Dangerous Masquerade (Regency Masquerade)

He fingered the vial in his greatcoat pocket. His contingency plan. Dare he risk it? “You are certain she is planning on putting the estate into trust? Make no mistake this time because if you are wrong—”

His companion vigorously shook his head. “I’m not wrong. She told me herself.”

“Very well then. Go back to the estate. I’ll deal with it.” Without bothering to take his leave, Geoffrey walked across the street and around the inn to the stable yard.

He walked into the wood-paneled, flagstone hallway near the kitchen. Turning in the direction of the private parlor, he brushed past a maid carrying a pile of folded linens and knocked her arm, causing her to drop them. “Out of my way, wench.”

Geoffrey continued along the hallway. As he rounded the corner, he could hear a man’s voice behind him chastising the maid, then giving her instructions.

There was only one private parlor. That was where they would be. Now how did he get in there without being seen?

Perhaps he didn’t need to.

The little maid was gingerly walking along the corridor toward him, carefully carrying a tray with a number of decanters. Perfect. From the color, he recognized the contents of each. Given that selection, there was only one Ria would chose.

When the maid saw him in front of her, she stopped and stared at him apprehensively.

“My dear.” Geoffrey gave her his most angelic smile. “I’m sorry about before. It was rude of me. Please forgive me.”

Digging into his pocket with his left hand, he pulled out a guinea and held it up. As he expected, the maid gazed avidly at the coin. “This is to make up for my earlier rude behavior.”

Just as he hoped, she set the tray down on a nearby table and turned to face him. She smoothed down her dress, then fluttered her eyelashes at him as she curled her blond hair around one finger. Clearly, she was hoping for more. As if he’d soil himself with the likes of her. “I don’t want to keep you from your duty. Someone’s probably waiting for that wine.”

Looking longingly at the coin the maid said, “I should take it to the lord in the private parlor.”

Geoffrey twisted the coin in his fingers. “A lord eh? And who would that lord be?”

While speaking, he slipped his right hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, flicked the top from the vial with his fingers, then carefully removed it from his pocket—hiding it in his hand so the maid could not see it. Though that wasn’t hard. She couldn’t stop looking at the guinea.

“Lord Arden, sir.” Licking her lips, she reached for the guinea.

Geoffrey stepped closer to her and handed her the coin. She smiled at him flirtatiously as she tucked it into

her bodice.

He bent and kissed her neck. While doing so, he reached around her with his right hand, swiftly poured the contents of the vial into the bottle of ratafia, then stepped back, chucked the maid under the chin, and left.

Smiling.

9

The private parlor was in the old part of the inn, on the side away from the noise of the street and the stables at the back. The low plastered ceiling supported by ancient black timbers and the small multipaned casement windows that let in only a small amount of light created an intimate atmosphere.

Ria tried to control her breathing. From the moment she walked in, the quiet, dimness, and the fire flickering in the stone hearth had immediately thrust her back in time to the masquerade.

Unfortunately, it was too late to change her mind. She could think of no reason to suddenly decline his invitation. Belatedly, she wished she hadn’t given her maid leave to spend time with her mother.

She fanned a small flicker of hope. “Is Lord Lyons joining us?”

At her question he paused, then said. “Unfortunately no. He has business in the village.”

To her dismay, the resemblance of their setting to the masquerade was further enhanced when he walked over to the sideboard and gestured to the decanters a maid had just brought in. “Would you like a glass of ratafia or perhaps some claret?”

She gazed wistfully at the ratafia. Could she risk a glass? Right now she would welcome its warmth and restorative properties. But she really needed her wits about her. “No, thank you.”

Bowing he said, “If you will pardon me for a moment, I will check with the landlord about our luncheon arrangements. Would you like me to ask for a pot of tea?”

“Thank you. That would be most welcome.”