Double Deceit (12 page)

She smiled up at him. “I wonder if other tiles are here.”

“Tomorrow. It’s time for dinner.”

He pulled her to her feet, then gathered up their tools, locking them in the shed. He did not watch her don her skirt. Nor did he help her mount. And he scolded himself all the way back to the house.

Her smile hinted at more than simple pleasure over a careless compliment. How could he discourage her, while still treating her with the respect he owed a colleague?

* * * *

Tony enjoyed dinner even less than usual, discouraged by his lack of progress with Miss Vale. Despite turning to him even before Miss Merideth drew Jon’s attention, he suspected she was using him only to avoid Jon. Did she care at all? His fabled charm wasn’t working. She treated him no differently than when he’d arrived. Or was she pretending not to care because she knew Miss Merideth hoped to catch him?

His head spun. Why had he embarked on this stupid charade anyway? Every day it grew harder to remember what he was doing and why. He could no longer relax with Miss Merideth. Miss Vale remained shy, refusing to discuss anything personal. He wanted to pack up and leave.

But he couldn’t.

If he failed to recover the Park, his mother would suffer. So would the family dependents. Not only did Miss Vale lack the strength of character to demand a role in administering her dowry, but Sir Winton might well regret losing so lucrative an estate, forcing his daughter into wedding someone he could dominate. But that would cause even worse problems for the Park’s dependents.

It was too late to confess and start with a clean slate. Changing course would alienate both ladies. And his original reasoning still held. Tony Linden’s reputation dominated every interaction. Miss Vale’s maid and butler hovered over her during the day, prompting Jon to limit his afternoon conversations to a single hour lest he unduly disrupt the household. Miss Merideth worked hard to keep Jon away from her employer in the evenings. A footman patrolled the ladies’ wing at night. He had to believe that they were tolerating Tony Linden’s presence only to keep Torwell around.

“Is it true that ladies have more freedom in London than in the country?” Miss Vale asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “Mr. Linden was telling me the most diverting stories this afternoon.”

“I’m sure he was.” Here was another problem. Though he’d often teased Jon about leading a monastic life, he’d never expected such complete ignorance. Nor had he known that Jon possessed the imagination to fill voids in experience with improbable tales. “That depends on how you define freedom. While London offers opportunities, it also sets traps for the unwary.”

“What do you mean?” She widened her blue eyes, reminding him too sharply of the flirtatious chits who staged come-outs every Season.

“Many activities are found only in town,” he said carefully. “Exhibitions, for example; the opera; the royal theater; gardens like Kew or Vauxhall. And society entertains constantly, with dozens of events scheduled every day. With so much variety, people are free to amuse themselves however they wish. In the country, one can choose only to accept an invitation or remain at home.”

“And that choice is possible only if one has an invitation to consider.”

He nodded, cursing himself for offering this particular example. By now, he hardly noticed her foot, but he suspected that few invitations arrived at Vale House. There had been no callers in the time he’d been there.

“But what do you mean by traps?” she asked.

“It is frightfully easy to tarnish one’s reputation. Actions that draw only a raised brow in the country – galloping one’s horse or walking unescorted, for example – can invite cuts and even ostracism in town.”

“Walking alone?”

He nodded. “It creates an opportunity for unwanted advances, and can be downright dangerous. London is the largest city in the world. Mayfair may be opulent and beautiful, but there are places that I would not go at high noon accompanied by a dozen Bow Street runners. And some of them adjoin Mayfair.”

She effected an artistic – and totally false – shiver. “Since no one of sense would go there, they hardly matter. Surely a lady can walk a short distance along her own street without escort. Yet Mr. Linden insists that is not possible.”

“Since he lives in London, you must believe him,” he said, grateful that Jon had said something sensible for once. “Appearance matters far more than truth. A lady walking alone is inviting advances. Whether she would accept them is irrelevant. Allowing the opportunity is not acceptable.”

“You are sure?”

“Very. I have visited London often enough to know its customs,” he said, determined to keep his lies to a minimum. She was slow to form an attachment. The longer the masquerade lasted, the harder revealing it would become. Every lie would make it worse.

Later,
he admonished himself. Having embarked on this game, he could only play out the hand. “Oxford students often visit London, and I have conducted business there more recently.”

“Then you must be familiar with St. Paul’s.” Her smile deepened her dimples, but he hardly noticed. Temper flashing in brown eyes was more enticing. “Is it as awe-inspiring as I have heard?”

“More.” He gazed up as though overcome, but his mind was frantically trying to recall his one visit to the cathedral – at age ten, when his tutor had dragged him there. Twenty-two years had dimmed those memories. And he had paid little attention, even then, for the trip had been his father’s idea. Exposure to London cathedrals was supposed to inspire piety and discourage pranks. It hadn’t.

“It is like nothing you will have seen,” he said finally, trying to inject enthusiasm into his words. Why hadn’t she directed this question to Jon? He probably recalled every detail. “St. Paul’s is as different from a village church as Hampton Court is from a tenant cottage. Wouldn’t you say so, Cousin?” he asked Jon, who was floundering through a convoluted explanation directed at Miss Merideth. She had a knack for leading him into the most confused tales anyone ever heard. If this kept up, Jon might blurt out the truth merely to escape.

He had to conclude his courtship before things grew worse.

“About what?” Jon asked, relief lighting his eyes.

“St. Paul’s. It is difficult to describe it to someone familiar only with a parish church.”

“It is impressive,” he agreed, then shrugged and added, “if you like that sort of thing. My own taste runs to Jackson’s Saloon and Cribb’s Parlor.”

“What are those?” asked Miss Vale.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Tony answered shortly, signaling the footman for more wine.

“Drinking and gaming houses, I suppose,” said Miss Merideth, glaring from him to Jon. She seemed piqued that his interruption had rescued Jon from their conversation.

“I—” Jon’s eyes begged for help. He’d probably forgotten which was which.

He sighed. “Not exactly, though plenty of wagers have been made at Cribb’s. Both he and Jackson are retired boxers. Cribb opened a taproom that appeals to fighters and those who enjoy the sport. Jackson teaches boxing, mostly to gentlemen. Linden enjoys going a few rounds, but he’s not a true follower of the Fancy.”

She shrugged, drawing Jon back into conversation.

Tony couldn’t follow their low-voiced exchange. He and Jon must start comparing notes each night. The longer they talked privately with the ladies, the more likely they would say something wrong.

* * * *

Alex hid her irritation as she turned back to Linden. She was tired of having Torwell jump in to cover his cousin’s slips. He swore that Linden’s reputation was misleading, yet his vigilance made her nervous. Might the man be even worse than rumor claimed?

She shivered. Sarah was demanding that she resume her own identity, agreeing to postpone the confession for another day only after a heated argument. But confession must go hand-in-hand with accepting Linden – if she could do so. How could she wed a man she didn’t trust? Torwell would not be there to protect her.

And that was good, she reminded herself. He treated her as a colleague, which had clearly gone to her head. In the euphoria of having a digging partner, she had forgotten that she remained stuck inside this ungainly woman’s body – as today’s encounter had proved. What had she been thinking?

She’d climbed that cliff a hundred times as a child, so she’d been shocked that the scramble left her breathless. Fool! Double a fool. The pause to catch her breath had stretched until Torwell had grown tired and turned her around for himself. She’d nearly swooned from the jolt of heat that surged from his hands.

She cursed.

He’d spotted her reaction, of course. He’d been curt and aloof ever since. It needed no intelligence to know why. Fearing that she was infatuated, he was doing everything possible to discourage her. Not only had she placed him in an untenable position, since he couldn’t abandon his cousin, but she had diminished her chances of being accepted as an antiquarian.

Damn him! And damn every other man on earth. They all believed that women were incompetent. Torwell had momentarily forgotten her gender, but only because she had successfully become a man in his eyes – completing her share of the work without protest, giving as good as she got in debates pertaining to the site or the Romans, even wearing the same clothes so her female garments would not hamper her movements. Yet there were still differences. She lacked the strength to shift large stones. And she’d turned breathless from a brisk scramble.

He’d noticed.

How could he believe she was attracted to him? Yes, he made a striking figure – especially when the sun caught those green eyes. And his smile could melt granite. But he would turn on her in an instant if it would benefit him, just like every other man. Even the most debauched were conceited fools who considered themselves superior to the most gifted female.

If only she didn’t have to waste time with Linden. Not only was he less interesting than his cousin, but attending him every evening reminded Torwell of her gender. Maybe men were right to claim that partnerships were impossible. Even the tiniest incident could be misinterpreted. Like this one: She had shivered because she hadn’t realized until he touched her how chill the air had grown. That was all. His hand had been hot.

But she had to admit that working with him had distracted her from her purpose. Justice demanded marriage to Linden, but she had yet to decide if she could tolerate him. He was nothing like what she’d expected, which increased her confusion.

Linden launched another improbable tale of good deeds and pure thoughts that reminded her of his second evening in the drawing room. Bible reading, indeed. He’d trotted out every lascivious verse she’d ever heard – and a few she hadn’t, though she’d later verified that all were real.

Rogue.

How could anyone know who he really was? He shifted from drunken boor to lascivious rake to dedicated puritan without warning. She couldn’t tell if his roles offered glimpses into a complicated man or if they merely mocked the world while cloaking his true self.

Bessie claimed that he divided his days between the library – a strange activity for so debauched a man, unless he was working on the brandy decanter – and walking about the grounds. Though bawdiness often slipped into his conversation, he had made no attempt to seduce Sarah. Perhaps Mary was keeping him entertained, though if that were true, she was being unusually discreet about it.

Torwell’s vigilance only added to her nervousness. He kept one eye on Linden, no matter what else he was doing. How could she trust a man who needed such surveillance?

But Torwell also had a stake in her decision, she realized. He had grown up at Linden Park and was second in line for the title – that viscountcy could descend through the female line in the absence of a male heir. And he might easily lose his parish if the Park fell into the wrong hands, making it difficult to continue his excavations.

But she could hardly wed Linden merely to finance Torwell’s digs. So far, she disliked all of Linden’s faces. He showed little of Torwell’s charm, and her conscience kept raising uncomfortable questions. Such as how a man as crass as Linden could enjoy such success with the ladies.

In vino veritas.
Fury over having to offer for a stranger – and one closely related to his father’s nemesis – would account for his drunkenness on arrival. So his truest character had emerged that first night. Could she live with that lascivious bore? Despite Sarah’s insistence that he was sweet, the girl had never met a man like Linden.

She shivered, recalling rumors that he could become vicious.

One way to learn his true character was to confess her deceit. His reaction would reveal much, for he behaved very differently with her than with Sarah. He talked easily with Sarah, often drawing smiles. But with her, he rarely uttered a complete sentence without backing up or appealing to Torwell for help. Since she couldn’t believe she made him nervous, he must dislike wasting his time with an antidote – further evidence that wedding him might be a huge mistake; he could tolerate Sarah, but wanted nothing to do with her.

Her father never hid the fact that she was unacceptable. No gentleman would willingly choose a tall, mannish wife possessing a sharp tongue and bluestocking education. Torwell might work with her on the excavation, but he had made it clear that afternoon that he would not tolerate missishness or flirtation.

Torwell’s enchantment with Sarah was growing. And it was real. She no longer believed him capable of coveting his cousin’s inheritance. Were the men toying with having Torwell wed Sarah, then turn the dowry over to Linden? Or were both of them infatuated?

Petite, beautiful Sarah. Sweet, accomplished Sarah. If she weren’t crippled, she would be the toast of London.

Appalled by her bitter thoughts, Alex straightened. This was getting her nowhere. She had accepted her limitations years ago, which was another reason she had vowed never to wed. Why had her father suddenly remembered her existence?

Linden wanted the money, so he would cheerfully change allegiance once she revealed her identity. Sarah might enjoy life as a vicar’s wife, particularly with a man who showed no disgust over her foot. They must discuss it. But first, she had to decide whether she could live with Linden. Why did he have to be so venal?