Unmask My Heart

By Karla Kratovil

Caroline Langdon has gained a reputation for being unattainable; she has turned down twelve offers of marriage in four years. A traumatic incident from her past has convinced her she never wants to belong to any man. Her plan to live as a wealthy spinster is tested when she meets the enigmatic Lord Wrotham.

For his new assignment for the crown, Cage Morgan must slip into the one role he's never wanted, his title as the Earl of Wrotham. Lady Caroline is in grave danger. His new job is to watch over her and investigate which of her jilted suitors wants her dead. But keeping tabs on the clever and fiery lady is challenging. And ignoring the attraction that flares between them, impossible.

Will a daring rescue and a fake engagement lead two guarded hearts to take a risk on a passionate love from which neither of them can hide?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Mar 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509240456

Book preview

Chapter 1

April 1802

Lady Caroline Langdon scanned the crowded ballroom, discreetly fanning herself to create a small breeze in the stifling hot room. She eyed the glass doors that led to the veranda jealously, knowing she could not venture outside into the cool spring air without a chaperone.

The chandeliers, heavy with hundreds of candles, illuminated an all too familiar scene. Women in colorful silks and gentlemen in formal attire whirled through a reel. Skirts flew and hands clasped and unclasped as the merry guests wound their way down the line. Along the dance floor, guests congregated in small groups, no doubt gossiping about the latest on-dit.

Caroline spotted her brother and sister-in-law dancing across the room from where she hid. Her brother scanned the room as he danced with his wife. His gaze finally finding her, he frowned. She had promised to stay near her mother this evening. Although, why he was such a hen about her staying close to family, she had no idea. Caroline waggled her fingers at him.

Glad for the small break in her dance card, she’d retreated to a corner next to a rather large fern. It wasn’t like her to hide, but the boring conversation and banal flirting she endured so far tonight made her withdraw in search of some peace. She adjusted her domino. The mask heavily decorated with glass jewels kept slipping down her nose. She wished she could rid herself of the dratted thing. But God forbid she would not be in the spirit of the evening’s theme. What was the purpose of a masked ball when everyone knew who everyone else was, masked or not. There was never anyone new at these tedious affairs anyway. Lud, she desperately needed some air.

She spied a knot of women heading through the throng of well-dressed guests. Caroline immediately recognized they headed her way, so squaring her shoulders, she stepped away from the wall. Lady Grendel, Lady Dresden, Lady Hartley, and Lady Hollister were all friends of hers, all friends sincerely troubled that she had not joined their matrimonial ranks by now.

Caroline allowed herself one long sigh before pasting on a smile. A smile which would let everyone know she was having a grand time.

Caroline, did you see who Lord Wallis is dancing with, for the second dance in a row? Lady Dresden was flushed with the excitement of passing on a piece of gossip.

No, I haven’t been watching the dance floor. I have been eyeing the veranda and the promise of fresh air with an envious eye.

Truly, you are correct. It is stifling in here this evening. Lady Hartley said.

Where is His Grace? twittered Lady Grendel. Her eyes over bright from too much sherry. She’d always had an eye for Andrew, and it was to her great disappointment that she settled for Lord Grendel just before Caroline’s brother had become widowed three years ago. Lady Grendel’s blonde curls bobbed as she twisted around, searching the immediate area.

Do any of you ladies feel like getting some air? Caroline asked, steering the conversation away from her brother.

Oh, not right now. This set is almost done. Who do you have next on your card? Lady Hollister reached to grab hold of the folded card hanging by a blue ribbon from Caroline’s wrist. She snatched her hand out of range and forced a laugh.

No one. I have a small break before supper. Thank goodness.

All four faces fell into similar looks of sympathy.

Don’t you worry, dear, there are hardly any unattached gentlemen here this evening.

Yes, I was just telling Maude yesterday what a dearth of eligible men there are this season.

Caroline, you really should have chosen someone last year.

I’m sure someone will ask you to dance before the night is out.

Caroline held up her hands to stop the tide of concern. Ladies, I simply have three free slots. It’s not the end of the world. In fact, I am quite overheated from the barely veiled innuendo Lord Deerfield left me with in the last set. I simply needed a moment to compose myself. She lied easily, knowing that anything the infamous rake could have said or not said would distract her friends from their misplaced sympathy about her less than full dance card.

The four ladies continued to discuss various bits of gossip they had gleaned so far that evening. Caroline nodded her head appropriately and raised her fan in faux shock at the right moments. It was easy to play the part. She had years of training. Daughter to the Duke of Gilchrest, she long since mastered her social façade. It was a second skin she wore with ease.

Her eyes drifted back toward the other end of the ballroom and the doors that led to fresh air. Underneath her emerald-green skirts, she shifted from left foot to right foot rolling each ankle in turn. She felt like a thoroughbred horse at the start line at Ascot, searching for her chance to race away. Finally, the music changed, signaling the change of set. Her opportunity to exit the conversation arose.

Oh, I see Gilchrest and his lady.

Lady Grendel’s expression soured at the mention of her brother’s new wife. Caroline hastily excused herself. She gave a small nod of her head. Ladies.

With no idea where Andrew and Emma actually were, she worked her way across the polished wood floors, determined to reach the end of the room where the doors opened to the gardens. If she could get some fresh air, perhaps she could shake off this terrible disquiet. All spring, her impatience with her social obligations had grown until she felt though she couldn’t breathe for the heaviness in her chest.

The gilt-edged mirrors that lined the sides of the room reflected the horde of guests, giving the sense that hundreds of more people were swirling around the ballroom and increasing her feeling of suffocation. Halfway to her destination, she spotted the last person she wanted to speak with standing in her pathway to fresh air. He spotted her as well. Lord Devonshire gave a broad smile and started her way.

Caroline panicked. Lord Devonshire had been hunting her all spring. Good on paper, she knew everyone thought they would make an excellent match. As a Marquis, he held a decent title, had extensive land holdings, and was relatively young at thirty-six. But something in his manner always raised her hackles. The inappropriate comments whispered to her when he thought no one was paying attention, that ever-present overly bright smile. And she knew it was shallow, but the man was shorter than her.

Cursed with the height that all the Langdons possessed, she towered over most women by four or five inches. Her mother wore her height with elegance, while Caroline had spent her adolescence feeling gangly. She had gained a certain grace and style over the last five years but sometimes still felt like that clumsy girl. She felt positively giant standing next to Devonshire. Plus, he always stared at her with a certain salacious gleam in his eye. She battled now to suck in a deep breath as Lord Devonshire began to weave his way in her direction. Caroline knew her brother had recently received the man’s request for her hand in marriage. She clearly remembered Andrew’s frown when she asked him to refuse the offer.

Caroline, you know I will never make you marry anyone you do not want. But how many suitors is this now? Nine? Ten? What exactly are you looking for in a husband? Exasperation was written all over his face.

She had turned down exactly twelve offers of marriage in the last four years. Any girlish notions of romance and love had been shattered for her at the age of seventeen. The truth was all her suitors saw was her large dowry and impeccable social connections. Not one was interested in knowing who she was, her interests, or her dreams. Caroline glanced around, looking for options for escape. At the end of June, she would turn twenty-two, and the portion her father left her in his will would release to her. It was more than enough to live comfortably on. She would prefer to be a wealthy spinster then shackled to some man who would control her money, her body, and her children.

Andrew had asked her to take some time to consider Devonshire’s offer before turning away yet another gentleman. And she had agreed to be agreeable. He really was the best brother a girl could have. But she had no intention of saying yes. She just had to avoid the parson’s noose for two more months.

She scrunched her nose. She was in no mood this evening for a proposal or wooing of any kind. She turned sharply to the right to head toward the door leading out into the hall instead. On the other side of the door, instead of the brightly lit front hall, she found herself in a dim corridor. Blast! Her hand still on the doorknob, she glanced back into the ballroom and saw Devonshire determinedly wending his way through the crowd.

She pulled the door shut and hurried along the carpet to where the corridor ended at a rather large painting of what appeared to be Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. Tall and fierce, she had one foot pinning a stag to the ground and in her hand a massive bow. Caroline glanced left. At the end of the hallway was a narrow staircase. To the right, at the other end, glass doors to the veranda stood ajar. A cool breeze rippled down the hallway tempting her with its promise of fresh air. Only three steps in the direction of freedom, and she heard a door squeak open. She froze. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt. Then she gathered the silk up and slowly made her way toward the French doors.

Lady Caroline? Her name echoed down the corridor. Double blast.

Caroline looked behind her judging the length of the passageway. She would never make it. Praying for well-oiled hinges, she opened the closest door. She crossed the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind her. The sitting room with its shadowed sofas and chairs was only a temporary haven. She needed to get back to the party. Luckily, the veranda lay at the far end of the room.

As she stepped outside into the cool night air, she took in a breath, and her lungs fought against the ties of her stays. That had been too close. She knew better than to flee the ballroom all alone. An old panic had taken over her as she saw Lord Devonshire approach. He was harmless; she reminded herself. She rested her hands on the stone balustrade and tipped her face to the night sky. Her domino slipped down her nose, and she ripped it off. Staring down at the glittery mask, a familiar feeling of suffocation stole over her. She flung it into the darkness.

Chapter 2

Sounds of laughter and the strains of Braham’s spilled from the open doorways of the ballroom. From this distance, everything looked bright and shiny. Small knots of guests congregated on the veranda, and he could see the glowing ends of cheroots flare like fireflies. There were no torches placed along the garden paths, and the darkness felt cool and damp where he sat in the wisteria-covered arbor. Silently a shadow approached, the soft crunch of pebbles barely audible. Cage stood to his full height and waited for the man to enter the privacy of the arbor.

Winters. He nodded to his superior at the Foreign Office.

Morgan. It’s nice to see you dressed appropriately for once.

Cage ran his hands down the lapels of his formal jacket and smiled. You said to look pretty, so here I am trussed up like a pig to market. What’s the job?

I don’t believe pretty was the term I used. Winters chuckled. Regardless, I need you to blend in with that crowd in there, so whatever makes you feel pretty… He smirked.

Cage began to have the uneasy feeling his joke was about to turn on him. Winters’ expression settled into grim lines. He sat heavily onto the curved bench. Cage settled next to him, setting one ankle across his knee, he waited. Winters never spoke without full deliberation.

The Duke of Gilchrest came to me with a request. He received several letters threatening his younger sister Lady Caroline. The first letter’s messy script and lack of a proper seal caught his grace’s butler's attention, who brought the letter to duke instead of to Lady Caroline. She doesn’t know about the threats, and his lordship wants to keep it that way.

Cage frowned. Threats against the sister of a duke were serious business.

His Grace has asked me as a favor, to assign someone to watch over Lady Caroline. And to investigate who is sending the letters. Since you are currently in between missions and here in England, I want you to do it.

It wouldn’t be the first time Cage was assigned to be a bodyguard. Usually, it was to ferry political spies safely to headquarters. But the duke’s brother Jack Langdon was a good friend. He saved Cage’s life many times over the years as they worked for the King as undercover agents. Jack retired from the service several years ago and lived with his wife in the Bahamas.

Anything for Jack’s family. I know he would want to be here himself. Cage nodded.

The duke wrote to him. He and his family will be heading to England as soon as they are able. But that will take time, and I would like to wrap this up quickly. His Grace doesn’t want to alert any possible suspects that she is under protection, so you will need to blend into the crowd at social functions. As an unmarried miss, she is not allowed to go anywhere unchaperoned, so it should be easy to know where her comings and goings are as long as we have a copy of her social schedule.

Following around a debutant to parties and teas sounded dead dull. But Cage was glad to have an assignment that would keep him in England. He had his own mystery to solve, one on which he couldn’t afford to lose focus. Are there are suspects?

Yes, but I will let His Grace fill you in on the details of the threats and the possible suspects. I will introduce you tonight. I don’t believe you met properly last time. And you can meet the girl, observe who she interacts with. Here is your invitation, Lord Wrotham.

His head snapped up at the name. No. Not like that. He’d be damned if he would use that bastard’s name.

Morgan, we cannot concoct a name this time. We need the title to be recognized immediately. The mysterious heir reappears into society. That’s your entre. You have to be able to attend the same functions as Lady Caroline. Besides, according to your invitation, you are Wrotham. His expression brooked no further argument.

Cage reluctantly took the card held out to him. You are a real bastard, you know.

Think of it as just another alias. No more than any other skin you’ve slipped on. See you inside Lord Wrotham. Winters disappeared into the night as silently as he had arrived. Cage slipped the invitation into his pocket and stood. All of a sudden, his perfectly tied cravat felt as though it was strangling him. Damn it, why did it have to be Wrotham?

Over the years, he took on the role of a cast of different characters: wealthy lord, innkeeper, highwayman, footpad, sailor, horse breeder. He could copy any accent, any demeanor—his ability for mimicry discovered by his lieutenant by accident one night. Cage had been entertaining his fellow soldiers with an impression of the French commander Napoleon. His value as an undercover agent was immediately recognized.

Cage strolled down the pebbled path, walking parallel to the long stone veranda. The din from the ballroom lessened as he made his way to the far corner of the house. The invitation with Wrotham’s name burned against his chest like a hot coal. The name only brought with it regret. Grace. He wanted to throw back his head and yell her name into the night. Not that it would help him find her. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes, hoping to find some inner calm. A soft thud echoed in his ears as something whacked him in the head. He looked down to see a mask, its jewels winking at him from the grass.

He bent down to retrieve the mask, and when he straightened, he glanced around for the owner. Stepping out of the shadows, he looked up at the veranda lit by torches. A woman stood at the railing, her face tipped to the sky, her eyes closed. Mahogany hair framed an oval face, with a small, pointed nose and high cheekbones. Dark lashes lay against luminescent skin. An emerald-green gown encased her lush figure. Torchlight created flickering shadows across her face giving the illusion of a tortured expression. Drawn to her, he stepped forward.

I believe this belongs to you.

The woman startled; her eyes flew open. He came closer, into a circle of light that spilled onto the lawn. Giving his most charming smile, he held up the mask. She frowned, assessing him. Her gaze fell onto the mask, and the frown deepened.

You may keep the dratted thing.

It’s not really my style. Cage laid the mask on the balustrade. She sighed, and a delicate fingertip traced the edge of the mask. Miss, are you all right?

Have you ever wanted to run away? Go somewhere no one knows who you are and start over.

Yes. He had been running his whole damned life.

Did you? Run, I mean.

Yes.

Did it work? Can you outrun who you are? She gazed down at him with wide sad eyes.

He thought of the name on the invitation in his pocket. No. No, you can’t.

She straightened at his response. Wiping her cheeks with the back of one hand, she appeared to gather her emotions. What you must think of me standing here feeling sorry for myself when I have so much. A wonderful family, all the pretty things I could ever want. She took in a deep breath. I’m sorry you were witness to my display of self-pity. Perhaps you could forget this entire conversation?

As you wish, my lady. He gave a bow. He knew all too well that money was not always a buffer to suffering. He wondered what she wanted to run from.

I best get back inside before someone notices I am missing. She gave a small curtsy and rushed off down the veranda, leaving the glittering mask behind.

Chapter 3

Caroline walked down the veranda, keeping away from the torchlight. She just needed to make it to the nearest door to the ballroom without being spotted. Male laughter caught her attention, and she flattened herself against the brick of the house. Drat. A knot of four gentlemen stood twenty feet down the patio, a white cloud of smoke surrounding them. Light from the ballroom spilled out onto Gaylord, Dresden, Yates, and Hughes. Her shoulders relaxed; well, those boys were nothing she couldn’t handle. Half of them were former suitors. Just as she prepared to step out and breeze by them with a witty remark, she heard her name.

I heard Devonshire went to Gilchrest and offered for Caroline Langdon, Dresden said.

What? Is he a glutton for rejection? That ice queen will never marry. Gaylord snorted.

Bitter? Yates punched Gaylord in the arm.

She’s turned away twelve offers of marriage. All good chaps. Hughes, you’ve been turned down as well, right?

For the best. If she’d said yes, I probably would have frozen my bullocks off on my wedding night, Hughes chimed in. Her dowry is worth thirty thousand pounds, so perhaps it would have been worth it. All four men erupted into laughter.

I think we’ve dodged a bullet, Hughes. No man wants to be married to that frigid bitch.

Caroline placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Her face flamed in indignation. The men threw down the cheroots and stomped out the glowing ends. Their conversation rumbled out of earshot as they walked away. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. She took in a gulp of the night air. Those bastards. She was not frigid. Just because she didn’t care to be shackled to nitwits like them didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of warm feelings for a man. She bit down on her bottom lip, fighting back her tears. They didn’t know a thing about her. All they saw was a conquest.

Caroline brushed away tears for the second time that night. Damn them for making her doubt herself. She was not frigid. She just knew better. She had let herself be whisked away on the tide of passion once before, and where had it gotten her, kidnapped, ransomed, assaulted. No, she would never be that naïve again. She squared her shoulders and made her way to the doors to the ballroom.

She slipped in, walking behind an older couple as they entered. Caroline wove her way through the guests pausing next to a large bust of Socrates, which sat atop a white marble pedestal. She spotted her mother standing nearby with a family friend.

Oh, hello, Mother, Lord Warick. Caroline curtsied. I was just looking for you.

Her mother’s sharp eye roamed over her, and Caroline hoped her face wasn’t flushed from being outside. She tugged at one earring, running her fingers over the smooth stones.

Were you? Perhaps that’s why you missed your dance with Lord Cullum? He came searching for you not ten minutes ago.

Drat! Had she been outside that long? That’s strange. I wondered where my dance partner had gone off too. It’s so crowded tonight, isn’t it? She glanced around the room, trying to avoid her mother’s gaze.

And where is your mask, young lady? Her mother raised one eyebrow as if to say she knew exactly where her daughter had been. Luckily, Caroline was saved by a tap on the shoulder. She turned to find Mr. Fenwick’s eager face smiling at her. His domino was plain black, covering just his eyes.

Lady Caroline, I believe I have your next dance.

Saved from interrogation, she nodded enthusiastically. Please excuse me, Mother.

As she twirled through the dance partners in her square, she spotted the man from the garden. Hard to miss, he stood at least a head taller than any other man in the room. She tipped a foot to curtsy to her partner. When she raised her head again, he and his partner had disappeared from her view.

Twisting around, she spotted him again, much closer now. His dark blue jacket fit his broad shoulders beautifully, but his blond hair fell in waves much too long for the current fashion. He flashed a wide smile at his dance partner. Caroline’s heart skipped a beat. That smile, along with his sultry gaze, was positively sinful. A flush rose across the lady’s cheeks, and Caroline also felt the heat rise in her own at witnessing the intimate moment. Then he and his partner turned in a tight circle, and his hooded gaze collided with Caroline’s. She stumbled, forgot to pivot, and bumped into the gentleman behind her. Lord Fenwick grasped her hand and pulled her back into their square of dancers.

She glanced over her shoulder at the poor man to whom she had collided, Sorry. She gave an apologetic smile. Her face flamed hotter; the man from the garden had surely seen that. Bringing her focus back to her partner, she smiled at him. Lord Fenwick, are you having a nice time this evening?

Indeed. I’ve escorted my sister, who has traveled to town for the season. This is her first year out.

Caroline sighed inwardly. And here was the reason he had asked her to dance.

He gave her a toothy smile. I know she would be honored to make your acquaintance. Perhaps we could call on you this week?

My calendar this week is quite full. Perhaps another time. Caroline answered vaguely and hoped he would have the manners not to press. For goodness’ sake, she was not the patron saint of new debutants. But she supposed she couldn’t fault him for trying. Suddenly, Caroline felt bone-weary. The set ended, and she clapped politely.

Lord Fenwick escorted her back to her mother, who had been joined by Caroline’s sister-in-law Emma. Emma’s mouth turned up in a smile when Caroline came up beside her.

Lady Caroline, I hope to see you soon. Fenwick bowed and walked away.

Emma raised one eyebrow, but Caroline shook her head. She wrapped an arm around Emma’s ever-expanding waist, giving it a gentle squeeze. Emma’s silver sequined mask had whiskers and two triangle ears. It was affixed to a short stick instead of having ties.

Emma held the mask up in front of her