Priscilla returned to the masquerade feeling as if she led His Majesty’s army. They fanned out along the ledge at the top of the stairs, with Acantha, Emily, Daphne, His Grace, and Glynnis beside them. The circus troupe had left, and the guests were either prancing in the dance or promenading from one group to another to engage in conversation. The din of voices rose above the sounds of the music.
“There!” Glynnis cried, pointing.
Near the clock, a man in the velvet doublet and hose of the medieval French knights stood poised, watching the proceedings. The black leather mask covered most of his face, but the hair escaping his plumed hat was equally dark. And he stood with such presence he might have been the host of the evening.
“That’s him,” Priscilla agreed.
Nathan started forward, but fear pricked her. The sword at the masked chevalier’s hip looked terribly real. And sharp. She latched onto Nathan’s arm to keep him at her side. “Perhaps we should wait for Mr. Cropper.”
“If you accost him in view of the others, there will be scandal,” Glynnis agreed with a shiver.
“But what if he gets away?” Acantha protested. “I don’t want to receive any more of those notes!”
Daphne shuddered. “Don’t look at me. I’m learning a lady must decide when it’s appropriate to show her dash.”
“We haven’t much time,” Emily argued. “It’s nearly midnight. If he suspects we know about his deeds, he won’t stay for the unmasking.”
They each had a point. Priscilla narrowed her eyes, sorting through stratagems. There had to be some way to keep Richmont in the ballroom until Jamie arrived, without endangering any of her friends or Nathan.
Then inspiration struck. She straightened, releasing Nathan. “Leave this to me.”
This time it was Nathan who put out an arm to stop her from descending the stairs. “He pushed over that statue,” he reminded her, gaze intent. “He’s cunning. He may well be dangerous.”
Priscilla smiled at him. “That’s why I intend to send someone equally as cunning to keep him busy. Now, here’s what I propose…”.
It took only a few moments and one of her ivory hair combs to put her plan into effect. While His Grace, Glynnis, and Acantha watched from the safety of the stairs, ready to direct Mr. Cropper to the scene as soon as he arrived, the others filtered through the crowd, slowly converging on Mr. Richmont.
Who was already backed up against the clock, attempting to escape the sharp eyes and conversation of Lady Minerva.
Emily’s aunt had eschewed a fancy costume, dressing instead in a dark-green hooded cloak with a mask bedecked with peacock feathers. They arched away from the eyeholes like massive lashes, making it appear as if she was thoroughly shocked by all she saw.
“I understand you’re a wicked sort of fellow,” she was telling Richmont as Priscilla found a spot not too far away to observe. “For a consideration, I might be willing to forget what I know.”
A little beyond Richmont, Nathan shook his head at the woman’s attempt at blackmail. It was a little like the pot calling the kettle black.
“I believe you have me confused with someone else, madam,” Richmont replied, voice heavy with disdain. He tried to shift around her, but she moved to block his path.
That was it. Only a few more moments. Already Priscilla caught sight of Jamie Cropper on the stairs. His Grace happily pointed him in her direction, and she could see Acantha speaking animatedly, as if airing her many grievances. If she wasn’t careful, she might catch Richmont’s attentions and give away the game.
Priscilla glanced at Nathan, who shook his head as if in warning, but her former suitor had managed to move around Lady Minerva, still protesting his innocence. Heart pounding, she placed herself in his path.
“No, indeed, sir,” she said with her prettiest smile. “I’m certain this dear lady has the right of it. You have a presence about you.” She lay a hand on his arm, finding it tensed. No tenser than her own. “It positively exudes danger.” She allowed herself a shiver and the smallest of giggles.
Behind the black mask, his dark eyes glittered. “Is that what it takes to reach your cold heart, Miss Tate?” he asked. “The hint of danger?”
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Lady Minerva said with a sniff, eying his costume as if she found it lacking.
“It is not my heart but yours that concerns me,” Priscilla told him, her shiver no longer contrived. “Please know I never set out to hurt anyone. I intended only to capture the greatest matrimonial prize. I hope someday you’ll forgive me.”
He frowned as if he could not believe her. “And I was not enough? Are you so grasping, madam, that you could overlook the polish of my address, the height of my position in Society, the size of my stables?”
Was he so arrogant he thought those things truly mattered? Once she might have agreed, except for the stables, of course.
“I fear such things do not move me as I had hoped,” she confessed. “Now, I know that it is a man’s character, his integrity, his loyalty, that I admire.”
He shook his head. “Are you mad?”
“Completely,” Lady Minerva agreed.
Priscilla could only smile. “I cannot argue with you. But I find I enjoy my new madness far more than my former so-called sanity.”
Lady Minerva snorted, but Richmont stiffened. Before she knew what he was about, he seized her arms and hauled her closer, breath hot against her face. “Do not mock me! You had no right to refuse my suit. You made me the laughing stock of London.”
Priscilla refused to cringe away from the anger that tainted his words, twisted his face.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Lady Minerva said. “I think you’re doing an excellent job of making people laugh at you all on your own.”
Richmont’s fingers tightened, and despite herself, Priscilla winced.
“Let her go.” Nathan’s voice was as hard as Richmont’s grip as he stepped to their sides.
“I should,” her former suitor sneered. “But first I want her to grovel. You will apologize for your treatment of me, before all these fine people. Tell them you were so foolish as to throw me over for some obscure duke who doesn’t even have the social wherewithal to attend his own party.”
She could have apologized. She knew how to appear heartbroken, remorseful. She could have made just the sort of spectacle he seemed to crave. But she knew Jamie must be close, and she was certain Nathan would never allow her to be hurt.
“But I didn’t throw you over for a duke,” she told her captor. “I threw you over for his personal secretary.”
Richmont’s eyes goggled, and for a moment, she thought he might have an apoplectic fit.
“There, you see?” Now Emily’s voice pierced the hubbub around them. “Homicidal tendencies, just as I said.”
As if he knew trouble was coming, Richmont released his hold on Priscilla and stepped back. “All part of the masquerade. No harm done.”
Easy for him to say. Priscilla was sure her arms would be bruised tomorrow. She rubbed them now as Nathan closed the distance between them.
“But great harm attempted,” Emily insisted. She turned to Jamie, who stepped up beside her, eyes narrowed. In his plain brown jacket and trousers, he stood out among the finery of the other guests, solid, comforting.
Emily nodded to Richmont, who stood with his head high as if daring her to blacken his name. “This man orchestrated the blackmail of two young ladies of the ton and attempted murder on one of them and His Grace the Duke of Rottenford.”
Her strident tone was beginning to draw a crowd, as more and more of His Grace’s guests stopped their pursuits and wandered closer. As if unaware of them, Emily put her hand on Jamie’s arm and gazed up at him. “I’ve been wanting to say this since the night of our debut ball. Arrest him, my love!”
Gasps rang out all around, but whether at her command or her declaration, Priscilla wasn’t sure. Mr. Cropper covered her hand with his a moment, smile turning up as he gazed at her, and all at once, Priscilla could see why her friend was so besotted.
But his marvelous smile vanished as he turned to face Richmont. “In the name of the King, Desmond Richmont, I arrest you for blackmail and attempted murder.”
Richmont eyed him, lip curling. “You’ll have to catch me first.” He grasped Priscilla by the shoulders and shoved her into Jamie.
She had more grace than that! She broke away immediately, turning, but already he was halfway to the stairs, the crowd parting before him as he brandished his sword. Nathan and Jamie took off in pursuit, but Richmont’s fears lent him speed. Was she never to be rid of him?
Suddenly, he stumbled, went down on one knee, sword clattering to the floor and sliding out of reach. Nathan and Jamie converged on him and wrestled him away from it. The crowd applauded as if they thought it was all part of the entertainment. Over Nathan’s shoulder, Daphne winked at Priscilla.
“It seems the fair Diana knows the value of a well-placed foot,” Emily said with a grim smile.
“And Lady Death the value of a well-placed word,” Priscilla countered, catching her breath. “Your father will hear of this.”
“If someone can catch him between meetings,” Emily replied, watching as Jamie remanded Richmont into the custody of two burly footmen.
Lady Minerva closed the distance between them. “If you take up with that Runner,” she warned, “our deal is off.” She picked up her skirts and stalked away.
Emily sighed, but brightened as Jamie approached them. For the first time in her life, Priscilla felt invisible, for his gaze was all for her friend.
“You’re taking a chance,” he murmured. “But I promise you won’t regret it.” He clasped her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be by tomorrow to speak to your father.”
“Oh, Emily,” Priscilla said as he released her and strode off to haul Richmont to the magistrates. “Does he have a chance of even locating your father?”
“He will persevere,” she replied, eyes shining. “He’s a Runner.”
“Look!” someone cried. “It’s nearly midnight!”
All heads turned to the clock as both hands reached the top. Voices quieted; the music stilled. The silver chimes struck the hour. All around Priscilla, ladies revealed their faces, gentlemen pulled off masks. The air was filled with exclamations, laughter.
She found Nathan at her side. With tender fingers, he removed her mask, touched her cheek with a smile. She felt herself trembling.
Before he could speak, her parents rushed up.
“Don’t you have an announcement, dearest?” her mother asked with a pointed look to the top of the stairs, where His Grace, Acantha, and Glynnis still waited, their own masks now off.
Not anymore. At least, she hoped not. She glanced at Nathan, who slipped his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze before turning to her parents.
“I believe I do,” he told them. “Mr. and Mrs. Tate, I intend to marry your daughter. I know I am not the matrimonial catch you had hoped for her, but I am a member of the House of Rottenford, and I have a reliable income and the promise of a small estate just outside London. I cannot keep her in the style you would no doubt expect, but I will love and cherish her all the days of my life.”
His declaration warmed her heart, but her father’s smile was tight.
“That’s all very well and good, young man, but I’ve already given Rottenford my word that our daughter will marry him.”
“Something I intend to rectify,” Priscilla promised Nathan.
Her mother stiffened. “Oh, Priscilla. Don’t be rash.”
Priscilla smiled at her. “I’m not, Mother. You know me. I always know exactly what I’m about. And I’m convinced this is the best for all of us.”
She drew Nathan through the crowd and up the stairs to the duke’s side.
He applauded at the sight of her. “Well done, Miss Tate!”
Acantha sniffed. “Yes, well done. But I want you to know this was all your fault. You were the one who spurned Mr. Richmont.”
“And your sisters were the ones who gave Miss Fairtree the idea to blackmail us,” Priscilla reminded her. “I’d say we’re even.”
Acantha sniffed again and tossed her curls, which were beginning to wilt along with what was left of her feathers.
Glynnis touched Nathan’s shoulder, quickly withdrawing her hand. “What will become of me? Will your Runner take me away too?”
Priscilla looked from her pale face to Nathan. He shook his head. “I think not. The family would not appreciate the scandal.” He turned to the duke. “I propose we make use of our cousin’s surprising organizational skills and determination, Your Grace. Your estate in Jamaica has not been as profitable as it should. Perhaps it requires the leadership of a new manager.”
His Grace wrinkled his nose, and Priscilla was so glad she’d chosen Nathan instead. “A woman manager?”
“A Rottenford manager,” Nathan countered. “Someone who has your best interests at heart.”
Glynnis raised her head. “I’ll do it. I’d be glad for something to call my own. Perhaps then I can prove to you that I truly do love you, Your Grace. All I ever wanted was your admiration. We can make the arrangements tomorrow.” Excusing herself, she went to find her mother.
One problem solved. Now to the other. Taking Acantha’s hand and the duke’s, Priscilla tugged them to the opposite side of the ledge. She could feel Nathan watching her, but he didn’t move to intercede.
“Your Grace,” she said. “I don’t love you, and I have found a man I do love. I release you from your obligation to marry me.”
The duke frowned. “Are you jilting me?”
Priscilla smiled. “No. I’m giving you a chance to find a girl who loves you for yourself.” She glanced at Acantha.
Acantha drew herself up. “Don’t look at me. It’s clear he’s dim as a doorpost. I could do better.” With a toss of her feathered head, she sashayed down the stairs.
His Grace looked to Priscilla. “What am I to do now?”
Priscilla patted his arm. “Go enjoy your party. We can find you a suitable bride another day.”
With a happy nod, he strolled off. Priscilla turned to Nathan, but just then, Ariadne wandered past, whimsical smile on her face.
“Espionage,” she murmured to Priscilla before drifting down the stairs in Acantha’s wake. Priscilla determined to take her aside at the first opportunity to learn what had happened with the dashing centurion.
Nathan moved to her side, and her heart started beating faster again. Her parents might complain, Society call her mad, but this was the right path. She had never been more certain of it.
She took a step closer and fluttered her lashes. “Have I told you, Nathan, how very much I admire and esteem you?”
“Not nearly enough,” he replied with a laugh. “But we have our whole lives to assure each other of our mutual devotion. Starting now.”
Going down on one knee once more, he took her hands and gazed up at her, and she found herself sinking into his remarkably fine eyes.
“Priscilla Tate,” he said, “I adore you. Never have I met a more determined, clever, talented, beautiful woman. I offer you all that I am, such that I am, and all I will ever be. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“Yes,” Priscilla said, delight bubbling up. “Always and forever, yes, Nathan.”
He rose and took her in his arms. And Priscilla Tate, belle of London, the toast of many a fine gentleman, gave herself up to the joy of being loved by someone who truly knew her. And that was, quite simply, the greatest matrimonial catch she could ever have imagined.