Notorious Deception

“Let us begin with the truth, shall we? To start with, I know you were never married to my cousin or anyone else for that matter,” Derek stated.

“What?”

“You were a virgin, Diana,” he said evenly. “Married women are not virgins.”

Diana's mind raced. How could she possibly explain her relationship with her husband? “Giles never wanted me,” she said finally. “On our wedding night he became quite drunk and took great delight in telling me he had married me only for my fortune and had no intention of being intimate with me. I slept alone that night.”

“That was only one night. You claim to have been married for four years. There were other opportunities.”

Diana's voice trembled. “Giles was most adamant in his rejection of me. During those few years that never changed.”

“Tell me the truth, Diana,” Derek beseeched softly. “Who put you up to this ridiculous charade?”

“No one,” she whispered brokenly. She studied his grim face. “You don't believe me. I have told you the truth, yet you refuse to believe me.”

Derek walked away from the bed, then opened the door, slamming it hard behind him.

Books by Adrienne Basso

 

HIS WICKED EMBRACE

 

HIS NOBLE PROMISE

 

TO WED A VISCOUNT

 

TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS

 

TO TEMPT A ROGUE

 

THE WEDDING DECEPTION

 

THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS

 

HIGHLAND VAMPIRE

 

HOW TO ENJOY A SCANDAL

 

NATURE OF THE BEAST

 

THE CHRISTMAS COUNTESS

 

HOW TO SEDUCE A SINNER

 

A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

 

‘TIS THE SEASON TO BE SINFUL

 

INTIMATE BETRAYAL

 

NOTORIOUS DECEPTION

 

 

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

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Table of Contents

 

The steady, rhythmic pounding of the rain atop the roof of the hired cab lulled its occupant into a false sense of security. Diana felt her eyes closing, her lids heavy, as the exhaustion she had been fighting for days finally threatened to overtake her. Her entire body was weary and sore from lack of sleep and the endless jostling of the poorly sprung vehicles she had ridden in for the past two weeks.

Diana drifted sleepily on a cloud of exhaustion until the abrupt stopping of the carriage woke her. Instinctively she thrust her arms out to keep from falling onto the floor of the hackney carriage as she was propelled forward.

“We're here, missy,” the driver called down to her. He had to shout to be heard above the downpour.

Diana, now fully awake, scrambled upright and squinted out of the grimy window in an effort to gain a better view of her destination. It was impossible to see very much of the building through the rain and the dirt on the glass. Sighing wearily, Diana gathered up her battered satchel and, clutching her black reticule in her hand, descended from the cab unassisted.

The driver sat hunched over on the top of the carriage, water pouring off his wide-brimmed hat. He announced the fare, which Diana, though she had no experience of city ways, knew was exorbitant. But she did not bother to quibble with the driver. She was only relieved she had enough coin in her purse to pay the man, and once she did, he disappeared quickly down the soggy street.

For a moment, Diana stood in the rain craning her neck skyward, taking in every detail of the impressive town house—from the carved stone front to the elegantly curved bay windows, balconies, and trellis work. Diana felt a moment of panic, wondering if she indeed was at the correct address, but she pushed that disturbing thought quickly toward the back of her mind. She had journeyed for too long and from too great a distance to be deterred any longer.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the wide stone steps and stood before the arched front doors. As she reached up to grab the large, shiny knocker, she saw a coat of arms discretely etched in the brass work. Her spirits soared as she recognized the family crest of the Earl of Harrowby.

“I've done it,” she muttered under her breath in relief. “I've actually done it.”

With renewed confidence, she lifted the heavy brass door fixture and banged loudly. Her knock was answered quickly by a footman, elegantly garbed in silver-and-blue livery. A sudden gust of wind drowned out Diana's voice as she spoke to the servant. Feeling utterly ridiculous standing outside in the pouring rain while shouting at the man, Diana entered the house uninvited.

The young footman gaped at her in astonishment and called for someone named Dobbs, who appeared instantly. Diana assumed that Dobbs was the butler.

“The servant's entrance is in the rear, miss,” the man named Dobbs announced with a sniff, his long, pointed nose perched stiffly aloft. “Kindly remove yourself at once.”

Diana swallowed back the scathing retort that sprang to her lips and deliberately dropped her soggy, rumpled satchel on the floor. Drawing her wet, travel-stained cloak regally around herself, she met the butler's eyes squarely. In her opinion, the only people more snobbish than the English aristocracy were their servants, and she refused to let the butler's superior manner intimidate her. She knew that she looked a sight, but it was hardly her fault she was wet and dripping water all over the finely polished marble floor. After all, it was raining heavily outside.

She raised her chin haughtily and spoke firmly. “I am the Dowager Countess of Harrowby. Please inform the present earl that I wish to speak to him at once.”

Her announcement was met with a stunned silence. The butler opened his mouth several times, but seemed suddenly incapable of speech. The footman stared at Diana as if she had lost her wits. Diana was beginning to grow uncomfortable under their astonished scrutiny, when the butler finally regained his voice.

“One moment, milady,” he sneered, and with an expression that could only be classified as malicious, the butler left the hallway.

The footman assisted Diana out of her cloak routinely, his astonished expression remaining as she tentatively smoothed out the wrinkles from her black crepe mourning gown. Diana willed herself to ignore the servant's rude stare when he picked up her satchel and placed it in the corner of the entrance hall, hidden from view. Nervously licking her lips, Diana waited for the disapproving butler to return.

 

“A toast to your health, milord,” Lord Tristan Ashton called out jokingly as he raised his glass of French brandy high above his head.

“Stop it, Tristan,” his companion admonished. “I swear, if I have to put up with any additional ribbing about this bloody title, I shall renounce it.”

Tristan laughed at his friend's discomfort. “The boys still giving you a hard time, Derek?”

Derek merely snorted his response and picked up the half-empty brandy decanter. He refilled both his glass and Tristan's before answering.

“I'm surprised you haven't already heard. Pierrepoint, Coventry and Grantham fell all over each other at White's last evening, bowing and scraping. They put on quite a show.”

Tristan smiled, despite his attempt not to. “They were only jesting Derek. They're probably a bit jealous. It will be a long time before Grantham comes into his title. After all, it isn't every day that a scoundrel such as you is raised to the rank of earl.”

“It is still hard for me to believe I have been an earl for three months, Tris,” Derek said. “While it is scarcely a secret I was not fond of my cousin, I never seriously contemplated inheriting his title. And as unscrupulous as Giles was, I never thought he would come to his end in such a brutal manner. Being left to die in a London alley with his throat slit is hardly a fitting end to anyone's life.”

“Just be glad you managed to keep all the sordid details out of the newspapers.” Tristan grimaced. He had also held a low opinion of the former earl, but he had been suitably shocked at Giles's sudden and bloody demise. “It has been several months since the body was discovered. Is there any further information about Giles's death?”

“Not from the authorities,” Derek replied. “Although I can hardly be surprised. They are an incompetent lot at best. I have hired a Bow Street runner to conduct an investigation.”

Tristan nodded his head in approval. “He should have much better luck.”

A thoughtful silence fell over the room as each man sat lost in his own thoughts. A sharp knock at the drawing room doors broke the companionable silence.

“Come,” Derek barked loudly.

The butler, Dobbs, entered the room. “You have a visitor, your lordship,” he said, wilting slightly under Derek's cold, hard stare. “May I show the lady in?”

“Lady?” Derek asked. “I was not expecting any visitors this afternoon.”

“If you wish me to send her away, I shall,” the butler replied smoothly, his eyes darting swiftly about the room. “I am sure the dowager countess can visit with you at a more convenient time.”

At the butler's comment, Derek's expression changed to one of exasperation. “Henriette,” he groaned. “She is not due to arrive until later this evening. Show her in at once Dobbs.” With a casual wave of his hand, Derek dismissed the servant.

“Henriette is here?” Tristan inquired, rising to his feet. “Perhaps it is best if I take my leave.”

“Don't even think about it Tristan,” Derek warned, turning toward him. “‘Tis punishment enough that I will have Henriette in residence here for several days. I have no intention of facing the grieving widow without reinforcements by my side.”

“You're damned lucky I'm such a good friend,” Tristan grumbled as he resumed his seat. “There aren't many who would stand by you at a time like this.”

Tristan's quip helped to ease the tension in the room. Though meant as a joke, his comment was not far off the mark. Both men had little tolerance for Giles's widow, the overbearing and dramatic Henriette.

Dobbs opened the door without knocking, announcing with a sneer, “The Dowager Countess of Harrowby.”

Diana heard a gasp of astonishment as she entered the room and hesitated near the doorway, her eyes moving nervously from one man to the other. She had expected the earl to be alone and was caught off guard by the appearance of a second person. She felt extremely self-conscious as the men continued to stare rather rudely at her. She was also at a decided disadvantage since she did not know which one of the gentleman was the earl. Her hands clutched the sides of her black gown and she unconsciously balled the material up in her fists, crushing it. Finally, one of the men spoke to her.

“I am sorry, but I did not catch your name,” he said in a smooth voice.

“Diana, sir. I am Diana Rutledge, Dowager Countess of Harrowby,” she stated in a clear voice, pleased that it sounded steady to her own ears. She expectantly held out her hand to the gentlemen who had addressed her.

He moved forward quickly and clasped it in greeting. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, madam,” he said. “I am Tristan Ashton. And this is Derek Rutledge, current Earl of Harrowby. But of course, you must already know that.”

“Well, actually, no, I didn't know that. I am not acquainted with the current earl.” Diana looked in confusion at Tristan and then at the earl. Tristan was smiling pleasantly at her; the earl was glowering. “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, my lord.” Diana dipped a small, graceful curtsy toward the silent man.

The earl regarded her with a cool glance, his handsome sculptured features set in a firm line. Then he faced the other man, his lips curling up in the mere hint of a smile.

“Is this some sort of game, Tris?” he inquired dryly.

“If it is, I can assure you it is not my doing, Derek,” Tristan insisted.

The earl advanced and Diana stood utterly still, holding her body rigid. He circled her slowly, assessing every nuance of her soggy, travel-stained appearance. By sheer strength of will Diana subdued the tremor of panic invading her body as she met the predatory speculation in the earl's intense blue eyes.

“Will you kindly explain, madam,” he finally said, unable to keep his fury from his voice, “exactly how you happen to have acquired the title Dowager Countess of Harrowby?”

Diana wrinkled her brow in confusion. She had thought very little about the kind of reception she would receive when she first encountered the new earl. She had been too busy concentrating all her efforts upon reaching London safely. His open display of hostility toward her was both unwarranted and unwelcome.

“I was married to the former earl,” she said, in response to his question. “Giles Rutledge.”

Her announcement brought a darker scowl from the earl and a hoot of laughter from Tristan. The earl turned away from Diana and walked toward the fire. Despite Diana's puzzlement at his rude and hostile behavior, she could not help but admire his ruggedly handsome features and his lean frame, which was displayed by his perfectly tailored clothes.

“Pierrepoint,” Tristan announced with authority in his voice. “Or perhaps Coventry. But I would put my money on Pierrepoint.”

“Another prank?” Derek inquired, his tone conveying his annoyance as he picked up his brandy glass and took a long swallow.

“What else,” the other man replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose we might as well see it through. Come over by the fire and sit down, madam. You must be chilled to the bone. And please do tell us your tale.”

“For heaven's sake, Tris,” Derek said, “don't encourage her.”

Ignoring Derek, Tristan escorted Diana to a chair near the fire. He strode over to the sideboard and poured her a glass of sherry. Returning to her side, he handed her the glass and waited while she took a tentative sip.

Lifting her eyes, Diana studied the two exceedingly handsome men staring down at her while she slowly sipped the wine. Both men were tall and well proportioned, with fit athletic builds. Tristan was slightly taller than Derek, but Derek was broader of shoulder. Their coloring was similar, but Tristan's hair was a darker shade of brown and his eyes a deep, warm sapphire blue. The earl had blond strands in his close-cropped hair, which was in disarray because of its natural curl, and his eyes were icy blue. Even though it was early April, both men sported golden tans, attesting to their preference for the outdoors.

Tristan had a boyish smile and an easy charm. Diana could not be certain about the earl's smile. He had not ceased scowling since she entered the room. As Diana continued her covert study of the two men, they, in turn, took in every aspect of her appearance, from her moist walking boots to her hair, which was simply braided down her back and fastened with a black velvet ribbon.

“You were going to tell us about yourself,” Tristan said after he had given Diana sufficient time to compose herself.

“I am not sure exactly what you want to know,” Diana replied hesitantly. She twirled the sherry glass nervously in her hands, absently noting that Tristan wore a wedding band. A quick glance at the earl's strong hands verified he did not.

“Surely you have more to say than that,” Derek said flatly, looking pointedly down his nose at her with very cold, arresting eyes. “Were you not sufficiently coached?”

Diana blinked at his obscure remark. She could feel his animosity. Yet his arrogant stare gave her just the courage she needed and she indignantly straightened her back. Diana did not have a clue as to why they were treating her in such a strange manner, but she decided it was time to assert herself.