Page 19 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 19

L ondon Society News:

It is time to don those disguises. Lord Colesworth’s masquerade, one of the premier events of the season, is upon us, and no one knows what will happen. Will the mysterious rescuer be present? Will we recognize him in a sea of disguises? Perhaps he will show his face – or rather hide it.

What will Lord Peyton say to Lady Emma’s father?

Wait and see.

Tonight everything would change.

Her father had returned early this morning, and at this very moment was now preparing for the masquerade. Lord Lawrence would greet the ton and finally speak with Peyton, anticipating an offer he viewed as nothing less than a certainty and nothing more than a formality. Everyone expected the betrothal to be announced, a mere retelling of the arrangement they believed unbreakably forged. Only that wouldn’t happen.

Today it would all end. She must break what never truly existed, shatter her heart to prevent its surrender. She would change her focus to Stanton, as it always should have been, and forget she was ever linked to the carefree earl who was nothing as he appeared. With each stolen kiss, she became more lost, with every moment in his arms, she fell deeper. That it was already too late for her heart was not in doubt, yet she had to be strong. She would end it.

And she would lose what was never hers.

Emma stood poised at the entrance to Lord Colesworth’s great hall. No expense had been spared, no triviality ignored, for the grand crush before her. Glittering chandeliers sparkled with hundreds of candles amidst cut crystal accents, casting a soft golden glow on the lords and ladies dancing in perfect harmony. An orchestra played in the corner, their lilting rendition flawless, as sumptuous food overflowed from platters heavily laden with pastries, fruits and cheeses. The scent of freshly baked breads and cakes mingled with the heavily perfumed crowd.

The setting was extraordinary, yet the people even more so. With the dubious protection of masks, the ton explored a rare freedom, in extravagant gowns and crisp midnight suits. Diamonds, rubies and other gemstones glittered under the lights, sewn into the gowns, dripping from necks and threaded through expertly coiffed hair. Many wore masks, each more extravagant than the next, and yet a single disguise dominated the gentlemen’s choices this night:

The disguise of the masked rescuer.

There were a dozen, nay, many more than that, as the number increased with every swirling iteration of the dancing crowd. Every man wanted to be, or pretend to be, the secret rescuer, yet how well they achieved it varied greatly, from older, portly men who bore no resemblance to several well-built men who achieved a reasonable likeness. Was one of them the rescuer?

Was it Stanton?

Emma adjusted her own mask. She had chosen a full one, covered in sparkling stones, lace, and feathers, which matched the pale blue dress draped silkily around her. Deep blue sapphires adorned her necklace, bracelet, and earrings, a gift from her papa for her come out. They made her feel strong and powerful, and she would need every ounce of that strength to navigate the night that would change her life. She took a breath, and then a step, entering the ballroom. The hairs on the back of her neck stood, and a strange tingle traced over her skin. She turned.

Peyton wore no mask. He bore no disguise, rescuer or otherwise. Instead, he carried himself as the powerful lord he was, tall and commanding, filling out a midnight black suit to perfection. His face was chiseled grace in the candlelight, his silky hair gleaming. His eyes blazed with intelligence, strength and fire.

With sideways glances and admiring eyes, everyone noticed him. Could they see how different he was than the man he portrayed? He took a step, bombarding her every sense, as he strode across the ballroom, the people parting for him. Fire danced across her skin where he had touched, and for just a moment, she could almost taste a hint of spice on her tongue, the same as when they had made love.

Suddenly he was before her. “I believe this is my dance.”

It was no such thing. She’d only just arrived and had yet to fill out the slots discreetly listed on the back of her fan. Yet when he reached for her, she could do nothing but accept, shivering lightly when his warm hand engulfed her slender fingers.

The intricate melody started, and they began the waltz. The world twirled and swirled around them, yet he kept her steady. Their silent conversation was deafening, her thoughts a cacophony of uncertainty. She needed diversion from the inevitable conclusion of this night. “It really is unseemly.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What is?”

“You keep stealing from me.”

He drew her into a spin. His muscles were strong, solid under her fingers. “What have I stolen from you?”

“You stole me when you jumped on the boat.”

“I believe kidnapping is the more appropriate term.”

“Then you carried me away in the tunnels.”

“For your own safety.”

“You stole my right to end the betrothal.”

“Guilty.”

Her breath hitched. She had underestimated this man. He took what he wanted without remorse or explanation.

What if he didn’t let her go?

He lowered his head, catching her attention once more. Now he was all seriousness, his eyes golden fire. “What you started can no longer be undone. You are mine.”

She stumbled. He caught her under the elbows, sending flames through her veins. He released her the next second, yet his touches lingered just a little too long – not long enough – and delved just a little too close – not close enough. She only had to make it until the end, then she would leave him and his senses stealing behind, and focus on creating her future.

When they finished the dance, he asked for another. She parted her lips to say, Thank you, but no . Instead, her traitorous mouth said, Thank you and yes .

Then she was in his arms again, spinning and gliding and wishing for things she could never have. Yet near the end of the set, something strange happened. He stiffened and looked behind her. She tried to follow his gaze, yet every time she turned, he spun her in the other direction. And when it ended, instead of asking for another dance – to which she most certainly would have replied, Thank you, but no – or at least asking if he could fetch her some refreshing punch, he simply bowed.

He took a step to leave.

The words came of their own volition. “We should end the betrothal tonight.”

That stopped him. “We’ve already discussed this. I thought you understood.”

She ignored demands she had no intention of following. “My father has returned. He will expect a conversation.”

“Excellent.” A gleam of challenge blazed in golden eyes. “I have much to say to him.”

“You will inform him we have mutually decided to end it.”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” He stepped closer, his voice lowered even more. “Is that what you truly want?”

An icy hand squeezed her heart. “It’s what must happen. Unless you can provide what I desire.” Her voice trailed off, yet the unspoken words burned between them.

His secrets.

His true self.

His love.

“I will provide all that you need.”

Yet he had shown otherwise with his refusal to admit his feelings. If he couldn’t provide what she so clearly wanted, how could they build a true marriage? “I’m not so certain of that.”

His lips thinned, yet his attention was once more diverted. What was he looking at?

“Tonight, I will formally ask your father for your hand. We will speak more of this later. Forgive me, I must leave.”

He turned… and fled.

She resisted the urge to stomp her foot, yell after him, demand he return. He would deserve the shocked attention, and it could provide the perfect segue into the dissolution of their arrangement. Yet she couldn’t do it, not even as hot emotions tangled in her.

His absence bit into her far more than it should have, even as she watched him stride away quite surely and purposefully. Where was he going? Was it related to the secrets he hid? Perhaps if she knew where, or why, it could explain his behavior.

Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands.

With her head held high, she took a step… and followed.

Something was afoot. Trenton and his associates had been acting strange ever since their arrival, talking in hushed whispers, their eyes searching the crowds for something or someone . Philip hated to leave Emma at this critical time, yet he couldn’t ignore his mission. He had to find a way to get close enough to the criminals to discover their plans before disaster struck.

Then he would see to getting Emma safely wedded.

He slowed his gait as he neared the group. Ever since the house party, Trenton engaged him in conversation every time he came near, a useful practice for the party, yet a sabotage now. How could he get close enough to listen without being seen?

“Peyton, a word.”

Blast. Philip kept his expression neutral as he turned. “Lady Drummond, a pleasure as always.”

The old woman eyed him suspiciously. “Are you well? How is the rash on your–”

“Perfectly fine, thank you.”

The older woman’s lips twitched. For a rare moment, it felt like he was the one being manipulated.

“Good to hear it. My grandson, Foxworth, just returned from Scotland. He has inherited a dukedom.” She pointed to a well-built man in the corner.

“Please send him my congratulations.”

Yet as he viewed the duke in question, Philip frowned. He spent his life evaluating people and their intentions, and pure hostility radiated off this man. He followed his gaze and stiffened. He was looking straight at Bradenton.

Making a mental note to warn his friend posthaste, he studied the man closer. His expression suddenly changed, becoming softer yet no less determined. Sophia, Bradenton’s sister, had joined him.

A warning was definitely necessary.

“Good fortune is the last thing he sees it as.” The older woman snorted. “But he’ll learn soon enough.” She turned her sharp eye back to him. “But now let’s talk about your betrothal – I mean, arrangement. Indeed, it’s the longest arrangement I’ve ever seen. I had three marriages with shorter durations.”

Despite the situation, amusement rose. As usual, Lady Drummond’s words were painfully stark. “It’s simply a product of circumstance.”

“People have raised children in less time.”

“It can take a little longer for some people.”

“The dinosaurs roamed the earth when it began.”

“It most certainly feels like it,” he retorted in a moment of abstract honesty.

Lady Drummond gave a rare grin, one of only a handful he’d seen in the years he’d known her, which was to say his entire life. It was toothy and disconcerting, and for just a moment, he could see the vibrant woman she once was.

Is , he corrected. Her vibrancy had always been there, just hidden.

Just like he hid himself.

“Do not dither, young man.” A flash of mischievousness entered her eyes, a gleam of something from long ago. “Your behavior indicates this is not the typical ton marriage. Why, some may go so far as to speculate it is a love match.”

A love match? Out of the corner of his eye, Trenton became more animated. Whatever they had planned was imminent. “I’m afraid I must go. A pleasure as always.”

And he thought he heard, as he strode away, “Of course, I knew it all along.”

He delved closer to Trenton, yet the sounds of the guests echoed louder than before, ever since the special punch had been brought out. Frustration simmered as Trenton grinned, his expression filled with unabashed malice. The man could be spilling details of his crimes in the middle of the ballroom, self-assured no would listen or notice, and he was probably right. If only he could find a way to get closer.

He stopped.

Perhaps he could.

He had chosen to forgo a mask tonight, eschewing even the slightest indication he was not as he seemed. Yet perhaps the disguise subtly stashed in his jacket pocket would be useful after all. It was a risk, for someone could realize just how much he resembled the real rescuer. Emma could recognize. Yet the greatest risk was allowing the nefarious plans to continue. He turned in the direction of an empty room.

Time for the real masked rescuer to make an appearance.

He moved swiftly and methodically, slipping on the disguise that revealed his true nature. He removed his coat and hid it behind a dresser, then looked in the mirror at the reflection he never thought he’d see again. With a deep breath, he strode back into the party, the true Earl of Peyton hidden in plain sight.

He tensed as he passed the first guests, yet they merely smiled and complimented him on the authenticity of his disguise. When several others provided similar sentiments, he relaxed. His secret was safe, for now.

Now he had a job to do.

He navigated the ballroom, hugging the edges where the shier souls lurked, who were less likely to engage him. The strategy worked, and soon he was nestled in a corner only feet from his prey. They spoke in hushes whispers, yet not quietly enough. He allowed a slow smile, as their voices drifted close.

“We shall seize someone soon.”

His smile froze.

“Are you sure it is wise? Taking a member of the ton , right in Lord Colesworth’s ballroom, is incredibly risky.”

“Perhaps, but the rewards will be worth the danger. I’ve taken every precaution. We will succeed.” Trenton gave a toothy grin. “In my anonymous letter, I told Lord Colesworth if he did not pay, the consequences would be severe. This will show him – and the entire ton – how serious I am. Of course, we’ll get a handsome ransom for the chit as well. It’s the perfect plan.”

“Are you certain we should grab a lady? Her reputation will be ruined.”

Trenton gave a wide smile. “Which means we can have a little fun.”

Not. In. This. Lifetime.

Oblivious that his life was about to change, Trenton continued jovially, “A man might fight back. We’ll find a convenient target, perhaps a lady a few seasons in without a chaperone clutching her to her bosom. Then we simply wait while they deliver the ransom. It’s the perfect plan.”

The perfect evil. The lady’s life would be ruined, the entire ton horrified. Yet if the proposal did not proceed as intended, what would they do? Would the lady disappear, just like the others?

If he didn’t stop it, the night could end in murder.