Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  Dominic's brow rose. "And you believe that Latimer is willing to wait two more years before laying his hands on money?"

  "Well, he doesn't have to wait that long," Royce said. "He may decide to marry Melissa himself."

  For some reason, Dominic found that idea distasteful. He told himself it was because he objected to Latimer gaining a fortune so easily, although he was certain that marriage to Melissa Seymour would be a living hell for any man. Still, the thought of her married to Latimer rankled, and even after he and Royce had said good night to each other and sought out their separate rooms, the unpleasant notion lingered. Lingered to such an extent that he woke up the next morning with it in the forefront of his mind, and he was in a foul mood when he realized that once again he was wasting time thinking about Miss Seymour. What disturbed him most of all, though, was the fact that he could not decide precisely which aspect of a Seymour-Latimer alliance bothered him the most—Latimer getting his undoubtedly bloodstained, greedy hands on a fortune he didn't deserve, or Melissa being married to such a base creature. By Heaven, he vowed rashly, before I'd let even an infuriating shrew like her be chained to a blackguard like Latimer, I'd marry her myself! The fact that he wouldn't object to Latimer marrying anyone else except Melissa didn't cross his thoughts.

  Entering the dining room, he discovered that Royce was already there ahead of him, perusing a letter as he drank a cup of coffee.

  Royce looked up and grinned at Dominic. "My father writes that I should invite you to come back with me."

  Dominic smiled and shook his head. "No, thank you! I have too much to do here. Besides, I know a matchmaker when I see one, and your father has a gleam in his eye whenever he mentions Melissa's name that makes me nervous!"

  "Ah, yes, of course." An innocent expression on Royce's handsome face, he added, "I wonder why she wrote to you."

  "Melissa wrote to me?" Dominic demanded in a tone of great astonishment. "Whatever for?"

  "I really don't know, but a letter to you from her arrived minutes after mine. Why don't you open it and read it yourself? It's lying there next to your plate."

  With clumsy haste, Dominic tore open the letter, his heartbeat accelerating pleasurably... at first. Then, as the import of Melissa's letter sank in, his face darkened and in a voice filled with loathing he spat, "Your cousin is mad! After refusing to even let me see her precious damned horse, she now proposes to sell it to me—for twenty-five thousand dollars!"

  Royce's eyebrows rose, as much because of Melissa's outrageous offer as because of Dominic's uncharacteristic rage. "I wonder why," he mused.

  "I don't give a damn why!" Dominic growled. "But we're leaving for Baton Rouge this morning. I'm going to see that blasted horse before she changes her mind—and then I'm going to tell her exactly what I think of her ridiculous offer! Twenty-five thousand dollars!" he snorted. "She must be mad!"

  Chapter 9

  If Royce thought Dominic's sudden decision to return to Baton Rouge odd, especially in view of his flat refusal to do so only seconds previously, he kept his own counsel. But he could not help the tiny grin that twitched at the corner of his mouth as Dominic set in motion plans to leave Thousand Oaks. If he didn't know better, he would think that his friend was eager to see his cousin once more—and this despite the curses Dominic called down upon Melissa's head as valises were packed and horses saddled.

  Within the hour they were ready to set out, Dominic leaving behind a stack of hastily written instructions for his overseer and stablemaster. He conferred briefly with the Thomases, giving them carte blanche for any necessities they deemed vital for the efficient running of the plantation. Feeling that he had everything under control at Thousand Oaks, with a strong sense of anticipation he mounted his horse and he and Royce departed.

  They rode in companionable silence for several minutes as their horses trotted own the dirt road that led away from the plantation. Conversation, when it began, was desultory, but eventually the topic foremost in both their minds was introduced when Royce invited Dominic to stay at Oak Hollow while in Baton Rouge.

  Sending Royce a wry glance, he murmured, "I think it best if I stay at the tavern where we dined with young Seymour." His lips twisted. "I have no intention of remaining in the area longer than necessary—and what I have to do will not take very long!"

  Looking across at his friend's dark face, Royce mused aloud, "I wonder what made Melissa change her mind about selling the stallion. She has always been adamant about keeping him."

  Dominic had his own ideas about why Melissa had done such a baffling turnabout; he had thought of little else since he had first read her letter. Even while he had been busily scrawling instructions to his retainers and speaking to the housekeeper and her husband, one part of his mind had been reviewing all he knew about Miss Seymour... and Julius Latimer.

  Keeping his voice neutral, he replied, "If I didn't know better, I would stick to my original assumption—that your cousin is mad, or merely doing this to annoy me. But I find it peculiar that she would offer to sell the horse for such a ridiculous amount. No one will pay that kind of money for an animal—especially since the amount she asked for is exactly what is owed to Latimer."

  Royce looked startled and then, as the significance of this sank in, his eyes darkened with anger. "You think that Latimer is behind this? That he is forcing Melissa to sell the horse?"

  Dominic nodded. "We both know that Latimer is a greedy bastard and we also both know that no matter how he may pretend to enjoy his stay here, it is just that—pretense." Smiling grimly, Dominic went on. "Latimer hates the country and he holds a low opinion of anything that remotely resembles bucolic pleasures. Remember how he could not be pried away from London no matter what the season, how he spoke so contemptuously of rustic bumpkins and the lack of amenities to be found in the country? Latimer is a dandy, a mincing fop—he is far happier in the sophisticated environs of London than in some provincial little town like Baton Rouge. New Orleans would be more to his taste, yet he has remained in what, to him, must be inelegant and crude surroundings for several months. Only money," Dominic said flatly, "would keep him here, and I suspect that he has grown tired of waiting and has demanded that Melissa pay him."

  "And since," Royce began thoughtfully, "the only thing Melissa owns of any value besides the plantation—and that, technically, is Zachary's—is her horse, she is trying to meet his demands by selling Folly for as much money as she can get." He shot Dominic a speculative glance before saying slyly, "Of course, she could marry him—that way he would get her share of the trust and the horse!"

  Dominic had already considered that possibility and, to Royce's disappointment, showed no change of expression when he replied, "It's true Latimer might be contemplating such an act. But the fact that Melissa wrote to me makes it clear that she doesn't want to be married to him."

  Royce snorted. "Melissa doesn't want to be married to anyone! She and my father have been arguing about that subject since she turned seventeen!"

  "There is something else," Dominic said quietly, "that we haven't discussed. Latimer may not have given her a choice. Can you see him married? He is far more likely to have offered to make your cousin his mistress rather than his wife!"

  "By God!" Royce blazed. "If that blackguard has laid a finger on Melissa..."

  Conversation lapsed after that, and it was with an increasing sense of urgency that the two men rode toward their destination. For Royce, the situation was simple: if Latimer had dared to make a dishonorable proposal to Melissa, he would kill him and that would be that. But for Dominic, there was no easy solution for the dilemma in which he found himself.

  He was furious, annoyed and appalled at what was happening inside of him, but those emotions did not disturb him as much as did the trickle of fear that slid down his spine whenever he thought of Melissa in Latimer's power. Fear was not an emotion with which he was familiar, nor had he ever experienced the surge of fierce protectiveness that swept through him when he
reflected on what sort of pressure might have been brought to bear upon Melissa to compel her to write what must have been a difficult letter. And paradoxically, because she aroused all those conflicting emotions within him, he grew even more furious. It was ridiculous! he told himself through gritted teeth. Ridiculous and incomprehensible that a woman he didn't even like, for God's sake, could cause him to act so precipitously. Damning her, damning himself, he rode toward Baton Rouge, his mood growing surlier by the hour.

  Royce and Dominic had not pushed their horses, although they had traveled at a brisk rate, and it was nearing dusk the next day before they reached their destination. Despite Dominic's protestations to the contrary, Royce insisted upon accompanying him to the tavern where he planned to stay.

  "I want to see you settled before I arrive home. My father will be disappointed that you are not with me, and I want to be able to soothe his ruffled sensibilities by assuring him that I saw you comfortably disposed before I left you," Royce told him with a smile.

  Dominic sent him a dry look. "Hoping the tavern has no rooms?"

  Royce laughed. "Ah, saw through me, did you? Oh, well, you can't blame a fellow for trying."

  There was no difficulty in Dominic's procuring a room for himself, and shortly thereafter the two friends bade each other good-bye. Dominic promised that as soon as he had seen Melissa, he would ride over and talk to Royce.

  Royce had not disappeared from sight before Dominic was writing a note to Melissa, informing her of his presence in Baton Rouge and explaining that he would be at Willowglen at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning to view Folly if she was still of a mind to sell him. A sardonic smile on his lips, he tossed a coin to a nearby urchin and requested him to deliver the missive to Miss Seymour at Willowglen.

  If Melissa was surprised at the promptness of the reply to her desperate note to Dominic, she gave no sign of it when his letter to her was delivered that evening. She was startled, though, to discover that he was already here in Baton Rouge and that her outrageous price had not seemed to faze him.

  The four days which had passed since Melissa had sent off her letter to Dominic had not been easy ones for her, and with a feeling of impending doom she had waited apathetically for the first of July to arrive. Realistically, she faced the unpalatable fact that it was highly unlikely that she would escape from the trap Latimer had set for her. During the past four nights she had done nothing but lay awake and search for escape from the horrid fate closing in on her. Her skin crawled to think of Latimer touching her and she spent a good part of each night dwelling fondly on ways in which to kill him before he dishonored her. She turned over improbable schemes in her mind seeking a way out. The most obvious one was the ending of the trust, but even when she had made a second trip to see Mr. Smithfield, asking about the dissolution of the trust upon her marriage or proposed marriage, she had come away depressed. It seemed that she had forgotten one minor clause: the trust would end upon her marriage, but the money would not be dispersed until thirty days after she married. A mirthless laugh had come from her. So even if she could have found a man willing to marry her within an indecently short time, it wouldn't have done any good. It was only later that she wondered if Latimer had known that fact when he made his infamous offer....

  Filled with anxiety and frustration, she began to show the strain she was under. There was a sharpness to her voice and a tight line to her mouth these days, but it was the dark circles under her eyes which revealed that she had spent many a sleepless night of late. To Zachary's inquiries, to Etienne's gruff probings and to Frances' gentle questions, she returned soothing platitudes: "Why, no, nothing is the matter!" or "I didn't sleep well last night—an owl outside my window kept me awake," and "Good gracious, of course nothing is wrong!" Each accepted her word, but there were three pairs of worried eyes that followed her about. She might try to hide it, but something was obviously very wrong, and they could not imagine what it could be.

  All three had watched her face when the note from Dominic had arrived, and all three had noted the faint spark of hope that suddenly flickered in Melissa's topaz eyes. But when asked about the note, she had turned away, muttering some lame reply.

  Melissa had never expected Dominic to answer her letter, and the fact that he had created another problem for her, one which she had to solve before he came to view Folly the next morning. She had not mentioned to anyone the possibility of selling the stallion, and with sinking spirits she wondered how she was going to explain to the others this inexplicable change of heart. Zachary was not stupid, nor were Etienne and Frances, and once they heard the amount she was demanding for Folly, she didn't doubt that one of them, if not all three, would guess that the voucher held by Latimer was behind her actions. But would they guess the alternative that Latimer had offered her? She didn't think so, but she was going to have to come up with a good excuse for so suddenly deciding to sell the pride of their stable, their hope for the future. Lying in bed that night, she came to the dreary conclusion that she would just have to bluff her way through and hope that everyone would be too stunned to ask a lot of questions.

  Rising early the next morning, she dressed carefully for the coming interview with Mr. Slade, unconsciously choosing a gown of funereal black. After she viewed herself in the mirror, an unhappy sigh escaped her. She certainly looked as if she were going to a funeral, the pallor of her skin increased by the weeks of strain and worry, the severe hairstyle sharply defining the fine bones of her features, and the square-rimmed spectacles only bringing attention to the dark circles under her eyes. She made a face at her reflection; then, stiffening her shoulders, she marched from the room, feeling as if she were going to an executioner.

  She put off telling Zachary and Etienne what she planned to do as long as she could. It was only after breakfast, as she accompanied the two men to the stables, that she said with suspect airiness, "Oh, by the way, will you have Folly groomed and brought into the big box stall near the front of the stable?"

  There was something in her voice that caused both men to look at her. Melissa could never tell a convincing lie, and noticing the faint flush that stained her cheeks, Zachary asked suspiciously, "Why?"

  Melissa swallowed and looked away. "Mr. Slade is coming to see him this morning," she muttered.

  "What?" demanded both Zachary and Etienne in unison, but it was Etienne who recovered first. His eyes filled with speculation, he asked, "Why?"

  Melissa kept her gaze averted, and in a low voice she got out, "I'm thinking of selling him... if Mr. Slade will give me a good price."

  There was a thunderous silence, and Melissa wished miserably that she was anywhere but right there. She peeked at the two dearest men in her life, and her heart sank to her toes. Zachary's face was a mixture of angry disbelief, while Etienne stared at her as if she had gone mad.

  It was Zachary who spoke first. "Don't you think we should have discussed this?" he asked in a deceptively mild tone, despite the clenched fists at his sides. "Folly is the entire basis of our stables. Without him we have nothing but a few brood mares—fine mares, to be sure, but none with the reputation that Folly has earned, and will earn."

  Hiding her dismay, Melissa lifted her chin and replied with apparent carelessness, "I wouldn't worry about it. We have bred all the mares to Folly, and with the money I intend to get for him, we should be able to set ourselves up properly." Bringing the attack into Zachary's camp, she added, "Besides, weren't you the one who said that without money it didn't matter what sort of stallion we had—that our ramshackle appearance would scare off a prospective breeder or buyer?"

  Sullenly, Zachary growled, "I didn't say that—Mr. Slade did!"

  "Well, there you are!" Melissa said with forced cheerfulness, but the expression of misery and chagrin on Zachary's face twisted her emotions and she sought some way to comfort him. Her voice very low, she mumbled, "Someday we shall buy him back... once... once we are well established." Pasting a smile on her face, she added, "We'll come abou
t, Zack. I know we will, and if selling Folly will help us right now, then that is what we have to do. I don't want to do it, but I see no other alternative."

  "Strange, you've never mentioned it before," Zachary returned sourly. "I thought that things were going along well, and now, without warning, you tell me that we are going to sell the only thing of real value that we own—the one thing that will make all our plans and dreams possible. A horse of Folly's caliber and speed doesn't come along more than once in a lifetime—and you're going to sell him out from under us!" It was obvious that Zachary was upset, but he clamped his lips together to keep from saying angry and hurtful words. Spinning on his heels, he turned away from Melissa, saying tightly, "I'll go get Folly. Since it seems that I am not worthy enough to be consulted on major decisions, I must by rights be the errand boy!"

  Dismay clouding her features, Melissa watched him stride away. One slim hand lifted as if to call him back, but then listlessly she let it drop to her side. She had handled this all wrong, but she didn't see any other way she could have done it without alerting Zachary to Latimer's ugly plans for her. Straightening her shoulders, she glanced at Etienne, who still stood nearby.

  With an edge to her voice she demanded, "I suppose you intend to take his side?"

  Etienne slowly shook his head, his black eyes shrewd and kind. "Non, petite, I will not add to your burden, but I think that you have not considered what you are doing when you talk of selling Folly. He is indeed a most uncommon animal, and once you sell him, you have no guarantee that no matter how wealthy you may or may not become, no matter how successful, you will be able to repurchase him, as you so blithely told Zachary."

  Melissa glared at him, but the anguish she was experiencing was apparent when she said, "Don't you think I know that! And don't you think that if there were any other way, I would take it?"

  Frowning, Etienne took a step forward. "Lissa, what is it? There is something that you are not telling us."