The Duke's Deceit (11 page)

“Mary, could I please have a word with you in the upstairs sitting room?”

Good manners dictated that she must nod and smile, even though her face ached from the forced normalcy and her insides quivered.

This was one of her favorite rooms in the vast mansion. With walls of pale yellow and tall windows that let in bright sun, the stuffed cozy sofa and chairs of chintz glowed in a buttercup light.

Buttercup light. That image brought back, with piercing clarity, Richard’s remarks in the stable on their last night together. Other visions flashed through her mind: Richard lying helpless while she held his hand, calling him back from darkness; the first time he’d kissed her in the bedchamber; the golden day at the pond; then full circle back to those forbidden and unforgettable moments in the stable. She hadn’t known she was lonely until she’d been clasped securely in his arms.

He’d unlocked her heart and mind to emotions and thoughts she’d never dreamed she was capable of feeling. Was the price of this pain eating away her insides worth those moments that must last her a lifetime?

How happy she was that just three days ago she’d sent for Uncle Ian. It had been for Lottie’s sake—she seemed so lonely here in London. Now, suddenly, she saw her uncle’s arrival as her own salvation. She’d make up some plausible reason why she must go—and leave this house before anything else could happen.

“I can see your talk with my son did not go well.”

The expression in the duchess’s chocolate eyes was so full of compassion and support that Mary ached to unburden herself, but she could not add another betrayal to the weight of her past mistakes.

“Your Grace, everything is not always as it appears.” Sitting down on an overstuffed slipper chair near the duchess, Mary offered the words as a sop to her need to be as truthful as she could be to this kind woman. “I know you must be aware there were … misunderstandings between Richard and me from the very beginning. I want you to know there were desperate reasons for them. I deeply regret any pain my foolishness has caused. I have always been determined to help Richard back to full health no matter what.”

The duchess reached out and tightly clasped her hand. “Of course you have. But you are right that things are not always as they seem. I wish you to remember this, and forgive as willingly as you place all the blame upon your own shoulders.”

Puzzled by her words, Mary blinked rapidly. The duchess squeezed her fingers once before releasing them to rise and move to a charming painting of three beautiful children. Richard was easy to spot. He towered above the other two: an earnest young boy and a delicate little girl.

“My son is a complex man with many layers that might take a lifetime to explore. But the journey, for the right woman, would be without equal.”

Her words concurred with Mary’s own feeling in the conservatory. That man who held her with such scalding heat was a different incarnation than the one whose hands and lips had whispered so sweetly over her body in Hexham. Yet in both there was a common thread, a forbidden appeal.

Hardly believing where her thoughts were leading her, Mary rose to confront the duchess. “Your Grace, your son’s true betrothed is Lady Arabella. Everyone but Richard knows and accepts that.” “Yes, that is true.” The duchess turned from the painting to look searchingly at her. “However, is it true that theirs is a love match?”

Mary couldn’t help but remember Arabella’s unhappy expression and her words at Madame Beaudin’s. Indeed, Arabella did not appear to love Richard, but by his actions when he’d thought her his fiancée, his feelings for his true betrothed were very much engaged.

The thought of Richard suffering more pain and disappointment caused her to be unable to blink back the tears any longer.

“Your Grace, what is it you expect me to do?” she asked carefully.

“I expect you, and Richard, to do exactly what you wish.” The calm voice was as firm as it was unhelpful. “In the meantime I wish to express my thoughts on this upcoming ball.”

Stiffening her spine, Mary prepared for the inevitable. Surely the duchess knew, as she did herself, and as her grandfather so vehemently reinforced, that she couldn’t be foisted upon the
ton
, any more than pigs could fly.

“I think it an excellent notion, regardless of Richard’s true motives. You must know, and believe in your heart, that you have a place here.”

The duchess’s warmth and confidence called to Mary, making her feel warm and secure.

“Your mother made the choice to live her life out of this sphere. You, too, have a choice, Mary. You must in good part experience both worlds before you choose. I am delighted to give you the chance to do so. In fact, I quite look forward to it,” she added, as her gentle fingers settled the forgotten lock of hair securely back into its comb.

She floated from the room, leaving Mary as confused as she’d been after the scene with Richard.

The door creaked slowly open and she turned in alarm. Lottie slipped through quietly. Tiny bits of earth clung to the front of her simple pale pink cotton gown. She’d been in the conservatory, Mary suddenly remembered, and there could be no doubt after one long look into her kind face. She had seen all.

“Mary, are you all right? I came after you straightaway, but didn’t wish to interrupt Her Grace.” She stretched out her arms invitingly.

Mary stepped toward her just as the door again opened.

“Sir Robert Lancaster to see Miss Masterton,” Wilkens boomed.

Another disaster on this day of disasters!

Sir Robert pushed into the room, having apparently followed Wilkens up. The butler gave him a disapproving glance but was too well trained to comment. Lottie stood her ground, but Robert spared her not a glance. He rushed toward Mary. Here, as in Hexham, the brush of his full lips upon her hand sent shivers quivering deep inside her.

“Mary, I came immediately upon hearing of your predicament. Imagine Richard Byron turning out to be the unassailable Duke of Avalon! And engaged to someone else! I’m here to help you in any way I can, my dear.”

Falling back a pace from the unpleasant aura which surrounded him, and which always repelled her, Mary lifted her chin.

“Yes, it has been very confusing. The long and short of it is Richard was grievously injured. I am staying here until he is completely recovered. Then we shall see.”

“How very awkward for you.” Swaying closer, he flicked her cheek with one finger. “This really isn’t the place for you, is it? Avalon’s sojourn in Hexham was obviously an aberration. He and his family must be eager to put it behind them and get on with their lives. A life that you have no real part in,” he said calmly, without a trace of expression.

Mary had borne up as best she could the past weeks, as her confined world crumbled about her feet. She was angry at herself and at Richard, but now at Sir Robert’s smug certainty that he knew what was best for her, her pride came to the fore.

The duchess’s words rang in a strengthening refrain through her head. Wisdom demanded that she sample both worlds. Truth to tell, despite the pain of being near Richard and at the mercy of his anger, she yearned to stay here a bit longer. She didn’t believe for one moment that she’d ever truly be accepted by the
ton
, but staying just seemed the wise thing to do for the moment. After the ball she would know for sure what, if any, parts of her mother’s dreamy memories of the
ton
held meaning for her. If there was nothing binding her here, she would go home to Hexham, to Uncle Ian. Then she could tell him with utmost honesty, that birthright or not, London and the
ton
was not her world.

“On the contrary, Sir Robert, I have been made to feel quite welcome.” The ring of confidence in her voice pleased her. “In fact, the duchess is giving a ball in the hopes it will jog Richard’s memory and also to introduce me to the
ton
. After all, I am the granddaughter of a baron, whether or not he acknowledges me.”

“A ball? How nice for all of you,” he said with false civility. “However, given your grandfather’s rejection of you, do you really wish to expose yourself to the censure of the
ton
? They can be utterly merciless.”

“Why would they be nasty to a beautiful good girl like Mary?” Lottie’s shaky voice broke into the unpleasant spell Robert wove. “I should think she’d be a breath of fresh air.”

“Desolated as I am to contradict you, I fear I must.” Shaking his head, he strolled toward her.

Sensing Lottie’s round-eyed recoil, Mary rushed to step between them.

“You of all people should know about censure, Miss Barton. Just think what a may game the
ton
will make of your dear Mary once they learn her companion the last few years has been—”

“That’s quite enough, sir!” At the end of her tether, Mary exploded.

In mock horror, Robert placed one palm over his heart, and his dark flat eyes widened in surprise. “Mary, you misunderstand. I wish only to be of assistance. That’s why I came, to let you know my whereabouts in case I’m needed. I have rooms at Thirty St. James Place.”

His gaze slipped past her again to rest on Lottie menacingly. “When you are ready to go back where you belong, you have only to come to me.”

Frantic to be free of him, she left Lottie unprotected to step quickly to the door. She flung it open. Wilkens stumbled in, practically falling to his knees.

“Excuse me, Miss Masterton. I was coming to inquire if you and your guest require refreshment.”

He was so ponderously proper that it never entered her mind to rebuke him for eavesdropping. Instead she was delighted to have reinforcements.

“Sir Robert is just leaving.”

At her pointed look Robert presented a perfect bow. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again very soon, my dear Mary.”

Alone at last, Mary met Lottie halfway across the room. She wasn’t sure who was comforting whom—seeing the plump cheeks smeared with tears, and feeling the deep catch of sobs in Lottie’s chest, Mary was filled with rage.

It was more than time for her to seize control of her life.

It was doing Charlesworth a world of good, Richard kept telling himself. Besides, when all was at last accomplished, Frederick would end up with his heart’s desire. He must keep reassuring himself that this game would ultimately set everyone’s life on the proper course. If he didn’t, his conscience would burn a hole straight through his heart, or his head, or wherever the bloody thing was supposed to be located!

As it was, after the scene with Mary in the conservatory, his conscience was as hot as coals in a grate. His blazing cogitations, more than the wish to while away the hours with old cronies, had kept him awake most of the night. Riddled with regret and confusion, emotions heretofore rejected by the arrogant Duke of Avalon, he found himself in his library at eight in the morning, pouring yet another whiskey. Frowning, he looked down at the small amount of amber liquid, briefly thought that it was too early to begin imbibing, and promptly tilted the entire glass down his throat.

The door swished open, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, flicking a glance at the threshold.

“Drinking your breakfast, Richard? What a charmingly decadent new habit.” His mother, her eyes as bright as buttons, floated into the room, her gray silk gown a cloud of softness about her.

“Yes. Decadent,” he drawled. Lowering his lids he peered at the crystal decanter, debating the wisdom of consuming another glass. Finally, sanity prevailed, and he placed the glass back on the tray.

Silk drifted across the settee as his mother reclined gracefully, studying him. “You look dreadful, dear. Aren’t you sleeping well?” Her tone held surprisingly little concern.

“Since you know everything that goes on in this house, you know full well I am not.”

“Just as I know the true reason why rest is eluding you. Even if you don’t,” she added cryptically.

The bond of love they shared was only strengthened by the similarity of their questing intellects. For the first time in his life, Richard eyed his mother’s placid face with vague stirrings of misgiving.

“What reason would that be, madam?” he ventured, for in truth he could do nothing else.

Her mouth curled in a fetching smile, and Richard’s misgiving shifted sharply to foreboding.

“Since the grand gesture and the outrageous have always been as natural to you as breathing, it only stands to reason that this momentous occasion could hardly be less. Others might mark the moment they finally met their true match by loving thoughtfulness, as Charlesworth is doing so unconsciously with Arabella. You, my dear, are marking it by dragging us all through the depths of Hades.”

He was seized by a desperation more fierce than any feeling he’d ever known to deny his mother’s words. “It may not appear so to you, Mother, but I assure you I continue this game not for my own amusement, but to benefit others.”

Her even stare of interest spurred him on.

“Given a bit more time Bella shall cry off and I will do the proper by urging Frederick to follow his heart. Meanwhile I’m hot on the trail of the true reason Mary’s grandfather is so eager to keep her from the notice of the
ton
. So you see, I’m dragging us all, as you so charmingly put it, through Hades, for a very good reason.” He punctuated his pronouncement with an imperious stare to accentuate his vindication.

“Yes, Richard, I do see.” She smoothed the pearl gray silk gown tidily over her knees, carefully examining the delicate fabric. After a few moments, apparently satisfied, her fingers stilled, and she raised a wide gaze to his face. “If I understand you properly, Richard, as soon as you have arranged all neatly to your desire, you will tell Mary the truth about your supposed illness and thus set her free. Do I have the right of it, my dear?”

Mary felt free to push open Lottie’s bedroom door after she hadn’t responded to the third knock. Her eyes immediately found the white note propped carefully upon the pillows of the perfectly made bed. With trembling fingers she opened it and read: “My dear Mary, Sir Robert is right. You belong here but I do not and never will. I care about you too much to cause you any pain. So I’m going back where I came from. Know this time with you and Ian has been the happiest of my life. Your friend, Lottie Barton.”

Mary’s tears fell onto the paper, blending into the faint moisture stains that already marred the thin parchment. Her clenched fist covered her lips. That horrid Sir Robert and his hateful words had done this!

She wasn’t going to let him get away with this cruelty. Somehow, she’d pay him out. But first, she must find Lottie and bring her back to safety. If, as Mary feared, Lottie had returned to the Thistle and Sword, she could only fear for her future.

The thought of Lottie lost and friendless tore at her heart. She was racked with sobs, and her hand shook so that it was difficult to write a legible note to her uncle.

With a commanding presence that was almost as shocking to her as it appeared to be to Wilkens, she demanded that he send a footman posthaste on the road to Hexham with a missive for Uncle Ian. Surely he would be on his way by now, but she couldn’t take the chance.

That done, her next inclination was to go to Richard and allow him to shoulder some of this burden, as he’d done in those idyllic days on the farm before reality intruded.

Dismayed and shamed by such weakness, Mary hesitated in the foyer. Wilkens, marching behind her, practically ran her over.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, her nerves stretched painfully to their limits.

“Miss Masterton, you appear to be in a state of some confusion,” he stated with perfect propriety. “How may I direct you?”

“Where is Her Grace?” Her chaotic thoughts craved that odd sense of peace the duchess always inspired. “I must speak with her at once.”

“I believe I saw Her Grace enter the library some time ago.” Wilkens moved as if to lead.

She stepped in front of him. “I know my way to the library, Wilkens. I need you to ask the servants if anyone knows how Miss Barton left the house. Perhaps someone saw something. Anything!”

He bowed deeply, spun on his heels, and left her. She approached the closed double doors of the library but, hearing voices, she stopped short.

“I repeat, Richard, when are you planning to tell Mary you regained your memory long ago?”

The duchess’s calm voice was clearly audible through the wooden doors. She froze in place. He knew? He had his memory intact? She crept closer to hear the response.

“I’ll inform her of the happy event when I’m finished with her and this sordid business concerning her grandfather. Then she’ll be free to do as she wishes.” He drawled the words like a man with an utterly clear conscience.

Reality dissolved around her like melting candle wax. For a moment she felt and saw nothing. When her senses returned, emotions eddied around her—anger, fear, disbelief, despair.

Anger prevailed. It roared through her like the flames destroying her stable on that long ago, ill-fated day they’d met.

She thrust open the door and marched in.

The man whose pitiless nature had reduced the fragile threads of her life to broken bits of string, leaving her untethered to her old existence in Hexham, yet still unattached to anything new, turned to face her.

“No doubt if the truth hit you over the head like my stable lintel did, you still wouldn’t recognize it!” She was taking air into her hot lungs in short gasps, but her voice sounded reasonably calm. “Nevertheless, here it is: I heard all that was said!”

“Ah.”

The duchess rose gracefully and exited the room while Mary stared into Richard’s dark, unfathomable eyes. Neither of them registered the door closing behind her.

“You regained your memory that morning in the stable, didn’t you? One moment we were … were…” Stumbling into this quagmire, she was momentarily lost.

Something flitted deep in his eyes, and his mouth quivered with the suspicion of a smile.

She was filled with bitterness. “You know how we were!” Her power of speech returned in full force. “And the next moment it was gone. Whatever had been between us had vanished.”

“How perceptive of you, Mary.” His sardonic smile failed to light his eyes, which had darkened to ebony. “I believe the
whatever
you are struggling to name was … lust. And, of course your accomplished performance of returning my … regard.”

“I told you why I first lied!” She flashed out, his last insult scalding her to core. “Once started, I couldn’t withdraw for fear it might harm you. But you!”

Anguish fed her energy to whirl away and then back again to face him, as if she must move, do something, to spill out this feeling before it devoured her.

“You’ve been lying to me for weeks! You regained your memory. You knew I’d misled you about our relationship, yet you forced me to come to London. You allowed me to agonize over your health, your very life, if I should divulge the truth! You’re despicable!” she snapped, much like her nerves felt ready to do.

“If I’m despicable, what does that make you?” His smile was so sweetly cruel that he could have been the devil himself, promising forbidden fruit. “I may have continued this farce for my own ends, but my motives are a good deal more high-minded than your charming scheme to steal my horse and my ring even before you had the corpse disposed of!”

She’d expected retaliation, but nothing as cruel as this. “I told you … I was afraid of Sir Robert. I had no wish … to be forced into marriage … with him.” Her words came out in sobs of anger. “My only thought was to be free of him.”

He strode toward her, stopping so close that she was forced to tilt back her head to search his closed, cold face.

“The debt!” He bit out the words. “Given your amazing performance of loving devotion to me, I wonder how far you might have gone in your scheme to settle the bloody thing. If I’d pressed, would you have given yourself to me, Mary? Would you even now?”

Her nerves quivered like a bow releasing its final arrow. At last, it was too much. All her fears for Lottie, all her pain at the hatred her grandfather showed her, all her love-laced anger toward the man looming over her gave strength to the upsweep of her arm.

The contact of her flat palm against his cheek ripped through her arm, numbing it to the shoulder.

She couldn’t believe she’d slapped him. She raised her hand to look at it in wonder, then watched the print of her fingers redden in stark relief upon his white cheek.

His derisive crack of laughter took her off guard.

Before she could push him away, his hands found her waist in a swift movement that jerked her into his tight embrace. The hard knot of pain in her throat made it impossible to speak, and her heart was bouncing so hard against her ribs that she felt it vibrate through her breasts and onto his chest.

She tried desperately to pull away from him, but his arms tightened like a vise.

“Let’s find the real answer to my question, Mary.” His voice was taut with emotion.

She was too shocked to understand his intent. He took her mouth in a hot open kiss that almost made her lose herself. Only by sheer force of will did she remain standing.

She’d known her own truth long ago, and now she discovered, to her shame, that not even his cruel game could change her feelings.

When at last he let her go, she waited a full five heartbeats before she opened her eyes upon his face, for she feared what she would find.

She looked with wonder, for his strength had dissolved into aching vulnerability. There was a curious imprint of pain in his chocolate eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

She knew she couldn’t have hurt him; she didn’t wield such power. Only love, as she knew to her deep regret, could scar the soul so completely.

The door opened, and she stumbled away from him. Trembling, she placed a hand upon the back of a wing chair to steady her knees.

Wilkens’s face was a study in contrast; his countenance was a careful mask, but his eyes were nearly starting from his head as they darted from Richard, to her, and back again.

“Your Grace, I am deeply sorry to interrupt.” For the first time Mary heard a note of something besides pomposity in his voice. “However, a message has just arrived from Lord Fordham. He must see you at once at Fordham Mansion. His grandmama has accompanied him to town and awaits you there.”

Richard scrutinized her from under heavy eyelids. “I must attend to this business, Mary. We will finish our discussion upon my return, you can count on it!”

Mary glared at him as she tried to conjure up a biting retort, but he forestalled her by spinning on his heels and quitting the room.

Then the answer came to her. “I shall be long about
my
business before you return, Your Grace!” she whispered to the empty space.

She sped up the stairs for a cloak to fling over her new morning dress of cameo pink after she had decided that she would rent a carriage and take the road north. Lottie must be on the stage and she felt certain she could overtake her.

The frantic planning threw up a barrier in her mind, protecting her from thoughts of Richard. She gathered a few things, jamming them into her reticule along with her mother’s jewelry and all the money she possessed.

When she flung open the great front door of Avalon House, she came face-to-face with Richard’s betrothed.

Arabella gave her the self-assured smile of a reigning beauty. “Going out, Mary? I was just coming to see if all your clothes have arrived from Madame Beaudin’s.”

“Last evening,” she said with a trace of impatience. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I must be off.” Confused, Mary looked both ways down the treelined street. “Do you know the direction to a coaching establishment where I might hire a carriage?”

Blinking rapidly, Arabella studied her. “Why, yes. Pulman’s—the only place my Mama will ever hire a conveyance—but only, of course, when Papa is out of town, or would be inconvenienced by our taking the barouche. Of course, Mama wouldn’t be seen in anything less than the very finest.”

Mary interrupted impatiently, “But where is it?”

“Oh, it is quite convenient. Near St. James Place. You have only to send a footman about two blocks north and then west for another six.”