Venetian Sunshine (Tales from the Grand Tour Book 5) Read online

  When pacing the halls only doubled his restlessness, Trent headed into the ballroom. With any luck, the distraction of his family would keep him from crawling out of his skin.

  “You don’t appear to be having fun,” Thomas said, approaching him with a wine glass in one hand and his mask in the other.

  Trent looked him up and down, noting his grim frown. “You don’t either,” he said.

  Thomas came to a stop by Trent’s side, and the two of them studied the swirling, colorful mass of their cousins and the guests together. “I haven’t stopped worrying since our conversation the other day,” he said. “Asher is like a clam that won’t crack when it comes to whatever business he’s involved in.”

  “He’s a damned fool to continue hiding things from us,” Trent grumbled. “Especially after Lord Beverly’s disappearance.”

  “Is the man still missing?” Thomas asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “As far as I know.” Trent sighed, reaching to remove his mask. If Thomas didn’t have to wear his, then Trent certainly wasn’t going to keep his on. “No one has answered the door at Beverly’s palace for days. But Asher was there the morning Beverly went missing.”

  Thomas grunted. “It all adds up to trouble.”

  Trent leaned closer to him. “Asher insisted that he was under orders from the highest level. I can only imagine what that means.”

  “It means he’s deluded,” Thomas sighed, then downed the rest of his wine. “I’ve known Asher my whole life. He’s always had too much of an imagination and more energy than anyone knew what to do with.”

  Trent’s brow flew up in surprise. “You think he’s making this whole thing up?”

  “No.” Thomas grew grave. “He has enough imagination to get involved in danger, but not so much that he would manufacture it for himself. Whatever he’s up to, it’s real. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t insane.”

  “What do we do about it, then?” Trent shrugged in an effort to relieve some of his tension. “We have to take things into our own hands so that he doesn’t hurt the family or himself.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Thomas sighed, staring at his glass as though he wished it were full again. “Even if we have to tackle him in an alley, drag him back to the palace, and lock him in his room. We need to get answers from him before—”

  “I wouldn’t do any of that, if I were you.”

  Trent nearly jumped out of his skin at the stern, female voice. He and Thomas jerked around to find Miss Sewett standing behind them. She hadn’t donned a costume for the ball, but she wore a black mask with a long beak, like the plague masks doctors wore during the Black Death. It chilled Trent to the bone.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Sewett?” Thomas shifted uneasily, clearly just as unnerved by the woman’s appearance as Trent was.

  “I wouldn’t seek to become involved in Lord Addlebury’s affairs, if I were you,” Miss Sewett said.

  The hair on the back of Trent’s neck stood up. Whether it was the mask or her foreboding demeanor, he was sure the woman knew far more than he did about the whole matter.

  “If you know something, Miss Sewett, you owe it to us all to be upfront. The fate of the family depends on it,” he said.

  Miss Sewett’s expression was difficult to discern behind her mask, but her eyes were sharp. “The fate of more than just the McGovern family depends on absolute silence and discretion,” she said. “This is no business of yours, and you would do well to keep it that way.”

  “You know something,” Thomas said, narrowing his eyes and studying Miss Sewett. “You’re as deeply involved in my brother’s affairs as he is.”

  Miss Sewett went stiff. “Nonsense. Lord Addlebury hired me to be a chaperone for this ungodly group of strumpets and wild women, nothing more.”

  Trent didn’t believe her for an instant. “You’re more than a chaperone,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “You’re as deeply involved as Asher. How else would you have had the power to convince the English ambassador to France to have Lord Sinclair and Solange released from prison in Paris?”

  “Why are you really here, Miss Sewett?” Thomas pulled himself to his full height in what must have been an attempt to tower over the woman and intimidate her. “Who are you really?”

  His attempts weren’t working. Miss Sewett held her ground. “I am a chaperone. Nothing more, nothing less. I am here to enforce the rules of propriety and to ensure good behavior by the female McGoverns. But if I am called to make certain the male members of the family obey as well, I will—”

  Trent barely noticed when she stopped speaking. He’d barely heard a word she’d said. As she’d started in on her speech, Charlotte stepped into the ballroom. She was radiant in a turquoise gown embroidered with silver leaves. It fit her exquisitely, reminding him of how her body had felt pressed against his. She wore a mask that accentuated her natural beauty while hiding who she was, but Trent would have known her anywhere. She was the only woman in the world, as far as he was concerned.

  Charlotte’s heart beat a mile a minute as she climbed the stairs to the palace where the McGoverns were staying. For a change, she knew that she would blend in with the wealthy and titled guests who’d been invited to the masquerade. She’d chanced to mention to one of her neighbors that she would be attending the ball. That neighbor was a seamstress for the Teatro La Fenice, one of the most renowned opera houses in Italy. She had borrowed a costume on Charlotte’s behalf. At first, Charlotte had been wary of the gesture, but as she crossed into the palace without gaining undo notice, she was glad she’d gone along with the mad scheme.

  It was an entirely different feeling to enter a grand house dressed as though she belonged there. No one looked down their nose at her or shuffled her off to a side parlor, as though she were an embarrassment. Every one of the ladies she passed as she made her way into the palace smiled at her, and quite a few of the gentlemen took a second look, as though they were interested in making her acquaintance. It made her wonder what her life would have been like if she’d been raised by her father’s family. If her dear father had been able to claim her as one of his own, she might have been raised in the sort of society she found herself in now. She might have felt as though she fit in.

  The thought was bittersweet, especially since it meant she would have been able to marry Trent without question or difficulty. She searched for him as she continued timidly up the hall. How wonderful would it be if she could give her heart to Trent fully, knowing she was able to be his wife?

  She had only just begun to summon up enough courage to head to the ballroom when she spotted Lord Addlebury coming down the stairs. He was dressed as a cavalier, complete with long, curled wig and costume sword, but even with his mask, Charlotte knew who he was. The sight of him made her think of her father, which banished every last shred of hesitance she had.

  “Lord Addlebury.” She rushed to meet him as he reached the hall. “I must speak with you.”

  For a moment, Lord Addlebury stared at her in confusion. A moment later, he saw past her mask, and recognition dawned. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a low hiss. He grabbed her arm and shuffled her into a small parlor nearby. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I was invited by your cousin, Lord Trent,” she defended herself. “We are in love.” She didn’t know what possessed her to add the last bit.

  Lord Addlebury’s brow shot up in surprise. “You are?” He paused, studying her, then grinned. “That explains a lot.” A moment later, he shook himself and grew serious again. “No, what I meant is that you should not risk your own safety by going out in public when your father’s position is so tenuous.”

  Everything about his statement made Charlotte’s blood run cold. Of course, he would know who she was. But that was the least of her worries.

  “Where is my father?” she asked, surprised at how anxious her question sounded. She grasped his arm. “Do you know where he is, what has become of him? I can feel that he is in so much danger. Y
ou are as well.”

  Lord Addlebury rested a hand uneasily on her shoulder. “Your father is well,” he said, though he seemed reluctant to admit it.

  The way he spoke only increased Charlotte’s fear. “Are you certain? Where is he? Why hasn’t he contacted me or told me where he’s gone?”

  A veil seemed to descend over Lord Addlebury’s features that concealed even more than the mask he wore. “I’ve said too much already. Your father is part of….” He hesitated, wincing. “He and I have been working….” Again, he let his words drift off as if something internal had stopped him from saying more. At last, he shook his head. “I can’t tell you what I know or how I know it, just that your father is as well as could be expected.”

  “That isn’t reassuring at all.” Charlotte pressed a hand to her stomach.

  “I’m sorry.” Lord Addlebury frowned. “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. If certain people realized that you knew more, that you knew anything at all, your life would be in danger.”

  “My life is already in danger,” she blurted. The sense that she was surrounded by danger had been with her for weeks, but until that moment, she hadn’t realized how potent the danger was.

  “I’m sorry.” Lord Addlebury straightened. He let out a frustrated breath. “I truly cannot tell you more.”

  “But—”

  “Enjoy the ball,” he said, stepping past her. “If anyone questions your presence here, tell them you were invited as my guest.”

  He nodded, then rushed out of the room without another word or a backward glance. All Charlotte could do was stand in the parlor, her mouth hanging open in shock. Instead of giving her answers to a thousand questions, he’d only raised more.

  She took a few more seconds to gather herself before heading to the hall. Before she exited the parlor, though, a shadowy figure rushed past the doorway. Charlotte caught her breath and froze. She’d know the dark lady anywhere.

  She picked up her pace, dashing into the hall, but all she was able to see was a swirl of black skirts as the dark lady turned a corner. Charlotte rushed to catch up with her, but the woman had disappeared down a servant’s corridor.

  She was determined to chase after the woman, but was stopped by, “Is that Miss Charlotte Salazar?”

  Charlotte’s blood froze in her veins, and she whipped around to find Lady Hattie marching toward her. She glanced back into the servant’s corridor, but it was all too apparent that she wouldn’t be able to chase after the dark lady if Trent’s sister demanded she stay where she was.

  “Lady Hattie,” she said, turning to face the woman, but glancing over her shoulder down the hall.

  Lady Hattie’s expression softened as she neared Charlotte. “I thought that was you.” She came to a stop several feet in front of Charlotte and raised an eyebrow. “I take it my brother invited you?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte’s heart pounded against her ribs, not just because of the frustrating confrontation she’d had with Lord Addlebury or the fact that the dark lady had likely already escaped. Those things paled in comparison to facing down Trent’s sister, the woman who had tossed her out of the palace only a few days ago.

  And yet, there was a fair amount of contrition in Lady Hattie’s expression. “We need to talk.”

  She took Charlotte’s hand, leading her back down the hall to the same parlor where she’d had her conversation with Lord Addlebury. It felt as though she’d been dragged back to the starting line after beginning a race.

  “I fear I must apologize for my behavior the other evening,” Lady Hattie began once they were alone in the parlor. She glanced down for a moment before peeking up at Charlotte with a look that was difficult to read. “I was rude, and rudeness is unbecoming for a lady.”

  “I understand why you asked me to leave,” Charlotte said.

  “To be fair, I didn’t precisely ask you to leave.”

  As far as Charlotte was concerned, she had. But she wasn’t going to force the issue.

  “You were my brother’s guest, and it was bad form for me to chase you off the way I did,” Lady Hattie went on.

  “You were only looking out for your brother’s best interests,” Charlotte said. Every nerve in her body bristled to get the confrontation over with so she could find Trent and let him know about the dark lady. Not to mention the fact that Lord Addlebury seemed to think her father was well after all and not missing.

  “That is exactly what I was doing,” Lady Hattie went on, gaining energy. “He is the only brother I have, and I love him. The last thing I want is for his reputation to be destroyed because he keeps the wrong company.”

  Something snapped within Charlotte. She didn’t know if it was the way Lady Hattie spoke to her or the way Lord Addlebury had put her off. She didn’t know if the knowledge that her father wasn’t missing or the feeling of impending disaster that hung over her. The only thing she knew was that Trent loved her, and that his love made her far more of an equal to Lady Hattie than the woman realized.

  “I love Trent,” she said with more force in her voice than she was sure Lady Hattie was ready for. “And he loves me. You can think what you want of me, but that is all that matters. You can make whatever assumptions you’d like about my character or my intentions, but you are wrong if you think me anything other than genuine.”

  “I never meant to say that—”

  “Yes, I make part of my living telling fortunes at parties,” Charlotte went on. She was already in for a penny, so she might as well be in for a pound. “But that is not the full story of who I am. Who I am is a woman who loves your brother in a way I suspect he has never been loved before. He is a wonderful and good man.”

  “He most certainly is,” Lady Hattie agreed.

  She opened her mouth to go on, but Charlotte beat her to it. “I am not interested in his money or his title, as you must think, though I understand other women have been interested in these things in the past. You might not believe it, but I have never had to worry about money. I have a father who has taken care of me, even though he cannot acknowledge me. A father who you would be surprised to know is very well positioned in British society.”

  “Oh.” Lady Hattie blinked, though whether her shock was from the revelation or the way Charlotte was speaking, it was difficult to tell.

  “But even if I were just a fortune-teller, that would not change the love your brother and I have for each other,” Charlotte went on. “And it would not change the danger that Trent and your entire family is in right now. I won’t let you stand in the way of keeping the man I love safe.”

  Lady Hattie’s expression grew worried. “So we are in danger, then?” she asked, as though Charlotte were still telling fortunes.

  “More than you can possibly imagine,” Charlotte said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must find Trent.”

  Like Lord Addlebury had done with her, Charlotte swept past Lady Hattie and out to the hall. It felt as though a clock were ticking loudly in her ear as she made her way to the ballroom. The dark lady could have been anywhere in the palace, or she could have escaped into the city. Lord Addlebury had disappeared among his guests. As Charlotte stepped into the ballroom, she searched for him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  But as she gazed across the ballroom, she caught sight of Trent. He’d noticed her entrance before she saw him, and he watched her with a smile that filled her heart with gladness. But still, the clock ticked in her mind. She started forward, absolutely certain that the whole mystery was about to come to a head.

  Chapter 9

  The way Trent looked at her as he abandoned his conversation with his cousin Thomas and Miss Sewett was enough to take Charlotte’s breath away. She’d never seen him look as handsome as he did in the ornate costume he wore. He was dressed as some sort of eighteenth century prince, complete with jewels that glittered as he approached her. But it wasn’t the finery he wore that had Charlotte’s heart racing within her, it was the look of absolute love in his eyes.

>   “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said when he reached her.

  “I’m nothing compared to you,” she said, heat rushing through her as she drank in the sight of him.

  “Hardly.” He lowered his head bashfully, which only stirred Charlotte’s blood more. His modesty was one of the most charming things about him. When he glanced up at her, there was as much heat as goodness in his eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman in this room, even with a mask. I am the luckiest man alive to have the honor of calling you mine.”

  Joy spilled through Charlotte, making her feel lighter than air. In spite of the awkward and frustrating confrontations she’d had just minutes before, she’d never felt so happy in her life. Trent extended a hand to her, and she took it. The electricity that sizzled between them eclipsed every sense of danger that she’d felt. It was as if there were nothing and no one in the world except her and Trent.

  “Will you dance with me?” he asked, drawing her close enough so that she could smell the heady scent of his cologne.

  She’d barely realized an orchestra was playing or that the room was filled with guests in colorful costumes, waltzing merrily under the electric lights. She hadn’t noticed how modern and exciting the ballroom—or, indeed, the entire palace—was or how fashionable the McGoverns and their guests were. All she’d seen, all she needed to see, was the love in Trent’s eyes and the promise that, whatever happened next, they would be together.

  “I’ve only waltzed a few times before,” she confessed in a whisper as he led her to the dance floor. “I’m afraid I’ll trip and look like a fool.”

  “You could never look like a fool,” Trent laughed. “You’re dancing with the biggest fool of all. You’ll look like an angel floating on a cloud beside me.”