Dear Impostor (18 page)

          “No, of course not. For keeping
your head in such a tight spot.”

          “I’ve been in worse,” Gabriel
said.

          He seemed to refuse to allow her
to say anything positive, and Psyche, after all the inadvertent insults she had
flung at him earlier, was determined to be fair. “And for being a better actor
than I suspected. . . .”

          “It’s easy to put on other
people’s titles, other people’s lives,” Gabriel said, his tone suddenly
cynical. “Easy to look people in the eye and lie. Actors do it all the time.”

          “Oh, I see,” she said, though she
didn’t .

          “Of course,” he said. “It only
takes a complete absence of conscience. And that is a lack I am most familiar
with.”

          Psyche threw up her hands in
exasperation. “Really, this is too much! You’re—“

          ”A rogue, a scoundrel, a man
without scruples?” His tone was mocking, but his eyes flashed, and his lips–his
lips were parted, and he was leaning forward.

          Whatever she had planned to say
was lost against the firm lines of Gabriel’s mouth. With an easy efficiency, he
swept her close, his arm hard around her waist. The wall of his chest pressed
against her so tightly she could feel the imprint of his coat buttons. She
resisted for a moment, but when she struggled against him, when his lips
softened and the kiss gentled in contrition, she was lost. Just when she would
have separated her lips as he seemed to demand, he thrust her away from him. Brushing
the back of his hand against his lips, he smiled with self-mockery.

          “Go ahead and dock ten pounds for
that kiss. And don’t wait up, dear Miss Hill,” Gabriel said. “I shall be back
very late.”

          After the confrontation at the
party, and then Gabriel’s scathing remarks—just see if she didn’t dock him
those ten pounds!—and brief but unsettling kiss, Psyche went up to bed with a
pounding head. Her mattress seemed stuffed with rocks for all the repose it
provided her, and it took hours before she fell asleep. Percy’s shrill
accusations echoed in her head over and over, and she couldn’t forget the look
of strain on Aunt Sophie’s face.

          Why had Psyche ever thought she
could pull off this crazy scheme? Only the actor’s skill and glibness have
saved them so far. She really did feel a sense of gratitude toward him, or she
had until he’d reminded her that he was entangled in this plot for far
different and more nefarious reasons. Yet when they had danced, he had seemed
so–

          It was almost daylight and the
first bird was trilling outside her window when she finally shut her eyes.

          She slept late into the morning,
having left orders with her maid the night before not to be awakened, and when
she finally opened her eyes, Psyche could tell by the golden tint of the light
slipping past the draperies at her windows that it must be almost noon.

          Yawning, she rang for her tea, and
once more considered last night’s horrible scene. If every outing with her fake
fiancé was going to be like this–oh, curse Percy, anyhow. The rest of her
family and acquaintance might wonder about the so-called secret engagement and
Gabriel’s sudden appearance, might whisper behind her back, and it was
inescapable that they would suspect that Gabriel was marrying her for her
money, assuming it could ever be pried out of Uncle Wilfred’s tight fists. But
no one else except Uncle Wilfred and the omnipresent Percy would have dared to
challenge Psyche openly. Percy had not yet given up hope of gaining her fortune
for himself, that was obvious. Her cousin was so stupid, so pig-headed–

          Castigating Percy occupied a few
satisfying moments, then Simpson appeared with a tray, and Psyche sighed and
turned her thoughts to more practical matters. “Is the actor up yet?” she
asked.

          “I haven’t seen him, Miss, but
Jowers said that he was up in the nursery having a cup o’ tea with Circe and
Tellman,” Simpson said. She placed the tray carefully on the bed, fluffed the
pillows behind Psyche, then went to pull open the heavy draperies. Sunshine
poured into the room; the day was even more advanced than Psyche had suspected.           

          This unexpected friendship between
the actor and her little sister was puzzling. Circe was usually a little shy
and not drawn to new acquaintances. Last night Psyche had thought with horror
that her earliest impression must be correct; the actor had no morals whatsoever.
Yet why did Circe regard him with approval? Perhaps her sister was simply too
young and inexperienced to recognize a total reprobate.

          Psyche had better dress and get
upstairs. She should try to discourage Circe from spending time with this
unprincipled man. She could simple forbid her, of course, but Circe had a mind
of her own, and while she never argued with her older sister, she had a habit
of simply going ahead with whatever course seemed right to her, without
considering the consequences. Perhaps, Psyche thought, sighing, it was a family
trait.

          Simpson laid out a sprigged muslin
day dress, white with touches of blue, and threaded a blue ribbon through
Psyche’s golden hair to hold back the tangle of curls from her face. It
softened the classical lines of her face more than her usual smooth knot, but
Psyche found that she approved. Anyhow, she had no plans to go out and with
luck, no one would call. She wanted only a day of unalloyed peace.

          When her toilette was complete,
Psyche went out into the hall and turned toward the upper floors, but she never
made it to the nursery. Before she could ascend, she heard a knock at the front
door, then voices as visitors came into the house.

          Oh, drat, Psyche thought. If it
were Percy–

          She had a good mind to deny
herself, but knowing her cousin, he would come upstairs and search her out, and
she did not wish to have another argument with him in her sister’s presence. Reluctantly,
she went down to the morning room, a smaller and more intimate chamber which
she often used for family visitors.

          But it was not Percy; instead she
found Cousin Matilda and Aunt Mavis already seated on the silk-covered settee.

          “Good afternoon, Psyche,“ Mavis
said. “I trust you have recovered from the pleasant exertions of last night. Jowers
has informed me that dear Sophie wishes to rest in her bedchamber today.”

          It was more likely the wily woman
wished to avoid visitors. “Yes, thank you, Aunt Mavis.”

          Her aunt’s tone had been unusually
mild. She must have come to gossip and see how Psyche was holding up to Percy’s
accusations–and her observations were sure to be shared with half a dozen of
her closest friends. Psyche must not allow her aggravation to be known.

          “It was a lovely party,” Psyche
said at once. “With only a minor annoyance or two, mostly to do with my
mutton-headed cousin.”

          Matilda giggled. “Percy can be
difficult at times.”

          “Pig-headed, mulish, slow as any
ox–” Psyche ran through the animal kingdom swiftly. “Oh, do let us talk of more
pleasant topics. Did you enjoy Sally’s party, Matilda?”

          Her cousin’s round cheeks flushed
delicately. “Oh, yes. It was so nice to be asked to dance. Your fiancé has the
most lovely manners, Psyche. After he danced with me, he introduced me to Mr.
Stilton, who asked me to dance next, just fancy! It was a marvelous evening. I
do believe Lord Tarrington has a kind heart, too, beneath his excellent
polish.”

          Another innocent, deceived by his
smooth charm; Psyche smothered a sigh. Matilda was hardly worldlier than Circe,
despite her more mature years. Psyche would not try to disillusion her, but–

          “Not that he needs it much, with
such a handsome face,” Aunt Mavis added with something of her usual tart tone. “However,
it will make your marriage easier, Psyche. With any luck, he won’t flaunt his
other conquests beneath your nose.”

          “Pardon?” Psyche stared at her
aunt in astonishment.

          “You don’t expect a man who looks
like he does to be faithful, do you?” Mavis met her gaze calmly.

          “Oh, Mama,” Matilda protested,
blushing again.

          “I think you’re being most
unfair.” Psyche couldn’t help defending her bogus betrothed. “You don’t know
that he will be an unfaithful husband.”

          “Don’t be naive; most of them
are.” The older woman sniffed and needlessly smoothed a graying hair back into
her chignon.

          Psyche bit back an angry rebuttal
as she suddenly perceived the hint of sadness beneath her aunt’s cynical tone. What
had Mavis’ own marriage been like, before her husband’s death? Psyche felt a
rare moment of sympathy for her acid-tongued aunt. “I think some husbands may
be constant,” Psyche said quietly. “I believe my father was. I will continue to
hope that my husband will be, also.”

          Mavis lifted her brows. “But if
not, don’t make a fuss about it; doesn’t help. Pretend not to notice, that’s my
counsel.”

          In some twisted way, Psyche
thought her gruff relative actually meant this to be helpful advice. She was
spared having to devise a reply by the butler’s return. Jowers had brought a
tea tray along with a plate of scones. Psyche performed the elaborate ritual of
pouring tea for all the ladies and waited for her aunt to take a sip. By then,
happily, the conversation meandered into less dramatic topics.

          But not for long. They were
discussing Miss Lelleman’s sad choice of pale orange trimmed with yellow for
her ball gown when another guest arrived. He stomped into the room unannounced,
looking even more affronted than was his usual wont.

          “Percy!” Psyche could have groaned
with frustration. “What are you doing here?”

          “Do I need an invitation to check
on my beloved’s welfare?” Her cousin demanded, stripping off his gloves and
moving forward to grab her hand.

          Psyche evaded him by hastily
snatching her teacup from the small table before her. Deprived of his object,
Percy stopped awkwardly before her with his arm still outstretched. Matilda
couldn’t stifle a small giggle. Psyche sent her a warning glance before glaring
at Percy.

          “I am not your beloved, and
haven’t you caused enough trouble? That scene last night was unpardonable!”
Psyche told him hotly. “How dare you subject me, all of us–the whole family,
Percy, and you with your much-vaunted pride of family–to such gossip?”

          “Badly done, Percy,” Aunt Mavis
agreed.

          “I put your well being even above
the sanctity of the family name, cousin Psyche,” Percy assured her gravely. He
gave her a prim smile, as if waiting to be thanked. “Is that not proof of my
devotion?”

          Gratitude was not the emotion that
flooded through her. Psyche wanted to wring his neck like a fowl for the
slaughter. Indeed, he looked much like a plump peacock in his too bright purple
coat and gold-patterned waistcoat. She wished he could be served roasted and
stuffed, like any minor course at the dinner table.

          “I would like you to keep your
mouth shut,” she told him.

          “Now really, Psyche–”

          ”At any time, but certainly in
such a public venue. I don’t need your advice, nor your help in managing my
love life. I don’t know how to state it more plainly.” Psyche met his affronted
gaze with an icy look of her own.

          “Now, now,” Percy repeated,
sniffing. “If that is all the thanks I can expect to receive–”

          ”It is,” Psyche assured him.

          “Then I will not trouble you with
my company–”

          ”Good, I mean, good-bye, Percy. You
know the way to the door.”

          “But not until I have spoken again
to this pretender marquis,” Percy finished. “I have given Jowers a message to
ask the man to join me. I will await him in the library, and we will have a
private conversation–or perhaps confrontation–there. It is just as well that
ladies will not be present as I mean to be, ahem, forceful.” Percy puffed up
with manly self-importance.

          “As you were last night?” Psyche
demanded. “Percy, you will not harass my fiancé, I forbid it!’

          He ignored her and made a
dignified retreat. Psyche had no doubt he would indeed retire to the library
and wait for Gabriel there. She could only hope that the actor would be up to
yet another difficult session. She would like to be there, Percy’s scruples
regarding a female’s nervous frailties non withstanding. If only her other
guests would leave. . .

          She turned back to Aunt Mavis and
cousin Matilda. Her cousin looked worried, but Mavis seemed grimly amused.

          “I always said Percy was an
idiot,” Mavis said calmly, reaching for another currant scone. “I blame it on
the black cat his mother saw while she was increasing. Bad luck from which he
will never recover, you know.”

          Matilda looked faintly
scandalized.