So Enchanting (16 page)
“I fear we are both doomed to disappointment,” Grey said softly.
“You can’t be disappointed in not receiving what you don’t expect.”
Their gazes tangled and held tight to each other, bright blue-green and inky black.
Blast and bloody hell
, Hayden thought. He’d had enough. If Grey and Mrs. Walcott wanted to waste precious hours embroiled in some ridiculous and overly intricate verbal fencing match, they could bloody well do so without an audience.
, Hayden thought. He’d had enough. If Grey and Mrs. Walcott wanted to waste precious hours embroiled in some ridiculous and overly intricate verbal fencing match, they could bloody well do so without an audience.
He stood up.
“Miss Chase, I imagine the view from the terrace is most wonderful. And I see you have a telescope out there. Might I impose upon you to show it to me?”
“I’d be delighted!” Amelie said, jumping up and taking the arm he offered. She did not look to Mrs. Walcott for permission.
Hayden did not waste time wondering whether he was being circumspect.
They fled.
Chapter Sixteen
“I had best say good night. I still have quite a bit of unpacking to do,” McGowan explained a little too heartily, his gaze on the couple standing together on the terrace outside the drawing room.
In disgust, Grey noted the poor fool’s bewildered expression. Here in this backwater, the banker apparently had thought his suit all but guaranteed, and so had neglected to court the girl. And now her interest had turned elsewhere.
“Must you, Bernard?” Fanny asked.
Bernard?
“I’d hoped to show you an anomaly amongst the stars that I’ve spotted through the telescope,” she said. “It’s out on the terrace. If you’d join me?”
What was she up to? She was practically purring at McGowan, who was going as red in the face as if she’d propositioned him.
Bloody ass.
She just wanted to show him a star . . . Didn’t she?
Bloody ass.
She just wanted to show him a star . . . Didn’t she?
Or maybe she saw an opportunity to inveigle McGowan for herself now that Amelie’s fancy had turned, at least temporarily, elsewhere. Though even with a fortune attached to her, why McGowan would prefer a girl to a woman was a mystery. But no greater mystery than how a woman like Fanny could even consider McGowan a potential . . . anything. She could cow him by asking him to pass the butter. He was simply not her match.
“Thank you, Fanny. But I am not feeling quite the thing. Perhaps tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? Did the bloody man intend to live in the woman’s pocket?
“Of course, Bernard.” Her smile was filled with all the tenderness that had been so notably lacking when Hayden had recounted Grey’s family’s history—which reminded him to have a conversation with the lad about keeping the family skeletons firmly interred. Of course, had she turned those dark, luminous gems on him with any vestige of pity he would have been furious.
No. You’d have been shattered by mortification.
Had she known about his father? Had she suspected? Was her seeming indifference an act of charity? Of . . . compassion? He shook off the odd notion. It was hardly the point.
“Well, if you must, you must,” she was saying. “I’ll just go fetch Lord Hayden and the
three
of you”—she paused for emphasis—“can be off.”
three
of you”—she paused for emphasis—“can be off.”
She started toward the terrace doors, but McGowan stopped her. “Oh, no! Don’t spoil the evening on my account. I will send the carriage back for your guests.”
“No, no. No need for that,” she clipped out.
“Please,” McGowan said, all earnestness. “I would never forgive myself for depriving Miss Amelie of company. She so seldom gets the opportunity to socialize with young people.”
Fanny gave a start, though McGowan didn’t seem to realize he’d implied she was not “young people.” The man really was an imbecile. Fanny couldn’t be thirty yet.
“Your generosity is heartwarming.” Fanny’s tone had notably cooled. “We’ll see you tomorrow, I hope?”
McGowan’s gaze drifted once more toward the terrace. “If I’m feeling better,” he said.
“Certainly you will be well enough to—”
“For the love of God, let the poor chap go home,” Grey broke in.
Like those of an infuriated cat, Fanny’s eyes narrowed into slits, but she refused to look at him. Well, she couldn’t avoid making eye contact all evening. Was she going to stare at the wall once McGowan shoved off?
“Of course,” she said. “Good evening, Bernard.”
McGowan did not need any further encouragement. He shot one more yearning glance at the terrace, tendered a tremulously brave smile at Fanny, nodded at Grey, and strode manfully from the room. Or as manfully as a fellow who wore his heart on his sleeve could manage. Which, to Grey’s mind, wasn’t much. Not manfully at all, actually. Fanny
couldn’t
be interested in him.
couldn’t
be interested in him.
Fanny watched him go.
“He seems a nice enough fellow,” Grey commented. Finally they were free to return to their conversation. “Bit of a ponce, though. Were I to encounter a rival for my lady’s affection, I would hardly stand aside and let it happen.”
“Oh?” Fanny’s tone was remarkably mild. She was still looking at the door through which McGowan had left, waiting for something. “You are not sympathetic to his situation?”
“Not in the least. But should you be, you could always present him with some sort of love charm,” he said slyly. “If you only knew a witch who could make one.”
She didn’t reply.
“Mrs. Walcott?”
Nothing.
“Fanny?”
The sound of the front door closing behind McGowan broke the spell holding her in place. She swung on him, her skirts belling out and a long tress of black hair flying free of its tidy constriction.
“Oh, for the love of God, Sheffield,” she declared. “
Do
cease with the heavy-handed innuendo. You don’t honestly think you are being subtle with all those gibes and taunts, do you? I have rarely met a less subtle man. Honestly.” She
tsk
ed lightly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Do
cease with the heavy-handed innuendo. You don’t honestly think you are being subtle with all those gibes and taunts, do you? I have rarely met a less subtle man. Honestly.” She
tsk
ed lightly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Grey gaped at her, for the first time in his adult memory completely at a loss for words. He scrambled for a comeback. “So, you admit you are Francesca Brown?”
“Yes, yes, of course I am,” she said impatiently.
“But—” He was still scrambling. “If you knew I’d recognized you, why did you not say something earlier?”
“Because,” she said, gesturing toward the terrace. “Amelie doesn’t know. No one does.”
“You must think ours is a terribly odd household.” Amelie shook her head, and the light spilling out of the open terrace doors caught on her fiery locks.
“No,” Hayden whispered, transfixed by the beauty of her profile against the majestic lilac and indigo twilight.
She gave a little laugh, unconvinced. “I must strike you as being quite uncouth. Not at all smart and dashing, like the young ladies of London.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes.
“I think you are absolutely enchanting,” Hayden breathed. And he meant it.
The time they’d spent together yesterday afternoon had been the most enjoyable of his life. She was jolly and sweet and altogether swell. She had no idea of how to flirt, and so everything she said was fresh and genuine. After all the posturing and studied manners of his London set, she was like a breath of fresh air, and he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the stale confines of society.
She frowned. “I am sure you would not be speaking so boldly to one of those London young ladies.”
“I wouldn’t,” he admitted, “but only because I would never want to say such things to them. I have never said such things to anyone before. Because I have never been enchanted before.”
He heard the quick intake of her breath. “Lord Hayden!”
“Tell me you feel the same!”
And now a trill of laughter. “Enchanted? So, I am a witch after all.”
He caught her hand in his, even though they stood within easy view of the open French doors. “You’re quite right to laugh. I said ‘enchanted’ only because I am afraid of what your response would be if I were to name my true feelings.”
“Are they so frightening, then?” she asked shyly.
“They are to me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because once spoken, I entrust them to you and am at your mercy.”
“And you think I am cruel and would abuse them? Then perhaps you’d best remain silent. Or not.” She was playing the coquette, he realized in astonishment. But when she did it, she did it adorably. He wanted to seize her hand and kiss each finger from its tip to its base and then her palm and wrist and on and on . . .
“I have no choice,” he declared. “I must speak!”
“You admit that you inveigled yourself into an ailing gentleman’s household as a companion to his child under false pretenses?” Disappointment made Grey’s voice gruff.
“No,” Fanny denied flatly. “Colonel Chase knew my history. It is only Amelie who remains oblivious.” She leveled him with a haughty look. “Did I say ‘only Amelie’? How remiss of me.”
He would
not
let her assume the role of the injured party. “That’s an easy enough claim to make,” he said. “Colonel Chase can hardly vouch for you, can he? Lest you intend to call up his spirit to do so. That ought to prove interesting. Perhaps you can call up a few angels to flutter about the room, too. That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”
not
let her assume the role of the injured party. “That’s an easy enough claim to make,” he said. “Colonel Chase can hardly vouch for you, can he? Lest you intend to call up his spirit to do so. That ought to prove interesting. Perhaps you can call up a few angels to flutter about the room, too. That was your specialty, wasn’t it?”
Finally, he’d managed to bring a flush of color to her cheeks. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to have been. This was what he’d wanted, he reminded himself, to catch her in her pretense and then, while she was off balance, push until she revealed her plan. Whatever that might be.
He knew she was hiding something. His instincts in this had never failed him. Whether her plan was motivated by greed or other reasons, he did not care. He cared only that she hid something from him, that some deceit was going on, and it was his avocation to uncover that which was hidden, expose lies, and reveal deceits.
“Will you tell Amelie?” she asked. The dark eyes meeting his were stricken but unwavering.
“Is there any reason I ought not to?”
When she finally spoke it was in a voice so low he had to strain to hear it. “I would not want her to think less of me.”
The admission was so poignant, the explanation so simple, he almost believed her.
“And,” she went on, “there is no reason to tell her. My past has nothing to do with my life now. Or with that letter. Or you. Or Lord Hayden. Or Lord Collier.” She lifted her head, meeting his gaze directly. “Please.”
Reason demanded he ignore her plea. He’d heard scores of the convicted ask for mercy in just such a tone. Few, if any, deserved it.
“You are claiming that after making a fortune as a sham spiritualist in London you assumed a new name, a new identity, and have hidden yourself away up here for the last six years as companion to a purported witch and kept your identity secret from everyone, with no other reason than that you wish to remain in your charge’s good graces?”
“Yes!” she declared hotly. “What do you
think
I’m doing up here?”
think
I’m doing up here?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps grooming Miss Chase to take your place in London’s spiritualist salons?”
Fanny snickered. “Amelie has no psychic abilities, nor does she pretend to have them—except when goaded by the local population into putting on a show. And even if I wanted to train her as my protégée, why ever would she agree to such a thing? Money?” Her laugh was scornful. “She will be wealthy in her own right soon enough.”
True. But it wasn’t the only possibility. “Then perhaps you have in place a scheme to secure some of her wealth for your own?”
“And why would I do that? You certainly must know the terms of Colonel Chase’s will. You seem to know everything else,” she said sarcastically. “I shall be handsomely rewarded for my service here.”
“Handsomely,” he sneered. “Your husband stole twice the sum you’ve been promised from the men and women he duped in the course of four years. Such a ‘reward’ would seem paltry in comparison.”
“I see. I am insatiably avaricious. Fine. And what is this scheme you think I have to extract more money from my situation?”
“I’m not sure. But it would rely on Miss Chase’s remaining ignorant of your past.”
Her skin paled. He disliked himself intensely at that moment, but then he reminded himself of all the people Brown had victimized. He did not want Amelie to be another. Still, he had to give her a chance to explain herself, even though he knew she would just spin some credible tale. It was what a confidence artist did best. But he had always been just that much better at discrediting them.
“If you are virtuous, why the assumed name? Why pretend we had never met? Why accept a position so far from that which you’d previously known?”
She cast around the room. For a moment he thought she might refuse to answer. But then she swung toward him.
“Can’t you understand? Don’t you see?” The words came from deep within, vibrant and intense. Outside dogs began to bay.
“I didn’t want to be
her
. If I’d stayed in London, if I’d kept my name, there would be no escape from people like you! With your suspicions. Your prejudices. Your grievances.”
her
. If I’d stayed in London, if I’d kept my name, there would be no escape from people like you! With your suspicions. Your prejudices. Your grievances.”
He started to speak, but she shut him down with a burning glance. How could anyone think this woman cold? She breathed fire.
“Do not mistake me. You are entitled to your acrimony. But that doesn’t mean I have to bear it willingly.” Her voice broke, and he’d taken an involuntary step toward her before stopping himself.
“I saw the chance to rid myself of my past and I took it,” she said. “If that makes me a coward, then that is what I am.”
She waited, breathing heavily but silently, only the rapid movement of lace above her décolletage testifying to her agitation. He wanted to believe her. Like his father had wanted to believe a dozen like her. But he wasn’t like his sire: an easy dupe, a prime mark, always getting his heart broken, always willing—no, always
eager
—to have it broken again until there’d been nothing left to break. He would not blindly accept the assurances of his heart.
eager
—to have it broken again until there’d been nothing left to break. He would not blindly accept the assurances of his heart.
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