by Unknown
He crossed the foyer and was about to enter his library for a much-needed brandy when a voice behind him made him pause and turn around.
"Mr. Hamilton, sir." The voice belonged to a tall, emaciated-looking man who had been his servant for nearly twenty years.
"What is it, Foxworth?"
"I've waited, sir, in case there was anything you might want before I retire."
"No . . . no. Go to bed. I'm fine."
When Foxworth had gone, Gregory went into the library to pour himself a hefty glass of brandy. He carried it with him as he walked to stand before the huge casement windows that looked out over a perfectly manicured garden. The roses were in bloom, and the scent on the night air reminded him of Charity.
Sweet, beautiful, unselfish Charity. A woman who would do for a man what she planned was rare indeed. He was more than pleased with the quirk of fate that had brought her into his path.
The taste of her soft lips was still on his mouth, and he could feel the kisses she'd given him with each taste of brandy.
Would it work? Would she be able to find the packet of letters that meant so much to him? This was the first moment he had actually begun to believe there might be a way to solve his problem.
"Damn you, Noah Morgan. Let's see who wins this little game."
He drank the last of the brandy and went to pour himself another.
He loosened his cravat and discarded his jacket. Then he went to his desk to write two necessary letters that would be posted the next day. Folded and sealed, they lay on his desk while he again reached for the brandy. He raised the glass before him, contemplated the amber liquid, and smiled.
"To you, Charity," he said softly. "To you and to the end of all my problems."
Chapter Five
The first battle Gregory and Charity had was over clothes and money. Charity was still wary of any man bearing gifts, and if she hadn't been certain of Gregory's love, she would not have surrendered at all. As it was, she made him understand that all he bought would be returned to him when their escapade was over.
Gregory took the purchase of Charity's clothes very seriously. He bought her only the best, and very large quantities of the best.
He'd found the perfect residence, close to the Morgan summer home, Whitebriar. Charity was aghast at the size of her house, not to mention the cost of the furnishings with which he filled it.
"Gregory, whatever am I going to do, alone in that huge place?"
"Alone? What makes you think you'll be alone? Now, don't jump to conclusions, Charity," he laughed. "You won't be sharing it with me, at least not for a while. When this is over . . ." He left the thought unfinished, but Charity knew he meant to suggest that after their marriage they might share the house.
They had come to see the property at night and Charity wondered why.
"Because, until you make your grand entrance, I don't want anyone to see you."
"Then just who is going to be here with me?"
"Let me see, a butler, a cook, two or three maids, a coachman, a stableboy and . . . someone a little older as a chaperone."
"My Lord!" Charity was amazed. Then a thought came to her. "Gregory, I already have my chaperone."
"Oh?"
"Beth. I'd like her to be with me. She'll be very careful, I promise, and I'd . . . I'd just feel safer. She could be my cousin."
"Safer? Charity, you needn't be afraid."
"I've never been in such a position before. I'm just afraid I'll make some terrible mistake and you'll have to pay the price for it."
"No, Charity." Gregory smiled. "First, you're too smart to make a mistake. But . . . if you did, well, I could just snatch you out of here and no one would pay any price."
"But what about your blackmailer?"
"If anything goes wrong, I want you safe. The
choice of submitting to his demands or ensuring your safety is an easy one."
She smiled up at him and he bent to kiss her lightly. Silently she promised herself that she would fight the fear she felt. There was no limit to what she would do to protect him. She had begun to hate the man who tormented him and she hadn't even met him yet.
It seemed to Charity as if the lessons were endless. She was corrected, corrected, and corrected again until she could have screamed. But the day finally came when Gregory told her she was perfect.
They celebrated with a champagne supper, and Charity was pleased when he invited Beth. Of course, she was well aware of Beth's reservations about their charade. After all, Beth wasn't in love with Gregory and saw things from a different perspective.
Gregory charmed Beth, especially when he told her how grateful he was that she would be with Charity most of the time.
"Well, Charity," he said as he raised his champagne glass to toast her, "tomorrow you move into your new home with all the fanfare I can arrange. The gossip will fly fast, so be prepared to be inundated with invitations. The natives will be very curious, my pet, very."
"How long" Charity began.
"Before you meet my nemesis?" Gregory finished.
"Yes."
"Next week there is a masked ball, and you, the very mysterious lady of wealth and position, will attend. I
will meet you there as one of the surprised but very interested guests."
"Then you will introduce me to . . . him?"
"No," he said, a chill in his voice. "Trust me when I say he doesn't require me or anyone else for that. He will see a beautiful new face and he will promptly take care of the introductions."
"Do you know something, Gregory?" she said when they were alone later in the evening.
"What? Have we forgotten something?"
"I should say so, something important."
"What?"
"You've never told me his name . . . or for that matter, anything else about him. I don't even know what he looks like."
"I would tell you what he looks like, Charity, but I want all your reactions to be true when you first meet him. I will tell you his name. It's Noah Morgan."
"Noah Morgan," she repeated softly. "It doesn't sound so evil."
"He is diabolically clever and absolutely heartless. Remember that when he turns on the charm. He would destroy you as easily as he would step on a bug and with just as much compassion."
"I'll be careful, Gregory. How long can it take to find out where he has hidden what you want? Once I find it, I will have it and be gone" she snapped her fingers"like that."
They had walked up the steps and now stood in the darkness outside Amiee's door. Gently he took her face between his hands and kissed her.
"All humor aside, I want you to be careful."
"I will," she whispered.
"Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"Yes, I am."
She spoke with assurance, and Gregory took her in his arms and held her for a long, poignant moment. Reluctantly he released her, but not before he kissed her again.
"Your new coachman will meet you at the prearranged place. I want you to arrive by mid-afternoon so that you gather all the attention possible."
"We'll be ready."
"Lord, Charity, are you sure?"
"Yes . . . yes, I'm sure. Don't be afraid for me, Gregory. I know you'll be waiting, and I have been in more frightening places. We'll find what we need."
"Charity . . . the next time I see you will be at the ball."
"Then don't forget to dance with me," she laughed softly. "After all, I shall be watching for you."
"Good night."
"Good night, Gregory."
Both Amiee and Beth were waiting for her as she stepped inside. Beth was chattering, as was usual when she was nervous. And Amiee, still troubled by the vision she had seen, was equally worried about Charity's safety. She realized that Charity had come to mean more to her than she had ever bargained on.
Always independent, always solitary, Amiee had never, since childhood, allowed anyone to penetrate the shields she had surrounded herself with.
&nb
sp; Amiee had never known parents, brothers, or sisters, not even a friend close enough to be called a
confidant. Her surprising emotions prompted her now to break her own rule and ask questions . . . and admit that she was worried about someone other than herself.
She was certain that Charity was in love with Gregory, and the blindness of love was well known. Had she herself ever been as young as Charity was, as trusting as Charity remained despite the circumstances of her life? She thought not.
"Charity," Amiee asked, "you've really thought this over carefully? I mean . . . if you're caught, you'll be in Newgate before you can blink an eye."
"I won't get caught," Charity replied firmly.
"Do you love him?"
"Yes . . . I do."
"Have you considered that if he truly loved you, he wouldn't ask you to jeopardize yourself like this?"
"Don't say that, Amiee. You don't understand."
"No, I don't. He has position and wealth. He could hire any number of men. Even an assassin."
"Amiee!"
"Good God, Charity. Look at reality! Do you think it would be hard to find an assassin here in the Round?"
"Gregory would never stoop that low, to be responsible for murder. He only wants to put a stop to this devious man's blackmail."
Beth had been listening intently, fighting the same reservations as Amiee. She was afraid for her courageous friend. She knew quite well that Charity would walk into a lion's den for her or for Amiee. But what
danger was she going to walk into for the man she loved?
Beth had resigned herself long ago to the fact that she would support Charity in whatever she chose to do. So despite her reservations, she knew she would go along with Charity's plans.
''Amiee," Beth interrupted hesitantly, "Charity has a lot of courage, and . . . if Gregory truly loves her, this is a chance she must take. Think of the life she would have if they married. Everything would be perfect."
"I learned a long time ago, Beth, that there is nothing perfect in this world, and things don't always go the way they are planned. Are you really going to be part of this foolhardy scheme?"
"Well, I've agreed," Beth said stubbornly, "and I know Charity. If I don't go, she'll go anyhow."
"I didn't say you shouldn't go," Amiee replied. "I'm going to send Minnow and Tiny as well."
"They can share quarters over the stable," Charity laughed. "Gregory hasn't seen them yet, but when he does I'm sure he'll realize just how safe I'll be. I'm surrounded by friends." Her gaze held Amiee's. "And I'm grateful."
Amiee sighed. There was no changing Charity's determination to go and, she realized, there was no changing the fact that her friends wanted to protect her. Tomorrow would be the beginning of what she hoped would not turn into a disaster.
Gossip flew, as Gregory had assured Charity it would.
" . . . Has anyone seen the new resident at Stafford Hall? . . . Word has it she's a duchess . . . She's an exmistress of a diplomat . . . She's a woman of ill repute. . . . She's wealthy as croesus . . . No one knows where her wealth comes from . . ."
By the time Charity was nicely settled in, cards, callers, and invitations came from everyone who wanted to achieve the coup of the season: having the beautiful and mysterious newcomer as a guest.
The first invitation she could accept was the masquerade ball given by the Duchess of Claymond, Anne Ferrier, who was, according to Gregory, the best person to establish her. It seemed that everyone who was anyone had become so by knowing the Duke and Duchess of Claymond.
Charity was excited and frightened at the same time. Of course, Gregory had chosen her costume for the evening, and as she stood before her full-length mirror she had to admit his choice was perfect.
Before her stood a goddess from ancient mythology. The ivory toga revealed one smooth shoulder and was caught with slender gold ribbon at the other. It clung to her body in graceful lines, held by matching braided gold ribbon that began under her rounded breasts and crossed and re-crossed to her waist. There the folds hung gracefully to her sandaled feet. Her mask was made of white feathers. It covered her from her forehead to the tip of her nose, and the feathers blended with her hair, which was bound up in an intricate arrangement atop her head with the exception of three long curls that draped over her bare shoulder.
She felt wickedly exultant, and the mask gave her a sense of anonymity that could loosen her inhibitions if she were not careful.
She draped an emerald green cloak about herself and raised the hood to cover her hair. Yes, she looked as mysterious as Gregory had planned.
When she came downstairs, Beth gazed at her in awe. Charity was no longer the girl Beth had known. She was a woman, a surprisingly mature woman with the determination necessary to achieve her goal.
"Gregory made a wise choice with that outfit," Beth said. "If you don't set the gossips on fire and bring your intended victim to his knees, I'll be surprised."
Both the words "victim" and "bring to his knees" annoyed Charity for a reason she couldn't name.
"I don't want that scoundrel on his knees. I just want him talkative. I want him to reveal where he is hiding the letters Gregory needs."
"That may require a lot of time. If he is as clever as Gregory said, he'll be on the watch for anything or anyone Gregory might send against him."
"That is why Gregory's made sure he has never seen me. To this Noah Morgan, I am just another woman."
"Minnow is ready with the carriage outside," Beth said. She still could not grasp the fact that Charity had the courage to appear at such a function alone.
"Minnow?" Charity laughed. "I hope he doesn't frighten the other drivers to death."
"You'll need as much protection as you can get," Beth said anxiously. "What if someone should try to follow you home? Maybe attack you on a dark road?"
"Beth, one look at Minnow would dissuade the most aggressive villain. I'll be fine."
Beth wished her well and watched with mixed emotions as Charity left.
The Ferrier mansion glittered with lights, and the sound of music drifted through open windows. Charity deliberately arrived late so that she would not be announced. She wanted to stir gossip and prompt whispers. She wanted to create mystery. She had been coached well.
When she stood in the arched doorway that led to the ballroom, a ripple went through the gathering. Men lost track of what the ladies were saying as with stunned eyes they watched Charity's progress through the room. Women reacted emotionally as well, eyes gleaming with rigidly contained jealousy.
Behind certain masks male eyes glittered with interest, and little time passed before Charity was surrounded by admirers.
Gregory watched Charity's entrance from a vantage point he had chosen at the start of the evening, and he, too, complimented himself. He could not have found a more beautiful or more accomplished actress no matter what great theater he had searched.
He looked about him to see if Noah Morgan had arrived and was a bit annoyed to find out he had not.
"Leave it to Noah," he muttered. "Probably too bored to attend . . . or being too well entertained in some lady's bed."
Gregory waited patiently, until he knew that asking Charity to dance with him would go unnoticed. He
fell into the part of just another admirer who had succeeded in getting Charity to dance with him.
"Charity, you've stunned them," he said softly.
"I'm having fun," she admitted. "But none of this will help you if he doesn't show up."
"Oh, he'll show. This is just Noah's way. Lady Anne is a . . . special friend of his. He would not be so foolish as to not appear."
"You mean he and the duchess"
"Are a scandal?" Gregory laughed. "My dear Charity, he and a lot of ladies are a scandal."
"What an immoral beast he must be," Charity said angrily. "Does he consider women just . . . playthings?"
"I'm afraid I have to admit it is not all his fault. He attracts women like honey attracts
bees. You can tell how much of an expert he is by the fact that he is still single."
"Gregory," Charity laughed, "I judge he must be somewhere near your age. Can you name it expertise when you, too, are still single? Perhaps you have played games as well."
"Touché, my pet. He is my age . . . about twenty-nine." Gregory could not help smiling. "But anything I've done was done before the loveliest creature I've ever met walked into my life."
"Thank you." Charity was pleased with the compliment and was about to speak again when she saw that Gregory's attention was no longer on her. "He's here?" she questioned softly.
"He has just arrived."
Gregory could see avid curiosity leap into Charity's
eyes and considered it suddenly very important that he caution her one more time.
"Remember, be careful. He is a dangerous man."
"I know, I know. But I'm here, and you've prepared me well. It's time we made Noah Morgan pay for all his devious machinations. Trust what you have taught me . . . and trust me. Once a person knows an evil, it is easier to evade. Now . . . where is he?"
Gregory drew Charity off the dance floor, and then she followed his eyes to the other side of the ballroom.
"There he is," Gregory said in a half whisper. "Dressed appropriately as a highwayman."
Charity's gaze touched on one man, then another, then it froze on the only man who could possibly be Noah Morgan.
Even from across the room he gave the impression of a power and vitality that were barely contained. A black mask covered the upper part of his face. Above it his hair was ebony and thick, and just a bit longer than the style of the day dictated. His skin was deeply tanned, and she watched him smile at something someone had said, a brilliant white smile.
His broad shoulders were advantageously displayed by a white shirt carelessly laced halfway up the front. The body of the shirt fit snugly to a strongly muscled torso, and the sleeves were full. Black pants hugged long, muscled legs with what Charity considered disgraceful snugness. High black boots gleamed with a fine polish; across his chest hung an ornate scabbard that held a sword on whose hilt one strong, long-fingered hand rested.
