Deceived Read online

  It didn't matter. Rae had told Benedict farewell; their games had ended. He didn't need to go again tomorrow night, and after that, everything would go back to normal. He would work to improve their working relationship as best he could, and put the past two nights behind him. It was for the best.

  So why was the thought of doing so an ache in his chest?

  *~*~*

  Benedict finished off his wine—red, dark, and potent—and refilled his glass, both pleased and disappointed that he was still sober enough that he didn't spill a drop. He finished half the glass in one gulp and cringed; wine should never be drunk quickly. But he didn't have it in him to drink it properly. He'd tried his usual brandy, but just the smell of it reminded him too much of Hunter.

  One empty bottle already lay on the ground beneath him, and as he heard a horse-like laugh from somewhere within the maze, he cringed and finished the rest of his current glass.

  This time, Benedict spilled a bit as he refilled it, laughing bitterly as the obnoxious horse laugh again shattered the relatively silent night. This far from the palace, buried in a small nook beyond the maze that no one else seemed to have discovered, the revelry was a distant sound. Only that damnable laugh—and now a shriller one joined it. At least everyone else seemed to be having a good time.

  The bells began to ring, tolling eleven times before finally falling silent. Benedict laughed again, but he stopped before it became something pathetic. Eleven o 'clock. Was Hunter looking for him? Not that it mattered—Benedict wouldn't be leaving it until the festivities were finally over.

  His family would be furious with him for failing to do his duty, but for once Benedict could not bring himself to obey. The Masque was his only chance each year to be something other than the pretty face that did all of the bedroom finessing. They weren't supposed to demand that he work during the Masque—that was all he'd ever asked! Yet they'd disregarded his only request by ordering him to charm Lord F tonight, an effort that would climax when F realized that the bird seducing him was none other than Prince Benedict. When his family realized that Lord F was buried in the maze, laughing in his horse-like fashion with someone else entirely… Benedict felt tired thinking about it. Didn't he do enough every other day? Could they not leave him alone these brief three?

  If he were honest, however, his family was only a small part of the reason he was out here. It was more to avoid having his hopes dashed when Hunter did not appear. He'd withdrawn, exactly as Benedict had asked. The one time Benedict hadn't actually wanted to be left alone, and he found the only bastard in the palace who listened to what he said.

  Tossing aside the empty second bottle, Benedict fumbled around in the dark for the third he was sure he'd brought. Ah, there it was. Splendid. Now if only he'd had the sense to open them all before he'd started drinking.

  Warm fingers slid over his and neatly took the bottle away. Benedict blinked and looked up, willing his eyes to see in the weak light of a few colored lanterns. He drew a sharp breath.

  "It seems to me, pretty bird, that you've had more than enough." Chuckling softly, Hunter let the bottle slide from his fingers to fall to the grass, then stepped close and tugged Benedict's head to rest against his stomach, gloved hand sinking into his hair. "Why are you hiding away here drinking yourself sick?"

  Benedict nuzzled into the soft velvet of Hunter's jacket, relishing the warmth emanating from him, and even through the alcohol he could smell every essence of his cologne. "Patchouli, anise, leather, and amber. As intoxicating as ever, Hunter."

  "As talented as ever, pretty bird. You smell of dark musk, roses, and amber."

  Wishing devoutly that his head had not picked now to start spinning, Benedict settled for wrapping his arms around Hunter as best he could. "You said farewell, Hunter. I did not expect to see you again."

  "My impression was that you did not want to see me again," Hunter replied, voice quiet and soothing as his fingers continued to stroke through Benedict's hair. "It took some time to find you; I was not aware this part of the garden existed. Hiding away in your little nest?" He gently tugged Benedict's head back, forcing him to look up.

  "Hardly a nest," Benedict said, chuckling. "If I went there, they'd find me." And force him out to show his feathers to Lord F.

  The world spun dizzily for a moment, and then Benedict realized that they were both now seated on the bench, his head on Hunter's shoulder. "Why did you come back?"

  "I meant to stay away," Hunter replied with a sigh. "I could not stop thinking about you however." He laughed briefly. "Although it looks as though I am losing you to the wine. You are not usually so undignified. Why wine and not your usual brandy?"

  "Brandy reminded me of you…" Benedict closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feel, the sound, the scent of Hunter holding him. Who was he? Why had they never met before? Would they ever meet without the masks? "I see no need for dignity when I am alone. If you did not want to see me so, you should not have invited yourself into my hideaway."

  Hunter laughed softly again. Benedict breathed in the smell of him, moving so that he could nip the bared throat, take a taste. Hunter hissed in surprise, and Benedict bit harder. "Who you are, Hunter, that I've never noticed you before? Surely I would make note of the only person in the palace who seems to share my interest in perfume…"

  "My identity does not matter, pretty bird. Besides, it is not yet midnight."

  Slowly, immediately regretting it, Benedict sat up. He frowned at Hunter, but before he could say anything, the quiet was shattered yet again by Lord F and his horse laugh. Benedict grimaced in the general direction of the maze; no matter how hard he tried, it would seem he'd not be allowed to forget what he should be doing.

  "Who is that?" Hunter asked. "I heard that hideous laugh the entire time I searched for you, and I very nearly stopped to hunt him down and bid him be silent or else."

  Benedict laughed. "That would be Lord F." He meant to stop there, but as he'd learned bitterly and painfully yesterday, something about Hunter made him want to say things he barely was able to say in his own head most days. "Currently, I should be the one making him laugh…although if after two hours in the maze all his companion can get from him is laughter, I am not certain for which of them I feel more sorry."

  "The pretty bird chose to fly away instead?" Hunter asked, reaching out to cup his chin in one gloved hand and drag Benedict close to kiss him softly.

  Benedict stared at him, seeing little more than dark eyes and glinting jewels, wishing with everything he had that he knew who his Hunter was and why he'd never met him before. "This bird does not perform during the Masque, except as he so chooses."

  Hunter flashed a pleased grin. "I like being what you chose."

  "Yes," Benedict replied, not exactly sure what he meant, but beyond caring as Hunter again took his mouth, the kiss possessive and hungry, nothing like the previous gentle touch.

  In the distance, Lord F's laughter could once again be heard—but even that was drowned out as the bells began to toll. Benedict felt Hunter stiffen in his arms, but when he would have pulled away, Benedict clung tightly and continued to kiss him, gasping in relief when Hunter stayed. Finally, the need to breathe forced them apart, but as Hunter pulled away, Benedict reached up and yanked hard at his mask.

  "Damn it!"

  Benedict's world spun, turning upside down as Hunter shoved him hard, sending him tumbling off the bench and spilling onto the grass. He heard Hunter swear again, and then rustling grass turned into boots clicking on tile before Benedict was once more completely alone in the garden. He slowly pulled himself back up, laughing bitterly. He stared at the mask in his hands—green, trimmed with teardrop-shaped amber. It still carried the traces of Hunter's cologne, a faint hint of his sweat.

  "Bastard," Benedict said softly to the air. "Who are you? Why would you run from me?" He sighed softly. "I'll find you, Hunter." He held the mask close and breathed in the lingering scents. "I will most definitely find you."

  *~
*~*

  Rae slammed his door behind him and locked it, then slid down the door to collapse on the floor, burying his face in his hands. Several minutes later, he finally stood, stripping off his gloves and throwing them down on the small side table beside his chair, before immediately pouring a brandy. But the smell of alcohol reminded him of Benedict, drunk and miserable and lonely. Swearing loudly, Rae hurtled the full glass into the fireplace.

  He raked a hand through his hair, and then sat to pull off his boots, carefully setting them aside before he gave in to the urge to throw everything into the fire. Except his mask, of course, because he'd been stupid enough to let Benedict take it off. He should have known—a brat, even drunk and miserable, was still a brat.

  He hadn't meant to seek Benedict out. He'd only gone to watch Benedict, to see him find someone else when 'Hunter' didn't appear; to assure himself that he was easily forgotten by the prince. Except Benedict had never made an appearance and any fool could see that his poorly disguised parents were becoming increasingly annoyed by something. Unable to help himself, Rae had finally gone hunting. Not once, despite the way he'd seen Benedict drink the first two nights, had Rae expected to see him curled up in some forgotten corner of the garden smelling like a vineyard.

  Was Benedict that unhappy all the time? The idea didn't fit with the daylight prince that Rae knew. Not that it mattered—the Masque was over and tomorrow, everything would return to normal.

  Damn and blast. The next time he came up with a clever plan, Rae hoped he had the sense to ignore himself.

  He stood and began to strip off his clothes—but the glint of glass catching the firelight stopped him and he looked toward his bureau. Three bottles sat there, almost mocking him. Snarling, Rae stalked across the room and snatched up the first one—then set it back down and propped his elbows on the bureau to bury his face in his hands. What was he going to do? He couldn't just go back to life as usual. Yet what choice did he have? Benedict would only hate him more than ever. He'd have to resign, there was no choice…but the thought of leaving was nearly a physical pain.

  How had Benedict gotten to him like this? It wasn't fair.

  Rae tried to recall the last time in his life he'd felt this torn and confused. He realized that he never had. "Benedict, you bloody bastard," he said softly, wearily, as he turned back to his bath, "why couldn't you have stayed despicable?"

  *~*~*

  Confound it, man." Benedict attempted to glare at Rae. "Would you take your insufferable self off somewhere? I am tired of your black mood."

  Rae glared and set his teacup down with a hard clack, tea sloshing up the sides and only just barely avoiding spilling over. "Respectfully, Highness, I am the one trying to get work done, and you are the one sitting here doing nothing but complaining."

  Benedict grimaced, holding his head a moment longer before finally forcing himself to move. He poured cream into his tea and lifted the delicate cup, but even the strong, revitalizing aroma of his favorite brew could not banish the effects of too much wine. He supposed it served him right. The next time he decided to drown his pathetic sorrows, he would have to make sure that he did not wake until he'd slept off the aftereffects. "Is it really only eight thirty?" he asked, setting his tea down after only a sip.

  "Yes," Rae said. "I was certain the world was ending when I saw you awake so early."

  Benedict rolled his eyes. "I swear you are the only person I know who could spend three days at the Masque and come out of it in a worse mood. Somebody leave you alone on the dance floor for someone prettier and more pleasant?"

  This time Rae slammed his teacup down hard enough that Benedict marveled it didn't shatter. Tea splashed over the rim, covering the saucer and dark cream tablecloth. "It's amusing, Highness, that you think I'm the only one in a bad mood. If you're not going to do anything but complain, then leave."

  "I'm certain you'll correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that this is my office and that you are my secretary, and if I tell you to leave, then you are to obey me and leave this instant!"

  Rae sneered. "Of course, Highness, if that is your wish. However, do not try to reprimand me when your reports lie uncompleted and your correspondence goes unanswered."

  Benedict rubbed his head. "Must you be so exhausting?"

  "Must you be frustrating?"

  "I do believe you started it."

  "No, Highness, that was you. Obnoxious right from the start, not even a polite greeting or introduction before you waltzed off. You didn't bother to learn my name until three days later."

  Benedict frowned. Was that really what he'd done? Why? He couldn't remember, but it sounded like perhaps he'd been in a rush to get one seduction or another over with.

  He started to apologize, but was stopped as Rae stood up fast enough that he nearly knocked his chair over. Stomping over to the desk, Rae pored over looking for—well, Benedict had no idea, frankly.

  Benedict stifled a sigh. Rae wasn't wrong in saying they were both in bad moods. And while he couldn't explain Rae's, his own was definitely a combination of too much wine and too little knowledge about Hunter.

  He should never have removed the mask. Benedict pressed fingers against his dark gold-brown waistcoat, feeling the mask tucked away inside it. Truly, he felt like the greatest of fools. No doubt Hunter was somewhere having a grand laugh at the foolish Prince Benedict. The thought made him cringe.

  Still, he hadn't given up hope entirely; whether or not Hunter wanted to be found was beside the point—Benedict would find him. Already he'd put his plan into motion; in a few days, something should come to light. Until then, he'd just take his frustrations out on Rae—who seemed more hostile than ever, although that could be his headache talking.

  "I'm not leaving," Rae said mutinously. "I have work to do. If you cannot bear my presence because of your stupid overindulgence in wine, that is your problem. I will not let my work fall behind because of your stupidity."

  Benedict frowned, something about Rae's words nagging, but he could not figure out what. Drat it all, he was not in the mood for this today. "Do you ever wake up in a good mood?"

  "Why should I?" Rae snapped, slamming down the ledger he'd been perusing. He swiped a stray hair from his face and it struck Benedict that Rae's hair was not quite as neat as usual. He hoped that meant the bastard's night had been a particularly wretched one. "Every morning I wake knowing I have to do a job I despise for a man who will never appreciate all my efforts."

  "Then you are welcome to leave!" Benedict snapped, swearing he could feel his temper shatter. He had enough to deal with—he was done enduring a man who hated him. "Certainly neither one of us wants you here. Take yourself off, then. I'm tired of looking at you and it's clear that you've never enjoyed my presence. Get out and don't come back."

  He drew a sharp breath at the pain that flickered for the barest moment across Rae's face—it was almost immediately replaced by a carefully blank expression. "Fine." Without another word, Rae moved around the desk and stalked toward the door, then out of the office. He did not slam the door as Benedict had expected—Rae was nothing if not volatile, part of the reason Benedict loved riling him—but merely closed it demurely behind him. Benedict frowned, somehow not feeling as pleased as he thought he should. Both he and Rae would be happier now…so why did he merely feel more depressed than ever?

  Benedict drank his tea without enthusiasm as he pondered whether or not he could sneak back to his room and just hide there for a while.

  A knock on the door rendered the point moot. "Enter," Benedict snapped. He started as he saw who it was—the royal perfumer, a wizened old gentleman with a nose even sharper than his own. "Matthews," he said, summoning up what remained of his manners. "I did not expect to see you this soon. Dare I hope that you have good news for me?"

  "Very good," Matthews replied. He turned and beckoned to someone still outside, and Benedict stood as a young woman entered—pale blonde hair, pale blue eyes, neat and tidy—obviously middleclass
, but with quiet pride and confidence in her bearing. "I did not expect to find an answer so quickly, Highness, but a note came almost immediately to my queries. This young woman is Anna Cantrell and she is an apprentice perfumer in a little shop at the edge of the city. I've never heard of it and I am beginning to think that is a serious failing on my part. My dear, tell the prince what you've told me."

  Anna nodded hesitantly, but stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy. "Highness."

  "You know who created the colognes after which I am asking?"

  Her lips twitched, amusement sparkling in those blue eyes. "I created them, Highness. My brother wrote me a most insistent letter the day before the Masque, requesting that I create three blends that he'd contrived. I made a few modifications and sent them to him. My brother has the nose for the business, but he lacks the patience for the actual creating." She laughed softly at some private memory. "I am humbled Your Highness asks after them."

  "Who is your brother, sweet?"

  Anna hesitated. "Highness, please, he asked me not to tell. Said it was important—neither of us thought I would even be discovered. It is only because of my husband…he dislikes secrets, you see…" She frowned unhappily at the floor.

  "It is vitally important you tell me, pet. Please? I do not want to have to make it an order."

  "Yes, Highness," Anna said quietly. "My brother is Rae Burroughs."

  Benedict distantly noted that she was still speaking, but did not hear the words, his entire head ringing.

  Rae.

  Impossible…Rae? Secretary Rae? Was Hunter?

  He could not wrap his mind around it.

  Standing abruptly, his tea spilling as he knocked against the table in his haste, Benedict motioned absently at Anna. "Pay her. See she's brought here; that sort of talent should not be wasted on a shop at the edge of the city. Do whatever is necessary."

  Storming from the room, ignoring the responses called after him, Benedict stormed through the hallways. He latched onto the first servant he saw. "Where is Rae Burroughs' bedroom?"