Carnal Deceptions (10 page)

In a week’s span, the single walk to the garden was the only time Tess had enjoyed daylight under Lydia Midwinter’s tutelage. The parlor, their own little schoolroom of iniquity, was now littered with sticky wine goblets and cigar stubs. Strewn across the table were the erotic prints.

When class was finally dismissed, Tess waited for Lydia to exit the room before gathering the prints and tossing them into the fire. The very thought of Lord Marcliffe coming upon those explicit pictures made her stomach flutter. The first stop Tess made was the kitchen, where she set the large kettle to boil. She would steep herself in hot water and scrub away the smoke.

Later, delighting in the fresh, soapy scent of her hair, Tess felt presentable enough to join the others for afternoon tea. After greeting Lady Stadwell and Lydia, Tess strode over to the sideboard, poured some tea, snatched a couple of cucumber sandwiches and settled herself at the table. She was certain a permanent blush stained her cheeks. Her mind was still spinning from all she’d been taught. She’d had no idea such things existed between a man and a woman.

When Lord Marcliffe walked in she tried to look everywhere but his face and instead found her gaze drifting far lower, taking the measure of him. Would she really be expected to use her mouth to pleasure a man—there? Her tongue flicked the corner of her lip. He seemed to grow before her eyes, hard and rigid. She quickly lifted her gaze to find him staring at her with a narrowed, accusatory glare.

He yanked out a chair and sat down. He glowered at her from across the table. “Aunt, don’t think for one moment that once Sloan has bedded her that he will impart any information. The only dialogue he’ll have with her is to ask her price.”

Tess lifted her teacup and found that her hand was trembling. The tea sloshed onto the snow-white linen. With a clatter, she replaced it on the saucer. “The earl thinks that all men’s minds work as his does.”

Judging by the sneer on his lips he did not find her the least bit witty. “You have no idea what you are entering into here, sweeting. You may think me a bastard, but I assure you that once you are in Sloan’s grasp, you will think only hell could be worse.”

Miss Midwinter took a ladylike sip of her tea. “’Tis true that Sloan is more than a bit perverted in his proclivities.”

A shudder ran through Tess. It did not go unnoticed by him. Very little she said or did went without his notice of late.

She found herself watching him as well, taking surreptitious peeks over her teacup. He was clad in the same coat and trousers he’d worn at dinner the night before. They were badly creased, and she wondered if he’d slept in them.

“You smell as if you’ve bathed in whiskey,” Lady Stadwell said, seemingly oblivious to the crude conversation they’d been having.

In response to his aunt’s admonishing tone, he tipped back his chair so it balanced on the back legs and snatched the decanter of liquor from the sideboard. Landing his chair on all fours, he drained the contents of his teacup into the floral centerpiece then proceeded to fill the cup to the brim.

Tess could not recall seeing him sober since the cheerless conversation in the gazebo.

Amazingly, the whiskey appeared to do nothing to diminish his appetite. He ate heaping forkfuls of egg and steak, the strong muscles of his jaw working as he continued his unrelenting scrutiny of her. But Tess found that every bite she took lodged in her throat. She felt as though she were on personal display for his amusement.

Into the tense atmosphere, Mrs. Smith ushered a guest. “Captain Gibbs, my lady,” Mrs. Smith said.

The man swept off his hat, making his brown hair stand up in tufts. He had an engaging smile. “Lady Stadwell, a pleasure.” As his gaze circled the table, his gray eyes widened at the sight of Lydia Midwinter. Then he was staring at Tess, his handsome smile broadening.

Lord Marcliffe got to his feet to greet him. “What brings you here, Gibbs?” “An invitation from your aunt. Damn, Cliffe, you look like—”

“Death,” Lord Marcliffe completed the sentence. “Feel it, too.” He poured himself some more whiskey and dropped back into his chair.

“Getting an early start, eh?” Captain Gibbs said.

“Never stopped.” Lord Marcliffe took a healthy swallow from the cup.

“Did you read my note?” Lady Stadwell asked as Mrs. Smith served the captain tea.

The captain took the vacant seat beside Tess and looked pointedly at her. “Yes, and I wish to volunteer my services for this endeavor.”

Lord Marcliffe started drumming the table with his fingers. “What’s this about?” “Insurance, nephew, insurance. We are investing too much in this plan to have

something go wrong. We’ve established that Sloan wants what others have. And you and

Captain Gibbs have always been objects of his envy, which explains why he was so intent on winning over your mistress, Miss Sparkes. Heaven knows there is little else about the woman that could have interested him.”

Tess had to smile. A blunt tongue was what she loved most about Lady Stadwell. “Your disdain for Miss Sparkes has never been a secret.” Lord Marcliffe’s

impatience was clearly growing. His fingers picked up a faster rhythm. “Could you

please focus on why Gibbs is here?”

“You must have lost a great deal of blood on that battlefield, my dear. You’ve been quite muddled of late. It is all very obvious. For the plan to work, Miss Calloway must be kept by someone Sloan considers a rival. Since you have shown so little enthusiasm for this project, Miss Midwinter and I thought to enlist Captain Gibbs.”

Tess gasped and brought the napkin to her mouth, but not before momentarily drawing everyone’s attention to her. Lord Marcliffe’s attention lingered longest. Tess wished the table was smaller or her leg was longer so she could give him a hard kick. Damn him for completely dismissing the plan. Now Lady Stadwell had brought a stranger into the deal. If Lord Marcliffe had no role in tricking Sloan then he’d have no reason to stay.

“Besides, Miss Sparkes would not be pleased,” Lydia said.

Tess had heard more than enough about the earl’s mistress. Miss Sparkes had boasted of his talents to Lydia Midwinter and Lydia, in turn, had obviously felt it her duty to pass along those intimate details to Tess.

Captain Gibbs moved closer so that the sleeve of his coat brushed Tess’s arm as he reached for the sugar bowl. “Miss Calloway, have we met before? London, perhaps? The Hampton’s party more specifically? There was a beauty in London a season ago who had just such rare coloring. An exotically plumed bird who made the other females look like drab sparrows by comparison.”

“Alas, I’ve never been to London.” The man had such an open and earnest face that it actually pained Tess to lie to him.

“Exotically plumed birds find themselves easy prey. They get eaten.” Lord Marcliffe, who was ever alert to any contradictions in her story, had managed to pick up on the least important part of the captain’s conversation. A steady diet of whiskey, Tess surmised, did not improve a man’s skills of perception.

“Have you been drinking as well, Captain? Birds and plumes, whatever are you two talking about?” Lady Stadwell asked.

“Gibbs, you don’t want to get involved in this.”

“But I assure you, I do.” Captain Gibbs bestowed another beaming smile on Tess.

Lord Marcliffe swept his cup and saucer aside and leaned menacingly across the table. “I assure you. You do not.”

Captain Gibbs still had a charming, innocent smile plastered on his face as he pulled his gaze away from Tess and glanced at his friend across the table. When he saw the look Lord Marcliffe was giving him, the smile melted into a grimace and the color in his cheeks drained.

Lord Marcliffe got up from his chair abruptly. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. “I will be the man to whom she belongs.”

Relief washed over Tess.

Captain Gibbs held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was only trying to help, Marcliffe.”

“If you want to help, you can start by talking these women out of this mad idea,” Lord Marcliffe said as he lurched out of the room.

*

The modiste arrived not long after Lydia Midwinter and Captain Gibbs had departed. Tess and Lady Stadwell spent the rest of the day ensconced in the parlor deciding on patterns and fabrics for a spring wardrobe.

The next morning, Tess woke to find herself tangled in her blankets. She’d been dreaming of satin and silk and erotic couplings. The explicit pictures that Miss Midwinter had shown her were branded on her brain. A woman bound with ropes, lifting her bottom in offering as she waited for the man to plunge into her. A woman servicing three men at

once. Miss Midwinter had added her own narrative, describing the sexual acts depicted so graphically Tess had been forced to open the window to the chill morning air to cool her cheeks. All her lessons lacked were practice. Her dreams had revealed a deep hunger for that real experience. Unfortunately, in every dream Lord Marcliffe was the man she explored with her mouth and hands and body. She’d slid satin over the smooth skin of his chest until it snagged on the rough scars of his shoulder. More shockingly, she’d followed the trail of the fabric with her open mouth, her tongue tracing every ridge.

Frustrated, she threw her bedclothes aside. She stepped naked out of bed and bathed herself at the washstand. After patting herself dry, she opened the wardrobe and peered into a dark and empty hole. Not even her chemise hung there. She searched the floor, shook out the bedclothes, got on her knees to peer under the bed and found nothing, not a stitch. Even the flannel gown she’d thrown off in the night was gone. She wrapped herself in a blanket. Opening the door a crack, she called for help. No one answered. Her pleas seemed to echo off the walls.

Tess stepped into the hallway and raced down the stairs. There was a queer emptiness to the house. She shivered as her bare feet touched the cold tile floor of the entrance hall. With the heavy blanket dragging behind her, she entered the dining room. No weak tea or burnt toast awaited her. She pushed open the kitchen door expecting to see Mrs. Smith’s smiling face, only to find another vacant room. Afraid now, she hurried up the stairs to Lady Stadwell’s bedchamber. The door was ajar. She found the wardrobe empty as well as the bureau drawers.

She’d been deserted. She could not go into the yard naked, but she was certain what she would find there. No gardeners, no grooms, and the stable cleared of all horses.

Without question, she knew exactly who had executed this plan, who'd evacuated the house right under her nose. Trembling with fury, she returned to her chamber. Why not take advantage and luxuriate in bed for once? First she fluffed the pillow but then decided to give it a good pounding, until feathers burst from its seams. She settled back on the now flattened pillow, but finding rest in her agitated state proved impossible. With a scream of vexation, she kicked the covers to the floor then with a muttered oath stooped to retrieve the blanket. She had yet to explore Mrs. Smith's room. Determined to thwart the fiendish earl, Tess lit a candle and ascended the servants' stairs. The flame fluttered eerily in the narrow hallway. Muttering a plea for fortune to turn in her favor, she entered the low-ceilinged room. The doors on the small wardrobe were agape, and the barren interior that greeted her seemed a purposeful taunt. Not even a blasted apron remained.

Sparked by another idea, she raced downstairs to see if the mudroom that adjoined the kitchen held at least a rain cloak. The hooks were empty. The bastard had been ruthlessly thorough. If he wanted rid of her so badly, why hadn't he left her some clothing? Clearly, he wished to see her completely humiliated.

She stomped through the empty house. In the parlor, she clutched at the faded damask drapery thinking to yank the curtains from the wall, but the curtain rod was too heavy and well-seated. She would have to take scissors to the fabric. It was an inspiration with little chance of success. Her skills as a seamstress were negligible. Besides, it would take her forever to create a garment. She glanced out the window at the stables. Though the house was somewhat isolated, certain angles of the yard could be spied from the road, and Tess did not have the courage to go outside mantled only in a blanket. When night fell, she'd fetch the ladder from the barn. She would explore the attic for moth-eaten garments. Surely there had to be remnants of other generations stored. Unable to occupy her mind with reading or anything remotely productive, she curled up on the settee to wait for dusk.

The sky was just starting to gray, the gloomy veil of night dropping, when the front door slammed. Tess flew off the settee and raced into the entrance hall, her bare feet skidding on the slick marble, to find the devil himself, with the two huge mastiffs at his heels. He gave her a placid smile as he pulled off his leather gloves. What was he up to? She didn’t trust a hair on his black head.

“W-What is going on? Where is everyone?” she stammered, completely flustered by the idea of being alone with him.

“They left early, just before the sun. I had the cook accompany Lady Stadwell in the carriage so that people would think you’d left with her.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you do that?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch and he immediately pressed his fingers to his temples.

Though he appeared stone cold sober, he was suffering the aftereffects of a week of imbibing. His skin was paler than usual and in stark contrast to his black hair. “Because people talk. And since we are just beginning this venture, I felt there was no need to stir up rumors.”

Tess pulled the wool blanket tighter, scratching her bare skin. She had never felt so vulnerable. She blinked up in confusion at the most intimidating man she’d ever known. She was at his mercy. Lady Stadwell had abandoned her.

“Is there some reason—” With effort, she squelched the urge to rain curses down on him “—why I have nothing to wear?” Her voice vibrated with fury.

He shrugged. “The dressmaker will have some of your wardrobe completed by the week’s end. In the meantime, you won’t need any clothing.”