Mary Balogh - A Masked Deception

And then there was Charles' situation to be dealt with when they got home. No one but Charles would be capable of presenting his family with such a surprise and in such a ludicrously mismanaged way. It was almost amusing, the earl decided grimly. He was going to have to contend with his mother's fits of the vapors for what would be left of the evening by the time they arrived back, he did not doubt. Charles meanwhile was enjoying every moment of the trip, sitting beside his Juana and holding her hand, and entering into a hearty quarrel with her over the reception she had received from her future brother- and sister-in-law. She had considered it decidedly cool. He had thought it remarkably warm.

Some time after a very late dinner, when all the participants in the Portsmouth fiasco plus the dowager countess were in the drawing room trying to hold a conversation in two languages, with Charles and-to a lesser degree-the earl acting as interpreters, Devin Northcott crossed to Charlotte's side.

"These are family matters that do not concern you or me," he said quietly. "Shall we withdraw?"

She was on her feet in a moment, nervously aware that her future was about to be decided one way or another.

He led her to the library, the weather being still too damp to permit a stroll in the garden. Charlotte seated herself on a sofa; Devin crossed to the empty fireplace and rested one arm on the mantel.

"Ain't going to make a speech," he said. "You'll find some reason to bite my head off again if I do. Do I have any hope, Charlotte?"

"Any hope, sir?" Charlotte was alarmed at how loudly her voice came out.

"I love you," he said. "Want to marry you."

"Oh!"

"Oh? Nothing more to say? Most unusual."

Charlotte got shakily to her feet. "I thought perhaps I had so disgraced myself today," she said humbly, "that you would not wish to associate with me anymore."

"Well, you do get into more scrapes than any other girl I ever knew," said Devin unwisely. "Thought I might help keep a firm hand on you. Wouldn't want m' wife jauntering around the country with other men whenever she wanted, y'know."

"Oh! There you go again," Charlotte flared. "So I am still a flirt! Still a little girl who needs a strong hand. And you, sir, are still stuffy and conceited and-oh! What are you doing?"

"Shutting you up," he said grimly. "Don't intend to have a scold for a wife."

Charlotte found herself being firmly held and soundly kissed by her stuffy, conceited suitor, and thoroughly enjoying the ordeal.

Devin was slightly breathless when he finally released her mouth. "Anything else to say?" he asked severely.

"No, Devin."

"Good."

He kissed her again, and her arms found their way around his neck and into his hair.

"Nothing official, mind," he said several minutes later as they sat together on the sofa, though they might as well have chosen a chair for all the space they occupied. "Have to leave in the morning to visit your father. Is he likely to approve?"

"Oh, I think so," she sighed, burrowing her head into his shoulder. "Will you be gone long, Devin?"

"Only as long as I have to," he said. "Probably find you gone to fight Napoleon in Spain by the time I get back."

"No, truly, Devin, I shall be waiting for you. I have loved you forever, I promise."

"Make sure it stays that way," he commanded sternly.

"Yes, Devin."

Margaret was sitting at her dressing table, dressed in her white nightgown, high at the neck and long sleeved. Kitty was unpinning her braids in preparation for brushing them out and replaiting them for the night.

She had been so looking forward to Richard's return home, had missed him so much in his few days of absence. And now Lottie's stupid behavior had spoiled everything. Oh, it was most vexing! Margaret had been perfectly aware that it was not quite the thing for her to ride to Portsmouth in a closed carriage with Devin Northcott, but really, given what they had believed, there had been no choice. Devin himself had seen that, and there was no more high stickler than he. Surely Richard would have understood, too.

Margaret remembered with an inward shudder the look on his face when he had entered the parlor and spoken to Devin, and she remembered his words to her. She could not understand why he had behaved that way. Apparently there had been some misunderstanding with his mother, so that he had ridden all the way to Portsmouth believing that she had run away with Devin. But surely, once he had realized the truth, he should have changed toward her. He had begged pardon of Devin. Yet to her he had been coldly formal ever since. He had hardly looked at her since their return home and had talked to her only when strictly necessary. She could understand that he must be embarrassed by his own mistake, but surely he owed her some sort of apology.

She realized that this evening had not been an easy time for him. Charles had done a mad thing to keep secret his betrothal and then to bring his fiancée to England to spring quite unexpectedly on his family. Juana's arrival at Brampton Court would have been a trying ordeal at any time, but under the circumstances, it had been a very exhausting evening. The dowager had, predictably, swooned quite away when first presented with her future daughter-in-law. It had taken the combined efforts of Margaret, Charlotte, Betty, and Juana's duenna to restore her to her senses.

After that the evening had proceeded as well as could be expected. In fact, the dowager showed every sign of taking a liking to the very handsome Spanish girl. She even remarked that Juana was just the sort of girl Charles needed, someone to keep him on his toes, so to speak. The young lovers had had yet another quarrel during the evening when Charles-with very obvious intentions-wanted to show her the family picture gallery, and she preferred to stay and talk to his mother, with him as translator.

Richard had been very busy trying to cope with the situation. He had conversed with the second cousin and with Juana herself in the Spanish he had acquired during an assignment with the Foreign Office. Margaret realized that he had not had the leisure to make things right with her, even if he had wanted to.

She consoled herself with that thought. Perhaps he would come to her tonight and they would talk. He would say he was sorry for the harsh words he had spoken; she would tell him about the baby. Then he would come to her bed for a precious few minutes before retiring to his own room.

The connecting door to the dressing room opened after the briefest of taps and Richard stood there, still dressed in shirt and breeches. He had removed his coat and neckcloth. Margaret's eyes met his in the mirror. He had never come this soon after her retiring. He had never come to her before she was in bed. She felt a little shiver of fright. His eyes were as cold a blue as they had been that afternoon.

"You may leave, Kitty," he said, holding out his hand for the brush she was using. "I shall finish that."

Kitty looked inquiringly at her mistress.

"Yes, it is all right, Kitty," she said with practiced calm. "Good night."

"Good night, my lady," Kitty said, "my lord." She handed over the brush and bobbed a curtsy.

Brampton drew the brush through the full length of his wife's hair. Margaret sat very stiff and still, unable to understand her husband's mood.

"I always wondered what color it was," he murmured, half to himself, it seemed.

Margaret looked puzzled. "You mean, how long it was, Richard?"

He looked briefly but deeply into her eyes in the mirror.

"No, I knew that it waved to your waist," he said deliberately.

Margaret lowered her eyes. He was talking in riddles. He continued to brush her hair, gently at first, but with firmer strokes as the silence stretched. Finally she winced away from him.

"Richard, you are hurting me," she said.

"Am I?" He tossed the brush with a loud clatter onto the dressing table and pulled her to her feet with one hand on her upper arm. "Let us try this instead."

He jerked her around to face him and crushed her body hard against his with one ungentle arm while the other hand held the back of her head. His mouth came down to cover hers, open and demanding. Margaret surged against him, her arms encircling his neck. She responded eagerly until it became very clear that the embrace was meant to be punishing, insulting. His tongue played with hers until he had lured it inside his lips; then he sucked it into his mouth and bit down on it, until Margaret was pushing wildly against his chest, in a panic of pain and bewilderment.

She was sobbing in fright when he raised his head and looked down at her, a bitter smile raising one corner of his mouth. "Richard, what have I done?" she wailed. "Was it so wrong of me to go with Mr. Northcott this afternoon?"

He laughed. "You travel about London alone; why not about the countryside, angel?"

Her eyes widened in horror as she stood, still imprisoned by his hands. "Oh," she whispered, "you know!"

He laughed again into her face before flinging her from him so that she staggered against the stool. "Yes, I know," he said. "You should have burned the evidence, my dear, if the game was over. But perhaps the game was over only for me? Have you found someone else for whom to masquerade?"

"Richard, please!"

"I must admit, ma'am, it was a beautiful scheme. You could have devised a better plan for showing me how much you hate and despise me. What a fool you made of me!"