Mary Balogh - A Masked Deception

She was too emotionally disturbed to be surprised when she noticed soon that Jem was following her, at the same respectful distance as before.

Brampton was galloping his horse in Hyde Park as fast as safety would allow. It was too early in the day for his progress to be impeded by carriages or pedestrians, or even by many other riders. It was too early for Devin Northcott; the two men met in the park quite frequently by unspoken agreement and enjoyed a talk while their mounts cantered over the grass.

For half an hour his mind was too full for coherent thought. He gave himself up to the sensations of the ride, the cool, early-morning mist whipping a flush of color to his cheeks.

He still felt his elation from the discovery of the night before. After six years he had found his angel again, and she sparkled with as much mischief and as much passion as she had on that first meeting. Brampton realized that he had never stopped loving her. Her tiny body had fitted itself to his powerful frame as if he had held her only the day before. He thought of her lips, her mouth, the smooth white skin of her throat, her firm, perfect little breasts. He remembered the way her hips and thighs had molded themselves provocatively against his as he had touched his tongue to her nipples.

She was his! She had to be his! He realized all the absurdity of loving a woman whose face he had never seen and whose identity he did not know. Was her face ugly? Was that why she was so reluctant to show it? But no, no woman with such sparkling eyes and such seductive lips could be ugly. And he felt that he would not have cared even if her face did not prove as beautiful as promised. Her beauty lay all in the perfect little body and the life and passion that sang from it.

He loved her! He dug the spurs into his horse's sides and increased the speed of his gallop. He must see her again. What would he do if she failed to appear the following week? He refused to consider the possibility. She must be there! And he must have somewhere to take her so that he could unclothe the tiny little form, remove the wig and the mask, and feast his eyes and his body on her beauty. To make love to her was now the one urgent goal of his life.

He had to admit to a twinge of uneasiness, though. Why had she suddenly appeared, dressed exactly as she had been six years before? He could not believe it an accident. Her story did not quite ring true. Even if she had spoken part of the truth, was it likely that she would have recognized him, masked and cloaked as he was, after six years? And what would have happened if his wife had been with him, as she would have been but for the sudden headache? There was some puzzling mystery here, but Brampton found that the mystery only heightened his desire to see his angel again.

He galloped the length of the park again before admitting that something was threatening to dull his excitement. His wife! Had he turned unfaithful to her so soon after his vow to make theirs a marriage in deed? Would he be able to betray her when she performed her part of the marriage so sweetly and so uncomplainingly? Her large eyes always looked into his with a quiet trust. Would he be able to meet those eyes after last night, especially with the knowledge that he was scheming for physical union with the other woman? Would he be able to go to his wife's bed without feeling that he was sullying her unresisting, yet sweetly warm little body?

It was only at that moment that Brampton realized the remarkable similarity between the two women in his life. So alike in body, yet so vastly different in manner!

He noticed that his horse had begun to lather. Brampton felt a pang of guilt; he usually treated his horses with unfailing consideration. He turned its head for the stables at home.

Margaret was sitting alone at the breakfast table when Brampton entered, still in his riding clothes. He looked into her face, but avoided her eyes. He felt strangely embarrassed. But he did notice that she looked paler than usual.

"Good morning, my dear," he said. "Do you still have the headache?"

"Yes, Richard," she replied, thankful that he had turned to the sideboard to fill a plate with food. She found it equally difficult to meet his eyes. "I did not sleep well." At least she was not forced to lie this morning, she thought with wry humor.

"Did you not take the laudanum?" he asked, frowning.

"I am afraid it did not take effect," she replied, avoiding the question. "But I shall be fine presently. Charlotte has promised to walk in the park with me."

"Better still, you will drive there," he said, "and with me."

Margaret looked up from her coffeecup in surprise. She would not have expected such an offer on any morning, but especially not on this particular morning.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" she asked, watching his bent head closely. He showed no visible reaction.

"I felt like a wallflower." He glanced up and smiled. "I should have felt more comfortable with you there, my dear."

"I thought you would have met plenty of acquaintances there," Margaret quizzed, reluctant to drop the subject.

"Yes, but you had delegated the position of chaperon to me," he said, still smiling, though she fancied that the smile was rather tight. "I was not at liberty to pursue masked figures and guess identities." And he winced inwardly at his choice of words, which only accentuated his deception.

"My dear, why don't I send a message to Dev to see if he would wish to make up a party of four to drive out of the city? We could have a picnic luncheon made up. Would Charlotte enjoy the treat? And would you?"

"Why, Richard, how lovely that would be," Margaret said in surprise, and Brampton noticed that for once she had color in her cheeks and her eyes glowed. "I must go wake Charlotte."

"Shall we say one hour from now?" Her husband smiled.

A few minutes later Margaret left a sleepily grumbling Charlotte and returned to her own room, where she rang for Kitty and tried to decide what to wear for the day. She decided upon a simple primrose-yellow muslin gown with a bonnet to match. Kitty drew a tan-colored pelisse out of the closet, insisting that the day was not yet warm enough for her mistress to go outside without a cloak.

Margaret refused to let Kitty dress her hair in any other style but the tight braids coiled at the back of her head; she was soon ready and dismissed her maid. She sat in a chair by the window to wait for the hour to pass.

Richard had taken her by surprise this morning. She had expected him to be preoccupied, to almost totally ignore her for the next week. Yet he was showing her unexpected attention. His manner at the breakfast table had seemed genuinely concerned, almost as if he really cared.

For a while after she had returned home the night before, Margaret had sat on the edge of her bed, the wig and the mask beside her, reliving the events of the last few hours. She had recaptured in her imagination every word he had said, every caress he had given. How she loved him and how alive and desirable he had made her feel! She had not known it possible that mere touches and kisses could arouse in her such an aching desire. She had wanted him as much as he had seemed to want her. She would have allowed him to finish undressing her; she had been almost frantic with the need to feel him in her, bringing ease to her throbbing ache of desire. But his words had startled her back to an awareness of reality.

"I have loved you for so long," he had said.

Margaret had longed for six years to hear him say those words, but had not dreamed that she ever would. Richard loved her and he wanted her!

Margaret had shivered on the bed, leapt to her feet, and begun to undress hastily. Was she mad? He might be at home any moment. She did not believe that he would visit her that night, but there was always the chance that he might check to see that she slept peacefully. He must not find any trace of her costume.

When everything had been safely stowed away at the back of a closet, Margaret had quickly brushed and braided her hair and climbed into bed. She had told Kitty not to wait up for her.

She had lain in the darkness, feeling a sudden wave of sadness wash over her. Richard did not love her. He loved a faceless phantom without identity. If he knew that it was Margaret that he hungered for, he would turn from her in disgust. He would realize that there was no such person as his angel; that he had been tricked by his dull, unattractive wife. He would hate her then, wouldn't he? He would never want to touch her again. She would lose even the little of him that she now had.

She had felt rather sick too when she remembered the ease with which she had been able to draw his attention. He would have made love to her, believing her to be a stranger. He had made an assignation to see her the following week. And he had believed that he had a wife at home. She had always realized that he must have mistresses, that he slept with other women as well as with her. But this very real evidence that she was right left a sick feeling of depression in her stomach. It was small consolation that this time he was planning to be unfaithful with his own wife.

Should she meet him the following week? Strangely enough, neither she nor Charlotte had looked this far ahead in their plans. All they had thought of was deceiving Richard and finding out if she still had the power to attract him in the costume of Marie Antoinette and with the voice and the manner that she had used on that other occasion. Somehow, both had seemed to dream that at the end of a romantic reunion, Margaret's mask would be whisked aside, they would declare undying love for each other, and live happily ever after. At least, that had been Charlotte's dream. Margaret had refused to believe that she would make any impact on Richard at all.

She had still been trying to decide what to do the following week when there had been a tap at the bedroom door. Her heart had turned over, though that was not the entrance usually used by her husband. The door had opened quietly and Charlotte had entered, carrying a candle. She had still been wearing the green domino, and her mask had dangled from her free hand.

"Meg, you were wonderful," she had whispered with enthusiasm. "He did not suspect a thing, did he?"

"No, he did not know me," Margaret had confirmed.

"But he was gone such a long while. What happened, Meg?"

Margaret was certainly not going to answer that one truthfully. "He wanted to know who I was," she had replied vaguely. "He remembered me, and wants to see me again."

"Then he is interested. Oh, Meg!" Charlotte had clasped her hands in ecstasy. "Did he kiss you?"

Margaret had hesitated. "Yes, he kissed me."

"Meg! I just knew the two of you were meant for each other. You are going to see him again, are you not?"

"I don't know, Lottie. I think this charade has gone far enough," Margaret had said firmly, and no amount of coaxing or protesting from her sister had been able to change her mind.

"Oh, Meg," Charlotte had said finally, "Mr. Northcott knows."

"What?"

"He recognized you immediately, Meg, and I was forced to tell him the whole story."

"Lottie!"

"Oh, he promised not to breathe a word to Lord Brampton," Charlotte hastened to assure her sister, "and he promised to help if he could."

"Lottie!"

"I am sorry, Meg," Charlotte said in a small voice. "But if I had said it was not you, you see, he would surely have gone after Lord Brampton to see what was going on."

Margaret had covered her face with her hands, overpowered by humiliation and doubly determined that this mad escapade must end.

On the morning after, though, as she sat at the window waiting for the appointed time for the picnic, she knew that she would don that costume one more time the following week and go to Vauxhall to keep her tryst with Richard. She had to know just once what it would be like to have him make real love to her. And she knew without a doubt that that was what would happen the following week. After that, she would be contented to resume her married life as she had known it so far. Richard's angel would die a natural death.

They drove up into the hills north of the city, the ladies in an open landau, a wicker picnic hamper on the seat opposite them, the men riding alongside. Margaret found the day to be a delightful interlude in a life that kept her apart from her husband a great deal. He and Devin Northcott rode close to the carriage, carrying on a gay conversation, mainly with Charlotte, who looked her best in a sky blue high-waisted dress and darker-blue pelisse and bonnet.