A Not So Respectable Gentleman?. Diane Gaston
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did not marry Ashworth. If I had, I would not be in this fix.’
It brought him back to the task at hand. ‘Never mind. Tell me why you must marry Kellford.’
She stood so near his arms ached to hold her again. He leaned closer, suddenly helpless against the need to taste her lips and recapture some of the youthful joy they’d shared.
Her eyes rose to his and her pupils widened. For a moment she did not move. He leaned closer.
‘Leo,’ she whispered, then pushed him aside. ‘What does it matter? Move away. I must return to my charade.’
Her charade. She did not wish to marry Kellford, that was clear. And, like it or not, Leo had made the choice to help her. He’d not back out now.
At the moment, though, he could only watch her hurry back to the ballroom.
At the end of the evening as Leo rode back to the ducal town house with Nicholas, he asked, ‘What event will everyone attend tomorrow night?’
‘A party at Vauxhall Gardens hosted by Lord and Lady Elkins.’ His brother stifled a yawn. ‘But I will not attend. I prefer to stay home with Emily.’ He glanced at Leo. ‘Would you like to go in my stead? I can arrange that.’
‘I would indeed.’
Anything was possible at Vauxhall Gardens.
Chapter Four
‘Vauxhall Gardens?’ Walker’s brows rose.
‘That is correct.’ Leo opened a cabinet in his sitting room and pulled out a decanter of brandy. He poured himself a glass. ‘I’ll need a domino and a mask. Do you know where you might get one?’
The valet shrugged. ‘I will find one, but what is this? A card game at Vauxhall Gardens?’
Leo lifted an empty glass in an invitation to pour some for Walker. ‘Not precisely. It is a society event.’
Walker shook his head. ‘Another society event? This is a change for you. May I ask why?’
Leo frowned, an image of Mariel flying into his mind, as well as one of Kellford brandishing a whip.
Walker’s expression turned to one of concern.
‘What is it, Fitz?’
Walker only acted the role of valet, which accounted for his plain speaking and familiar address. Few gentlemen—or servants, for that matter—would understand the sense of equality between the two men, born of mutual respect and one life-changing experience. Leo had fed Walker’s thirst to better himself, teaching Walker to read and to speak like an educated man. Walker had shown Leo the skills he’d acquired to survive the Rookerie and provided the contacts that would make their present venture profitable. There was little they did not know about each other’s lives.
Still, Leo had never told Walker about Mariel. His feelings for Mariel were a secret locked so deep inside him he did not know if he could ever dislodge them.
Walker’s brows knit. ‘Is this what your family asked of you? That you must rejoin society and attend its entertainments? And you are doing it?’
‘No.’ Leo lifted the glass of brandy to his lips. ‘Although no doubt my family would be delighted by it. You know my opinion of society.’ On the Continent he had learned that he needed only his wits and his courage to make money.
‘Then what is this?’ Walker circled with his finger. ‘Why this visage of life and death, then? It must be more than some new scheme. If you are in trouble, you should let me in on it, you know.’
Leo smiled inside at the way the word visage dropped so easily off Walker’s tongue. As did Walker’s willingness to help, somewhat reminiscent of Nicholas’s.
Leo took a sip of his brandy. He needed Walker’s help, he was certain of that, and Walker was not as easy to fool as Nick. He was also not one to follow orders without an explanation. Walker had freed himself from blind adherence to orders.
Leo must stick close to the truth, but he had no intention of exposing what was still painfully raw.
‘Do you recall Lord Kellford?’ he finally asked.
Walker made a disgusted sound. ‘The lout with the whip?’
‘Precisely.’ Leo lowered himself into one of the chairs. ‘He is set to marry an … old family friend and I am determined to stop it. There is a masquerade party at Vauxhall tonight which I suspect he will attend. As will the lady.’
Walker stared at him and Leo had the distinct feeling the man was trying to decipher what Leo left unsaid. ‘Does the lady know what he is?’
‘I told her.’ Leo tried to appear dispassionate. ‘She insists she must marry him. I would like to discover why, what hold he has over her and then stop him.’ Beneath his prosaic tone was a swirl of painful emotions. He took another sip of brandy. ‘I shall see what I can discover as a guest at this Vauxhall affair. My brother will arrange my invitation.’
Walker sat in an adjacent chair. ‘Then perhaps I can discover something from a different end. Shall I try to befriend some of his servants? See what they know?’
This was why Leo valued his valet-friend so much. Walker did not wait to be ordered about; he just acted.
‘An excellent idea.’ Leo smiled. ‘After you find me a domino, that is.’
The music from Vauxhall reached Leo’s ears just as the pleasure garden’s entrance came into sight. Nicholas had insisted on providing the ducal carriage, and, if anyone witnessed it, Leo supposed arriving in such style could do nothing but help his acceptance as his brother’s substitute.
As he moved through the garden’s entrance, his domino billowed in the night’s breeze and gathered between his legs, impeding his gait.
There could not be a sillier garment for a man, lots of black fabric fashioned into a hooded cloak, the accepted male costume for a masquerade. Once Leo put on his mask, the costume had advantages. No one would know who he was. He would be able to remain near Mariel without anyone suspecting his identity.
He knew she would attend. Before walking to his brother’s house and donning his domino, he’d concealed himself near the Covendale town house and watched as Mariel and her parents climbed into Kellford’s carriage. The evening remained light enough that Leo was able to clearly see her costume. Her dark green dress clung to her figure from neckline to hips. Gold-braid trim adorned the low square neckline and the long trumpet sleeves. Over the gown, she wore a matching hooded cape. How ironic she would dress as a medieval maiden, the quintessential damsel in distress.
Kellford, on the other hand, had exerted as much imagination as Leo. He, too, wore a black domino.
Leo hurried down the South Walk. Tall, stately elms shaded the area with its booths and the supper boxes. Ahead of him at some distance, Leo spied three triumphal arches and a painting of the Ruins of Palmyra so realistic it fooled many people into believing it was real. The three supper boxes reserved for the party hosted by Lord and Lady Elkins were located just before the arches.
His domino caught between his legs again and he slowed his pace, taking more notice of the gardens which seemed to show some tarnish since he’d last seen them. Or perhaps it was he who was tarnished.
He remembered his first look at Vauxhall, when still a schoolboy, the night his father and mother hosted a masquerade. He and his brothers had been allowed to attend until darkness fell and the drinking and carousing began in earnest.
A wave of grief washed over him. His parents had been blissfully happy, as scandalous as their liaison had been. They’d looked magnificent that night, costumed in powdered hair and shiny, colourful brocades, the fashionable dress of the last century. Surrounded by their equally scandalous friends and those few respectable ones who were loyal no matter what, they had been in their element. No one had enjoyed