A Heart's Masquerade
By Deborah Simmons
A HEART'S MASQUERADE
Revised Edition
Copyright © 1989, 2012 by Deborah Siegenthal
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.
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The is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dear Reader,
A Heart's Masquerade was originally published as Heart's Masquerade by Avon Books in 1989. Discounting childhood efforts, it was the first book I ever wrote, as well as the first one I ever sold. Since then I've completed 27 novels and novellas, published by Berkley and Harlequin, and spent 25 years honing my craft. So it was with some trepidation that I took a look at my initial work.
What I found was a story of disguise and adventure on the high seas, brimming with the excitement of a historical romance reader new to writing fiction. For this edition, I tried to keep that sense of enthusiasm and adhere to the original as much as possible, while polishing the technique a bit. I hope you will enjoy the new version!
Deborah Simmons
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
About the Author
Chapter One
Catherine Amberly felt her horse shy nervously at a rustling in the dry leaves underneath the great oaks.
"Easy, Jackson," she whispered to the animal. She was riding the great hulking beast for the first time, her own horse having been sold, but she was surprised at his jittery behavior. She was an expert rider who normally handled even strange horses with ease. Against her will, Catherine felt a measure of the animal’s disquiet transfer to her as she heard the noise again. And she was not relieved to recognize the sounds that heralded another rider.
It could be the groom or another servant sent to fetch her, Catherine thought, only to dismiss those possibilities. For where among the acres of Wellshire Manor would they know to find her? Unless she had been followed.
The answer was swift in coming as the sounds grew louder, and she sucked in a breath when she saw a black gelding appear along the path.
"Oh, Edward, you startled me!" Catherine said. Although she tried to keep her voice light, it sounded strained even to her own ears, and her heart pounded with fear.
"Sorry, dear cousin," Edward said with his most insincere smile as he edged closer.
Forced to tighten her grip on the reins as Jackson backed away, skittish at the presence of another horse, Catherine felt a stab of irritation at her mount for demanding her attention when she needed all her concentration to deal with her cousin. Taking an unsteady breath, she looked across the few feet that separated the two horses and looked at the man she suspected of murdering her stepfather.
He was as dark as Catherine was fair. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders in a shiny mane, and her pink cheeks glowed unfashionably. The green color of her eyes, similar to those of more than one feline, had earned her the nickname Cat. Although they had sparkled with mischief for most of her sixteen years, now they were devoid of luster as she regarded her cousin.
Edward’s heavy-lidded black eyes, close-cropped black hair, and full lips give a sensual cast to his face that was not lost on the female population, but Cat had never found him appealing. She thought his skin too pale and his dark eyes too menacing. And she suspected the smooth polish of his manners disguised a core so rotten that he had killed his own uncle without remorse.
Still, she was not ready to accuse her cousin, especially when they were alone in a deserted stretch of forested land, so she struggled for an innocuous subject of conversation. Before she could speak, however, Edward’s voice, thick with loathing, broke the stillness.
“I congratulate you, cousin. You are a better rider than I expected. I see that you handle the stallion well, but then you are full of surprises, aren’t you?’
Her gaze never leaving Edward’s face, Cat tried to ease her horse away as he continued talking, his mouth twisted into a leering smile. "This sudden interest in your stepfather’s death, for example. I never expected a little thing like you to cause me such trouble. I had hoped to profit from our relationship, but I can take no chances now. I want this to be neat and tidy."
"What are you talking about?" Cat asked with only partly feigned surprise as she struggled to hold her horse.
"A poacher’s stray bullet killing both Lord Pembroke and his stepdaughter would be stretching credulity, wouldn’t you say? That’s why I’m so glad I got you that horse. A riding accident will be just the thing. And she broke her pretty little neck..." Edward laughed aloud as Cat urged Jackson toward the edge of the woods.
"It will do you no good," Edward said as he watched her maneuvers. "Even you, dear cousin, won't be able to handle that nervous brute much longer. You see, he doesn’t like enclosed spaces like these woods, and he especially dislikes loud noises." Edward’s grin widened as he reached into his cloak.
Cat barely glimpsed the pistol before she kicked in her heels, sending the horse toward a break in the trees, desperately hoping to reach the open fields before Edward could fire. She’d made it to the border of the forest when the shot rang out, ricocheting off wood close behind her.
Jackson reared, his forelegs pawing the air. Ducking to avoid tree limbs, Cat struggled with the reins as the stallion tossed and pranced, then suddenly broke free of the woods, flying onto the pasturelands, Edward on their heels.
Counting on her cousin’s poor horsemanship to hold him back, Cat struck for the road and the village, where she hoped she would not be murdered in broad daylight. She was thankful for her years of riding and her strong mount as Edward fell behind.
Although the village lay some distance ahead, the road came into view, revealing a lone rider whom Cat prayed would deter Edward from his pursuit. She held on for dear life as Jackson, still frothing with fright, raced down the hill. Fighting to keep the horse along the beaten track, she shouted for help.
Either her words reached the horseman or he simply deduced from her flying hair and billowing skirts as she clung to the horse’s neck that her mount was a runaway, for she soon heard the other horse charging along beside her and she felt Jackson finally slow, his sides heaving.
As the horse was brought to a halt, Cat’s heart, nearly bursting, stopped its painful racing. She opened her mouth to speak, but the world suddenly seemed clouded in gray. With embarrassing certainty, Cat, who viewed swooning females as idiots, knew that she was about to join their ranks. Without even catching a good look at the stranger who had come to her aid, she fainted dea
d away into his arms.
When she stirred once more, Cat’s lashes fluttered across her line of vision, and it was a moment before the world came into focus. As her senses returned, she looked back at the slope she had raced down and saw, at the top, the silhouette of her cousin Edward astride his horse. Watching from beneath lowered lids, she let out a deep breath and shuddered with relief when she saw him disappear.
"Are you hurt?" Velvety rich masculine tones warmed her ear, and Cat opened her eyes wide, only to catch her breath again. Poised barely inches above her was the most handsome face she had ever seen.
Dark brown eyes, the color of the deepest forest, returned her gaze, and as she stared, one brow rose in question. His cheeks were finely molded and clean shaven, yet his lower lip lent a warmth and sensuality to otherwise classic features. Cat’s attention tarried there for she had never been this close to a man’s mouth, and it drew her irresistibly toward him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked again. Cat caught an undertone of amusement in his voice, and her gaze flew to his in embarrassment.
"No. I’m fine. Thank you, sir." She was loath to relinquish her position in arms that felt so strong and safe around her, but she forced herself to sit up, aware that she had lingered too long in the stranger’s embrace.
"I’ll be fine now," she said. "I appreciate your help, sir."
"What is your name, little one?" he asked, a slow grin warming his features.
"Catherine Amberly."
"Well, Miss Amberly, I refuse to let you get back on that monstrous beast, which you should not have been riding in the first place. Why don’t I see you home?"
"Oh, no! If you would just take me into the village, Mister… ?"
"Duprey. Ransom Duprey," he supplied. "I think that will suit us both. Let us get you seated in front of me, and we’ll lead your horse along."
Though Jackson seemed calm now, Cat nodded in agreement and settled herself in front of her rescuer. She felt comfortable there, as though she fit perfectly against the hard chest, the top of her head nodding against his wide shoulder.
A sheltered and solitary life had little prepared her for conversation with men, especially in such an intimate situation, so for a few minutes they rode in silence. Then Cat, eager for the sound of his voice, asked him where he was bound.
"I’ve a ship at Barton Quay," he answered.
"Do you? What is her name? What is she?" Cat asked, delighted.
"The Reckless is a privateer," he answered, amused at her enthusiasm. "With a commission to take French and Spanish ships."
Cat thrilled at his words. A life at sea had always held an allure for her, and it seemed unfair that only men were allowed to partake of such adventures. "And what do you do?" she asked.
While genuinely interested in his answer, Cat also enjoyed listening to him speak. Deep and rich, his voice seemed to envelop her, and combined with the warmth of his body against hers, it worked a spell upon her, filling her with an odd tingling sensation.
"I’m the captain, so I do a little of everything, though I’m sure you would hear arguments from some quarters on that score," he said. "I sail tomorrow for the West Indies."
Cat gasped as the exotic destination was not only famous, but she had connections there. Her mother’s sister Amelia lived on a plantation in Barbados. When Aunt Amelia’s husband had succumbed to fever, she had stayed on there, a decision Cat’s stepfather had denounced as "quite mad" and in keeping with her "foolish nature."
Although Cat could barely recall her aunt, she sporadically received letters from the lady, urging her to visit. Her stepfather never had allowed it, but now that he was gone... Cat felt a sudden jolt of awareness. She peppered her companion with questions, her heart pounding at the beginnings of a bold scheme.
When they entered the village of Coxley, Cat felt a sense of disappointment, for she could hardly linger with a stranger. Yet she didn’t want to leave his side, as though her body possessed a will of its own and would remain snug against him. She forced herself to lean away, ignoring the warm chest that seemed to beckon her back.
Although everyone in the village would soon know Lord Pembroke’s daughter was riding with a strange man, Cat did not care. Even when they stopped at the inn and she slipped to the ground, she was loath to part with him. She thanked him profusely for his help, but he shook his head.
"You are more than welcome, little one," he said. "It has been an unusual ride. I don’t often discuss sailing with lovely young ladies."
At his words, Cat blushed a rosy red and looked away. And when the inn’s stable boy appeared at her elbow, she knew she could tarry no longer. Handing over Jackson’s reins, she turned to go, rushing inside without a backward glance at her hero.
***
Ransom watched the girl move up the steps, light as a feather, her golden hair windswept and tumbling down her back, and he felt an odd pang. At first, he had been annoyed when called upon to rescue a swooning female, yet he had found himself enjoying her company.
She was like a breath of fresh air, bubbling with excitement as she pestered him with questions that shouldn’t interest anyone of her sex. And he couldn’t help admire her striking features, as well as the rest of her, young and unspoiled... Too young and too unspoiled, he told himself, for he’d never been attracted to chits barely out of the schoolroom.
How his shipmates would laugh to learn that their world-weary captain had been drawn to a wide-eyed innocent. Grimacing at the thought, Ransom firmly dismissed the child from his thoughts. By the time he left the village behind, headed on to Barton, the incident with Miss Amberly was buried deep within his memory, where it would lie forgotten for many a day.
***
"Well, if it isn’t little Miss Amberly! We haven’t seen you in some time. We’ve missed your smile."
Through the dim light inside the inn, Cat glanced fondly at the elderly owner of the village’s one hostelry. "It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Tyber," she said.
Although she genuinely liked the old innkeeper, he was not known for his brevity, and Cat dreaded a lengthy chat. The very real fear that Edward would reappear danced in the pit of her stomach.
Cat knew that in his new position as baron of Wellshire and her guardian, her cousin could forcibly drag her from the premises, and no one would raise a hand to stop him. Even if she could convince someone that Edward had done murder to obtain her stepfather’s wealth and title and had attempted to kill her as well, she knew no one who had the power to help her. Her only hope lay in quick escape and the daring plan that had begun to form in her mind.
"I’ve had a little trouble with my horse," Cat told Mr. Tyber nervously. "Do you mind if I rest here before going home?"
"Certainly not, Miss Amberly. You go freshen up in the front room. How about a little mutton pie?"
"Yes, that would be lovely," Cat said before catching herself. "Well, why don’t you wrap it up for me, and I’ll take it with me."
"Certainly, Miss Amberly," Mr. Tyber said, though he looked a bit puzzled by the odd request.
Pie in hand, Cat climbed the stairs, only to exit down the rear steps to the rooms where she knew Jenny, the serving girl, and Jim, the stable boy, slept. Rummaging through the tiny hole in the wall where Jim bedded down, she found what she was looking for: boy’s clothing that just might fit her. In its place she left payment, part of her precious hoard of pin money collected before her stepfather’s death.
Once safely ensconced in the front room, her mutton pie tucked away and the door locked behind her, she dressed in Jim’s shirt, baggy pants, and patched coat and bundled up a spare set of pilfered clothing. Everything was a little large, but the looseness worked all the better to disguise her sex.
Looking critically at the hair reaching to her waist, Cat grimaced and hacked it off with the shears she had borrowed from Jenny’s room. Her first attempt at barbering was atrocious, but more clipping and cutting improved her appearance to the point where she looked merely ragged i
nstead of ridiculous. To complete her costume, she pulled a large cap down over her forehead to shade her features.
Holding her breath, Cat gazed into a milk mirror over the washstand and was delighted with her new identity. She did not look at all like the young girl she had been a moment before. She took off the hat and squinted at her face. The nose was a bit too pert and the cheeks too rosy, but even without the cap she looked like a somewhat grubby boy.
Well, good, she thought, suppressing a twinge of disappointment at the ease with which she had achieved her disguise. Then she collected her shorn hair and original clothing and again sneaked down the back stair. Keeping to the shadows, she slipped away from the inn. She didn’t dare fetch Jackson from the stable for fear that Jim would see her wearing his clothes. And better she not take anything of Edward’s, including his horse, if only briefly.
Avoiding the main road her cousin might be watching, Cat slipped between the buildings, disposing of her girl’s locks and clothing in a heap of refuse. Heading toward a narrow track, she hesitated, fighting against an impulse to say good-bye to her dearest friend.
Budd had worked in the stables of her family’s estate until Edward had cruelly turned him out, probably because of his closeness to Cat. For Budd had been a surrogate father to her after her mother died and the house stood nearly empty, her stepfather rarely in residence.
Cat smiled for the first time in weeks a she remembered the night long ago when she had sought the warmth and comfort of the manor’s kitchens during a storm. Budd had done the same, and the kindly old sailor had seated her in a chair by the great fireplace, tucked a blanket around her, and settled down beside her with a pipe.
Scoffing at the weather that raged outside, he began to describe a typhoon that had tossed one of his great seafaring vessels like a cork upon the waves. By the time his tale was told, Cat was asleep, dreaming of the sea.
The friendship that sprang up that night between the solitary little girl and the lonely old sailor had grown over the years. Cat had soon declared her intention to sail the seas, too, when she grew older, and Budd had indulged her by teaching her everything he knew. What a blow it was when she grew old enough to realize she could never follow in his footsteps.
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