Unmasked Read Free Page A

and indicated to the tavern servant to bring him a drink.
    Nick’s eyes narrowed as he watched the interchange between his cousin and the whore. He felt a fool now for his unrestrained response to her. Evidently he had been without a woman for too long to fall into lust so hard and so fast. Molly, in contrast, had forgotten him already for she was at the door, gesturing to Rashleigh to follow her out into the night, no doubt to a set of rooms nearby. There was no sign of reluctance in her now. The appearance of hesitation earlier must have been only for show—or because she had not really thought Nick worth her time. Her apparent vulnerability and defenselessness had been no more than figments of his imagination. Nick’s jaw tightened as he saw her give Rashleigh the same tempting, secretive smile in parting that she had given to him.
    He watched as Rashleigh drained his glass of wine in one gulp and ordered a second, which he dispatched the same way, his eyes on the door the whole time. Nick guessed that the girl had asked Rashleigh to give her a few minutes in which to prepare herself before he joined her in her bed. He got to his feet. It was time to spoil his cousin’s party. He started to move toward Rashleigh with deliberate intent.
    Rashleigh looked up and their eyes met. For a long moment they looked at one another and then Rashleigh turned away abruptly and hurried out without a word. The tavern door crashed on its hinges as it closed behind him. The candles fluttered in the wind and half of them went out. Men cursed as they knocked their drinks over in the dark. Nick blundered across the room and found his way to the door. He was not going to let Rashleigh get away from him now.
    The alleyway outside was pitch-black. The tavern sign was swinging in the rising breeze and creaked overhead. Nick stopped, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He listened intently but could hear no sound of movement. He could not tell which way Rashleigh had gone but he was determined to find him and confront him with Hawkesbury’s accusations before Rashleigh gave him the slip and tumbled into bed with that willing little harlot.
    Then he saw the glimmer of something in the gutter at the end of the lane, where the narrow passageway joined the high road. His breath caught. Turning, he shoved open the door of the tavern and shouted inside, “Bring a light!”
    The landlord hurried to do his bidding, a flaring torch in his hand. Nick could see a fold of the silver cloak, all muddied now from the dirt of the gutter, gleaming bright in the torchlight.
    The customers were piling out of the alehouse, scenting trouble. Another lantern flared, showing Rashleigh lying on the ground, his face paint smeared, his wig askew. One of his hands lay outstretched as though clutching after something that had eluded him. Nick could see a knife protruding between his ribs. It was buried to the hilt. Beside him lay a blond wig and a black velvet mask.
    Images filled Nick’s mind of Anna, lying there in the gutter in his cousin’s place, limp, broken, her life drained away. He saw her blue eyes clouding over in death and felt the familiar tide of sickness and guilt wash through him. With an immense effort of will he forced the images from his mind and looked dispassionately down at his cousin’s tumbled body. Rashleigh looked undignified in death. His face had fallen and crumpled in on itself. He looked weak and dissolute and pitiful. Nick searched his heart and did not feel a scrap of sorrow. The world was a better place without the Earl of Rashleigh.
    The breeze stirred the edge of Rashleigh’s silver cloak and stirred, too, the scrap of paper that had been clasped between his fingers. It fluttered free and Nick bent to pick it up. It was a visiting card and on it was printed the flaunting symbol of a peacock in gold. Nick frowned. He had seen that device before. It was similar to the coat of arms of his old school friend Charles, Duke of Cole. He