Double Deception (25 page)

"Yes," Athena murmured, wondering what Lady Ridgeway would think of the earl if she knew about his disgraceful behavior in the dungeon. And would Jane invite her to Ridgeway Park if she learned of Athena's own wantonness in kissing a man she hardly knew and did not even like?

Her musings were interrupted by a delighted cry from the countess, and Athena turned her head in time to see two riders emerge from the trees and canter towards the Folly.

One of the riders was the Earl of St. Aubyn, and her heart gave a peculiar little lurch.

***

Athena watched the gentlemen approach with some trepidation. They were well worth watching, she admitted silently, quite unable to drag her eyes away. Lord St. Aubyn was riding Ajax, and the chestnut gelding's coat fairly gleamed with vitality. Lord Ridgeway was mounted on a powerful bay with a white blaze on its face. Horse and rider were well matched, she thought appreciatively, the gentleman's muscled thighs firmly outlined beneath his pale corduroy breeches, and his broad shoulders straining the seams of his wine-colored hunting jacket.

Almost reluctantly, Athena turned her gaze to her host and found his eyes fixed upon her. They were intensely blue this morning in the bright sunlight and held none of the cynical, half-seductive amusement she had come to expect from him. Had she not known better, Athena might even have supposed the earl to be feeling apprehensive about intruding upon her like this. Had he not promised Lady Sarah that he would not do so?

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when she felt a warm hand squeeze her own, clasped nervously in her lap. She turned to see Lady Ridgeway smiling at her. "Do not poker up so, my dear," the countess whispered as the gentlemen dismounted under the trees. "He is not going to bite you."

Athena looked at her, round-eyed with amazement.

"St. Aubyn," the countess added with a sly wink. "He cannot seem to take his eyes off you, my dear. I noticed it last night, too. Martin thinks his friend is about ready to give up his single state again. Would it not be wonderful if—"

"No!" The sound was little more than a gasp, and Athena felt herself blush. "The notion is absurd, Jane," she mumbled, wishing the countess had not chosen that precise moment to make her unthinkable suggestion. "You do not know the whole of it. And you are mistaken, you know; there is no way I would even consider..."

Her voice trailed into silence as the gentlemen mounted the steps into the Folly.

Lady Ridgeway smiled up at her husband encouragingly, and he promptly bent to place a kiss on her upturned face. She flushed and protested this improper display of intimacy, but Athena thought Jane looked thoroughly delighted with this public acknowledgment of her lord's regard.

Athena had avoided St. Aubyn's eyes, but she could not very well disregard the civil greeting he directed to both ladies. The quick glance she did permit herself confirmed her original unlikely assessment. His lordship appeared troubled and—for the first time since she had met him—unsure of himself.

She listened in silence as Lady Ridgeway bandied words with the two gentlemen, envying her friend the easy intimacy she shared with her new husband. Her eyes wandered out onto the surface of the lake, where Perry and Penelope appeared to have turned the fishing lesson into a riotous experience, punctuated by happy shrieks from her daughter countered by Perry's loud bursts of laughter.

"What a marvelous idea, Martin!" she heard Jane exclaim enthusiastically, shattering her train of thought. "Do you not agree, Athena?"

"Of course, Mrs. Standish agrees, you silly goose," Lord Ridgeway chided his wife tenderly. "No female can resist the lure of a boat ride on a summer afternoon."

Lady Ridgeway glared at her husband with feigned indignation. "How is it that you know so much about the lure of boat rides, sirrah?"

"I have taken a few of them myself, that is why," he responded with an affectionate grin. "Come, my dear." He stood up and pulled his wife to her feet. "Let me show you exactly what I mean. What do you say, Mrs. Standish?" he added, staring down at Athena with those lazy gray eyes that seemed to see everything she was most anxious to hide. "I know Sylvester is too bookish to appreciate the aesthetic pleasure to be derived from poling a beautiful woman about in a punt, but I can guarantee he will not overturn you, my dear. Trust me on that."

Athena felt her blood freeze. She glanced desperately at Lady Ridgeway, but much to her chagrin that lady gave her another knowing wink.

"Do say you will, Athena," she begged. "And pay no attention to Martin; he was only teasing. I am sure Lord St. Aubyn is an expert punter. Are you not, my lord?" she demanded, turning to her host, who was looking more bemused than overjoyed at the prospect of the boating expedition.

Athena sat in awkward silence, watching as Lord Ridgeway lifted his lady into the punt and settled her solicitously among the cushions. She was uncomfortably aware of the earl leaning negligently against one of the dragon pillars, a wry smile on his face as he watched his friend push off from the bank.

"I trust Martin has not discouraged you with his raillery," he remarked after a while. He turned to look at her directly. "He is right about one thing, however; you can trust me not to overturn you, Athena."

The sound of her name on his lips disconcerted her. One would think the wretch would have realized by now, she thought crossly, that such pointless intimacies between them must end. Had indeed ended as far as she was concerned the moment she laid eyes on that dreadful letter from Miss Rath-bone, or whatever her name was. The memory of that humiliating moment when she had discovered the true nature of the earl's flattering attention came rushing back, and Athena kept her eyes firmly focused on the punt that moved lazily out onto the lake.

Lady Ridgeway raised an arm and waved encouragingly. "Do come on, Athena," she called, her voice floating gaily across the water. "It is glorious out here."

Athena lifted a hand to acknowledge her friend's invitation, but she could not share the countess's enthusiasm. The countess had a doting husband in attendance. Was it surprising she found the experience enjoyable? She knew she should not feel envious of the other woman's happiness, but Athena could not stop the despair that constricted her throat and made her want to weep.

"May I tempt you to take a chance with me, Athena?"

The earl had moved to stand beside her, his hand outstretched. Athena looked into his eyes and felt her resolution falter. Tempt her? she thought disgustedly. Had he not already tempted her beyond the bounds of what was proper? Had he not turned her head and touched her heart? And now the wretch wished to tempt her into further dalliance. What kind of a simpleton did he think she was?

She shook her head. "I do not think ..."

He grinned engagingly, and his eyes caressed her. "It is cool on the water, my dear," he said softly, his hand still reaching for her.

Without quite knowing how it happened, Athena found her hand firmly clasped in his. Then she was standing on the small wooden jetty, while Lord St. Aubyn poled the boat over and reached up for her. She lowered her eyes as his hands encircled her waist and lifted her into the punt. The flat boat rocked gently beneath them as the earl guided her, one hand still on her waist, to settle comfortably on the nest of cushions. And then they were moving slowly, almost sensuously Athena thought, across the unruffled water.

Peregrine and her daughter had settled down to some serious fishing in the middle of the lake, she noted, surrounded by a family of swans looking for crumbs. She could clearly hear Penny's childish voice asking one of her interminable questions. The swans reminded Athena vividly of the first time she had met Peregrine at Lady Hereford's alfresco gathering on the banks of the Thames. He had saved her from the attack of another family of hungry, bad-tempered birds, she remembered. Had she but known the complications and heartache that innocent meeting by the river would bring, she might have reacted differently to the viscount's charming invitation to drive out with him.

Or perhaps not, she thought, glancing up at the earl from under her lashes. Perhaps the whole disastrous affair of her misguided betrothal to the viscount had been worth the pain it had caused her. How else would she have met his father, and discovered that her heart had not died with John on the battlefields of Spain as she had imagined during those first dreadful months back in England?

She was distracted from these morbid thoughts by a willow branch trailing beside her in the water. She glanced up and found that the earl had guided the punt under the mottled shade of the huge willows that lined the bank. He was looking down at her, his eyes inscrutable, but the faint smile on his lips disconcerted her.

"Is it not pleasant out here, my dear?" In the semi penumbra beneath the willows, his muted baritone resonated seductively, setting off warning signals in Athena's head. They were alone, she thought with sudden alarm, isolated from the other boaters by a wall of greenery that created a soft, enchanted aura around them.

He plied the pole with languid grace, the muscles of his arms bunching under the sleeve of his brown jacket with a smooth regularity that was almost hypnotic. Athena felt herself falling under the spell of his masculine presence and dragged her eyes away. The light twilled bombazine of her riding habit suddenly felt warm and constricting on her skin, even without the usual high-buttoned neckline. Her palms were damp and she leaned over to trail one hand in the water to cool it.

The shock of the water on her fingertips carried her back instantly to the Rothingham Manor of her childhood. Her father had a small artificial lake on the estate, which was strictly out of bounds for swimming. But of course she had not resisted the temptation of that cool water on those lazy summer afternoons. Athena smiled at the memory of those glorious days when she managed to slip out of the nursery, leaving Miss Petty grew, her governess, snoring gently in her easy chair. Accompanied by her father's two old spaniels, Paris and Juno, Athena would run all the way to the lake and throw herself down on the bank to look for minnows.

The dogs would run straight into the water, yapping joyously as they splashed around hunting frogs and the occasional garter snake. One day she had pulled off her shoes and stockings and waded in after them. She could still recall vividly the thrill of the cool water lapping at her knees, creeping up her thighs. Not long after that, she had dared to throw off her muslin gown and join the dogs in the shallow water where frogs and minnows lurked. Inevitably, her shift had become soaked when she tripped and fell full length among the water lilies, and after that she had always carried an extra shift with her on those unforgettable adventures in the lake.

"Will you not share those pleasant memories with me?" The earl's voice broke into her reverie, and Athena looked up, startled, to find him regarding her quizzically.

She sighed audibly. "I was thinking of home," she confessed reluctantly. "Or what used to be my home. At Rothingham there was a lake, too. Nothing like this," she swept an arm around her, "but a wonderland for the child I was then. I used to slip away from my governess on hot afternoons and take my father's spaniels down there for a stolen hour or two." She smiled sadly. "They must both be dead by now, but I will never forget them. They taught me to hunt frogs, catch minnows, even to swim."

"To swim?" His dark brows rose in surprise. "That sounds rather dangerous to me." He had ceased his poling and the punt moved sluggishly in the water.

"I supposed it was," she replied, "but I trusted the dogs. They pulled me out by my shift one time when I got in too deep. And even after I learned to swim, they trailed me about like two shaggy guardian angels." She glanced up at him, but the intense look in his eyes made her shudder, whether from fear or anticipation she could not tell.

"I was never afraid in those days," she added in a low voice, listening to the distant laughter of her daughter, so carefree, so innocent, so unprotected from the trials she herself had been forced to face after her return to England. Trials she would have to face again once they returned to London, she thought.

"And now are you?" His voice cut into her memories and Athena turned back to him questioningly.

"Afraid, I mean."

She smiled. "Not of drowning, my lord," she replied, evading the real question. "I am still a strong swimmer. And you promised not to overturn me, remember?"

"I was not talking of drowning, Athena."

She looked at him for a long moment before answering. "Everybody is afraid of something, my lord," she said with more calm than she felt. "Some with more reason than others, perhaps. I am certainly no exception."

When he did not answer, Athena sat up and dried her fingers on her handkerchief. It had seemed for a moment as though Lord St. Aubyn was about to say something about the deception that hung like a bleak cloud between them. But what difference would that have made? she wondered with a return of her old bitterness. How could she ever again trust a man who admittedly had tried to seduce her to further his own ends? What good would it do to listen to his excuses—and she was sure his lordship would be dangerously convincing—if her heart could no longer trust him?

"I would like to go back now, my lord," she said, quite suddenly tired of the cat-and-mouse game the earl seemed to be enjoying at her expense.

Without a word, he swung the punt around and headed out into the sunlight.

"I gather that your suit was not entirely successful, old chap?"

Sylvester grimaced. He had been dreading this question, but no amount of reflection on his part had enabled him to place the blame anywhere but squarely on his own shoulders. He had behaved like a raw youth, tongue-tied at the prospect of revealing his sentiments to his first love.

Except that Athena was not his first love, of course, and for the life of him Sylvester could not remember experiencing this wrenching agony of uncertainty when he had spoken of love to Adrienne. Everything had seemed so much simpler twenty years ago. He had known long before he made his formal offer that Adrienne returned his regard. There had been no question of rejection. He had not felt like some illiterate rudesby who could not find the right words to express his feelings.