Double Deception (20 page)

"Good morning, ma'am. A right lovely day it is outside, ma'am. Master Peregrine will have a good day for his birthday celebration tonight." Betsy's cheery greeting distracted Athena from her daydreaming as the little maid brought in a steaming cup of chocolate and set it down.

"Thank you, Betsy," she said with a smile.

"Will you be wishing to dress now, ma'am?"

"Yes, Betsy. The blue lustring, I think. But before we start, be a good girl and ask the viscount's man if Lord Fairmont will grant me a few minutes in the morning room after breakfast."

The sound of Perry's title felt odd on her lips, and Athena was reminded of his father's recent accusation. The earl had imagined—quite understandably under the circumstances— that she aspired to Perry's title. How wrong he had been! Athena Standish had wanted a man in her life again, a second husband to give her the home she dreamed of. An exciting, virile man like Lord St. Aubyn himself, she thought, admitting— with her newly acquired honesty—what she had suspected all along but had not dared to confess, even to herself.

She loved Perry's father.

"Sylvester Steele." Athena savored the whispered sound of his name on her lips and smiled, the vision of the earl's darkly handsome features and brooding blue-black eyes rising unbidden in her mind. At least now she knew where she stood. This was one dream that would never come true.

He imagined her a fortune hunter. She could still remember the contempt in his voice that first morning when he had accused her. He had considered her unworthy of his son; how much more unsuitable must she be for a man like himself. If he thought of her that way at all, Athena mused with painful honesty. She knew he desired her; she had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. At most St. Aubyn might offer her
carte blanche;
she was surprised he had not already done so.

But marriage? No, that was a dream that would certainly not come true. She would be foolish indeed to entertain such impossible fantasies.

Athena smiled at her own foolishness as she came downstairs shortly before ten o'clock. She was pleased with the new understanding she had reached concerning her own heart, and knew exactly what she would say to Perry in the morning room.

As for his father, the man she could never have, Athena was determined to cast him out of her life the minute she left St. Aubyn's Castle behind her.

He would still possess her heart, of course, but Athena would eventually learn to live with that. She had no choice.

***

"But whatever shall I
say,
Father?"

Lord St. Aubyn glanced unsmilingly at his son, wondering if he had ever been so desperately naive and unsure of himself.

"I suggest you tell Mrs. Standish the truth," he said coldly.

"And just what is the truth, Father?" Sylvester heard the despair in Perry's voice and his expression softened.

"You will admit that you behaved abominably and are not worthy of her regard."

"But what if Athena insists upon releasing me from our betrothal?" Perry demanded in a voice that shook. "She was counting on me to give her and Penelope a home, Father, and I have betrayed them both. I feel like an absolute cad."

Sylvester laughed shortly but said nothing, since Peregrine's words conveyed only the truth.

"It is no laughing matter, Father," Perry said stiffly. "I swear I cannot imagine how I ever got myself into this pickle. How could I have compromised a lady's virtue like that? And the worst part is that Athena saw it all, Father. She must believe me the veriest libertine. How can I ever face her again?"

His father suppressed a cynical smile at his son's claim to libertine tendencies. "I rather suspect that Miss Rathbone has very little virtue worthy of the name, Perry," he said gently. "So disabuse yourself of the notion that you are the villain of this Canterbury farce."

Perry looked shocked at this plain speaking. "How can you say so, Father?" he muttered. "She was so very, very beautiful."

His son's voice was wistful, and Sylvester felt a pang of regret that Perry had to learn about the fickleness of women from one such as the counterfeit Miss Rathbone. Worse yet was the guilt he felt for his own selfish part in the Cheltenham tragedy that had played itself out here at St. Aubyn Castle, touching so many lives, his own included.

"Beauty and virtue are two separate things, Perry," he said softly. "Often unrelated, I am sorry to say." He paused, his thoughts troubled. "How simple life would be if beautiful women were all virtuous. Unfortunately, it is more often the exception than the rule."

"Athena is both, Father," Peregrine said defensively. "I cannot imagine so far forgetting myself as to ..." He hesitated, and Sylvester saw his son's face color hotly. "As to..." he tried again, but could not say the words.

Sylvester could not suppress a cynical smile. "As to roll her in the hay, lad? Is that what you are trying to say?"

"Father!" Perry exclaimed in shocked accents. "How can you even imagine such a thing about Athena, much less
say
it?' His blush deepened.

Very easily indeed, Sylvester thought to himself, feeling suddenly rather sorry for this son of his who still had so much to learn about females. He himself had little difficulty at all imagining the delectable widow in all sorts of delicious poses, her small, delicately rounded body warm and pliable under his hands. But he could hardly admit as much to Perry. He should not even be thinking along these lines himself, although since yesterday afternoon, the widow had rarely been out of his mind.

She had felt so right in his arms, her body warm against his thighs, head burrowing into his shoulder, streaming hair smelling of wet grass and violets. With every clap of thunder, Athena had curled more tightly into his lap, setting off delicious tremors of anticipation in his own body that had required all his moral fortitude to control. The trembling of her slight frame at every new flash of lightning had aroused conflicting emotions—both sensuous and tender—in his chest, and the way she clung to him, mindless of propriety, had moved him as no other woman had since Adrienne.

"You are right, Perry," he murmured contritely. "Forgive me. Athena is indeed special."

His son beamed with joy. "I am glad you finally admit it, Father. I have known it all along. But," he paused uncertainly, his smile vanishing abruptly, "do you think I can make everything right with her again, Father?"

Sylvester smiled thinly and shrugged his shoulders. "I would not count on it, Perry." He hoped that his son's betrothal was definitely at an end, but he could not say so. He also hoped that Athena had come to her senses since yesterday afternoon. Surely she must be ready to admit—after what had passed between them out there on the grass—that Perry was not the man she needed.

Peregrine looked downcast. "You believe that Athena wishes to break our betrothal, Father? Is there nothing I might to do change her mind?"

"That is indeed what I believe, Perry," Sylvester admitted reluctantly. "I never did consider you well matched, remember?" He had no wish to hurt his son, but a marriage between Perry and Athena could bring nothing but misery to them all. And it would be intolerable for him, Sylvester thought. After yesterday afternoon he did not believe he could relinquish her to anyone, even to his own son.

The realization stunned him. Before he had a chance to consider the implications of this discovery, the doors swung open and the woman who had the power to make Sylvester feel like a raw youth again stepped into the room.

The sight of her triggered something within the innermost core of Sylvester's being. Something so primitive and powerful that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect.

It took every ounce of will power he had to suppress the growl of pleasure, of passion, and anticipated possession that rose in his throat.

Athena stood poised on the threshold of the morning room, disconcerted to find herself the object of two pairs of very different eyes. Her own gaze was drawn, as if by some invisible magnet, to the earl, who stood before the empty hearth, one elbow propped on the mantel. The predatory stare she encountered in his dark, hooded gaze made her flinch and glance away.

Peregrine had been standing at the open window, but when he saw her, he came across the Oriental carpet towards her, stopping abruptly several feet away, his blue eyes troubled.

"Athena," he stammered, his face pale and drawn. "You have every right to think me the worst villain in England, but—"

"I had hoped to have a few words with you in private, Perry," Athena cut in gently, touched by the anguish in his eyes.

Peregrine glanced nervously at his father. "I have asked Father for his advice, Athena. You see I did not—"

"Advice?" Athena stared at him in astonishment.

"Yes," Perry continued hastily, his face turning a bright pink. "I thought he could advise me ..." His voice trailed off uncertainly. "I thought he might tell me what to say to avoid ... what I might do to persuade you not to ... how I could explain to you..." He stopped abruptly and rubbed his face nervously with both hands. "Dash it all, Athena ..."

Any vestige of resentment Athena might have harbored in her heart against this boy evaporated instantly. She smiled gently, feeling only a deep sorrow for the way life had treated both of them.

"Then I trust your father has advised you well, Perry," she interrupted him, steeling herself against the flash of hope that flickered in those cornflower-blue eyes that had held such promise for her future. Hers and Penelope's. "That is what I wish to talk to you about, my dear," she added, knowing that sooner or later she would have to break away from this boy she held in such deep affection.

Impulsively, Peregrine stepped forward and grasped her two hands in his, carrying them to his lips and kissing them wildly. Athena was acutely conscious of the earl's cynical gaze upon her, but she refused to pull away.

"Tell me you will forgive me, Athena," he mumbled incoherently, his blond head bent, his agitated breath warm on her fingers.

Her heart went out to him.

"Of course, I forgive you, darling," she whispered softly. Then in a stronger voice, she added, "But surely your father has told you that we cannot marry, Perry." Gently, she pulled her hands away from his grasp.

He raised his face and stared at her, eyes miserable. "You are still angry with me, then?"

"No, I have indeed forgiven you, my dear. But your father was right, you know. We will not suit at all. So I wish to return this." She brought his ring out of her pocket and held it in her palm.

Peregrine stared at the modest opal ring in silence, and for a terrible moment Athena thought he was going to cry.

"Please keep it, Athena," he said at last, in a thick voice she hardly recognized as the happy-go-lucky boy she knew so well. "Or let me buy you a bigger one. Would that make you happy, Athena? A monstrous diamond ring? Will that make things right again between us?"

Athena's heart constricted within her. Never had her beloved Perry appeared so young and naive as at this instant. She wanted more than anything to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she knew such an action would be misconstrued.

"No, darling," she said as gently as she could. "The size of the ring has nothing to do with anything. At least not for me. I treasured your opal because
you
gave it to me, Perry. I thought it the most beautiful ring in the world. That is why I must give it back. You know that I must, my dear."

"I know nothing of the sort," Perry answered petulantly, quite as though she were denying him a special treat he had counted on. "Are you forgetting that tomorrow is my birthday, Athena, and I come into a small bequest from my grandmother? I swear I will spend every shilling on you, my love. Ask me for anything your heart desires and it is yours."

Athena shook her head in disbelief, not daring to glance at the silent man by the hearth. "I am sure your father never advised you to make such a rash offer, Perry," she remarked, wondering what the foolish boy would think of next. "One that I cannot accept, of course. But I thank you for your generosity, Perry. Truly I do."

She held out the ring, but he turned aside, pacing over to the window and back. Coming to a stop before her, he gazed at her pleadingly. "Let me do
something
for you, Athena," he begged. "Let me buy you a house. You have always wanted a house, have you not?" His expression became eager. "A house with a garden where Penny can play. I shall settle a comfortable sum on you ..."

Athena had been struck speechless by this bizarre announcement, and was all too aware of an impatient movement from the earl. She could feel his disapproval reach out to touch her; the air in the small room was thick with it.

"Perry," she said severely, when she had recovered her voice, "you really must be more careful what you say, dear. Only consider how such an arrangement would appear to your family and friends. And to your father, Perry," she could not resist adding. "Surely you cannot mean to brand me before all the world as your—"

"No!" Perry shouted before she could say the damning word. He had turned bright red again, and looked so embarrassed that Athena could only pity him. "I intended no such thing, Athena," he stammered, glancing nervously at his father. "You must believe me. I would not dream of insulting you thus. I merely wished to take care of you. As I promised," he added, rather forlornly she thought.

"I know, Perry," she replied in a choked voice. If she were not careful, Athena thought, she would burst into tears herself and give Lord St. Aubyn something else to amuse him. "I know you are kind and generous to a fault. But it will not do, Perry." She smiled a little tremulously. "Here," she took his hand and pressed the ring into it, closing his fingers around it. "I shall always remember you with great affection, as will Penelope."

"Is there nothing I can do? Nothing at all?"

Athena shook her head and turned to go, quite unable to utter a single word. Before she reached the door, there was a discreet knock and Jackson appeared with a pale blue letter on his silver salver.