Double Deception (26 page)

He had felt both awkward and incoherent this morning with Athena. The fear of rejection had paralyzed him, and the words he had wanted to speak turned to ashes in his mouth. She had sat in her cushioned isolation, cool and remote in the shaded bower of the willow branches, and spoken of her childhood with a haunting nostalgia that seared his heart and made him yearn to take her in his arms again. He had wanted to kiss her, but he had lacked the resolve, the courage, the foolhardiness— he knew not which—to break through the wall of reserve she had thrown up between them since reading that infernal letter. Since learning the partial truth of what he had done.

That kiss he had anticipated, had actually needed more than anything he could recall, had escaped him. With Adrienne, there had been no uncertainty at all. She had blushed adorably and stepped into his arms without hesitation, lifting her sweet face for their first kiss. They had fit together like two halves of a marvelous whole, and there had never been any doubt in his mind that they would spend the rest of their lives in that loving harmony he had taken for granted.

With Athena, there had been no harmony at all. From the moment of their first kiss, which had stirred emotions he did not know he possessed and turned his life into a maelstrom of uncertainties, Sylvester had tried to convince himself that the delightful Mrs. Standish had merely aroused the dormant male in him. His cynical self suggested an obvious remedy for this uncomfortable state of affairs, but Athena had suddenly revealed herself in all her vulnerability, and he had been unable and unwilling to push his attraction for the widow to its logical conclusion.

Encouraged by Ridgeway's example and advice, Sylvester had been ready to pursue a more honorable course. But contrary to what Martin had promised, the boat ride had been neither romantic nor propitious. Athena had clearly wished to have nothing to do with him. His declaration had died on his lips. 

Sylvester found himself at
point-non-plus.
 

"Well?" Ridgeway prodded him. "What went wrong, old man?"

"Everything," Sylvester growled. "She wanted nothing to do with me." 

"She said that?"

"She did not have to," Sylvester muttered. "It was as clear as a bloody pikestaff that she despises me."

Lord Ridgeway sighed audibly. "You did not even ask her, did you?"

"How
could
I?" Sylvester protested in an aggrieved voice. "We were in that damned boat, and I could not get near her. I felt like a bloody fool standing there with the pole in my hand, trying to make an offer. How the hell was I supposed to kiss her without dumping us both in the lake? Can you tell me that?"

He was taking his frustration out on his friend, Sylvester realized, but it had been Martin's idea to maneuver Athena into the punt alone with him. That part had succeeded admirably, in spite of Athena's initial reluctance. But once he had her to himself in that magical green world under the willows, the proper words had not come. He had made a mull of the whole affair. 

And by tomorrow, Athena would be gone. 

"I gave you credit for a little imagination, old man," Martin remarked, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. "Jane and I were quite prepared to act surprised and wish you both happy, but when we saw those long faces..." He paused, glancing at the two women who rode ahead deep in conversation. "They make a splendid pair, do they not?" he said with obvious appreciation. "Jane is very taken with her, you know," he added. "We shall just have to think of something else."

"You can save yourself the trouble," Sylvester growled harshly. "She will have none of me."

Ridgeway merely laughed again. "We shall see about that," he said with a confidence Sylvester was far from sharing.

The more he considered the matter, the less likely it appeared to Sylvester that Athena could be brought to believe that what had started out as a mild deception—never as the deliberate seduction of Viviana's accusation—had turned into a real attachment on his part. He would be lying, of course, if he failed to admit that the thought of intimacy had not crossed his mind, but recently that primitive urge had been mitigated by other, less tangible emotions that had caused Sylvester to change his intentions towards the widow.

None of it signified anything, he thought dispiritedly, if Athena would not listen to him, would not forgive him, or believe that he spoke nothing but the truth when he confessed that the mere thought of spending the rest of his life without her was unbearable. In that, at least, Martin had been right on the mark. Life without Athena loomed like a dark lonely tunnel before him. He must do something drastic before it was too late.

The sight of one of his footmen in the stable-yard chatting with the grooms distracted him. But after he learned that a gentleman had arrived from Bath to see him, Sylvester saw a ray of hope in that dark future.

Perhaps all was not yet lost.

***

Athena closed her chamber door behind her and rang for the abigail. Throwing off her plumed riding bonnet she took the pins out of her hair, letting it fall in auburn waves over her shoulders. She was tired, frustrated, and deeply miserable. The picnic at the lake had promised a respite for her battered nerves, and at first it had been pleasantly relaxing. Lady Ridgeway had proved to be every bit as friendly as Athena had hoped, and she had relished the female companionship.

But then the gentlemen had intruded.

Athena sighed audibly. From the moment her eyes had encountered Lord St. Aubyn's, her peace of mind had been shattered. It had taken every ounce of her fortitude to remain calm in the face of his smile. She had had to remind herself several times that this charming rogue had deceived her in the most callous way, deliberately setting out to seduce her—if Miss Rathbone could be believed—with no regard for anything but his own selfish ends.

She took up her silver-backed brush and was about to untangle her hair when a startling thought struck her. One that had not crossed her mind before. What if Miss Rathbone could
not
be believed? Slowly, Athena laid the brush back on the dresser and stared into the mirror, her mind working feverishly. If the Beauty had lied, or even distorted the truth to suit her own purposes, then perhaps, just perhaps, the earl was not so black a villain as she had supposed. And now that she came to think of it, she had not allowed the earl the chance to explain. She had been only too ready to believe him guilty.

Her heart gave a painful lurch. The ramifications of such a novel idea made her suddenly dizzy with emotion. Perhaps Lord St. Aubyn had
not
intended to seduce her, a little voice whispered encouragingly. Could it be that she herself had put the idea into his head when she had kissed him so brazenly in the dungeon the afternoon of that first picnic? she wondered.

For the first time Athena began to see the possibility of such a misunderstanding. In truth, she had behaved quite immodestly. Had subsequent attempts to avoid him also been misunderstood? Was it possible that he saw her as nothing but a tease?

These and similar disturbing thoughts occupied her while Betsy helped her out of her riding habit and into a primrose-yellow muslin gown. By rights, she should be supervising the packing this afternoon, but she felt a strange reluctance to take that first step that would lead her away from the Castle forever. Perhaps as a result of this hesitancy, she had promised to stroll in the rose-gardens with Lady Ridgeway, who must even now be waiting for her. Athena put on her wide-brimmed straw bonnet and picked up her parasol. A visit to the fish pond was just what she needed to restore her sanity.

Twenty minutes later, strolling arm-in-arm with Lady Ridgeway through the multicolored beds of roses, Athena had been cajoled into confiding some of her fears to the countess.

"I can well imagine your mortification upon reading that little hussy's letter, my dear Athena," Lady Ridgeway remarked, after Athena had shown her ladyship the missive that had caused her present unhappiness. "My own chagrin would have been enormous had Martin been the object of this accusation. But then, let us not forget—much as I hate to admit it—that my dear husband is—or was—a rake of some notoriety." She paused and glanced at Athena with a wry smile. "I should not tell you this, my dear," she continued hesitantly, "but Martin tried to seduce me just as this wretched female describes in her letter. He wanted me to run off with him to some love-nest by the sea."

Athena stared at the countess, wondering how her friend had resisted the immoral proposal of such a dashing gentleman. "I gather you did not go, Jane," she remarked after a pause.

"No, I did not," her ladyship admitted with a sigh. "But I do not scruple to admit I was sorely tempted. And now, of course, it is a moot point. Martin came back to put his neck in the noose, as he likes to refer to his tumble into matrimony."

"He appears to be very reconciled to this noose," Athena said with a smile. "I quite envy you, Jane."

"Oh, he is, indeed," Jane acknowledged gaily, "but the point I wished to make is that while my Martin might well have been capable of a casual seduction—I know for a fact he has had a dozen liaisons or more—Lord St. Aubyn is a very different kind of man."

Athena wished her friend might be right, but something prompted her to argue. "They seem so alike to me; they even look alike, except for their eyes."

"Ah, but you are mistaken, my dear Athena," exclaimed the countess. "That similarity is entirely superficial. Underneath all that aristocratic breeding, Martin is a notorious rake, a reformed one I hope, but a rake nevertheless. Sylvester, on the other hand, married young, had an idyllic marriage, and has led an almost monkish existence since Adrienne died. No, St. Aubyn is no seducer, Athena. Your Miss Rathbone must have wished to cause trouble for him. And for you, too, most likely."

"But he would not deny it," Athena said in a distressed voice.

"And you assumed the worst, naturally?"

"What else was I to do?" Athena felt like weeping, and her distress must have been apparent, for Lady Ridgeway took her hand in a firm grasp.

"I would give him a chance to explain, my dear. Perhaps that is what he wished to do this morning on the lake. Perhaps not. In any case, you will never know unless you give the poor man a chance to speak his mind."

"I do not know ..." Athena began.

"Fiddlesticks!" Lady Ridgeway exclaimed sharply. "You do welcome St. Aubyn's addresses, I presume?"

"Yes," Athena whispered, wishing she had half her friend's strength of character.

"Of course, you do," her ladyship said bracingly. "I wonder he has not seen it for himself. Martin remarked upon it right away, naturally. But then my husband has more experience with females. St. Aubyn is a monk by comparison, and blind into the bargain." She smiled encouragingly. "You must help him out of his quandary, Athena."

Athena stared at her in horror. "You cannot be serious, Jane," she murmured faintly. "Whatever can I do?"

"Do not run away from him," the countess answered bluntly.

"I am
not
running away."

Lady Ridgeway smiled complacently. "You know you are, my dear." She paused and regarded Athena speculatively. "I would wager twenty pounds that if I were to leave you here sitting by the pond ..." The countess paused to gaze at a footman hurrying across the lawn. "Ah, what have we here? Perhaps he cannot wait for me to leave and has sent to demand your presence, Athena." She laughed gaily at her own jest.

When the footman delivered his message, however, Athena was alarmed at the accuracy of her friend's prediction.

She had, indeed, been summoned to the library.

***

Her heart racing uncomfortably, Athena made her way across the wide lawn and up the terrace steps. At the threshold of the open glass doors of the morning room, she glanced over her shoulder. Lady Ridgeway sat where Athena had left her beside the fish pond, and as she watched, her friend raised a hand and waved, a conspiratorial smile on her face.

Athena smiled back and stepped into the house. Her smile faded as she made her way out into the hall and turned towards the library. To tell the truth, she was more than a little alarmed at the notion of a private tête-à-tête with Lord St. Aubyn. Her fingers trembled visibly as she reached for the doorknob.

The memory of their first encounter in this very room returned with such vividness that she shuddered. But thrusting such unpleasant thoughts aside, she knocked resolutely, and heard his voice telling her to enter.

Taking her courage in both hands, Athena opened the door and stepped inside. The sight that met her eyes was so reminiscent of that first painful encounter that she almost gasped.

"You wished to speak with me, my lord?" she murmured to the man standing—as he had that other time—behind the huge mahogany desk. She moved over to stand before it, searching his darkly handsome face for any sign of that softening, that change of heart that Lady Ridgeway had spoken of.

She could find no sign of it in the blue-black eyes that regarded her enigmatically, nor in the harsh lines of the sensual mouth. And then the earl smiled, and Athena felt her heart skip a beat.

"Yes, indeed I did, my dear," he said. "I have quite a surprise in store for you." He held her gaze for several moments before gesturing towards the hearth.

Athena swung round and saw a gentleman standing there, unnoticed in his sober clothes. She stared for what seemed like an eternity, then took an involuntary step toward him.

"Papa?" Her voice sounded breathless. "Is it really you, Papa?"

The man by the mantel coughed nervously. " 'Tis I all right, Athena." He paused for a fraction of a second, then added with strained joviality, "You are looking well, child."

The intervening years seemed to slip miraculously away as Athena stared avidly at her father's dear face. He appeared untouched by time, except for the increased scattering of gray at his temples and the uncertainty in his still-piercing blue eyes.

"Oh, Papa," she choked, taking another uncertain step towards him.