Unmasking the Hero, page 1
Unmasking the Hero
Pleasure Garden, Book 1
Mary Lancaster
© Copyright 2021 by Mary Lancaster
Text by Mary Lancaster
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition August 2021
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Pleasure Garden Series
Unmasking the Hero (Book 1)
Unmasking Deception (Book 2)
Unmasking Sin (Book 3)
Unmasking the Duke (Book 4)
Unmasking the Thief (Book 5)
Crime & Passion Series
Mysterious Lover
Letters to a Lover
Dangerous Lover
The Husband Dilemma Series
How to Fool a Duke
Season of Scandal Series
Pursued by the Rake
Abandoned to the Prodigal
Married to the Rogue
Unmasked by her Lover
Imperial Season Series
Vienna Waltz
Vienna Woods
Vienna Dawn
Blackhaven Brides Series
The Wicked Baron
The Wicked Lady
The Wicked Rebel
The Wicked Husband
The Wicked Marquis
The Wicked Governess
The Wicked Spy
The Wicked Gypsy
The Wicked Wife
Wicked Christmas (A Novella)
The Wicked Waif
The Wicked Heir
The Wicked Captain
The Wicked Sister
Unmarriageable Series
The Deserted Heart
The Sinister Heart
The Vulgar Heart
The Broken Heart
The Weary Heart
The Secret Heart
Christmas Heart
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
Fed to the Lyon
Also from Mary Lancaster
Madeleine
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Mary Lancaster
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About Mary Lancaster
Prologue
June 1815
On his wedding night, Oliver Harlaw, Earl of Wenning, fought his body’s instinct to slumber, just so that he could watch his bride fall asleep in his arms.
Grace. His wife, his countess.
He hadn’t expected to give or receive quite so much physical joy on their first night together, but her passion had delighted him. Her every pleasure in his caresses had doubled his own. His whole body sang, his whole being was lost in wonder.
What had he done to deserve this happiness? He had been so right to put this marriage ahead of his career. Offered the chance to be part of a special British embassy to China—a great honor when he was so young—he had reluctantly turned it down because the decreed day of departure was the day after his wedding. Well, he had his reward in his wonderful bride.
She was sound asleep now, her arm around his neck touchingly floppy. Her beauty, her trust, hurt his heart and made him smile.
But having got beyond the first urge to sleep, he could not now be still. He slipped free of her embrace and rose from the bed. He was still smiling as he walked naked across the clothes-strewn floor and into the outer room, where he almost tripped over the baggage before lighting the candles.
Tomorrow, the bags would be stowed on board the yacht that would take them to France to begin their wedding journey. Perhaps, with Napoleon just defeated—again—France might not be at its best, but it was a place to begin their exploration of Europe and each other. Two months alone with Grace, to go wherever they wished, do whatever they wished…
Stumbling into the luggage had knocked one of Grace’s personal bags off the trunk beneath. He picked it up to place it more safely, and saw that it was open. A hairbrush and a piece of paper had fallen out of it. He crammed the items into the bag, but the paper was not folded, and words written on it in her hand jumped out at him.
My darling Anthony…
Wenning didn’t care for the mode of address, whoever Anthony was, but he had no intention of reading her correspondence. And he wouldn’t have, if the phrase this dreadful marriage hadn’t hit him like a punch in the solar plexus.
He dropped the bag on the floor once more, sat on the trunk, and read the letter from beginning to end.
His world crumbled.
Stunned, paralyzed, for once in his life he did not know what to do.
And then, like a blessed relief, saving him, the anger came.
As though he was someone else entirely, he crumpled the letter between his fingers and threw it in the corner. Then he stood, opened the trunk beneath, and dressed.
He sat down at the desk provided and wrote a short note of his own, to his wife. Then he roused his valet and the stable staff, issuing fresh instructions. And within half an hour, he was riding for Southampton and the ship bound for China with His Majesty’s special embassy.
Chapter One
June 1817
As usual, Grace, the Countess of Wenning, returned home from the Pantheon Bazaar with a fine haul of treasure. Her footman could barely see above the parcels containing lengths of cloth, pretty ribbons, yards of lace, slippers, stockings, buttons, silk thread, and assorted gifts.
“Have them taken up to my rooms, if you please,” she instructed him. “And Lady Arpington and I will take tea in the library.”
As she passed, she swiped a pile of letters off the silver tray in the hall. Beside it lay several bouquets, so she took the cards from them, too, before she led her friend upstairs to the library.
Bridget was one of the few people she entertained in the Wenning House library. Oddly, it was where she felt at once most comfortable and most jealous of her solitude. But she was willing to share it with Bridget, who had been her friend since childhood.
As they sat companionably, Bridget picked up The Morning Post to allow Grace time to read her correspondence—most of which was invitations. She cast those aside for later, along with a short epistle from her sister-in-law, which left only the cards that had come with the flowers.
“You are not short of admirers for a married lady,” Bridget observed.
Grace grimaced. “They circle like amiable and occasionally amusing vultures. They have not yet noticed that they protect me from each other.”
“Except Boothe,” Bridget observed. “I hear they are taking bets in all the clubs that Sir Nash Boothe will win you by the end of the month.”
Grace cast her a crooked smile. “Yes, but the same gossip has linked me to at least five gentlemen in the last year. Equally false. But you are right about Sir Nash. I shall have to find
“Definitely time to pay more attention to Sir Ernest,” Bridget said, amused, while Grace read the card. “At least you can be safe with him. Seriously, Grace, it is a dangerous game you play and far too easy to lose.”
“I know, but what else is there to keep boredom at…? Oh, the devil!”
Bridget sighed. “What now?”
“Boothe. He reminds me about attending the masked ball at Maida Gardens tonight.”
Bridget stared, but since the tea tray was brought in just then, she waited until the servants departed before hissing, “Seriously, Grace? You made an assignation with him? At Maida Pleasure Gardens of all places?”
Grace rubbed her forehead unhappily. “I had forgotten. It was a challenge, which, of course, I accepted. I must have drunk too much champagne. I suppose I had better write at once and plead some previous engagement.” She reached for the teapot, then dropped her hand once more. “Oh no.”
“What now?”
“I can’t cry off. It was a wager. We each chose the other’s stake. I chose his sapphire cravat pin. He chose my ruby bracelet. If I don’t go, he wins, and I lose the bracelet.”
“It’s only a bracelet.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said unsteadily. “It was Oliver’s wedding gift to me.”
“Ah. I see your problem.”
Distractedly, Grace poured out the tea and passed one cup to Bridget.
“Well,” Bridget murmured. “Sir Nash isn’t a monster. Explain and give him some other token instead.”
“I can’t,” Grace said flatly. “I would have to explain, and I won’t.”
“Then lose it. I’m sure Wenning would rather you lost the bracelet than your reputation.”
“I would lose both,” Grace pointed out. “If I give him the bracelet or anything else of mine beyond the value of a flower or a handkerchief, that is evidence of intimacy. I would be surprised if that didn’t make the rounds of the clubs, too.”
Bridget stared. “Why would you have anything to do with a man you believe to be so dishonorable?”
Grace shrugged. “He amuses me. And dash it, Biddy, I am so confoundedly bored! No, I have to go to Maida in order to keep the bracelet.” She glanced up decisively. “You must come with me, and we will stick to each other like limpets to a rock.”
“I can’t tonight, Grace,” Bridget reminded her. “It’s my mother-in-law’s birthday dinner party. I couldn’t not be there.”
“No,” Grace agreed, deflated. “Of course, you must go. I wonder who else I could trust… Rollo! Of course!”
“Rollo? Trust? Isn’t that a little optimistic?”
“Well, of course, he’s a terrible loose screw,” said Rollo’s fond sister, “but I know he often goes to the masquerades at Maida Gardens—well, he would, wouldn’t he?—and he wouldn’t like me to be in trouble.”
“But would he exert himself to prevent it?” Bridget inquired.
“Of course he would,” Grace said indignantly. “He isn’t really as bad as people believe him to be. But think about it, Biddy, my brother is the perfect chaperone, and he isn’t above dueling to sort out his quarrels, so that will be an extra deterrent to Boothe.”
“Well, that is true. And he was always a good-natured boy. Perhaps you are right. You’d better send for him now and make sure he is here to escort you on time.”
*
Punctuality, however, played little part in the Honorable Rollo Darblay’s life. He had not answered Grace’s summons by half-past eight, and her wager was to meet Sir Nash Boothe at the Gardens before ten. In fact, she finally realized she would have to go to Rollo’s rooms in St. James and fetch him. If he wasn’t there, presumably his valet at least would know where he was.
And then a knock sounded on the dressing room door. Henley, her maid, opened it and sniffed.
“Yes, it’s me,” came Rollo’s voice, half-amused, half-impatient. “I know she’s in there, so you might as well let me in.”
“Rollo, thank God!” Grace jumped to her feet and went to him with an enthusiasm that clearly took him by surprise.
He allowed the embrace, even patted her on the shoulder, but extricated himself quickly to scowl down at her. “What have you done now?”
“Henley, leave me for five minutes,” Grace instructed, and as soon as the maid had shut herself into the bedchamber beyond, she swung back to her brother. “I’ve done nothing, except make an extremely stupid wager, which you have to help me win.”
“And how do I do that?” Rollo asked amiably enough.
He was a tall, very handsome young man with dramatic black eyebrows and glittering eyes. Women seemed to find him irresistible, though Grace thought he should drink less and sleep more. Dissipation was beginning to show around his eyes.
Still, who was she to criticize another’s lifestyle?
“You escort me to Maida Gardens for the masquerade ball tonight.”
“Can’t,” Rollo said with a hint of regret. “Not saying it wouldn’t be fun, but promised to a party in Cribb’s Parlor. Fellows are waiting for me downstairs.”
“Bring them, too,” Grace said recklessly. “The more, the merrier. And the safer. I need to go to win a wager with Sir Nash Boothe. And I need you with me to remain respectable.”
“At Maida Gardens? Don’t be daft, Gracie. And I’ve never done anyone’s respectability any good. Take my advice, and don’t go.”
“I have to, or I’ll lose my bracelet to Boothe. This bracelet.” She snatched it off the dressing table and waved it in front of him.
He glanced at her with a hint of impatience. “What did you wager that for?”
“I didn’t. We chose each other’s stake.”
“Does he know what it is?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t tell him. But I couldn’t refuse it without explaining why, and I can’t do that.”
His lip curled. “Can’t admit you still carry a torch for your own husband? Even after he left you at the altar.”
“He did not leave me at the altar,” Grace said firmly.
“As good as. If you ask me, a fellow who leaves his wife before the wedding trip to go alone to the other side of the world for two years deserves all he gets. If you like Boothe, have at him. Serve Wenning right.”
“Have at him?” Grace repeated indignantly.
Rollo grinned. “Don’t be mealy-mouthed. Doesn’t suit anyone from our family.”
“I don’t want, Boothe. I don’t want anyone. In fact, I’m going to the country next week to stop all the talk, and there I shall wait for my husband’s return.”
“You’ll only get into more scrapes,” Rollo prophesied. He threw himself into the wing chair by the window and drummed his fingers on the arm, a frown tugging his brow as he gazed at her. “Are you saying you need me there to be sure Boothe toes the line?”
“Yes,” she said with relief. It was only part of the truth, but she knew it would reach Rollo as losing the bracelet would not.
“Dash it all, I’ll come then, but I’ll have to bring the others, too. Can we all fit in your carriage?”
“How many of them are there?”
“Just Meade and Montague, but if it makes it too crowded for you, Montague can go up beside the coachman. He likes a turn of driving.”
Grace, who had no wish to start the evening by being tipped into a ditch, said hastily that there was plenty of room in the carriage, and Rollo got up and sauntered off downstairs to break the news to his friends.
Grace took one last glance at herself in the glass. She had a little color in her cheeks now that she had recruited Rollo to her cause, which was good. She really didn’t want to appear at the ball looking pale and anxious behind her mask. For the rest, her dark hair was elegant but simply styled so as not to draw attention to herself, her jewelry minimal for the same reason. Well, that and she didn’t want it stolen by the thieves rumored to haunt the shadows of Maida Gardens.
Her gaze fell to the ruby bracelet, which Oliver had clasped to her wrist in the carriage as they hurtled south after the wedding breakfast. He had given it with a kiss that had turned sweetly sensual.
Before the most wonderful night of her life.
