More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 3

The devil camein many forms. Tonight, he’d taken command of Mr Hunter’s handsome countenance to steal Rachel’s heart and destroy her spirit. The man had used witchcraft to worm his way under her skin. He must have added a potion to her wine, a tincture that affected her senses, that made her admire a man she hardly knew, made her believe this could be the start of a lasting friendship.

Mr Hunter had discerned her character from one silly test.

He had accused her of being stubborn and illogical. Both were true. He’d called her a shrew. Yes, her temper got the better of her, but only when provoked. If he had bothered to question why she’d learnt to fight, he would know of her struggle to survive while living in Lady Hanaway’s home.

Rachel’s throat tightened at the memory of those horrid boys. Those horrid boys had grown into cruel men. Cruel men who’d sought to punish her for being their mother’s favourite.

She stole a glance at the people crammed into the supper boxes. It was only a matter of time before the Hanaway brothers found her and sought to test her sanity. It was partly why she’d joined the Order. Her colleagues would stand shoulder to shoulder with her should the brothers declare war.

“Daventry will want to know what happened.” Mr D’Angelo’s frustrated voice drew her from her reverie. “He anticipated some difficulties. Hunter is used to working alone.”

Oddly, Rachel wasn’t angry at Mr Hunter. It was hard to live in armour. The weight of the protective shell took its toll. And someone had hurt him in the past. Why else would a man confess to being heartless?

“Mr Hunter wished to test my courage. He asked me to navigate the Dark Walk alone. I’d barely covered a hundred yards when I encountered a problem.”

Mrs D’Angelo frowned. “Would he have asked a man to do such a ridiculous thing? No! Dante wouldn’t wander along the avenue at night, and he’s a skilled pugilist.”

“You would have passed the test had you refused.” Mr D’Angelo spoke with the wisdom of an oracle. “You should have told him only a fool risks their life without a justifiable reason.”

Rachel sighed. Mr D’Angelo was right. “To make matters worse, two rogues blocked my path. One grabbed me, and Mr Hunter charged to the rescue.”

An independent woman might be annoyed at his interference. But the sheer power in his movements, the ruthless aggression in the set of his jaw, had left her breathless.

Mr D’Angelo shook his head. “A good agent knows when to retreat. A good agent rises above the need to make a point.”

“Mr Hunter must have thought me a liability because he swept me into his arms and carried me the length of the Hermits Walk.”

No man had ever held her so close. No man had ever teased every nerve to life with the warmth of his body and the potent scent of his skin. She’d struggled to identify the notes of his cologne. Bergamot or mandarin gave a fresh aroma that mirrored the man’s confidence. Sandalwood or cedarwood echoed the dark sensuality he kept hidden behind his mask.

“He only released me because I tried to steal his ruby stick pin.” Touching him had proved another unique experience. His jaw was as rigid as his resolve, his shoulders as hard as his heart.

Mrs D’Angelo glanced at her husband. “It’s a shame Rachel didn’t steal the pin. Had she succeeded, Mr Hunter may have overlooked the error in the Dark Walk.”

“He knew I had no chance of stealing it.” Had Mr Hunter been pressured to meet her? He’d come expecting her to fail. “He wanted an excuse to reject me.”

The thought roused her ire.

She did not suffer rejection lightly, would not be so easily dismissed.

An idea popped into her head. A ridiculous idea that would probably end in embarrassment, her arrest, or the loss of her position with the Order. Sheer determination and strength of will helped her survive the shipwreck. She needed to call on those reserves again.

She looked at Mr D’Angelo. “Do you happen to know the time, sir?”

The gentleman inspected his pocket watch. “Half-past nine.”

A flutter of excitement had Rachel grinning. “And would you happen to know Mr Hunter’s direction? Is he likely to return home, do you suppose?” Or was he out hunting for the next victim to slay?

Mr Hunter was a bachelor and didn’t seem the sort to visit a brothel or keep a mistress. Rachel imagined him lounging beside a roaring fire, drinking brandy and reading Voltaire.

“He owns a house on the Uxbridge Road, past the Oxford Street turnpike.”

“Is he a gambler or a member of a gentlemen’s club?”

Mr D’Angelo laughed. “No, Miss Gambit. Hunter prefers his own company. He believes gambling is a weak man’s pursuit. He’s an investor and managed to turn a reasonable inheritance into a property empire.”

Admiration filled her chest. Perhaps because she sensed Mr Hunter had spent his life fighting for his position.

“Mr Hunter gave me until the end of the evening to steal his ruby stick pin. That means I have a little over two hours to sneak into his house and locate the object.”

“Sneak into his house? I must advise against such a bold course of action,” Mr D’Angelo cautioned. “Hunter will make no allowances for the fact you’re a woman.”

What’s the worst he could do? Call a constable? Ravish her to teach her a lesson? Based on his brooding temperament, she doubted he could raise the enthusiasm.

Mrs D’Angelo ignored her husband’s warning and clapped her hands with glee. “If you can enter Mr Hunter’s house without his knowledge, he’s sure to hire you.”

“Hunter is as ruthless as he’s cunning.” Mr D’Angelo clearly doubted her chances of success. “Ultimately, the decision is yours, but be warned. He takes no prisoners.”

Rachel felt compelled to act. Yes, Mr Hunter would likely whisk her into his strong arms and deposit her on the doorstep. But it would be worth the risk just to see the look on his face when she stole the stick pin.

“Then let us leave Vauxhall. We’ll discuss a plan of action en route.”

Mrs D’Angelo smiled. “You’ve the courage of an Amazonian, Rachel.”

“I’ll need more than courage. I’ll need my wits if I’m to snare a hunter.”

* * *

One could tell a lot about a man from his home.

Mr Hunter’s mansion house embodied everything Rachel had learnt about the gentleman. It was set back from the road, quite a distance from the other houses in the vicinity. A dark, lonely place that proved wholly unwelcoming. The tall sash windows and dutch gables were pleasing to the eye. Though what lay beyond seemed empty, lifeless. The solid brick wall and mounted iron railings said the house was as guarded as Mr Hunter’s heart.

“You’ll not climb those railings in long skirts.” Mr D’Angelo peered through the carriage window. They had parked twenty yards from the entrance and could only observe the house from the light of the carriage lamp. “The boundary wall stands eight feet high.”

“There’ll be a rear entrance through a door in the wall.” Rachel delved into the leather satchel beside her, one she was rarely without, and removed the ring of skeleton keys. “I can pick the lock.”

It was an invaluable skill when one found themselves trapped in cupboards and cellars. While living with Lady Hanaway, she’d taken to strapping numerous keys to her thigh and hiding them in all enclosed spaces.

Mr D’Angelo turned to her. “You must ask yourself if it’s worth the effort, Miss Gambit. Hunter is not a man one crosses. Why not accept you failed the tests and wait for Daventry to assign you another case?”

She had not failed. Not yet.

She had until the stroke of midnight to complete the task.

Conceding wasn’t an option. Mr Daventry was so protective of his female agents, it would be weeks before he found her another assignment. Besides, curiosity had her itching to take a glimpse inside Mr Hunter’s domain. And she needed to understand why she felt an inner tug at the mere mention of his name.

“I shall scout the perimeter.” Rachel opened the carriage door and jumped to the ground before Mr D’Angelo could protest. “Wait here. If I’ve not returned in ten minutes, it means I’ve found a way into the property.”

“Good luck,” Mrs D’Angelo whispered.

Nerves fluttered to Rachel’s throat as she crossed the deserted thoroughfare. Darkness swamped everything, obscuring her vision like a widow’s veil. But fortune favoured the bold, and so she clung to the eight-foot wall and navigated the blackness until she came to a door in the boundary wall.

She froze upon finding the door unlocked.

Was Mr Hunter lurking in the shadows, eyeing his prey?

Had he anticipated her next move?

Perhaps people were so terrified of the hunter, they wouldn’t dare cross his threshold. Perhaps the man knew how to entice a daring lady into a trap.

The desire to prove herself worthy saw her enter the garden and creep past the path leading to the stable yard. Suspicion gripped her firmly when she left the herb garden and found the door to the house unlocked, too. Still, she entered Lucifer’s lair, knowing she would likely get burnt.

Rachel tiptoed along the corridor.

Voices echoed from a room to her left, a servants’ dining area next to the kitchen. She kept her breathing even, waited until the footman finished his bawdy tale and burst into fits of laughter. Then she slipped quietly past and made her way to the entrance hall.

Candlelight spilled from beneath the door of one room. Either Mr Hunter was taking a nip of port to chase away the chill, or the household staff were anticipating the master’s arrival. A skilled agent would have checked for a carriage in the stable yard, would have known for sure.

The sudden tinkle of the servants’ bell forced her to slip inside a dark room across the hall—Mr Hunter’s study. Despite the lack of light, she noted the black brocade chairs, the imposing desk as solid as the man’s thighs. The room carried his potent scent. A deeply sensual smell that roused a range of forbidden emotions.

She placed her ring of keys gently on the floor, kept the door slightly ajar and peered into the dim hall.

With the usual aplomb, the butler entered the room opposite. That’s when Rachel heard the throaty voice that turned her insides molten. The voice that sent her heart leaping to her throat.

“I’ll need a tray in my chamber at six. I plan to leave for St Albans at seven. As usual, I’ll be away for two days.”

What was in St Albans? Family? A lover?

“Very good, sir. Do you require anything else this evening?”

“No, Jacobs, you can extinguish the lamps.” Mr Hunter paused. “Be alert. Tell Mrs Dowling to refuse any parcels or packages. No one is to enter the house. And leave all correspondence in the box outside for me to inspect upon my return.”

“Of course, sir.”

Mr Hunter spoke as if expecting an imminent attack from a penny boy. Why tell the staff to be alert then leave the doors open to intruders? The man was cautious, meticulous in his methods. Which was why she knew he’d left them open purposely, anticipating her arrival.

Mr Hunter appeared at the drawing room door in his shirtsleeves and the embroidered red waistcoat bearing the damned pin. He carried a glass of port, went to take a sip before mounting the stairs, but froze with the vessel a mere inch from his lips.

Had he sensed her presence?

Could he smell her perfume?

Panicked, Rachel clasped her hand to her mouth and tried to calm her breathing. Perhaps Mr D’Angelo had the measure of the situation. Was it not better to leave Mr Hunter to his brooding and wait for another case?

As luck would have it, Mr Hunter swallowed a mouthful of port and continued his ascent. From the creak of the boards beneath his feet, he’d turned right on the landing. She tried to count his booted steps, was certain he’d walked to the end of the corridor.

The butler extinguished the lamps in the drawing room. He closed the door gently behind him and then glided gracefully through the hall to the servants’ quarters.

Rachel waited until the long case clock struck eleven before creeping upstairs. It wasn’t hard to find Mr Hunter’s bedchamber. She followed the fragrance that posed such an intriguing contradiction.

Pressing her palm to the door, she could almost feel the man’s energy thrumming against her fingers. All was quiet, yet every instinct said he was looming, waiting to pounce. She gripped the iron doorknob and turned it slowly, took a deep breath and entered the room.

Mr Hunter’s sanctum was as dark as the depths of Lady Hanaway’s cellar. Still, one could not mistake the huge tester bed with solid black spears for posts and gothic arches for panels. The thick black hangings were closed. If she tore them open, would she find Mr Hunter’s naked form sprawled across the counterpane?

Through narrowed eyes, Rachel scanned the room. She saw the red waistcoat draped over a chair, next to his white shirt and cravat. An enquiry agent should remain focused, emotionally detached, yet she couldn’t resist the urge to snatch the shirt and inhale Mr Hunter’s scent.

Divine! So divine it should be criminal.

Perhaps stealing the pin was a mistake. Mr Hunter’s allure was as powerful as gravity’s pull. Only a fool would have romantic notions for a man who admitted he was as cold as a year-old corpse.

“You’ve had a wasted journey, Miss Gambit.” Mr Hunter’s husky notes filtered through the darkness. “You’re too late. The ruby pin is locked in the safe, and I’m the only one with the key.”

Rachel’s heart skipped a beat. “You’ve been expecting me, Mr Hunter.” She scoured the blackness, searching for the man who slept in Satan’s bed.

“I noticed D’Angelo’s carriage parked outside. I had Jacobs open the doors to save you scrambling over the wall and smashing a windowpane.”

Where on earth was he hiding?

His voice seemed to be everywhere at once.

“A hunter has keen eyes and sharp perception. I underestimated you.” She quickly knelt down and lifted the counterpane. Nothing. “I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

“What makes you think you’ll get a second chance? What makes you think I’ll let you leave this room?”

The thought of spending endless nights bantering with Mr Hunter had distinct appeal. She had only ever known weak men, spiteful men, men who made the contents of her stomach curdle. She had never met a man whose voice warmed every cold extremity. He was a closed book she longed to read. A puzzle she had to solve.

“You cannot keep me prisoner.”

“This is my house. I can do what I please.”

“Mr D’Angelo will come if I fail to return.”

A mocking snort echoed from somewhere near the bed. “I’m not afraid of Dante D’Angelo. I’m not afraid of any man.”

“Then be afraid of a woman, for I’ll have no choice but to draw my Skean Dhu.” She crept closer to the bed and parted the hangings only to find the space empty. “You favour black in all things.” Even his bedsheets were as dark as the devil’s heart.

“Black suits my mood.”

“Do you live in a permanent state of melancholy?”

Silence.

“Are you mourning the loss of someone you loved?”

Silence.

His failure to offer a retort said she’d hit a nerve. It had to be the reason for his serious disposition. Had his mother died tragically? Was he orphaned young? Had he lost the love of his life? Was that why he hid behind a mask?

She glanced at the red waistcoat draped over the chair. Mr Hunter always wore black. Did he not have an onyx stick pin? But then she recalled that red was supposed to make them both more visible at night.

“I should have refused to venture down the Dark Walk. You tricked me into believing I had to follow your commands. It was a novice mistake.”

“It takes a strong woman to admit her failures.”

Ah, she noticed a pattern. When she challenged him, he fought back. When she showed any sign of weakness, he came to her aid. Mr Hunter was a gentleman beneath his arrogant facade. How interesting.

“It takes an honest woman to admit she’s wrong,” Rachel agreed. “You let me believe you spoke in earnest. Next time, I’ll not trust everything you say.”

Indeed, had he lied about removing the stick pin from the waistcoat? Was this another test to see if she’d learnt anything from the exercise earlier?

Rachel crossed the room and snatched the waistcoat from the chair.

Mr Hunter made a swift appearance, somersaulting through the air from the solid canopy of Lucifer’s bed. He landed on his feet with such ease and grace, Rachel couldn’t help but gawp. Gawp at his skill and mastery. At the fact the man was naked but for a pair of loose black trousers. Gawp at his muscular torso, at the jagged scar following the teasing trail of dark hair down below the waistband.

“Give me the waistcoat, Miss Gambit.” He prowled towards her like a wildcat on the hunt. “You failed the tasks. Admit defeat.”

“By my calculation, I have forty minutes until this game is at an end.” Rachel hid the garment behind her back while running her fingers over the material, searching for the tiny gem. “You said I had until the end of the evening to complete the task.”

A sinful smirk played on his lips. “As a man who always keeps his word, I’ll let you have your forty minutes.” He closed the gap between them and gripped the ribbons securing her cloak. “Let’s see how you fare when your mind is distracted. When you have to choose between keeping your clothes or relinquishing the waistcoat.”

A delicious shiver of anticipation rippled through her body. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He tugged the ribbons slowly. “I need a woman who is focused, who can maintain her disguise when the odds are stacked against her.”

“I’m the woman you need.” Rachel continued fiddling with the waistcoat while Mr Hunter parted her cloak and set his ravenous gaze to her breasts. Mother Mary! “I witnessed the flicker of recognition in your eyes when we met at Vauxhall. Admit it. You want to work with me.”

He ignored her provoking comments. “I asked you to wear a red gown but made no mention of hiding it beneath a red cloak. As such, I’m eager to assess the quality of your purchase.”

He pushed the cloak off her shoulders. The heavy garment slipped down her back, forcing her to drop the waistcoat.

In a panic, Rachel swung around and scrambled through the pool of red material. Mr Hunter did not make a mad dash to retrieve his waistcoat. No, for some reason, he wanted to play this game.

Then she saw the ruby shining in the darkness. Victory was but an arm’s length away. She gripped the jewel and yanked hard.

Feeling a sudden rush of euphoria, she turned to face the man who would have to hire her now.

But Mr Hunter stared at her beneath hooded lids. He moved in sleek steps, forcing her to shuffle backwards until her heels hit the bedchamber door.

Rachel held up the ruby pin as if it were a cross to ward off sinners.

“I have your pin, sir.” She tried to ignore the earthy scent of his skin, the hard muscles in his abdomen, the small stiff nipples her fingers itched to touch.

“I let you take it.” His blue eyes turned predatory as he scanned the neckline of her gown. In a move that proved shocking, he stroked a finger seductively over her collarbone, leaving a blazing trail in its wake. “I could steal it back before you take your next breath. I could distract you to such a degree, you’d forget all about the tests.”

“You would assault a lady in a rakish fashion just to prove a point?”

“In entering a man’s bedchamber, you sacrificed yourself to get ahead.”

Rachel raised her chin in a gesture of defiance. “You left me no choice. Had your test been fair, had you waited for me to beat the rogues and return to you unharmed, I wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“You failed the test in the Dark Walk.”

“It was a stupid test. Give me another.”

“I’d rather give someone a first chance than you a second.” So why was he staring at her as if she were a rare museum find?

“We both know that’s a lie. You need a woman who can think on her feet. You’ll find no one more qualified than me.”

“Perhaps not.” He stepped back, his assessing gaze taking in every inch of her form while he rubbed his firm jaw and contemplated the dilemma. “If you worked for anyone else but Lucius Daventry, I’d show you the door.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me another test?”

“I’m giving the matter my close consideration.”

That meant yes. “What do you want me to do?”

He moistened his lips. “Persuade me to hire you.”