Double Deception (4 page)

"Of course, I wrote to him," Perry protested naively, "but I thought it best to allow Father to get used to the idea gradually."

"And now he knows and does not like it above half?"

"Yes," Perry mumbled sheepishly. "He kicked up rather a dust about the whole notion, so I had to tell him roundly that we are to be wed." His boyish face had turned a deep red during this cryptic explanation, and Athena had little difficulty in di-vining the source of the earl's hostility.

"He believes me to be a fortune hunter, no doubt," she re-   : marked prosaically.

"I told him you were nothing of the kind," Perry blurted out, innocently confirming Athena's speculations.

"Can you honestly say that I am not, my dear?" she teased him gently. "You know precious little about me when all is said and done."

Peregrine's expression of horror made her laugh. "I know all I need to know, Athena," he said earnestly. "You are an angel, and so I told him."

"You told his lordship that I was an angel?" she repeated in astonishment. "I cannot help thinking that you have exaggerated somewhat, Perry. He will see at once that I am no such thing. If he ever comes out of his lair to take a look, that is."

"You are teasing me again," Perry protested. "By tomorrow all this will be settled. Father wants to talk to you after breakfast, and he has promised to ... to ..."

"To what?"

"Well, he has promised to ... to talk to you, that is all," Peregrine repeated, ignoring the most elementary rules of logic

"His lordship wishes to quiz me about my intentions, is that it?" Athena remarked without rancor. "I do not blame him, Perry. If you were my son, I would wish to know—"

"I am
not
your son," her betrothed interrupted heatedly. "And I wish you would not talk like that, Athena. You make me feel younger than I am. I hope you will not speak to Father that way; I went to great pains to make him see that I am quite old enough to have a wife of my own. Unfortunately, I do not think he is at all convinced of it."

Neither am I, Athena had thought to herself as she took her place at the elegant rosewood pianoforte at Lady Sarah's instigation. What a mull she would make of the affair if she was forced to agree with his lordship that Perry was not yet ready for the responsibilities of wedded bliss.

Morning had not brought much needed illumination to her muddled thoughts. As Perry escorted her to the library, where the stony-faced Jackson stood poised to throw open the double doors, Athena felt a distinct affinity for the Christian martyrs who must have listened in paralyzed silence for the roar of the lions.

Athena smiled at this fanciful twist of her imagination. Jackson might have the stalwart girth of a Roman centurion, but she was quite sure that Lord St. Aubyn could not be one half as bloodthirsty as Lady Sarah and her merciless inquisition last night.

Keeping this bracing thought foremost in her mind, Athena forced a smile to her lips as she stepped across the threshold into the lion's den.

The library at St. Aubyn Castle was built on a grand scale, and as she stepped over the threshold, Athena felt herself instantly plunged into an oasis of scholarly calm and refinement. Under normal circumstances the sensation of breathing the air of this hallowed atmosphere might have intoxicated her with its promise of intellectual challenge, but today a more sinister challenge distracted her from the enjoyment of literary treasures.

The Earl of St. Aubyn stood behind the enormous carved desk, an ominously dark figure. Behind him the morning sunlight filtered into the high-ceilinged room, outlining his imposing form but leaving his face in shadow.

With sudden insight, Athena realized that the earl's pose was quite deliberate. Doubtless the massive mahogany desk had been placed before the window with the calculated intention of producing the vaguely mysterious and threatening tableau that now greeted her as she entered this masculine sanctuary. Idly, she wondered how many stewards, solicitors, servants, even neighbors on friendly calls had been cowed—as she was at this moment—by the sight of the tall, shadowy figure behind the desk.

Unwilling to show fear in the face of the enemy—and she no longer doubted that the man who awaited her was hostile— Athena glanced up at Peregrine, an encouraging smile on her lips. To her dismay, she noted that her betrothed's face looked strained and the smile he returned was tentative and fleeting. Good God, she thought, a flicker of panic making her mouth dry, Peregrine was as nervous as she. What had he not told her about this enigmatic father of his?

She turned back to the man behind the desk, willing herself to be calm, and saw instantly that the appearance of shadow and mystery had been an illusion. As Perry led her across the wine-red carpet towards his father, Athena found she could see everydetail of the Earl of St. Aubyn's face clearly. She stumbled, knees suddenly unsteady beneath her, and had Peregrine's hand not been firmly on her elbow, she might have fallen.

Flustered and not a little mortified at her
gaucherie
, Athena straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. It simply would not do to show weakness now; not when so much depended upon the impression she must make before this complete stranger.

And Peregrine's father was more of a stranger than Athena could possible have bargained for. Had it not been for a faint resemblance in the cast of the features, she would not have taken them for father and son. Where Perry was as warm, and innocent, and cuddly as a puppy—how often had she chided herself for regarding her betrothed in such unloverlike terms—his father could only be likened to a wolf.

A darkly handsome, enigmatic, magnificent wolf.

Athena mentally shook herself out of the trance that seemed to have paralyzed her faculties. The first notion that flashed across her mind was that this man could not possibly be Peregrine's father. He was far too young to have a son of nineteen. As she drew closer and listened to Perry's mumbled introductions, Athena gradually changed her mind. Although there was no hint of gray in the black hair that curled youthfully about the earl's ears, and at first glance no sign of aging in the austerely handsome face, Athena detected a delicate web of lines beside his eyes and laugh lines around his sensuous mouth.

There was not even a shadow of a smile on that mouth now.

The earl inclined his head briefly to acknowledge his son's introduction, but his mouth remained closed in a grim line. How could such a coldly arrogant man have sired an unpretentious, happy-go-lucky innocent like Peregrine? she wondered, conscious of a growing sense of despondency at the magnitude of the task ahead of her. How could she expect to break through the earl's icy demeanor long enough to convince him to sanction her marriage to his son?

Particularly—an insistent little voice inside her chided— since she was not quite perfectly sure that she could bring her darling Perry the happiness he seemed to believe she could. And which he most certainly deserved, she added to herself.

Resolutely, Athena brushed these troubling thoughts aside and concentrated on Penelope's future, and the benefits her alliance with Perry would bring her daughter. She was embarked upon this matrimonial venture for better or for worse, and she must see it through without flinching.

Athena gritted her teeth, and for the first time raised her eyes to meet the earl's gaze squarely. She drew in a sharp breath. Athena had never seen a wolf, nor—as far as she could remember—a picture of one, but her mind was fertile and fanciful, and she had little difficulty imagining that the cold, dark eyes that glared back at her from the earl's granite face might well have been those of the four-legged predators of the desolate steppes portrayed in the Russian novels in her father's library.

They sent a chill up her spine.

"Leave us, Peregrine," she heard the earl say softly. "Mrs. Standish and I have things to discuss."

For a wild instant of panic, Athena wanted to cry out to Perry to stay with her; to protect her from the attack she knew in her bones was about to be launched against her, and which she would much rather not have to face alone. She quelled the cowardly impulse and gave her betrothed another encouraging smile. She was being missish and maudlin to imagine that the earl would actually do her bodily harm. He would not dare, would he? And anything else would be bearable; unpleasant and possibly offensive, but bearable.

She sank down in a leather chair facing that implacable desk and listened to the door closing behind Peregrine, who had departed without so much as a whisper.

Unwilling to admit her weakness, Athena clasped her hands firmly in her lap and flung herself into the fray. "I understand, my lord, that you have some misgivings about your son's betrothal to me."

The crack of laughter that greeted this remark held no hint of amusement, and Athena shuddered at the cynicism in it.

"You have a talent for understatement, madam," the earl said shortly, "but you are correct. There is no way I will countenance a marriage between my son—a mere boy of nineteen, as I am sure you are aware—and an unconnected widow of..." He paused and glared at her down the length of his aristocratic nose. "Precisely what is your age, madam?"

Athena felt the contempt in the earl's voice like a whiplash across her face. She had to exercise the utmost self-control not to respond with one of her most withering set-downs to this piece of rudeness. She met his flinty gaze calmly for several moments before trusting herself to speak.

"I fail to see what my age has to do with anything, my lord."

"It has a great deal to do with it, as you very well know. And do not try to bamboozle me, madam, for I warn you, I am in no mood for feminine tricks."

Athena forced herself to smile. "In that case you will be happy to know that I am not in the habit of indulging in such subterfuges, my lord. I am eight-and-twenty," she added smoothly, her eyes still fixed defiantly on his harsh face.

"Eight-and-twenty?" he repeated, and Athena caught a note of surprise in his voice.

So, she mused with an odd flash of pleasure that the earl had thought her younger that she was, his lordship was not infallible. He had misjudged her. Briefly, Athena regretted not shaving three or four years off her age, but that was precisely the tack he would expect her to take, she thought, and an outright lie—besides being distasteful to her—would only confirm the unfavorable opinion he already had of her.

An uncomfortable silence pervaded the room, and Athena dropped her eyes to her clasped hands, forcing herself to relax. She could feel the earl's eyes upon her, and knew that he was assessing her, perhaps to discover why his son had fallen within her coils. She was quite sure that St. Aubyn thought of her modest attractions as quagmires into which Peregrine had been lured by a scheming fortune hunter.

"I presume that my son is aware of this fact?"

Athena raised her eyes and smiled faintly. "Oh, yes, indeed, my lord," she replied in her softly modulated voice. She knew that her voice was one of her attractive features—too many gentlemen had remarked upon it for her to believe otherwise— and she wondered whether she could use it to pacify the hostility of the man before her.

"And you thought nothing of enticing an innocent boy of nineteen to make a cake of himself over you, I suppose?"

His tone was harsh, and the words intended to wound. Athena's smile faltered. No, she thought, it would take more than a pleasant tone to deflect the earl's hostility. It would be difficult enough to be minimally civil.

"It was never a case of enticing, my lord. I can assure you that—"

"You will never convince me that a female of your looks and experience had the least trouble bedazzling an impressionable boy into believing himself infatuated."

Athena swallowed the angry retort that rose to her lips. "You overestimate my powers of persuasion, my lord. And my experience, too, I might add. I was married at eighteen and widowed only recently, so I cannot imagine what experience you refer to." She deliberately refrained from acknowledging the earl's casual reference to her looks, although she could not help wondering which of her feminine attributes he considered noteworthy enough to bedazzle a gentleman.

She heard the crack of derisive laughter again and flinched.

"Do not play the innocent with me, madam," the earl drawled, his gaze raking her face with studied insolence. "Do you really expect me to believe that you have received no offers of a more—shall we say—mundane nature during your stay in London? I cannot believe that a penniless widow with a pretty face did not attract the notice of a few of our notorious rakes."

Athena pushed herself out of the chair and stood, her knees trembling, staring at the earl across the wide expanse of the desk. She could not believe what she was hearing. Had this man actually suggested that she was better suited to be some gentleman's light-skirt than Peregrine's wife? It did nothing to mitigate her anger to remember that she had indeed received offers of
carte blanche
from at least two erstwhile protectors.

Lord St. Aubyn smiled wolfishly. "Can you deny it, madam?" he said softly.

Athena kept her voice under control. "No, I do not deny that I have received indecent offers from men who are all too eager to take advantage of an unprotected female. But you are off the mark, my lord, if you believe that I would ever consider such an arrangement. I may be impoverished, but I am not lost to all sense of decency."

"How very touching," he drawled, his dark eyes full of insolence again. "So I take it that you prefer to beguile an innocent boy into taking a step that he will rue for the rest of his life?"

The echo of this ugly accusation hung in the room and reverberated throughout every nerve in Athena's body. She felt herself tremble with the impact of it, for it had struck home. Had she not asked herself the same question more times than she cared to remember? In truth, had she not asked Peregrine himself the very same thing?

Athena closed her eyes briefly, willing this odious man and his impertinent, disturbing interrogation to go away and leave her to enjoy the summer morning exploring the garden she had glimpsed from her bedroom window. She longed for Peregrine's comforting presence. When she was with him, the sunshine of his smile and his perennial good humor kept all these doubts at bay. Lord St. Aubyn's probing questions only magnified her secret reservations about her betrothal to his son.