A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,124
guilt, like Shakespeare’s misery, ‘acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’ I can only assume they are—at least four of them—trying to make amends in their own twisted fashion, and ease this orphan’s entry into society. You see, Donovan, those men, those five pathetic men, forced my father to commit suicide. My mother was never the same after that, hardly a mother at all, and she died last year—of a broken heart.”
The night, and the mood, suddenly turned cold, and perhaps dangerous.
“Your father,” Thomas repeated, remembering Marguerite’s vehemence when he had dared to call her by her father’s pet name for her. He racked his brain for an explanation. Clearly, she had adored the man. Also clearly, she’d woven a fantasy to remove blame from her father for his self-destruction and placed it on the heads of others. A reasonable if misguided conception. “Marguerite, sweetheart—no man can force another to commit suicide.” He held up his hands to stop her from interrupting him. “All right, all right, I know. Socrates. Hemlock. But he was an ancient Greek—those people went in for all kinds of melodrama. That sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore, not in this enlightened age.”
“You don’t understand,” Marguerite bit out angrily. “For years I didn’t understand, didn’t know. Maisie still doesn’t understand. Nobody understands. Those five men, those terrible, greedy, godless men, lured my father into an unwise business investment—a bubble—and convinced him to bring several of our neighbors in with him. They lost their money, Donovan. All of it. Papa was so ashamed, and wretchedly despondent to have failed once more—for he’d always chafed at the fact he and Mama and I had to live off my grandfather’s largess, the knowledge that so many people believed my mother had married beneath her. He didn’t know how he could face Mama or me with what he’d done. That was bad enough, but then The Club, teasing him with the chance to make a fortune and repay his friends, attempted to involve him in treason—”
She broke off, looking up at him apprehensively, as if she had said too much.
“All right, aingeal,” Thomas said quietly, suddenly understanding why she had been so quick to pick up on his own association with the members of The Club. And no wonder, although she loved him, he still felt sure she didn’t quite trust him. “I’ll admit I can believe they’re devious sorts, more than capable of plotting treason.
“But, Marguerite,” he continued earnestly, taking hold of her upper arms and looking down at her intently, “they are also dangerous men. So far, you’ve been playing with them, taking out the weakest ones with what I’d have to call remarkable ease. But Harewood? Laleham?” He shook his head. “Oh, no. Not them. You’re in over your head with those two.”
“Am I, Donovan?” she shot back angrily, her eyes glittering like green ice behind her mask. “Or is it just that you don’t wish for me to cause any more havoc with your plans? They’re out to do it again, aren’t they? They’re out to betray their country again, this time with American assistance. Poor Donovan. I’ve been making things difficult for you, haven’t I? You even went so far as to plan to seduce me, to keep me occupied and out of mischief—and don’t bother to deny it, for Stinky told me all about how you bragged about seducing me the night of Lady Sefton’s ball. Oh, the terrible sacrifices you’ve made for your country! You deserve a medal for your diligence and dedication.”
Thomas felt his Irish blood beginning to boil, matching Marguerite in her own anger. “I think, aingeal, I’m hearing the pot call the kettle black. Do you by chance recall our charming interlude in the mews behind Sir Gilbert’s mansion? Talk about seduction! ‘What would it take, Donovan, for you to stumble out again?’ That’s what you asked while you were rubbing that glorious body of yours against mine. Why were you so cooperative, if it wasn’t to make sure that I would look the other way while you went about your childish schemes?”
Marguerite shrugged, giving without really giving in. “All right. We’ll declare that part of the argument a draw, even though you’re a beast to turn my own words against me. But I won’t give up on my vengeance. These men deserve everything I’m doing to them!”
“Do they? They may be bastards, the lot of them, but they weren’t the ones who put a pistol to your father’s head. He