Читать книгу Scandalous Deception - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

THE TERRACE HOUSE ON CURZON Street was a narrow affair with a wrought-iron railing and unremarkable facade. The interior had once been fashionable, with a cheerful front parlor and long, formal dining room. These days, however, it could claim nothing more than a vulgar collection of Egyptian-inspired furnishings complete with a sarcophagus and mummy that had caused more than one visitor to faint in horror.

Precisely the sort of overblown opulence that marked the owner as one of those encroaching mushrooms with more money than good breeding.

The house did, however, possess a tidy garden in the back that had the added advantage of a small grotto where it was possible to hide from prying eyes.

Standing near the narrow window of the grotto that overlooked the back gate, a young woman pressed a hand to her stomach, which was tied in painful knots.

Standing in the shadows, with her vibrant curls yanked into a stern knot at the nape of her neck and her small, delicate body encased in a heavy black gown more suitable for the depths of winter than the pleasant October day, she should have looked a dowd. That had certainly been her intention when she had left her chambers that morning.

Unfortunately, nothing could manage to dim the finely molded features that were dominated by a pair of slanted, thickly lashed green eyes and a wide, lush mouth. And certainly nothing could dim the vibrant beauty of her auburn hair that held hints of red, gold and a shimmering bronze.

Her nose was dainty and her eyebrows an elegant sweep of color that emphasized the ivory perfection of her skin. Even her cheekbones were carved with exquisite care.

To men, she appeared to capture the very essence and allure of the first Eve, a woman who could tempt a man to barter his very soul to own her.

But in this moment, she would give her sizable dowry to be invisible to men.

At least to one man in particular.

The familiar squeak of the back gate brought a swift end to her dark thoughts, and leaning forward, she gave a low whistle to capture the maid’s notice.

“Janet,” she called softly. The plump female, attired in a gray servant’s gown and white cap covering her dark curls, cast a glance about the seemingly empty garden. “I am in the grotto.”

With hurried steps, the maid entered the grotto and pressed a hand to her ample bosom.

“Lord, Miss, ye bout scared the wits outta me.”

“Mr. Wade has returned from his club early, I could not risk having him overhear us,” Brianna Quinn whispered.

Janet grimaced, her pretty features hardening with distaste. It was an expression most women displayed when speaking of Mr. Thomas Wade.

“Aye, he is always sneaking about, watching you like a hungry cat watching a mouse.”

A shiver inched down Brianna’s spine before she was sternly lifting her chin and sucking in a deep breath. No, she could not give in to her looming panic. The only means of saving herself was to keep her wits clear and focused on escape.

“He will discover that I am no mouse,” she said, fiercely. “I do not care what it takes, I will be rid of my vile stepfather before the week is out.”

“As to that—” Janet ducked her head in apology as she reached her hand into the pocket of her apron and removed the vellum envelope that Brianna had given her earlier that morning.

Brianna frowned in disbelief. She had devoted the past week to sending letter after letter to Stefan’s town house. She had been certain when she learned the reclusive Duke was in town that he would be her savior.

But, as day after day passed with no word from her childhood friend, she had at last sent her maid to confront him directly. It had to be that her letters had gone astray or Stefan had not yet had the opportunity to read them. She could not believe he would be deliberately avoiding her pleas for assistance.

“You were unable to speak with the Duke?” she demanded.

Janet made a rude noise. “Not only wasn’t I allowed to speak with the Duke, but I couldn’t so much as leave yer note for him.”

“Why ever not?”

“There was a great, hulking servant what answered the door. Eyed me like a piece of rubbish that had been dropped on his stoop and told me to be on me way without so much as a good day.” Janet gave a disgusted shake of her head. Despite the fact she was the same age as Brianna, two and twenty, she possessed a will of iron and was rarely routed by even the most fearsome opponent. Brianna had seen her beat a drunken sailor to near death with her umbrella for no more an insult than a pinch on her backside. “Sodding man wouldn’t even accept the letter ye had written for His Grace. Said as his master was in town for business reasons and wasn’t accepting visitors. Then he shut the door right in me face. Bastard.”

Brianna was frankly bewildered. She knew all of the Huntley staff, since most of them had been with the ducal family since well before Brianna’s father had died. Certainly she could not recall such an intimidating man.

“Describe this servant.”

Janet gave a lift of her shoulder. “As I said, he was big and burly with a hard face and thick golden hair. I suppose he be handsome enough if ye like ’em big as an ox.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Oh, and he had a funny accent. He was no Englishman, that much I can tell ye.”

“How peculiar.” With short, determined steps, Brianna paced the confined space of the grotto, her nerves stretched to the point of screaming. “That does not sound at all like Goodson.”

“Who?”

“The Duke’s long-time butler,” Brianna said absently. “In fact, to my knowledge the Dukes have never employed foreigners. Their staff has been with them for years.”

“Looks more like a criminal than a servant, if ye ask me.”

“I do not understand, Janet.” The swish of her black crape dress over the sarsnet slip echoed through the musty air as Brianna continued her pacing, her fingers absently toying with the fichu she had tucked into the modest line of her bodice. “Stefan would never turn away a request from me, not unless he has changed dramatically in the past few years. My father named him as one of my guardians, for God’s sake.”

“What will ye do? If ye can’t speak with the Duke…”

Brianna came to a sharp halt, her hands clenched into fists. “Oh, I will speak with him. Even if I have to storm the gates of his town house myself.”

“Ye can’t do that, Miss. Not without causing a fearful scandal.”

“You think I would not rather endure scandal than be hauled off to a secluded hunting lodge with my stepfather?” Brianna hissed, her entire body revolting at the mere thought of what would happen once Thomas had her isolated and helpless at the lodge.

“Still…ach.” Janet caught her breath. “I jest remembered something.”

“What?”

“While I was attempting to get into the house, a boy arrived with a package for his Grace.”

“And?”

“The package was a domino and mask that the master had ordered to be made.”

Understanding slowly bloomed in Brianna’s mind, her fading hope returning in a fierce wave.

“So he plans to attend a masquerade.”

“And soon. The servant snapped at the boy for his tardiness, saying that it had best meet with the master’s approval as it was too late to have it altered.”

“Then it must be tonight.” Picking up her heavy skirts, Brianna headed for the door of the grotto. “I need to speak with Mrs. Grant. She always knows what social events are occurring about town.”

IT WAS NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK that evening before the house was at last quiet enough for Brianna to slip from the back door and make her way through the dark streets until she stood in front of the pretentious town house where the Courtesan Masquerade Ball was to be held.

It didn’t look the sort of place where gentlemen of the highest society mixed with courtesans, harlots and ladies of easy virtue. Not with its handsome brickwork and Iconic columns that framed the main entrance with a muted elegance.

Mrs. Grant, however, had been quite firm in announcing that the only masquerade ball on this night was Lord Blackwell’s annual event.

Brianna gave a small shake of her head as she noted the long line of carriages stretching down the block and masked gentlemen walking through the front door. Obviously, any disapproval of tonight’s festivities was exclusively held by female members of society.

“I do not like this, miss,” Janet hissed at her side. “I think I should stay with ye in case there’s trouble.”

Brianna tugged the domino closer about her body as she battled off the urge to shiver. When she had found the black velvet cloak lined with silver and the matching black feathered mask in her mother’s old truck in the attic, she had felt as if fate was urging her to take the daring risk. There was even a matching ball gown in a pale pink satin with black and silver ribbons dotted along the hem and threaded through the scooped bodice. It was precisely the sort of frivolous concoction that would be expected at a masquerade.

Now, however, her palms were sweating and her knees shaking as she contemplated the thought of entering the strange town house filled with randy gentlemen and willing whores. What if she were recognized? Or worse, what if she was accosted before she could locate Stefan, even assuming he was in there?

It took more courage than she knew she possessed to reach out and squeeze Janet’s cold hand.

“Nonsense, I need you at home to make sure that Thomas does not realize I am not in my chambers.”

“This is no place for a lady. Only harlots would be seen at such a ball.”

“But, I will not be seen,” Brianna said, her voice considerably more steady than her nerves. “Besides, I have heard any number of rumors that there are ladies of fashion who attend such events. Incognito, of course.”

Janet sucked in a sharp breath. Servants tended to have a rigid view of how a noble should behave. Far more rigid than the nobles themselves.

“Not proper young ladies.”

“I can no longer afford to be proper, Janet.” Her voice was bitter. “If I am unable to convince Stefan to take me in as his ward, then I shall be forced to flee and make my own way in the world. In that event, I doubt that a risqué ball will be my greatest concern.”

Janet chewed her bottom lip, knowing she could not argue the stark truth of Brianna’s words. They had three short days before she was to be hauled off to the wilds of Norfolk. Once there, no one would be able to halt her stepfather from forcing her to his bed.

“Jest promise ye’ll take care,” Janet demanded with a resigned sigh. “The gents are bound to be drunk and in the mood for trouble.”

“I will take the greatest care, I assure you.” Brianna squeezed her maid’s fingers in warning. “But, Janet, I am depending on you. No one can know that I am not in my bed sleeping.”

Janet squared her plump shoulders. “Not a soul will get past yer bedroom door, that I promise ye.”

“I will return as soon as I have spoken with Stefan,” she promised.

“Good luck to ye, miss.”

Loosening her clinging grip on her maid, Brianna squared her shoulders and turned her attention to the waiting town house.

“Let us hope I do not need it.”

Brianna waited until her maid had slipped away before forcing herself to cross the crowded street.

Feeling as exposed as if she were stark naked, she neared the throng of gentlemen and began to press her way up the sweep of steps. Her logic told her that no one could possibly recognize her in the concealing domino and feathered mask, especially since she had never been able to move among the more fashionable society, but in her mind, she felt as if every eye was staring at her.

And in truth, they were.

Even though she had tightly braided her conspicuous hair and knotted it at the nape of her neck, the color still managed to shimmer with vibrant beauty in the torchlight. And no mask could entirely disguise the exotic slant of her green eyes and the full curve of her inviting mouth.

Keeping her head lowered as she moved forward, she actually made it through the door before a hand clamped on her arm and forced her to a halt.

“And where the devil do you think you’re going?” a male voice rasped.

Glancing up, she met the annoyed glare from a uniformed footman. Her mouth went dry and her heart lodged in her throat.

“I…I am going to the ball.”

The servant curled his lips in distaste. “Oh, aye, and you think you can prance in as if you’re royalty? Maybe you think to be announced by the butler?”

“I…”

The footman did not bother to listen to her embarrassed apology, instead simply pushing her back down the stairs to make room for the crowd of gentlemen.

“Round to the back with you, wench. Only the gents come through the front door.”

Brianna briefly stumbled before regaining her balance and hurrying to the back entrance. Ignoring the dampness that soaked into her embroidered slippers, she found the narrow entrance where she was shown up the servants’ staircase by a dour-faced housekeeper into the long parlors that were richly decorated with gilded ceilings, crimson satin wall paneling and gold-veined marble fireplaces. The floor was a polished parquet that glowed with a rich luster beneath the flickering light of the crystal chandeliers. Along one wall, long tables had been arranged to display the lavish buffet and numerous bottles of chilled champagne.

She had reached her objective, but she discovered that finding Stefan was not to be so simple as she had assumed.

There had to be a hundred guests crammed into the gilt and crimson rooms, all of them disguised in cloaks and masks as they threaded their way through the glittering crowd or lounged on the small couches and chairs that were set in shallow alcoves. Somewhere among the melee a string quartet played, but it was nearly impossible to hear what Brianna assumed was Mozart over the laughter and shouts and shrill giggles.

Under normal circumstances, she might have been shocked by the sight of the women who had tossed open their cloaks to reveal they were wearing nothing more than lacy corsets beneath, and the men who openly reached to grope the wares offered. It was hardly what an innocent maiden was accustomed to seeing.

She was far too concerned with locating the Duke of Huntley to be as shocked as she should be. Or to even question why such a sweet, kind-hearted man such as Stefan would choose to attend such a vulgar event.

Sheer determination allowed her to make her way to the center of the room before she was halted by a large woman with all the full curves that Brianna lacked.

“Hey there, no shoving, there be plenty of gents to go around,” she said, her pox-scarred face heavily rouged.

“I am looking for the Duke of Huntley,” Brianna said bluntly.

The woman gave a lift of her darkened brows. “Oh, aye, I bet yer are. Think yer fancy speech will impress such a fine toff?”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

The woman gave a lift of her shoulder. “I heard tell he was in the card rooms. Seems he prefers gambling to the ladies.”

“Thank God,” Brianna breathed.

“What did ye say?” the woman demanded, suspicious.

“I asked where the card rooms are to found.”

There was a pause before the woman jerked her head back toward the hall.

“Down the hall. Last door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Brianna turned and began the battle back to the door, a choked scream leaving her lips as a large masculine arm wrapped around her waist from behind.

“Here now, where are you going in such a hurry?” a thick, drunken voice demanded next to her ear.

Brianna struggled against the repulsive grasp. “I be meeting another, let go,” she said, mimicking the other doxies in the room.

“You can meet him later. I have a desire for a saucy minx, and something tells me you could be very saucy.”

A flare of terrified fury raced through Brianna and with as much force as she could muster, she lifted her foot to kick the man directly on his shin.

“I said I have a meeting,” she gritted, managing to wriggle loose as he gave a groan of pain and loosened his grip.

“Why, you bitch…”

An opening appeared and Brianna darted toward the doorway, the crowd filling in behind her to prevent her assailant from following.

Giving a silent prayer at her escape, Brianna did not allow her pace to slow as she entered the carpeted hallway and hurried toward the card room.