The Madcap Masquerade (24 page)

So far, she’d managed to survive on the payment she’d received for her cartoon of George Brummell—a surprise, since she’d drawn the exact opposite of what the
Times
editor had requested. When it came down to it, she couldn’t rejoice in the downfall of her friend, the Beau, as the other London cartoonists had. She’d betrayed one man in the most abominable way; she couldn’t bring herself to betray another.

She’d drawn him standing proud and tall with his back to Watier’s, the men’s club he’d help bring into vogue, and surrounded him with seven vicious-looking wolves, six with the recognizable faces of the sycophants who clung to the Prince Regent’s coattails and one with the face everyone in London would know belonged to Prinny himself. She’d entitled it simply, “The Wolf Pack Closes In.”

Luckily, the editor had been on holiday when the cartoon reached his desk, and his assistant had automatically passed on it since it was one solicited by his superior. Like her Earlier cartoon of the Duke of Kent, it had raised an uproar heard all the way from the elegant salons of Carlton House to the dingiest whore house in Seven Dials. Once again, Marcus Browne was the most controversial, and the most popular, cartoonist in London.

But now her money was running out and her cupboard was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s. Furthermore, the tradesmen Lily had owed were banging on her door again. Unless her father contacted her soon, she, like the Beau, would soon be faced with the necessity of hiding out from her creditors.

It was late one afternoon in the first week of July when Lady Hermione’s footman finally knocked at Maeve’s door with a note stating that her father awaited her at the Mayfair townhouse. The pasty-faced fellow wore the same supercilious expression as when he’d made his first call on her. She didn’t care. She could have hugged him from sheer relief. Before he could blink his eyes, she’d donned her bonnet, pelisse and gloves, grabbed up her reticule and climbed into Lady Hermione’s elegant green and gold carriage.

The stiff-necked butler, who’d greeted her on her last visit, showed her into the salon where Lady Hermione and the squire awaited her.

“So, daughter, ye’re quick to heed me beck and call when there’s money to pass hands,” the squire remarked in his usual surly manner. Without further ado, he slapped a bank draft into her hand. “There now, take yer blood money and may ye never have a minute’s joy of it.”

Lady Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “Behave yourself, Harry,” she admonished the red-faced squire, then turned to Maeve with a smile that looked almost genuine. “Let’s all sit down, like the civilized people we are, and have a cup of tea,” she said sweetly. “I’ve instructed my butler to bring the tea tray at precisely five o’clock.”

Maeve felt anything but civilized at the moment. Nor did she have the slightest wish to share a cup of tea with these two conspirators who had turned her life upside down with their wicked scheming. But she stuffed the bank draft into her reticule, took the chair Lady Hermione had indicated and watched the squire and her hostess settle onto an oversized sofa opposite her.

“Now, Harry, I want to make one thing clear,” Lady Hermione said once they were all properly seated. “The business with Meg and the earl is over and done with, and I’ll tolerate no more of your everlasting complaining. You agreed to the terms Maeve demanded, and from the look of things, you’ll more than get your money’s worth.”

Maeve felt as if someone had just driven a knife into her heart. “Meg did go through with the wedding then?”

“She did that,” the squire said. “But not the way I’d planned, in the village church with all me friends looking on. Once she made up her mind to marry the poor sod, she talked him into running off to Gretna Green with her, like she was no better than one of the local farmers’ daughters.”

The pain in Maeve’s heart increased tenfold. Theo certainly hadn’t wasted any time grieving for her once Meg offered him a little encouragement. “I wish them well,” she said, though it nearly killed her to say it.

“That’s generous of ye, daughter, all things considered. But then, ‘twas all yere own doing, wasn’t it. If ye hadn’t been so squeamish about hoodwinking the earl , ye could have been a countess by now.”

Maeve took a death grip on her reticule. “I explained why I had to tell Theo the truth.”

The squire rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Like I told you, Hermione, the chit was
in love
. She couldn’t bear the thought of tricking the earl into marrying her—wanted him fair and square, with no lies between them, or not at all. Now what do you think of that?”

Lady Hermione’s smile had never looked more like Lily’s. “I think it was very noble—much more noble than anything I would ever do. But not terribly practical. Wouldn’t it have been wiser to have had the earl ’s ring on your finger before you confessed your sins, my dear? Who knows, he might have been willing to forgive you anything once the two of you had tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed. He’s no saint himself, you know.”

“No!” Maeve’s voice came out a hoarse whisper. “I doubt I could ever make someone like you understand. But in the two weeks we spent together, I came to love Theo—truly love him. I simply couldn’t lie to him any longer.”

Lady Hermione scowled. “You loved him, yet you left him. How odd. I feel certain your mother would never have done anything so preposterous. I know I wouldn’t have. You may have acted very foolishly, Maeve. It has been my experience that a man will forgive a woman most anything if he desires her, and Harry said the earl was besotted with you.”

“Theo deserves better than a cheat and liar,” Maeve said wearily. She had never before realized how cruel the squire and Lady Hermione were. From the looks on their faces, she could swear the two of them were thoroughly enjoying her misery.

Lady Hermione smiled sweetly. “Oh dear, I do hope I’m mistaken, you silly girl,” she said in her soft, whispery voice, “but it sounds very much to me like you’re still in love with the earl . Doesn’t it sound that way to you, Harry?”

“Stop it, you two. I’ve heard enough.”

The familiar baritone voice came from behind Maeve’s left ear. She shot to her feet and whirled around to face the man who was her sister’s husband—the man whom she’d just confessed she loved, thanks to Lady Hermione’s clever prodding. Sick with humiliation, she made a dash for the door, but he blocked her way.

She struggled to free herself from his firm grip. “You’ve had your revenge, my lord. Is the satisfaction of hearing me admit to being a lovesick fool not enough for you? What more do you want of me?”

“A great deal more eventually, Maeve Barrington, but right now just a few minutes of your time. Surely you’ll agree you owe me that much.”

Maeve nodded grudgingly, too conscious of the nerve-tingling pressure of Theo’s strong fingers to object to his request.

“Leave us,” he ordered the squire and Lady Hermione in that autocratic way of his. The pair instantly rose to their feet and filed out the door.

“Be gentle, my lord,” Lady Hermione whispered as she passed them. “Patience and reason will prevail with a girl like Maeve.”

“Patience and reason, me ass,” the squire said close behind her. “Kiss the sassy chit till she’s out of her mind, then have yere way with her afore she scratches yere eyes out. ‘Tis the only way to tame the green-eyed cat.”

“Really, Harry, must you be so vulgar,” Lady Hermione complained, taking the arm he offered. “Even the best of advice should be couched in more delicate terms than that.”

Never lessening his grip on Maeve’s arms, Theo reached back with his left foot and pushed the door shut behind them. “Are you?” he asked softly.

“Am I what?”

“Are you still in love with me?”

Maeve lifted her chin in what she knew was a pathetic show of defiance. “I refuse to answer that question.”

“Then I’ll just have to find the truth in my own way,” Theo said, and lowering his head, claimed her lips in a deeply passionate kiss. Maeve did her best to keep from responding, but the touch of his lips on hers sent a rush of heat spiraling through her, melting the last bulwark of her feeble defenses. With a hoarse cry, she gave herself up to the exquisite, soul-satisfying pleasure of his lips and tongue and hands…until she remembered who and what he was.

With her last ounce of strength she pushed him from her. “What kind of man are you?” she gasped. “To marry one sister and make love to the other?”

His dark eyes gleamed wickedly. “I admit to a certain prowess with the ladies. But not even I could manage the feat you accuse me of when one sister is in London, the other in Scotland.”

Maeve stared at him, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Why aren’t you in Gretna Green with Meg, as my father claimed.

“Because I doubt even a generous-hearted fellow like Richard would be willing to share his bride with a friend.”

Maeve’s heart skipped a beat. “Are you saying Richard and Meg have eloped?”

Theo chuckled. “Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? But there you have it. Apparently anything is possible when love is involved, or so my wise Italian mother contends. Which brings us to this match between you and me that your father seems so anxious to promote.”

“There is no match between us and never can be.”

“I beg to differ with you, my sweet. Not ten minutes ago, I heard you confess to loving me despite the fact that I’m no saint—and I freely admit to loving you, sins and all. To my way of thinking, our sinful match is every bit as perfect as Richard’s and Meg’s saintly one.”

“You know nothing about me, my lord,” Maeve said, determined to keep their conversation on a formal basis. “There is no woman in England less qualified to be a countess than I. With all I confessed, I still left out two very important facts.”

“Only two?” Theo raised an eyebrow. “I’m disappointed in you, Maeve. At this rate we shall soon be as dull and proper as Meg and Richard.”

Maeve frowned. “I am not jesting, my lord.”

“I can see you’re not,” Theo said, sobering instantly. With Lady Hermione’s advice in mind, he gently clasped her hands in his. “Very well, if you feel you must, tell me these two shocking facts about you that I should know.”

Maeve straightened her shoulders and raised her little pointed chin. “My mother was—”

“The notorious Lily St. Germaine,” Theo interjected.

“I see my father has been unusually candid with you,” Maeve said stiffly.

“No, rest assured, the squire is the same devious and manipulative fellow as ever. He would never reveal anything that might threaten his latest matchmaking scheme. The Duke of Kent was kind enough to send me a note divulging that interesting bit of information once he remembered where he’d first met you.”

Theo shrugged nonchalantly. “Between your mother and mine, we may well be the most scandalous couple in the
ton
. The starchiest of matrons will undoubtedly close their doors to us, but that will be no loss. Their parties are always a dead bore.”

Maeve clenched her fists in frustration. Was the man lost to all reason. “There is more, my lord,” she said. “I, myself, am—”

“That infamous troublemaker, Marcus Browne, who’s made his name pointing out the foibles of our leading Tory politicians. That one I figured out by myself when I saw the cartoon on Brummell that set London on its ear. If you’ll remember, I had occasion to see your renditions of him in your sketch book. Your technique is quite unmistakable, my dear.”

Theo smiled wryly. “Now there’s a fact I feel we definitely should keep to ourselves unless we plan to spend the Season in Kent raising cattle and babies from now on—which actually sounds rather pleasant, now that I think of it.”

Maeve did not appear to find his teasing manner the least bit humorous. She stepped back out of his reach—her eyes narrowed, her jaw firmed into an unmistakably stubborn line. “I am resolute, my lord. I will not marry you. Not now. Not ever. I love you too much.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever,” Theo declared, feeling his patience rapidly disintegrating. If this was an example of female reason, it escaped him. In truth, he could never remember feeling more exasperated than he did at this moment.

Maeve backed up yet another step. “It makes all the sense in the world. The secret of your parentage is safe; mine is not. Lily was shockingly indiscreet. She was also an inveterate gossip. I have no way of knowing if she revealed my unconventional way of making a living to one of her friends.”

Theo gritted his teeth. So much for patience and reason. He could see Maeve meant every word she said, but there was such a thing as too much nobility. If he’d wanted to marry a saint, he’d have made a push to marry her twin sister.

Very well, if one tactic didn’t work with the irritating woman, he’d try another. He could be every bit as stubborn as she—and a great deal more inventive. Without another word, he moved forward, clasped her in a fierce embrace and kissed her deeply and thoroughly. As always he felt as if he were drowning in the tide of love and passion that flowed between them.

Moments later, he lifted his head to stare deep into her bemused eyes. “You’ve
told
me the reasons why we shouldn’t marry,” he said softly. “Now I’ll
show
you the reasons why we should.”

“That’s not fair. I can’t think when you touch me,” Maeve said, twisting frantically to free herself from his hold.