More than a Masquerade by Adele Clee

Chapter 9

The light rapon the bedchamber door woke Rachel from her drunken stupor. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room. The scent of Mr Hunter’s cologne lingered in the air, but there was no sign of the beguiling man who’d possessed her dreams.

The caller knocked again before sliding a key into the lock.

Rachel hugged the pillow and feigned sleep. Had she been sober, she would have taken the Skean Dhu from her satchel, for she always slept with a knife close to hand.

Instinct said the person entering the room wasn’t Mr Hunter. The footsteps were light, the movements hesitant. Through lowered lids, Rachel scanned her surroundings, looking for the mystery visitor. To her relief, she noted it was Mrs Gale. The housekeeper roamed from corner to corner, conducting a thorough inspection. Perhaps she’d come to ensure the room was satisfactory. That, or she was searching for something important.

But what? The coded letter?

Mrs Gale left as quickly as she came, sneaking out of the room like a thief in the night. Seconds later, muffled voices in the corridor preceded the rattle of another key in the door. Rachel knew to expect Mr Hunter before he burst into the room as if the house were ablaze.

She feigned sleep again, for no other reason than to watch him at her leisure. But he raced to the bed and pressed the pads of his fingers to her throat.

“Miss Gambit.” He lifted her lids and stared at her pupils.

Rachel gasped. “What on earth are you doing, sir?”

He must have caught Mrs Gale sneaking out of the room. Did he fear the housekeeper had come to suffocate her while she slept?

“Making sure you’re alive.”

He could be in no doubt she was breathing. His touch had her pulse thumping so fiercely she could hear the loud drum of her heartbeat. There were pipers as far afield as Skye marching to the rhythm.

“I passed Mrs Gale in the corridor.” Concern marred his tone. “Did she enter your room?”

“Yes. She let herself in with a key. I faked sleep and watched her stalk about the place. She touched nothing, took nothing. Perhaps she came to check on the maid’s work.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded doubtful. Wearing a frown of suspicion, he glanced around the room before facing her. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” She rubbed her temple to ease the ache. “Have no fear. I’ll not shame myself by asking you to waltz again.”

The memory of him holding her close slipped into her mind.

The memory of that one sweet kiss burst to the fore.

She shot up so quickly the pounding behind her eyes made her wince.

Mr Hunter placed a steadying hand on her arm. “I’d have let you sleep but have important news.”

“Before we continue, I must apologise for the way I behaved earlier.” She couldn’t concentrate, not when embarrassment consumed her thoughts. Heat rose to her cheeks as she silently practised an apology. “Forgive me if I was a little forward of manner.”

Mr Hunter arched his brow in amusement. “There’s no danger of anyone calling you a wallflower, Miss Gambit.”

She smiled. “No danger at all, sir.”

“Does that mean you don’t really like me?”

“Oh, I like you immensely. You’re exceptional on all levels.”

“Always so candid, Miss Gambit.” He averted his gaze briefly, a sign emotions swam behind his cool reserve. “While I distrust compliments, I find myself having complete faith in yours. As for being forward, there’s no need to apologise for something beyond your control.”

“Making you kiss me was wholly inappropriate.”

The Latin phrase engraved on his flask sprang to mind. Acts, not words—that was the motto. After her brazen actions, he could be in no doubt she craved his company.

Mr Hunter shrugged. “It wasn’t a kiss by the usual standards.”

Not a kiss? What in heaven’s name did he mean?

“I beg your pardon?” Rachel swung her legs off the bed and stood. Mild cramp left her wriggling her toes in her boots. “I didn’t realise there was a list of criteria.”

“We brushed lips. We didn’t kiss.”

“You opened your mouth.” She had next to no experience but was certain it qualified. “You moved it against mine, albeit a mere fraction.”

“A kiss is an expression of desire, a sign of affection or love. We shared none of those things. You pressed your mouth to mine because you’d downed too much wine. Lust played no part.”

Yes, she’d acted on impulse, but there had been an element of affection. And he had definitely kissed her back.

“When you returned this brushing of mouths, Mr Hunter, you were sober. Why reciprocate? Why not call me out for being a drunken harlot?”

He hesitated. “Perhaps I wished to avoid hurting your feelings.”

“So you do think I’m a harlot.”

“Of course not.” He crossed the room to the drinks table and pulled the stopper from a crystal decanter.

Rachel followed him. “Brandy isn’t the cure.”

“The cure for what?” he said, splashing liquor into a tumbler.

“For the pain. For the emotions raging within.”

He cast her a sidelong glance and sipped his drink. “Says the lady who suffers from cramp because she holds herself tense even in her sleep. That’s why you’re so restless. Perhaps a dose of brandy might help you relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

A mocking snort escaped him. “Every muscle in your body is strung as tight as a bow. It’s as if you’re waiting for the Hanaway brothers to come bursting out of the armoire, pistols at the ready.”

The mention of those odious men raised her hackles. “After spending years fighting for my sanity, forgive me if I’m a little apprehensive. And you’re hardly one to talk. You’re like an automaton with a serious drink problem.”

“Ah, now we get to the truth. You think I’m a tosspot.”

“You think I’m a harlot.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“If I thought you were a harlot, I wouldn’t have hired you.” He studied her over the rim of his glass. “Admit you made a mistake. You weren’t thinking clearly when you pressed your mouth to mine.”

No, she’d lost all rationale. Thoughts had given way to emotions. Logic had played no part in her desire to be close to him. And yet he was determined to prove it meant nothing. Mr Hunter was afraid. Afraid someone would fool him again. Afraid to believe a woman’s words and actions.

“I’m not sure you want to hear the truth, sir.”

“According to Sophocles, the truth is the strongest argument.”

Oh, this man was a living monument to contradiction. “You respect the truth yet resist all efforts to speak it. Tell me who hurt you, and I’ll tell you my deepest fears, my darkest secrets.”

His resistance to reveal anything about himself was like an iron wall between them. Rachel took a leap of faith and decided to speak first. As a gentleman, he would feel duty-bound to reciprocate.

“The need to protect myself began whilst journeying on The Canton.” Her chest tightened at the memory. She imagined herself back in the cargo hold, huddled behind tea crates, fearing every creak of the boards brought Mr Purvis. Tears threatened to fall, but she held them at bay.

Mr Hunter gave her his full attention. “Something happened aboard ship?”

“I witnessed Mr Purvis stealing from the passengers. When he caught me watching, he threatened to throw me overboard if I told anyone.” Day after day, night after night, the man stalked her, kept her in his sights, grabbed her arm so tightly she had bruises for days. “He made me accept a share of his booty. As his accomplice, I was certain to keep his secret.”

Mr Hunter inhaled deeply. “There were few survivors. I pray he perished in the shipwreck.”

Rachel clutched her throat as guilt surfaced. “My darkest secret involves what happened to Mr Purvis as The Canton went down.”

Intrigue flashed in Mr Hunter’s striking blue eyes, but he shook his head and said, “You don’t need to explain. Painful memories are best left buried.”

“You’re wrong. They’re more painful when left to fester.” She snatched the tumbler from his grasp, swallowed a mouthful of brandy and hissed a breath. “I killed a man, Mr Hunter. While clinging to the wreckage, I bit Mr Purvis’ hand when he tried to clamber alongside me. I sunk my teeth into his flesh until I drew blood. I watched him fall into the water, later read that he was named amongst the dead.”

Tears filled her eyes. She would likely burn in hell for letting him perish. But the dreadful years spent at Lady Hanaway’s home had been more than adequate punishment.

“One could say the storm and the captain’s ineptitude killed the man,” Mr Hunter assured her. “In the end, it was a fight for survival.”

“I’ll never forget the look on his face. The fear filling his eyes.” Teardrops landed on her cheeks and slid down to wet her lips. “It’s why I accepted Mr Daventry’s offer to join the Order. If I save a life, surely it will count for something.”

Mr Hunter took the glass from her hand and placed it on the silver tray. He drew her into an embrace, stroked her hair. “Had the man been kind to you, you would have saved him.”

She had never been held. Never been comforted. Had never felt a soothing touch. Not when being dragged from the sea, a bag of cold, shivering bones. Not after walking seven miles alone on a deserted country road in the dead of night. Not after every harrowing ordeal when she had lain in bed and wept until morning.

“We reap what we sow.” Mr Hunter continued whispering words of comfort. “Mr Purvis’ case is a classic example. In that respect, he killed himself.”

She looked up, met eyes as blue as a glorious summer sky. “I couldn’t trust him. He would have let me drown to save himself. Had I helped him, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I’d be dead.”

“What a travesty that would be. The world needs courageous women. Women willing to stand up for their rights. Women like you.”

“Ah, you’re a revolutionist, Mr Hunter.”

“My father was a military man. He fought many wars abroad, yet the biggest challenges people face are here at home. One might say I followed in his footsteps. I seek to save the lives of my fellow countrymen but not through the spilling of blood.”

His eyes brightened when speaking about his father. His voice sang with pride. Was it grief that left him so cold and detached or something else?

“You must miss him dreadfully.”

“Everything changed when he died.” He stared at nothing, evidently lost in the memory. “I’m a private man, Miss Gambit. What I tell you must remain between us.” He could have released her, but he kept his arm around her waist as if needing a crutch.

“Sir, you can trust me to keep your secret.” All sadness abandoned her at the prospect of Mr Hunter opening his heart.

His lengthy sigh spoke of untold pain. “Like most men, I lived quite recklessly in my early twenties, kept mistresses, gambled and drank to excess. But my parents urged me to settle down. I was to wed Miss Portland the month my father died. We’d known each other since we were children. It was what our parents wanted, and I believed myself in love with her.”

It wasn’t the shock of hearing Mr Hunter say he’d loved someone that stole Rachel’s breath, but the slither of jealousy coiling inside.

“But you didn’t marry?”

“No. Felicity wanted to wait until a suitable mourning period had passed.” Contempt marred his tone. “She liked being the focus of everyone’s attention.”

Rachel hid her surprise. Mr Hunter seemed the sort who despised vanity.

“Did a tragedy befall her?” Had his love died before becoming his wife? “If it’s too painful to continue, I understand.”

Mr Hunter met her gaze. Hatred turned his blue eyes dark and threatening. “Felicity had another reason to delay. She was in love with my brother Dominic, but they were so scared of my father’s reaction they’d kept their love a secret. When he died, they were compelled to act on their desires.”

His fiancé loved his brother?

Rachel’s heart ached for him. The deceit, the betrayal, was undoubtedly the reason for his cool reserve, his disinterest in forming relationships.

“I’m sorry, Hunter. It must have been so painful to hear their confession.” To lose two people he loved in one fell swoop must have hurt deeply.

“They didn’t confess. I might have had more respect for them had they sat me down and explained their feelings. I found them together in the orangery.” He released her, rubbed his eyes as if desperate to eradicate the harrowing vision. “Making love on the day we should have wed.”

He turned away, set about pouring himself another brandy.

Compelled to comfort him, she said, “I’m glad you found them, else you’d be married to a woman who doesn’t love you, and you deserve much better than that.”

He tossed back the contents of the tumbler and faced her. “I’m glad I found them, too, else I’d be a damn sight more miserable than I am now.”

“Is that even possible?”

“Probably not.”

“I presume they’re still alive.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I didn’t murder them in the orangery if that’s what you’re suggesting. I left without saying a word, left my family home, left Chichester. I’ve not spoken to them or been back since. But they’re married now and have a child. My mother writes often.”

Rachel swallowed past the lump in her throat. “To know one’s love is unreciprocated is painful enough. To suffer such a betrayal … well, I know why you prefer to live alone, work alone.”

“It wasn’t the love celebrated by poets. It wasn’t the love that makes one’s heart ache, nor an all-consuming desire that cannot be tempered. In truth, my brother’s deceitfulness hurt most.”

Rachel doubted a love that powerful existed.

She hoped teasing him would draw him out of the doldrums. “Just like my kiss wasn’t a kiss at all. It, too, lacked that special something.”

His expression softened. The air between them shifted as if charged by a wild current of energy.

“I lied. The kiss was short but far from lacking. I lied because … because I felt something. I’ve felt nothing for so long it caught me off guard.”

He’d lied?

He’d appreciated the kiss after all?

The rush of euphoria was impossible to hide. “Without the wine, I would never have been so bold, but I’ve thought about kissing you since you pinned me to the door in your bedchamber. I like you, Hunter, and have no regrets.”

“While I’m in the mood, I’ll tell you another secret.” He captured her chin, drawing her mouth closer to his. “You failed the test at Vauxhall, not because of your error in the Dark Walk, but because I like you, Miss Gambit. I’ve liked you from the moment we met.”

Excitement fluttered in her belly. “You mean I’m not incompetent?”

“Not in the least. You’re the most competent woman I’ve ever met.” The teasing devil drew her mouth closer still. His hot breath breezed over her lips. “But while the kiss proved satisfying, it failed to convey the depth of my desire.”

“A kiss should be a true expression of one’s feelings.”

“Indeed, perhaps we should kiss again.” He stroked her jaw, caressed her neck, touched her with a tenderness that belied the dark hunger in his eyes.

“It’s the only way to know.” Anticipation raced through her body as she came up on her tiptoes.

The first touch of his mouth sent her world spinning. While she found the woody scent of his cologne alluring, breathing in the earthy smell of maleness left her giddy.

The kiss began like the gentle flow of water from a mountain stream. So pure. So natural. Their mouths moved with effortless ease as if Mother Nature had planned this union. But lust’s undercurrent ran deep. The first touch of their tongues swept them into a torrent of unbridled passion.

One minute she was taking his tongue deep into her mouth. The next, he’d pressed her back against the drinks table, grinding against her in such a rhythmical fashion there was no question he could dance. But this was by no means a waltz. This was an erotic mating of two eager souls.

“God, I love how you taste.” He set his hot mouth to her throat, searing the sensitive spot below her ear. “Does every inch of your skin smell of orange blossom?” He sucked her ear lobe.

Good Lord! His words were like a siren song, alluring, deliciously dangerous.

“Mr Hunter,” she panted, clinging to the last threads of sanity. “It’s fair to say the kiss revealed the true depth of our feelings. It’s fair to say we felt something.”

She felt more than something. The hard evidence of his erection was like a steely rod against her thigh. His essence penetrated her reserve to leave her sex pulsing. She was so aroused she was in danger of hiking up her skirts and letting him ravish her senseless.

But that wasn’t what affected her most. No. She felt so safe with Mr Hunter she was in fear of losing more than her virginity. She’d likely lose her heart.

“Mr Hunter,” she said when he moved to claim her mouth again.

“Forgive me.” He pulled back and looked at her beneath heavy lids. “It was supposed to be one kiss, not a rampant prelude to something sinful.”

Rachel dabbed her fingers to her brow. “Well, it seems we both passed the test.”

“The test?”

“To discover if our harrowing experiences have left us cold.”

A confident grin formed. “Trust me, Miss Gambit, you know how to heat a man’s blood.”

“Likewise,” she said but then caught herself. “I mean, you know how to heat a woman’s blood.” Nerves had her muttering gibberish, and so she returned to the matter of his pressing news. “Now we’ve established there’s no barrier to conveying our emotions, we should concentrate on the case. What is the important news that cannot wait?”

He stepped back, his expression grave. “There’s something you need to know before we proceed with our enquiries.” His deep tone carried the weight of his burden. “Something that will invariably cause you distress.”

Rachel gulped. “Something to do with the case?”

What on earth could it be?

“While you slept, I questioned Truscott about new evidence relating to Mary Harcourt.” He told her about Mary’s request for an examination and the footman’s damning statement. “When I questioned Young and Swanson about their case, they told me the shopkeeper at the emporium dragged a man off the street to act as a witness.” He pursed his lips, seemed reluctant to reveal what he’d discovered.

“Yes. Why would I be distressed about that?”

“Because the man’s name is Jacob Hanaway.”

For a moment, the world stopped spinning on its axis.

“Jacob Hanaway!” The cold hand of fear snaked up Rachel’s spine. Nausea roiled in her stomach. She liked to pretend the Hanaways were no longer of this world. That they’d been mauled by wild dogs or killed by a deadly disease. “But that’s impossible.”

“That’s the name written in the notes.”

“No! No! There’s been a mistake.” She started shaking.

Memories flooded her mind. Vile memories. Wretched memories.

She could cope with anything. Anything except facing the Hanaways again.

Good God! Did Mr Daventry know Jacob Hanaway was a witness? Did he not think to warn her?

Mr Hunter captured her trembling hands. “Young doesn’t make mistakes. As part of our ongoing investigation, we’ll need to interview the witnesses.”

Interview Jacob Hanaway?

Never!

“Then you’ll have to speak to Mr Daventry and hire another agent.” The urgent need to flee left her shuffling her feet. The need to put a thousand miles between her and talk of the Hanaways saw her tug her hands from Mr Hunter’s grasp.

“There’s nothing to fear with me by your side.”

“You don’t understand, Hunter. A meeting between the Hanaways and me won’t end well. They’ll hunt me down, find out where I live. I’ll not spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”

“Surely they’ve outgrown their evil games.”

“Their need to see me dead or in Bedlam is not a game. On my twenty-fifth birthday, I inherit twenty thousand pounds from Lady Hanaway. Should I perish or be declared of unsound mind before November, the money returns to the estate.”

It was yet another reason why she’d joined the Order. If she could survive until then, the money would pay for a new life in the Americas.

“You can’t hide forever. Jacob Hanaway has a house in town. You could run into him on any street corner.” His tone was a mix of compassion and frustration. “Let me help you deal with the matter, once and for all.”

“Deal with the matter?” Unease clawed at her shoulders. “The only way to deal with the matter is to murder them both.”

“If it’s a case of self-defence, I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

Rachel considered this masterful man, with his chiselled jaw and dangerous eyes. With the physique of a gladiatorial champion, he was more than a match for the portly Jacob Hanaway.

“I’d like to hear what you think we should do next.” He gestured to the chairs positioned around the fire. “I have a plan and hope you’re of a similar mind.”

Welcoming the distraction, she crossed the room and sat down.

“Mr Daventry suggested we interrogate the Council at length, but I disagree.” She doubted a man of Themis would confess to being a traitor. “We must focus on a motive. Why would a council member betray his brethren?”

“Because he’s being blackmailed.”

“It’s the only logical explanation,” she agreed, trying not to stare at his muscular thighs as he sat open-legged in the chair opposite. “And the best way to get to the truth is for us to investigate Lord Meyer and the shopkeeper from the emporium.”

A devilish smile crept over his face. “Agreed. I suggest we leave immediately. It will send the villain into a panic. And there’s nothing more to be done here.”

Rachel wondered if Mr Hunter had another reason for wanting to leave so abruptly. Did he regret the kiss and long for a distraction? Did he fear for her life? He’d raced into the bedchamber as if expecting to find her as cold as a cadaver on a mortuary slab.

“What about interviewing Mr Crocker? And should I not at least hear Mr Swanson’s version of how someone stole his key?”

Mr Hunter shrugged. “As we don’t know the identity of the villain, we can’t know who’s lying and who’s telling the truth.”

“So we leave for London and focus on two suspects. Is Lord Meyer lying?” Had he fathered a child with Mary Harcourt? They’d need to confront the lord, question his staff. “Did the shopkeeper really lock the boy in the pantry, or did he have a reason to murder the victim?”

It occurred to her that leaving for London meant residing in Mr Hunter’s home. After sharing such a passionate kiss, how would they fare living under the same roof? Would Mr Hunter retreat to his lair, the dark, forbidden place where he prowled semi-naked? Would he subject her to more tests, where she had to resist the urge to kiss him again?

A lady could live in hope.