquerade and we are supposed to guess who is whom,” Eloise began. “But I am afraid your hair color is quite distinguishable. And well, Lord Northridge is as tall as my brother.”
“I suppose we shall have to behave ourselves now that we’ve been made known,” Brynn said, smiling at Eloise and ignoring the silly trip of her heartbeat at the mention of Hawksfield. “It’s so nice to see you here. I missed you at your father’s ball. I was rather scattered that evening.”
“Of course. I heard about the attack on your carriage. I am so glad none of you were hurt.” Eloise smiled, her eyes fairly glittering beneath her mask. She waved a hand. “And I could not miss a masquerade. This is my kind of dance, you see?”
Brynn nodded in understanding, her heart warming with compassion. Everyone would be wearing a mask, not just Eloise. For once, she could pretend that what lay under her mask was as well formed and flawless as any other lady at the ball. Masquerades had an odd way of reinforcing one’s courage, as she herself knew. Her fingers brushed the rubies at her neck.