The Marriage Masquerade

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  * * *

  Hours later, they were in the vast formal drawing room, she and Sam, and they were plotting in earnest. They’d pulled their chairs close to each other’s, and their heads were all but together in a conspiratorial pose. Upstairs, Sam’s mother and cousin still slept, and he had left orders not to awaken them. Luncheon with Nana had come and long since gone. That sweet lady napped upstairs now, as well. And the afternoon sun, slanting warming rays in through the open French doors, verified by the shadows it cast that the four o’clock time displayed on the mantel clock was correct.

  Much had already been accomplished on this fateful day. As soon as they’d come in from sitting on the hill, Yancey had given Sam his mother’s letters, the ones sent to her by mistake, to read for himself. And he, in turn, had drafted his letter officially retaining the Pinkerton Agency to act on his behalf in their ongoing investigation in America. Once written, it had been tucked in with Yancey’s updated one from yesterday, and that provocative packet had been sent with a footman to be posted in the village.

  Then the two of them had bathed … separately … and dressed in their best afternoon attire. Yancey’s heart had beat happily and with relief when Robin had excitedly told her that the costumes purchased yesterday at Mrs. LaFlore’s shop had arrived while she and Sam had been outside earlier. Yancey came close to kissing Robin’s forehead when she’d made her announcement. Thank God for that ill-conceived trip into the village yesterday or, as Yancey knew, she would never have been able, without the proper clothes, to convince Sam’s family that she was a duchess.

  It was along those lines now that Sam was rapidly instructing her. Yancey worked hard to understand and retain all of the practical information she would need to know in order to pass herself off as a long-married duchess. Sam had first reminded her that his mother thought that he and his wife were estranged. So Yancey’s story would be that his mother’s letters had convinced her to give Sam another chance. Instead of answering them, and after much thought, she had simply shown up and surprised him and they’d had a private reunion. It was simple and romantic and his mother would love it.

  “However, Yancey—”

  “Sarah, Sam. Not Yancey.”

  “Damn. Exactly. Sarah. All right, we’ve been married for five years, and we had money, for all they know. Given that, you would know how to handle servants—”

  “Tell that to Scotty.”

  Sam’s expression became very droll. “First, don’t tell Scotty he is a servant. You could get bitten. Never mind the servants. They mind you better already than they do me. Let’s discuss the dinner service. Being American will not be a valid excuse for poor table manners.”

  “I have bad table manners?”

  “No. But it can get complicated. If you get confused, just watch my lead to see which piece of silverware to use.”

  “How hard can it be, Sam? All we’re going to do is eat.”

  He rolled his eyes. “In a formal setting, Yancey—much more formal than last night—there will be as many as fifteen different knives, forks, and spoons, each one with a distinct use. You wouldn’t want Scotty to smack your hand for using the wrong one, would you?”

  “Dear God,” was Yancey’s despairing remark. “Maybe I should take all my meals in my room.”

  “And have them think you’re indisposed, or perhaps with child?”

  Yancey’s eyes widened. “No. That won’t do.” Flitting through her mind were thoughts of the other Sarah and her baby. “But why didn’t we have children, Sam?”

  Did he not want children? Yancey had to wonder. This was interesting—and his answer would be very telling.

  Sam sat back in his chair, looking every inch the aristocratic gentleman as he lounged there, an elbow resting on the chair’s arm and his chin and jaw supported by his thumb and forefinger. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’ve been married for years, Sam. Why are there no children?”

  He cocked his head at a considering angle and ran his gaze over her person, finally capturing her eyes with his. The warmth she saw there clearly said he’d found her to his liking. Yancey fought her body’s tightening response to his intense notice. She barely stopped herself from crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of modesty to hide the evidence of her nipples hardening into tiny buds. How distressing. Why had she brought up children? Or lack thereof?

  “Do you want children, Yancey?”

  His low, seductive bedroom growl did nothing to calm her nerves. In fact, his tone of voice alone had her babbling. “It’s a little late for that. Unless you intend to produce several in the next few hours.”

  He grinned evilly. “We could certainly try.”

  Outraged … and titillated … Yancey tsked. “We most certainly can not.”

  “Too bad.”

  “And that is not what I meant. I marvel at you, sir.”

  “On what score? You’re the one who reminded me that I am among the living and should behave accordingly.”

  “Do not toss my words in my face for your own advantage. Here our very lives hang in the balance—”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Oh? What’s changed?”

  “My thinking. Roderick is only one man. And he and I are not children any longer. If he is responsible in any way, then he has more to answer for than we do. So, if it’s a fight my cousin wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that, Sam. Remember, you hired me to—”

  “To uncover facts, Yancey. Not fight my battles.”

  “Be that as it may, I—”

  “No. Hear me out. I am no longer the young and penniless second son. I am now the Duke of Somerset. And that may well be because of Roderick’s machinations. I refer to Geoffrey’s death, of course. I owe Roderick, Yancey. And I find myself in a mood to pay him back in full—and then some.”

  “Again, Sam, I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “Really? How do I sound? Hard? Bitter?”

  “You have every right to be both. And I don’t blame you. But what you are is vengeful. Which means you’re not thinking clearly and you’ll make mistakes. We cannot afford mistakes, Sam. There have been two deaths already.”

  Sam shot forward in his chair, his expression hard and bitter, just as he’d described himself. “And there will be another one before this is over, I assure you.”

  Yancey exhaled slowly, knowing Sam was in no mood to be mollified. She’d have to choose her words carefully. “Have you ever killed a man before, Sam? I have. Two, actually. And what it does to your soul is unspeakable. No matter how much the man might deserve to die, what it does to you is much worse.” She stared soberly at Sam. “Much worse.”

  Sam gestured, spreading his hands wide. “I’m sorry for you, Yancey. But what would you have me do? Clap Roderick heartily on the back and say all’s forgiven?”

  “Hardly. But I think you’re purposely not hearing me, Sam. You’re toying with me, and I don’t like it.”

  A complete transformation came over him. Grinning at her and arching an eyebrow, he smiled. “Would that I were toying with you, dearest. It would be much more pleasurable an activity than instructing you in which spoon to use.”

  Yancey felt her face heat up. Yes, she knew what he was doing. He was trying to distract her from lecturing him on seeking vengeance. But, God help them both, she was going to allow him to do so. “We were not talking about spoons. We were talking about children.”

  “Yes. We were. We would have beautiful children together, Yancey.” The dancing lights in his eyes raced her pulse.

  They shouldn’t be doing this. She knew that. But this banter, this sensual web they were weaving, felt so good and so delicious that a shiver of anticipation slipped over her skin and had her smiling just as archly as her duke. “We’ll never know, though, will we? You forget, Your Grace, this marriage is our masquerade … and nothing more.”

  Sam’s gray eyes warmed with awareness as he languidly sat
forward, every inch the aroused panther ready to pounce. “Would you like for it to be more?”

  Yancey’s breath caught. Was he speaking from his heart? Or merely trying to seduce her? If so, he was doing a wonderful job of it. But much more of this and she would faint. She had to put a stop to it. Had to get them back on an even keel. “You ask me a question I have no way of answering. And then you don’t answer a question I need answering. I refer, of course, to children.”

  Her duke slumped back in his chair. “Oh. Them. I say we have four. Two girls. Two boys. That has a nice ring to it.”

  “Indeed. Four in five years. Quite a feat, given our estrangement.”

  “Very true. We’ll not mention children to her. Can I at least give her hope and tell her we’re trying?”

  “You are outrageous, sir.”

  “And you are beautiful, Yan—Sarah. About your name. You don’t like to be called ‘Sarah,’ if I remember correctly. Would you prefer I bastardize ‘Margaret’ and call you ‘Maggie’?”

  Yancey raised her chin. “You do, and I’ll call you Sammy.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Vile creature. You wouldn’t?”

  “I would.”

  A thunderous knock upon the door had Yancey shooting out of her chair, her heart pounding, her pulse racing. She wadded handfuls of her skirt in her hands and stared wide-eyed at Sam. “They’re here. It’s them. What are we going to do? There’s so much you haven’t told me. I’m not ready.”

  Sam was on his feet, too. He gripped her arms and stared down into her face. “No, it isn’t them. They’d simply sweep in. That’s Scotty, most likely, since the door almost splintered. Come on, now, where’s the charge-ahead woman who lectured me at breakfast? The one who so calmly questioned me outside on that hill and came up with probability after probability and then likely solutions? Where is she?”

  “You’re right,” Yancey said, hating that her voice sounded so breathy with nerves. “They would expect me to be nervous, wouldn’t they? But they’re not going to come in looking for faults, are they?”

  “Of course not,” he lied, and she knew it and loved him for it. “No doubt, upon seeing you alive and well, they’ll be the ones we’ll have to revive. Then, once she adjusts, my mother will be thrilled. She will also have a lot to answer for with those letters of hers. And Roderick? Ah yes, my cousin. He will be shocked and then falsely charming and mannerly. Watch yourself with him. He fancies himself a ladies’ man. He and my brother apparently cut quite a swath together through London.”

  Feeling better for these benign characterizations, Yancey squared her shoulders. “Well, his best efforts will all be for naught with me, I assure you.”

  “Spoken like a true and faithful wife.” Sam surprised her by tugging her to him and kissing her forehead lightly. His lips against her skin were firm and warm … and so welcome. When he released her, Yancey’s steps faltered. She hadn’t realized that she’d been leaning in toward him.

  “I’d best see what Scotty wants before he becomes impatient and comes through the door. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Yancey had no reply. She watched Sam’s retreating figure, thinking he looked so strong now, and not the least bit diminished by his more formal attire. If anything, he seemed more powerful, more sure of himself. It was as if they’d reversed roles from this morning. Now she felt uncertain and faltering. And Sam was steady as a rock. Not that she should be surprised. He wasn’t the impostor here. She was. He couldn’t slip up with a lie. She could. He couldn’t give the game away and get them both killed. She could.

  Yancey hated these misgivings. She’d never experienced them to this degree on previous cases. Always before, she’d felt excited and on edge, looking forward to the challenge, but not here at Stonebridge. And not with Sam. She placed the blame for her present uncertainty squarely on the broad shoulders of the man across the room from her. She cared about him. And it was making her … scared.

  Sam opened the door and spoke in low tones to Scotty. She assumed it was Scotty because Sam had said it was, but all she could see was Sam’s profile and his hand on the partially opened door. Then he shook his head no. Yancey’s palms felt moist. What were they talking about? Why was Sam whispering? What had happened now?

  “Sam?” she called out. “Is something wrong? Something I should know about?”

  He nodded at Scotty, said something else to him, then stepped back into the room and closed the door. “Yes and no,” he said, coming toward her, frowning in consternation.

  “Well? What is it? What’s happened?”

  “It’s one of my horses. A prize mare. She’s pulled up lame all of a sudden and refuses to allow her foal to suckle. Daniel, my stableman, came to the back door, asking for me to come investigate and render a decision. I’m afraid I must go.”

  Yancey clutched at his coat. “What? Now? Are you mad? You cannot leave me here to face them alone.”

  Smiling, chuckling, Sam rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “You won’t have to face them alone. Mrs. Edgars says they’re not even awake yet. You’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried about being fine. I’ve played undercover parts before. It’s just that this time, the news—or the reality of me, Sam—and given what’s at stake, well, it needs your presence.” Yancey was still wadding his dark blue frock coat under which he wore a snow-white shirt and dark waistcoat and matching trousers.

  “I agree. And the sooner I go see about the mare, the sooner I can be back.” Gently he extricated her from his person and caressed her jaw lightly with his fingers. Yancey’s breath caught and held, and her heart raced. “Dear Sarah.” Then he frowned, looking troubled. “Strange. I find it oddly disconcerting to call you by her name.”

  “It’s also my name, Sam. One I hate but there it is.” She hesitated and then plunged on. “I know I have no right to ask you, but can you not just think of me when you say it?”

  He smiled, looking both tender and wounded as he roved his gaze over her face. “That’s the problem. You are all I think about, Yancey.”

  Desire poured through her in honeyed waves. She grabbed Sam’s waistcoat and pulled him to her, tilting her face up to his. “Kiss me, Sam. I really need for you to kiss me. As if I were your wife. I want to know how a wife feels when the man she loves kisses her.”

  Sam needed no further prodding. An arm instantly around her waist, he held her tight and cupped her chin in his other hand. His gray eyes warmed to pewter as he stared down at her. Then he lowered his head until his lips met hers … and claimed her mouth.

  Instantly seared and weak-kneed, yet wonderfully alive and sweetly lethargic, Yancey clung to Sam, hungrily deepening their kiss. She stretched up to meet his questing lips, wanting to have all of him, wanting not to miss any part of him. Barely able to breathe, so wonderful and fulfilling was his kiss, much like coming home and being welcomed with open arms, Yancey embraced the pooling tension low in her belly and felt Sam’s answering hardness, despite the hindrance of clothing, pushing against her. In her heart Yancey knew that this was what she wanted, this man, his body, his strength, his weaknesses, his compassion, his love.

  She couldn’t have said which one of them broke their kiss. All she knew was it ended, and they were both gasping for air and clinging to each other. Breathing as raggedly as she was, Sam stared down into her eyes. He appeared dazed or overwhelmed. Yet Yancey reveled in the knowledge that her lips were dewy with Sam’s kiss, her mouth heated by his ardor, and her body warmed by his passion for her.

  “Oh, Sam, my God.” She could barely get the words out. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that. I mean that strongly. I feel so overwhelmed.”

  “I, as well.” Sam shook his head as he peered into her eyes. His own eyes widening, he told her, “When this is over, Yancey, when all is said and done, I—”

  She put her fingers over his mouth to stop his words. “No, Sam, don’t say another word. Please.” She rested her forehead against his chest,
and he held her to him.

  “What’s wrong, Yancey? What did I say? I meant nothing wrong.”

  She could only shake her head no. Yancey could feel his heart beating thunderously with health and vigor and passion. So very much alive, this man was. She knew on some elemental level that he could very well be the man for her. But again she heard her mother’s words, warning her not to give up her freedom, perhaps her very life, to any man.

  In a flash of awful memory, the images from the past, from that fateful day, poured over Yancey. She saw her mother’s body lying pooled in blood. She saw her father, five years after returning home, standing over his wife, his fists red and slick with her blood. Then Yancey saw him spying her and his realization that she’d seen his crime. He came after her. Then she saw the rest … and finally she saw herself, a terrified eighteen-year-old, running … running … running away. Never to look back. Never to go back.

  And she heard as well Mr. Pinkerton telling her she must never, never become involved with anyone from any of her cases. It was grounds for instant dismissal because it compromised everyone … her, the client, the other agents, the entire agency. She was already under review; and here she was, in the arms of the man who had only that morning retained her services as a Pinkerton, the profession Yancey had gravitated to so she could keep men and love at arm’s length.

  “Yancey? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  Snapped out of her nightmare, Yancey pulled back from Sam, releasing him. She looked away from the confusion in his eyes. Staring instead at a small round table situated between the two chairs where only a few moments ago she and Sam had been sitting, their heads together in what had seemed an exciting masquerade, one in which they were a happily married couple, Yancey inhaled slowly for calm and exhaled rapidly for courage.

  “Go, Sam,” she told him, defeated by her own past. “Go see to your mare. I’ll wait here for you.”