The Masked Heart

Chapter Eleven

"Why on earth did I ever consent to accompany you, Fleur?" Blaine said as she eyed the gilt chairs set out in neat rows in front of the stage. "Surely Puff would have done as well."

"She has a ferocious cold and is forever wheezing or snuffling into an enormous handkerchief," Fleur said with the uncompromising honesty of a child. "Besides, I prefer your company. When things get dull, I can count on you to whisper some sharp comment that makes me giggle."

"Pretty words, you naughty puss, surely meant to get around me," she said, her throaty voice sharp with sarcasm. Blaine sighed at the fresh-cheeked cheerfulness of her sister. "Sometimes, Fleur, I do feel as old as Aunt Haydie."

"Piffle, Bl-uh, ma'am." Fleur's eyes fluttered in horror at the slip. "Sorry, Aunt Haydie."

"If you wouldn't look so conscious when you make such a mistake, no one would notice," Blaine hissed in aggravation. At the sight of the girl's crestfallen expression, she quickly softened her tone. "You are doing prodigious well, Fleur. You just do not happen to be a very good liar. I would suggest you not consider making your fortune as a government spy."

Fleur immediately giggled at the ridiculous idea and as the smile returned to the girl's face, Blaine relaxed slightly. It would not do to have her upset. It had been amazing so far that she hadn't blurted out the truth of their bold masquerade in the midst of Hyde Park.

"How is Cousin Lavinia?" Fleur asked.

For a moment Blaine's mind was a total blank and then she remembered to look concerned for the woman whose companion she was supposed to be. "I have heard nothing from the doctor so I can only assume that my presence is still not required."

"I think it's the outside of enough that I still have not met our father's cousin."

"Her health has never been good, dear. Having a flighty chit fluttering through her rooms would give her a fit of the vapors at the best of times. Now of course, she is far too unwell." Blaine winced at the continuous stream of lies she was forced to tell in order to allay her sister's curiosity.

"Despite your words to the contrary, I can tell you are fond of Cousin Lavinia. Since she became so ill, you have looked quite blue-deviled and several times I have seen a redness about your eyes that indicates your distress. I know you are far more attached to her than you let on. It is only natural since you have been with the woman for six years now." Fleur patted her hand as if to console her for her imagined unhappiness.

Guilt at her deception, pricked Blaine's conscience and she was delighted when Robbie Farrington arrived to lure Fleur away to a quieter spot. She fanned herself briskly after the two young people left and closed her eyes as if she were dozing but her mind returned to the night at the inn.

Immediately her mind whirled with her latest round of deception. After her escape from the inn, Blaine had realized she did not have the strength to see Drew immediately. She knew he would return to the theatre to pursue her. Although she hated to lie to John Tibbles, she sent him a note saying that she was ill and would not be returning to the theatre for several days. In order to explain her presence in the house at Portman Square, she had told Fleur that the fictitious Cousin Lavinia had taken a turn for the worse and was now under a doctor's care, relieving Blaine of her duties until her health returned.

She was surprised that Fleur had noticed her distress. When they first arrived in London, the girl had been so caught up in her own concerns that she had little awareness of the feelings of those around her. Lately, Blaine had seen signs that indicated her sister was taking a more thoughtful turn. She seemed less light-hearted and flighty, and her eyes had a more contemplative look. Perhaps the irresponsible girl finally was changing into a sensitive young lady.

Another sign to be applauded was the fact that the girl was treating Robbie with more favor. After her last talk with her sister, Blaine had noticed a softening in Fleur's attitude toward him. It still was not a loverlike relationship but at least there was some reason to hope. She opened her eyes, smiling contentedly as her sister and Robbie returned.

"We've brought you some punch, Aunt Haydie," Fleur said as she offered Blaine a delicate cut-glass cup. "Robbie said it would be just the thing."

"Much you know, young man," Blaine muttered as she raised the cup to her lips and sipped the bland liquid. "Tastes like bathwater."

"Aunt Haydie!" Fleur gasped, looking around in embarrassment that the comment might have been overheard. In annoyance, she nudged Robbie who had gone off into smothered fits. "Don't you encourage her, Robert Farrington. She'll only become more outrageous."

"Don't glower so, girl," Blaine said archly. "It will put permanent wrinkles in your skin. Old ladies are permitted a certain latitude in their speech. It's to compensate them for the infirmities brought on by advanced age."

"Surely you're bamming us, Lady Yates," Robbie said, struggling to compose himself. "You have always struck me as a particularly youthful woman. You can give your contemporaries at least twenty years."

Blaine flashed a look of warning as Fleur bit her lip in dismay and smiled sweetly up at the charming young man. "A fine speech, Robbie. You show yourself to be truly a gentleman. And as your reward for such gallantry, I will permit you to retrieve another cup of this loathsome punch. I must fortify myself for the coming musical recital. If it follows Lady Amberley's usual pattern, we are destined to be most suitably bored."

With another hearty laugh, Robbie good naturedly took her cup and moved off through the crowd. Blaine's eyes flickered past Fleur's shoulder and she braced herself as she saw Talbott Stoddard approaching. She could not hold back a shudder of distaste as the pale blue eyes targeted her sister. There had been rumors circulating for years and she could credit many of them as she noted the coldness of his glance. The man was definitely dangerous. For a moment she wanted to pull Fleur to her side and lash out at Stoddard with her walking stick. She shrugged away such nonsense but her fingers instinctively tightened on the cane.

"Greetings, Lady Yates," Stoddard said, bowing before her.

"Lord Stoddard." She nodded her head in brief acknowledgement.

"You are looking exceptionally well. It would seem that the hectic pace of London is a restorative to one of your age."

Blaine narrowed her eyes at his words, longing to give the man a firm setdown. Before she could open her mouth, he had turned to greet Fleur.

"Are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Meriweather?" Stoddard said as the girl rose from her curtsy.

"Ever so much, milord," Fleur said blushing at his pointed attention.

The girl did look well, if one's taste ran to such simple innocence, he thought. His eyes surveyed the youthful body beneath the white muslin dress. Give her a few years and he might reconsider but he suspected she was not worth the effort. For now it was information he was after and he would stay his hand at the actual seduction of the chit. He would flatter her with attention and treat her with the courtesy of an older brother.

"With your aunt's kind permission, perhaps you would care to take a turn around the room. I would be more than pleased to introduce you to some of the people with whom you may not already be acquainted." The gaze that he bent on her was one of bright interest and he was amused to note her relief at his lack of amorous intent.

"I would like that very much, Lord Stoddard," Fleur answered breathlessly. "Aunt Haydie?"

"Watch your manners," Blaine said in warning and waved her hand in dismissal.

Her eyes followed the progress of the blond nobleman and her sister as they moved around the room. She had noted the passionless scrutiny of the man. There was something havey-cavey going on for Stoddard to take an interest in the girl that was not physical. A vague uneasiness invaded her and she jumped as Robbie returned with the punch.

"Sorry, Lady Yates," he apologized. His mouth tightened as he followed the direction of her gaze. "Damn and blast!" he muttered under his breath, totally unconscious of his words until he noticed the start of surprise from his companion. "My apologies again, madam."

"No need, Robbie," Blaine said. "The words were on the tip of my tongue already."

"I cannot like the fact that Fleur spends any time with Stoddard. She is much too innocent to recognize the kind of man he is." He shook his head in frustration but as he followed the couple with his eyes, a frown of puzzlement rode between his brows. "That's strange. I have watched Stoddard over the years and he appears to be treating Fleur with the attention of an older brother. Perhaps, for once in his life, he is being kind. A token gesture for the hospitality he received in Wiltshire."

"And pigs may fly," was Blaine's retort. Startled by her words, Robbie made as if to go after the pair, but she caught him before he could move away. "She is safe enough in this squeeze."

"I do love her, you know," Robbie said, pulling awkwardly at the lobe of his ear.

"You have been the soul of patience, sir. It has been difficult for you, I know. Fleur is a good girl at heart which is the only thing that has stayed my hand. I can tell you though, I have been strongly tempted to violence by her flighty behavior." She smiled to take the edge of anger from her words. "I have spoiled her and overprotected her and this is the result."

"It is easy to spoil her, Lady Yates," he admitted. "I find myself torn between wanting her to enjoy herself in London and wanting to shut her away from the eyes of others. Drew says it is like that when you are in love. He says she has good values and will eventually tire of this social scene."

"There are times your brother amazes me with his insight," Blaine said.

"He has his moments," Robbie agreed. "He is not at his best today and I am sorry for the brusqueness of his greeting."

Blaine had been so happy to see Drew that she had not minded the black look he had worn when he and Robbie arrived to escort them. She had not seen him since the night at the inn and she chastised herself for the pounding of her heart at the very sight of him.

"No need for apologies, Robbie. Your brother is probably annoyed that he is stuck in the company of a flighty chit, a lovesick swain and a doddering old lady," Blaine said. "Run along and fetch Fleur. I do believe the festivities are about to begin."





Drew sat on the small gilt chair at the side of the room, his arms folded across his chest. Several people approached him but one look at the grim set of his features sent them scurrying away to seek more congenial company. He did not want to be present in the Amberley's ballroom and the fact he had promised to accompany Robbie, Fleur and Lady Yates was the only reason for his attendance. He had kept to his word but he saw no need to pretend he was enjoying himself.

Felicia Amberley was the sort of hostess he most detested. She was decidedly long in the tooth and yet she persisted in thinking herself a young deb. She wore clothes at least twenty years too young and moved with the fluttery gestures of a schoolgirl. There was something sad about the large woman with the well-lined face and droopy-lidded, mournful eyes. Drew might have been able to abide an evening of boredom but to make matters worse Felicia was convinced that she was a patron of the arts and delighted in holding recitals for her latest protégés, all of whom were male with the oily manners of cicisbei.

Beneath his half-lowered lids, Drew watched as Felicia, dressed as usual in maidenly pink, introduced Gaylord Ledger, a young man with deep-set, brown eyes which were trained on his patroness in soulful admiration. She simpered as he kissed her hand, while flapping a long scrap of pink chiffon with the other. Drew had to admit that the woman's gown was a triumph of the dressmaker's art. Made up of thick swatches of chiffon which billowed and writhed at every movement of her large body, reminding him strongly of some sort of window hanging gone berserk. As the young man began to sing of the agonies of lost love, Drew closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall behind his chair.

Immediately La Solitaire's face filled his vision. The apparition was so real that he jerked his eyes open, in the hope that she was not merely a figment of his imagination. Disappointed, he returned to his daydream.

For the past few days he had been consumed by thoughts of La Solitaire. Returning to the theatre the night after their meeting at the inn, he had been informed that Maggie Mason was ill and had taken leave to recover her health.

He was convinced that her absence was only an extreme measure to avoid him. When she had run out of the room at the Rose and Trellis, he had forced himself not to pursue her. She had told him she would send him a note and he would have to trust that she would. After three days, he suspected she had merely used the excuse to make her escape.

He winced when he remembered the evening at the Rose and Trellis. From the moment Miss Mason entered the shabby room, Drew knew he had made a mistake. It was apparent that she had come to the inn for no other reason than to have dinner. He had seen the disillusionment in her eyes as she looked around the room and, for the first time in his life, he cringed in shame. At that moment he had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms to apologize. When he did, the trusting eyes she raised to his face, sent a jolt of pain through his very vitals. There was something in her face and in the defensive way she held her body that told him she was an innocent. Her beauty had a radiance that took his breath away and in a sudden flash of intelligence he recognized the character of the woman all of London called La Solitaire.

From such a sorry start, the evening had progressed to one of sheer magic. She had teased him for trying to seduce her, putting him at ease with a mischievous touch of humor. They had talked through supper with the ease of old friends and Drew had been amazed that he could enjoy the company of a woman for her own sake. He had found pleasure in her quick mind and caustic wit. He had delighted in challenging her and discovered she was not only well-read but also highly intelligent.

Her abrupt announcement of her departure had thrown him off stride for he was so enjoying the evening that he had little desire for it to end. The moment he touched her, he realized the strength of his feelings. The sweet freshness of her scent rose like an aphrodisiac to fill his senses. The sensuous feel of the satin beneath his hands ignited a fire in the very core of him. He wanted to plunge his fingers into her shining tresses and taste the delights of her soft mouth, raised in a moue of surprise. He could no more have kept from kissing her than he could have kept from drawing breath.

Thinking of it now, he shifted in his chair as his body responded to the remembrance of her. He opened his eyes, concentrating on the excruciating voice of the young artist. The man's voice quavered in an orgy of lamentation, his enormous eyes sheened with tears of emotion. Drew groaned in disgust. Thankfully his mind had gained control of his wayward body and he could return to his thoughts.

The evening with Maggie Mason had turned out totally different from what he had imagined. He had planned seduction but gained instead a charming dinner with an intelligent young lady. Where he expected brittle sophistication, he found a fresh naiveté. By God, La Solitaire had kissed him like an untried virgin. It had not been an act. Drew had kissed enough women in his time that he was well able to recognize an imposture of purity.

At the sound of applause, Drew sat up straight with the faint hope that the recital might be at an end. As the beaming Felicia fluttered her way to the front of the room, he knew he was doomed to further torture. His eyes roamed the room, encountering Robbie, who rolled his eyes in sympathy.

Drew shifted his attention to the girl at his brother's side. Seeing the tiredness around Fleur's eyes, he wondered if she might not be beginning to have her fill of the joys of society. He had noticed her last night in the company of Talbott Stoddard and the way she had shied away from his effusive attentions. In Wiltshire, when the rake had flirted with her, the chit had been all smiles and airs, but now she did not seem as pleased as she ought in the presence of the blond gentleman. Drew had seen an occasional flash of bewilderment in her eyes, and hoped that she had begun to come out of the haze of euphoria brought on by the excitement of her presentation to society. There might be hope for Robbie yet.

Beyond the lovebirds, Drew spotted Lady Yates. Her white face with the outrageous rouge spots seemed thinner than he recalled. He hoped she wasn't tiring herself out with jauntering around London with her niece. As if she sensed his glance, she looked up and smiled grimly. She plied her fan briskly as if to encourage Felicia Amberley to speed up the proceedings.

Felicia introduced another young man, Louis Destarte, who was definitely not in the same mold as the woman's other protégés. Beneath an unruly tumble of dark curls, he had smoldering black eyes and wore a sullen, moody expression. His clothes were ill fitting, almost shabby. He had the look of a laborer and the muscles beneath his jacket threatened to burst the already strained seams. Monsieur Destarte glowered at his patroness, brushing her away with a look of supreme disinterest as he approached the piano.

Drew could not resist a look at Lady Yates and was pleased to note that she was already glancing his way to catch his reaction. He raised a questioning eyebrow and she shrugged as if to say she was withholding her opinion. He returned his attention to the stage and, surrounded by the expectant rustling of the audience, waited for the man to begin.

At the first notes, Drew realized his coming to the Amberley's was well worth the aggravation. For all Monsieur Destarte's musculature, there was a surprising lightness to his touch. Drew had not heard Mozart played so well. When the Frenchman moved to a heavier piece, he brought a passion to the melody that filled the room. Drew leaned back to let the music flow over him, washing his mind free of the troubling thoughts that had been plaguing him. Serenity seeped into his body as he listened and he was able to picture La Solitaire with a clarity that pleased him. Her golden-hazel eyes gleamed with enthusiasm for the music.

Drew jerked upright, staring across the room. His attention was fixed on Lady Yates and he realized with a start that, behind her lorgnette, the old woman had eyes identical to Maggie Mason's. At first he was afraid that he was losing his mind, so obsessed had he become with the actress. He focused on Lady Yates and studied her through half-shuttered lids. Now that he looked more closely at the woman he could see other similarities between the old woman and the actress.

Drew pressed his temples with the tips of his fingers as his thoughts whirled in confusion. He supposed the similarity he was seeing, between the old woman and the actress, could be a family resemblance. Suddenly he thought he had stumbled on the truth and nearly fell off his chair. By God! Was it possible that La Solitaire was Lady Yates' niece, the mysterious Blaine Meriweather?

Only waiting for the applause to start as the music ended, Drew rose to his feet. He had to get away. The air in the ballroom was suddenly stifling and he needed someplace quiet to think. He was barely civil to Lady Amberley as he pushed his way out of the room and down the stairs.

Walking was Drew's answer when he needed to work out a problem. The brisk physical movement and the rhythm of his pace had an hypnotic effect that freed his mind. He gave quick instructions to his tiger to return his curricle and then set off on foot for Hyde Park. The tree-enclosed pathways would have a soothing effect on his feverish brain.

He searched his mind for every detail concerning Blaine Meriweather and La Solitaire. He replayed his interview with Wesley Upton and the snippets of information he had gleaned in his talks with Val. Slowly the pieces came together and the jigsaw puzzle began to take shape. Although he still found it impossible to believe, he truly believed that Blaine Meriweather was Maggie Mason.

It would explain so much that had confused him. He could see where the money for Fleur's dowry had come from. In the last four years, La Solitaire had been a star, able to command a salary well above that earned by a governess or companion. It would also explain why she was never seen in Wiltshire and why the Meriweathers were reluctant to talk about her, for fear of giving something away.

He had heard that Fleur and Blaine were only half-sisters, but he had assumed Blaine was an older version of the little blond. Val more closely resembled Fleur and it was not apparent that Blaine took after her father's side of the family. Lady Yates was the sister of Blaine's father which would explain the similarity of eyes and facial structure. If it hadn't been for the lucky chance that he had spotted the family resemblance between Lady Yates and La Solitaire, he might never have discovered her identity.

"Devil take it, what a coil!" Drew said aloud.

His words startled two little, old ladies who had been sitting on one of the benches that lined the path. When the glassy-eyed man threw himself down on the bench opposite, they quickly gathered their things and scurried away but the young man did not even notice their desertion.

"Poor Fleur," Drew said, brushing his hand over his hair. If word of this ever leaked out, the girl's reputation would suffer. The scandal would be the on dits of the century. Drew could just hear the old tabbies and how they would delight in the shame of a woman of good family who had so debased herself as to trod the boards. Would Robbie still want to marry a girl whose family tree had an actress swinging from the branches?

Awareness of the injustice of it all, filled Drew with fury. From what he had gathered from Val and Wesley Upton, the death of Blaine's parents had left the family nearly destitute. How devastating it must have been to know that the money was there but untouchable. Blaine would have been twenty at the time and he could not even imagine the desperation she must have felt. He had nothing but admiration for the girl to have chosen to sacrifice her own life for the sake of Val and Fleur.

Did Fleur and Val know about Blaine? He doubted it. They had been too young at the time of their parents' death to be trusted with such a secret. It was doubtful, even now, if the countrified girl would be able to view the career of an actress as a fit livelihood for her sister.

La Solitaire. Maggie Mason. Blaine Margaret Meriweather. So many names, Drew thought. Blaine suited the woman he knew, more surely than the other names. Blaine. He rolled the name over and over in his mind, then said it aloud to savor the taste of it on his tongue. How did he feel about her? A fatuous smile creased the lines of his face as he thought of the beautiful actress.

He loved her.

The thought came to him simply, with little fanfare. He did not know why it did not surprise him that he had fallen in love with Blaine. He freely admitted that he had planned to make her his mistress when he first saw her on stage. No other relationship had occurred to him. Men of his class did not marry actresses. It was only when she came to the inn that he discovered that he could never offer her such a relationship. He wanted more of her than just her body. He wanted to be with her and share thoughts and laughter. He wanted her to bear his children and live beside him until they were old and crotchety.

Drew looked around him and the world seemed a better place. The colors of the flowers were more vibrant. The trees were more imposing. The air was fresh and carried the scent of herbs and other growing things. He chuckled at the lyrical quality of his thoughts, amazed that love, an emotion he believed he would never find, not only existed but also had taken over his life completely.

In his eyes, Blaine's life on the stage did not make her any less a person. He respected her for taking the risk that would ostracize her from the society into which she was born. He suspected she had been very lonely in the last six years because he knew without question that she had lived a solitary existence indeed. Her innocence was far more amazing since it was not from lack of temptation. As an actress, she must have been inundated with offers but she had not taken the easy route to financial security. She had shown herself to be highly principled and there was nothing in her life that she need ever be ashamed of.

Would she marry him? Drew wished he knew the answer to that question. He knew she had felt attraction for him and when he kissed her, she had not pulled away in disgust. Their minds were attuned and they could converse easily, almost as if they had known each other for years. He was not unaware of his attributes in the marriage mart but Drew knew that the woman he loved would judge him on much higher standards.

Perhaps Lady Yates would help him. Drew wondered if the old woman knew what her niece had been doing for the last six years. Even knowing Lady Yates so little, he suspected she did know and approved. She had mentioned that she knew Sarah Siddons and Blaine had come to the notice of the public while working in the same company as Mrs. Siddons.

The thought of Lady Yates cheered him immeasurably. The feisty lady liked him and enjoyed his company. Surely she would approve of his pursuit of her niece and do what she could to push forward the match. Although Lady Yates did not normally attend evening functions, he knew that she would be at the Earl of Larchmont's affair since she had expressed interest in seeing his much-talked-about ballroom. He would talk to her there and enlist her help.

It came to him suddenly that there was a great deal to be done if he intended to marry Blaine. For one thing he needed to remove her from London before her identity could be discovered. For himself, he was proud of her talents, but he knew there were others who would take great delight in giving Blaine the cut direct, if it was known she was the celebrated La Solitaire. He would not permit such hypocrites to hurt Blaine. She had suffered enough already.

Even with the help of Lady Yates, he was not assured of Blaine's agreement to his suit. He would love to woo her with the patterned rituals of courtship but he had a feeling of urgency that he could not gainsay. She had been lucky so far in avoiding detection but it was a risky business. He must move quickly in order to safeguard her, for he had a feeling in his bones that she was in danger.