Masquerade

  His words trailed to silence. James turned from Phaedra to stare out the window, his story done. Her heart weighted with the sharing of his grief, the horror he had survived, it was some moments before Phaedra could speak herself.

  "But now, after seven years, you have come back," she said.

  He bowed his head in ironic acknowledgment.

  "Why?" she breathed, knowing the answer to her question, hoping to hear she was wrong.

  "I would have thought that would be patently obvious, my dear." He swiveled to face her, his eyes narrowed to shards of ice. "I've come back to learn the truth of sister's death and to crush those responsible for destroying my family."

  "Carleton Grantham is dead. So is Ewan."

  "Aye," James said, his soft voice chilling her. "But Sawyer Weylin is very much alive."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Phaedra bolted up from her chair. "Not Sawyer Weylin," she cried. "It is my grandfather that you threaten."

  "You have no need to remind me of that," James said tersely.

  "It is a fact that I have cursed more than once."

  She stretched out her hands to him in a gesture of appeal. "I understand your hating Ewan, wanting revenge against him, but-"

  "Ewan's dead." The savage regret in James's voice caused her to recoil from him.

  “So you have transferred your fury to my grandfather and perhaps to me as well.”

  “No! Never would I hurt you. You must believe that. You are more a victim of Weylin’s scheming than anyone. Did he not sell you to the devil in marriage?”

  “But what has my grandfather ever done to you?”

  “He was part of the plot that destroyed my family. Can you not see that? He must have witnessed the fight between me and Carleton that night,” James said. “Yet he made it appear as though he stopped me in the act of murder. Weylin never attended my trial, but he allowed Ewan to come forth and tell his lies. He very likely was the one who persuaded Ewan to testify.”

  "But-but," she faltered. "My grandfather would have had no reason to-"

  "Wouldn't he?" James's voice grated harsh against her ears. "If he knew all about Lord Carleton's plans to abduct my sister, it would have been in Sawyer Weylin's interest to silence any questions regarding her disappearance. And to do that, Weylin had to silence me."

  Phaedra opened her lips, wanting to deny it, but no sound came. She knew her grandfather to be ruthless, but he held to his own code of gruff honesty. And yet balanced against that was his obsession with raising his family into the ranks of the aristocracy, securing a title for his heirs. Would the wily old man have gone so far as to see a young girl destroyed, an innocent man hanged, if he could thus further that goal? The mere suspicion of such a thing made Phaedra sick with despair.

  Yet the concern that clutched at her heart was not so much for her grandfather as it was for James. When she saw the hatred burning in his eyes, she hardly recognized the man she loved.

  She touched the rigid curve of his cheek, "And this is how you've spent the last seven years of your life, plotting to be avenged upon a weak fool like Ewan and a gout-ridden old man?"

  "No." A bitter smile touched James's lips."I spent the last seven years trapping fur and getting rich, trying to bury the past as my brother did. But I am not cut from the same cloth as Jason. I could not forget, though God knows I tried." He resumed his restless pacing as though the emotions churning inside him would not let him remain still. "The hatred I felt kept festering within me until finally Armande said-"

  "Armande?" she echoed, startled.

  "My trapping partner, the most noble Marquis de Varnais. A bandy-legged little Frenchman who wouldn't be caught dead in these satins and silks." James gave the lace at his wrist a contemptuous flick. "He despises his title as much as your grandfather covets it."

  "So you stole his identity."

  "Not stole. He loaned it. A most practical man, the marquis. He said I should return in disguise, learn the truth of my sister's death, kill my enemies, and be done with it, then get on with my life." The matter of fact way James said this chilled Phaedra's heart. He continued, "I suppose I was fortunate Ewan was already dead. The rest of the world appears to have forgotten James Lethington, but he would have recognized me. That only left your grandfather. With him, I took a great risk by appearing as the marquis. But Weylin had only ever set eyes upon me once, on the night of the murder, and I suppose he did not expect to see a dead man rise up to haunt him.

  "It was an easy matter to arrange chance meetings at his coffeehouse, flatter him with the attentions of that great nobleman, the Marquis de Varnais, and thus insinuate myself into his confidence."

  "And what have you learned?" Phaedra asked. "Have you any definite proof connecting my grandfather to your sister's death?"

  "No," James admitted, "but I have seen the ruthless manner in which your grandfather deals with other unfortunates. Remember the Wilkins family? I know now that he would have been capable of helping Carleton to dispose of my sister."

  "Oh, James," Phaedra cried. "On the basis of only suspicion, you would kill my grandfather?"

  She thought that if she had been possessed of the strength, she would have seized James by the shoulders, tried to shake this madness from him. "Are you so eager then to stand trial for murder a second time?"

  "I've learned to be a little more subtle," James said. "I have been going through Weylin's business records, his dealings with parliament, seeking something, anything, that could ruin him, but leave him alive to suffer as I have done."

  "And what on earth do you expect to-" She broke off, going cold at the realization. "My God, you've already found the way, haven't you? I gave it to you the morning I told you I was Robin Goodfellow."

  "Yes! Weylin's own granddaughter the writer of revolutionary essays, loaded with information she gleaned from him. The scandal alone would have brought him down He'd have lost his place in parliament and been ostracized.” James choked with bitterness. "The very thing I'd been looking for! And I cannot use it, because of you!"

  "I am sorry to be such a hindrance to your plans," she said brittlely. "How unfortunate that I ever returned from Bath."

  James swore softly. "Damn it, Phaedra! You know I never meant that. But surely you must see what a cursed irony it is. I find the one woman capable of gifting me with love, with the desire to do more than just exist and she is also the one obstacle to my settling this score, to finally knowing peace."

  "I only see one thing-that you will never find peace this way."

  She planted herself in front of him to stop his pacing. Catching his face between her hands, she pleaded, "James, I beg of you. Let it go. Leave my grandfather alone."

  He forced her hands down. "I didn't know you harbored such great affection for the old man that you would desire so much to save him."

  "It is not him I want to save, but you. If you could but see your face when you talk of this vengeance. You grow so cold, but your eyes burn as though you were consumed with fever. It frightens me."

  Her words appeared to have no effect. He pulled away from her, his face rigid and remote as he retreated into that dark realm where she had no way to reach him. The sufferings he had endured were enough to have broken most men. It was a testimony to his strength of will that he had survived without descending into madness.

  Phaedra loved him far too well to see him hover now on that brink and make no effort to draw him back. In desperation, she followed after him, catching at his sleeve. He did not shake her off, but he seemed more distant than the night she had first met him.

  She lowered her voice, trying to infuse more softness and patience into her tone. "James, you have been grievously injured by my grandfather. I admit that, though I still cannot believe he had any responsibility for Julianna's death. Some recompense is indeed owed you. I simply wish that you could bring yourself to extract a more gentle form of retribution."

  He stared at her, the set of his mouth hard and discouraging. "What
do you mean?"

  She was not altogether sure herself, but an idea was forming in her mind. Now it took on a crystal clarity that both frightened her and caused her pulse to race with undreamed-of hopes.

  "Could not taking his granddaughter away from him be payment enough?"

  His stony expression relaxed somewhat, but a frown creased his brow. "I am still not certain what you are suggesting."

  "I am asking you to leave London and forget about ruining my grandfather. In return, I will go away with you." She made the offer with a defiance that barely masked her fear of his rejection.

  James regarded her for a moment in uncomprehending silence. Then he said slowly. "You are offering to come back with me to Canada?"

  "To Canada or wherever you choose. To hell itself if that is where you lead me."

  His gaze raked her face as though he did not credit what he was hearing. "You trust me enough to abandon everything you have ever known and to put your very life into my keeping?"

  "Aye. I love you enough, even for that." She kept her voice steady, although she quailed inwardly, certain that in another moment he would smile with scorn, laugh at her. But the light that broke over his face took her breath away. He looked like a prisoner emerging from his dark cell, glimpsing the sun for the first time in years.

  "Phaedra!" He crushed her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet.

  "Then it would be enough for you?" she breathed.

  "Enough!" A sound escaped him, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "It would be a dream. I should have to tread softly for fear of waking." He drew back to look at her, a shadow of doubt darkening the glow in his eyes. "You truly mean it? You would do this out of love for me and not some sort of sacrifice to spare that obscene old man?"

  She touched her lips to his. "I would come for no other reason than that I should perish without you."

  "You realize that the home I could offer you would be nothing like this?" James gestured, indicating the gilded magnificence of the bedchamber. "Canada is an untamed land, and there is the war in the American colonies. Although we have not been much disturbed by it yet, there is always the chance-"

  Phaedra kissed him again to silence him. "I should not mind any of that if I was with you." She gave a shaky laugh. "Indeed, I might regard it as a challenge to convince your Canadian friends they are supporting the wrong side in the war."

  James clutched her to him as though she were an armful of mist he expected to vanish at any moment. Then he kissed her with such infinite tenderness, kissed her as though he would never let her go.

  When he drew back, it seemed to Phaedra as though their hearts touched in the meeting of their eyes. He swept her off her feet, cradling her high against him, carrying her to the bed to set the seal upon the pact they had just made.

  As often as James had made love to her this summer, Phaedra had experienced nothing like the passion that coursed between them now. Before there had been a desperate edge that had sparked almost a ferocity into James's loving. This time he undressed her so slowly, with such great care, Phaedra cried out with impatience for his caress.

  Even after he stretched out naked beside her, the warm, strong contours of his muscular frame straining against her, James yet prolonged the moment of their joining. He kissed and stroked, his hands molding her curves with trembling worship as though she offered him a great gift, one that he scarcely dared to accept.

  Phaedra banded her arms about him, her lips brushing the scar upon his throat, the only visible mark of all that he had endured. She sought to draw out that pain from him as much as she did to fan the flames of his desire.

  He pressed her back into the downy softness of the pillows, burying his lips against her hair, his breath warm as he murmured, "Tell me again. Say it-that you will be mine."

  "Yours," she whispered. "Yours forever."

  A soft moan escaped her when he at last eased himself inside her. He moved slowly, bathing them both in tender fire. Phaedra became lost in the rhythm as though she already followed James upon that sea of forbidden dreams-upon wild, dark waves that, when they crested, left them both spent upon some faraway shore.

  Long after their passion had faded into warm afterglow, James continued to hold her close, molding her flesh to his. He clung to her, claiming her with a possessiveness that both filled her with joy and frightened her. He could not seem to relax the tension cording his strong fingers, as if he feared that by releasing her, she would draw away from him and change her mind.

  "You will never want for anything, never regret your choice. I swear it." His voice was a fierce whisper in the darkness.

  "Hush, love." Phaedra burrowed deeper against James's shoulder, wishing he had not spoken of regrets. But it was not hers that she feared so much as his. What if her love was not enough? What if the time came when his desire for her was overcome by the desire to be avenged?

  No, she refused to consider that possibility. Her love would be enough. She would make it so.

  It took James several days to arrange for their passage from England. By the night they were scheduled to depart, Phaedra felt as though her nerves were as brittle as glass, stretched too thin by the blower's art, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

  On the day of the elopement, she alternated between the desire to brim over with laughter and to burst into tears. As the sun slowly set, bathing her bedchamber window in hues of rose and amber, Phaedra fidgeted, scarcely able to stand still long enough for Lucy to mend the flounce of her white satin petticoat.

  "Only a moment longer, milady," her harried maid pleaded, taking several more quick stitches. "There. It is done." Lucy smoothed the petticoats down over the whalebone hoops billowing out around Phaedra. Then she helped her don a gown fashioned of green pomona silk.

  "You will look such a picture, milady," Lucy crooned. "So beautiful. I declare-just like a bride."

  Phaedra started, shooting a wary glance at Lucy. If the girl were not so blithely imperceptive, Phaedra might have feared she had guessed something of the planned elopement.

  Glancing at herself in the mirror, she supposed she could see what had occasioned Lucy's remark. She certainly looked pale enough to be a skittish maiden upon her wedding day. A hectic flush mounted high into her cheeks, the glittering green of her eyes enhanced by the matching shade of the gown.

  As Lucy dressed her hair, Phaedra tried to calm the flutters in her stomach by mentally rehearsing James's plan. They were to attend a performance of Handel's opera, Rinaldo, at Covent Garden Theatre in the company of her grandfather. Phaedra was to pretend to be overcome by the heat, feeling faint. Knowing full well that her grandfather would never bestir himself, it would be left to James to take her out of the gallery for a breath of air. From there, they would simply vanish into the night, bundling into a closed carriage James had hired and make for Portsmouth. By dawn tomorrow, they would have caught the tide, and England's shoreline would be fast receding in the mist.

  A simple plan. What could possibly go wrong? All the same, Phaedra's hands trembled as she drew on her gloves. Beset by all manner of qualms, she wondered what her grandfather would do when the performance ended and neither she nor James had returned. Would he have them pursued or simply sit back chuckling, still deluding himself she had run off with the Marquis de Varnais? If he did somehow glean the truth, Phaedra hated to think he would experience his shock in such a public place.

  Although she fought against the notion, she could not help wondering if James had deliberately planned it that way. Was he relishing the thought that perhaps he had indeed found the perfect revenge against Sawyer Weylin? The spiriting away of his only granddaughter would smash the old man's hope of realizing his most cherished dream-that of acquiring a title for his family. With Phaedra gone, he would have no family, and the broken old man would end his days alone.

  Despite all that he had done, Phaedra felt a stab of pity for her grandfather. But she despised herself for even suspecting that James had ever considere
d such things when he had accepted her offer to go away with him.

  The joy that suffused James's face of late came not from the anticipation of dealing a crushing blow to his old enemy, but from the knowledge that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

  Lucy at last finished arranging a tiny spray of silk roses upon the crown of Phaedra's upswept hair. Only one long red-gold curl was left to trail over the creamy expanse of her shoulder.

  “It is not the fashion," Lucy said, looking pleased with her handiwork all the same. "But ever so much more becoming."

  Phaedra regarded her own reflection for a moment before turning to Lucy. How loyal the girl had always been,obeying her every command without question, even lying at times to cover for her. On a sudden impulse, Phaedra enveloped her maid in a quick hug.

  "I don't know how I would have gotten on without you, Lucy," she said. "You have served me well."

  The girl looked astonished, but she blushed with pleasure. "Why, thank you, milady. I hope I continue to do so for many more years."

  "Aye." Phaedra quickly averted her face. "There is no need for you to wait up for me this evening."

  Or ever again, she added silently. The thought saddened her, despite her joy at the prospect before her. Lucy bade her good evening and slipped out. Phaedra gave herself a brisk shake.

  She would forget all of these qualms when she stood with James upon the deck of the ship, feeling his strong arms about her, his lips warming her. It was only when she was left alone for too long that she was beset by doubts.

  She tried to subdue her nervousness by taking a practical survey of her belongings. James had already spirited away one small trunk, all that she could take away with her, except whatever items she might fit into her purse.

  Phaedra lifted the lid of her jewel case, studying the contents.

  Most of the sparkling gems meant little to her. Even the diamond aigrette earrings and the emerald brooch were but part of the image she had been expected to maintain as Lady Grantham. But she hesitated over the strand of pearls her grandfather had so recently given her.