Masque of Enchantment

by Charlene Cross

  Megan frowned and shook her head in disagreement.

  “I see. Your father has taught you, if you’ve done something you shouldn’t, then you are to confess it before you’re found out, right?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Actually, your father is correct. An honest person always admits when he or she is wrong. But in this case, if we were to tell your father about the doll, I think he’d be very hurt. And he’d be very angry at your Aunt Patricia. She’s the one who gave you the doll, and your father wasn’t pleased she had.” She noted Megan’s questioning look. “Let’s just say he knew the doll would bring you pain, not joy. And when you are unhappy, he is unhappy, as well. If he should ever ask about the doll, we’ll tell him. But right now, I think it’s best we wait until your Aunt Patricia leaves.”

  A small smile cracked Megan’s face, the first Alissa had ever seen. Then the child jumped to her feet and swatted at her bottom.

  Confused, Alissa gazed at her for a moment, then she laughed aloud. “No, Megan. If we were to tell him today, your father would not spank your Aunt Patricia. Although she deserves a good thrashing, she’s a grown woman, and your father is too much the gentleman to do such a thing.” Then Alissa doubted her words, for if Jared knew what had happened, he’d probably strangle the woman. “It simply wouldn’t be proper,” she finished.

  Megan looked saddened by the news, and Alissa reassured her, “Someday your aunt will receive her due, but I don’t think she really knew her gift would make you unhappy. She had hoped to give you a remembrance of your moth—” Suddenly the light drained from Megan’s eyes. “I’m famished,” Alissa said, quickly changing the subject. “Let’s hurry back to Hawkstone and raid the kitchens.”

  Megan agreed, and they both stood. “You’ll have to lead the way,” Alissa said when they reached the door. “I must admit, I’m lost.”

  Megan took Alissa’s hand, and the two started across the clearing, when the child suddenly broke into a skip. Laughing aloud, the musical sound of her voice rising into the air, Alissa joined in the romp. It was the first time since she’d left London that she truly felt happy!

  A short distance from the cottage, at Hawkstone’s northern boundary, a tall, muscular man sat astride his horse, his blue eyes surveying the woman and the small girl at play. A warm breeze ruffled his thick auburn hair, his white muslin shirt pasting itself to his broad chest; a frown etched his brow. When the pair disappeared into the thicket, he turned his horse and slowly headed up the hillside, pondering the graceful agility with which the woman moved.

  “She’s too damned young,” Ian Sinclair mumbled aloud, then wondered if the local gossip had been correct. “Whoever she is, Woden,” he remarked to his stallion, “she’s not Agatha Pembroke.”

  The beast snorted in reply, its large head jerking against the bit, and Ian Sinclair gave him his head as the two raced homeward toward Falcon’s Gate.

  Having procured a snack for Megan, then repaired her makeup, Alissa headed down the hallway toward the alcove. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost her hairnet, but she was too angry to care. She hated the thing anyway.

  As Alissa set her foot on the first-floor landing, Mr. Stanley had the sudden misfortune to meet up with her as he came up from the wine cellars. “Begs yer pardon, miss,” he said, after he’d stopped short, avoiding a collision.

  “Where’s Mr. Braxton?” Alissa asked curtly.

  Taken aback, he blinked twice. “Why, uh, he be in his office with Mr. Robert. I was just takin’ ’em some brandy.”

  Alissa snatched the bottle from under Mr. Stanley’s arm. “Don’t bother. I’ll take it to him myself.” Then she turned on her heel and headed for Jared’s office.

  Wearing a perplexed frown, Mr. Stanley stared after her, the necks of the two wine bottles gripped tightly in his hands. Then he quickly marched into the kitchen and set the bottles on the table. “I’ll be in cleanin’ the silver,” he announced, and cook dropped her jaw in surprise.

  “Ye ain’t never done it afore,” the plump, white-haired woman said, “so why ye doin’ it now?”

  “Never ye mind,” he retorted, as he snatched a glass from the oak sideboard. “And don’t ye bother me none.” Then he slipped into the small room, shut the door, and locked it.

  A thump sounded on the wood. “Ye might do a better job of it, if ye’d take a lamp in there so ye could see.”

  “Hush yer lip,” Mr. Stanley snapped, feeling his way along the cupboards. When he reached the corner, he squeezed into it and placed the glass, rim first, to the wall, his ear butting against its base.

  Two raps sounded on the office door, and Alissa walked into the room without Jared’s invitation.

  Surprised, the master of Hawkstone leaned back in his chair and placed the top end of his steel-point pen between his teeth. He watched as she hefted the brandy bottle in one hand and immediately decided, if he were to speak too soon, she’d most likely lob it at his head.

  He’d assumed correctly. As Alissa glared at him, the desire grew stronger to bounce the bottle off his skull, and she valiantly fought the urge to do so with every ounce of her might. Angry that he’d allowed his flighty sister-in-law to disrupt the serenity at Hawkstone, she was even more furious that he’d done nothing to stop her. Consequently Megan had been the one to suffer!

  “Robert, Miss Pembroke and I have some business to discuss,” Jared said, his eyes still appraising the woman. “If you’ll excuse us, please.”

  “Certainly.” Robert placed the file, which had hung in midair since her entry, back onto Jared’s desk. “Some fresh air will do me good. I’ll be in the gardens.”

  Jared waited until Robert had left, then said, “I take it you’re upset about something.”

  “Upset?” she asked, sarcastically, the bottle rising and falling in her hand once more. “Why, Mr. Braxton, whatever gave you such an idea?”

  “That particular brandy is worth more than a full month’s salary for most. Take care you don’t drop it.” Then, amazed, he watched as she practically slammed the bottle onto his desk. “I suppose if I were to offer you a glass, you’d refuse?”

  “Correct, as always,” she replied uncivilly. When he tossed aside his pen and reached for the brandy to top off his own glass, she snapped, “You drink too much!”

  Jared eyed her. Although she sounded like his Miss Pembroke, spouting her words of abstinence, she certainly didn’t act like the same woman. Something was amiss, for the fire in her eyes transcended any anger—no, fury!—he’d ever seen.

  “Agreed,” he stated, placing the bottle to the side. “Now, if you’d calm yourself, I’d be most happy to listen to whatever it is that has made you storm my office and disrupt my business.” Jared pointed to the chair standing opposite his desk. “Sit, please.”

  “I’ll stand.”

  “I said sit!”

  Alissa suddenly lost her bravado; her anger subsided, for she knew Jared was the more volatile of the two.

  When she was seated, he asked, “How may I be of help?”

  “I want a place—a private place—where I might be alone with Megan.”

  “Is this house too small for your needs?”

  “The size of this house has nothing to do with my needs,” she countered. “I need privacy.”

  “There are locks on all the doors, Miss Pembroke. I would think—”

  “Locks aren’t good enough, Mr. Braxton,” she interrupted. “I want a place away from the main house and all the interference within.”

  “If you are referring to Patricia, she and Robert will be gone on the morrow.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” Alissa responded, “but that’s still not good enough.”

  “Do you want me to boot her out today?” Jared asked drolly, his brow arching.

  “Would you?”

  Jared chuckled. “In truth, I’ve been tempted to do so on more than one occasion these past few days. However, propriety does not allow such treatment of relatives, no ma
tter how objectionable their presence might be.”

  “I understand your position, Mr. Braxton,” she said, deciding against informing Jared of the chaos the woman had caused. “Yet, when Miss Southworth has gone, the problem will still remain.”

  “And what exactly is the problem, Miss Pembroke?” he questioned as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

  “Mr. Braxton, if Megan were given a change of scenery during the day, a private place where she and I could be completely alone, I’m certain her progress will move much more quickly.”

  “And, if I deny your request?”

  “Then I will demand otherwise.”

  “Or what, Miss Pembroke?”

  “Or I shall leave.” She’d said the words before she’d realized their import. Cautiously, she watched for his reaction.

  Shuttered eyes stared back at her. “Rarely do I allow such a threat to be made without acting upon it. And never do I allow a woman the opportunity to misuse her words in hopes I might rescind my position. Such feminine wiles are useless where I’m concerned. Experience has taught me long ago not to play the game. I will not play it now, Miss Pembroke. Now that you’ve been warned, are you still of the same mind?”

  Her gaze locked with Jared’s, Alissa wondered if Celeste had used such tactics to get her way. If so, perhaps as time went on, Jared had become deaf to them, not only closing his ears but his heart, as well. If Celeste were anything like Patricia, she could understand his ultimate distaste.

  “Miss Pembroke,” Jared said, interrupting her thoughts, “should I take you at your word?”

  Alissa reflected a moment. “Mr. Braxton, I have become very fond of Megan and would hate to leave Hawkstone, but I fear I cannot help her unless I’m given a place where we will not be disturbed. I do not ask for myself, but for Megan.”

  “And if I don’t, will you leave?”

  “I will,” she answered, knowing there was no point in staying. Still, she was utterly terrified of what might await her outside the walls of Hawkstone.

  Jared eyed her. She’d made his decision easier. Suddenly he felt an odd twist somewhere deep inside. He’d come to admire this woman. In fact, he’d grown to like her. Probably because she’d placed no demands on him as a man. No demands whatsoever, except when it came to Megan. And, of course, when he drank too much, a difficulty acquired only of late.

  Yes, he liked her, liked her wit, liked her ability to excite his mind. And his body, he admitted wryly, as his gaze ran over her face, then up to her uncovered hair, surprised he’d just noticed it. Was it a trick of light? Or were his eyes merely tired from his incessant viewing of the fine print in the ledgers? Whichever, at the moment, she appeared … attractive?

  Jared closed his eyes and opened them slowly. The same. Attractive … almost pretty. Suddenly he decided it was time to visit Sara Longworthy, one of his former mistresses, to renew his acquaintance.

  “Mr. Braxton,” Alissa said softly, breaking his reverie. “Have you made your decision?”

  “I have,” Jared replied, and Alissa unconsciously edged forward in her seat, holding her breath, for she didn’t want to leave Hawkstone. “Your request is granted.”

  Alissa sighed. “Thank you.”

  “Where do you—”

  “I did some exploring today, while the house was quiet,” she interrupted, “and I came upon a small cottage, north of here.”

  “It’s the old gameskeeper’s cottage. He’s since passed away.”

  “May I also have a cart and pony?”

  “If you do not wish to trek the mile plus each way, then yes you may. I’ll have Mr. Stanley and some of my staff clean the place and make the necessary repairs. It should be ready within the week.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Braxton.” She rose and went to the door.

  “Miss Pembroke,” he called, and she turned toward him. “Since I granted your request, I have one of my own.” Seeing her raised brow, he finished, “Never do I want to see your head covered with that ridiculous hairnet again!”

  “As you wish.” She disappeared into the hallway.

  Jared stared at the door. Suddenly, something else hit him. If the woman had such a weak heart, how in blazes did she find the cottage in the first place, much less return? Steepling his fingers again, he pondered the thought, then decided to keep a secret eye on Miss Pembroke. After all, appearances were, at times, deceiving.

  CHAPTER

  Ten

  “It sure be a nice day fer a picnic,” Mr. Stanley commented, hitching the sturdy pony to the cart.

  “Indeed, sir,” Alissa replied, a smile on her lips. “It’s truly a glorious day.” Standing by the stables, golden sunshine streaming down on her from a cloudless sky, she waited for Megan to join her with their picnic lunch. “Would you care to join us?” she asked as an afterthought. “I’m certain there will be enough food for one more.”

  “Why, thank ye fer the invite, miss,” he replied with a wide grin and a bob of his balding head, “but I got work to be doin’. Might be acceptin’ if ye asks me in the future, though.” He straightened the harness. “If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, yer and Megan’s goin’ to the cottage be a right smart idea. Thought ye handled the askin’ ’bout it real good. Aye, real good.”

  “Oh?” Alissa turned a curious eye to the man. “And how is it, Mr. Stanley, you are able to form such an opinion? I thought Mr. Braxton and I were alone when we discussed it. Perchance, sir, do the walls have ears?”

  Mr. Stanley twitched his nose, then sniffed. “Ain’t seen none a-growin’ on ’em,” he said, eyes blinking rapidly. “O’ course, that ain’t to say otherwise, me eyes gettin’ a bit blurred o’ late. With a house as old as this one be”—he jerked his head toward the stone structure and shrugged—“anythin’s possible.” Then he quickly rambled on. “Been seein’ a change in the little lass, I has. Aye, she seems a might happier. ’Spects it be yer doin’, miss.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Stanley. I do hope Megan is breaking free of what troubles her.”

  “Ye don’t have to thanks me. All us here is the ones who should be a thankin’ ye.” He stopped his work for a moment. “Aye, smart man, his lo … uh, Mr. Braxton be, a-gettin’ rid o’ Miss Patricia and lettin’ ye start to fix up the cottage, all in the same day.”

  “Smart man, indeed,” Alissa agreed, remembering how Jared had pointedly denied Patricia’s request to stay on at Hawkstone after Robert’s work was finished. She’d wheedled and pouted and simpered prettily, but to no avail. And when Miss Southworth, with her volumes of luggage, and Robert, with his modest bag, had finally departed, the whole of Hawkstone seemed to breathe a unified sigh of relief. Once the visitors were gone, as promised, Jared had selected a half-dozen servants, and under Alissa’s direction, the cottage was refurbished in less than a week, and during the past two, she and Megan had made daily use of it.

  “Aye, he is at that,” Mr. Stanley said. “Sometimes it takes a bit o’ proddin’, but ’ventually he sees—” A commotion rose inside the stables, drawing the man’s attention. “That mulish crock, if he be mine, I’d have him gelded.” He tossed the reins into the cart. “Be right back, miss,” he stated, and stomped off to the stable door and down the long line of stalls.

  Alissa blushed, for the man’s anger was directed at Thor, Jared’s stallion. A mare had just come into season, and the stallion, being confined against his will, had set to kicking the boards asunder. Deciding his mission might take some time, she wandered into the carriage house, several yards away.

  Coming from the bright sunlight into the dim interior, she waited for her eyes to readjust, then tucked a stray hair into the bun at the nape of her neck. As she strolled past the fleet of carriages and coaches, she inhaled the scent of oils and waxes used to keep the lacquered woods from splitting and rotting. Again, she wondered at her employer’s wealth. To purchase and maintain one coach was expensive, she knew, but the upkeep of so many … ? How could he possibly afford it?


  Then, at the end of the line, she spied a canvas-draped vehicle, set apart from the others. Curious, she crossed the yardage and surveyed it. Certain it was a coach, she caught the edge of the cover, near what she thought was the door, and started lifting it.

  Suddenly, a hand slammed against the coach; a startled cry escaped her lips as the canvas ripped from her fingers. Wide-eyed, she watched as Jared settled back against the vehicle. His arms crossing over his chest, an indolent smile split his face. “Have you taken to snooping as a pastime?” he questioned, his lazy green eyes surveying her.

  Her mouth agape, Alissa didn’t quite know how to answer. “N-no,” she stammered finally.

  “Then what do you call it?” Jared asked, still lounging against the coach.

  “I—I was just admiring your fleet of carriages. This one caught my eye, and out of curiosity, I—”

  “Snooping, as I said.”

  Alissa’s lips pressed together in a tight line; she glared at him. Pompous, overbearing jackanapes! she berated him silently. Never mind that he was right! His high-handedness seemed a bit farfetched. In fact, he acted as though he were hiding something. Why else would he have made such an issue of her looking under the cover?

  Then she remembered seeing something painted on the door. She’d only managed a glimpse, but she knew it was some sort of design. Considering Jared’s odd behavior, it must be of great import, she concluded, her eyes still pitching daggers at him. Then she thought of sneaking back at a later time to discover what the insignia represented. If he believed her a snoop, then she’d honor that label.

  “This area is forbidden territory,” Jared said, reading her every thought. “Henceforth, you’ll keep from the building, unless I give my permission. And, if need be, I’ll put a man in here to keep you out.”

  “What a ridiculous statement,” she said, airily. “Why would I want to spend my time in this place?”

  “As you have so aptly put it, Miss Pembroke, ‘out of curiosity.’ But you know what happened to the cat, don’t you?” Alissa’s eyes widened, and Jared chuckled. “Megan is awaiting you.” He straightened and his arms dropped to his sides, his loose-fitting shirt slit open down his chest. “I’d be most happy to escort you out.”