A Heart's Masquerade (32 page)

But the baron was not at Wellshire, and Ransom spent precious time following his trail to London. He finally ran the man down at the
Blue Ruin
, a rather unsavory gaming hell.

His waistcoat unbuttoned and his cravat askew, Cat’s cousin was slouched over a chair at the faro table, where he could claim nothing but losses. Although Rene had warned him, Ransom was surprised at how low the man had sunk.

"Wellshire?" Ransom asked.

"What wants to know?" the baron said, belligerently.

"Worcester," Ransom answered coolly. "I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you.

"I'm busy," the baron drawled.

"I'm afraid it cannot wait," Ransom said. He leaned toward Wellshire, who was ignoring him to watch the turn of the cards. "If you wish to talk here, that is your choice, but listen carefully. You will leave your cousin alone, effective immediately."

"I don't know what you're talking about, you drunk," the baron mumbled, starting to rise from his chair. Ransom's lips curled, and he grasped the younger man's wrist in a deadly grip, forcing him back into this seat.

"I do not have the desire to end your wretched existence as yet, but I can be persuaded." He spoke softly, without the heat of anger, but with cool conviction. "Ah, I see I have captured your interest. Good. You may forget whatever agreement you have with Devlin because he is not long for this world, and you will not be either, if you persist in pursuing Catherine."

Ransom's words must have penetrated the man’s dulled senses, for he blinked in surprise.

"Yes, the game is up," Ransom said. "I would advise you to crawl back into whatever hole you came from, for your days as a gentleman are numbered. You see, we frown on those who murder one of our own."

The baron paled. "You can't prove anything," he said.

"Perhaps." Ransom shrugged. "It really doesn't matter because I have the money and power to ruin you, whether you are charged or not. And make no mistake. If you seek her out, you will see no courtroom or prison, for I will kill you myself."

"What the hell is she to you?" the man asked.

"She is my wife," Ransom said as he rose from his chair, leaving the baron to gape after him.

Exiting the gambling den, Ransom nodded to a figure in the shadows, who would keep an eye on Cat’s cousin, just in case he did not hold to their bargain. The man seemed incapable of much at this point in his life, and if he continued with his current dissipations, he was likely to end up dead through no one's doing but his own. But Ransom would take no chances.

Then he turned his attention to Devlin, a far more clever and dangerous opponent. His promise to Wellshire had not been an idle one. He had spent a lot of time considering what course to follow with his old enemy. And the time for parrying and parley was over.

He certainly had enough accusations - and even hard evidence gathered over the years - to turn the man over to the authorities. If Devlin did not swing from a rope for his crimes, he would spend a long time behind bars.

But would that eliminate the threat Devlin had become? Although Ransom wasn't concerned about himself, he had to think of Cat and the family they hoped to raise. Many a foul plot could be hatched from inside prison walls, and there were always those willing to carry out another's plans for a price.

Ransom could not imagine that Devlin, having nursed his hatred so long, would lose interest in the Dupreys. So no matter how he considered the problem, Ransom could see only one possible solution.

Devlin must die.

***

Testing the butler's patience, Cat asked him for the third time this morning if any letters had arrived. The look he gave her was a testament to his stoicism, and Cat sighed and thanked him. The last few days had stretched on interminably, and today seemed the worst of the lot.

After Ransom's sudden departure, Cat took to the stables and rode, discovering with pleasure the beauty of the ducal lands as she began calling upon her husband's tenants. It was still hard for her to comprehend that the thick forests, lush green hillsides, and farmlands leading down to the Wye all belonged to her captain. And she smiled to herself to think she had once believed him a masquerader with only ill-gotten gains to his credit.

She enjoyed calling on the tenants, who welcomed her with open arms, hopeful that a Worcester would once again take up residence. And she was thrilled to ride again, enjoying the freedom to race over the grassy slopes.

However, her thoughts were never totally free of Ransom, and even though she kept busy, she fretted over his absence. No matter how luxurious, the family seat was new to her, and the staff and neighbors were strangers.

Then the rain started, a gloomy, constant drizzling guaranteed to dampen anyone's spirits, especially someone as lonely as Cat. Since the weather kept her indoors, she took the opportunity to meet with the servants in an effort to take the reins of organization.

She met hostile faces with graciousness and friendly greetings with grateful warmth. But her new position came with certain constraints, and she could not befriend these people as she once had those few at Wellshire.

The thought of those bygone days made Cat think longingly of dear Budd. At first, she sat down to pen a letter to him, but when she received a short message from her husband claiming he would be delayed in London even longer, she had another notion.

Turning over the single page of vellum that constituted her husband's missive, Cat frowned in disappointment. Her melancholy turned to annoyance as she waved the sheet back and forth. Well, she did not intent to cool her heels waiting for Ransom to pay a visit. She would go visiting herself.

Holding the edge of the letter to her cheek, Cat smiled. Now that she was married, she could travel without questions, and as a duchess, she had vast resources at her fingertips. Why remain here, feeling abandoned and out of her element when she could see her oldest and dearest companion?

She soon discovered that the smooth workings of Ransom's staff extended to making travel arrangements as her trunk was packed and preparations were made for her departure the following morning. Cat chose the young maid who had been attending her, Emily, to travel with her. The head coachman and an assistant would round out the party, for Cat refused the suggested outriders.

Blissfully unaware of the usual size of a duchess's entourage and the appropriate complement of trunks, Cat settled back in the elaborate coach, looking forward to a familiar face. And no matter what Budd’s situation, she was determined to persuade him to return with her to Worcester. He could even bring his lady friend along, she thought with a smile as she leaned back into the plush cushions.

As the miles went by, Cat was thankful for the well-sprung conveyance and her choice of company. A tiny sprite, Emily was even more talkative than Amelia and kept up a steady stream of chatter during the long journey. And Cat's new status assured them the best of rooms and service from the inns along the way.

And yet, Cat decided that sailing was much preferable to overland travel, for although the coach was the epitome of luxury, it was still a confining vehicle. Longing to stretch her legs for more than a few minutes at a time, she was heartily glad when they arrived in Coxley.

A flurry of activity greeted her arrival, and Cat knew that tongues were already wagging when the elegant coach stopped in front of the inn. Mr. Tyber rushed out to meet the elegant coach and was visibly surprised at its occupant.

"Miss Amberly! Where have you been keeping yourself? And what's this?" he asked, squinting at the ducal crest emblazoned on the side of the conveyance.

"It is my husband's coat of arms, Mr. Tyber," Cat said, letting him escort her back inside his establishment, where the best room was readied for her.

She turned aside any questions about her old home. She had no idea where Edward was, but she was no longer a scared, defenseless girl, alone in the world but for his guardianship. She was a powerful peer's wife, with resources at her beck and call, as well as the ability to handle a variety of weapons, including the knife she always kept close.

When she finally escaped the kindly, but inquisitive innkeeper, Cat made her way to the home of Budd's lady friend. Dismissing her horrified maid, Cat went to the door alone. After several knocks, it was opened by a buxom female with the kind of flaming red hair Cat had only seen on certain females in the kind of establishments frequented by pirates and privateers.

"Mrs. Bottoms?" Cat asked.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Budd's," Cat said, smiling.

At the mention of the old sailor's name, the suspicion left the woman's face, to be replaced by an expression Cat found equally disquieting. But she gestured for Cat to enter, so Cat stepped into a narrow room.

"I'm Mrs. Bottoms," the redhead said, motioning for Cat to take a seat at a small table. "So you're the little lady," she said, eyeing Cat from head to toe. "Some wine?"

"No, thank you," Cat said. "Is he here? I am most anxious to see him."

"No, he's not here, miss," the woman said, as if hedging. "Say, he said you were always a right one, and you look like you're doing nicely for yourself. Are you?"

"Where is he? Is he ill? In prison?" Cat's voice remained even, but her hands clenched together in her lap.

"No," Mrs. Bottoms said. With a frown, she heaved a sigh of resignation. "Well, I suppose you might as well know sooner as later. The man passed on less than a fortnight ago," she announced matter-of-factly.

When Cat gasped in shock, Mrs. Bottom's shook her head. "There was nothing anyone could do for him. It was the consumption, plain and simple." Mrs. Bottoms's steady gaze showed that she had seen too much life and death.

Although Mrs. Bottoms appeared to be little affected, Cat was so stunned that she could only stare blindly at the water marks on the wall, unable to move or speak. The redhead waited expectantly, then clucked her tongue and rose from her chair, returning to push a none-too-clean glass toward her guest.

"Here, drink up, miss," she said, giving Cat a nudge. Obediently, Cat closed her fingers around the glass and brought it to her lips. The wine, sweet and potent, made her blink.

"There now, that'll get you going, won't it?" Mrs. Bottoms asked.

When Cat did not reply, Mrs. Bottoms rose to her feet. "You all right? I don't want any trouble, miss. Come on outside with you. Let's get you some air," she said, helping Cat to the door, as though eager to be rid of her.

On the threshold, Cat finally remember herself. Groping in her reticule, she pressed some money into the woman's hand.

"Why, thank you, miss! I knew you was a decent sort. If I can do anything for you, why you just stop round any time." Tucking the money into her ample bosom, she shut the door, leaving Cat standing alone on the steps.

Cat made her way back to the inn in a daze, ignoring Emily's looks of concern, and went directly to her room. There she remained well into the evening hours, an untouched tray of food beside her, as she alternately watched the activity on the street below and brooded on Budd's death.

Somehow, Cat thought that she should have been able to prevent his passing. And if not, at least he should have been taken care of in his illness. She should have seen to it.

Cat spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning on the narrow bed, while going over what she could have done differently. If only she had taken him with her when she left England, she thought miserably, although she knew that Budd never would have approved of her scheme to join a sailing crew.

Morning found her puffy-eyed, and although she finally roused herself after luncheon, she was still pale and listless. She stood by the window, staring unseeing at the road below while her trunk was taken from the room and Emily bustled about, her chatter unheard.

"Your grace, all is ready," the maid said.

"You go ahead, Emily. I'll be along in a moment," Cat said. With one final look at the inn she never expected to visit again, she managed to corner Jenny and give her a little extra something, as well as even more for Jim, who had inadvertently provided her means to escape when she was last here.

"Miss Amberly - um, beg pardon - your grace," Jenny said, flushing. "We just wanted to congratulate you on your marriage, and may I say that we were all fair swooning when your husband came through."

"Ransom - er, the duke was here?" Cat asked. Why would business bring him to this area - unless that business was with Edward?

"Oh, yes," Jenny said, with a nod. "Just a few days ago, and he was so handsome and not a bit high in the instep like some of his sort, if you know what I mean." She flushed again.

"Did he stay long?" Cat asked.

"No, your grace," Jenny said. "He was off to the manor."

Cat's heart lurched at the words Jenny spoke so casually. Had Ransom seen Edward and left again, or was he still at Wellshire? Although Cat no longer thought her cousin as fearsome as she had when she was at his mercy, he was not above some trickery - like shooting a man in the back.

Thanking Jenny, she hurried to the coach, directing the coachman not to Worcester, but to Wellshire. Across from her, Emily looked concerned, but Cat could waste no energy on the maid. She was too busy praying fervently that her husband still lived.

Chapter Twenty-one

Ransom was on someone else's mind, too. Still smarting over the cavalier treatment he'd received at the
Blue Ruin,
Edward had slunk home to Wellshire to lick his wounds and try to bleed the estate for more money.

The life of power and ease Edward had envisioned acquiring with the title had turned out rather differently than he expected. He had gained no influence, and it seemed that, of late, he garnered little respect.

The money he had wanted - needed - so desperately brought him no peace, for the pleasures it bought dulled over time. And now he owed Devlin something for nothing.

Edward blamed the girl. Why all the sudden interest in her, anyway?