Daring Masquerade

by Mary Balogh

  “We have no weapons, villain,” Kate said in a firm voice that belied the palpitations of her heart. “And how, pray, do you expect us to jump slowly from such a height? Command gravity to suspend its rules?”

  There was a short silence from outside. “The saucy wench can come first,” the voice said at last.

  Kate rose indignantly to her feet.

  “I say,” Viscount Stoughton said, pushing her back to her seat again with one arm. “Do you wish the ladies to break their necks, blackguard? I come first so that I may assist them to the ground.” He jumped out before the highwayman, or whoever the owner of the voice with the French accent was, could reply. He lifted first Kate and then a shrinking Thelma to the ground.

  Kate glared around her as soon as her feet touched the road, until she saw the enormous dark stallion standing very still to one side of the door, its rider looking disturbingly large and menacing. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, they made out a man wearing a heavy cloak and old-fashioned tricorne. His hair beneath the hat and tied at the nape of his neck gleamed very fair. His face seemed to be in deep shadow, but when she squinted with greater concentration, she could see that it was almost completely hidden behind a dark mask. He held a long pistol trained on them.

  “Well,” she said before anyone else seemed inclined to resume the conversation, “here you have us, you cowardly villain. We are entirely at your mercy. I do not imagine you have many likely victims along this road. I suppose you know with whom you deal. Just in case you are in any doubt, I am Lady Thelma Seyton, the Earl of Barton’s daughter. And incidentally, he will see that you swing for this, my man. This is my brother, Lord Stoughton. Now, what was it you wished from us? Money? I have three sovereigns in my reticule. Perhaps my brother has as many more. I also have a pair of pearl earrings of indifferent value in the same reticule. I doubt if my brother has the like about his person. Take what we have and be on your way. And enjoy it while you may. You will be kicking your heels on air before many days have passed.”

  Kate really felt as if her knees would buckle under her at any moment. If this highwayman did not get about his business immediately, she was likely to disgrace herself and fall to the roadway. But no! She positively refused to swoon.

  To her surprise, the highwayman chuckled. She could see the flash of his teeth when she glared up at him. “And the shrinking little female?” he asked, waving his pistol almost carelessly in the direction of Thelma.

  “My maid,” Kate said as Thelma whimpered and hid behind Lord Stoughton. “You would be fortunate to find two farthings on her person. I do not encourage my servants to carry about anything valuable.”

  “A word of advice, mamselle,” the highwayman said, leaning forward slightly in his saddle, one elbow resting against the neck of his horse. “Do not say such a thing in future if you have the misfortune to be stopped again by someone of my profession. The first thing that will happen is that your maid will be searched from head to toe and all your jewels discovered. It is not a very subtle hiding place, especially if you protest the poverty of your maid with such studied nonchalance.” He chuckled again.

  Thelma continued to whimper and cower behind her brother as if she thought that she could thereby make herself invisible.

  “You!” the highwayman straightened up again and pointed his pistol directly at Kate’s heart. “Step over here, if you please.” He grinned. “Or if you do not please.”

  “I say,” Lord Stoughton protested. “What is it you do want? If it is our valuables, then take them and be off with you, fellow.”

  “There is only one valuable that I have any desire for tonight,” the highwayman replied. “I told you to step over here, mamselle. You would be well advised to obey. Or are you too afraid to step away from your brother’s shadow?”

  Kate bristled. “Afraid of you?” she said, injecting as much scorn into her voice as she could. “I would as lief be frightened of a worm beneath my foot.” She stepped boldly to the horse’s side and looked defiantly up at the masked figure, who suddenly looked far more menacing.

  He reached down the hand that was not holding the pistol. “Take my hand and set your foot on my boot, mamselle,” he said. “You and I are going to take a ride together.”

  Kate felt more seriously alarmed than she had before. “I would not ride one inch with you, you blackhearted villain,” she said, setting her hands on her hips.

  He grinned again. “I am not asking you to ride an inch,” he said. “I am telling you that you will be riding a few miles with me. Will you do as you are told, or shall I reach down and sling you across the horse in front of me? Such a mode of travel would be uncomfortable, I can assure you, mamselle.”

  Kate was at a loss.

  “I say,” Stoughton said. “This has gone far enough, fellow. Let the lady go. I have upward of twenty guineas in my possession. Take those.”

  Thelma was sniveling. She had slid to the ground some time before.

  The highwayman ignored them both beyond directing the pistol vaguely in their direction. His hand was still extended firmly toward Kate. She looked up at him, her chin very firmly in the air, and slapped her hand down into his. Very strong fingers closed immediately around hers. She lifted her skirts with her free hand and placed a slippered foot on his boot as it rested in the stirrup. It seemed that the very next moment she was seated before him on the horse, facing sideways, his arms around her like a vise, the pistol alarmingly close. It was still pointed down into the roadway.

  “I shall be, ah, borrowing your sister for a time, Stoughton,” the highwayman said, his voice sounding deep in Kate’s ear. “You will be hearing from me. She will not be harmed.”

  And with that he turned the horse’s head, and cantered down the roadway for a few yards before turning sharply to the left and making his way through the hedgeway and trees. Viscount Stoughton’s voice, mingled with shouts of protest from the coachman and footman, was quickly left behind.

  “This is an outrage!” Kate said a trifle breathlessly as the pistol disappeared from view. She could not remember ever feeling such a blind terror in her life as she felt at that moment.

  He laughed and she looked sideways into his face. Then she wished she had not done so. All that was visible beneath the mask was his mouth and jawline and his glittering eyes. She fought panic. She thought she was going to be sick. And it would serve him right, too, if she vomited all over him. His hair was as blond as hers, she thought irrelevantly.

  “You are very brave,” he said. “I regret having to subject you to so much terror, my dear.”

  “Terror?” she said with a brittle laugh. “I would disdain to fear such as you, sir.”

  “Then you would be very foolish,” he said. “We are going to stop for just a moment. I regret that I have to frighten you still further, my brave mamselle. I am going to wrap this scarf around your eyes. You are in no real danger, I assure you, though I realize that you will not believe that. But you must sit very still once your eyes are bandaged. One’s sense of balance is impaired when one cannot see. I shall hold you safe against me. You must not squirm even if you find my proximity distasteful.”

  Kate saw no possible escape from her situation—at the moment, anyway. She sat still and unprotesting as he removed her bonnet, secured it by the ribbons to his saddle, and tied behind her head the ends of the silk scarf with which he covered her eyes. Then he drew her close against an alarmingly broad and well-muscled chest and gave the horse the signal to start again.

  “I shall see you hanged for this,” she muttered.

  “So you said before,” he replied. “You should not repeat yourself. You have been quite original to this point. I confess I admire you greatly. Most females would have had the vapors long ago, like that scrawny maid of yours.”

  Kate lost her battle against the muscles of her neck.

  She was forced to rest her head against his shoulder. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “Tha
t is rather an unintelligent question, is it not, my dear?” he asked. “Would I have bandaged your eyes if I were willing for you to know your destination? The blindfold is only an extra precaution, of course. You are a stranger to these parts.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “We will dispense with social chatter until we are indoors,” her captor said. “You will be quiet now.”

  “I could scream,” she said. “That would attract some attention. I could scream and scream.”

  He chuckled. “You are not accomplished in duplicity, mamselle,” he said. “You made a mistake in what you told me of your maid. Now you warn me that you are about to scream. Do you wish me to gag you too?”

  “You have the scarf about my eyes,” she pointed out.

  “And am unlikely to have another on my person?” he said. “You are quite right. Let me see, now. If you should decide to scream, you would find yourself effectively silenced almost before sound had escaped you. Thus.” His mouth was on hers suddenly, open, completely covering her shocked and indignant lips. It was removed almost instantly.

  “Oh!” Words evaded Kate. She lifted her free arm and swung wildly in what she hoped was the direction of his face. Then she was screeching in earnest as she felt herself lurching forward. His strong arm tightened around her and set her to rights just when she was convinced that she was toppling to her death.

  “Now perhaps you will heed my warning about sitting still,” the highwayman said, having the effrontery to sound amused. “And we will have no more talking or shrieking, my dear. If I am forced to kiss you like that again, I might well lose my sense of caution and end up swinging after all. And I should hate that.”

  “Don’t ever touch me like that again!” Kate hissed, raising her hand once more and dragging the back of it ostentatiously across her lips. “Not ever. Do you understand me?”

  “It was that good, was it?” he asked before lapsing into silence for the seemingly endless ride that lay ahead of them.

  Finally they stopped and he swung himself to the ground, holding Kate safely in place while he did so. Then she found herself lifted down into his arms and carried a distance, until she realized they were indoors.

  “Will you see to my horse?” she heard him ask some invisible person. She considered appealing for help to this presence but concluded that he must be able to see her blindfolded and imprisoned and would help of his own accord if he were not in league with this insolent villain who held her.

  Her feet were deposited on a hard floor eventually.

  “You may remove your blindfold, mamselle,” the highwayman said. “I shall see to refreshments for you and shall be back in a few minutes to satisfy some of your curiosity at least.”

  By the time she had dragged the silk scarf free of her head, she was alone.

  Kate looked around her. The room was fairly small and square, neatly but sparsely furnished. The floor was of bare wooden boards, with a woven mat before the fireplace and a worn leather chair beside it. A wooden settle stood at the other side of the fireplace. A square wooden table, with a chair on each of two sides of it, stood in one corner. A smaller table, on which stood a single lamp, was beside the window. Dark cotton curtains covered the window.

  Kate’s first move was to cross the room and throw aside the curtains. She did not find the bars that she expected to see. But there was no knowing where the building was, even if she were familiar with the area. All was pitch black outside. She turned and rushed across the room to the door. It was locked, as she expected. She raced back to the window, determined to open it and escape. She had not been carried up any stairs. A leap into the darkness was unlikely to break her neck.

  “I would not waste energy if I were you,” that voice with its annoying French accent said from behind her. She had heard the door open but had not given up her struggle with the catch of the window. “That latch has defied the strongest hands since I came here. I believe that the only way to open the window is to punch out the glass.”

  Kate turned and glared at her captor. His cloak and tricorne had been removed, but he still wore the mask. It almost completely covered his face. Its black color contrasted markedly with the gleaming blond of his hair, which he wore long and tied back in an unfashionable queue. He looked just as disturbingly large and strong standing before her without his coat as he had looked when she had gazed up at him on horseback and as he had felt when she leaned against him during their long ride. Her terror and near-panic returned. He could do anything he wished with her, and she would he utterly helpless to resist.

  She raised her chin and glared at him. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this enforced visit, pray?” she asked icily. She felt instantly proud of the steadiness of her voice.

  “Shall we discuss the matter over some refreshments?” he suggested politely, indicating the tray he had set on the table. “I cannot produce anything for a delicate palate, I’m afraid. Will bread, cheese, and some cold beef suffice?”

  “A carriage to convey me to Barton Abbey will suffice,” Kate said without moving from her position before the window. “I would not touch your food with a long oar, sir.”

  “A pity, mamselle,” he said with a shrug. “You will perhaps lose your shapely figure before you leave here if you keep to your resolve.”

  “And to whom do I owe the indignity of this captivity?” Kate asked haughtily. “Who are you?”

  “Now that, you will be surprised to hear,” he said with that flashing grin she had seen before in the darkness, “I am prepared to answer.” He made her a deep bow. “Nicholas Seyton, Earl of Barton, at your service, dear cousin.”

  Kate stared, incredulous, before giving vent to a short and inelegant bark of laughter. “You are as much the Earl of Barton as I am Lady Thelma Seyton,” she said.

  Chapter 2

  Autumn, 1786

  The harvest was almost all in. The countryside of northern France was left bare and golden, though the reds, browns, and yellows of the autumn leaves on the trees added a richness to the scene. The air held a fresh coolness that was welcomed by the fashionable traveler after the heat of the summer in Italy and southern France. In fact, it felt good to be going home to England despite the fact that the almost nine months of his Grand Tour had been the most exciting period of his life. He had heard it said before that one appreciated the rains and chill of England far more when one had been away for a while. There was no place like home, when all was said and done.

  Yet Jonathan Seyton, Viscount Stoughton, had one more stop to make before returning home. He had been traveling for months, experiencing places and events beyond his wildest imaginings, meeting innumerable interesting people both from his own land and from the various countries of Europe. These people had included many lovely females, a few of whom he had possessed, and several more of whom he had engaged in flirtations. Yet he had been unable to put from his mind the first lady of birth and breeding he had met after leaving England. He must see her again before returning home to look about him for an English bride.

  Annette Marcelin. She was not even a girl of any great social significance. Beautiful, yes, with her tiny, very shapely figure, and her very dark hair and eyes. She lived with her widowed mother in Belleville, a small village north of Paris. They were of genteel birth but sadly reduced in circumstances. Viscount Stoughton had rented rooms from them while the friend with whom he was traveling at the time spent a few days with friends nearby.

  He had chafed at the delay at first and had even considered the idea of going on alone. It had seemed too provoking to be not even in Paris yet and to have to spend almost a week in a village that offered nothing out of the ordinary for his entertainment. But it did have something out of the ordinary, he had discovered very soon. It had Annette, beautiful, quiet, yet with a warm charm that soon had him using his self-conscious French without awkwardness or embarrassment. They had talked endlessly and walked out together along country lanes and across fields, despite the col
d of winter. The nippy air had served only to bring a rosier glow to her cheeks and a brighter sparkle to her eyes.

  After a few days he had found himself making her all sorts of rash declarations and promises. And he had made love to her during the last two days, in a cold field the first time and in her bed several times, both of them silent and tense, in fear of discovery by her mother. And yet the stealth, which in some ways had inhibited their lovemaking, in another way had accentuated the excitement. He had left her on the return of Lord Lindstrom, his traveling companion, full of promises to return that he had no intention of keeping.

  But the little French girl had wrapped herself around his heartstrings, and he had to go back to see her once more before going home. He had no one to please but himself. Lindstrom had decided to extend his tour by joining a party to Greece. They had parted company in Italy several weeks before. A few days with Annette would satisfy his appetites. It would be easy enough to leave her again with promises to return the following summer. Who knew? Perhaps he really would return. He could do a great deal worse for a mistress.

  When he presented himself at the house in Belleville, however, it was to be greeted by a somewhat cold and formal Madame Marcelin. She sent for her daughter when Stoughton asked after her health and watched him with wooden expression when a very largely pregnant Annette came into the room, flushed and uncomfortable.

  Viscount Stoughton had lived an easy and privileged existence for his two-and-twenty years. He was not an original thinker. He had always taken for granted that he would in due time take himself a bride among the British aristocracy and breed an heir and a few other children. He would eventually succeed his father to the estate and earldom of Barton and to the other property and fortune that would come with them. He would amuse himself with hunting and socializing. He would doubtless take mistresses, since from his observations marriage did not seem to bring a great deal of excitement or satisfaction of a man’s sexual appetites.