Carnal Deceptions (2 page)

How she hated the disguise. The wig itched unbearably. The clothing was bulky and of such a depressingly faded color that it brought her to tears to see herself in the mirror. Once again, she cursed Rowland Beadle for insisting on this ridiculous costume. Yet she couldn’t completely hate the man. He had made certain her father had been buried in hallowed ground, squelching rumors of suicide. And he’d saved her from the hell of debtor’s prison.

Lady Stadwell made a clicking sound with her tongue. “No one would ever gather from your appearance, Marcliffe, that you are an earl. You look worse than a farmer.”

Deeply offended, Tess felt the need to interject, “My father was a farmer.” His eyes seemed to assess her again.

“I am forever telling the girl that she will never interest any man with that blunt tongue,” Lady Stadwell told her nephew.

Tess smiled to herself. Lady Stadwell was eternally optimistic about her chances of finding a mate, not seeming to realize that it would take a rare man, indeed, to be interested. A man who held no stock in pleasing physical attributes or wealth. Though, judging by Lady Stadwell’s youthful portraits, she had definitely not been a beauty, and she’d managed to marry. Of course, she’d had a hefty dowry to recommend her.

Lady Stadwell tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized her nephew. “My dear boy, why don’t you trim your hair? You’d be far more handsome.”

He simply smiled and shrugged. For the first time Tess noticed the dimple. A far too charming indentation in his left cheek. Any more handsome, she thought wryly, and the man would melt stone.

“And to what do I owe this privileged visit?” Lady Stadwell asked with a coy bat of her lashes.

With a crooked grin, he tugged a piece of paper from the pocket of his waistcoat. “‘Marcliffe, my dear boy, it is urgent that you come. No less than life or death’,” he read, laughter underlying his tone.

“I’d forgotten I’d written that little missive.” Abruptly, Lady Stadwell’s voice turned serious. “The blackguard’s back in town. Throwing banknotes around quite liberally. And despite that vulgar display, he is all the rage. Beatrice encountered him at Lady Trenton’s party.”

“I was aware the damn fool had returned. Amazing that he is spending some of his own blunt. He usually depends on his friends to carry him.” Lord Marcliffe rubbed his thigh.

“He’s a fool all right. But at least he was smart enough not to get himself skewered by a Frenchman.” Lady Stadwell glanced pointedly at his leg.

“The only injury that bastard faced was a sore wrist from holding up cards. He spent the whole of the war in the gambling hells.” He tapped his thigh a moment, his brow furrowing the tiniest bit. “Besides, nothing missing here. The limb’s just a little stubborn. And it wasn’t a skewer, more like a slice.”

Lady Stadwell grimaced. “Please, Nephew, spare us the details.”

What a cryptic conversation, Tess thought. Who was this blackguard? Tess stood and brushed off her hands. “It’s time for your tea, my lady.” Far better to be doing something useful than to be lurking here, mesmerized by a midnight blue gaze. Her eyes skated over to him again. She pinched the inside of her wrist to bring herself back to reality. She was acting a complete idiot.

She refused to walk in front of him to give him an eyeful of her shapeless form. Instead, she circled wide around the gazebo. Grabbing up her skirts with her filthy hands, she lifted her chin in a ridiculously haughty manner and marched out of the garden. She winced, knowing that she was trampling the seedlings she’d painstakingly planted only a week before.
Please don’t let him stay long
, she implored, to what entity she did not know.

The front door was constructed of thick, blackened oak. Tess needed both hands and all her strength to open it. As it creaked open, Lady Stadwell’s two massive hounds slammed into her, rocking her backward. Losing her balance, she fell on her bottom.

The mastiffs looked as formidable as lions as they bounded across the courtyard and over the lawn. She’d never seen the dogs move with such alacrity. On chilly days, they might move from the base of the divan by their mistress’s skirts to the great, stone

fireplace. When they’d absorbed enough of the heat, they would lumber back to their mistress. And on unseasonably warm days, they would lie on the cool marble of the front hall, quite effectively obstructing the entryway.

Tess scrambled to her feet, watching with awe, as the huge dogs pushed through the narrow garden opening, barking with excitement. At full gallop, they raced at Lord Marcliffe. It was a wonder they didn’t knock him flat. He gave them affectionate rubs. The silly creatures, looking like overgrown pups, tried to nudge each other out of the way to get the earl’s attention. Apparently, even animals found the man fascinating.

Once inside, Tess strolled down the long corridor, taking time to admire all the paintings lining the walls. She stopped and fiddled with the flowers she’d arranged that very morning. She plucked a few petals from the yellow roses that looked a bit on the tired side. With the sleeve of her sweater, she polished a tiny blemish on the wood table. She could have crawled and gotten there sooner, she thought, as she finally entered the kitchen. Perhaps if she dawdled long enough the man would be gone before the tea was even poured.

The kitchen was empty. Tess surmised that Mrs. Smith, the cook, was ailing from rheumatism again. Only a few devoted servants, most of them elderly, had chosen to stay with Lady Stadwell when her fortunes plummeted. Having indulged in too much sherry one evening, Lady Stadwell had confided in Tess about her husband’s financial mishaps and the vile man who had absconded with well-nigh half their wealth.

That night Tess found a kindred spirit, someone who lived for the same thing:
revenge.
Was it possible Sloan was the man Lady Stadwell and her nephew spoke of just now? Hatred pulsed through Tess as she thought of the man who had ruined her father, the man who had obliterated her chance for happiness.

Tess poured water into the basin and scoured her hands with the rough soap. After fetching a kettle from the stove, she went out the kitchen door to the pump. She applied delicate pressure and a piddling amount of water plinked into the kettle.

She concentrated again on wishing Lord Marcliffe away. The man disturbed her immensely. Thankfully, he did not strike her as the kind of man who would stay overlong in one place. A quick visit with his aunt, and then he’d be back on that monstrous beast of his, thundering down the drive.

“I think I could have grown the tea in the time it has taken you to set the water to boil.”

The deep voice unsettled her completely and she dropped the kettle. She bent over the barrel to retrieve it, her face flushing hot. “Blasted,” she cursed under her breath.

He leaned negligently against the doorframe. “Can I help?”

Yes, by leaving
, she wanted to say. She peered up at him shyly from beneath her pale, powdered lashes and shook her head. He loomed in the doorway. His shoulders nearly spanned the opening. She took a steadying breath. She’d never met a man so intensely masculine and so completely at ease in his own skin.

He stepped outside. “She is fiddling with her rings. I was afraid she might twist a finger off.”

Tess smiled, amazed that he’d actually noticed his aunt’s little quirk. Patience was not one of Lady Stadwell’s virtues. Tess worked the pump more vigorously now, but obviously not fast enough as far as he was concerned. He put his big hand atop hers and pushed down. With a gasp she yanked her hand away. Water from the kettle sloshed onto her apron.

“Scared little rabbit, aren’t you?” He took the kettle from her.

She cradled the hand he’d touched. The odd, shivering sensation she’d felt the instant he’d placed his hand on hers was just beginning to fade.

“I don’t bite, really.” His rather dangerous smile said otherwise. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him. “I think perhaps you do.”

Surprisingly, her barb amused him. His laugh had a hoarse catch to it. To her dismay, Tess found it an altogether pleasing sound.

“Well, at least, not on first acquaintance.”

At the thought of his teeth scraping gently over her skin, a scintillating tingle ran up her spine.

He finished filling the kettle. Tess followed him inside. His boots sounded heavy on the tile flooring as he walked to the stove. There was the slightest shuffling sound accompanying each successive step.

After setting the kettle on the flame he turned to her. “Your eyes are an uncommon green. I don’t think I’ve ever seen their like.”

“Rather like gooseberries, I imagine.” With trembling hands, she took the tin of biscuits from the cupboard. Quite extraordinary that he noticed her eyes. Certainly he was merely taking pity on a poor, homely creature. She plucked two cups from the cupboard and set them with a rattle atop their matching saucers.

“I’m amazed my aunt has any china left at all.”

Tess frowned at her awkwardness. She prided herself on her culinary skills. She could fashion elaborate tarts and cakes, handle tiny candied violets, draw fanciful designs with icing, but this morning her hands were like claws.
’Tis naught but a simple cup of tea
, she chided herself.

She skirted around him, accidentally brushing his wool coat with the back of her hand. Her hands were visibly shaking now, and she yanked the drawer of the tea caddy too hard. The tea flew out, scenting the air with jasmine and powdering her apron with tealeaves. She sneezed.

“You are truly the clumsiest chit I’ve ever met,” he said with a chuckle.

She lowered her lashes in a most obsequious manner. “Sorry to be keeping you. I’m sure a man of your stature has many urgent matters to attend to.” In her mind, she ticked off all the things he could occupy himself with: seducing women, cutting a debauched swathe through London, managing his huge estate, counting his fortune and of course actually bedding those many women he seduced. Why, she fretted, did the idea of him finding pleasure in bed seem to be uppermost on her mind?

He stood close enough to her that their images were cast in the kettle. Granted, the kettle had a deforming effect on both their features. But her haggish reflection gave her the shudders. Why had she stopped at this point in her disguise? Wouldn’t a wart have been just the touch she needed? It was a little like the beauty and the beast. No she wasn’t being realistic. It was exactly like it.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you are hoping to be rid of me soon.” He dusted the tea flakes from his lapels. His dark blue eyes considered her for a long, uncomfortable moment. “How long have you been acquainted with Beadle?” The question pretended to be one of polite interest. He even lifted the corners of his lips, but he wasn’t really smiling.

Stupidly, she hadn’t even questioned why he’d deigned to speak to her. Now it was perfectly clear. The man was suspicious of her.

“My father had business dealings with him.” “Curious. A farmer in need of a man of business.”

“Yes, even we dirt poor peasants require help investing our farthings.”

He acknowledged her sarcasm with a half smile. “Perhaps if you know Beadle then you are also acquainted with Sloan, his oft times associate.”

At the mention of the hated name, her hands curled into fists, fingernails digging into her palms. “I did not make it a habit of mingling with my father’s business associates,” she said in a constricted tone.

One of his well-shaped black brows quirked skeptically. “With the exception of Beadle, that is. Rather uncommon for an advisor to take such an interest in a client’s daughter.”

“What exactly are you implying, Lord Marcliffe?” She swallowed, determined not to cry in front of him or give him a clue as to her true identity, as Beadle had advised. She had suffered too long in this humiliating disguise to give it all away with a few ridiculous tears.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Merely an observation.”

Lady Stadwell had the right of it. He was as seductive as the devil—as clever, too, it seemed. If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself confessing all of her deepest secrets. Though it occurred to Tess that serving a debtor’s sentence might be less painful than living this lie.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I will see to Lady Stadwell.” She picked up the tray and hurried off like the scared rabbit he thought her.

Bloody grand. The man was staying for dinner. She comforted herself with the notion that Lady Stadwell would certainly not invite her to dine on such a special occasion. Tess was determined to stay well clear of the dining hall. But, to her dismay, Lady Stadwell rang her imperious bell, and she found herself summoned to a place at the table.

“He’s gone to check that great beast of his,” Lady Stadwell said. She’d been waiting mere moments, but she was already restive, fidgeting with the rings on her fingers.

Tess’s trembling hands were equally occupied. She’d been folding and refolding her napkin from the moment she’d sat down. Lady Stadwell shifted in her seat and heaved dramatic sighs as time drew on.

“He is quite handsome, is he not?” Lady Stadwell asked suddenly, piercing the silence.

Struck dumb by the question, Tess concentrated on reshaping her napkin yet again. “Hortensia, did you not hear me? For goodness sakes, stop torturing that piece of

linen.”

Tess dropped the napkin and stared down at her place setting. “Yes, yes indeed he is handsome—in that muscular, rugged, godlike sort of way.” It was then she wished she’d made better use of her napkin by shoving it into her overlarge mouth.

Lady Stadwell said nothing at first. Then she picked up her own napkin and pressed it to her lips. The cloth did little to muffle her amusement. Tess could do nothing but laugh along with her.

When the door opened, Lord Marcliffe entered, the fresh, cold scent of the outdoors lingering on him. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

What had they been laughing at,
really
? Her description of the man could not have been more accurate.

Lord Marcliffe did not seem surprised to see a hired companion dining with his aunt, which helped to relieve some of Tess’s nervousness. He settled his big frame onto the chair across from her. It was impossible not to notice that his hair and clothes were a bit disheveled.