Double Deception (5 page)

She opened her eyes and looked at him, wondering whether it would do any good to plead with the earl not to stand in the way of his son's happiness. And of her daughter's future, she reminded herself with her usual honesty.

The look she saw in his cold gaze froze the words on her lips.

"You must think me a veritable harpy, my lord," she murmured instead. "Surely you cannot believe that I would deliberately do anything to hurt Peregrine. He is as dear to me as my own daughter."

The earl snorted derisively. "If that is true—which you will give me leave to doubt—you will pack your trunks and leave St. Aubyn Castle this afternoon. My carriage is at your disposal, madam."

Oh, I am sure it is, Athena thought dispiritedly, watching the angry grimace of disgust mar the handsome lines of the earl's face. She had expected some resistance from Peregrine's family, but what Lord St. Aubyn proposed amounted to open rejection.

The realization that she was not acceptable to her betrothed's father reminded Athena painfully of her betrothal to Major John Standish ten years ago. John's father, the earl, had turned an alarming shade of purple when they had appeared before him to seek his sanction for the match. Athena's father, Sir Henry Rothingham, had been more than pleased with his only daughter's proposed alliance with a prominent family like the Stan-dishes, but John's father had refused to countenance the union. John had argued and pleaded to no avail, and in the end had defied the head of the family and married her anyway. Retribution had been swift and drastic. The earl had cut off John's allowance from the estate and banished them both from Standish lands.

And now the whole ugly situation was repeating itself. Was she doomed to bring strife to all those dear to her? Athena wondered.

"And naturally, you will persuade Peregrine not to accompany you back to London," she heard the earl add.

The thought struck her that Peregrine must have put up a stronger fight for her than she had given him credit for. The earl's words suggested that her easy-going Perry might be prepared to sacrifice his home, his beloved father, and perhaps even his allowance for her sake. The notion of such loyalty, I misguided though it was, touched her deeply.

"You are asking me to give up a lot, my lord," she murmured, silently vowing that she would never permit her darling Perry to make the disastrous sacrifice John had made for her so long f ago. She had not the heart to subject a boy to the misery of being cut off from his loved ones. Not that John had uttered a single word of complaint, of course, but Athena had discovered over the years just how much it had cost her husband to wed her.

Lord St. Aubyn's smile sent shivers down Athena's spine. "I I am prepared to make it well worth your while, madam," he drawled, dark eyes fixed upon her mercilessly.

"Worth my while?" Athena repeated, puzzled at the veiled flash of triumph she glimpsed in the wolfish gaze. "Whatever can you mean, my lord?"

"Do not play the innocent with me, madam," he snapped, lips curled in a cynical sneer. "I am prepared to offer you three thousand pounds to release my son from any imagined obligation he may fancy, in his innocence, he owes you, Mrs. Stan-dish."

Athena gasped and felt a momentary dizziness. She put out a hand to steady herself against the gleaming surface of the desk that stood between them, like some giant bulwark quite impossible to breach. Recovering her breath, she snatched her hand away and clasped it with the other tightly, returning the glittering stare that threatened to undo her.

She drew a deep breath. "Provided I remove to London at my earliest convenience, I take it, my lord?" she said, bitterness at the ease with which this man had dashed all her hopes causing her voice to tremble.

The earl smiled thinly.

"Exactly, madam."

***

"I believe your wits have gone begging, Sylvester!" Lady Sarah exclaimed two afternoons later when the earl sought her out in her sitting room upstairs and laid his plan before her. He had given a good deal of thought to the idea since his interview with the widow, and was more than a little put out at his aunt's energetic response.

He stood at the window and from that vantage point could see the elaborate gardens laid out by his grandmother and added to by his mother, a lady noted for her interest in foreign specimens. The roses were in their full glory, he noted absent-mindedly. His grandmother, who had designed the extensive rose beds on either side of the brick path that led down from the terrace, through the garden to the artificial pool, would have been pleased with the results of her labors. The exotic Brazilian water lilies—Lady St. Aubyn's pride and joy—spread their erotic pink faces up to the warm sunshine while, even at this distance, Sylvester caught orange glimpses of the fat, lazy goldfish his grandfather had gone to considerable pains to import from China for her.

The only flaw to this idyllic scene—at least to his jaundiced eye—was the lady seated on one of the stone benches placed conveniently beside the pool. She wore the lightest of muslin gowns in a shade of pink that competed with the water lilies, and her face was half-hidden by a wide-brimmed straw hat, embellished with a pink rose. An open book lay neglected on her lap, her attention seemingly focused on the antics of the goldfish nibbling at the fingers she trailed in the water to tease them.

Had the earl been ignorant of the identity of the lady beside the pool, he might well have been charmed by the picture she presented in the natural setting. The sun glinted off the coppery curls that tumbled informally about her shoulders, and the long, slender limbs were clearly outlined in unconscious grace beneath the translucent muslin. As it was, all he felt was a vague uneasiness at the undeniable beauty of the female his son had vowed to make his wife.

"I thought the notion of setting another female to snatch the prize away rather clever myself, Aunt," he remarked, his gaze lingering on the romantic scene in the garden.

Lady Sarah snorted as she always did when provoked. "Mrs. Standish refused to take the bribe, did you say? Are you sure of that, Sylvester? Three thousand pounds must be a small fortune to her. I wonder why she did not rise to the bait."

"The witch had the audacity to tell me I was an odious villain," he replied, a hint of reluctant amusement in his voice.

"Well, and so you can be, Sylvester," his aunt replied without hesitation. "I do not doubt you appeared so to Mrs. Standish when you dared to offer her that much money to cast poor Perry off."

"I had certainly thought to tempt her with that sum, but I might be willing to raise the stakes to five thousand, if I could be sure she would take it."

"And you are not?" 

Reluctantly, the earl tore his eyes away from the window. "No, I am not at all sure, Aunt. I imagine she is set upon becoming a viscountess. After all, Perry is worth far more that three thousand pounds. And although I have warned him that I will not increase his allowance, he is in a mood to be difficult. I fear he might marry the wench and the devil take the consequences."

Lady Sarah laughed shortly. "I remember a similar argument between you and your father when you set eyes on our lovely Adrienne," she said. "As I recall, you were very young yourself at the time, yet you swore to anyone who would listen that it was a true love match."

"And so it was," Sylvester retorted. "And I beg you will not bring my wife into this discussion, Aunt. I did not lose my head over a widow with a seven-year-old daughter." He paused, the memory of Adrienne still painfully vivid. "Tell me, Aunt," he continued, changing the subject abruptly, "do you believe Perry is truly in love with his widow?"

Lady Sarah raised her gaze from her needlework and stared at him before answering. "I think he is well and truly infatuated, if that is what you mean," she said.

The earl shook his head emphatically. "Well, the notion of such a connection is ridiculous. I have no wish to cause my son pain, but I will not allow it. By God, Aunt, she is eight-and-twenty."

"Really?" Lady Sarah glanced up again from her lap. "She is such a little slip of a thing. I had not given her more than four-or five-and-twenty. Are you sure of this?"

"She told me so herself," he answered. "I had rather expected her to lie to me, you know."

"I certainly would have done so," his aunt remarked brusquely. "Actually, she is quite beautiful, you know. All that glorious copper hair and those odd-colored eyes. I quite understand why our dear Perry has lost his heart to the creature."

The earl made a gesture of impatience. "Whose side are you on, Aunt?" he asked harshly.

Lady Sarah smiled at him, and Sylvester realized with a start that, although his aunt was well into her seventies, her mind was as sharp as it had ever been. She could read him like a book, a knack he had found most uncomfortable as a boy. He still found it disconcerting to see the glimmer of understanding in her bright blue gaze.

"Testy this afternoon, are we? Peregrine's betrothal has—"

"He is
not
betrothed," Sylvester interrupted sharply. "I have forbidden it."

His aunt's smiled broadened, and she shook her head. "As I was saying, dear, this
contretemps
has rattled you more than I would have imagined. Let me remind you, Sylvester, that love is an extraordinarily tenacious force. The more it is denied, the fiercer it burns. I am surprised that you have forgotten that elementary truth."

"Are you suggesting that I should sanction this foolishness, madam?" he said coldly.

"Of course not, Sylvester," Lady Sarah replied impatiently. "Your wits really have gone begging if you believe that. After all, the notice has not yet been sent in to the
Gazette,
so no real harm has been done. But if you act the tyrant, as I can see from Perry's glowering face that you have, you will only push the poor boy into doing something rash."

"He has already committed the ultimate foolishness in bringing that female here under false pretenses."

"Your son has given his word, Sylvester, and you may be sure he will keep it. And once the betrothal becomes public, no doubt the Standish clan will rally behind the girl—do not glare at me like that, Sylvester—and it will be impossible to draw back without scandal. Our darling Perry is no small catch, believe me."

The earl stared at his aunt for a long moment, his expression thunderous. "Then you will go along with my plan?" he demanded finally.

"Yes," Lady Sarah said reluctantly. "But you should be warned, Sylvester, that admitting a widowed lady, however impoverished she may be, into this family is a deuced sight better than having a common actress thrust into our midst."

Sylvester stared at his aunt as though she had sprouted wings. "You cannot be suggesting that there is any real danger of that happening. Surely Perry—"

"Perry is young and impressionable," his aunt replied seriously. "Besides, he is far more innocent than you were at that age, Sylvester. He is barely on the verge of manhood, a dangerous and unpredictable time in his life."

"All the more reason for my plan to be successful," the earl pointed out. "A beautiful, younger female—and naturally I insist that she be ravishing—with no inconvenient notions of modesty, should be able to wean Perry away from his widow within a sennight or two. I cannot wait to see it."

He turned once more to the window, but his gaze searched in vain for the lady beside the pool. She had disappeared, as completely as though her presence had been an illusion. Sylvester felt a twist of disappointment, as unexpected as it was disturbing. The sunlit garden below had lost some of its brightness, as though a cloud had passed over the sky.

The earl brushed these mawkish thoughts aside and turned abruptly back to his aunt "Then you will write to London today?"

Lady Sarah did not look up from her embroidery. "The letter will go out in this afternoon's post, if that will satisfy you, my dear."

"You are a great gun, Aunt," he said feelingly, moving over to place a hand affectionately on Lady Sarah's frail shoulder. "I depend upon you to see me through this tedious business."

His aunt raised her eyes and said with her usual sharpness, 'Then let me give you another piece of advice, dear. I suggest you swallow that infernal reserve of yours and put yourself out to be pleasant to Mrs. Standish, Sylvester. If we are to distract Perry from his widow, it is only reasonable that we also strive to distract the widow. Would you not agree?"

Sylvester gazed thoughtfully into his aunt's astute blue eyes, then shrugged. "That sounds like an ingenious strategy, Aunt. But you know I am more at home with my books than in the drawing room amusing ladies."

Lady Sarah smiled enigmatically. "I also know that it is high time you came out of hiding, Sylvester. I shall expect to see you at the dinner table tonight."

"It will be my pleasure, Aunt," the earl replied lightly.

The water felt cool to Athena's fingers, a pleasant contrast to the heat of the afternoon sunshine. She wiggled one finger experimentally to entice a sly, fat fellow out from under the water-lily pad. The bright orange fish seemed undecided, then he moved forward lazily to join two others who nibbled gently at her submerged fingers. She sighed. How simple life might be if she were a fish, she thought. Secure in the small watery world of the pond, they knew nothing of the pain of poverty or rejection. Rank and fortune meant nothing to them. Their joys were probably simple, too: snapping up the insects that dared to pause briefly on the surface of the water; drowsing away the summer afternoons in the cool shade of lily pads; blowing lazy bubbles and nibbling at anything that caught their eye.

Athena's attention shifted as happy sounds rose from the energetic game of croquet that was taking place on the green expanse of lawn. She could not see the players from where she sat, but her daughter's shriek of pure joy was unmistakable. As was Perry's merry crack of laughter, so different from his father's cynical laugh. She knew that her aunt would be there, too, sitting beneath the shady oaks, waiting for the earl's footmen to bring out the tea-tray.