A Lady’s Secret (33 page)

Robin moved away, but she said, “Wait.” When he turned back, she said, “There is another here seeking her.”

“Who?”

“Il conte di Purieri.”

Robin inhaled. “Is he, by gad?”

He moved away again, but she caught his cloak. “He is dressed in purple, and armed.”

“Ashart will not be pleased,” Robin said, and went in search of his host.

He kept alert for both sapphire blue and purple, but he needed to find Ash. Having obeyed instructions, he now needed a sword.

It was only as he worked against the tide to go downstairs that he thought to wonder if Madame Cornelys had given Lousy Ludovico the same information about Petra, damn her cold, greedy heart.

To Hades with the rules of the masquerade. He grabbed a passing servant and demanded to know what Ash was wearing. The man’s eyes went wide, but he said, “Black, with a devil’s mask.”

Robin soon saw him, observing his guests. “Ash, I need a sword.”

“No fighting.”

“There’s someone here armed and up to no good.”

Ash frowned, but led the way out of the hall and unlocked the door to a room that contained a collection of weapons. “Who?” he asked, as Robin took a rapier and tested the balance.

Robin hadn’t encountered Ash since his adventures, so hadn’t told him the full story. “A certain conte di Purieri from Milan,” he said, trying another blade. “It’s a long story, but if he’s here, he’ll try to abduct a lady.”

“An Italian lady?”

“In a way.” Robin made his choice, buckled on the sword belt, and rearranged his cloak. As he headed for the door, Ash said, “Do try not to kill him, Robin. Blood, you know. So messy.”

The Marquess of Ashart found himself talking to an empty doorway. He swiftly loaded a pistol, put it in his pocket, and went to seek his cousin. After all, Rothgar had recently acquired an Italian daughter from Milan.

Despite everything, Petra was enjoying herself.

She’d forgotten how wonderful it was to flirt, especially in the anonymity of a masquerade. She flitted from one gentleman to another, exchanging only cryptic remarks and teasing smiles, and granting the occasional light kiss.

The company was better behaved than one would find in Venice, probably because everyone knew this company was select and that the masks would come off at midnight. A woman treated too coarsely could turn out to be very well protected. A woman who behaved too rashly could be ruined.

The dancing began, and a gentleman in red swept her into the central chamber to join a line. She laughed as she began the lively steps, and he grinned back at her. He had hopes and would be disappointed, but for now all was joy.

But as she turned, she looked up and saw a man in purple watching from a balcony. He wasn’t the only one to have found his way up there, but he seemed to be watching her. When she looked up again at the next turn, however, he’d gone.

Well, it was also a delight to be admired. She concentrated on the dance until the final curtsy to her partner, but then slipped away from him. She worked her way around the edge of the room, seeking other amusements, but an arm came around her waist and she was swept into the shadowy area behind the facade.

“Stop that!” she gasped, thinking it was her dancing partner. But then she realized who it really was.

He didn’t say anything, but grasped her face and kissed her. She knew his taste, she knew his smell, she knew everything about him. After a breathless moment, Petra kissed him back. Somehow, somehow, Robin had found her, and she had no will to resist.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Come.” He took her hand and pulled her along the passageway and into a side corridor. He didn’t stop there, but led her down some back stairs, through kitchen areas and outside. She found herself on a quiet side of the house lit by a halfhearted scattering of lanterns and completely deserted, though the chatter and music of the masquerade poured out of windows nearby.

Without a word, he tossed aside her hat and tugged at the strings so her mask fell to the ground. His was merely a narrow black strip, and she laughed in delight to see his beloved features again.

He unfastened her cloak to reveal her bare shoulders and low bodice and reverently kissed them. Gasping with pleasure, she fumbled his mask off, then his cloak, and slid arms around him beneath his coat to relish the feel of his long, strong torso as his lips sealed hers.

Oh, sweet heaven, his kiss, his kiss! How had she survived without this?

“Stays,” he caught breath to say, laughing with her as his hands ran up her back, then down again, and he kissed her neck and down to the exposed swell of her swollen, tingling breasts. Her whole body tingled. In just moments he could do this to her. She wanted to be insane again, here, in great danger of discovery, but she managed to whisper, “No. Robin, no, please.”

This time he didn’t protest.

“No,” he said, drawing back, taking her hands between his. “But, by heaven, Petra, you’ve driven me insane. Where did you go? Why? Who are you here with? Tell me it’s not another man, beloved.”

She laughed shakily. “Not like that. Beloved?”

He stilled, looking into her eyes. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you with that. I’m sorry. I vowed not to pester you—”

“Robin, love…”

But she stopped her protest. What was he offering?

He’d made it clear that he couldn’t marry a penniless bastard, that he could only take her as his mistress. Was that what he had in mind?

She was still a bastard, but she wasn’t penniless, and she brought that other dowry he’d spoken of—powerful connections. She could tell him that, but despite her love, despite the child growing inside her, she didn’t want him to offer her marriage for dowry or connections or even to make their baby legitimate. She wanted him to offer it when he thought she had none of those, so she would know.

She drew her hands free. “Robin, I still can’t enter an unblessed relationship with you or anyone. You don’t have to worry about me. As you see, I am in good care.”

“Unblessed…! Where did you get that idea? ’Struth, on the boat?” He thrust his hand through his already loosened hair, and the ribbon fell off. Petra bit her lip on tender tears.

“I was uncouth,” he said. “Unbelievably so. Terrified, to tell the truth. Things did go rather fast, if you remember, and there was no time later to make things right. You gave me no time. You left.”

Hands gripped so they wouldn’t reach for him, she said, “I read that page in your notebook. The pledge?”

“Good Lord, that? Pure idiocy.”

“Idiocy at a thousand guineas’ cost?”

“I promised Teresa Cornelys half that just for news of you.” He captured her hands again. “Marry me, Petra, please? I’m hollow without you.”

Sheer bliss brought tears to Petra’s eyes, but then she hesitated again. Tell him first about the baby or simply throw herself into his arms?

She saw the tightening of his face. “I understand if you have a low opinion of me. My foolish levity, my clumsy attempts to find you—”

“Robin…”

“…my failures in the knight errantry business.”

“You saved me!” she protested, laughing now at his folly. “You killed Varzi’s man.”

“That was Dan Fletcher. I did kill Varzi, but—”

“Did you, indeed?” a man said in an Italian accent.

“Then I have another score to settle.”

Petra went ice-cold as she turned, praying it wasn’t so. With such a narrow mask, however, she recognized Ludo immediately. “What are you doing here?” she spat. “Get out! Go away!”

“So imperious. By all means I will go, but with you, and after having killed the man who soiled your lips.” He drew a slender but doubtless lethal sword with insolent leisure. Petra remembered with horror that weapons were forbidden here. Robin would be unarmed.

She threw herself between the men. “
Soiled?
Robin wants to marry me. You wish to soil me and always have!”

Ludo shoved her aside. She stumbled but turned, ready to try again to prevent murder. But Robin—oh, thank God—had a sword out, too, and parried Ludo’s vicious, killing thrust. But as the swords clashed, she remembered Varzi’s man, when Robin hadn’t quite been good enough.

She screamed for help.

She scarcely had a sound out when a big hand clapped over her mouth and she was dragged back. Ludo hadn’t come alone. Of course he hadn’t! Why hadn’t she realized that?

People were coming from the house, but it would be too late. Robin was holding his own, but another of Ludo’s men was creeping up on him from behind. So like the previous fight, but this time Robin was the one who’d be killed by a cudgel. She fought to free herself, to be able to scream a warning—

But then a pistol cracked, and the man staggered and then collapsed on the ground. Masqueraders were running toward them now, but Robin and Ludo fought on as if none of this was happening. Neither could afford a moment’s distraction, for they were too evenly matched. And both were willing to kill. Death danced on every turn and thrust of the long blades.

Petra realized she was crying as she struggled against her captor. She couldn’t bite. She couldn’t kick. She couldn’t escape! But then he grunted and his hold slackened. She wrenched free as he tumbled at her feet. She stared at the knife hilt in his back, but then someone else pulled her into his arms. When she struggled, he said, “It’s your father.”

She stilled, but stared at the raging fight, tears pouring. “Do something. Please!”

“It’s in hand, but I think…”

Robin’s leg gave way and he staggered to one side.

Petra cried,
“No!”

Ludo cried out, too, in triumph as he drove his sword down to pin Robin in death. It plunged into earth, for Robin rolled, then thrust up and drove his sword into his opponent’s heart.

Ludo collapsed on top of Robin, impaled in a bizarre embrace until men ran forward to pull him off and help Robin, bloodstained, to his feet.

Petra ran to him. Her father didn’t prevent her, but Robin held her off with his left hand, sucking in breaths. “Don’t…get his blood…on you.”

She gripped that hand. “Your leg, your leg! What have you done to it?”

“Only used it, love. A feint…I hoped he’d heard of my injury….” He stopped to breathe and Petra wavered, dizzy with emotion. When someone draped her cloak around her shoulders and put an arm around her, she leaned, knowing it was Lord Rothgar again.

He handed her the mask. “Best to become anonymous,” he said, and drew her into shadows, concealing her identity from the growing crowd of cloaked and masked men.

She put it on, realizing that Robin’s identity was exposed now. That she still didn’t know his full name, and he still didn’t know about the baby.

But her eyes were drawn to her too-insistent lover. They’d taken out the sword and rolled Ludo onto his back, most of them puzzling over who he was. Ludo—beautiful, arrogant Ludo—the man she’d once adored, was definitely dead, his eyes staring.

“Why pursue me?” she whispered. “Why?”

Robin came over, wiping blood from his hand with a cloth. “None of this was your fault,” he said. Blood was all over him, however. Ludo’s blood.

“Yes it was. If I’d not—”

“Not now,” her father said. “Huntersdown, I gather you are Robert Cockcroft?”

“Who?” Robin asked.

“Quite,” Rothgar said dryly. “We will need to discuss various matters very shortly.”

Huntersdown? Petra’s mind felt scattered into fragments. So that was his real name. Where had she heard it before?

Robin seemed to see Rothgar for the first time. He looked from him to Petra, eyes widening. “’Struth.” But he recovered almost immediately. “I request the honor of Petra’s hand in marriage, sir. But my apologies—if you refuse, I’ll take it anyway.”

“Robin…” Petra warned, feeling her father tense.

“Will you?” the Dark Marquess said with a dangerous lack of inflection. “You are owed some tolerance for your assistance to Petra on her way to England, but tolerance can be stretched to breaking point.” He turned to a man in a black domino. “Not too many people seem to have come close to events, Ashart. Ah, Fitzroger, too. Excellent. With swift action, this story can be controlled. I leave that up to you. Petra, come with me.”

Petra looked at Robin, wondering if love demanded rebellion, but he only gave a rueful smile that seemed to say
Later.

Yes, later. And she hadn’t yet told either man about the baby.

H
er father went with her to a bedchamber, where she cleaned away spots of blood and other dirt. Soon Diana joined them. Neither asked questions, but it was time for explanation. Rothgar poured Petra wine and she drank it gratefully, but longed for Robin with a deep ache.

He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He would defy her powerful father for her. That was rubies and diamonds, but she didn’t want to lose the new family she’d found. She didn’t want to cause more conflict and discord.

“So, Petra,” Rothgar said, “your sober man of Cornwall was the Earl of Huntersdown.”

“An earl?” she gasped. “He said he wasn’t a lord!”

“He lied to you?” her father said icily.

Petra hastily thought back. “No, no! He only said he wasn’t the younger son of a duke. And after all, I was pretending to be a full nun. Half-truth for half-truth is fair, I suppose.”

Her babble didn’t create a thaw.

Robin was an earl, but that clearly didn’t make him acceptable, and she was going to have to make it worse.

Hands tight on her wineglass, Petra faced her father, dry throated. “I love him, my lord, and I’m carrying his child.” She saw the Dark Marquess then and hurried on. “I’m sorry, but…I wasn’t a virgin! Ludo. Il conte…”

Diana took her in her arms and settled her on the sofa. “It’s all right, Petra. Don’t be afraid.”

Petra cast a dubious look at her father’s face.

“Yes, she’s your daughter,” Diana said to him without a trace of nervousness, “and as you suspected, her protector in France was Huntersdown. I know you disapprove of him, but love will do what love will do.”

“Not always,” he said, “and not without retribution. Petra, you do not have to marry Huntersdown simply because you’re carrying his child. Other arrangements can be made.”

Petra found the courage to say, “I don’t want that. And I
am
carrying his child.”

“Unfortunately. He’s not a young man known for sober living and responsibility. Or for anything close to chastity. You do not know him. Unless I am much mistaken, you’ve spent very little time with him.”

Petra knew he was correct, but she could only say, “I know I love him. I know I
need
him.” What argument could she make? “I thought perhaps my feelings would fade. After all, I thought once that I would die for love of Ludo. But they didn’t. Not even for a day. Not even when I believed I’d never see him again. Not even,” she added, “when I found myself surrounded by other people willing to love and care for me. I value that deeply, but I am not complete without Robin.”

His face was set and he went to stand by the empty fireplace. Petra took Diana’s hand and prayed.

“In other circumstances,” he said at last, “I would insist on time. Time in normal society and normal interactions during which you could become sure of your heart. Yes, I know you believe yourself sure, Petra, but it might not be so. As it is, however, if you truly feel that way, it would be best if you married quickly.”

“Thank you!”

His expression turned wry. “I hope you always feel that way. We cannot keep you out of tonight’s events, as we don’t intend to hide the essentials of your story, and the Italian’s death cannot be concealed. We will stick close to the truth. He pursued you out of misplaced love, and when you rejected him again, he tried to kill you. A number of men rushed to your aid, but it was Huntersdown who struck the fatal blow. This gallant act naturally drew him to your attention, and over the next few days a love will develop of such intensity that there will be nothing for it but to permit the marriage. I will, of course, make very clear to him that he is required to be the perfect husband.”

Petra saw Diana fighting a smile, and perhaps to her the Dark Marquess as protective father was amusing. It terrified Petra. Even so, she met his eyes. “He will always be under
my
protection, sir. Harm him at your peril.”

Those dark eyes widened, but then he laughed. “My dear,” he said to Diana, “imagine more in her mold.”

“A delightful thought,” Diana said.

He turned to Petra again. “When you arrived at Rothgar Abbey, I told you that you brought a gift. It was yourself. As you know by now, my mother went mad and murdered her second-born baby. It made me reluctant to pass on her blood. I have come to see that at least part of her problem was the strain of indulgence and marrying too young. In addition, it seems some women are badly affected by giving birth. These things have lessened my concerns. But you, you are a daughter any man could be proud of, as much to be valued as any taint is to be feared. I can only pray that any children Diana bears me are as splendid.” He smiled at his wife. “Given her nature, how can it be otherwise?”

“I’m glad I have a gift to give,” Petra said, tears threatening at this tenderness, “for you have given me so much.”

“It truly has been my pleasure, my dear. I hope Amalia can now forgive me any carelessness of the past.”

Petra went to him. “She never blamed you for anything. And she did have complete trust that you would accept me and treat me well.” She cocked her head. “I know you intend to speak to Robin, but may I first? You can threaten him later.”

He laughed, and for a moment she glimpsed the lighthearted youth her mother had loved. “Very well.”

Petra hurried to the door, but at the last moment she remembered the automaton he’d given her. “Did you
know
? Who Robert Cockcroft was, I mean.”

His lips twitched. “Your adventures did seem unlikely for a sober man of Cornwall, and Huntersdown has often made play of the Cock Robin rhyme. You showed a reaction to the robin automaton, and wore a cameo depicting a bird.”

“A robin,” Petra said. “That was so careless.”

“If you study that brooch, you’ll see it’s not a robin but a sparrow. The twigs at its feet are in fact a bow and arrow.”

Petra shook her head. “Why would he have an image of Cock Robin’s murderer?”

“Whimsy, which is a flaw of his. But also, during the war, he and Ithorne, and sometimes Grandiston, undertook some work for the king on Ithorne’s ship, the
Black Swan
.”

“The
Black Swan
!” she gasped, and told him about the address she’d used.

“Three wild young men,” he said, “though Grandiston’s a good officer. Then, of course, Grandiston was reported to have killed Varzi, which added another thread.”

“Good heavens,” Petra said, and glanced at Diana.

Diana shrugged, smiling. “It is his way. Omniscience plus a devilish skill at puzzles.”

“I really needed nothing more, but I did know that Huntersdown had recently been at Versailles, and quite likely had been traveling home at about that time.”

“How did you know that?” Diana asked.

“Because he was engaged in a minor matter for the king. A lady there had information that could be of use, but she was frightened to meet with anyone the least bit suspicious. No one would suspect Huntersdown of ulterior motives in seduction.”

“I suppose she adores papillon dogs,” Petra said.

“Ah yes, I heard that he’d acquired one, much to the world’s astonishment. And a wound during a mysterious bout near Folkestone. Lastly—”

“There’s more?” Diana asked.

“I do like to be thorough. Discreet inquiries of Lady Sodworth uncovered complaints about a young woman foisted on her in Milan as a nun who turned out to be completely unreliable and a harlot to boot, running off at first chance with a young man who quite clearly had the worst of intentions and whose description fit exactly the Earl of Huntersdown.”

“What would you have done if not for the child?” Petra asked.

“I intended to observe the two of you and consider matters. I have no wish to lose you so soon, Petra.”

She sighed. “I, too, wish…but I cannot wish to be apart from him. Huntingdonshire is not so very far, is it?”

“And the roads become more tolerable all the time. Go. Huntersdown will have needed to restore his appearance, but wherever he is, I’m sure you’ll find him. Love has its ways. But at midnight, you must be with us for the unmasking and the announcement. After that, you can dance with him all night if you wish. Only dance,” he added, and she saw he meant it.

Petra emerged into a quiet corridor, restoring her mask. Her father had set her a challenge—to find Robin by the compass of love. Because he would have needed to wash and change, she walked some of the quiet corridors, but if he was in this part of the house she couldn’t sense him.

She returned to the melee of the masquerade, wishing she could remember the color of his cloak. Outside in the dark, she hadn’t noticed. The noise and wild atmosphere were building, perhaps increased by stories of danger and violence. She heard exclamations about evil Italians and death.

No gloom, however. No mourning.

She paused in a quiet corner to feel sorrow for Ludo’s family and friends. She didn’t think his wife would suffer deep regrets. She’d been married for her money, and from what Petra had heard, had received no warmth from a man obsessed by another.

Such a strange obsession, too. Perhaps he had thought it love, but love would have led him to offer marriage, not insult. Love didn’t seek to compel, hurt, and imprison. His emotions had been something dark and vile, for love, in the end, could only set the beloved free—as Robin had done for her, as she had tried to do for him.

So where was he? She felt her father’s words should be true. She should know him by some secret sense.

She went to the central chamber and up to a balcony to scan the dancers below. No, she felt strangely certain that none of the gentlemen below was he. She looked up—and then she saw him, on a balcony across from her, searching as she had done.

As if alerted, he looked up, then smiled across at her. She smiled back, love rising in her, warm and bright. She would have flown across to him if she’d had wings, but for now this was enough, to see him, to know he was hers, that they had their precious future, all secrets and mysteries burned away.

Then he stepped back into shadows and she waited, waited calmly, until he came behind her, and then she turned.

They joined hands. “My lord the Earl of Huntersdown, I gather,” Petra said, smiling, then smiling wider for sheer joy.

“My sweet Sister Immaculata. Who are you now?”

“Petra Malloren.”

“He accepts you fully, then?”

“There are images of him as a youth that make it impossible not to.”

He laughed. “A warning to all loose-loving lads. I have not been immaculate. Will you mind if some chickens come home to roost?”

“No.” She tightened her hands on his and stepped closer, looking into his eyes. “But there is something of Sister Immaculata in me, Robin. Will you be true to me?”

He pulled her into his arms. “Till death do us part. I promise you that.” He raised her face to his. “You will marry me?”

“With all my heart. But I warn you, Lord Rothgar will not be a tolerant father-in-law.”

“Good God. Son-in-law to the Dark Marquess.”

She touched his cheek. “But I will bring a handsome dowry and powerful connections.”

He turned his face into her hand, to kiss her palm. “So you will, so you will.”

“And I’ve already told him you’re under my protection.” She turned his face back to her. “But if you’re ever inclined to stray, my lord, remember that I am the Dark Marquess’s daughter.”

“I am suitably terrified.” He kissed her then, a long, cherishing kiss such as they’d never shared before, but she had to break free.

She looked into his eyes. “Robin, I’m carrying your child.”

He stared, and she thought perhaps she’d misjudged everything, that somehow it could still go awry. But then he cradled her face. “You must have been worried. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

She shook her head, her vision blurring. “That was entirely my fault, my dear beloved. Kiss me again.”

They explored one another then with mouths and hands and with so much more, stirring familiar fires that crackled with searing heat, that demanded surrender.

Petra broke free again, held him off with one hand. “We can’t. We mustn’t. I must be with Lord Rothgar at midnight for the unmasking. He is to introduce me. I’m apparently going to fall in love with you because you saved me from Ludovico. We can marry soon, though.”

“Some hope of sanity, then,” he said, capturing her hand and kissing each finger.

“We have his permission to dance.”

“He treats everyone as puppets.”

Her mind was melting again, from only lips on fingers, but she said, “He is my father, Robin. I’m fond of him, of all the Mallorens….”

He drew her index finger into his mouth.

Her knees went weak, but she found the words. “Please don’t make me choose.”

He slowly released her finger, but the heat in his eyes could complete her destruction. “I won’t,” he said at last. “He cares for you. But there’s an hour before midnight. Shall we dance?” He drew her to him, sliding one hand under her cloak to her bare shoulders, to her neck….

Petra shifted against him with yearning, but she found the strength to say “No.”

“Truly no?” he asked, fingers playing there, promising fiery delights.

She swallowed. “Truly no,” she said, and moved back out of his arms. “I promised. But also, despite my sins, I am a shockingly moral woman, Robin. You’d best know that now. We can marry. We soon will marry. We must wait.”

He smiled. “With all the riches of the universe in sight, what need of haste? Come, love,” he said, taking her hand to lead her away. “Of all the many pleasures we haven’t tasted yet, one is an ordinary dance. It seems an excellent place to start.”