Dangerous Masquerade

by Peta Lee Rose

  Ignoring him, Ria told Devon, “Actually, Lord Lyons, I have just come from seeing my solicitor who informed me that you and I may share a common ancestor.”

  Luc’s frown deepened further as the marquess smiled warmly at her. “I would be delighted if that were the case. When next we meet, perhaps we could compare family trees.”

  To her confusion, Luc abruptly interrupted their conversation to remind his friend of an appointment they had. Devon was all smiles and charm as he bid her goodbye while Luc was brusque.

  Perplexed, Ria continued to the inn. She was almost there when she saw a mother and daughter entering a nearby modiste’s shop. The mother was smiling at her daughter affectionately. Seeing a wistful look on her maid’s face, Ria said, “Mary, your parents have a stall in the market, don’t they?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I have no need of you until this evening. You may visit with them if you wish.”

  Mary smiled broadly at her and curtsied. “Thank you, madam.”

  Before Ria could say another word, her maid sped off around the corner. Wistfully, she watched her go. Her despondency grew as she saw the mother and daughter leave the shop, chatting and smiling.

  Quickly turning away, she caught a glimpse of Geoffrey on the other side of the street. Geoffrey and John Blackwell.

  As though feeling her gaze on them, they both looked directly at her. Blackwell took a step toward her but Geoffrey put a hand on his arm, said something to him, and tugged him in the other direction. With a bow and apologetic glance at her, Blackwell followed.

  Puzzled, Ria watched as they disappeared around the corner, then with a shrug turned back to the inn.

  Her coachman already had the carriage waiting for her, so she climbed in and settled back against the squab, put her feet on the hot brick, and spread the sable rug over her legs.

  Just as they set off, she heard a shout and her coachman being hailed. “Stop!”

  She looked out the window to see Luc beckon Matthews down from the box. Both men bent and examined one of the wheels while her groom held the horses still.

  Hearing Matthews make a loud exclamation, she leaned out the window. “Is there a problem?”

  The coachman looked at her, his face pale. “Yes, madam. The linchpin is loose. If Lord Arden hadn’t seen the wheel wobbling, we might have…” Instead of finishing his sentence he told her, “It will have to be fixed before we can set off.”

  Ria asked no further questions. Judging by the look on his face, it was a serious problem.

  Gratefully she looked at Luc. “Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”

  Looking back to the coachman, she instructed him, “Please have it seen to. I will be in the inn. I might as well have luncheon.”

  The earl smiled. “I’ve already booked the private parlor and would be pleased if you would dine with me.”

  Ria hesitated. Much as she wished to spend time in his company, she was still concerned about him discovering who she was. And it wasn’t appropriate to spend time dining alone with him in the inn.

  While she sought a polite way of refusing, she saw Mrs. Babcock watching them—disapproval clearly evident even though a large, hideous hat trimmed with ostrich feathers obscured part of her face.

  Nodding graciously, Ria accepted his invitation. What business was it of Mrs. Babcock? Anyone who’d had the lack of judgment to purchase a hat clearly related to the one in the milliner’s window had no right to disapprove of anything.

  Her groom opened the door and folded down the carriage steps. Before Harry could assist her down, Luc held out his hand. As it engulfed hers, she enjoyed the rare feel it. His grasp was warm, strong, with just the right amount of pressure.

  Stepping down from the carriage, she preceded him into the inn.

  From the corner, Geoffrey watched Arden usher Ria into the inn.

  That bitch! And damn Arden. If he hadn’t interfered… Geoffrey’s nails cut into his palms as he curled his hands into tight fists.

  He’d come so close. If that bastard hadn’t noticed the slight wobble of the wheel, his plan might have worked. Oh, there was no guarantee she’d be killed, but if he was lucky she would have been.

  For a few moments, Geoffrey enjoyed the pleasant fantasy of Ria’s crumpled body lying in the wrecked carriage, blood flowing down her cheeks, her sightless eyes looking at him.

  Then he sighed. Luck! That was the problem. He didn’t seem to have much these days. But then it wasn’t his fault. Other people always let him down.

  Geoffrey cast a disgusted look at one of his disappointments. “Are you certain about the trust? I haven’t forgotten it was you who said the marriage hadn’t been consummated!”

  The man next to him paled. “I was sure it hadn’t been. He treated her like a daughter, not a wife.”

  “Did you check with the other servants like I told you to?”

  “Of course. As I said before, most were tight-lipped as I expected. But I found one, a maid, and she was sure he never visited her bed.”

  Geoffrey thought for a moment. “Probably did it the first night. I didn’t think it would be like my dear departed uncle to make such a mistake.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “That’s a good question.” Geoffrey frowned, “A very good question.”

  He fingered the vial in his greatcoat pocket. His contingency plan. Dare he risk it? “You are certain she is planning on putting the estate into trust? Make no mistake this time because if you are wrong—”

  His companion vigorously shook his head. “I’m not wrong. She told me herself.”

  “Very well then. Go back to the estate. I’ll deal with it.” Without bothering to take his leave, Geoffrey walked across the street and around the inn to the stable yard.

  He walked into the wood-paneled, flagstone hallway near the kitchen. Turning in the direction of the private parlor, he brushed past a maid carrying a pile of folded linens and knocked her arm, causing her to drop them. “Out of my way, wench.”

  Geoffrey continued along the hallway. As he rounded the corner, he could hear a man’s voice behind him chastising the maid, then giving her instructions.

  There was only one private parlor. That was where they would be. Now how did he get in there without being seen?

  Perhaps he didn’t need to.

  The little maid was gingerly walking along the corridor toward him, carefully carrying a tray with a number of decanters. Perfect. From the color, he recognized the contents of each. Given that selection, there was only one Ria would chose.

  When the maid saw him in front of her, she stopped and stared at him apprehensively.

  “My dear.” Geoffrey gave her his most angelic smile. “I’m sorry about before. It was rude of me. Please forgive me.”

  Digging into his pocket with his left hand, he pulled out a guinea and held it up. As he expected, the maid gazed avidly at the coin. “This is to make up for my earlier rude behavior.”

  Just as he hoped, she set the tray down on a nearby table and turned to face him. She smoothed down her dress, then fluttered her eyelashes at him as she curled her blond hair around one finger. Clearly, she was hoping for more. As if he’d soil himself with the likes of her. “I don’t want to keep you from your duty. Someone’s probably waiting for that wine.”

  Looking longingly at the coin the maid said, “I should take it to the lord in the private parlor.”

  Geoffrey twisted the coin in his fingers. “A lord eh? And who would that lord be?”

  While speaking, he slipped his right hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, flicked the top from the vial with his fingers, then carefully removed it from his pocket—hiding it in his hand so the maid could not see it. Though that wasn’t hard. She couldn’t stop looking at the guinea.

  “Lord Arden, sir.” Licking her lips, she reached for the guinea.

  Geoffrey stepped closer to her and handed her the coin. She smiled at him flirtatiously as she tucked it into
her bodice.

  He bent and kissed her neck. While doing so, he reached around her with his right hand, swiftly poured the contents of the vial into the bottle of ratafia, then stepped back, chucked the maid under the chin, and left.

  Smiling.

  9

  The private parlor was in the old part of the inn, on the side away from the noise of the street and the stables at the back. The low plastered ceiling supported by ancient black timbers and the small multipaned casement windows that let in only a small amount of light created an intimate atmosphere.

  Ria tried to control her breathing. From the moment she walked in, the quiet, dimness, and the fire flickering in the stone hearth had immediately thrust her back in time to the masquerade.

  Unfortunately, it was too late to change her mind. She could think of no reason to suddenly decline his invitation. Belatedly, she wished she hadn’t given her maid leave to spend time with her mother.

  She fanned a small flicker of hope. “Is Lord Lyons joining us?”

  At her question he paused, then said. “Unfortunately no. He has business in the village.”

  To her dismay, the resemblance of their setting to the masquerade was further enhanced when he walked over to the sideboard and gestured to the decanters a maid had just brought in. “Would you like a glass of ratafia or perhaps some claret?”

  She gazed wistfully at the ratafia. Could she risk a glass? Right now she would welcome its warmth and restorative properties. But she really needed her wits about her. “No, thank you.”

  Bowing he said, “If you will pardon me for a moment, I will check with the landlord about our luncheon arrangements. Would you like me to ask for a pot of tea?”

  “Thank you. That would be most welcome.”

  A short while later, hearing a familiar laugh, she peered out into the hall to see Luc and Devon in conversation. She could not hear what they were discussing, but whatever Luc said made the marquess grin widely, ask a question, shake his head, and then laugh once more. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and walked away, still chuckling.

  Ria looked at Luc over the repast spread out on the table. “Was that Lord Lyons I saw leaving before?”

  “Yes, he came to tell me his business will take longer than he expected. Another hour, at least. Would you like some more pigeon pie?”

  “No, thank you.” Instead she helped herself to cold slices of roast beef and a piece of cheese as Luc asked her, “Was your wheel replaced recently?”

  “Not that I am aware of, but I will check with Matthews. Why?”

  “The linchpin was loose, so I assume the wheel was recently replaced and the pin was not fitted properly. Whoever did it was negligent.” When she said nothing, he continued, “I’m surprised your coachman didn’t notice. It’s the sort of thing that should be regularly checked. Any coachman who doesn’t should be dismissed.”

  Ria’s sense of disquiet grew. Matthews was very diligent. Surely something so important would not have escaped his vigilance.

  Spreading a slice of bread with creamy butter, she asked, “Is it possible it only just became loose?”

  He shook his head. “It’s unlikely. Not that loose.”

  As she took a bite of the crusty bread, she considered what he’d said. She was almost certain no wheels had recently been replaced and doubted Matthews had been negligent. She swallowed hard, the bread suddenly dry in her mouth. If she was right, then someone had deliberately loosened the pin—presumably in an attempt to harm her. But why?

  She put down the remainder of the bread and stared at the food in front of her, her appetite gone. She looked up as Luc spoke. “Have you finished your tea? Would you like something more to drink?” He was holding up a decanter and looking at her inquiringly.

  Licking her dry lips, Ria nodded. She needed something to wash down the bread. Taking the glass he offered, she took a large gulp of the bitter-sweet liquid.

  She could think of only one person who would wish her harm. He knew where she left her carriage when she was in the village, and she had seen him just moments before she got into the vehicle. Surely Geoffrey wouldn’t… Ria was unable to complete her thought.

  However, this led her back to wondering how well Luc and Geoffrey knew each other. “I saw you earlier with Mr. Danielson. Are you friends?”

  “He was your husband’s nephew, was he not?” When she nodded, he said, “We are acquaintances since we move in similar circles but do not know each other well.”

  The tightness in her shoulders relaxed slightly but then tensed again as she thought about the linchpin. If Geoffrey had tampered with it, who knew what he might try next?

  An image of the pistols in the shop window came to her, and she said, “I understand gentlemen in your circle like to visit Manton’s shooting gallery in London to practice their marksmanship.”

  “Yes. I’m a member of Manton’s, also Jackson’s boxing saloon. It’s a great way to maintain one’s skills.”

  Ria took a deep breath and then, before she had time to consider her words or lose her nerve, hesitantly asked, “Will you teach me to shoot?”

  He disconcerted her by answering with no hesitation, “Of course. What about tomorrow? Shall we say eleven?”

  Already wondering what she had done, and why, she took another sip of her lemonade. “Eleven of the clock tomorrow. Thank you.”

  Matthews once again apologized profusely as he handed Ria into the carriage and added, “I thought I checked this morning before we left. I must have been mistaken. You can be sure, madam, that never again will such a thing happen.”

  Getting into the carriage, she smoothed her skirts as she sat down. Deep in thought, she said little. So it wasn’t because the wheel had been replaced or Matthews had been negligent. She wished it were the case.

  It was Matthews, rather than the groom, who laid the rug across her lap and ensured the hot brick was beneath her feet, showing through his actions, by the extra care he took, how sorry he was. Just as he went to close the door, Ria looked up. “Matthews.”

  The coachman looked at her, his expression forlorn. Judging from his rigid posture, she was sure he thought he was to be dismissed.

  “Did you see Mr. Danielson at the inn this morning?”

  Blinking in surprise, Matthews responded, “Yes, madam, he was here. Asked me when we were leaving.” The coachman looked puzzled.

  Although part of her had already known what his response would be, the answer still, strangely, surprised her. “I believe you when you say it will never happen again. After this, I have faith that you will check very carefully every piece of equipment on any carriage I ride in or any horse I ride on, and once checked you will not let the equipment out of your sight until I have used it.”

  Matthews frowned slightly, but before he could ask any questions, Ria continued. “Am I right?”

  Her coachman nodded gravely. Although he said nothing she was certain from the sudden fierce look of determination on his face that he had got her message.

  “Then we shall say no more about it.”

  Satisfied she had done all she could, Ria leaned against the squab. Only to sit upright once more. There was something else she could do. “Matthews?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I would like to make one stop on the way home. At the gunsmith’s.”

  10

  She should be dead!

  Geoffrey watched in disbelief as Matthews assisted Ria into the carriage. Why wasn’t she dead?

  Sheer rage rose within him, threatened to choke him. Just what would it take to make that bitch die?

  He looked over at the inn. He couldn’t have made a mistake. Geoffrey swallowed hard to stem the rising tide of nausea. He put the poison in the right decanter. He knew he did! She can’t have drunk it!

  What should he do? Leave the ratafia or risk going and getting it?

  Damnation, he’d wasted a guinea! Cursing, he walked back toward the inn.

  This would have been so much e
asier if he could have gotten into St. James Manor without being seen. He used to be able to, but these days he couldn’t step foot on the estate without some nosy servant appearing. This trip to town was the first chance he’d had to get near her.

  Quietly Geoffrey opened the private parlor door. The blond maid was the only occupant of the room. She lay on the floor, writhing. From the doorway he could hear her gasping for breath.

  Gently he closed the door, then walked over to her. She was choking and clutching at her throat. As he bent over her body, she looked up at him, her eyes beseeching him for help. With a smile he plucked his guinea from her bodice and tucked it into his pocket. At least he had this back.

  Geoffrey strolled over to the table. The doxy had obviously been picking at the remains of the meal. A piece of cheese and an empty glass stood next to the almost full decanter of ratafia. It looked like only one glass had been drunk. By the maid.

  He wasn’t concerned. No one was going to ask questions about the death of a bird-witted servant. Though just to be sure, he picked up the chunk of cheese and carelessly dropped it on the floor near her body. No doubt they’d assume she choked on it—and probably think it served the thief right.

  Geoffrey picked up the decanter and the glass the maid had drunk from. Without a backward glance at the now-silent woman, he walked from the room, taking the evidence with him.

  As Luc watched Ria’s carriage roll down the street, he thought about the wheel linchpin. How had it come loose without her coachman noticing? His jaw clenched. If the wheel had come off, she could have been injured, even killed.

  To his surprise, the carriage came to a stop a short distance down the street. Ria disembarked and entered the gunsmith’s. A short while later, she left carrying a package.

  Strolling to the shop, he saw the pistol he’d pointed out to her was no longer in the window.

  His gaze followed the carriage as it reached the end of the street and turned the corner. She had been trying to avoid him, so why now ask him to teach her to shoot? It must be important to her—although he was reasonably certain she had regretted asking him almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. He grinned as he recalled the look of horror on her face when she realized what she’d done. Then, curiously, that had been followed by a look of determination.