Masquerading the Marquess (25 page)

Mind?
She wasn’t going to be given a choice. "Do you think you can stand?"

She nodded. He picked her up and gently put her on her feet.

"I can walk. I’m just a little bruised. I think my confidence is a bit bruised as well."

James let her walk around, seeing nothing broken, and then picked her up and set her on Apollo’s back.

Roth returned with a grim look on his face. "Check the saddle."

James didn’t need to uncinch the saddle. He followed the trail of blood to the burrs that had been shoved underneath the leather. Someone would know an inexperienced rider was sure to lean forward trying to find her seat. The culprit would not even have to remove the saddle for the damage to be done. Rage filled him. Calliope could have died.

"Could have been done anytime at the lake.
The question is, why?" Roth asked.

"What are you two talking about?" Calliope inquired.

Roth looked from one to the other. James wished he knew what the man was thinking. He was always so bloody hard to read.

"Fine, keep your secrets, but gentlemen, do you think we can head back now?" Her voice was dulled by pain.

James mounted behind her, his rage simmering beneath the surface. He enveloped her in his arms and she immediately relaxed against him.

Pettigrew and a few of the other guests burst into the trees. They had to bring their horses up short before colliding with them.

"What happened? Is Esmerelda all right?" Pettigrew looked concerned.

"Yes, a bit shaken but otherwise unharmed. We are returning to the house."

"Of course.
I’ll come with you.
Can’t leave an injured guest."

They rode back to the stables. James kept up a quick pace, holding Calliope carefully in his arms, and trying to avoid Pettigrew’s questions.

They arrived at the stables. James lowered Calliope into Roth’s arms, jumped down and reached for Damsel’s reins. Pettigrew dismounted and hurried over. He saw the blood and investigated the saddle.

"Tanner!"

The head groom ran out of the stable. "Yes, my lord?"

"What is the meaning of this? Who put the saddle on this horse? Someone is not doing his job properly!" Pettigrew continued to yell at the groom. "One of my guests could have been killed! I will have someone’s head.
Yours if no one else’s!"

Pettigrew was overdoing the outrage. He could have been convincing with a bit less fervor. He stomped off to the manor.

James walked over to the abashed groom. "I know you and your staff didn’t have anything to do with the accident. I will speak with Pettigrew. Here is my card. If you or anyone else is turned out as a result of this incident, go to this address and ask for Stubbins. If you could take care of Damsel’s injuries, I’d appreciate it."

"Thank you, my lord." The groom’s eyes regained a spark of life. He wiped a hand over his brow, took Damsel’s and Apollo’s reins and hurried inside.

Calliope was leaning against Roth. She looked at James strangely, and nodded approvingly.

James gently lifted her and carried her into the house.

Calliope rested a cold cheek against his shoulder. Roth was keeping up with the quick pace he had set.

"Roth, would you send Esmerelda’s maid, Betsy, to her room with some hot tea and a warming pan?"

He nodded. "Think I’ll have a talk with Pettigrew too."

James frowned and nodded in return. There was nothing he could do about Roth now. He’d have to talk with him later.

"Lord Pettigrew certainly seemed upset," Calliope mumbled against his chest.

"Yes, we’ll have to keep a closer eye on him."

She tilted her head back, her face only inches from his. "Wasn’t he just expressing concern as a host?"

"Shh. We’ll talk when we reach your room."

She tucked her head into his shoulder. Her body was beginning to feel warmer. That was a good sign.

He unlocked her room and set her down on the bed. "Remove your riding habit. You’ll feel better after a nap."

She frowned. "No, I’m going to have tea. You just sent Roth for some."

"Change your clothes and get under the covers, or I’ll do it for you."

Her face assumed the disgruntled look she was so fond of, but she must have read his intent, because she hurriedly changed while James walked to the window overlooking one of the gardens. He could see her out of the corner of his eye.

Someone knocked at the door.

"Enter."

Calliope’s maid placed the tea tray on the table and lit a fire in the fireplace. James’s body was heating the room better than a fire, but the added heat couldn’t hurt.

The maid left and Calliope padded to the tray. Her feet were bare.

"Get in bed." His voice was a bit raw.

She looked like she was going to argue but padded to the bed and crawled under the covers, militantly thumping her hands down on the soft coverlet.

James poured two cups of tea and brought one to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, forcing her to scoot inward or be crushed. She gave him a dark look and took the cup.

"Did you see anyone near Damsel? Someone put burrs under her saddle," he said.

Calliope put the cup down and her gaze turned thoughtful. "There were men poking Apollo right before we remounted."

James nodded. "I wasn’t paying as close attention as I should have." He had been watching Calliope and soaking up her pleasure.

"What should we do?"

"I don’t think there is much we can do at this point. I will have a look around the lake, but whoever did this is probably long gone.
And the evidence with him."

"Come back as soon as you are finished."

He nodded. "I will send your maid back up. She will keep people away."

He walked out and Calliope’s maid was walking toward him with Roth. Yes, Roth knew a bit too much, as usual.

James gave the maid strict instructions and she disappeared inside. Roth studied him, waiting.

"I’m going to the lake. Would you like to join me?"

Roth nodded and they walked back to the stables.

Only after they entered the trail to the lake did Roth speak. "You have secrets. I have secrets. Esmerelda seems to have many. Let’s only speak of today. Something foul is afoot. Be careful."

He could trust Roth. He felt it. He should tell him the entire tale. But something held him back.

" Agreed
. You didn’t happen to see anyone around the horses before we left,
did
you?"

Roth nodded. "Half of the party ventured past, including servants.
Even Lady Flanders.
I don’t have to warn you not to underestimate her."

"No, you don’t."

They discussed the rest of the members of the party until they reached the lake. Most of the guests had joined in one of the other afternoon pursuits.

A movement caught his attention. A small man stood far off in the trees. The hairs on James’s neck started tingling. The man hadn’t the look of a servant. Roth was staring at the man as well. They rode to the spot but the man had disappeared. It was the same copse of trees into which Damsel had dashed.

Searching the grounds turned up nothing and they returned to the house two hours later.

James headed for Calliope’s room. Roth put a hand on his arm.

"James, don’t overlook anyone." James nodded and Roth turned and strode down the hall.

The maid let him in and he instructed her to return in a few hours. Calliope was sleeping, one hand curled under her chin. He pulled up a chair and sat down to wait until dinner.

The maid had left some old papers for him to read. He flipped through one. He had already read this paper some weeks before. A caricature popped from the page. He remembered this set of cartoons clearly. They were illustrated by Thomas Landes and James had kept track of the artist’s work.

The first one depicted a debutante, who bore a striking resemblance to Sarah Jones, talking to a wilting fern as several gentlemen tiptoed away. Her vacant expression and uplifted nose prevented her from seeing her escaping prey.

The second was of a debutante with large blond curls--probably Cecelia Dort. A rag was tied around her mouth, preventing her from speaking. These were some of Landes’s tamer drawings. The man had a cruel streak at times.

Some of his recent ones had been political in nature. Landes must have been in attendance at Parliament to be able to accurately detail those. James would have to pay close attention to the gentlemen present during the next session.

Had Calliope seen these? He’d show them to her when she woke. She would probably enjoy the one of Cecelia.

He shook his head but couldn’t stop grinning. He remembered the shocked look on Cecelia’s face when Calliope verbally hammered her. What a spirited nymph Calliope was.

She had been a wood sprite today, bouncing in the saddle and having a great time. Her laughing face would linger in his mind for some time. He couldn’t remember ever having more fun with a woman. With practice she would make a fine horsewoman.

He sobered as he tried to force a piece of the puzzle into a spot too small for it to fit. It made sense for someone to be after Calliope. Her connection to
Salisbury
drew her in tightly.

But the lake area had been crowded. Why would someone risk being unmasked? The act smacked of desperation.

Who had put the burrs under the saddle, and why?

Calliope woke slowly. A cheery, sizzling fire had been lit in the hearth. The room was warm and cozy. She snuggled deeper into the covers, reluctant to leave the cocoon. She opened one eye and the deepened shadows pronounced it early evening. Perhaps she could linger here all night.

She buried her cheek in the pillow and saw a movement in the shadows. Someone was beside the bed. She let out a gasp and half rose. Familiar eyes met hers and mixed emotions warred inside her.

James was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She leaned back into the pillow and sighed. It seemed she was going to have to get out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

He lifted a shoulder. "Your maid should be up any moment with dinner
. "

"You just arrived, then?" Frankly, she was astonished he had cared enough to sit with her for even a few moments.

He lifted a shoulder again, not answering her.
  
.

Calliope scooted against the headboard. The action hurt more than she cared to admit. She rubbed her neck. Her muscles were sore, she was probably covered in bruises, but she didn’t think there would be any lasting damage.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I threw myself from a charging horse."

James smiled.

Betsy bustled in and set a dinner tray before her. Another servant followed and placed a tray in front of James. Betsy fluffed her pillows and with a gesture from James left the room.

"Ordering my servants around again?" She stabbed a juicy slice of roast, swirling it in the dark au jus.

He didn’t answer and she forked a potato. "Why aren’t you eating with everyone downstairs?"

"The view is better up here."

Calliope tucked the covers around her bare knee, which had snuck out while the tray had been seated. Her gown had crept up while she slept.

James smiled and cut a piece of beef. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows on the walls and across the planes of his face. His unfashionably long hair fell forward as he regarded his plate. He looked like a pirate, albeit an entirely too handsome one.

One potato after another disappeared from his plate. The meat followed. Calliope took a bite of the roast and had to force herself not to push the food around the plate.

James finished quickly and sat back, studying her. "Eat. Or do you need my assistance?"

"I’m sore, not an invalid." Perhaps if
she
 
showed
her leg again he would leave her lack of appetite alone. Or give her that look that heated her to her toes.

There was a knock on the door and Betsy poked her head around the frame. "Lord Pettigrew wishes to know if you will be attending the festivities tonight, miss."

James looked at Calliope, allowing her the decision.

"Yes, Betsy. Please tell Lord Pettigrew we’ll be down shortly, and then return to help me dress."

"Very good, miss."

"Since you refused my offer to feed you, I would be delighted to assist you in dressing," James said, a glint in his eyes.

Her heart quickened. "Betsy would be despondent."

"You’re not very sporting." He shook his head in mock despair, stood and opened the door. "I’ll see you in a bit."

Calliope put her tray to the side and tentatively stretched each leg and rotated her waist. Her muscles strained. She repeated the motions, extending farther and feeling better each successive time.

Her body was still slightly sore. But the nap and stretching had gone far in removing the pain.

Betsy bustled in and helped her prepare for the evening.

It took some time, but Calliope was pleased with the result. She touched the shimmering indigo gown embroidered with white. Madame Giselle had created something more than dramatic. The iridescent bodice was pushed into a display of creamy flesh. Yet it had a touch of innocence too. The embroidered lining along the top simultaneously suggested and concealed.

Calliope ran her white-gloved hands down the skirt, trying to calm her nerves. So the dress was slightly outrageous. That was her persona. She had gone beyond the point of entertaining missish notions.

Her own hair strained beneath the wig, wanting above all else to be free. The wig was styled in an upswept tangle of curls. Small tendrils fell loosely about her face.

There was a knock and James entered the room. She walked forward to join him and he brought a gloved hand to his lips. His eyes were hot. His warm breath scorched her skin through the glove and tingles radiated from the spot.

"Are you ready to join the festivities below?" He smiled and she started to feel a bit wicked in her dress.

"Yes." She felt slightly breathless.

She slid an arm through his and pressed against his side. He tightened his arm.

They descended to the ballroom, where most of the guests had already gathered and were chatting and laughing with more abandon then the previous night. Spirits flowed freely and the mood was relaxed and a bit racy. Women stood closer to the men and the men’s hands were freer in their placement.

The ballroom was large and the lighting was low. Lady Pettigrew had created an intimate setting and the guests were having no trouble absorbing the mood.

A set was forming and the orchestra began to play. Calliope and James skirted the edge of the floor, chatting briefly with different couples before joining Roth and Lady Willoughby, who were standing off to the side.

Calliope liked Lady Willoughby. She was a lady in the true sense. Her bearing was proud, but kindness shone in her eyes. She was not unattractive, but she probably had the dubious distinction of being the least sparkling woman in the room. Hers was a steady beauty, calm and accepting. Not flashy, not fast. In fact, the more one studied her, the more out of place the widow seemed.
A dove in a flock of peacocks.

"How are you feeling, Esmerelda?" Lady Willoughby asked.

"Refreshed.
This afternoon I discovered body parts of which I was unaware."

Lady Willoughby smiled. "Riding will do that to you."

"And falling
. "
Roth wasn’t smiling.

"Yes, well, my first time on a horse was definitely not stellar," Calliope said.

"You did very well. That was not the problem," Roth said.

Lady Willoughby looked uncomfortable. A waltz struck up and she turned to Roth, a questioning look in her eye.

He bowed over her hand and led her to the floor. Calliope looked at James. He was staring after them speculatively. She nudged him in the ribs and he smiled.

"You need not resort to physical
violence,
I’d be delighted to partner you."

He swept her onto the floor and she laughed. His eyes twinkled. They were usually the color of obsidian. Tonight they were black velvet.

He held her tightly as they spun among the couples. They didn’t touch another body in their dance. Dancing with James meant there were no collisions, no mishaps running into another couple.

He trailed his left hand down her waist to her hip. Every place he touched was left tingling. She could feel the heat from his body everywhere, permeating through her from her legs to her hips.
From her waist to her chest, in her cheeks and eyelids.

She looked into his eyes. He had laughed with her as if they were old friends this afternoon.
Had worried over her when she had fallen.
Had carefully carried her back to the house.
Had stayed with her while she slept.
The beast had turned into a knight somewhere along the way.

Throughout the dance they never broke eye contact. Never spoke. His eyes held forbidden promises. He smelled rich and warm.

The music ended, but still they maintained their position.
His warm hands, her trembling limbs.
People pressed around them, exiting the floor, and he finally turned and led her to the terrace, one hand still caressing her waist.

She didn’t look away. She didn’t hesitate.

People were milling outside. He kept moving, heading into the garden. The crescent moon shed little light, but she could see his every movement.
The focused saunter of his legs, the coiled strength in his arms.
And then he pulled her into his arms.

Her mind registered a fragrant smell. They were somewhere in the rose garden.

The night was chilly but he was so warm, and so was she. He kissed her throat, trailing kisses down the bare expanse of her chest. Her head tilted back.

His kisses worked up to her jawline, then to her ear. He tugged on one lobe with his lips and heat spiraled through her. He returned his attention to her mouth, gently at first, then deepening the kiss, awakening a deep, unfamiliar ache. Her hands wound around his neck, her fingers stroking the nape, wrapping in his thick hair.

She was fully pressed against him but strained to get closer.

He swept her up and laid her down on a bench. She barely registered the cold stone. One hand cupped the back of her head while he continued to kiss her. His other hand was on her ankle, working its way up.
The back of her knee.
Her garter.
Her thigh.
Slowly inching farther up.

She gasped. He caught the sound with his mouth and she found herself kissing him hungrily, demanding more.
More of everything.

He lifted her so she was straddling him, much as they were the day in the coach. Her dress bunched around them. His trousers were undone and heat pressed to heat. Calliope’s entire body was on fire and her head felt heavy. He pulled her toward him and the moonlight glinted in his eyes.

This was what the actresses discussed in titters backstage. What she had never understood. Feelings and emotions she had never experienced.

Longing poured through her, making her voice husky. "James."

The bushes rustled. "Stop complaining. The plan went perfectly."

James rose and twirled them around the hedges so quickly she nearly gasped again. His quick movements flung her dress out and back down, covering her.

"What was that?" a voice said.

"Stop changing the subject. Complaining, am I? You’re wasting precious time and you didn’t finish your job."

"I did exactly as instructed."

"No, you didn’t. She’s inside, dancing."

The voices were muffled but it was a woman arguing with a man. Calliope tried to peer through the hedge but James pulled her back against his chest. It was still warm.

"I did as instructed. You take it up with him if you’re dissatisfied."

"What about the other task, did you finish that?"

"
l
don’t take orders from you. But if you aren’t careful, I’ll start giving them." Calliope shuddered at the meaning in the hushed male voice.

"Just you remember. She needs to be out of the way."

"I know my position. You’d do well to remember yours."

One set of light feet beat a hasty retreat, but the heavier set didn’t move.

Calliope could feel James’s muscles tense. He was ready if the intruder turned the corner. After a moment the man headed down the same path the woman had taken, a path that led to the lake.