My Lady Notorious

by Jo Beverley

  Chairs were being set out for the spectators, but Chastity went over to Rothgar. “Please, don’t do this! Accidents are possible…”

  He looked down at her. “Was your brother boasting when he said he was very good?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Cyn is also very good, or possibly better. It will be a freak accident indeed that sends a blade where the user does not intend it to go. Accidents can happen anywhere, any time. Only clods avoid adventure for fear of them.”

  Chastity muttered about men in general, and Mallorens in particular, and flounced off to sit by Elf. “Your whole family is mad,” she told her.

  “So is yours,” said Elf, bright-eyed with excitement.

  “Aren’t you the tiniest bit nervous?” Chastity demanded.

  Elf looked at her in surprise. “Of course not. Cyn is really very good. I don’t think he’s ever been beaten, not even by Rothgar. Rothgar claims he’s hampered by old age, and could have bested him in his youth, but I don’t think he means it.”

  Chastity looked at Cyn again, surprised. Why was she constantly surprised by him? She’d seen him fence when he’d rescued her in Maidenhead, seen him in effect play with his opponent. She’d known then he was good. But very good?

  As soon as the bout started, she knew it to be true. She’d witnessed fencing before, and knew some of the science of it, some of the art. She could appreciate the light spring in the men’s legs, the suppleness of their bodies, the strength in their agile wrists.

  She saw more here. Fort fenced well, always balanced, and very strong. Being some inches taller than Cyn, he had a reach advantage. It didn’t do him much good.

  Cyn’s quicksilver blade tapped and slid against Fort’s with an ease that seemed effortless. No matter what thrust Fort tried, Cyn’s blade met it smoothly, making the engagement appear to be a dance, sweetly choreographed for harmony, rather than a perilous contest.

  Chastity saw from the growing frown of concentration on Fort’s face that the dance was not of his making. He broke the pattern and moved in a sharper, less graceful, but much more threatening way—straight for Cyn’s heart. Chastity gasped, but Cyn parried and controlled exactly as he had before.

  Fort grinned and stepped back, dropping his sword. “Damme, but you’re good.”

  Cyn lowered his sword too. “You are skilled too.”

  Fort laughed derisively, but didn’t seem put out. “You could disarm me, couldn’t you?”

  “Perhaps,” said Cyn, his lashes guarding his eyes.

  “Show me.” Fort took up the stance.

  Cyn hesitated.

  “Show me,” said Fort, “and I’ll support your marriage to my sister.”

  Cyn smiled, and raised his blade in salute.

  They met again, with a slither of steel on steel. “You deserve a wound,” said Cyn, and quite casually touched Fort on the jaw with his tip, so a line of crimson beads sprang forth.

  Fort cursed and faltered.

  There was no immediate disarm. Cyn waited until Fort settled again, then almost lazily, in three moves that Chastity saw Fort recognize and try to circumvent, sent his opponent’s sword spinning neatly out of his grasp.

  “Sweet heaven,” said Fort. “Where did you learn?”

  “Here and there,” said Cyn, “but mostly from Rothgar. He’s a sterner master than most hired ones. He nicked me often to teach me to keep my guard up, and I was only a boy then.”

  “I have never had any intention,” said Rothgar with chilly precision, “of losing a brother carelessly to a braggadocian sword.” He shrugged out of his coat. “Little brother, I want to test my mettle. Perhaps I can mark you again.”

  He swooped up the fallen sword and faced Cyn.

  “Perhaps I can mark you,” said Cyn, a glint in his eyes.

  Rothgar laughed, actually laughed. “Try it.”

  The swords tapped together again, but this time one could see the similarity of styles. One could also see that Cyn was having to extend himself completely, but so was Rothgar. Wounds were frequently only a hairsbreadth away. Once Rothgar’s sword slid toward Cyn’s face, and was only just deflected. Chastity found she had her hands pressed over her mouth.

  A moment later Rothgar’s point went for Cyn’s face again, as if he really intended to put out his eye. This time it was easily controlled.

  “Glad you’ve finally remembered that one, Cyn.” Then the marquess gasped as Cyn’s blade nicked his shirt over his heart and withdrew. Rothgar stepped back, smiling, and saluted with the blade. “I forget my own lessons. Never take time to gloat.”

  The brothers embraced, Brand and Bryght came over to comment, and soon even Fort and Nathaniel were part of a happy male coterie set upon rehashing the moves, and learning new passes.

  Elf, Chastity, and Verity shared a look and went off to discuss at length the insanity of the male of the species.

  The marquess’ plan appeared to have worked, however. Fort was still suspicious, but he was willing to work with the Mallorens. He had also pledged his support for Chastity’s marriage to Cyn.

  It was only later that he said to Chastity, “I won’t oppose your marriage, but I’m still not sure of Rothgar. It’s not so much his honor I question, as his motives. His plan may not be completely to our advantage. Keep your wits about you, my dear. When the lines are drawn, I expect you to be on the side of the Wares.”

  The day of the ball dawned clear and sunny, if cold. Good traveling weather, and the moon almost full so people could return home in safety.

  Chastity knew that Rothgar expected her father to come to the ball, but didn’t know how he could predict that. The earl would have to be suspicious. For her part, she hoped her father wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to face him again. Surely it would be enough to tell him that they held the evidence that would ruin him.

  She was nervous enough about this first social event since her disaster, without adding other terrors. Certainly, there was some safety in the fact that this would be a masqued ball, but Chastity shivered at the thought of moving among people who would cut her dead if they recognized her.

  She also knew the ball would be a turning point. She didn’t know exactly what Rothgar had planned, but her peaceful interlude was over. After tonight she would either be restored to grace—unlikely as that seemed—or forced to decide what to do with the rest of her ruined life.

  She had been avoiding Cyn. He seemed to mean his vow not to take her to bed, but that just made his nearness more of a torment. The sight of him, the lightest brush of his clothing against her, could leave her breathless with longing. But reason told her they must soon part. She must prepare for that.

  She hated it.

  She had submerged her desire in the preparations for the ball and everything was now ready. Bright paper lanterns had come from London to give light to the ballroom while maintaining the exotic air. A cleverly illuminated pagoda had been erected there, around which clockwork Mandarins walked.

  A team of boys was responsible for rewinding the automaton, but Chastity could almost believe it to be magic. There was something fey about the Abbey tonight, as if miracles could really happen. Or perhaps the coming event was just a mechanical toy, with Rothgar as the clockmaker.

  Torn by fears and hopes, Chastity wrapped a fur cape about herself and escaped the last-minute preparations to walk on the West Terrace and watch the setting sun gild the Abbey. Then Cyn came to stand by her side. She should have left and sought the safety of company, but she found she could not flee him now, so close to the end. She shivered, not with cold. “I feel something building.”

  “The excitement of the ball.” His voice alone was enough to melt her.

  “No,” she said. “Everyone’s wound tight.” Then she thought of clockmakers and wanted, with shattering intensity, to be safe in her beloved’s arms. She turned to him. “Do you think my father will come, Cyn?”

  “If Rothgar sent the correct message.” His eyes told her his desires m
atched hers. Exceeded them.

  “What message could that be?”

  “I don’t know, but Rothgar will have found it.” He smiled suddenly at her. “What will you be wearing tonight?”

  “A domino and mask.”

  “As will everyone. Give me a hint.”

  She made herself stay silent.

  “No matter,” he said softly. “If I don’t find you, Chloe, I don’t deserve you.” He took her hand, and that use of their private name dissolved her ability to resist.

  As they strolled along the terrace, Chastity’s heart and soul became focused on the contact with his elegant swordsman’s hand. She twined her fingers with his. “Why didn’t you tell me you fenced so well?”

  He slid her a glance, his fingers responding to her play. “It’s hardly the sort of thing one drops into conversation. ‘By the way, I happen to have a gift for duello.’ ”

  “Happen to have?” she echoed. “A great deal of work goes into a skill such as yours.”

  His thumb caressed her hand. “I enjoy it. I often have trouble finding an opponent who will test me, but in Canada I took a French prisoner who was my equal. He honed my skills.”

  She stopped and faced him. “You dueled with a prisoner?”

  He raised her hand between them, still twined with his, and kissed it lingeringly. “For practice only, my heart.”

  Chastity shivered under the sensual power this man had over her. How could she survive without him?

  “It’s rapidly becoming an ornamental art, anyway,” he said quite calmly, though his eyes were not calm at all. “It’s true, as Rothgar said, that it’s useful to be skilled, so some bully-boy can’t steal your life over nothing, but if death is required, a pistol is more certain.”

  Death. No, please don’t talk of death.

  He rubbed her knuckles softly against his lips.

  Chastity swayed with the need to be protected, and to protect him from all hurt. “Why do men always end up fighting?” she protested faintly.

  His teeth rasped against her skin, the rough edge of danger sending a jolt of hot desire through her. “Men sometimes do other things,” he reminded her softly.

  “Cyn, don’t,” she whispered, but weakly. If he wanted her here, now, on the cold stones, she was his.

  He caught his breath and collected himself. “Perhaps I should teach you swordplay,” he said lightly, “in case you go masquerading again.”

  “I pray I never again have the need.”

  “Did you find no pleasure in it at all?” There seemed to be meaning behind the question.

  “A little,” she confessed. “I enjoyed the excitement, but not the deceptions. And certainly not the shame…” She turned her hands so she held his. “I enjoyed having a friend, though, a friend called Cyn.”

  Like shifting clouds, his expression changed from the darkness of leashed desire to the heavy darkness of regret. “Until I spoiled it by seducing you.”

  Chastity blushed. “I wouldn’t call it spoiling…”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  She closed her eyes. Why did he always push for truth? “Things change, Cyn. It would be perfect if only we could marry…”

  “We will marry,” he said roughly. “I take back my word. I will never surrender you to any other man.” His hands slid beneath her cloak to hold her tight against him. “I can’t live without you, Chastity. These last few days have taught me that. But it’s not your body I need most. If you wish, we will live as brother and sister all our days.”

  “Why on earth would I wish that…?” she asked, her hips moving against his with a will of their own. But then a sound alerted her and brought back reality and all her fears. “I hear a coach!”

  She pulled away, but his hold did not slacken. “Peace, love. It could be anyone.”

  She shook her head. “It won’t be a guest, not this early, Cyn. It could be Father.” Pure fear had every nerve trembling.

  He took her hands in a firm grip. “You are free of him. He will never hurt you again.” As she steadied, he kept one of her hands and led her toward the house. “Come along, love. If it is the devil himself, let us face him bravely.”

  They entered the marble hall to hear Henry Vernham’s drawling voice demanding his ward.

  Cyn hissed between his teeth and surged forward. Chastity chased after him to stop him killing the man who had ruined her, but Rothgar was there before him.

  “Ah, Vernham. Your ward?” he said, placing himself effortlessly between Cyn and his target. “You mean young Sir William. You doubtless want to assure yourself of his safety, but you would hardly wish to remove him from his mother’s care when he is still at the breast.”

  Vernham glared around uneasily at a gathering of Mallorens. Brand and Elf had followed Rothgar into the hall, and now Bryght emerged from the library. No doubt Vernham sensed malice, but he would be unaware that they knew anything of him other than that he was the baby’s guardian.

  He took a pinch of snuff. “Lady Vernham is welcome to accompany her child.”

  “But Verity is now Lady Verity Frazer, and her husband’s wishes must be taken into account. Now, sir,” said Rothgar with a bucolic bonhomie that would terrify anyone who knew him, “take some refreshment. If you are come in response to my note, you know we have an entertainment planned for tonight. You must stay.”

  Despite his protests, Vernham was drawn into the Tapestry Room and seated with a dish of tea in his hands. “I demand to see my ward!” he snapped, then he saw Chastity. He blanched.

  She smiled at him.

  She had never seen eyes bulge before, but now she did.

  “But of course you must see your ward,” said Rothgar, and sent for Verity and the baby.

  By the time they arrived, accompanied by a hard-eyed Major Frazer, Vernham was on his feet, uneasily eyeing his company. He gave the babe scarcely a glance. “Good, then you will come with me now.”

  “Of course I won’t,” said Verity firmly. “And you will not take William, Henry. You will have to petition the courts, which I believe can take a very long time.”

  Vernham’s narrow eyes flickered about the room. All the Mallorens were smiling, even Cyn, but Henry didn’t seem to find that comforting, which proved Verity correct when she had described him as a shrewd man.

  “I suppose that is true,” he said with an attempt at an easy manner. “Nothing I can do, really, at this point if the youngster is all right. I must not take any more of your time. I apologize if I have distressed you, Verity, but I was extremely anxious about you. It was not kind of you to leave no message, no indication of where you had gone.”

  “But I was running away from you, sir,” said Verity simply.

  He was thrown off balance. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  Nathaniel stepped in at that point, to prevent an annoyed Verity from saying too much. “Her reasons may have been misguided, Vernham, but we must all rejoice that everything has turned out so well. I intend to apply to be the child’s guardian, which I am sure you must see to be proper, and thus administer the property.”

  Vernham flashed him a look of pure hate, but smiled. “I will contest, as you must expect. I am sure the courts will uphold my brother’s will.” He drew on his gloves, still glancing uneasily around, as if expecting to be prevented from leaving. “Which reminds me,” he added with strained casualness. “A document is missing, Lady Verity, one which my brother had in safekeeping. Did you by any chance take it with you? It is a codicil to the will, I believe, and should be delivered to the solicitors.”

  Chastity held her breath and worked hard at not giving anything away.

  “Oh, that,” said Verity vaguely. “Yes, I did take it for safekeeping. I wonder where I put it. I believe it must be in one of my pockets.”

  Chastity could almost see Henry Vernham gnashing his teeth behind his smile. The trouble was that she could also see the amusement in Verity’s eyes. At any moment she would give the game away by giggling. She never had bee
n able to carry a lie.

  “Do you think you could look?” asked Vernham tightly.

  A distraction came in the shape of Fort, who burst into the room. “They said… It is you. I have a score to settle with you, you wretched cur!”

  He had Vernham by the throat, and it took three Mallorens to get him off. At least one Malloren was not being philanthropic. “You’ll have to wait in line, Thornhill,” said Cyn. “He’s mine.”

  “You’ll have to fight me for it,” snarled Fort.

  Cyn just raised a brow, and Fort cursed.

  Vernham held his hands to his bruised throat. “I offered to marry the slut!”

  Fort knocked him out.

  “How crude,” murmured Rothgar. He rang a bell. A footman came in and was ordered to take away the unconscious gentleman and care for him.

  When Vernham had been removed, Rothgar said, “I confess, though, that I was a little perplexed as to how to prevail upon him to stay in this lion’s den. You would all persist in licking your chops over him. My felicitations, Thornhill.”

  “Felicitations be damned,” said Fort. “I want to gut him.”

  “Later,” said Rothgar. “First I want a confrontation between him and Walgrave, preferably before witnesses.”

  The first guests began to arrive in the evening, uncomplicated local people thrilled by an invitation to the Abbey. Some arrived already masked—mostly the younger guests; others put on their disguises after they had shed coats and cloaks. For some, the disguise was just a face mask, but most also wore the encompassing hooded silken cloaks called dominoes. In most cases little attempt was made to truly disguise their identity, and they were constantly greeting each other.

  Chastity, on the other hand, had gone to great lengths to be sure she would not be recognized. A rose silk domino and a pearl half-mask were moderately concealing, but in addition she’d powdered her wig heavily with silver-gray.

  When she’d looked in the mirror in her room, she’d been sure even Cyn would never recognize her. She remembered his words. Would the eyes of love penetrate even this disguise?