The Madcap Masquerade

by Nadine Miller

  The pain in Maeve’s heart increased tenfold. Theo certainly hadn’t wasted any time grieving for her once Meg offered him a little encouragement. “I wish them well,” she said, though it nearly killed her to say it.

  “That’s generous of ye, daughter, all things considered. But then, ‘twas all yere own doing, wasn’t it. If ye hadn’t been so squeamish about hoodwinking the earl , ye could have been a countess by now.”

  Maeve took a death grip on her reticule. “I explained why I had to tell Theo the truth.”

  The squire rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Like I told you, Hermione, the chit was in love. She couldn’t bear the thought of tricking the earl into marrying her—wanted him fair and square, with no lies between them, or not at all. Now what do you think of that?”

  Lady Hermione’s smile had never looked more like Lily’s. “I think it was very noble—much more noble than anything I would ever do. But not terribly practical. Wouldn’t it have been wiser to have had the earl ’s ring on your finger before you confessed your sins, my dear? Who knows, he might have been willing to forgive you anything once the two of you had tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed. He’s no saint himself, you know.”

  “No!” Maeve’s voice came out a hoarse whisper. “I doubt I could ever make someone like you understand. But in the two weeks we spent together, I came to love Theo—truly love him. I simply couldn’t lie to him any longer.”

  Lady Hermione scowled. “You loved him, yet you left him. How odd. I feel certain your mother would never have done anything so preposterous. I know I wouldn’t have. You may have acted very foolishly, Maeve. It has been my experience that a man will forgive a woman most anything if he desires her, and Harry said the earl was besotted with you.”

  “Theo deserves better than a cheat and liar,” Maeve said wearily. She had never before realized how cruel the squire and Lady Hermione were. From the looks on their faces, she could swear the two of them were thoroughly enjoying her misery.

  Lady Hermione smiled sweetly. “Oh dear, I do hope I’m mistaken, you silly girl,” she said in her soft, whispery voice, “but it sounds very much to me like you’re still in love with the earl . Doesn’t it sound that way to you, Harry?”

  “Stop it, you two. I’ve heard enough.”

  The familiar baritone voice came from behind Maeve’s left ear. She shot to her feet and whirled around to face the man who was her sister’s husband—the man whom she’d just confessed she loved, thanks to Lady Hermione’s clever prodding. Sick with humiliation, she made a dash for the door, but he blocked her way.

  She struggled to free herself from his firm grip. “You’ve had your revenge, my lord. Is the satisfaction of hearing me admit to being a lovesick fool not enough for you? What more do you want of me?”

  “A great deal more eventually, Maeve Barrington, but right now just a few minutes of your time. Surely you’ll agree you owe me that much.”

  Maeve nodded grudgingly, too conscious of the nerve-tingling pressure of Theo’s strong fingers to object to his request.

  “Leave us,” he ordered the squire and Lady Hermione in that autocratic way of his. The pair instantly rose to their feet and filed out the door.

  “Be gentle, my lord,” Lady Hermione whispered as she passed them. “Patience and reason will prevail with a girl like Maeve.”

  “Patience and reason, me ass,” the squire said close behind her. “Kiss the sassy chit till she’s out of her mind, then have yere way with her afore she scratches yere eyes out. ‘Tis the only way to tame the green-eyed cat.”

  “Really, Harry, must you be so vulgar,” Lady Hermione complained, taking the arm he offered. “Even the best of advice should be couched in more delicate terms than that.”

  Never lessening his grip on Maeve’s arms, Theo reached back with his left foot and pushed the door shut behind them. “Are you?” he asked softly.

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you still in love with me?”

  Maeve lifted her chin in what she knew was a pathetic show of defiance. “I refuse to answer that question.”

  “Then I’ll just have to find the truth in my own way,” Theo said, and lowering his head, claimed her lips in a deeply passionate kiss. Maeve did her best to keep from responding, but the touch of his lips on hers sent a rush of heat spiraling through her, melting the last bulwark of her feeble defenses. With a hoarse cry, she gave herself up to the exquisite, soul-satisfying pleasure of his lips and tongue and hands…until she remembered who and what he was.

  With her last ounce of strength she pushed him from her. “What kind of man are you?” she gasped. “To marry one sister and make love to the other?”

  His dark eyes gleamed wickedly. “I admit to a certain prowess with the ladies. But not even I could manage the feat you accuse me of when one sister is in London, the other in Scotland.”

  Maeve stared at him, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you in Gretna Green with Meg, as my father claimed.

  “Because I doubt even a generous-hearted fellow like Richard would be willing to share his bride with a friend.”

  Maeve’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying Richard and Meg have eloped?”

  Theo chuckled. “Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? But there you have it. Apparently anything is possible when love is involved, or so my wise Italian mother contends. Which brings us to this match between you and me that your father seems so anxious to promote.”

  “There is no match between us and never can be.”

  “I beg to differ with you, my sweet. Not ten minutes ago, I heard you confess to loving me despite the fact that I’m no saint—and I freely admit to loving you, sins and all. To my way of thinking, our sinful match is every bit as perfect as Richard’s and Meg’s saintly one.”

  “You know nothing about me, my lord,” Maeve said, determined to keep their conversation on a formal basis. “There is no woman in England less qualified to be a countess than I. With all I confessed, I still left out two very important facts.”

  “Only two?” Theo raised an eyebrow. “I’m disappointed in you, Maeve. At this rate we shall soon be as dull and proper as Meg and Richard.”

  Maeve frowned. “I am not jesting, my lord.”

  “I can see you’re not,” Theo said, sobering instantly. With Lady Hermione’s advice in mind, he gently clasped her hands in his. “Very well, if you feel you must, tell me these two shocking facts about you that I should know.”

  Maeve straightened her shoulders and raised her little pointed chin. “My mother was—”

  “The notorious Lily St. Germaine,” Theo interjected.

  “I see my father has been unusually candid with you,” Maeve said stiffly.

  “No, rest assured, the squire is the same devious and manipulative fellow as ever. He would never reveal anything that might threaten his latest matchmaking scheme. The Duke of Kent was kind enough to send me a note divulging that interesting bit of information once he remembered where he’d first met you.”

  Theo shrugged nonchalantly. “Between your mother and mine, we may well be the most scandalous couple in the ton. The starchiest of matrons will undoubtedly close their doors to us, but that will be no loss. Their parties are always a dead bore.”

  Maeve clenched her fists in frustration. Was the man lost to all reason. “There is more, my lord,” she said. “I, myself, am—”

  “That infamous troublemaker, Marcus Browne, who’s made his name pointing out the foibles of our leading Tory politicians. That one I figured out by myself when I saw the cartoon on Brummell that set London on its ear. If you’ll remember, I had occasion to see your renditions of him in your sketch book. Your technique is quite unmistakable, my dear.”

  Theo smiled wryly. “Now there’s a fact I feel we definitely should keep to ourselves unless we plan to spend the Season in Kent raising cattle and babies from now on—which actually sounds rather pleasant, now that I think of it.”


  Maeve did not appear to find his teasing manner the least bit humorous. She stepped back out of his reach—her eyes narrowed, her jaw firmed into an unmistakably stubborn line. “I am resolute, my lord. I will not marry you. Not now. Not ever. I love you too much.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever,” Theo declared, feeling his patience rapidly disintegrating. If this was an example of female reason, it escaped him. In truth, he could never remember feeling more exasperated than he did at this moment.

  Maeve backed up yet another step. “It makes all the sense in the world. The secret of your parentage is safe; mine is not. Lily was shockingly indiscreet. She was also an inveterate gossip. I have no way of knowing if she revealed my unconventional way of making a living to one of her friends.”

  Theo gritted his teeth. So much for patience and reason. He could see Maeve meant every word she said, but there was such a thing as too much nobility. If he’d wanted to marry a saint, he’d have made a push to marry her twin sister.

  Very well, if one tactic didn’t work with the irritating woman, he’d try another. He could be every bit as stubborn as she—and a great deal more inventive. Without another word, he moved forward, clasped her in a fierce embrace and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. As always he felt as if he were drowning in the tide of love and passion that flowed between them.

  Moments later, he lifted his head to stare deep into her bemused eyes. “You’ve told me the reasons why we shouldn’t marry,” he said softly. “Now I’ll show you the reasons why we should.”

  “That’s not fair. I can’t think when you touch me,” Maeve said, twisting frantically to free herself from his hold.

  He laughed softly, joyously. “That, my love, is the best news I’ve heard in a long, long time.”

  Sweeping her up in his arms, he carried her to the sofa, where he sat with her cradled in his lap. “This is highly improper, my lord,” she protested. “What if someone should open the door?”

  “You would be well and truly compromised, my love, and I would have no choice but to marry you.”

  “But I have already told you, I will not marry you, my lord.”

  Theo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Devil take it, why was she still fighting the inevitable? Couldn’t she see how perfectly they suited each other in every way?

  She had already given him her heart; it was her mind that was holding out against him. But how could any man prevail with a woman as strong-minded as Maeve Barrington?

  Like a bolt of lightning parting the midnight sky, the answer came to him. Hadn’t she just admitted she couldn’t think when he touched her? For one brief moment, his conscience pricked him at the thought of what he was contemplating, but the feeling soon passed. What was the saying? “All is fair in love and war.”

  Cupping her face with his hand, he kissed her passionately— plundering her sweet mouth in a deeply sensual way he’d never before dared. White hot flames licked through his veins—flames that only Maeve could ignite.

  He opened his eyes and studied her face. He could see she had been as deeply affected by their kiss as he. Eyes closed, she lay back across his arm. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips softly parted. Her mind was most definitely not in control at the moment.

  His fingers slid to the row of buttons marching down the front of her shapeless gray gown. One by one, he released them from their closures, revealing the plain cotton chemise that covered her small, perfect breasts.

  “Whatever are you doing, Theo,” she asked in a dreamy voice, but she made no effort to stay his fingers from their task. “Something I never in my wildest dreams expected I’d stoop to, my little green-eyed cat,” he admitted, while surreptitiously loosening the ties of her chemise.

  “What is that?” Maeve asked.

  Theo chuckled to himself at this latest ironic turn his life had taken.

  “After much serious consideration,” he said reflectively, “I have decided to follow the only piece of sound advice I have ever heard that unscrupulous scoundrel, the squire, put forth.