Masked Intentions [Unmasking Prometheus] (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Read online

  His leg ached unbearably, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. God knew how much blood he’d lost. He needed a place to lie low until his pursuers lost interest. As he took stock of his surroundings, a ludicrous idea took root in his mind.

  Vanessa Bourke lived a few streets over, in a once-opulent mansion that had seen its better days and had been split into half a dozen flats. He’d made it his business to know, even though he’d assumed the information would prove useless.

  What would she do if he were to show up uninvited, dressed as Prometheus? Would she turn him away, or would she take him in and bandage his wound? Could he use the child to gain her trust?

  He would never make it all the way to Brookhaven Orphanage in his current condition. Telling himself he had no other choice, he headed toward Vanessa’s flat.

  * * * *

  A clamor at the window woke Vanessa from a deep sleep. She sat straight up in bed, heart hammering in her chest as she peered through the darkness toward the source of the sound. She’d left her window cracked in an attempt to catch a cooling breeze, but now it was fully open, the curtains fluttering in the wind.

  At the foot of her bed she sensed a presence, a dark shape melding with the shadows. “Is someone there?” Her voice trembled with fear, and she edged toward her nightstand, where she kept a small, loaded pistol.

  The shadow moved, stepping forward into a faint patch of moonlight. “Shhh,” a deep male voice whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

  A sudden commotion sounded in the alley beneath the window as a group of men thundered through the usually quiet neighborhood. Dogs howled as sharp voices barked orders down below.

  They’re looking for this man, who has taken refuge in my room.

  A new rush of fear washed through her. What sort of criminal was he? And more importantly, what did he want with her?

  Tension spiraled between them as the shouts continued, then slowly faded off into the distance. After what seemed an eternity, the stranger gave a weary-sounding sigh and then abruptly struck a match, casting a small puddle of light as he looked around.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, as he flicked on the gas lights and put out the match. “If you would have screamed, they’d have caught us.”

  Us? She gave another nervous glance around the room, but he appeared to be alone.

  He turned toward her, and she got her first glimpse of the intruder. She drew in a sharp breath, because his features were hidden by a fanciful mask of sparkling ivory and bone. The tall, broad-shouldered man wore a crimson cape, the deep color of blood.

  She recognized the fearsome bandit dubbed Prometheus from the newspaper sketches. He’d burned down dozens of brothels, apparently rescuing children who’d been pressed to work in them against their will. Though the police wanted nothing more than to capture him, he’d become a hero to the people.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, very aware of her state of undress. “They’re gone now.”

  “I’ll leave as soon as it’s safe,” he assured her. “In the meantime, do you mind if I lay the child down?” He swept back his cloak, revealing a young boy asleep in his arms.

  The child was as beautiful as an angel, with dark, curly hair. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven. Her stomach turned at the thought of what had been done to the poor boy. Giving a jerky nod, she scooted over to make room.

  “Put him here,” she whispered.

  Prometheus tenderly lowered the child to the bed, then returned his attention to Vanessa. “Do you have anything I can use for a bandage?”

  “A bandage?” Some of her fear evaporated when he gestured to his left thigh and parted his crimson cape to reveal that the dark trousers beneath were soaked through with blood. “My God, have you been shot?”

  He nodded briefly and sank into a chair.

  She scrambled off the far side of the bed, reaching for the heavy satin robe that lay draped across her footboard. Wrapping it tightly around her, she bit her lip. “May I get some things to tend to you?”

  He nodded abruptly, and she hurried down the hall. The thought of escape only crossed her mind briefly as she wet a washcloth and split an old white sheet to use as a bandage. She didn’t think he’d hurt her, and there was the child to consider.

  “I’ll help you with your wound,” she told him when she returned. “But then you really must go.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bourke,” he said softly.

  “You know my name?” Her fears returned full force. Had he picked her flat on purpose?

  He bowed his head, ripping his trouser leg to reveal a deep bloody hole. “I recognize you,” he murmured. “I’ve seen you play Celia half a dozen times.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks, along with a strange sort of pleasure. This man, who was making a difference, who put his life on the line for those less fortunate, had recently sat in the dark and watched her perform.

  She crossed nervously to his side and handed him the wet cloth, along with the strips of sheet he could use as a bandage. “You should have that looked at as soon as possible. You mustn’t let it get infected.”

  He took the wet cloth and swabbed at the blood, hissing a bit with the pain the pressure must have caused. “The bullet passed through. I’ll be all right. I just need to get home where I can clean it properly.”

  She stared at the lower half of his face, the chiseled lips and strong chin revealed beneath the demi-mask. She’d lay odds he was devastatingly handsome. For the first time, she became very aware of him as a man.

  When he made another soft sound of pain, she knelt beside him and took the cloth from his blood-streaked hands. “Here. Let me do it.”

  He sank back against the chair, closing his eyes. “I hoped you’d be this way,” he whispered. “When I got hurt, I thought if I could just get here, to you, you would help me.”

  She wanted to ask him why he’d thought that and how he’d known where to find her, but thought those questions better left unanswered. “I’ve read about you in the papers,” she said instead. “I think what you’re doing is very brave and needs to be done.”

  His lips quirked in a brief smile. “Well, I wish my friends at Scotland Yard felt the same. Between them and the bastards who work at the brothel, they led me on a merry chase tonight.”

  She bound his leg with the length of bandage, using a piece of red ribbon to bind it firmly in place.

  “There. That should hold until you get home.” She glanced up and found him watching her, his face mere inches from her own.

  “Thank you,” he told her, his gaze intent behind the mask. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but she thought they must be blue or green, because they caught the light. “There’s something else you can do for me, if you would.”

  “Depends on what it is,” she answered cautiously, knowing she’d probably helped him far too much already.

  “It will be all I can do to make it home tonight.” The deep, masculine rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “If I take the child all the way to the Brookhaven, I fear I’ll either collapse or be caught. Do you think you could take him there in the morning? It’s the orphanage on Field Street in Kensington. Just tell them Prometheus sent you. They won’t ask any questions.”

  She bit her lip doubtfully. There seemed to be no harm in what he was asking. The theater was dark tomorrow, so she had the day free. She could hire a hack to deliver the boy—a small price to pay to keep him safe from the lechers who’d had him before. Besides, she would hate to think of Prometheus getting caught.

  “Yes,” she agreed, surprised by her own daring. “I’ll do it.”

  He reached out and brushed his fingertips across her jaw. “Miss Bourke, you’ve been an angel.”

  She caught her breath, trying to see behind the mask to discern the color of his eyes more clearly. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest.

  Then he bent forward and kissed her. At first, his lips pressed sweetly, chastely against hers, giving her plenty
of time to pull away. When she foolishly did not, he leaned closer, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him, deepening the kiss with a groan.

  Nothing this exciting had ever happened to her. Kissing a masked stranger in her room in the middle of the night seemed surreal, impossible to believe.

  After a few blissful minutes, he pulled away. She lifted one hand to her lips, stunned. She’d never felt such an overwhelming attraction to a man, yet she hadn’t even seen his face.

  “So sweet,” he said, his voice a bit unsteady. “I’ll never forget you, Miss Bourke.”

  Before she could respond, he turned and left her flat the way he’d come, through the window.

  Chapter Two

  Adrian sank gingerly into a chair in front of the roaring fire in his bedchamber, exhausted and in more pain then he wanted to admit. The trip home from Miss Bourke’s flat had sapped the last of his strength.

  He lifted his hips and stripped off his tattered trousers, frowning when he saw how much blood had soaked through the bandage. If he were wise, he would send for a doctor, but he didn’t know of anyone he could trust as much as Clinton, his longtime manservant. In a few moments, he’d ring for Clinton to help him clean and stitch the wound, but for now, he just wanted a few quiet moments to relive the brief time he’d spent with Miss Bourke.

  Running a finger along the satin ribbon she’d used on the bandage, he thought of the way she’d melted into his kiss, the soft, breathy sound she’d made as he’d pulled her into his arms. For the first time in his adult life, his scars hadn’t mattered. The mask had given him the anonymity he craved.

  Of course, she never would have given herself so sweetly if she knew the truth, if she knew Prometheus was Adrian Strathmore. But perhaps, if he could arrange a few more meetings with her while he was masked, she would come to care for the man behind it.

  The thought was foolish and self-delusional, but he let himself get lost for a few minutes in the fantasy. He didn’t know why this particular woman had taken such a hold of him, but she’d become a fire in his blood he couldn’t extinguish.

  Erotic dreams haunted his nights, and he’d been unable to stay away from the theater. Tonight’s encounter had only fueled his desire to know her better, to drown himself in her loveliness.

  With a sigh, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and rang for Clinton. Tonight had been amazing, a perfect memory he could take to his grave, but he’d be an idiot to think he could ever repeat it.

  * * * *

  “Adrian!” The Earl of Hawkesmere’s voice cracked like a whip in the silence of the quiet bedchamber. Adrian startled awake, dropping the tumbler of whiskey he’d fallen asleep holding, then hissing in pain as the sudden movement disturbed his newly stitched wound.

  “Who let you in?” he asked his older brother sullenly.

  “Clinton sent word that you’d been shot,” Lucien replied, crossing the room to Adrian’s side. “My contact at Scotland Yard claims they almost caught you tonight. You’re taking too many risks.”

  “I was always one step ahead of them,” Adrian countered. “And I had some help.” A tendril of warmth weaved its way through his chest as he thought of his beautiful guardian angel.

  “What are you talking about?” Lucien asked suspiciously, sinking in to the chair across from him.

  “I was forced to take shelter with none other than Miss Vanessa Bourke.”

  “The actress?” Lucien shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking? I’m guessing you didn’t end up there by accident. How did you even know where she lived?”

  “You needn’t worry,” he told his brother, wishing he’d never mentioned the encounter. “She has no idea who I am.”

  “So what was she like?” Lucien asked, suddenly changing tactics.

  “Lovelier than words can describe,” Adrian replied a little wistfully, realizing with chagrin that he’d broached the subject out of a totally uncharacteristic need to talk about it. “She was frightened at first, to wake and find me there, but she recovered admirably, kept her head, and bandaged my wound. Then she let me kiss her.”

  Lucien frowned. “You do realize that by going to her as Prometheus, you’ve ruined your chances to get to know her as yourself.”

  Adrian laughed bitterly. “As if a woman like that would ever give my scarred face a second glance.”

  “You give yourself too little credit, brother. Perhaps you give the lady too little credit as well.”

  Adrian waved a dismissive hand. “Spare me the lecture.”

  With a sigh, Lucien pushed to his feet. “I’m glad to see you’re all right, Adrian. Do try to be more careful in the future.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Adrian whispered after his brother had exited the room. “Not very likely at all.”

  * * * *

  Vanessa woke to find solemn blue eyes peering at her from mere inches away. As she stared into the little boy’s wary face, the events of the previous evening came rushing back to her. Prometheus had truly been here, in her bedroom, and he’d left this poor child he’d stolen from who knew what godforsaken den of iniquity.

  He’d kissed her…

  Before her mind could dwell too much on that particular topic, she pushed to her elbows and gave the boy a bright smile. “Good morning.”

  He continued to watch her but didn’t reply. His stillness unnerved her a bit. She wondered sadly if he thought she was yet one more person who planned to hurt him. What was he supposed to think, when he woke to find himself in bed with a stranger?

  “It’s all right,” she told him gently. “Prometheus brought you to me last night. He was shot in the leg when he was helping you escape. He feared he wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to the safe place he intended to take you, so he asked me to do it for him.”

  As she said the words, a little shimmer of happiness went through her. Why had Prometheus come to her? How had he known he could trust her? She was determined not to let him down.

  “Can you tell me your name?” she asked softly.

  He bit his lip, then ducked his head, still unresponsive. She wondered if he was mute, or if he just didn’t understand her. He had the wild, untamed beauty of a gypsy, with that curly dark hair, olive skin, and big blue eyes.

  With a sigh, she got out of bed and reached for her robe. Perhaps he’d feel more comfortable in the kitchen.

  “My name is Vanessa,” she told him. “There’s a water closet down the hall, if you need to use it. Then you can come find me in the kitchen, and we’ll see if I can find anything worth eating.”

  He watched her for a moment longer, then slid out of bed and scampered down the hall. Not deaf then. And he obviously understood English. She tried not to be hurt that he chose not to speak to her. God only knew what he’d been through. Perhaps his silence was the only thing he felt he could control.

  She wandered into the kitchen and perused her barren cupboards. She rarely ate at home, but she had picked up some sweet rolls last night from a street vendor. Not the best breakfast for a child, but she certainly hadn’t planned on having one in her home this morning.

  She stoked a fire in the kitchen hearth, so that she could make some hot chocolate, deciding they might as well be truly decadent.

  After a few moments, she became aware of a presence behind her and turned to find the boy in the kitchen doorway, watching her as though she might reach out and strike him at any moment. She noticed he stood on the balls of his little feet, his whole body poised for flight.

  “There’s a sweet bun on the table.” She forced a lightness to her voice she was far from feeling. “If you want to get started, go ahead. I’m making us some hot chocolate.” She turned her attention back to grating the chocolate and was pleased to see him inch forward in her peripheral vision.

  “Prometheus wants me to take you to a place called Brookhaven,” she continued, as though they were actually having a conversation. “It’s an orphanage, but he assures me you’ll be very well t
aken care of there. You’ll never again have to do the things they made you do in that place he took you from.”

  He pulled out a chair and gracefully climbed into the seat, reaching tentatively for the bun, which he then wolfed down so quickly it left her wondering how long it had been since he’d last eaten. Casually, she reached into the basket and handed him another.

  “It got me thinking though… Is there somewhere else you’d rather go? Do you have a family? Do you know how we can reach them?” Perhaps he’d been stolen from a lovely home, though she knew enough of the world to doubt it. There were plenty of people who’d think nothing of selling their child into this life. He most likely was the son of a prostitute and had never known anything else.

  When she met his unblinking gaze, he gave one emphatic shake of his head.

  “No family,” she murmured, to let him know she’d understood. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them hastily away. “That’s all right, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make sure this is a good place before I leave you there.”

  * * * *

  Vanessa had rarely enjoyed an afternoon as much as she enjoyed the one she spent taking the boy to Brookhaven. She hired a hack, but they stopped to get sweets and a meat pie and ate them on the way. She kept up a running stream of banter with the child, and he warmed her heart by smiling shyly at her a few times, though he still hadn’t spoken.

  She sensed he was still wary, but cautiously optimistic that she didn’t intend to hurt him. The resiliency of youth really was quite amazing.

  After nearly an hour in the hack, they pulled up in front of a huge, rambling white house with a wide expanse of green lawn. A dozen or more children played outside, and several matronly women watched over them. Vanessa released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She’d feared Brookhaven would be something quite different, but she supposed she should have known Prometheus would not rescue these children from one hell, only to consign them to another.