Double Deception (24 page)

This was the main reservation he had about his sudden attraction to Athena Standish. Sylvester had firmly believed that he would never get over Adrienne's death, and had been unprepared for the intensity of his desire for the diminutive widow. At first he had believed it to be merely lust for her shapely body. He might be forty-two, he told himself wryly, but he was certainly not past the enjoyments of the flesh. But then came the storm, and he had found her out there in the grass so helpless and inviting, so vulnerable. She had needed him, he realized. Needed his arms around her to protect her from the storm that obviously terrified her. It had been a long time since Sylvester had felt needed. And when Athena had put her arms around his neck and trembled against him, something inside him had cracked wide open. It was only after he had carried her up to her room and laid her on the bed that he began to understand that he had lost part of himself in that storm. Part of himself that would be forever lost to him unless .. .

Abruptly, he dragged his thoughts back to listen to his friend's self-conscious laugh.

"There is no mistaking it when it hits you, old man," Ridgeway said, his deep baritone vibrating with feeling. "It took me ten days after I left her to realize that I had lost something of myself back at Lark Manor." He gave an embarrassed laugh and paused to stare into the flames. "I would not admit this to anyone but you, Sylvester," he continued at last. "It took me days to admit it to myself. But I finally realized that I was fed up with bedding other men's wives, and spending fortunes on lady-birds who cared not a fig for plain Martin Douglas, and that it might be nice, rather delightful in fact, to have a wife of my own to bed. A female who would be mine alone ..." He broke off abruptly, grinning self-consciously. "But here I am running on like a moon-struck halfling."

The two men sat silently regarding the flames until Ridge-way spoke again. "If you feel any of this for your widow, old man, my advice is to waste no more time in fixing your interest with her."

"It is not quite that simple, Martin," Sylvester murmured, wishing he had half his friend's experience with females.

"Your problem, old chap," Ridgeway explained patiently, "is that you have lost touch with reality. All these years with your nose stuck in musty old tomes of Chinese antiquity have atrophied your wits, lad. It looks to me as though you have forgotten how to deal with females."

"You may be right, Martin, but let me warn you that Athena Standish had more than enough cause to wish me in Hades."

Ridgeway's dark eyebrows rose quizzically. "Then you obviously have not told me the whole, Sylvester," he said quietly. "Perhaps you had better do so before I waste any more of my considerable expertise on you. Your case may indeed be hopeless after all."

The thought that he might lost Athena forever shook Sylvester out of his apathy. Putting all his reservations aside, he launched into his tale, spilling out the whole sordid deception he had woven around the unsuspecting widow and his innocent son. When he mentioned Perry's former betrothal to Athena Standish, Ridgeway raised an eyebrow and whistled softly.

"Now I understand why you are in such a pother, lad," he said compassionately. "Betrothed to your son was she? But if she broke if off herself, that should have cleared the way—"

"No such luck," Sylvester cut in sourly, and told of the disastrous scene in the boathouse and his subsequent wild ride through the storm with Athena.

"It appears to me that catching Perry with that doxy—what was the wench's name? Viviana? Well, catching Perry with Viviana might well have been the excuse your Mrs. Standish was looking for to break off the engagement. From what you tell me, she is more than a little partial to you, lad."

"Not anymore," Sylvester responded harshly. "The whole thing blew up in my face after I sent Viviana back to London yesterday. The greedy little bitch made quite sure of that."

At Martin's prompting, he related the contents of Miss Rath-bone's letter detailing her part in the deception and making much of Sylvester's role in the double seduction.

When he had finished the sordid tale, Sylvester felt little of the relief he had expected. If anything, his actions, though not strictly as deliberate as Miss Rathbone had implied, appeared as coldly damning as ever.

"Is that the way it really happened?" Ridgeway's voice was carefully noncommittal.

Sylvester sighed and took another mouthful of brandy. "Athena believes it to be so," he said heavily. "I did not set out deliberately to seduce her, of course, although it certainly appears that way. Actually, it was Aunt Sarah who suggested that while Viviana was distracting Perry, it might facilitate matters if I set myself to keep the widow entertained."

"And I take it you found that task very much to your liking?"

Sylvester glanced at his friend and saw that Ridgeway was wearing a sardonic grin on his handsome face.

"It is no laughing matter, Martin," he said shortly. "But you are right, of course. I did not anticipate actually enjoying Athena's company. She made me feel..." He paused to swirl his brandy around the glass. "I cannot say exactly, but I felt—"

"Young and foolish again," Ridgeway broke in with a laugh. "I know, old chap, because that is precisely how I feel with Jane. It beats feeling ancient and bored, let me tell you. I had the devil of a time convincing Jane that I was serious, you know. She had this misguided notion that I was some kind of a dissipated rakehell." He laughed again, and drained his glass.

"Athena believes I am a cold-hearted seducer," Sylvester said heavily. And since she would not talk to him, he thought bitterly, how was he to convince her that although the seducer part may be close to the truth, there was nothing cold about his heart.

Ridgeway stretched and yawned. "I have been away from my Jane quite long enough, even for a good friend like you, Sylvester," he said dryly. "But one last piece of advice from a happily married man, old chap. If a woman is worth fighting for, then fight for her. Fight like the very devil. You may not get a second chance."

Martin's words rang in Sylvester's ears long after his friend had gone up to bed.

The morning after the ball dawned calm and sunny, a perfect English summer day. As Athena sipped her hot chocolate curled up in the windowseat, she allowed herself—in a moment of pure self-indulgence she did not often permit—to pretend that this wonderful old house with its century-old Park, its vast expanse of lawns, its well-tended flowerbeds, its Oriental pond full of fat orange fish, its grape arbors, its rose-covered trellised paths, was really her home. That she belonged here in this haven of peace and comfort, safe from the vicissitudes of life, safe from want, and pain, and loneliness. Safe in the arms of a man she could never have.

The dream dissipated, and Athena drained her cup and set it down beside her. At least she had one more day, she thought, suddenly glad that she had agreed to go riding with Lady Ridgeway this morning. One more day to enjoy the illusion of belonging here at the Castle, part of a heritage stretching back to the days of the Conqueror.

She shook herself impatiently and reached for the bell pull. She would enjoy her last ride on Tarantella this morning, attend to the packing in the afternoon, and be gone by tomorrow before the family had breakfasted.

Betsy came into the room with Athena's blue habit, freshly pressed, over her arm.

"Molly says that her ladyship is up already and intends to take her breakfast downstairs, ma'am," the little abigail reported, laying the garment down on the bed. "Lord Ridgeway went out with the master nearly an hour ago," she added. "Something about inspecting the site for the new mill his lordship plans to build, Jackson says."

"Thank you, Betsy." It never ceased to amaze Athena how little of what their masters did escaped the notice of the servants. She had known this to be true at her aunt's little house on Mount Street with its staff of four, but here at the Castle, with its army of servants, there were eyes everywhere to record the comings and goings of the family and guests.

Without the fear of encountering Lord St. Aubyn at the breakfast table, Athena enjoyed both a hearty meal and the very lively company of Lady Ridgeway. How pleasant it would be, she thought, as the two ladies strolled down to the stables where Perry was seeing to the saddling of their mounts, to have a friend like the countess.

Penelope was with him, her small face alight with enthusiasm and her tongue going thirteen to the dozen. She ran to meet her mother, bubbling with news. "Perry says I really am to have Buttercup for my very own, Mama. He will take care of her for me until I can visit again. When will that be, Mama?" she demanded. "Perry says perhaps for Christmas?" Her voice rose questioningly, and Athena wondered just what unrealistic promises Perry had made to the child.

"Perhaps, dear," she responded absently. "But now I want you to meet Lady Ridgeway, who is come to ride with us."

"Do you have a daughter, too, my lady?" Penny asked after sketching a brief curtsy.

"Where is Perry taking us this morning?" Athena broke in hastily to cover her daughter's improper remark.

As it happened, Peregrine had, with the assistance of Lady Sarah, he confessed sheepishly, organized a picnic for the guests at the lake. Athena stared at him in astonishment when he mentioned the lake. Had he so soon forgotten the scandalous goings-on in the boathouse? she wondered.

"There is an Oriental Folly built by my great-grandfather on the east side of the lake," he explained hastily, catching her eye and blushing furiously. "It is one of Aunt Sarah's favorite picnic sites."

"You should have invited your great-aunt to join us, Peregrine," Lady Ridgeway remarked. "And Mrs. Easton, too. It is too fine a day to sit inside doing needlework."

"Aunt Sarah said she may drive out later," Perry said, lifting Penny up onto Buttercup's fat back. "I have had Rosebud saddled for you, Lady Ridgeway," he added, motioning to a pretty little roan mare who seemed unable to stand still. "A silly name, of course, for the prime goer she is, but Aunt Sarah gave it to her when she was born. She was so pink and soft." He eyed Lady Ridgeway uneasily. "The mare has become rather a handful, I must confess. But Lord Ridgeway assured me that you are the best horsewoman in Dorset, and left instructions not to mount you on a sluggard under pain of death."

Lady Ridgeway grinned broadly. "She is a pretty little thing," she said, stroking the mare's velvet muzzle with her gloved fingers and motioning to the groom to help her mount.

After Perry tossed Athena up on Tarantella, he mounted his own hack and the party trotted out of the stable-yard, Penny cantering ahead.

The ride to the lake was very different from the wild race through the rain that Athena remembered, and she tried not to think of that day, which brought back so many confusing memories.

The Folly, located as Perry had indicated on the east bank of the lake, was indeed an ideal spot for a picnic. Constructed in the Oriental style, its pagoda roof resting upon five white marble columns entwined with ferocious-looking dragons, and situated on a slight rise, it presented a pleasing vista of the lake.

Perry had evidently expended considerable effort on providing for the amusement of" his guests, for Athena noticed three flat boats tied to a giant willow that trailed its branches in the still waters of the lake.

"Oh, Perry," her daughter cried in delight as soon as they dismounted, "will you take me for a boat ride? Please, Perry," she added, catching Athena's sharp glance.

"Can you swim, brat?"

"Of course I can swim," Penny responded with alacrity. "Papa taught me in Spain."

Memories flooded back to Athena as she listened to her daughter describe in great detail the fun she had had with her beloved Papa during the all-too-brief time they had shared on the Peninsula. There had been so much hardship during those years they had spent as a family. Athena remembered them well, but mercifully, her daughter seemed to recall only the happy times. John had sheltered them from the worst discomforts as best he could, but there had been many times when he had not been there, and Athena had been forced to cope with the rigors of traveling with the motley assortment of humanity that made up the baggage train of a huge army.

"Then you and I shall go punting before our picnic baskets arrive," Perry exclaimed. "That is, if you approve, Athena?" he added, turning to where she sat on a marble bench beside Lady Ridgeway.

Half an hour later, amid much laughter, squealing, and splashing, Perry had poled her daughter to the middle of the lake and was proceeding to instruct her on the fine art of flyfishing. Athena regarded them affectionately, glad that she had delayed their departure for another day. Penny would have little enough chance for such adventures when they returned to London.

The peaceful scene was interrupted by the arrival of the gig driven by Tom, the undergroom, accompanied by two footmen sent by Lady Sarah to ensure that the feast was served according to rigid etiquette.

Lady Ridgeway's eyes became round as she watched the lengthy process of unloading the gig and setting the round marble table with white linen and delicate china. One of the footmen opened a bottle of champagne and offered the ladies a glass.

"I propose a toast to Lady Sarah," the countess exclaimed in an awed voice. "One could easily become addicted to picnics served with such elan. There is a little Grecian Folly at Ridgeway Park, situated on a hill overlooking the valley near Shaftsbury, that would make an admirable picnic site. I must suggest it to Martin." She glanced conspiratorially at her companion. "I do hope you may visit us there very soon, Athena," she said. "Perhaps we might try it out if the weather is good."

Athena felt a rush of affection for this outspoken female who gave such evident signs of wishing to further their friendship. She smiled. Friends had always been precious to her; she had so few of them.

"That is very generous of you, Jane," she began.

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" the countess exclaimed gaily. "Actually, I am being very selfish, since I find your company so enjoyable, Athena. 'Tis a pity you feel you must leave so soon. Martin is bound to stay on a few days with St. Aubyn. They have known each other since they were lads together, or so I gather." She paused, glancing at Athena before adding, "Martin tells me that Sylvester has been mourning his wife for over five years. Now that is what I call true devotion."