Daring Masquerade

by Mary Balogh

  Nicholas sighed. It was the only home he had ever known, and that fact alone would explain his love of it. But there was far more than that. He had always consciously appreciated the magnificence of the architecture and the furnishings and art treasures within. He had never taken his surroundings for granted. He had studied his home as if it were a history book, and he knew it in minute detail. He could conduct a guided tour of the park and the house with his eyes bandaged and his hands bound behind his back.

  And perhaps he would never be inside the house again. Perhaps he would always view it like this, if at all, a trespasser at night. Yet he was becoming more and more convinced that it was all rightfully his. In the more than twenty-four hours since he had bungled his kidnapping scheme, he had been able to formulate no new plan to force information from the only man who seemed able to help him discover the secrets of his past. There was only one very slim chance. And he was not even sure that that would help him a great deal. However, it seemed to be the only possibility. He must leave in the morning as early as possible to find out if there really was any chance. He must call on Dalrymple.

  And if he was to leave early in the morning, he must return to the cottage without delay in order to snatch a few hours of sleep at least. But he did not immediately turn to leave. His eyes came to rest again on the door through which Katherine Mannering had entered the house a few minutes before.

  He had behaved very self-indulgently with her. He had been quite aghast earlier when Russ Evans had knocked on his bedchamber door to announce that the disturbance he was trying to ignore had been caused by the arrival of Mrs. Mannering to speak with him. He had dressed and donned his disguise in some haste, rejecting the help of a frowningly disapproving Parkin. And he had gone downstairs determined to get rid of her with all speed and to discourage her from calling on him ever again. She really must not have any sort of connection with him. She knew only about his activities as a highwayman, and those were unsavory enough. She did not know about anything else.

  How quickly his resolve had been forgotten! He had been very quickly amused and somewhat touched by her sense of urgency. And he had been intrigued by her failure yet again to see through his disguise. He had never thought that anyone having a good look at his wig would be fooled by it. He had had it made and had worn it only so that his own identity would be more difficult to discover. Yet Katherine thought the blond hair was really his and had even scolded him for being foolhardy enough to display it so openly.

  He should not have allowed himself to be diverted. He certainly should not have allowed himself to give in to the temptation to kiss her again. Having done so, his resolve to stay away from her was going to be more difficult to keep. He found her so achingly desirable. Although he had told her that they must break the embrace, he knew that just one word of doubt or protest from her would have set him to laying her down on the floor—uncomfortable a bed as it would have made—and taking their lovemaking to its natural conclusion. How could he have stayed away from her after that?

  How could he stay away from her even now? That husband of hers must have been a lout of the first order to have given her such a disgust of the sexual act. But he could teach her just how very pleasurable that act could be. He knew he could. She had enjoyed his kisses and his touch. There was no doubt about that. She had not even tried to hide or deny the fact. He did not know how long she had been married, but she must still be incredibly innocent if she did not realize that all the pleasure she had been experiencing was merely a prelude to the far greater satisfaction he could have given her in bed. The temptation to try to teach her that was going to nag at him, he knew. Not to mention the temptation to seek her out for his own satisfaction.

  It was not just the physical craving that drew him to Katherine, though, Nicholas thought, his eyes moving along the windows of the west wing, trying to guess which one was hers. Which of the guest bedchambers would she have been allotted? He supposed that if his need were merely for a woman, he could find one somewhere without offending any of his acquaintances. But there was something about Katherine Mannering. She was beautiful. But it was more than that too. She had a very strong and forceful character. She would make a very interesting friend, he suspected.

  Well. He turned his horse’s head resolutely in the direction of the side gate by which he had entered Barton Park. Stay away from her he must. If his visit to Dalrymple were successful, of course, he would see plenty of her again. But she would not know it was he. And he must ensure that she did not find out. He must not allow his attraction to her to show. All that depended on what Dalrymple could tell him, of course. He must not start making plans yet. Not until there was some possibility of putting them into effect.

  “I believe I like the library best of all the rooms in the house, my lord,” Kate said at breakfast the following morning.

  “The library?” Lord Stoughton said in some surprise. “Yet it is not one-quarter the size of the great hall, Mrs. Mannering, and not one-half that of the salon. Now, the salon is my idea of magnificence, with that coved and painted ceiling, and all the gold leaf, and all the portraits on the walls. I would have to say it is my favorite room.”

  “I cannot say I like any room as well as those at Wragley,” Thelma said. “And you do not have to raise your eyes to the ceiling with such contempt, Adam. There is nothing wrong with Wragley, for all that it is very small in comparison with Barton Abbey. It is where we grew up and it is home. Everything here is so very large and so very stately. There is nothing comfortable here at all.”

  “You will change your mind next week when our guests arrive,” her father said. “You will see how impressed they will all be, Thelma, and with what respect they will treat you as my daughter. I shall be able to marry you a great deal higher than when I merely had the prospect of such a position, you know.”

  “Well,” Thelma said rather wistfully, “I wish Great-Uncle had lived until after I was wed, Papa. I was quite content with being what I was. I have no wish to attract fortune hunters.”

  The earl clucked his tongue. “Trust me to choose someone quite unexceptionable for you, my love,” he said. “And to return to your comment, Mrs. Mannering, yes, you are to be commended for your appreciation of the library. It used to be the state bedchamber, you know. Until the late earl’s time, there was no separate library. He decided that there was no need of the bedchamber any longer but that there was great need of a library. A great reader was my uncle, though even he admitted that the large bulk of the volumes now in the library was purchased merely to fill the shelves that he had built into the walls.”

  “The books must be in great need of a thorough cleaning and organizing,” Kate said. “I noticed yesterday, my lord, that you were attempting to remove the dust from some of them. It is a huge task you have taken upon yourself.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Lord Barton replied, “but books fascinate me, Mrs. Mannering. I shall undertake the task of setting the library to rights quite cheerfully.”

  “If I might make so bold, my lord,” Kate said, “I must say that I too have a love of books. My father has a modest library, and it was always my task to organize and keep the volumes clean. It has occurred to me that with the arrival of your guests next week, Lady Thelma will not have as great a need of my company as she does now. And I hate to be idle. Perhaps I could be of some help to you?”

  “That is a very civil offer, Mrs. Mannering,” the earl said. “I would indeed be glad of your assistance.”

  “Splendid,” Kate said. “I shall come to the library whenever Lady Thelma has no need of me.”

  “You really do not have to do so, you know, Kate,” Thelma said. “You are my companion, after all, not a servant. And I do not expect you to be busy all the time.”

  “Oh, but I have never been used to a life of idleness,” Kate assured her with a smile. “And indeed working in the library will be a pleasure far greater than sitting in my room twiddling my thumbs.”

  “Perhaps I c
an find some use for your time too, Mrs. Mannering,” Lord Stoughton said with something of a leer, but he did have the grace to look somewhat uncomfortable when his father leveled a steady look at him.

  Kate yawned behind her hand. She had found it very difficult to rise at her usual hour that morning. However, she quickly stifled and forgot about the yawn at the viscount’s next words.

  “Papa,” he said, “whatever happened to the illegitimate son of your cousin? He used to live here, did he not?”

  The earl’s expression did not flicker, Kate noticed. “Nicholas Seyton?” he said. “He left here on the death of his grandfather. Must have realized that his presence here would be an embarrassment to both himself and us if he stayed.”

  “I had forgotten about him,” Thelma said. “I used to think it quite romantic to have an illegitimate second cousin living here. I wish we could have met him.”

  “It would be quite improper for you to do so,” her father said sternly. “My uncle came under severe criticism for keeping him here. It made a very embarrassing situation for would-be visitors.”

  “How did he get here in the first place?” Stoughton asked. “Did his mother bring him? It would have been priceless to witness the meeting between her and the old earl, I’ll wager. He was something of a tartar, was he not, Papa?”

  “He was,” the earl said, “though not with young Nicholas. He had gone rather soft in the head, I believe, over Jonathan’s death.”

  “Poor little boy!” Thelma said. “Perhaps your cousin would have married the mother if he had lived, Papa, and Nicholas would have been respectable. What was she like?”

  “Not the sort of female you would wish to hear about, my love,” the earl said, a note of finality in his voice.

  “It must be a relief to you to know that such a person has gone away, my lord,” Kate said, a note of polite concern in her voice. “Did he return to his mother?”

  “I have not been interested enough to find out, Mrs. Mannering,” Lord Barton said. “I have assumed he has gone to Shropshire, where he has property, left him by a doting grandfather. Really I think Nicholas Seyton does not need the pity of any of us. He has done quite well for himself considering the lowness of his birth.”

  “Do you think it will be safe for Kate and me to drive into the village this morning, Papa, if we take some extra servants?” Thelma asked. “I wish to discover if there are any shops worth patronizing there.”

  Kate found that she had been almost holding her breath. But she relaxed again now. The subject had been effectively changed. And it was quite obvious anyway that the earl was not going to let slip any of the real truth concerning his relationship with Nicholas Seyton. She was pleased with her minor triumph, though. She was going to be allowed to work in the library. Somehow perhaps this activity would lead her to the discovery of some fact pertinent to Nicholas. And even if it did not, she had been quite sincere in saying that working in the library would be preferable to sitting idle in her room while Thelma was involved in activities with her guests.

  The two ladies left the breakfast room and retired to their rooms to get ready for the proposed trip to Trecoombe, the small fishing village that was a mere four miles from Barton Abbey. Kate took her gray cloak from the wardrobe and arranged her gray bonnet over her smooth hair. She pulled a face at herself when she glanced into the pier glass in her dressing room. Perhaps she should have worn brown today. It was hard to decide which color was the more unbecoming. She remembered Nicholas’ reaction when he had seen her the night before, wearing just these garments.

  And she must stop thinking about Nicholas in any remotely personal way, she told herself firmly as she tied the ribbons of her cloak at her throat. She would try in any way she could to learn more about him at the Abbey, despite his command that she involve herself no further in his affairs. But she would do so merely because she needed something to add a small measure of purpose and excitement to her existence. She would not think of him as a person at all.

  But she did just that as she drew her worn black leather gloves slowly over her hands. Why must he have turned out to be such a selfish man? She had thought while he was kissing her that he was deliberately trying to make the experience pleasant for her. She had not realized that her own pleasure had been quite incidental, of no real concern to him at all. In reality he had been concerned only with his own sensations. He could not have proved that point more cruelly. Suggesting taking her to bed indeed! Had he really expected her meekly to agree? Of course, perhaps he really had been deliberately trying to please her, hoping that she would be so caught up in the delight of his embrace that she would consent to show her gratitude by allowing him to do “that” to her. Some chance indeed!

  And when he knew that she was not going to allow him that liberty, he had quickly changed his attitude. He did not want to see her again. She must not try to visit him again. If she needed to see him urgently, she must send a message via one of the servants. Well, and so she would, too. She had no wish whatsoever to see Nicholas Seyton. His kisses were quite delightful, but she could never enjoy them again, knowing as she did that he used them merely as a trap to hurt and humiliate her. He did not need to order her to stay away, or even to ask. She would stay away from him of her own free will. The idea that she would give him freely what she had been obliged to give for five years to Giles all those dreadful times he had felt “that way”!

  “I am no desirable suitor for you,” he had said, or words to that effect. Did he think she was quite mad? What woman, having once lived through the experience of marriage and been granted the blessed release of her husband’s demise, would ever freely subject herself to a life of such degradation again? And yet there were such women. Kate pitied them heartily. They must have far less freedom of choice than she had enjoyed in the previous year. The boredom that life with Lady Thelma promised was sheer heaven in comparison with the life she might have been called upon to lead. Her father could have put much pressure on her to marry again, she supposed. And it was very difficult to be an openly disobliging daughter.

  Kate felt almost cheerful as she left her chamber to join her employer for their morning drive.

  Three days later Nicholas was riding back along the road to Dorset. He was alone, though Parkin had wanted to go with him. The elderly valet could never quite accept the fact that Nicholas was a grown man now and perfectly capable of looking after himself. Of course, sometimes the poor man had plenty to worry about. But not on this occasion.

  The journey into Wiltshire had been worthwhile after all. Dalrymple had been at home, and as luck would have it, he really had been invited to join the house party at Barton Abbey and was intending to come. Nicholas had not been at all confident that it would be so. Even if the new earl had decided to invite all his relatives, Charles Dalrymple was quite a distant connection, his grandfather having been a cousin of the old earl and the new earl’s father.

  Nicholas had met him at university. The discovery of their fairly remote relationship had brought them together at first. They had become fast friends later because of their similar interests and compatible personalities. Dalrymple was one of the few members of society who had visited the Abbey in the last few years of the earl’s life. And Nicholas had visited him a few times. His parents had apparently raised no objection to Seyton’s illegitimate birth.

  Now the two friends had met fleetingly again, and Charles Dalrymple had agreed, though reluctantly, to Nicholas’ request. It was a mad scheme, he had said. Even if the earl and his son and daughter would not know Nicholas, just about everyone else for miles around certainly would, including all the servants on the estate. It was all very well for his friend to claim that everyone in the vicinity was his friend, with the possible exception of the coast guard. Even friends sometimes made mistakes or dropped their guard. It was just too much to expect dozens of people of all classes and occupations to remember for a few weeks that he was no longer Mr. Nicholas Seyton but Sir Harry Tate. Someone was
bound to slip up.

  Nicholas had argued that he had proved over the past year that a large number of people could be trusted to keep secrets and to protect one another. He had trusted these people with his life during that year. Surely now he could trust them with this extra secret. Most of them were people who lived dull lives. They would welcome this extra challenge to their ingenuity. All he needed from Dalrymple was an introduction to the house. The rest could be left to him.

  Nicholas had decided, after some deliberation, to tell his friend the truth. There was no reason to lie, after all. Dalrymple knew, then, that the new earl was possibly an impostor, that he had quite probably covered up the truth surrounding Nicholas’ birth. He knew that Nicholas felt it necessary to be at the house, free to look and listen and to take advantage of any opportunity to find out more about himself. The plan was no more definite than that. Nicholas did not know what it was he looked for or listened for. He knew only that he must find a way to make his cousin talk.

  And so it had been decided that Nicholas would meet his friend on the morning of the latter’s expected arrival at Barton Abbey. In the meanwhile Dalrymple would write to Lord Barton announcing that an old friend of his had arrived unexpectedly for a visit and asking that he be allowed to bring that friend with him to the Abbey. They had decided to provide the fictitious Harry Tate with a title to make his acceptance by the earl more probable.

  During the intervening days Nicholas was to return home and spread the word of his intentions among the people of the neighborhood. This was not such a formidable task as it might have seemed. There was already a quite effective network of communications in the area. If Barret, the head groom, were given some important information, the whole staff of Barton Abbey, from the butler to the lowliest scullery maid, would soon know it too. If Russ Evans had the same information, all the fishermen and their wives and all the inhabitants of the village of Trecoombe soon possessed the knowledge also. And if a significant word was dropped in the ear of Mr. Markham, gentleman farmer, that word would he in the ear of all the other members of the gentry for a five-mile radius within a day.