The Masquerade Read online

  Praise for

  BRENDA JOYCE

  and her de Warenne dynasty

  The Masquerade

  “Jane Austen aficionados will delve happily into heroine Elizabeth ‘Lizzie’ Fitzgerald’s family…Joyce’s tale of the dangers and delights of passion fulfilled will enchant those who like their reads long and rich.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A passionate tale of two lovers caught up in a web of secrets, deceptions, and lies. Readers who love the bold historicals by Rosemary Rogers and Kathleen E. Woodiwiss will find much to savor here.”

  —Booklist

  “An intensely emotional and engrossing romance where love overcomes deceit, scandal and pride…an intelligent love story with smart, appealing and strong characters. Readers will savor this latest from a grand mistress of the genre.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  A Dangerous Love

  “The latest de Warenne novel is pure Joyce with its trademark blend of searing sensuality, wild escapades and unforgettable characters. You’ll find warmth and romance alongside intense emotions and powerful relationships. It’s a story you won’t easily forget.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The Perfect Bride

  “Another first-rate Regency, featuring multidimensional protagonists and sweeping drama…Entirely fluff-free, Joyce’s tight plot and vivid cast combine for a romance that’s just about perfect.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Truly a stirring story with wonderfully etched characters, Joyce’s latest is Regency romance at its best.”

  —Booklist

  “Joyce’s latest is a piece of perfection as she meticulously crafts a tender and emotionally powerful love story. Passion and pain erupt from the pages and flow straight into your heart. You won’t forget this beautifully rendered love story of lost souls and redemption.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  A Lady at Last

  “Romance veteran Joyce brings her keen sense of humor and storytelling prowess to bear on her witty, fully formed characters.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A classic Pygmalion tale with an extra soupçon of eroticism.”

  —Booklist

  “A warm, wonderfully sensual feast about the joys and pains of falling in love. Joyce breathes life into extraordinary characters—from her sprightly Cinderella heroine and roguish hero to everyone in between—then sets them in the glittering Regency, where anything can happen.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The Stolen Bride

  “Joyce’s characters carry considerable emotional weight, which keeps this hefty entry absorbing, and her fast-paced story keeps the pages turning.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A powerfully executed romance overflowing with the strength of prose, high degree of sensuality and emotional intensity we expect from Joyce. A ‘keeper’ for sure.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The Prize

  “A powerhouse of emotion and sensuality, The Prize weaves a tapestry vibrantly colored with detail and balanced with strands of consuming passion.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  BRENDA JOYCE

  The Masquerade

  Also by New York Times bestselling author

  BRENDA JOYCE

  and HQN Books

  The de Warenne Dynasty

  A Dangerous Love

  The Perfect Bride

  A Lady at Last

  The Stolen Bride

  The Masquerade

  The Prize

  The Masters of Time®

  Dark Lover

  Dark Victory

  Dark Embrace

  Dark Rival

  Dark Seduction

  And don’t miss the newest de Warenne book

  An Impossible Attraction

  coming in March 2010

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The final shape and form of this novel would not have been possible without the editorial support of my editor, Miranda Indrigo. I am very appreciative of her eleventh-hour willingness to revamp and revise. I also want to thank Lucy Childs for her vast enthusiasm, her wholehearted support and that amazing ear that is always there to listen. Finally, as always, I remain vastly indebted and eternally grateful to my agent, Aaron Priest.

  This one is in memory of my Uncle Sam,

  the kindest man I have ever known.

  He will always be missed.

  Contents

  Prologue: A Prince and a Hero

  Part One: October 1812–July 1813

  1: A Fateful Encounter

  2: The Masquerade

  3: A Crisis of Severe Proportions

  4: An Important Connection

  5: A Dreadful Revelation

  6: An Unspeakable Solution

  Part Two: June 1814–August 1814

  7: An Intolerable Situation

  8: A Remarkable Intention

  9: A Shocking Proposal

  10: A Rock and a Hard Place

  11: A Great Mortification

  12: A Plan Gone Awry

  13: First Impressions

  14: A Frightening Promise

  15: A Whirlwind of Emotion

  16: A Small Conspiracy

  17: The Mistress of Wicklowe

  18: A Moral Dilemma

  19: The Ultimate Sacrifice

  Part Three: December 1814–January 1815

  20: An Unlikely Attraction

  21: Forthright Conversation

  22: A Shocking Call

  23: A Remarkable Turn of Events

  24: The Swift Hand of Fate

  A Postscript

  Author Note

  Prologue

  A Prince and a Hero

  Her mother was standing directly behind her and speaking loudly, so the little girl could, unfortunately, hear her every word. She buried her face in her book, trying to concentrate on the words there. It was impossible, for they were staring. Lizzie’s cheeks were hot.

  “Well, she does set herself apart, but that is only because she is the shy one. She means no harm, of course. And she is only ten! I am sure in time she will be as charming as my dear Anna. Now, Anna is a true beauty, is she not? And Georgina May, why, she is a perfect oldest daughter, helping me to no end. She is very sensible,” Mama declared. “And she always does her duty.”

  “I cannot imagine, Lydia, how you manage with three young daughters so close in age,” the lady chatting with Mama declared. She was the pastor’s sister and she had come from Cork for a brief visit. “But you are fortunate. Anna will make a good marriage when she comes of age—with such beauty you will not have to worry about her! And Georgina May has some potential. I think she might turn into a handsome woman herself.”

  “Oh, I am sure of it!” Mama cried, as if by wishing hard enough she could make her desires come true. “And Lizzie will do well, too, I am certain. She will outgrow that baby fat, don’t you think?”

  There was a brief silence. “Well, she will certainly slim down if she does not have a sweet tooth. But if she becomes a bluestocking you will have a hard time finding her a suitable husband,” the pastor’s sister admonished. “I would watch her carefully. Isn’t she too young to be reading?”

  Lizzie gave up trying to read, hugging the precious book to her chest, hoping Mama would not march over and take it away. Her cheeks now burned with embarrassment, and she wished they would talk about something or someone else. But Mama and the pastor’s sister were strolling back to the other adults. Lizzie sighed in relief.

  Perhaps a summer picnic by the lake was simply the wrong place to read. It was a large gathering, one that included her family, their closest neighbor, the pastor and his family. There were seven adults present and six children, includi
ng herself. Her sisters and their friends were currently playing pirates. Shrieks and laughter punctuated the lazy June afternoon. Lizzie glanced at the entire scene, briefly watching Anna, who had been appointed a damsel in distress and was pretending to weep over some misfortune. The pastor’s oldest son was trying to console her, while his younger son and the neighbor’s boy were wielding sticks, creeping upon them, clearly in the role of pirates. Georgie lay upon the ground, the victim of some terrific misfortune.

  Lizzie hadn’t been invited to play. Not that she wished to. Reading had intrigued her from the moment she could identify her first few words, and in the past six months, suddenly, as if by magic, she could look at a sentence and most of the words made sense. As quickly, reading had become her passion and her life. She really didn’t care what she read, although she did prefer tall tales with dashing heroes and sobbing heroines. She was currently reading one of Sir Walter Scott’s stories, never mind that it had been written for adults and it took her an hour or more to read a single page.

  Lizzie took one more look behind her and realized she had been left very much alone. The adults were now seated on several large blankets and were opening up their luncheon baskets. Her sisters continued to play with the boys. Lizzie felt a flutter of excitement and she opened up her book.

  But before she could begin to reread the last paragraph where she had left off, a group of riders came cantering to the edge of the lake, just dozens of feet from where she sat. Their voices were male, boisterous and young, and Lizzie looked up as they leapt down from their horses.

  Instantly fascinated, she realized that there were five boys, all in their adolescent years. Her interest and curiosity increased. They had been riding fine, hot-blooded horses, and they wore well-tailored, expensive clothes. They had to be aristocrats. Laughing and shouting, they were stripping off their jackets and shirts, revealing lean, tanned and sweaty torsos. Clearly a swim was in order.

  Were they from Adare? Lizzie wondered. The earl of Adare was the only nobleman in the vicinity and he had three sons and two stepsons. Lizzie hugged her book to her chest, watching a tall blond boy dive in, followed by a leaner, shorter, dark-haired youth. Hoots and hollers sounded and two more boys dove in, causing more shouts and more laughter and the beginnings of a splashing match. Lizzie smiled.

  She didn’t know how to swim, but it certainly looked like fun.

  Then she glanced at the boy who remained standing on the bank. He was very tall, his skin as dark as a Spaniard’s, his hair as black as midnight. He was all lean, rippling muscle—and he was glancing curiously at her.

  Lizzie shoved her face in her book, hoping he didn’t think she was fat, too.

  “Hey, fatty, gimme that!”

  Lizzie looked up as the pastor’s younger son tore her book from her hands. “Willie O’Day!” she cried, leaping up. “Give me back my book, you bully!”

  He snickered at her. He was mean and Lizzie despised him. “If you want it, come and get it,” he taunted.

  He was three years older than she was and a good three inches taller. Lizzie reached for the book; he merely held it up over his head and out of her reach. He laughed at her. “Bookworm,” he sneered.

  She had spent days reading the first ten pages and now she was terrified he wouldn’t return it. “Please! Please give it back to me!”

  He held the book out to her—and when she tried to seize it, he turned and threw it in the lake.

  Lizzie gasped, staring at her book as it floated in the water by the shore. Tears filled her eyes and Willie laughed again. “If you want it, go get it, fatty,” he said, walking away.

  Lizzie didn’t think. She ran the few steps to the lake’s edge and reached down for the book.

  And to her utter shock, she lost her balance and fell.

  Water closed in around her, over her. Lizzie’s mouth filled with it and she coughed, took in more water, and began to choke. As she sank down beneath the surface, choking, incapable of breathing, she panicked, suddenly terrified.

  Strong hands seized her as she flailed and suddenly she was above the water, in a boy’s arms. Lizzie clung, her face pressed to his hard chest, choking and sobbing at the same time. He started striding from the lake and Lizzie began to breathe, the panic and fear instantly subsiding. Still grasping his slick, strong shoulders, Lizzie looked up.

  And into the most amazing dark blue eyes she had ever seen.

  “Are you all right?” her savior asked, his regard intent upon her.

  Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Their gazes held and she simply stared, and as she stared, she fell.

  Headlong, helplessly, hopelessly into love.

  Her heart skidded and rushed and raced and swelled.

  “Lizzie! Lizzie! Oh, Lord, Lizzie!” Mama was screaming from farther up the bank.

  “Are you a prince?” Lizzie whispered.

  He smiled. Her heart lurched and then began a wild, happy dance. “No, little one, I’m not.”

  But he was a prince, Lizzie thought, incapable of tearing her gaze from his handsome face. He was her prince.

  “Lizzie! Is she all right? Is my precious baby all right?” Mama was in hysterics.

  Her prince laid her down on a blanket. “I think so. A bit wet, but it’s a fine Irish day and she’ll be dry in no time.”

  “Lizzie!” Papa knelt beside her, white with fright. “My darling girl, what were you thinking, to go so close to the lake!”

  Lizzie smiled, not at Papa, but shyly at her prince. “I am fine, Papa.”

  Her prince’s smile faded.

  “How can we ever thank you, Lord Tyrell?” Mama cried, grasping both of his hands now and diverting his attention.

  “There is no need, Mrs. Fitzgerald. She’s safe, and that is thanks enough,” he said.

  And Lizzie realized who he was—the next earl of Adare, the earl’s eldest son, Tyrell de Warenne. She hugged her knees to her chest, still staring at him, stunned. But then, hadn’t she known he was a prince—or nearly the equivalent of one? For in the south of Ireland, the earl of Adare was very much like a king.

  Tyrell’s brothers and stepbrothers had gathered around them, curious and concerned. Tyrell turned and they instantly parted to let him through. Lizzie wanted to call him back—not that she ever would—until she realized what he was doing. Thrilled, she watched him wade into the lake and retrieve her sinking book. A moment later he returned with it. He smiled at her. “You may need a new copy, little one.”

  Lizzie bit her lip, too shy now to even thank him.

  “Lord Tyrell, we are in your debt,” Papa said seriously.

  Tyrell waved dismissively at him. He looked around and his eyes hardened. Lizzie followed his gaze and saw him coldly eyeing Willie O’Day.

  Willie turned to run.

  Tyrell reached him in one stride and seized his ear. Ignoring his howls of pain and protest, he dragged him back to Lizzie. “Get down on your knees and apologize to the little lady,” he said, “or I will thrash the hell out of you.”

  And for the first time in his life, Willie did as he was told, weeping as he begged Lizzie for forgiveness.

  Part One

  October 1812–July 1813

  1

  A Fateful Encounter

  Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald stared at the novel in her hands but not a single word made sense. In fact, the letters on the page were blurred as badly as if she was not wearing her reading glasses. Perhaps that was for the best; Mama hated it when she read at the table, and she had sat down for breakfast with her romance novel some time ago, the food in front of her now long forgotten. Lizzie sighed and closed the book. She was so excited about tomorrow she would never be able to concentrate, she decided.

  Excited, and afraid.

  Papa sat at the head of the small table with a copy of yesterday’s Dublin Times. He rattled the page as he reached for his cup of tea, engrossed in some article about the war. Upstairs, the household was in a state of hysteria. Li
zzie could hear her two older sisters and her mother racing about the bedrooms, back and forth, back and forth, heels clicking wildly, just as she could also hear Anna’s wails and Georgie’s brisk, sensible tones. Mama was barking commands like a soldier. Papa did not seem to notice, but such chaos was fairly usual in the Fitzgerald home.

  Lizzie stared at him, hoping he would glance up. She wanted to talk but was not sure she could confide in anyone.

  “You’re staring,” he said, not looking up. “What is it, Lizzie?”

  She hesitated. “Is it usual, to be so nervous?”

  Papa gazed past his newspaper at her. His smile was kind. “It’s only a ball,” he said. “It may be your first, but it will not be your last.” He was a short man with prematurely white hair, gray whiskers and a perpetually kind expression. Like Lizzie, he wore rimmed spectacles, but not merely for reading; if Lizzie had any regrets, it was that she had inherited her poor eyesight from such a wonderful father.

  Lizzie felt herself flush. She quickly avoided her father’s benign gaze, not wanting him to guess how apprehensive she was. After all, she was sixteen years old now, a grown woman, or practically so. She did not want anyone in her family to suspect that she still harbored the most childish fantasies—except that, in the darkest hours of the night, they weren’t childish at all.

  The heat in her cheeks increased.

  Beneath the table, a stray, crippled cat she had rescued and adopted the previous year rubbed against her ankles, purring.

  But Papa was wise to her now, and he set his paper down and studied her closely. “Lizzie, it is only a ball. And you have been up to the house before.” He was referring to the earl of Adare’s home. “You know, my dear, we have all noticed how oddly you have been behaving these past few days. Why, you have even lost your appetite and we all know how much you love to eat! What is worrying you, dear?”