The Masked Heart (Sweet Deception Regency #2) (21 page)

From such a sorry start, the evening had progressed to one of sheer magic. She had teased him for trying to seduce her, putting him at ease with a mischievous touch of humor. They had talked through supper with the ease of old friends and Drew had been amazed that he could enjoy the company of a woman for her own sake. He had found pleasure in her quick mind and caustic wit. He had delighted in challenging her and discovered she was not only well-read but also highly intelligent.

Her abrupt announcement of her departure had thrown him off stride for he was so enjoying the evening that he had little desire for it to end. The moment he touched her, he realized the strength of his feelings. The sweet freshness of her scent rose like an aphrodisiac to fill his senses. The sensuous feel of the satin beneath his hands ignited a fire in the very core of him. He wanted to plunge his fingers into her shining tresses and taste the delights of her soft mouth, raised in a moue of surprise. He could no more have kept from kissing her than he could have kept from drawing breath.

Thinking of it now, he shifted in his chair as his body responded to the remembrance of her. He opened his eyes, concentrating on the excruciating voice of the young artist. The man's voice quavered in an orgy of lamentation, his enormous eyes sheened with tears of emotion. Drew groaned in disgust. Thankfully his mind had gained control of his wayward body and he could return to his thoughts.

The evening with Maggie Mason had turned out totally different from what he had imagined. He had planned seduction but gained instead a charming dinner with an intelligent young lady. Where he expected brittle sophistication, he found a fresh naiveté. By God, La Solitaire had kissed him like an untried virgin. It had not been an act. Drew had kissed enough women in his time that he was well able to recognize an imposture of purity.

At the sound of applause, Drew sat up straight with the faint hope that the recital might be at an end. As the beaming Felicia fluttered her way to the front of the room, he knew he was doomed to further torture. His eyes roamed the room, encountering Robbie, who rolled his eyes in sympathy.

Drew shifted his attention to the girl at his brother's side. Seeing the tiredness around Fleur's eyes, he wondered if she might not be beginning to have her fill of the joys of society. He had noticed her last night in the company of Talbott Stoddard and the way she had shied away from his effusive attentions. In Wiltshire, when the rake had flirted with her, the chit had been all smiles and airs, but now she did not seem as pleased as she ought in the presence of the blond gentleman. Drew had seen an occasional flash of bewilderment in her eyes, and hoped that she had begun to come out of the haze of euphoria brought on by the excitement of her presentation to society. There might be hope for Robbie yet.

Beyond the lovebirds, Drew spotted Lady Yates. Her white face with the outrageous rouge spots seemed thinner than he recalled. He hoped she wasn't tiring herself out with jauntering around London with her niece. As if she sensed his glance, she looked up and smiled grimly. She plied her fan briskly as if to encourage Felicia Amberley to speed up the proceedings.

Felicia introduced another young man, Louis Destarte, who was definitely not in the same mold as the woman's other protégés. Beneath an unruly tumble of dark curls, he had smoldering black eyes and wore a sullen, moody expression. His clothes were ill fitting, almost shabby. He had the look of a laborer and the muscles beneath his jacket threatened to burst the already strained seams. Monsieur Destarte glowered at his patroness, brushing her away with a look of supreme disinterest as he approached the piano.

Drew could not resist a look at Lady Yates and was pleased to note that she was already glancing his way to catch his reaction. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she shrugged as if to say she was withholding her opinion. He returned his attention to the stage and, surrounded by the expectant rustling of the audience, waited for the man to begin.

At the first notes, Drew realized his coming to the Amberley's was well worth the aggravation. For all Monsieur Destarte's musculature, there was a surprising lightness to his touch. Drew had not heard Mozart played so well. When the Frenchman moved to a heavier piece, he brought a passion to the melody that filled the room. Drew leaned back to let the music flow over him, washing his mind free of the troubling thoughts that had been plaguing him. Serenity seeped into his body as he listened and he was able to picture La Solitaire with a clarity that pleased him. Her golden-hazel eyes gleamed with enthusiasm for the music.

Drew jerked upright, staring across the room. His attention was fixed on Lady Yates and he realized with a start that, behind her lorgnette, the old woman had eyes identical to Maggie Mason's. At first he was afraid that he was losing his mind, so obsessed had he become with the actress. He focused on Lady Yates and studied her through half-shuttered lids. Now that he looked more closely at the woman he could see other similarities between the old woman and the actress.

Drew pressed his temples with the tips of his fingers as his thoughts whirled in confusion. He supposed the similarity he was seeing, between the old woman and the actress, could be a family resemblance. Suddenly he thought he had stumbled on the truth and nearly fell off his chair. By God! Was it possible that La Solitaire was Lady Yates' niece, the mysterious Blaine Meriweather?

Only waiting for the applause to start as the music ended, Drew rose to his feet. He had to get away. The air in the ballroom was suddenly stifling and he needed someplace quiet to think. He was barely civil to Lady Amberley as he pushed his way out of the room and down the stairs.

Walking was Drew's answer when he needed to work out a problem. The brisk physical movement and the rhythm of his pace had an hypnotic effect that freed his mind. He gave quick instructions to his tiger to return his curricle and then set off on foot for Hyde Park. The tree-enclosed pathways would have a soothing effect on his feverish brain.

He searched his mind for every detail concerning Blaine Meriweather and La Solitaire. He replayed his interview with Wesley Upton and the snippets of information he had gleaned in his talks with Val. Slowly the pieces came together and the jigsaw puzzle began to take shape. Although he still found it impossible to believe, he truly believed that Blaine Meriweather was Maggie Mason.

It would explain so much that had confused him. He could see where the money for Fleur's dowry had come from. In the last four years, La Solitaire had been a star, able to command a salary well above that earned by a governess or companion. It would also explain why she was never seen in Wiltshire and why the Meriweathers were reluctant to talk about her, for fear of giving something away.

He had heard that Fleur and Blaine were only half-sisters, but he had assumed Blaine was an older version of the little blond. Val more closely resembled Fleur and it was not apparent that Blaine took after her father's side of the family. Lady Yates was the sister of Blaine's father which would explain the similarity of eyes and facial structure. If it hadn't been for the lucky chance that he had spotted the family resemblance between Lady Yates and La Solitaire, he might never have discovered her identity.

"Devil take it, what a coil!" Drew said aloud.

His words startled two little, old ladies who had been sitting on one of the benches that lined the path. When the glassy-eyed man threw himself down on the bench opposite, they quickly gathered their things and scurried away but the young man did not even notice their desertion.

"Poor Fleur," Drew said, brushing his hand over his hair. If word of this ever leaked out, the girl's reputation would suffer. The scandal would be the
on dits
of the century. Drew could just hear the old tabbies and how they would delight in the shame of a woman of good family who had so debased herself as to trod the boards. Would Robbie still want to marry a girl whose family tree had an actress swinging from the branches?

Awareness of the injustice of it all, filled Drew with fury. From what he had gathered from Val and Wesley Upton, the death of Blaine's parents had left the family nearly destitute. How devastating it must have been to know that the money was there but untouchable. Blaine would have been twenty at the time and he could not even imagine the desperation she must have felt. He had nothing but admiration for the girl to have chosen to sacrifice her own life for the sake of Val and Fleur.

Did Fleur and Val know about Blaine? He doubted it. They had been too young at the time of their parents' death to be trusted with such a secret. It was doubtful, even now, if the countrified girl would be able to view the career of an actress as a fit livelihood for her sister.

La Solitaire. Maggie Mason. Blaine Margaret Meriweather. So many names, Drew thought. Blaine suited the woman he knew, more surely than the other names. Blaine. He rolled the name over and over in his mind, then said it aloud to savor the taste of it on his tongue. How did he feel about her? A fatuous smile creased the lines of his face as he thought of the beautiful actress.

He loved her.

The thought came to him simply, with little fanfare. He did not know why it did not surprise him that he had fallen in love with Blaine. He freely admitted that he had planned to make her his mistress when he first saw her on stage. No other relationship had occurred to him. Men of his class did not marry actresses. It was only when she came to the inn that he discovered that he could never offer her such a relationship. He wanted more of her than just her body. He wanted to be with her and share thoughts and laughter. He wanted her to bear his children and live beside him until they were old and crotchety.

Drew looked around him and the world seemed a better place. The colors of the flowers were more vibrant. The trees were more imposing. The air was fresh and carried the scent of herbs and other growing things. He chuckled at the lyrical quality of his thoughts, amazed that love, an emotion he believed he would never find, not only existed but also had taken over his life completely.

In his eyes, Blaine's life on the stage did not make her any less a person. He respected her for taking the risk that would ostracize her from the society into which she was born. He suspected she had been very lonely in the last six years because he knew without question that she had lived a solitary existence indeed. Her innocence was far more amazing since it was not from lack of temptation. As an actress, she must have been inundated with offers but she had not taken the easy route to financial security. She had shown herself to be highly principled and there was nothing in her life that she need ever be ashamed of.

Would she marry him? Drew wished he knew the answer to that question. He knew she had felt attraction for him and when he kissed her, she had not pulled away in disgust. Their minds were attuned and they could converse easily, almost as if they had known each other for years. He was not unaware of his attributes in the marriage mart but Drew knew that the woman he loved would judge him on much higher standards.

Perhaps Lady Yates would help him. Drew wondered if the old woman knew what her niece had been doing for the last six years. Even knowing Lady Yates so little, he suspected she did know and approved. She had mentioned that she knew Sarah Siddons and Blaine had come to the notice of the public while working in the same company as Mrs. Siddons.

The thought of Lady Yates cheered him immeasurably. The feisty lady liked him and enjoyed his company. Surely she would approve of his pursuit of her niece and do what she could to push forward the match. Although Lady Yates did not normally attend evening functions, he knew that she would be at the Earl of Larchmont's affair since she had expressed interest in seeing his much-talked-about ballroom. He would talk to her there and enlist her help.

It came to him suddenly that there was a great deal to be done if he intended to marry Blaine. For one thing he needed to remove her from London before her identity could be discovered. For himself, he was proud of her talents, but he knew there were others who would take great delight in giving Blaine the cut direct, if it was known she was the celebrated La Solitaire. He would not permit such hypocrites to hurt Blaine. She had suffered enough already.

Even with the help of Lady Yates, he was not assured of Blaine's agreement to his suit. He would love to woo her with the patterned rituals of courtship but he had a feeling of urgency that he could not gainsay. She had been lucky so far in avoiding detection but it was a risky business. He must move quickly in order to safeguard her, for he had a feeling in his bones that she was in danger.

Chapter Twelve

"It certainly is a monument to poor taste," Blaine said, in a whispered aside to Fleur as she stared around the ballroom in amazement. "If you ask me, it looks like a cross between a Greek temple and a Moorish seraglio."

Fleur gasped at the comment, then dissolved into a fit of the giggles at the expression on Robbie's face. He was so stunned as his eyes took in the profusion of naked cherubs on the ceiling, that he almost walked into a pillar.

"Larchmont must be corkbrained to have decorated it thus," Robbie said.

"More likely his new wife." Blaine nodded in the direction of the young girl who clung to the arm of the ancient earl. "He was quite miffed when Lord Northcote complimented him on the beauty of his daughter."

"Aunt Haydie!" Fleur squealed.

"Stop saying that, girl, or I shall fall into a decline. I have little enough fun tramping after you while you dazzle an army of cow-eyed dandies," Blaine muttered, eying her sister with disfavor. "My feet hurt and this wretched dress is much too hot for this unusually warm weather."

"I noticed your dress, Lady Yates," Robbie said, jumping into the conversation at the woebegone look on Fleur's face. "Is it new? I swear I haven't seen it before and you look a treat."

"You're a sweet boy but a terrible liar." Blaine grinned, back in charity after his gallant rescue. "It is called Dowager Purple and is the newest rage of the white-haired set. I thought it might make a change from my usual blacks and browns. However if my suspicion is correct, my profile most resembles a ship of the line, decked out in mourning sails."