Dangerous Masquerade (Regency Masquerade)

“Oh, my lord, I am so sorry. I don’t know how that happened. It must have been a gust of wind. Please, if you will come with me, I will brush and clean your coat.”

Ria could not help but be impressed by the way Lord Arden graciously declined her butler’s offer as he took possession of his hat and greatcoat.

He then turned to her, not at all nonplussed or self-conscious despite being splattered with water and petals.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. St. James. I will call upon you again when the weather is more clement. Then we’ll be able to take the walk we were denied because of the rain.”

Not giving her a chance to make some excuse, he nodded and left.

As he walked out the door, Luc reflected on the afternoon. He hadn’t missed the tremor in Mrs. St. James voice when she’d mentioned her husband’s death. He’d judged St. James to be in his fifties, but despite their age difference she seemed to have genuinely cared for him.

However, he also hadn’t missed that moment when he’d lifted her from her gig and she’d leaned toward him. She was attracted to him but fighting it.

As he thought of the past few minutes, he was barely able to hold back his smile. When he’d said he would return to take a walk, Honoria St. James had looked like she’d just eaten a lemon but said nothing. Unlike him, she was trying hard to follow society’s strictures, though her manners had slipped a little at the end. No doubt she was learning that abiding by good manners could be the very devil.

Fleetingly, he wondered if he should return to London. The Widow St. James wasn’t entirely welcoming, so why stay? This time he couldn’t hold back his smile. Because he looked forward to seeing what would happen when she forgot her manners entirely.

As he mounted his horse, held steady by a groom in the shelter of the portico, he heard a scraping sound. Turning in the saddle, he looked back into the hall and saw two footmen sweeping up the mess. Although they whispered, their voices echoed in the entry, and he caught one comment.

“That weren’t the wind. The wind ain’t never done this afore. He’s got on the wrong side of the master and no mistake. Told the mistress we should cover the mirrors when Mr. St. James died leastways his spirit would be trapped here, but she wouldn’t listen. Maybe she’ll believe me now. He’s haunting us. Nothing surer.”

Luc shook his head at such superstition. It was just a gust of wind. There must have been a cross-draught.

A very cross one.

6

From his usual position in the chair by the morning room fireplace, Monty watched the play of emotions flicker across Ria’s expressive face as she entered.

His plan was coming together nicely. Better than expected, in fact. Before he could congratulate himself further, she walked up to him.

He winced at the look on her face. It was clear she was going to take him to task for throwing the vase. He hadn’t used much force. In fact, he’d deliberately thrown a little short. Taking another look at her face, he realized she would not appreciate that particular argument.

Sternly she asked him, “What were you thinking?”

Monty studied his shiny Hessian boots as though deep in thought. One good thing about being dead, he mused, your boots didn’t get dirty.

After he judged enough time had passed for him to appear to have given her question serious thought, he looked back up at her and shrugged. “He was a disrespectful young whelp and needed to be taught a lesson.”

And, he added to himself, there might come a time when Arden needed to be aware of his presence. Vases floating through the air should make him more receptive to the idea of a ghost.

“By throwing a vase at him!”

“It was the closest thing to hand.”

As Ria shook her head, he spoke slowly, as if to a child, “I am a ghost, my dear. Isn’t throwing things part of what ghosts do?”

Seeing from her expression that she wasn’t placated, he decided to appeal to her soft nature. He sighed deeply, shook his head, and confessed, “To tell you the truth, at the moment I’m a bored ghost. Today was the most fun I’ve had since I stuck my spoon in the wall.” He frowned darkly, not so much at the memory of his death but at the earl’s disrespectful comments. “Though not when that impertinent cub insulted me.”

As he’d expected, her stern expression melted. “Oh Monty, I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me you would be feeling that way.”

Re

alizing he’d made a tactical error, Monty redirected her attention back to the vase. Even though that would mean he’d be in hot water again, it was preferable to answering questions about his death and afterlife.

“I hope you weren’t fond of that vase, my dear?”

He could tell she was trying hard not to smile as she answered, “It’s a little late to ask me that now. If you have to throw things, please make sure they are things I don’t like. As it happens, I did very much like that particular vase.”