Masked Intentions [Unmasking Prometheus] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Diana Bold

  “I should go,” he said abruptly, wondering why the hell he’d come. He could never have a real relationship with this woman. Not with the mask, and definitely not without it.

  “Don’t go,” she told him, tightening her grip on his hand briefly before letting go. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong. You don’t have to take off the mask.”

  “It’s nothing you did,” he assured her, getting to his feet and trying to hide his wince when he put his weight on his wounded leg. “I never should have come here. It’s not safe for either of us. I just wanted to say thank you, for all you did for me and the child.”

  “You’re welcome,” she whispered as he turned to the window. “Will I see you again?”

  He hesitated but didn’t turn around. “I don’t know.” He hoped not. He hoped he had the strength to stay away.

  Chapter Four

  Any man would be glad to start a family with you…

  The memory of his conversation with Miss Bourke haunted Adrian as he sat in the parlor at Morgan’s house, watching as his niece and nephew tumbled across the floor, giggling as they wrestled over a ball. Hannah was two and Stephen—named for Adrian and Morgan’s father—was four. Anne, Morgan’s wife, reclined in a chair by the fire, sleeping, her hand resting protectively upon her heavily pregnant belly.

  Morgan sat in his shirtsleeves on the floor by the children, alternately playing with them and talking about Adrian’s latest obsession, a compact steam-engine for a motor car, which he’d been struggling to perfect for months. He broke his children apart with a laugh and diplomatically instructed them to play catch, before turning back to Adrian.

  “Perhaps you should tear it apart and start over from scratch,” Morgan said with a smile, knowing Adrian’s methods better than anyone. “It sounds as though you’ve tried everything else.”

  “Perhaps,” Adrian agreed grumpily. Truth be told, he’d found it incredibly hard to focus recently. His thoughts were consumed with Vanessa, and for the first time in his life, neither his work nor his exploits as Prometheus provided enough of a distraction.

  Morgan raised a brow, obviously sensing something was wrong, but to Adrian’s relief, he did not press. They’d shared a womb, and Morgan knew him better than anyone. Where Lucien was prone to prying, Morgan had made it known long ago that he would always be there, should Adrian want to speak about something, but would never demand explanations for his moodiness and silence. For that reason, Adrian felt more comfortable here than he did anywhere except for his laboratory.

  He loved to watch Morgan with his wife and children. He did not really understand Morgan’s love for the silly, shallow girl he’d chosen to marry, but Anne was lovely and kind, and he didn’t doubt that she loved Morgan in return. Their life was so simple and wonderful, so much how he remembered his own childhood, before their father had died.

  Father had always known how to handle Mother, how to keep her happy, and perhaps if he’d lived, she’d have remained the kind of mother that they’d needed…

  With a grimace, he shook the thought away. No sense wasting time thinking about what might have been. He’d learned that painful lesson long ago, so he didn’t understand why he’d spent so much time dwelling upon the past lately.

  “I’ve been painting,” Morgan said, too casually, stealing a surreptitious glance at Anne, who remained sound asleep.

  “Really?” Adrian asked cautiously. While he had always lost himself in science, Morgan had done the same with his art. Until the day their stepfather had wandered into the attic room Morgan had used as a studio, tearing his work to pieces while berating him for being weak and foolish, telling him that his art was worthless and forbidding him from ever picking up a brush again.

  Adrian and Lucien had cleaned up the pieces, trying helplessly to find something worth salvaging. They’d assured Morgan that the bastard didn’t know what he was talking about, that he should continue doing what he loved, no matter what Winters said. Morgan had always been the best of them, the sweetest and kindest, but on that day, Winters had killed a piece of his spirit, something that had hurt Adrian even more than the abuse he himself had suffered.

  No wonder Lucien had killed the bastard…

  They’d invented Prometheus as a way to cope with the horrors they’d been subjected to, spending countless hours imagining how they could use their masked creation to bring about their nemesis’s demise. They’d even gone so far as to make the costume, a much simpler version of what Adrian wore now. But when the earl had been found dead, a piece of Prometheus’s cloak clutched in his hand, Adrian had been stunned to realize his big brother had actually gone to that extreme to save him. That had been what had spurred him to start wearing the costume himself. He did all he could to save those who couldn’t save themselves.

  Morgan leaned back on his elbows, staring blindly at the ceiling. “I’ve been having nightmares. Fire and death. I don’t know why. I hadn’t had them for years. But about two weeks ago, I woke up from a particularly bad one, and I found myself in the children’s school room, staring at a blank canvas. Before I knew it, I’d spent the whole night painting burning buildings…” He laughed bitterly. “I slept like a babe after that though.”

  Adrian leaned forward, hands on knees, meeting his brother’s gaze with all seriousness. “It always saddened me that you stopped painting. I hated him for that, more than anything, you know. You’d always been so happy while you were painting. You needed that escape.”

  “I guess I still do,” Morgan admitted, sitting up straight as Hannah launched herself into his lap. “Perhaps once I’ve painted away the fire, I can attempt one of this little lovely.”

  Hannah grinned up at him beatifically.

  “Definitely a smile worth capturing,” Adrian said softly, as a pang of desperate longing lanced through him. He wanted what Morgan had. He wanted it so badly that for a moment he could hardly breathe. Was this as close to a family of his own as he’d ever get? Much as he loved being an uncle to these beautiful children, he desperately wanted one or two of his own. Shaking the thought away, he gestured at Anne and lowered his voice. “Why don’t you want her to know you’ve started painting?”

  Morgan grimaced, hugging his small daughter tight. “I don’t know. I suppose I just don’t think she’d understand the darkness of what I paint. I’ve tried so hard to keep our past from ever touching my family…”

  “You’ve done a good job,” Adrian assured him quickly, unused to being the one to offer reassurances. Guilt filled him as he realized how seldom Morgan had spoken of the past, and how unequipped he felt to say the right things now that he had. “You’re a wonderful husband and father. What you’ve built here”—he waved a hand around the snug, homey room filled with children and love—“is something that bastard can never destroy.”

  Still, it saddened him that Anne was not strong enough to help Morgan deal with all the pain of his childhood. It seemed to him that if a woman loved you, she should love all of you, even the darkness.

  Was Vanessa capable of that? Could she see past the mask to the scars and pain beneath, or was she, like Anne, the kind of woman who preferred that things always be pretty? One day soon, he’d either have to walk away for good, or have the courage to find out.

  Morgan smiled and hugged his daughter tight, causing her to squeal with happiness and press kisses all over his face. “You’re right. The past can’t hurt us now.” But Adrian caught a glimpse of fear in his brother’s eyes before he buried his face in Hannah’s hair and couldn’t help his own suddenly overwhelming sense of dread.

  He had a very bad feeling that the past wasn’t through with them yet.

  * * * *

  Two weeks later, Vanessa sat on a carved wooden bench under the shade of a towering oak, watching as her darling boy played tag with a group of other boys. As his high, pure laugh rang out, a surge of pure happiness and affection welled within her.

  “Look at him,” she urged Fiona, who sat beside her. “You
would never guess that just a few short weeks ago he was held in that place and made to do unspeakable things.”

  Fiona reached over and squeezed her hand. “He’s adjusting beautifully. Every day he smiles a little more. I think he’s finally realizing he’s safe here. Hopefully, the memories of that place will fade, and he’ll replace them with good ones.”

  “I hope so,” Vanessa answered fervently. “I worry about him all the time.”

  Fiona squeezed her hand again before releasing it. “You’ve surprised me,” she said with a laugh. “So many society women come here wanting to help out, but they soon lose interest. It breaks the children’s hearts when they come to care for someone and then they disappear.”

  “I’m no society woman,” Vanessa replied with a hint of bitterness. “Most of those women think of me as a whore. They’d certainly never receive me in one of their fancy parlors.”

  “Would you want them to?” Fiona gave her a rueful smile. “You and I enjoy a sort of freedom the likes of them will never know.”

  “I suppose,” Vanessa said wistfully. “Still, I can’t help but envy them, with their fancy houses and servants to cater to their every whim. They never have to worry about where their next meal is coming from.”

  “I’m sure a lot of them envy you.” Fiona gave Vanessa a quick glance before returning her attention to the children. “You’re lovelier than any of them. You could have any man you wanted, and without the shackles of marriage.”

  “But I want the shackles of marriage,” Vanessa replied, glad to have another woman to talk to about this sort of thing. A woman who wasn’t jaded by a life in the theater. She’d had so few women friends in her life, but had felt an affinity for Fiona since they’d first met. “I’ve had loads of offers. They all want me to be their mistress. But where is the security in that? Eventually, when you’ve lost your looks, they move on, leaving you just as broke as before.”

  “You say that as though you’ve had some experience with heartbreak,” Fiona said kindly.

  “I made that mistake once.” Heat crept up Vanessa’s cheeks. “There was a man once, when I was sixteen. I thought he loved me, but he walked away after just a few weeks, on to the next lovely young thing.”

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve had some experience with heartbreak as well.” Fiona forced a bitter laugh. “Is there anyone in your life at the moment?”

  Thoughts of Prometheus flooded Vanessa’s mind, but she shook her head. “Not really. There is one man… Mr. Adrian Strathmore…” She trailed off, a bit surprised at herself for bringing him up. Lately, he’d been attaching lines of poetry to the roses he threw at her feet, the words wrenching and beautiful. She’d read them and reread them, wishing she was educated enough to know what poet had written them. “He’s the younger brother of an earl, but they say he was terribly scarred in a fire… In any event, he comes to the theater nearly every night and watches me from his family’s private box. I’ve never truly seen him, but I can feel his gaze. He’s sent me flowers and poetry. I think he’ll eventually make me a proposition.”

  “Sounds disturbing,” Fiona said with a shudder. “What about Prometheus? What would you do if he made you an indecent proposal?”

  Vanessa laughed and looked away. “I don’t know. He intrigues me, for certain. But it’s been weeks since I’ve seen him. I don’t know what caused him to break into my house that night, or come back a few days later, but he’s obviously lost interest.”

  “I doubt that,” Fiona replied. “I’ve known him for many years, and he’s never done anything so reckless. He obviously knew that was your window. I’m certain he wouldn’t have trusted the child to a stranger. Which makes me think he knows you in his other life. Either that, or he wants to.”

  Vanessa frowned, furrowing her brow in thought. “I’ve racked my brain endlessly, trying to decide if I know him, but I don’t think so. I am certain that if we’d ever met, I would have remembered.”

  “Think he’s that handsome, do you?” Fiona tore her gaze away from her charges to give Vanessa another cheeky smile. “Handsome, rich, powerful, good with children… No wonder you’re so taken with him.”

  “Of course I think he’s handsome,” Vanessa agreed. “But that’s not why I like him so much. There’s a loneliness about him, a brokenness that I can relate to.” She gave a self-conscious shrug. “I feel like we could heal each other, if he’d just let down his guard and let me see him for who he really is.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Lonely, broken men are usually that way for a reason. You can’t fix someone who’s broken, Vanessa. You shouldn’t even try.”

  Vanessa raised a brow. “What do you know of broken men?”

  “More than my share,” Fiona replied sagely, obviously unwilling to talk about it. “And that’s why I’ve never set my own cap for Prometheus. He’s complicated and deeply unhappy.” She glanced around to make sure none of the children were close. “He has so much empathy for these children. Makes me think that maybe he knows what they’re going through.”

  Vanessa caught her breath, pain twisting in the pit of her stomach. “Do you really think so?”

  “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? And there are things he’s said over the years, a brooding anger he has a hard time controlling.” Fiona stood up and patted Vanessa on the shoulder. “He’s a wonderful man, and his mystery makes him even more appealing. I just think you should be careful, that’s all.”

  Vanessa forced a smile, but Fiona’s words had shaken her a bit. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As though sensing her sudden change of mood, the boy came running over and inexplicably gave her a fierce hug. “Don’t be sad, Vanessa,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you. My name is Gabriel.”

  She squeezed him tightly, tears stinging her eyes. That he should finally break his self-imposed silence to try to cheer her meant the world to her. “I love you, too, Gabriel.” She needed to stop spending so much time thinking about Prometheus and figure out a way to make Gabriel hers. Her thoughts turned reluctantly to Adrian Strathmore. If he offered to make her his mistress, would it be possible to make provisions that would allow her to keep Gabriel with her when Mr. Strathmore didn’t require her company? Would it be worth the trade off, to be able to give the little boy a home?

  She buried her face in Gabriel’s hair, hoping Fiona couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She would never agree to such a thing if there was a chance Gabriel would find out what she’d become. Whore was not a word she ever wanted this little boy to hear when it came to her.

  No. She’d simply have to think of another way.

  Chapter Five

  Adrian sank back in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace in Brookhaven’s parlor, staring down at the dozen small faces that surrounded him. He never came to Brookhaven in the daylight and only rarely allowed himself to do so in the early evening, like tonight, but when he did, the children greeted him as though he was Santa Claus and Jesus all rolled in one.

  His mask didn’t seem to frighten them, though of course most of them had lived through more terrors than any child should have to. Besides, he’d rescued each and every one of them, in one form or another, so they were all in on the secret together. Not one of these children would ever mention his visits, for fear that the authorities would begin to watch the home. They let him come here and read to them, and sometimes they sang for him.

  Tonight he was reading Robinson Crusoe to a group of the younger boys. Defoe’s novel had been a favorite of his when he was a child, and he’d wanted to share it with them. They gave him their rapt attention, bright eyes locked on his mask as he read about the shipwrecked man.

  Fiona had told him when he arrived that the boy he’d most recently rescued had finally broken his silence and told Vanessa his name. He was pleased to see young Gabriel seemed to be enjoying the story, and when he’d finished reading and ushered the rest of the boys to bed, he urged Gabriel to stay behind for
a few minutes.

  “Do you like it here?” he asked the boy gently, when the rest of the group had left. “Are you settling in well?”

  Gabriel stared at his feet and nodded, color creeping into his cheeks.

  “Let me know if there’s anything you need, anything I can do…” Adrian trailed off, feeling a bit uncomfortable as silence stretched between them. This boy reminded him so much of himself, the things he’d been through, the silence he’d chosen to combat his pain…

  “Thank you, sir,” the boy whispered as Adrian started to turn away. “Thank you for what you done for me.”

  Adrian blinked back a sudden prickling in his eyes. “I just want you to be safe, Gabriel. I want you to be happy.”

  “Miss Bourke comes to see me,” the boy offered shyly. “She’s real nice to me.”

  “That’s good,” Adrian said helplessly. “She’s a lovely woman, isn’t she?”

  “She’s good,” Gabriel whispered fiercely. “Don’t say she’s lovely, ’cause she’s more than that. She’s good. She made me hot chocolate. She makes the best hot chocolate in the world.”

  “Does she?” Adrian put his hand on the little boy’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, touched by his impassioned defense of the woman he’d come to love so much in such a short time. He obviously equated “lovely” with his past, with the whores who infested the gentleman’s club Adrian had taken him from. “You’re right. She is a good woman.” And lovely. Lovelier than words can describe. Though he’d been making an effort, recently, to do so. He wondered what she thought of his pathetic attempts at poetry.

  “You should have her make you some chocolate sometime,” Gabriel told him innocently. “It really is the best.”

  “I should,” Adrian agreed, knowing he’d just lost the battle he’d been fighting within himself for weeks. “I definitely should.”