Anne Barbour (21 page)

He chose to take her remark as a pleasantry and snickered accordingly. “You may sheathe your pretty claws, my dear. I have a present for you.” From his waistcoat he brought out a small velvet pouch from which he shook a boxed deck of cards. Alison stared at him in bewilderment.

“But—but I do not need cards. They are readily available anywhere I wish to play.”

“Ah, but not cards like these.” He lifted one of her hands and curled her fingers around the deck. “These are very special cards, for they will assure that you will win every hand in which you partake.”

Alison, jerking her hand as though the little packet had bitten her, allowed the cards to fall to the floor. “Jack! Are these—?”

Bending, he scooped them up. “Yes. They’ve been fuzzed. I want you to use them from now on. Just look at them!” he continued eagerly, as Alison stared at him in blank horror. “If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d never know they’re marked. See? In the design! The swirls in the upper left-hand corner have been shaded ever so faintly on the face cards. You will be able to tell instantly what each player has been dealt.”

“No, I will not. Jack.” Alison’s breath came in harsh gasps. “For I have no intention of using these cards. My God, have you no shred of decency left? I have been doing very well for you using the talent God gave me—though why He should wish to saddle me with something so unwanted ...” she cried in rising hysteria. With an effort, she brought herself under control. “I have acquiesced to all your demands, but I will not cheat for you.”

“My dear, you’re making too much of this. I’m not asking you to rob anyone at gunpoint, after all. Look around you. These people are rolling in the stuff—they won’t miss the paltry sums we will take.” His eyes were wide and unfocused in their febrile greed. “Very soon, Alison, you and I are going to be very, very rich.”

“Jack, I will not do this. I—” But Jack merely shook his head and patted her hands as though she were a recalcitrant child. She was struck by the undesirability of quarreling with him in this very public place, and, taking the cards from him, thrust them into her reticule.

“Good evening. Jack.” She turned and walked swiftly from the room.

March watched the interlude from the gallery above the tearoom, and stared after Alison long after she had left the chamber. When he finally moved away through the crowds of pleasure seekers, his shoulders sagged as though he walked under the weight of a heavy burden.

A short time later, when he joined his aunt and Alison in the ballroom, Lady Edith declared herself weary of the evening’s entertainments and asked to be taken home. As soon as the little party reached the house in Royal Crescent, Alison, pleading a very real headache, bade Lady Edith and her nephew a hurried good evening. As she turned to ascend the staircase, she met March’s glance, and nearly gasped at the pain and bitterness she encountered there. What could have happened to cause him such anguish? she wondered dully as she made her way to her room. It was as though she had looked into a mirror of her own soul, for her own reflections were equally painful. Was this how he would look when she confessed her perfidy to him? Wearily, she disrobed and climbed into bed, only to stare, sleepless, at the ceiling.

Chapter 16

Downstairs, Lady Edith gazed up anxiously into her nephew’s face.

“Are you all right, March?” she asked. “You look—’

March’s answering smile was not wholly successful. “I am merely a little tired. Aunt. I must be shuffling into middle age, for a few late nights begin to tell on me.”

“Oh, dear. Alison seemed somewhat out of sorts, too. Perhaps you are both sickening for something.”

“Very possibly,” answered March dryly.

Lady Edith glanced sharply at him. “You still do not trust Alison, do you?”

March sighed. “I’m afraid I find it impossible to do so. Aunt. No,” he continued as his aunt bristled. “I shall say no more on that head, but... Aunt, I’d prepare myself, if I were you, for some rather unpleasant revelations in the near future concerning that female.”

Tipping his hat, he hastened from the house before his aunt could respond. As he walked away from Royal Crescent, he looked back and saw that candles were lit in one of the bedchambers. He knew it was not that of his aunt. Was Alison still awake? He smiled grimly. Were her reflections as unpleasant as his own?

An unexpected vision rose before his eyes of Alison, garbed in her night rail, her hair tumbling in an ebony cloud about her shoulders. He wished ... God help him, he wished he were standing in that room with her, pulling her toward him so that he could bury his face in those dark, silken tresses. He could almost feel her lithe body against his, feel himself sinking into the molten cobalt of her eyes.

His mouth twisted bitterly. He supposed he was not the first man to be seduced by the physical attributes of a vicious temptress. It was unfortunate that men were so susceptible to the curve of a breast, or the smoky enchantment in a pair of vivid eyes.

He paused suddenly, gripped by a wave of anguish that nearly overcame him. Dear God
,
it wasn’t the sway of her hips or the creaminess of her flesh that had drawn him to her. It was the seeming warmth of her smile, her wit and intelligence, the genuine goodness he’d thought he perceived, the indefinable sense of rightness when he was with her and the feeling of loss when he was not, that had combined to steal his heart, and seemingly his soul.

He laughed, but it was a sound without joy. What a fool he was! The moment he had anticipated for so long was nearly at hand, but his triumph had already turned to ashes. God help him, he was in love with Alison Fox!

No, he reminded himself harshly. He did not love Alison Fox, but rather a dream, unreal, and as insubstantial as the night mist that swirled about his feet.

He thought he must be going mad. How could a man yearn for a fantasy—a vision that did not exist? The dazzling warmth of her smile hid a heart of sculptured stone; her kindness to Lady Edith was false and empty. He accepted this now as a fact, yet, Aunt Edith, and even his little sister had fallen under her spell. He reviewed what he knew of Alison Fox, and a flicker of something like hope rose within him. Was it possible that Alison was blameless in the deaths of Susannah and William? Could he have been so wrong in his assumptions about her? He longed to believe in her innocence, as a sinner cries out for redemption. But what had she been doing in the gaming hells of London, if not fleecing unsuspecting prey? And more recently, he had watched her scoop in a great deal of money in some extremely unsavory establishments. Impossible to consider that she could win such sums honestly—and had he not seen her accept those cards from Jack Crawford?

No, he was grasping at straws. No matter what his heart told him, he could not ignore the evidence. She was undoubtedly the scheming harpy he had known her to be from the start, and he might as well learn to live with the pain this knowledge would bring him for the rest of his life.

By the time he reached York House, his reflections had become almost unbearably anguished and as he prepared for bed he realized that he had never felt so unutterably weary. He fell almost immediately into a troubled sleep from which he awakened early and unrefreshed.

Upon rising, his first act was to send round for Jonas Pilcher.

* * * *

Alison awoke with a headache and the feeling she’d never really slept. Heavy-eyed, she responded mechanically to Meg’s breakfast sallies and sipped a cup of coffee while she crumbled toast on her plate. Honey prowled about their ankles, hinting pointedly for largesse.

Meg expostulated at length about her plans for the morning, which included yet another shopping expedition in Milsom Street. “Wouldn’t you like to join us, Alison?” asked the girl, bending to tuck a piece of ham into the spaniel’s mouth.

“Go with you?” responded Alison after several seconds. “Oh. No. I’m sure Mrs. Pargeter will be company enough for you. And, Meg,” she added automatically, “you know Lady Edith does not like Honey to be fed at table.”

“Then we must be sure not to tell her,” Meg replied promptly, her brown eyes brimming with laughter. When Alison failed to rise to the bait, the girl glanced at her quizzically. “You seem a bit blue-deviled this morning.”

Alison forced a laugh. “No. not at all. I ... I am just reviewing all that needs to be done for Lady Edith’s dinner party.”

To their surprise, the lady herself entered the room at that moment.

“Aunt! You are down early this morning,” said Meg, smiling. She ran to pull out a chair for the older woman, while Alison poured her a cup of coffee. Lady Edith accepted their ministrations without enthusiasm and bade Meg to run along. “For, I know you will change your gown four times before you are ready to set out,” she finished fretfully.

Exchanging a mystified glanced with Alison, Meg dropped a kiss on her aunt’s cheek and hurried from the room. Lady Edith intercepted the look, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I expect I was a bit testy with the gel,” she said apologetically. “Sometimes I push the prerogatives of old age too far, I fear.”

“Nonsense,” replied Alison, smiling. “We are all entitled to our crotchets now and then. Particularly,” she added with a twinkle, “when one decides to face the world two hours earlier than usual.” Alison peered at her employer closely and her expression grew cloudy. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Lady Edith sighed. “I did not sleep well.” She raised her eyes to Alison. “Marchford will be here today. I invited him for luncheon. Meg will be gone for most of the day, so you will have an opportunity to speak to him.”

Alison felt her heart stop. “Oh! That is—I did not plan ... It is too soon! I thought—later, perhaps. After your dinner party ... He mentioned something about going back to London then.”

Lady Edith drew herself up. “Alison,” she said, her voice stern, “the time has come for you to clear things up with March. You have placed me in an untenable situation with my own nephew, and I simply cannot maintain the deception you—we—have perpetrated.” Observing Alison’s stricken look, her expression softened. “If there were any benefit to be gained by putting off your ... confrontation, I would not speak so, but you must see that things are coming to a head between you two.”

Dear God, thought Alison. How could she have been so selfish? So caught up was she in her determination that Lord Marchford never penetrated her wretched secret that she had given little or no thought to the pain it must have caused Lady Edith to deceive one whom she held in such strong affection.

“I’m so sorry, my lady,” she whispered, tears glittering in her eyes. “That I should be a cause of hurt for you ...”

“Yes, well never mind all that.” Lady Edith fluttered her hands in distress. “Just make sure that this ridiculous charade does not continue a moment longer than necessary. Talk to him, Alison—talk to him today.”

Alison swallowed. “Very well.”

For the rest of the morning, Alison busied herself with inconsequential duties, her thoughts a chaotic jumble of emotion. At one point, her hands stilled in her work as she realized to her surprise that the fear that had been her constant companion for so long was strangely absent. The next instant, she was almost overcome with a sudden wave of pure anger! Of course, she thought almost dazedly. She had done nothing wrong! She had known this all along, but she had always harbored a faint sense of guilt, as though her actions in London had somehow contributed to Susannah Brent’s tragedy, but this was nonsense, as Lady Edith had assured her so many times. She might regret Susannah’s death, but she was not to blame.
She was not to blame.
She drew a deep breath. She had cowered in fear of the Earl of Marchford for four years, and for the last two weeks, she had almost withered and died at the thought of his contempt. Well, by God, she would set him straight this afternoon. She loved him—there was nothing she could do about that, but if he chose to disbelieve what she was about to tell him, then so be it. She no longer feared his retribution, for she knew him now. He was not evil, and his anger at her supposed perfidy would only take him so far. She did not feel herself in danger of transportation, or of being tarred and feathered or of any of the other dread punishments that had haunted her imagination for so long.

As for the other—his hatred and contempt—she would be devastated at losing his friendship, but she had already resigned herself to living her life without his love. She would warm herself in Lady Edith’s affection, and when that wonderful woman was gone, there would be the school to occupy her fully.

As she concluded her task at hand, her lips curved into what might almost be called a smile. No, she was no longer in a quake over the coming interview. Indeed, she assured herself, she almost looked forward to it.

As it turned out, however, private speech with Lord March-ford became impossible. When Alison descended to the drawing room shortly before luncheon, the earl was there before her. To her intense annoyance, her heart lifted at the sight of him, and she lowered her gaze to hide her feelings. Lady Edith was also present in the drawing room and after a prosaic exchange of pleasantries, the little group moved to the dining room. Conversation at table, of course, was cordial. At least, that would have been the impression a stranger might have received. Lady Edith detailed in a high-pitched voice scraps of gossip that might have escaped March and Alison, while March responded with absent courtesy. All the while, his eyes remained determinedly averted from Alison, who, despite her best efforts, found herself unable to contribute to the brittle conversation that flowed around her like icy currents from a window opened to a January blizzard.

She found it impossible to eat, and pushed salad and cold meat about her plate in endless circles. At the end of the meal, she noticed that March had scarcely touched his own food, and Lady Edith’s remained virtually uneaten as well.

The three filed out of the dining parlor, and in the hall, Lady Edith announced her intention of going to her rooms to rest.