Page 10 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
Someone had followed them from the warehouse. It couldn’t be her handsome stranger, for he had returned to the fire. It had to be Belten. That shook Meg. This was an unanticipated consequence. What had been the man’s intention? To convince her of a tryst or do her harm for disappearing? Either way, her heart was no longer in this game. She would put her mask away. Kissing those odious scoundrels farewell, leaving them disappointed, held only a temporary surge of victory. For each one would only find another woman to take advantage of.
After Belten, the excitement was gone. Except…
The stranger with the false name. Her body betrayed her even now when she remembered his lips on her skin, his hands caressing her curves. She hadn’t felt so alive in years. Not since she’d been a naïve girl, an obedient daughter.
A pang of loss enveloped her, as it always did, when she thought of her parents. After the baron’s death, they had blamed her for his affairs. She hadn’t kept him happy enough in the marriage bed. If only she had been able to give him a son. As if that would have kept the lecher from a woman’s bed.
A married woman. An acquaintance’s wife.
They had refused to help her fight for the unentailed estate due her, according to the will. Her stepson had informed her he could not transfer the deed to her under the circumstances, stating his father had planned on changing the inheritance when Margaret had not provided him with a son. With only a small widow’s pension, she had no money for legal fees. Meg had been helpless until meeting Lady Wyndam and becoming a member of the Widows’ League.
Now she sat in her bedchamber, going over the events of the evening. She had changed into a linen night rail and robe, sipping warm milk so she might sleep. Jack had returned to the scene and inquired about fatalities. It seemed there had been none, though several people had broken bones and sprains. Heroism was alive and well, for there were stories of men using ropes and canopies of some type to rescue those on the floor above.
And she knew her secret friend was one of those heroes. With her fears assuaged, the exhaustion of the terrible event caught up with her. As she closed her eyes, Meg touched her lips, remembering his kiss.
She prayed she would see him again.
She prayed she wouldn’t.
End of February
In three days, she would return to her estate in Surrey. There had been no more masquerades to attend, and Lady Drake was happy—and miserable—that she would not see her handsome stranger before she left.
Mr. Smith knocked at the open library door. “A post has come for you, my lady.” He moved forward and held out a silver tray with familiar handwriting. She thanked the butler, then cracked the seal.
Dear Lady Drake,
I thought you would be interested to know I am attending a masquerade ball in two nights. It will be your nearly your last evening in Town. Since I am an old woman, I will not stay until midnight, when everyone removes their mask. Would you mind accompanying me?
Your friend,
Katherine Wyndam
Meg held the note to her chest, a smile spreading across her face. Would he attend? There was only one way to find out. She went to the desk, found paper, and began to write her acceptance.
It occurred to her that this handsome man, who had unexpectedly come into her life, might be useful. He could provide her with the romance missing in her life. Why not enjoy an affair? Society often looked the other way when it came to a widow’s actions if she were discreet. It wasn’t as if she were an innocent or was invited to any social events in Town.
Oh, what his kisses and touch had promised. The gentleman—scoundrel, really, considering what he was seeking—was unattached and willing. Would he agree to twice a year? Could she muster the courage?
Margaret made a silent promise to the powers that be: Whether she found Marcus at the masquerade or not, she would put her mask away forever.
Another knock on the door again, but before Mr. Smith could make an announcement, Florentia whooshed into the library, a streak of lilac silk and copper hair, falling dramatically to her knees to hug Meg.
“I read the news this morning. A dreadful fire at a warehouse, and I just knew it was the one I’d sent you to. What happened?” Miss Baldwin’s brown eyes teared. “I shall never help you again. I swear Papa took years off my life when he began reading about it at breakfast.”
“Sit down and compose yourself.” Meg smiled. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine, though it was quite a scare.” She described how the strips of sheer material used to decorate the room had been excellent tinder, quickly spreading to the tables and climbing upward.
“I’m so relieved. How did you get out? Had you found the baronet? Papa decided not to attend.” Florentia rose and took a seat. “Shall we have tea?”
“No and yes,” Meg answered with a grin, already feeling lighter with her friend here. She told Tia of meeting him again, their brief encounter, his heroic actions.
“Oh, it’s so romantic,” Florentia said with a sigh. “How will you find him?”
“Lady Wyndam has invited me to a formal masquerade. It will be held just before I leave Town. He’s a peer, I’m sure of it. Perhaps…” her voice trailed off. “Are you attending the Whittman’s ball?”
“Yes,” cried Florentia, clapping her hands. “Lady Wyndam is a dear. I wonder who she told the Whitmans she was bringing?”
They both knew the countess couldn’t have used Meg’s name. She had been disgraced since her husband’s infamous duel and violent death. “Does it matter? She said we would leave before the midnight reveal. No one will know.”
