Midnight Masquerade

by Shirlee Busbee

  Glancing again at the dainty script and deciding that if Deborah's plight was as wretched as claimed, the other woman would welcome help from any quarter, Melissa stood up resolutely. She would come to Deborah's rescue. If Deborah needed rescuing, she concluded cynically as she left the gallery and headed for the stables.

  She was still in her riding habit, not that it would have made much difference to her, and within minutes she was on her way, the powerful black gelding she had chosen to ride hitting a distance-eating stride that rapidly brought Melissa near her destination. She was familiar with the house that Latimer had leased and equally familiar with the gazebo, where Deborah had written she would be waiting for Dominic. Not totally convinced of the truth of Deborah's letter, Melissa took no chances, guiding her horse off the main trail some distance from the house and approaching the gazebo from the opposite side of the pond.

  A careful scrutiny of the area revealed nothing out of the ordinary and cautiously she edged the big horse around the pond, keeping herself well concealed in the forest until she had reached a point not far from the beginning of the docks. Dismounting, she tied her horse securely to a slim birch tree. She hesitated a moment, her gaze moving once more over the area. Beset with thoughts of spies and the dangers associated with such people, she continued to stand there hidden by the forest, wondering if what she was doing was wise. It probably wasn't and Dominic had said that Latimer was not a real spy. Annoyed with herself for letting her imagination overpower her common sense, Melissa stepped forward, her leather riding crop gripped in one hand. The crop wouldn't prove to be much of a weapon, should she have to use it, but its solid weight in her hand comforted her.

  Warily she approached the dock and just as warily stole across its narrow width, getting closer to the gazebo. It was only when she was but a few feet from the building that she became aware of the faint odor of lilac in the air and noticed for the first time the pink material which concealed the interior of the gazebo. A woman's soft humming emanated from inside the muslin-swathed structure, and with a narrowing of her eyes, she realized that it was a happy sound. Not at all the sound of terrified sobbing!

  Growing more positive by the second of the wisdom of her decision to come here, Melissa marched to the opening of the gazebo, the scent of lilacs and roses assaulting her nostrils. The sight that met her gaze made her extremely thankful that she had not awakened her husband. It was obvious, after one swift, all-encompassing glance around, that it was not a rescue that had prompted Deborah's letter, but blatant seduction.

  The sheer lurid pinkness of the interior made Melissa blink, and despite the gravity of the situation, she had to suppress a giggle as she tried to imagine Dominic's face if he had ridden posthaste to answer Deborah's plea for help and had found this. And as her gaze fell upon the supposed damsel in distress, she had to fight to keep a stern expression on her face—to find any damsel looking less distressful would have been difficult.

  Unaware that she had an audience, Deborah lolled about in what she no doubt assumed was an alluring pose, half reclining, half sitting on the gold chaise, a snifter of brandy in one hand. She was wearing the most indecent garment Melissa had ever seen, a transparent lilac gown which opened down the front, the only thing holding it together a small bow which fastened under Deborah's full breasts. It took Melissa a moment before she recognized the garment as the gauzy overdress of a ball gown, and she had to admire Deborah's ingenuity and audacity in wearing such a provocative piece of clothing. Humming to herself, Deborah took a healthy gulp of the brandy just then and from her awkward movements it was apparent that this was not the first brandy she had consumed this afternoon.

  Melissa had not infrequently dwelt on the scathing set-down, the fitting revenge she would bestow upon Deborah Bowden one day. Under different circumstances, today would have provided a perfect opportunity, but secure in the knowledge that Dominic loved her, she didn't fear Deborah any longer or feel the need for vengeance. As she stood there at the entrance to Deborah's ridiculous little love bower, Melissa was conscious of a stab of pity for the other woman, not unmixed with contempt at her unscrupulous methods of obtaining male company, especially the company of a married male.

  It occurred to Melissa that she no longer had any reason to confront Deborah. Dominic loved her; Deborah had long ago thrown away whatever chance she might have possessed to gain his affection. Suddenly yearning to have her husband's arms about her and feeling foolish at her melodramatic ideas of extracting revenge, Melissa started to edge away.

  Whether her foot scraped on the rough wooden planking or if it was the movement of her body that caught Deborah's attention, Melissa didn't know, but unexpectedly Deborah turned her head and was staring straight at her. Wishing that she were anywhere but right here, Melissa felt an embarrassed flush burning up over her face as she stared back at Deborah.

  The effect upon Deborah, however, at the startling sight of Dominic's wife standing at the opening of the gazebo was quite dramatic. She paled; she shrieked and gave such a violent jerk of surprise that the brandy went flying all over her as she fell off the chaise. Lying on the floor in an inelegant heap, she stared with alarm at the tall, commanding figure in the doorway, her gaze fastening with horrified fascination on the menacing leather quirt held in Melissa's hand.

  A guilty conscience is a most peculiar thing, and instead of realizing that Melissa was at least as mortified as she was, Deborah saw only a tawny-haired, vengeance-seeking Amazon come to horsewhip her through the countryside. All her sins flashed before her; every time that she had clung to Dominic, every incident when she had tried to seduce him away from his wife, passed vividly through her brain, and Deborah was frantic to avoid the just punishment she was convinced Melissa had come to wreak upon her.

  Concerned that Deborah might have hurt herself, Melissa started forward to help, but she had barely taken one step when Deborah scrambled to her feet and, hands outstretched protectively in front of her, screeched, "Stay there! Don't come any closer or I'll scream!"

  Nonplussed, Melissa stared at her, wondering if she were confronting a madwoman—Deborah certainly resembled one with her wild, staring eyes and hysterical actions. Her voice very soft and calm, Melissa said reasonably, "There is no need to scream—besides, no one could hear you."

  Reading sinister intent in Melissa's innocent remark, Deborah thought only to put as much distance as possible between herself and this female instrument of revenge. Keeping her eyes on Melissa for any sign of aggression, she warily inched backward, muttering, "It's not my fault. This was all Julius' idea—he planned it. He made me do it."

  "Oh, that's ridiculous!" Melissa burst out contemptuously, her temper rising at the despicable way Deborah tried to throw all blame onto Latimer. Shaking her quirt for emphasis, she added, "You're lying. And even if he did plan it, you 're the one who is waiting here half naked."

  The sight of the raised quirt was Deborah's undoing, and Melissa had barely finished speaking when Deborah squealed, "Don't touch me!" Desperate to escape, forgetting where she was, how small the gazebo was, Deborah edged farther backward, falling against the lightly fastened muslin material. One minute she was standing there and then the next she was slipping through the gaping hole hidden behind the pink fabric. Frantically she tried to prevent her fall, her hands wildly clutching at the material, and for one second she hung half out of the building. Then, with a great ripping sound, the fabric gave way and Deborah, shrieking with terror, plunged into the rank green water.

  Openmouthed with astonishment and conscious of a flicker of anxiety for a fellow human being in distress, Melissa swiftly crossed the room to stare out of the hole left in the rotten latticework. Below Melissa, encumbered by yards of clinging, wet material, her beautifully coiffured blond hair having a distinct green hue from algae and duckweed, was Deborah... a wet, spluttering, thoroughly furious Deborah.

  Because she was no longer in imminent danger from Melissa, Deborah's nerve had returned along w
ith her temper, and she proceeded to curse with a fluency and vulgarity that made Melissa's eyes go round. Stopping long enough to breathe, she glared at Melissa and spat, "Look at me! This is all your bloody fault. I hate you! I hate this country and everyone in it. I wish I had never come here!"

  Since it was obvious that Deborah had suffered no harm, Melissa grinned and said over her shoulder as she walked out of the building, "You no more than I, dear lady."

  Chapter 29

  Reaching her horse, Melissa mounted and, wheeling the animal about, watched as Deborah, the muslin material coiling around her body like a slimy pink snake, grappled to make the edge of the shallow pond. It was a struggle, the heavy waterlogged fabric slowing her progress, and the slippery, uneven bottom of the pond making it difficult to maintain her balance. Melissa had to choke back a laugh as Deborah stumbled and fell face forward in the swampy water not a yard from the shore. Unwilling to leave without seeing Deborah firmly on land, Melissa kept her restive horse steady until Deborah gained dry land. Taking one final look at the bedraggled and infuriated Deborah as she staggered a few more feet from the pond, yards of algae-stained material trailing wetly behind her, Melissa could no longer prevent a small chuckle. There was now no reason to remain, and she kicked her horse into motion and galloped away.

  Too intent on her own progress as she lurched in the direction of the house, Deborah was not even aware that Melissa had left. Her only thought at the moment was to gain the sanctuary of the house and, once she had rid herself of the clinging, wet fabric and the noxious odor which clung to her skin, to personally oversee the burning down of the gazebo. When it was a smoking ruin, then she intended to put as much distance as possible between herself and the site of the most humiliating moment in her life. She was leaving Baton Rouge. And no one was going to talk her out of it.

  And so it was that when Latimer returned home some three hours later, having absented himself for the afternoon, he found his entryway filled with trunks and boxes piled haphazardly. "Good God! What is going on?" he demanded of the harassed butler.

  "Your sister, sir, she is leaving," the man said. "She is in the main salon waiting to talk with you before she boards the packet this evening. It is leaving in the morning for New Orleans."

  Latimer hurried down the hallway, all sorts of wild ideas shooting through his brain as he tried to guess what terrible calamity was forcing Deborah to take such rash action. Had Slade suffered a fatal accident when the two of them were alone in the gazebo? Had she murdered Slade in a fit of temper? What in hell had gone wrong?

  Smelling of roses and gowned impeccably in a lovely frock of blue satin, Deborah was pacing up and down the long room when he entered it and rushed up to her. "Are you all right?" Latimer demanded. "What is this nonsense that you are leaving? What the devil happened this afternoon?"

  Her voice bitter and sullen, she proceeded to tell him what had transpired, although Melissa would not have recognized the story that Deborah told. "She attacked me, Julius! I feared for my very life. And then if it was not enough to assault me with a horse whip, she tried to drown me in that awful pond." The blue eyes were kindling with remembered rage. "She is a savage, brutal person—just like this country—and I am not remaining here one moment longer than it takes me to reach New Orleans. As for the ship that we are to meet in January—it cannot appear too soon.

  Latimer tried to reason with her, and though he did have some difficulty believing her story, he recognized the obstinate jut of her chin and realized that there was no swaying her. Whatever had really happened, it was obvious that their plan had gone dreadfully awry and that any hope he had entertained of using Deborah's seduction of Dominic as a means of bringing Melissa into his arms had been smashed.

  "Very well," he said finally. "I will take you to the packet tonight."

  As if realizing for the first time that she would be on her own, Deborah asked nervously, "Won't you come with me? There is nothing here for either of us. It is time we moved on."

  "It may be time for us to move on," Latimer said with an ugly twist to his mouth, "but before we do I have a score to settle with Dominic Slade and his wife."

  Her eyes fearful, Deborah demanded, "What are you going to do?"

  "I don't know," Latimer admitted, "but I don't intend to leave Baton Rouge without making both of the Slades very sorry that they ever crossed me." He smiled at Deborah and said in a lighter tone, "Don't worry, puss—I shall join you in New Orleans before the end of the month. You have the name of the hotel where we are to stay and you know the banker we are to see there. I shall write you a letter to present to him, explaining that I have been unavoidably delayed and that you are to have complete access to my account there." Pinching her on the chin, he added, "Don't spend it all on new gowns—when we meet that ship in January, we cannot take much with us. It will be a military ship, so most of your trunks and baggage will have to be left behind."

  Deborah pouted. "I don't see why." Then, struck by another thought, she smiled. "But it won't matter. With all the money we are to get from Roxbury, I shall buy myself a new wardrobe."

  "And do not forget that one of the reasons I am remaining behind is to pilfer the Franklyn cub's fortune," Latimer drawled, a calculating gleam in the blue eyes. "Think of me tomorrow night at the Manchester place, winning all that lovely money for us."

  Escorting Deborah on board the packet an hour later, Latimer remarked, "Now, do not forget that a gentleman by the name of Anthony Davis will, no doubt, come to call on you. You may speak freely with him—he is one of Roxbury's men. Also, a gentleman named Samuel Drayton might attract your attention. It is Drayton who will lead us to the rendezvous site in January. Both men know that we are expected in New Orleans soon and will be watching for our arrival."

  "Will you be all right alone here?" she asked anxiously.

  Latimer smiled down at her as he ushered her into the cramped, little room that would be her quarters until the packet docked in New Orleans. "Nothing is going to happen to me," he said.

  Her worries easily allayed, Deborah turned her attention to her new quarters, her complaints loud and unending. Several moments later, when Latimer bade her farewell, she was still criticizing her accommodations, and he walked away with her long list of grievances ringing in his ears.

  But Latimer had his own grievances to consider, and during the short ride back to the house he brooded on the various methods with which he could strike back at Dominic and Melissa. Everything that had gone wrong with the trip to America he now blamed on Dominic's unwarranted interference, and as for Melissa's part in all of his troubles... His mouth thinned. Melissa had wounded his pride and he hungered to punish her for having chosen to marry Slade instead of submitting to his demands. He'd even convinced himself that he would have married her. But had it mattered to her? No! She had spurned him, had teased him and led him on, until she had found a wealthier suitor. Like his sister, Latimer could twist facts to satisfy his own purposes... and his purpose was revenge....

  * * *

  Revenge was the last thing on Melissa's mind when she had ridden home some hours earlier. Even the ridiculous scene with Deborah had faded from her mind, and her thoughts were solely on her husband. A dazzling smile on her lips, she left her lathered horse at the stables and hurried to the house.

  Crossing the hallway, she met Bartholomew on his way upstairs with a steaming bucket of hot water. Running up the steps ahead of him, she asked, "Is that for my husband? Is he awake now?"

  "Yes, madam," Bartholomew returned. "The master woke up some time ago... he seemed annoyed when he learned that you had gone riding and that no one knew when you would be back, nor where you had gone."

  Melissa flushed guiltily, never having given Dominic's reaction to waking and finding her gone a moment's thought. Speculatively she eyed Bartholomew as they reached the top of the stairs. It was not proper to gossip with one's servants, but Melissa could not help inquiring, "And now? Is he still 'annoyed'?"


  A twinkle in the brown eyes, Bartholomew replied, "I believe, madam, that his, er, annoyance will vanish the moment you walk in."

  Melissa sent him a blinding smile. "Oh, I hope so."

  Motioning him to go ahead of her into Dominic's room, she whispered, "Don't tell him I am back yet—I want to surprise him."

  Bartholomew did as instructed, answering Dominic's barked "Has she returned yet?" with a sedate "I do not know, sir. Shall I check at the stables?"

  Dominic's back was to the door as he sat in the huge claw-footed copper bathtub, wisps of steam rising slowly in the air, and he did not see Melissa slip inside his room. Her gaze rested lovingly on the portion of his broad back that was exposed above the rim of the tub, and her heart gave a little jump when he answered Bartholomew's question with an explosive "By heaven, yes! It isn't like her to just ride off, especially not after last—" He stopped and said in a more normal tone of voice, "Let me know the instant she returns."

  "Very well, sir," Bartholomew replied, winking at Melissa as he walked past her and out the door. For several moments after Bartholomew had departed, Melissa just stood there leaning against the doorjamb, her eyes on Dominic, anticipation curling lazily within her.

  Then, smiling, she felt for the key behind her and, finding it, with a quick twist locked the door. Dominic had been grumbling to himself and did not hear the soft click of the key when it turned in the lock. Stealthily, Melissa removed her boots then began to undo the buttons of her riding habit as she walked slowly across the room toward Dominic.

  Some sixth instinct warned him that he was no longer alone and he slewed around in the tub, staring in her direction. A smile curved his lips and a frankly carnal gleam came into the gray eyes as he murmured, "Coming to join me, I hope?"

  Melissa bit back a gurgle of laughter and unhurriedly removed the top of her riding habit to reveal the fine linen chemise beneath it. An answering gleam in her own eyes, she asked with suspect doubtfulness, "Do you think I should? Would it be proper?"