But this time, Kit heard no sigh of pleasure, only the jarring clang of the clock as it struck midnight. And like Cinderella of the old tales, Hero was transformed by the sound. Nothing turned into a pumpkin, but the warm and willing woman in his arms jerked upright, knocking her temple against his in her haste to escape his embrace. Rising in her wake, Kit rubbed his brow and wondered when his head had last suffered such repeated abuse.
“Are you all right?” he asked. But Hero was already reaching for the books, her mask and domino in place, the telltale trembling of a hand the only sign of what had happened between them.
Kit was slower to recover, but it didn’t take him long to realize the ramifications of his behavior. Rising to his feet, he returned to the search, cursing himself. He had been thrown together with Hero in more than one intimate situation, with just her coolness and his restraint standing between them. Yet when her coolness had wavered, his restraint had disappeared, and he had only himself to blame. Wasn’t he supposed to be a gentleman?
“Now, isn’t this interesting.”
Kit swung round at the sound of speech. He looked at Hero, but she, too, had stiffened, and a quick glance at the door revealed that it held fast, the chair firmly lodged against it. Eyes narrowing, Kit scanned the room and was surprised to see a figure in a shadowed corner. Had it been there all along, unnoticed?
“You may bar the door of my own library against me, but I have more than one way to enter nearly every room in this house,” the figure said, stepping forward. Behind him a section of decorative panel clicked shut, revealing the manner of his access.
Kit felt a moment’s relief that the man had not been present earlier, but his appearance was still daunting, and his words had Kit thinking fast.
“My lord,” Kit said, bowing slightly.
“You may call me your Grace, as I am good King Henry for this eve,” the Earl of Cheswick said, with a regal nod. He was dressed in enormous purple robes trimmed in fur and wore a crown, presumably not of pure gold, upon his head, and surveyed them with a jaundiced eye.
“And who might you be?”
“I am but a simple Domino, your Grace,” Hero said, in a deep voice. “And this is Harlequin.”
The earl laughed as he moved farther into the light. “My dear young woman, I assure you that I can tell the difference between a youth and a maid,” he said, waving about the sceptre he held in one hand as he paused to study them more closely. “Well, aren’t you the loveliest couple.”
“We’re siblings.”
“We’re married.”
Since Hero spoke at the same time Kit did, there was no recovering from their faux pas, especially considering the amused expression on the earl’s face. At least he didn’t call for some burly footmen to toss them out.
“How very interesting,” he murmured. Moving closer, he lifted a quizzing glass and looked Kit up and down. When his gaze lingered on the red star that seemed designed to draw attention to a certain area, Kit frowned.
The earl dropped his glass with a sniff. “One wonders why a fellow who appears to be averse to attention would don such a masque.”
“It’s my fault,” Hero said. “I chose it for him, not realizing it would be too small.”
The earl turned his quizzing glass upon her. “A sad misjudgement for a wife to make,” he said, and Kit groaned.
“You are right, my lord…er, your Grace,” Hero said. “We are married to others, and I persuaded him to meet me here for an assignation. I beg you to keep our secret.”
But the earl wasn’t having any of it, and he held up his hand as though to stop her speech. “You’ll have to do better than that, child. And before you do, perhaps I should tell you that I do love my masquerades—so much so that I personally choose every costume that I provide for my guests. So you can imagine my surprise when I caught a glimpse of two of my favorites being worn by persons unknown to me.”
The earl paused to eye Kit. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. For I do like an intrigue.”
Hero drew a deep breath, as if to tender a new explanation, but the earl waved her off. “I would like to hear what our manly Harlequin has to say. And don’t try to hoax me with any talk of assignations, for that’s hardly what you were doing when I came in.”
It was time to lay their cards on the table, Kit decided, and he turned to face the earl without apology. “We were looking for a book,” he admitted. He heard Hero’s sound of distress, but he was not one to invent Banbury tales.
“A book?” the earl echoed.
“It was given to one of your ancestors, Martin Cheswick, for safekeeping,” Hero said, in a not-so-subtle attempt to lay claim to the volume.
The earl dropped his quizzing glass with a look of annoyance. “Well, that’s a sad disappointment. I had hoped for something a bit more interesting. A scandal broth, a bamboozle…a ménage à trois,” he said, with a hopeful glance.
Kit shook his head.
Sighing, the earl waved a hand to encompass the room. “Well, you are welcome to it. I’ve no use for them, though they are pleasing to the eye. And really, what else can you fill the shelves with, except books?”
“I take it you aren’t a collector?” Kit asked.
“Good heavens, no,” the earl said, with a shudder. “Spare me from the dusty old mopes, although I do have an antiquarian costume that is rather amusing.”
Obviously, the earl would have no idea what was or was not in his library, and while his offer was magnanimous, Kit didn’t put much stock in it. Such a frippery fellow might be prone to whims and on to the next fancy before they could finish their search.
“Are they catalogued?” Hero asked, as though the same concern had crossed her mind.
“Lud, no!” the earl said. “I believe Father engaged a man to do that—Richard Poynter, was it? A waste of coin, if you ask me, and I have no intention of throwing good money after bad.”
He looked around the room with a shrug. “I don’t care what’s here, as long as they look well. In fact, I think the architect had blank pages bound to his specifications in many cases. I certainly didn’t want any of Father’s old ones, horrid, musty, smelly things. That’s why I sold them off.”
“You sold your family’s collection?” Hero asked.
“And why not?” the earl asked. “They meant nothing to me.”
Kit could tell the earl was growing bored with the conversation, and he rushed to ask the most important question.
“Were the books sold at auction? Do you have a record of the buyers?”
“I don’t need a record,” the earl said. “I can tell you right now where they all went. We broke them up into four lots, very neat and tidy, and sold only to those among my acquaintances who like that sort of thing.” He paused, as though proud of his own cleverness.
“The Greek went to Devonshire, for far too paltry a sum, I might add. The Latin I gave to Chauncey Jamison, a decent enough fellow I went to school with. Apparently, he’s joined the antiquarian society and fancies himself some sort of scholar now,” the earl said with a derisive laugh.
“And the rest?” Hero asked.
“The French went to Claude Guerrier, as he is known since his hasty exit from his own country, and the English to Marcus Featherstone.”
“You sorted the books according to the language of the text?” Kit asked, trying to keep the surprise from his voice.
The earl gave a regal nod, obviously pleased with himself. “I couldn’t be bothered with a protracted sale, so messy and time-consuming, dithering over every single volume.”
“But I thought…” Hero began, only to pause, as if to reconsider her words. “That is, I had heard that one of the lots went to Augustus Raven.”
“That queer fish? Certainly not,” the earl said. “Why, the fellow has no taste. Have you seen that monstrosity of his, Raven Hill? Spare me from the Gothic lovers!” He shuddered.
“Thank you so much for your help…your Grace,” Kit said hurriedly before
Hero might betray her identity. “We have taken up far too much of your precious time when your guests are waiting.”
“Yes, we should go,” Hero said. Taking Kit’s lead, she began backing toward the door.
“But you must stay! As king of all I survey, I command you. And a private audience with you, my mysterious Harlequin, is in order,” the earl said, pointedly eyeing Kit. “Perhaps you’d like to get out of that tight costume. I own I fear for you. Constriction of the blood. We wouldn’t want any…damage.”
“Thank you, your Grace,” Kit said. “But I’m afraid I can’t leave my…sister.”
“A pity,” the earl said, putting his quizzing glass to his face once more to scrutinize his guests. Although Kit felt no sense of threat, he was aware of just how long they had been ensconced in the library as trespassers. And who knew what awaited them outside?
Hero was already at the door, and when she pulled the chair away from it, it burst open.
“My lord, are you all right?” A man stumbled over the threshold, a bit breathlessly. Kit couldn’t tell if the fellow was a butler or simply masquerading as one, and he did not intend to linger long enough to find out.
“Of course I’m all right,” the earl said, waving his scepter. “Behold my new subjects.”
But Hero had already exited, and Kit was quick to follow. He hurried after her, hoping they could escape into the crowd before a hue and cry was raised against them. But no shouts erupted from behind, and they slowed their pace so as to draw no attention.
Yet they did not pause until they reached the tall doors that led outside, and there only long enough to make sure they were not marked before they slipped into the night air. Kit blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, a welcome cloak after the brightly lit, perfumed rooms. There was no one to note their movements on the lawn, and they veered away from the stables and any signs of activity.
Although the small shed seemed a veritable haven, Kit approached it carefully and nudged at the door, lest someone be waiting for them inside. But all was dark and silent, just as they had left it. Still, he did not intend to linger, and, once inside, he put his garments on over the Harlequin costume. He gave no thought to the closeness of his companion and didn’t even care if his trousers were on backward, so eager was he to quit Cheswick.
Hero, who had only to remove her domino, was already finished and silent in the darkness, and Kit was struggling into his coat when he heard voices outside. He didn’t need Hero’s sudden grip upon his arm to stay his hand; he froze where he was, one sleeve on, the other off.
“They aren’t here, I tell you.”
It was not the man’s voice, but his words, that chilled Kit, and he strained to listen.
“And how would you know when everyone’s wearing costumes?” a second voice asked. The two must have been walking, for Kit heard the crunch of gravel growing closer, and he tensed. If men were searching the outbuildings for their unnamed quarry, he would be of little use, trussed halfway up in his coat.
“Because I talked to the servants, that’s how, and there aren’t any guests that aren’t accounted for, with maids and valets all.”
“What of those who aren’t staying at the house?” the second voice asked. Were their steps slowing? Kit curled the fingers of his free hand into a fist.
“I’ve talked to every coachman here. You don’t think they drove themselves, did you?” The tone was mocking, and Kit heard the other man curse as the footsteps resumed.
“Maybe,” the other man said. “I wouldn’t put anything past them. Didn’t they ride—?”
Although Kit held his breath, he could not make out what else the fellow said, and he dared not lean toward the side of the shed, lest he blindly knock into something, calling attention to their presence. He waited, poised for trouble, but eventually, both the voices and the footsteps faded as the two men passed out of earshot.
When Hero finally loosed his arm, Kit tugged on the rest of his coat and stepped to the door, easing it open slightly. In the surrounding night, all was silent, and he saw no sign of a presence nearby.
“There! Look toward the stables,” Hero whispered beside him.
Kit glanced in that direction and saw two men approaching the structure, but others milled about as well, coachmen, stable hands and the like. There was no telling if the two men Hero noticed were the same they had heard talking. But Kit could see why she had pointed them out.
Even in the pale lantern light, there was no mistaking the fact that the men wore livery, and Kit recognized the now familiar insignia of the Duke of Montford.
Chapter Seven
T he exhilaration Kit had felt after their escape from the library was short-lived, deflated by the odd conversation they had overheard and Hero’s concern over it. She hadn’t even wanted to return to the inn, but Kit convinced her that they needed to get their things and rest the horses.
It was too late to set out upon the road to London and too cold to sleep in the open. And despite her insistence otherwise, Kit did not want Hero falling from her mount along some dark road. A fire, some food and some rest were what they both needed.
The hour was such that Kit was fairly certain they had not been followed back to their small lodgings. He had even been forced to wake a sleepy boy in the inn yard to tend the horses. And a quick exploration of the area revealed no one lingering suspiciously in the courtyard or beyond.
Even the common room was quiet, with only a few travelers or locals drinking ale before seeking their beds. Yet once ensconced in their room, Hero took up a stance at the window, as though she intended to keep watch all night.
“We don’t know that those men were after us,” Kit said.
She turned, her face in shadow. “Then who is?”
Although Kit wasn’t sure himself, he doubted the Duke of Montford was responsible. Yet Hero seemed so convinced, he slanted her a speculative glance.
“You think I know?” she asked, as though taken aback.
Kit shrugged. Although he hadn’t accused her of anything, even the most oblivious dolt would have wondered about his companion, who had proven herself adept at all manners of deception.
“You think this is all part of some elaborate scheme of mine?” she asked him sharply.
But Kit was not cowed by her anger, if that’s what it was. “Let’s put it this way—if you know anything that would be helpful, now’s the time to tell me.”
“I could ask the same of you,” she said.
Kit bit back a laugh. “You don’t trust me?”
“Should I?”
Kit snorted. “Then I’d say we are at an impasse.” Yet suddenly, it didn’t feel like one. In fact, their parrying had only seemed to heighten the tension between them, and Kit was struck with a want so powerful he didn’t know whether he could contain it. He stood still, unwilling to move, lest he march across the room, take her in his arms and continue where he had left off in the library.
As if Hero could see his intent, she drew in a sharp breath and turned to look out the window. When she spoke again, it was over her shoulder, her tone so distant that she appeared to put more than her back between them. “You cannot deny that the duke’s men were there, just as they were at the first inn where we stayed,” she said.
This time her coolness prevailed, and Kit was grateful for it, even though all of his senses screamed a protest. Running a hand through his hair, he ignored the clamoring of his body and tried to engage his brain.
“We cannot know that those two men we heard talking were discussing us,” he said. “Or that they were the fellows dressed in the duke’s livery. Or that those two were even the duke’s men. They could have been wearing costumes.”
“The earl’s guests wouldn’t be traipsing about the stables,” Hero said. “And those were the same men we saw before. I recognized the livery.”
“Perhaps,” Kit conceded. “But the duke could be traveling, as we are, and attending the earl’s ball.”
“I don�
�t believe in coincidences,” Hero said.
Kit didn’t, either, anymore, but he was not sure what to make of the sightings. “All right. Let’s say those two are the ones pursuing us. Why would the Duke of Montford send a couple of thugs to kidnap you? Do you know him?”
“I know of him. He is a respected collector, so I can only assume he’s infected with book madness and willing to do anything to get his prize.” Turning her head, she eyed Kit directly. “Which makes it all the more imperative that we find the Mallory.”
Kit shook his head at her stubborn certainty. It was one thing to stop at Cheswick on their way to London, quite another to go elsewhere, continuing a lunatic search for something that might not even exist.
As if judging his mood, Hero continued. “I’ve found needles in haystacks before,” she claimed.
Kit did not doubt her. “But this is different, unless you regularly tear around the country with a man who is no relation,” he said, fixing her with an inquiring gaze.
“Of course not.”
“Well, then, the longer we dally, the more hue and cry will be raised over your disappearance.”
“Perhaps,” Hero acknowledged, looking away. “Perhaps not.”
“Your chaperone has gone missing, there’s a warrant for my arrest, and you don’t think your uncle will be concerned and alert the authorities?”
“He was not expecting me back for some time, so unless someone informs him of recent events, Raven will spare no thoughts for me,” Hero said. “And even if he should become aware of the change in my circumstances, he would hardly raise a hue and cry. Raven’s main concern always is the acquisition, and he will not question where I am or what I am doing until he is certain that I have not been successful.”
Kit tried to absorb that bald statement and all it implied. He knew that not everyone shared his genteel upbringing. In a world where poor children were bought and sold and even royal progeny bartered away in marriage with no consideration of their wishes, Hero’s situation was not that startling. And yet Kit was shocked and outraged. And if her uncle cared so little for her, where did that leave Kit?
The Gentleman s Quest Page 9
