Moonstruck Madness (23 page)

"If I remember correctly, the first two were your ideas. Let me see, first we hired a couple of cutthroats from the docks to accost and murder Lucien in the street some evening after leaving Vauxhall, the unfortunate victim Of a brutal robber—just one of many such incidents that happen all of the time. So what happens? Lucien drives his sword through one, and puts a bullet in the other."

"Fools," Kate commented coldly.

"Fools?"
Percy laughed nervously. "I think we're the fools to think we can get rid of Lucien. Let me see, what was our other, oh so clever, plan? We paid that charming little actress from Drury Lane an exorbitant price to seduce Lucien, and then while he slept stick a knife in him."

He sent a speaking glance to his twin. "I believe she left town quite suddenly, suffering from a broken wrist, and doesn't plan on returning to England in the near future. Oh, yes, we've been absolutely brilliant, have we not?"

"Oh, do shut up, Percy, you're giving me a migraine," Kate told him sharply, tapping her fingers with their reddened nails thoughtfully on the dressing table.

"I tell you though, I am becoming quite peeved. One can't get away with anything anymore. Try to plan a simple murder, and you have countless busybodies hanging over your shoulder.
And these absurdly ridiculous Bow Street Runners of the Fieldings.
I don't know what London is coming to."

"Damned interference, but what are we to do, Kate?" Percy demanded in despair.

Kate fingered the golden cross around her neck unconsciously as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

"If our side of the family hadn't been Catholic, and involved in so many damned plots against the Crown, we wouldn't be in this fix now," Percy said bitterly.

"If we weren't all spendthrifts we wouldn't find ourselves in this fix today, m'dear," Kate corrected him acidly. "The awful truth of the matter is that we spend money with an unsparing hand."

"Well, hang the expense, Kate!" Percy cried. "What the
blazes is
money for if you can't spend it and enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, well, it's quite a shame that we should be the improvident branch of the family, rather than our dear cousin."

"Damned pinch-fist.
Treats us pretty shabbily, making us go down on hands and knees so he can dole out a few pence," Percy said resentfully, a truculent look on his face.

Kate got to her feet and stared around her in despair.
"Bills, bills, bills.
Lud, but I grow fatigued of dodging the creditors, and I'd like to once answer the door without fear of it being some low-browed lout demanding to be paid. We must, at all costs, keep Lucien from inheriting his estate. Since he seems unwilling to die, I think we'd better put our other plan into action," she told Percy decisively, a cruel smile curving her lips. "You should enjoy that."

Percy smiled slyly. "I've been most discreet, m'dear, and have the little pigeon in the palm of my hand." He squeezed his hand together, his fingers curving into his palm like a vise.

"What a pity, and how embarrassing for poor Lucien, to be stood up at the altar, for I fear that is what is about to happen to him."

Percy gave a low laugh. "You'd love to see Lucien humiliated, wouldn't you? I've often thought, dear
sister, that
you suffered from a case of unrequited love for our dear, arrogant cousin. But he's never looked your way, has he? Not surprising, considering what you did to his face."

"Careful, brother dear, or I'11 have your wretched heart carved on a platter for dinner," Kate replied tightly.

"I call truce," Percy laughed, holding up his hands pla-catingly. "As a team we are invincible and shall see our fondest desires. We shall have Lucien groveling in the mud at our feet."

"When do you plan on kidnapping Lucien's fiancée?" Kate asked curiously. "Time is running out for us, so we must act now."

"Oh, I think tomorrow evening at the ball being given by Lord and Lady Harrier will be soon enough," Percy told her complacently.

Kate smiled in anticipation. "It should prove to be an interesting evening."

"Breathe in," Mary ordered as she pulled tight the laces of Sabrina's corset and tied them behind snugly. The front was low, with black, crisscross lacing down its length, and barely covered the top of Sabrina's breasts.

Sabrina sat down on a chair, sighing deeply as she rolled black silk stockings up over her knees and secured them with two frilly garters tied with silver ribbons.

Mary glanced at her worriedly.
"Too tight?
I wish the Contessa would hurry up with her toilette so we could use the maids. I'm afraid I'm not too good at this," Mary apologized.

"You're doing just fine, Mary. Now help me into this hoop." Mary held the wide hoop while Sabrina stepped into it. Next came a black petticoat, the fine silk shot through with silver threads, and then the gown of white satin with black and silver embroidery and frilly, black lace flounces falling from the elbows and opened down the front to reveal her petticoat.

"It's exquisite, Sabrina," Mary said in awe as Sabrina slipped her feet into white silk shoes trimmed with silver, the heels high and slender.

"Rather' startling," Sabrina answered in amusement, "but then that is what the Marquis has in mind," she said dryly as she fastened ice-cold diamond drops in her ears and then clasped a diamond pendant around her neck.

"You first," she told Mary, indicating the velvet patches in the small box before her. Mary stuck a small, black silk patch on her cheek,
then
looked into the mirror to see the effect.

"It isn't quite me, I think," she laughed as she removed it, leaving her cheeks smooth and pink, her gown of white silk damask, heavily embroidered with flowers and birds, rustling as she turned from the mirror.

Sabrina took a small, heart-shaped black velvet patch and carefully placed it near the corner of her mouth; then taking a small pot of color, rouged her lips. She stared back at her reflection as if seeing a stranger. Her black hair had disappeared beneath its lavish powdering of white and sparkled with a spray of diamonds behind one ear when she moved her head.

"You look beautiful, Rina," Mary told her simply, her own red hair powdered white and held in place with gold hairpins. A small gold locket hung from her neck, matching the gold rings in her ears and a golden girdle buckle set with pearls around her waist. "It was kind of the Contessa to lend you some of her diamonds," Mary said as she stared at the sparkling gems.

"Kind?"
Sabrina repeated doubtfully, then standing up she pulled on her musk-scented, elbow-length gloves and picking up her fan and purse, turned to Mary. "Shall we go?"

The Marquis and the Contessa were waiting in the salon, the Marquis finely attired in a cream silk suit embroidered in claret, while the Contessa was resplendent in burgundy damask with blood-red rubies clasped around her neck.

"Belle,"
the Contessa whispered beneath her breath as she stared in amazement at the two sisters, her eyes glowing with pleasure at the result.

"My God, I had no idea the contrast between you would be so startling," the Marquis said, clapping his hands in excitement, the impatient expression that had been on his face immediately lifting as he stared in awe at his two beautiful daughters. "This is marvelous. I am so pleased, but now, to add a touch of mystery, put on these masks," he told them, handing them each
a black
velvet half-mask. "It's quite in vogue."

Sabrina tied hers on and stared at herself in the mirror,
a
grin widening her mouth as she started to laugh. She turned to face Mary, who after a startled gasp of dismay, started to laugh also.

The Marquis frowned ominously. "What is so damned funny?" he demanded peevishly, looking from one masked daughter to the other in exasperation.

"I always wondered how it felt, Rina," Mary said with
a
nervous laugh.

"How ironic that I should attend my first ball in
a
mask," Sabrina chuckled as she straightened the mask over her small nose.

"Well, damned if I know what you two are talking about," the Marquis grumbled. The Contessa was silent, a thoughtful look in her eyes as she continued to stare in fascination at Sabrina's masked face.

"There is something so familiar . . ." she spoke softly,
a
puzzled look on her lovely face.

"Come, we must go, we're already much too late as it is," the Marquis interrupted. "Here, these just arrived from the dressmaker's." He handed them each a scarf to cover their shoulders, Mary's white velvet, and Sabrina's
a
thin
gauze that encircled her shoulders in a silver cloud.

They rode in silence along the London streets, the coach wheels on the cobbles the only sound as they moved towards Berkeley Square until the noise of other coaches, with yelling coachmen directing fellow coachmen to unsavory places, disturbed them.

"Damned traffic," the Marquis cursed as he looked out at the long line of coaches waiting their turn to unload their passengers at the party.

They lurched forward, then stopped, then moved forward a little, time and time again, before finally coming to a halt before the well-lighted entrance of the great town house, the liveried footmen escorting the guests along the red carpet rolled across the walk and up to the doors.

Mary's fingers closed over Sabrina's as they followed the Marquis and the Contessa into the crowded entrance hall, chandeliers glowing with light above their heads as they moved through the throng, the Marquis crying out greetings to acquaintances as they passed. He smiled smugly at the curious and interested stares he was receiving as he ascended the grand staircase surrounded by his beautiful wife and daughters.

"Darling James," a bejeweled woman cried joyously at sight of the Marquis. "I was hoping you would return to London in time for my little ball." She turned her avid gaze on the two masked figures standing silently beside the Marquis. "I've already met your wife, the Contessa," she said, giving the Contessa a slight smile, "but did I hear correctly? These surely can't be your daughters, darling? Why, I had no idea you even had a family," she remarked with feigned surprise, and giving the Contessa a sly look, added delicately, "Of course, they could be the Contessa's daughters? You are old enough, I suppose, to be their mother?"

The Contessa smiled thinly. "No, they are James' first wife's daughters, but soon I shall be the mother of his child," she informed Lady Harrier, and making a moue of her mouth, said regretfully, "A pity, is it not, when a woman becomes too old to bear the child, eh?" She looked at the older woman understandingly.

Lady Harrier drew in her breath sharply, her mouth tight. "Why haven't I seen these daughters of yours before7 Keeping them hidden away, have you?"

The Marquis smiled artlessly, his face the picture of in-nocence. "How can you think such a thing, Lady Jane? I've merely been waiting for the proper opportunity, shall we say, of introducing my lovely daughters to proper society." He turned a beaming face of fatherly pride on his daughters. "Allow me to introduce you to Mary, my eldest, and little Sabrina, who I am told takes after her father," he said modestly.

Lady Harrier smiled thoughtfully. "Ummm, I can see that this evening will be quite extraordinary, you devil. You shall have all of my guests, especially those in breeches, burning with curiosity to have a peek beneath those tantalizing masks."

"Do you really think so?" the Marquis asked ingenuously.

Lady Harrier gave a disbelieving laugh. "The
devil take
you, James, now go and find some rich suitors for these daughters of yours."

As they moved on, joining the crowd milling about, the Marquis seemed to be searching for certain faces, introducing Mary and Sabrina to select persons only, snubbing those he felt were beneath him. Sabrina couldn't help but become caught up in the excitement as the drifting sounds of musicians warming up rose above the din of conversing voices, her small foot beginning to tap in anticipation.

The Marquis stopped abruptly before a plump young man in pale blue brocade, pulling Mary and Sabrina close beside him. "Your Grace," he began audaciously, "you've not met my rustic beauties on their first visit to town. Mary, Sabrina, meet the Duke of Granston, my daughters, Your Grace."

They curtsied politely, the Duke kissing their gloved hands, a spark of interest in his pale eyes. "M'pleasure, ladies," he slurred drunkenly. "Care t'dance?" And without waiting for an answer he swept Mary off into the dancing crowd.