The Madcap Masquerade

by Nadine Miller

  “The road,” Theo called out. “Guide her onto the road outside the gate.”

  Maeve did her best; her mount would have none of it. With a toss of her elegant head, the mare bounded across the road and over a low hedge to the wide meadow that stretched as far as the eye could see. There, to Maeve’s despair, the horse took off at a full gallop, nearly unseating her.

  “Whoa you stupid beast,” she cried as the reins slipped from her hands. In desperation, she bent over the saddle, grasped handfuls of the mare’s flowing mane and held on for dear life.

  Over the pounding of her horse’s hooves, and the pounding of her heart, she heard Theo shout from behind her, “Hell and damnation, Meg, slow down before you kill yourself.” How she was supposed to accomplish that feat, she had no idea. She was too terrified to do anything but hang on with fingers frozen to their task and pray for deliverance from her nightmare.

  Across the endless meadow, the mare galloped with Theo’s stallion thundering close behind. They splashed through a shallow stream, across another stretch of meadow and up a grassy slope toward a small stand of birch trees.

  Maeve vaguely remembered Richard’s warning to stay away from trees until she’d gained sufficient experience in the saddle to have complete control over her mount. There was, he claimed, that odd horse perverse enough in nature to deliberately try to brush its rider off by galloping beneath low hanging branches. A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her the mare was one of those horses.

  “Watch out for the trees!” Theo yelled. It was too late. With an unbelievable burst of speed, the mare plunged into the very heart of the thicket. Instinctively, Maeve let go of the mane and raised her arms to protect her face. A low branch caught her shoulder high, and the next thing she knew, she’d catapulted backward off the horse and landed in a breathless heap on a grassy mound at the base of one of the larger trees.

  “Ugh,” she gasped, trying to draw air into her tortured lungs. But between the impact of the branch and the force with which she’d hit the ground, the act of drawing a deep breath was beyond her.

  “Damn and double damn,” she silently cursed when she heard Theo crash into the thicket behind her. She couldn’t face him. How could she explain why a supposedly accomplished horsewoman was sitting here on her bruised backside with that miserable mare nowhere in sight? With a groan, she closed her eyes, lay back against the grassy mound and prayed she’d either die on the spot or he’d go away and leave her alone.

  He didn’t, of course. She heard him murmur her name as he dropped to his knees beside her, and the anguish in his voice was nearly her undoing. She should, by rights, open her eyes and assure him she was uninjured—and she would—just as soon as she got up the courage to look him in the face. For if he’d never before doubted she was born and bred in the country, he would most certainly doubt it now.

  Theo had galloped into the thicket just in time to see Meg fly off the back of her horse. He’d thought at first she’d merely landed on her rump on a soft, grassy mound; in fact, he could almost swear she had. But by the time he’d tethered his horse and rushed to her side, she was lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, looking as crumpled and lifeless as a doll that had been carelessly tossed aside by a thoughtless child.

  He knelt beside her, studying her chalk-white face and feeling utterly helpless—afraid to move her lest something inside her slender body was broken. “Meg,” he said softly. “Speak to me if you can.”

  Her eyelids fluttered momentarily, but remained firmly closed. As he watched, her gently rounded bosom heaved with the exertion of drawing air into her lungs. A good sign, he decided. At least she was breathing, however laboriously.

  The heaving gradually slowed, her breathing eased and a touch of color returned to her cheeks. More than a touch. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was blushing. Slowly, her eyes opened, their startling emerald hue echoing the vivid green of the grass on which her head was cushioned.

  Her lips moved, and Theo leaned forward to hear her. “I guess I should have listened to what Richard said about trees,” she murmured weakly.

  A surge of pain and anger raced through him at the thought that her first words on regaining consciousness should be of a man he strongly suspected was his rival for her affections. Grimly, he stifled his desire to shake some sense into the stubborn little minx.

  “Richard isn’t here,” he said tersely. “I’ll have to do.”

  “You’ll do just fine, Theo.” She turned her head and fastened her somewhat unfocused gaze on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful the foolish woman hadn’t broken her neck. Maybe the Good Lord was handing out miracles today and she’d merely knocked the wind out of herself.

  “Can you tell me where you hurt?” he asked softly.

  She sighed. “Everywhere. But I feel better now that I can breathe again.”

  She struggled to sit up, but Theo grasped her shoulders and gently laid her back down. “Not yet. Rest a minute. You’ve had a bad fall. I want to make sure nothing is broken.”

  Maeve felt relatively certain the only serious injury she’d sustained was to her pride, but she shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position and gave herself up to his painstaking examination of her arms, her legs, her ribs, her aching head. A mistake, she soon discovered, for every nerve in her body sprang to life beneath his gentle probing.

  She closed her eyes again lest they reveal the fact that she was literally melting beneath the touch of his long, elegant fingers. “That’s enough,” she said finally, pushing his hands away when she could stand no more of the sensuous torture. “I’m perfectly all right. Just a little out of breath.”

  “I do believe you are. I can find nothing broken,” Theo agreed in a voice that sounded oddly unsteady. “Which makes me think you are either made of stronger stuff than you appear to be or you’ve a guardian angel watching over you. Whatever, my love, you just took ten years off my life. I swear I feel weak as a newborn kitten.”

  Without further ado, he stretched out beside her on the grassy mound, rolled to his side, and propped himself on one elbow.

  “What…what are you doing?” she stammered.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” he said, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. “Question number one: What made that idiot groom think you were an accomplished horsewoman? I’ve half a mind to rearrange the stupid fellow’s face when I get back to the stable.”

  He scowled. “Question number two: Why in the name of heaven would you willingly mount a horse you had to know you couldn’t handle? Devil take it, Meg, I’ve seen rank beginners ride better than you just did. I don’t blame the mare for throwing you.”

  Maeve felt as if the ground had just dropped from beneath her. This was it, she told herself. The moment of truth when her madcap masquerade was at last unveiled. Question number three would undoubtedly be, as Richard had asked before him, Who are you, madam?

  Theo removed a twig from her hair and impatiently tossed it over his shoulder. “You constantly surprise me, Meg Barrington.” His tone of voice made the statement an accusation. “How is it you are so marvelously accomplished in ways no country woman should be—yet, abysmally lacking in the one skill in which I would have expected you to excel?”

  Maeve stared at him, her heart pounding. Anger and bewilderment clouded his dark eyes, but still he circled around the truth, almost as if he were loath to face it.

  “You constantly surprise me too, Theo,” she said in a desperate attempt to divert his attention. She managed a halfhearted smile. “Any other man I know would be sympathetic when I came so close to breaking my neck. For some reason I cannot fathom, you appear angry.”

  She struggled to sit up, but once again he pinned her down—this time with a none-too-gentle hand across her ribs. “Angry is too mild a term for what I’m feeling at the moment,” he stated grimly. “If you ever pull another harebrained stunt like the one I just witnessed, you needn’t worry about breaking your n
eck. I’ll wring it.”

  The hand across her rib cage edged a fraction higher until his fingers touched the swell of her breast and a warm glow spread from the point of contact throughout her entire being. If the glow spread through him as well, he managed to hide it. “Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw you fly off the back of that horse?” he asked through tight lips.

  The tremor in his deep voice startled her. He really was upset. Instinctively, she reached up to stroke the rigid line of his jaw.

  He turned his head and kissed her palm. “My heart nearly stopped beating. In case you’ve failed to notice, my dear, you’ve become very precious to me.”

  Maeve felt herself respond to his unexpected endearment with a warmth that both surprised and frightened her. Dear God, surely she couldn’t be losing her heart to the charming rogue. “You flatter me, my lord. My dowry must be even larger than I’d realized,” she quipped, hoping to dampen his ardor with cynicism. “Your dowry be damned!” Theo’s eyes blazed. “I admit it was my initial reason for offering for you. But now that I know you—now that I’ve seen your courage, your compassion, your honesty—give or take a fib or two about something as ridiculous as your French émigré music teacher—it’s you I desire.”

  He cupped her chin with his strong fingers and stared deep into her eyes. “God help me, you stubborn, headstrong, impossible woman. I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  As if to prove his point, he shifted his body to where she lay beneath him, lowered his head and kissed her with a passion that left her almost as breathless as her fall from the horse. “Tell me, my love,” he said in a throaty whisper, “is that the kiss of a man whose only interest is money?”

  “No,” Maeve whispered back, too stunned by passion to be anything but honest.

  But much more than his passionate kisses drew her to him now. He was not the same arrogant aristocrat who’d greeted her at the ball; nor was he the conscienceless rake who’d used the Widow Whitcomb so shabbily. Something had changed him—made him more thoughtful, more caring…and sadly, more vulnerable.

  His declaration of love had touched her heart as nothing else ever had, and at the same time, left her feeling sick with guilt. He’d called her courageous, compassionate, honest. She was none of those things. But he believed she was. He believed so strongly, he’d managed to blind himself to all the clues that should have warned him of her deceit. If he only knew what a fraud she was, he’d hate her.

  He stared down at her, his face suddenly grim. “Have you nothing to say to me, Meg? Am I the only one whose heart is in jeopardy?”

  She closed her eyes, unable to face the hurt she saw in his.

  “Is it Richard who stands between us?”

  Her eyes popped open. “Richard? Why do you ask that?”

  “Anyone can see the man is hopelessly in love with you.”

  She’d told him so many lies that had seemed necessary at the time. The least she could do was tell him the truth about her friendship with the vicar. “Richard is hopelessly in love all right,” she agreed, “but not with me. We are friends who confide in each other. Nothing more.”

  The relief she saw on Theo’s handsome face made her feel more guilty than ever. Why hadn’t she realized that in telling him that one truth, she’d merely given more strength to all the other lies on which he was building his hopes for the future.

  Three more days, she reminded herself. Then the fortnight she’d pledged her father was over, and with it, her hateful masquerade. In three more days, she could collect her money, pay Lily’s debts and go back to living her own life.

  But not before she’d told Theo the truth. Not before she’d disillusioned him so thoroughly, he would feel nothing but relief that he need never see her again. Not before she’d set him free to find a truly courageous, compassionate and honest woman with whom to share his life.

  She owed him that much for falling in love with her—something she’d thought no man would ever do….and for a dozen other reasons she wasn’t sure she could define.

  But most of all, she owed him the truth because she’d just this moment realized that fool that she was, she’d fallen in love with him as well.

  There were three more days in May. Three days until the date he’d originally chosen as his wedding day. Theo rode slowly back to Ravenswood, deep in thought. Meg’s accident had made him realize how deeply he cared for her and how desperate he was to make her his own in every way possible.

  He would, he decided, put everything else aside and devote every waking minute of the next three days to his courtship. He’d be so tender, so considerate, so charming, he just might convince her that June 15 would be as acceptable a date for their wedding as July 1.

  She might not yet realize she loved him. She’d kept disappointingly silent on that subject when he’d declared himself to her. But she desired him every bit as much as he desired her. Her response to his kisses had told him that, as had the way her body had melded to his when he’d lain above her on that grassy mound, or held her before him on his saddle when they rode to Barrington Hall.

  He just hoped he could convince her of that truth in the next few days. He needed to get this courting business behind him and establish Meg as his loving wife and the new mistress of Ravenswood. He was neglecting important work that must be finished before another winter was upon him.

  All of his tenants’ houses needed repairs, and there were fences to be built for the cattle he’d ordered the day he and the squire signed the marriage agreement. They’d be delivered soon and he’d been warned they couldn’t graze the same pastures as the Ravenswood sheep.

  The west wing of the manor house needed a new roof. It had leaked badly last winter. Another such winter and all the priceless furnishings that section of the house contained would be nothing more than moldy rags.

  All of these things could be accomplished now that Meg’s dowry was added to the depleted Ravenswood coffers. He felt a twinge of guilt over that, but only a twinge. She would benefit as much as he from every cent he spent once she was his wife.

  Stepford, the newly appointed butler, greeted him at the door when he arrived at Ravenswood. “A note arrived for you from the village this morning, my lord,” he said in his usual aloof manner. He held out a small silver tray on which reposed a piece of folded paper, and Theo spied the words “His Earlship” in a childish scrawl he knew all too well.

  With sinking spirits, he carried the note up to his chamber to read in private. So much had transpired since last he’d seen her, he’d almost forgotten about Sophie. Like the countess, she was a part of his past he must put in place before he could look to his future.

  The note was short and in Sophie’s usual semi-literate style.

  Dear Theo

  I have thot about what you sed and no you are rite. Our tim together is over. I am moving to Wembley in Middlesex and hop to open a dressmaker shop if you can see yur way to lone me the blunt. Two hundred pounds will do me nicely.

  Yur frend Sophie

  Theo breathed a sigh of relief. One more problem solved. If two hundred pounds was all it took to rid him of the guilt he felt over his part in aiding Sophie’s fall from grace, it was money well spent. He made a mental note to instruct his man-of-affairs to deliver the sum to her that very afternoon along with his best wishes for her success in her new venture.

  Grinning from ear to ear, he tore Sophie’s note into minute pieces and dropped them into the cold ashes in the fireplace. So that was that. Sophie’s practical nature had won out over her romantic fantasies after all. He was not surprised. Every woman he’d ever known had been practical to the core when push came to shove.

  The countess—he would never again think of her as his mother—was the epitome of practicality; she’d stopped at nothing to protect her role as Mistress of Ravenswood. Even Rosa had managed to negotiate herself a lifetime sinecure along with the legal status she’d sought for her illegitimate child.

  The possible exception w
as his bride-to-be. As far as he could determine, Meg Barrington hadn’t a practical bone in her body. Neither title nor money meant a thing to her—which was undoubtedly why his pressing need for her large dowry gave her such a distrust of him.

  Somehow he must find a way to gain her trust and win her heart. The task wouldn’t be an easy one. The only thing he had in his favor at the moment was the passion he stirred in her each time he touched her.

  His smile broadened. Then passion it was, and there was no time like the present to begin seducing the fascinating lady he intended to make the next Countess of Lynley.

  Theo’s note addressed to Meg was delivered shortly before noon. It informed her that he would call on her at one o’clock to take her for a drive into the countryside. A postscript added that he would have his cook prepare a picnic lunch.

  Maeve read the note a second time and decided it sounded more like a summons than an invitation. What had made her think the Earl of Lynley was anything but arrogant? Still she could almost forgive him since the proposed outing sounded most appealing—far more appealing than either the formal ball or the lavish dinner she’d attended at Ravenswood.

  The truth was, she had never before been on a picnic. Lily had considered partaking of a meal anywhere but at a properly appointed dining table positively barbaric. Maeve, on the other hand, had always secretly thought dining alfresco would be great fun.

  The idea of doing so with Theo sounded especially intriguing at the moment. She’d given her situation some serious thought since returning from her disastrous early morning ride, and had come to the conclusion she should put aside her feelings of guilt and enjoy every minute of the last three days she would spend with him.