By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  He blinked. “Oh… oh, no, he’s well… I mean, he’s feverish. At the moment, he’s resting some, but…”

  His voice trailed off as he noticed Aunt Tamara. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to help my niece, of course.”

  The two stared at each other with a strange tension. The gleam that leapt into William’s eyes confused Marianne until she remembered he’d met Aunt Tamara at the apothecary’s shop the night the earl had been wounded.

  William took Marianne’s arm and pressed her forward. “Please go on to my master’s chambers. You know where they are.” As Aunt Tamara, too, moved forward, he stayed her with one hand. “You remain here.”

  Marianne halted. “Why can’t she accompany me?”

  “Yes, why can’t I?” Aunt Tamara snapped. “Where she goes, I go, sirrah. Let me pass if you want her near your master.”

  William looked from one to the other. “You shan’t see him,” he told Aunt Tamara, stepping between her and Marianne. “Bad enough your niece might have killed him. Together you could murder him for certain. No, I’ll keep you here to ensure that the girl doesn’t harm him.”

  “Why, you barbarous rogue, you can’t speak about my niece that way!”

  But Marianne was more alarmed by the thought that he suspected her. “It’s all right, Aunt Tamara,” she called back as she headed for the master’s chambers. “Remain here. What can a sick man do to me anyway?”

  With her aunt’s protests ringing in her ears, Marianne hurried through the vaulted passageways. Her heart pounding with dread, she pushed open the massive oak door to his bedchamber and slipped inside.

  Then she froze. The bed was empty. Had they carried the earl elsewhere? She started to back out, then heard the door close behind her. Whirling around, she came face-to-face with the Earl of Falkham.

  Dressed simply in an unbuttoned waistcoat, white holland shirt, and blue-black breeches, he leaned with casual ease against the door. His weight rested on his good leg, while his wounded one was bent to take the pressure off of it. His loose-fitting breeches hid the bandage around his thigh so well, however, that no one except Marianne would have guessed he was hurt. He didn’t seem to be straining to hold himself up. Nor did a trace of fever flush his skin.

  In short, he was the very picture of health.

  “So good of you to come.” His gray gaze locked on her mask, as if he could see what lay beneath. Then a smile crept over his finely chiseled features.

  Relief that she was no longer in danger of having killed an earl was rapidly driven out by fiery rage. “So my aunt was right. Your ‘summons’ was a trick. How dare you make me fear I’d nearly killed you when all the time you were well?”

  His smile broadened. “Were you worried about me?”

  “I was worried your man might have me hauled off to the gaol for killing his master. What possible reason could you have for spreading such a lie? Was suffering a gypsy’s touch so distasteful to you?”

  He came away from the door, wincing when his weight came down on his wounded leg. “In truth, I’d thought to thank you,” he said brittlely.

  “By ruining my reputation… by spreading malicious lies and rumors so the townspeople would avoid me.” He was as bad as his uncle. “What manner of thanks is that?”

  His eyes darkened as he took a step toward her. “Will tried to find you, but no one seemed to know where you lived, even Mr. Tibbett. I could think of no other way to bring you here so I could express my gratitude. Tell the truth—has anyone in Lydgate really accused you of anything because of my subterfuge?”

  “Not yet, but gypsies are often held suspect in this place, and your ‘subterfuge’ hasn’t helped matters.”

  He frowned, reminding her of a painting she’d seen once of a vengeful devil scowling at the creator. With a shudder, she gathered her cloak more closely about her. It was dangerous to be here alone with him.

  He stepped closer, still blocking her path to the door. “I apologize for any inconvenience my ‘trick’ may have caused. But can you blame me for wanting to thank the woman who saved my leg, for wanting to offer her, yet again, some recompense?” When she remained silent, his eyes warmed. “If you wish, you may add my latest… ah… thoughtless act to the debt I already owe you. It’s a debt I’m more than eager to pay.”

  His words mollified her little. Her heart still beat frantically from the terror she’d felt when she’d feared being blamed for his fever. But now that her anger had cooled, her sense of caution had returned. This was no time to castigate an earl who had the power to see her arrested. She had to keep her wits about her.

  “You may consider the debt paid,” she said stiffly. “Seeing that you are well and that my remedies eased your pain is enough reward for me. I’d best go now, before my aunt begins to worry.”

  She started to move around him toward the door, but he caught her by the arm. “You can’t go without allowing me to repay my debt in full.”

  He stood so close that she could see the spark of interest in his eyes. The attention he gave her mask sent alarm whirling through her body.

  “Please unhand me, my lord,” she said quietly.

  He did as she asked but made no move to let her pass.

  “What I did, I’d do for anyone,” she went on. How she wished she’d listened to her aunt and had stayed away from Falkham House. “I’ve already refused your gold, so nothing else remains to be said.”

  “But I’ve something better to offer than mere coin. There’s a London physician named Milburn, with a miraculous treatment for smallpox scars. He claims he can wipe them away so the skin is as soft and smooth as a babe’s. I’ll send you to him. ’Tis the least I can do for the woman who saved my leg, possibly my life.”

  She stared at him. Oh, Lord, her “horrible scars.” Perhaps Aunt Tamara’s explanation for her mask hadn’t been so brilliant after all.

  And why would he offer this? She had heard of Milburn. Her father had denounced the man as a charlatan, but some claimed to be helped by him. Milburn was most famous for treating the wealthy and always extracted large sums from his patients. Could Lord Falkham really intend to spend a fortune on Milburn’s “treatment” for a mere gypsy?

  She peered at him through her mask, noting how his eyes roved to her hands and then back to the silk covering her face. Could his offer simply be a trick to find out what lay beneath her disguise? Somehow she would have to refuse it without rousing his suspicions.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve learned to live with my… er… unusual appearance. If this doctor failed to help me, I’d suffer far more than I have until now.”

  “Ah, but think what could come of it. If his treatment works, it might enable you to find a husband who’d care for you far better than your aunt can.”

  It took all her will not to move away and show her wariness of him. For he looked formidable indeed in the light that streamed through the open curtains, highlighting the broad, stern forehead and the chestnut brows drawn together in a deep frown.

  “I’ve already said I won’t accept your gift, my lord.” She had to escape him, curse it! “I’m pleased you’ve recovered fully, but I won’t be forced to endure the probing of strangers for naught when I can scarce endure the sight of my hideous face myself. My scars are too deep for any mere potion to heal.”

  She didn’t realize how she’d erred until he lifted his hand to the hood of her cloak.

  “Let me see your ‘hideous face’ for myself before you refuse my help,” he bit out, pushing back the hood and yanking the ties of her mask loose. “If what you say is true, you may leave this house without another word.”

  “No!” she protested, but he was already lifting away the mask…

  Chapter Four

  No beauty she doth miss

  When all her robes are on;

  But beauty’s self she is

  When all her robes are gone.

  —Anonymous madrigal

  Garett hadn
’t been certain what he’d find when he removed the gypsy girl’s mask. He’d half expected the scarred maiden she professed to be.

  But the sight that now greeted him stunned him. Two warm hazel eyes widened in alarm in a face as arresting as it was unblemished. Not only had she no scars but her skin was a light golden color—not the dark olive of a gypsy, yet not the pale cream of a sheltered lady, either.

  As his gaze roamed her delicate-boned face, her peach-tinged lips parted in shock. He fixed automatically on the sweet mouth, so finely drawn. He could well believe her father had been nobility. Yet he glimpsed in the stubborn set of her chin and the wild glint in her eyes that she didn’t always follow a lady’s rules.

  Hers was a face designed by nature to intrigue, entice… tempt. With him it succeeded.

  In the past few years, he’d thought only of his revenge and his return to England. Except for the occasional doxy for a night’s pleasure, women hadn’t had a place in that. But for the first time, he wanted more than only a night with a woman. Her soft words about gardens and flowers had troubled his thoughts far too much during his recovery.

  He cursed his wayward thoughts. This unmasking was not about that. Yet he couldn’t seem to stop staring at her.

  “Are you quite done gawking at me, my lord?” she bit out.

  “No,” he said with perfect honesty. He turned her to face the sunlight that streamed through the multipaned window.

  “You have no right…” she whispered as he pushed the hood completely off her head, loosing her lustrous hair from its knot and allowing it to spill free.

  He caught his breath as the sun lit her face and tipped her tresses with antique gold. Lightly he trailed his fingers over one smooth cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin.

  She blushed then, so prettily that his pulse leapt. Damn her for being so lovely. There was too much at stake for him to let himself be tempted by a fair face. “It seems you have no need for the physician Milburn after all.”

  She stiffened. “You never intended to bring me to him anyway. Your offer was merely intended to unmask me, wasn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “Not entirely. But your tale of disfigurement rang false. How else could I prove my suspicions? I assure you, if you’d been telling the truth and accepted my offer, I would have brought you to Milburn.”

  After digesting that a moment, she glanced to the door. “Well, sir, now that you’ve satisfied your curiosity, I wish to leave.”

  Did she think he’d let her go that easily? She was hiding a great deal more than just her face.

  Before he released her, he must know what. “Actually, you’ve merely roused my interest further. You might, for example, tell me why you wear a mask in the first place.”

  “I don’t see how that concerns you, my lord,” she said, her palpable apprehension giving him pause.

  She seemed poised to flee, but he didn’t intend to let her slip away this time. Not without answers. “Everything concerns me. This is my domain. I don’t like having two strange gypsies roaming it, especially when one hides her face and lies about the reason. It makes me wonder what mischief she is about.”

  “I intend no mischief.” She tilted her chin up so that the light fell half across her face. “Isn’t it enough that I saved your life?”

  He ignored a quick stab of remorse. He had to learn the reason for her disguise, if only to ensure she wasn’t one of his uncle’s minions come to spy on him. Of course, if she’d worked for his uncle, why would she have cared for his wounds so skillfully?

  Yet there could be other, equally sinister reasons for her disguise. After years of dealing with lies and deceit, he knew better than to trust a stranger, no matter how lovely.

  “Have you committed some crime?” he probed, his tone deliberately intimidating. “Are you hiding from soldiers or the guard?”

  The fear that leapt in her eyes made him wonder if he’d hit upon the truth. Then she stiffened. “No, my lord,” she said, contempt lacing her words. “I’m hiding from noblemen like you who wish to devour women like me.”

  Her deft answer surprised him. She wasn’t easily cowed, that was certain. “What makes you think I’ll devour you?”

  “Aren’t you holding me here against my will? Haven’t you tricked me into returning to your manor? That’s proof enough that you intend me harm. Because of rogues like you, Aunt Tamara thought it wise to keep my face and form hidden. It was, and still is, my only protection.”

  His gaze strayed over her face and then her hair, which tumbled down her back like golden wheat spilling from a sheaf. “I understand why your aunt felt the need to protect you. But why do so by hiding your face?” He chose his words carefully, hoping to provoke her into revealing more. “Wouldn’t it have been better to find you a protector?”

  As her eyes widened, he smiled. “I see that you take my meaning. You’re young and beautiful. You could easily find someone other than a nagging aunt to shield you from the world.”

  Her gaze turned murderous, giving him pause. She acted as if she were a well-born lady with a reputation to protect.

  “Only a thoroughly wretched scoundrel could offer such a solution!”

  Wretched wasn’t quite the word for what her loveliness made him feel, would make any man with eyes feel. Which might have been exactly his uncle’s plan. Deliberately, he let his gaze trail over her cloaked form. “Gypsies have sought noble protection for years.”

  She drew herself up in affronted dignity. “And that, my lord, is why so many bastards with gypsy blood roam the countryside. Not to mention gypsies with noble blood who’ve been thoroughly ruined because the hope of better things was dangled before their eyes, then snatched away at the last minute!”

  “Is that how you consider yourself?” he asked pointedly. “Was the hope of better things dangled before you, then snatched away? You said your father was a nobleman, and judging from your coloring, you’ve spoken the truth. So are you a ‘thoroughly ruined’ gypsy?”

  She paled. “I was not speaking of myself.”

  “So your father’s ‘protection’ of your mother didn’t ruin you,” he persisted.

  “I suppose not.”

  “But it has left you, as I pointed out before, with only an aunt and a flimsy disguise to protect you.”

  “The two have been enough to deter most men,” she replied uneasily, turning her face away.

  He leaned forward until his lips brushed her ear. “Ah, but I stripped away your feeble defenses with little effort, didn’t I?”

  She smelled like lavender, which took him by surprise. It was such a ladylike scent.

  It provoked him to try to learn more. “Perhaps I should have offered you my protection instead of my gold a few nights ago.”

  Her head snapped around and she opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, the door swung open and her aunt marched in.

  “I knew it!” Tamara spat as her eyes took in the scene. “I knew it was all an unscrupulous trick!”

  Behind her, Will burst in, rubbing his head, which now sported a large lump. Garett scowled at them both, annoyed at having his interesting conversation with Mina cut short.

  Will cast him an apologetic glance. “I didn’t expect the wench to crown me with a vase, m’lord!” He tried to pull Tamara from the room, but the gypsy woman resisted.

  “Unhand her this instant!” she demanded of Garett, whose fingers still gripped Mina’s arm. “How dare you touch my niece! And after what she did for you, you ungrateful lecher!”

  “I merely offered her a reward, woman,” Garett snapped. “She hasn’t had the good sense to take it. Yet.”

  That seemed to give Tamara pause. She glanced at her niece’s stony face, then back to the earl’s mocking one. “I can well imagine what sort of ‘reward’ you offered. But my niece is no fool—she’d never let a man’s fine form and smooth words tempt her. The only reward we’ll take is in gold, for the other kind tarnishes all too quickly.”

  “I don�
��t want his gold, either,” Mina protested as she wrenched her arm free.

  Garett studied the young woman. Why was she so adamant in her refusal to take his money? She simply wasn’t what he expected a gypsy girl to be.

  Her aunt, however, was clearly willing to meet expectations. “We’ll take the gold,” she stated, ignoring her niece. “She’s earned it well enough.”

  “She has indeed.” He motioned to Will to fetch his purse.

  Mina refused to meet his gaze, her cheeks pink.

  In moments, Will returned. Garett removed a healthy portion of coins and thrust them into Tamara’s hand. Tamara gave him a grim smile as she shoved them into a pouch hung around her waist. When William muttered something about its being too much, Tamara silenced him with a glare.

  “Are you finally satisfied, my lord?” Mina asked. “You’ve paid me for my efforts to save your deceitful hide. Now leave me and my aunt alone. We have no use for your kind.”

  “Yes, you have your mask for protection, don’t you?” Garett mocked.

  “Just leave us be!” Mina repeated before wheeling around and sweeping from the room. Tamara cast both men a contemptuous look, then followed her niece out, slamming the door behind her.

  Garett watched them go, eyes narrowing. Mina’s answers hadn’t satisfied him one whit. What were she and her fierce aunt doing in Lydgate? Was the mask really meant just to protect her from unwanted advances, or did she have a more sinister reason?

  She speaks of flowers and gardens and chides you for killing. That’s hardly the mark of someone with a sinister character.

  True, but something was going on with her and her aunt. The townspeople turned mysteriously silent whenever he asked about her, and in a town like Lydgate, people never kept their opinions to themselves.

  “Two fine-looking wenches,” Will muttered as he stared at the closed door. “But their tongues are a mite too sharp for a man’s enjoyment, eh, m’lord?”