Anne Barbour (23 page)

March said nothing, his stony stare unsoftened.

“Everything I told you about my background is true,” she continued. “It is because of Jack Crawford that I set out for London four years ago.”

“Ah,” interjected March savagely, “I thought we eventually would come to Mr. Crawford.”

Alison’s fingers curled into fists, but she continued as though she had not heard. “As you know, Jack was married to one of my best friends. Beth came to me at my home in Ridstowe to tell me that Jack was in terrible trouble.” She bent her head to scrutinize her hands. “He is much addicted to gambling. He had lost a great deal of money and had stolen to cover his debt. The theft was discovered, and, according to Beth, Jack would be hauled off to prison if the money was not returned in three months’ time.”

“And how much money are we speaking of?” asked March harshly.

“Four thousand pounds.”

“Four thousand ... My God!”

“Yes.” Once more, Alison permitted herself a small smile. “That’s what I said, too.” As March stiffened, she continued hastily. “At any rate, Beth, knowing of my skill at cards—”

“Skill! Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, my lord, for that is what it is. I do not cheat. I have never cheated, and would never do so.”

At this, March stood again. “Listen to you!” he snarled. “One would think you virtuous as a nun. How can you face me and tell me that you don’t cheat?”

“Because it is the truth,” Alison replied quietly. “My uncle taught me to play cards, and, unlikely as it might seem in someone of my background, I was an apt pupil.”

March snorted. “To wrap it in clean linen! All the world knows you cheated Susannah. You cannot deny it!”

“I can and I do!” cried Alison. “It was Susannah who spread that lie after I left London. Although, even if I had been present to defend myself, no one would have listened.”

“And why should anyone listen to a fraud with no past?”

“But, I could not gamble under my own identity! Don’t you see? It would have broken my father’s heart.”

“How commendable,” replied March, sneering. “Instead, you broke the heart of another old man—
my
father.”

Alison bowed her head. “I... I am truly sorry for that—and for Susannah and her husband, as well. If I had known the outcome of my association with Susannah Brent, I would never have sat down to the tables with her.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that you were able to win thousands of pounds from Susannah without cheating? You’re a female, for God’s sake!”

“I see.” Once again Alison’s mouth twisted into a smile. “A man might have such a skill, but not a woman?”

March dropped his gaze. “You must admit it is very unlikely.”

“Quite so. But I do possess that skill. I discovered in myself the ability to remember every card dealt and played in any given hand, and the knack of estimating the odds in my head. I also have what might be termed a gift for reading faces and the thoughts behind them. In addition,” she concluded, “I rarely drink spirituous liquors and then only sparingly. I was usually the only sober player at table, which I found to be rather an advantage.”

When March made no response, she continued hesitantly. “I can understand why you find it difficult to believe what I’m telling you, for you have only the reports of me spread by your sister-in-law.” She ignored the growl that issued from him. “That is why I did not come to you long before this. You must admit, the way you were shouting threats from the rooftops—

“I was not—

“Yes, you were!” Alison could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, but she could not control her indignation. “It was perhaps understandable, given the depth of your grief, but you vowed revenges too horrible to name against me. Why, Molly told me—

“Molly?”

Alison dropped her eyes again. “The Viscountess Callander. She and Beth and I were best friends in school.”

“Oh, my God!” cried March, incensed. “Of course. She knew all the time, didn’t she? Please give her my congratulations. Her acting ability almost outshines your own.”

“Please, my lord, you must believe that neither of us enjoyed deceiving you. Well,” she amended, “perhaps Molly enjoyed it just a little. She was always somewhat of a scapegrace, and she was determined that you would not ruin me.”

“You are fortunate in your friends, Miss Fox. Not only do they contrive appropriate nicknames for you, but they lie nearly as cleverly as you do. However, we are straying from the point. Even if I were to believe your ludicrous assertions of innocence in the matter of cheating Susannah, what possible excuse can you offer for separating her from every guinea she possessed? Had you no compunction about ruining her?  Or did you view our family as a bottomless pit from which to assuage your greed?”

Alison’s lips tightened.

“I won three hundred pounds from Susannah Brent. It seemed a great deal to me, but I believed the sum was not beyond her means.”

March simply stared, his mouth a thin slash, his eyes opaque and mud-colored. “Of course, it was not beyond her. Her pin money would easily have covered that amount—but I do not believe you.”

Alison felt suddenly weary, as though her life’s blood were draining from her.

“I do not know why I am wasting your time and mine telling you all this,” she said tonelessly. “You obviously do not believe a word I’ve said—and I suppose that’s understandable. You’ve been nurturing your hatred for so long, it must be well nigh impossible to let go of it.”

“Spare me your insight, Miss Fox. And no, I do not feel my time is being wasted. I am keenly interested in what you have told me, and even more so in what is to come. For example, we have not even touched on Jack Crawford’s fortuitous appearance in Bath.”

“You must know by now his arrival was planned,” snapped Alison. “He came to Bath in search of me, so that he could avail himself once more of my ... services.”

“And you were only too happy to oblige. You must have felt yourself sadly constrained as Lady Edith’s companion. Allow me to compliment you on your performance at the Dunsaneys’ card party, by the by. No one would have guessed you to be anything other than a helpless widgeon at the card table. To continue, however, with Jack’s help, you were able to don yet another of your knacky disguises so that you could prey at will on the less fortunate citizens of this fair city.”

Outraged, Alison had to resist the urge to slap that sneering smile from his face. “Of course I did not wish to help him! I was completely at his mercy. He had only to suggest that he would tell you everything, and I was just so much clay in his hands.”

“And it did not occur to you at that point that you would be better off coming to me yourself than to accede to Jack’s request?”

Alison suddenly found herself at a loss for words. She could not tell March of the feeling for him that had caused her reluctance to confess. If he were to learn how much she had dreaded to see the look of contempt in his eyes that would surely follow such a confession, he would realize that she loved him. She could not bear that.

“I wanted to come to you, but I was afraid,” she said haltingly. “I had come to know you, and, though I no longer believed that you would have me transported—or any of the other dreadful punishments I had envisioned over the years—I knew you would be terribly angry, and rightfully so, and I had come to look on you as a friend. I—”

“Oh, my God!” March’s voice was a harsh rasp. “Cut line. You do not know what the word ‘friend’ means. It is useless for you to deny that you were in a conspiracy with Jack Crawford—or that you intended to cheat the other players tonight at the faro table.”

“No!” The cry seemed to burn her throat. “I had no idea ... ! You cannot believe that I marked those cards!”

“Of course, you did not!” he spat. “Your good friend arranged that for you. My dear Miss Fox, I saw you accept those cards from Crawford last night at the Upper Rooms.”

Alison stared at him in horror, a tide of deep red flooding her cheeks. Very slowly, she rose from her seat. She moved with difficulty, as though she had been mortally wounded, to a small table near the window. Turning to the earl, she whispered, “Yes, I did take those cards from Jack, but I never had any intention of using them. I thrust them in my reticule and forgot about them until I started to leave the house tonight. When I descended the stairs, I became aware of their weight.” Opening a drawer in the table, she pulled out a small packet and thrust it at the earl. “Here, my lord, are the cards I received from Jack last night.”

March gazed at the packet, speechless. His gaze lifted to meet Alison’s, and still he could say nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was loud and uncertain. “I suppose you left an extra deck in there. You must have several of them, after all. I wish you would cease trying to cozen me.”

Despite the warmth of the May evening, and the small fire burning cheerfully in the hearth, Alison felt numb with cold. For a long moment, she listened to the silence of the room, broken only by the crackling of the little blaze and the ticking of a clock somewhere behind her.

With an almost unbearable effort, she looked into March’s eyes. “Then there is no more to be said, my lord, except for you to tell me what you plan to do now.”

March shifted his shoulders heavily. “I must tell my aunt, of course. After that, your fate is in her hands. I cannot imagine that after tomorrow morning, she will retain you in her employ, but that is for her to say. In all likelihood, you will very shortly find yourself out of a position and out of this house.”

A terrible trembling began deep within Alison. He was serious! He would actually see her turned into the street without a character, with no way to earn an honest living. She had known in her mind that his anger would be painful, but in her heart she had not believed he would be so utterly vindictive. She could only stare at him, unbelieving.

March turned to pace the carpet for a moment before swinging back to her. Abruptly, he said, “I wish I could believe you, Alison. Truth to tell, I do not bear you the animosity I once felt. In fact,” he added casually, “I have been considering placing you under my protection after you leave my aunt. You are quite lovely, you know.” He placed a hand under her chin. “Would you like to live in a fine house in London?”

March listened in astonishment to the careless cruelty of his own words. Good God, what had possessed him to say such a thing? Make Alison his mistress? Something unholy in him stirred in response at the thought. For a small eternity he found himself hoping she would agree, ever as the shame of what he’d asked overwhelmed him. Her face was perfectly white. She swayed, and, unthinking, he put out a hand to her. The next moment, however, she steadied, and her tone when she spoke a few moments later was prosaic.

“I think not, my lord.” Her mouth twisted in a credible imitation of a smile. “My future is quite secure. I have had a similar offer from Jack, you see, who promises me I shall be quite useful to him. It is so pleasant to feel useful, don’t you think? And to occupy oneself in something one is good at.” She moved with careful precision toward the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, my lord, I shall retire. Tomorrow promises to be a busy day.”

March put out a hand to her. “Alison ...” he whispered. But she was gone.

Chapter 18

“You know?” The question burst from March as though expelled by a blow to his gut. He faced Lady Edith in the small room adjacent to her bedchamber that she used as a study. Morning sun streamed through the window, tinting cream-colored hangings to rose. “You
know
Alison Fox is really Lissa Reynard? I don’t understand. How ...”

“She told me shortly after she came to me. I happened to mention your name one day, and I thought she was going to faint. When I asked her what was troubling her, the whole story came tumbling out.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” March’s face was a mask of agonized bewilderment.
“Why?
You knew I’d been searching for her!” He let his gaze stray over her countenance, observing the weariness in her eyes and the unhealthy flush in her thin cheeks. He had found it more difficult than he could have anticipated to break the news of Alison’s perfidy to his aunt. Now, told that she’d known all along, he felt betrayed anew.

“Because I knew you would react precisely as you are doing,” she replied calmly. “And because I promised Alison I would not. It took a great deal of courage for her to confide in me, you know. She expected to be turned out on her ear, or handed to you on a salver.”

“And why wasn’t she? Turned out on her ear. My God, Aunt, did the deaths of William and Susannah mean nothing to you? And my father ....?”

“Of course, they did,” Lady Edith snapped. “As for your father—I remind you he was my brother, and his pain was my own.” She seemed to shrink physically into the damask armchair in which she was seated. After a moment, she continued in a milder tone, though her veined hands remained clenched in her lap.

“Sit down, my dear. It is time you were told a few home truths about William and Susannah—and perhaps yourself.”

Almost without volition, March did as he was told, staring at his aunt as though she had drawn a pistol from the folds of her skirt and pointed it at him.

“March,” she began, “how well did you know Susannah?”

“What?” he responded blankly. “Quite well, of course. That is ... well, I saw quite a bit of her during her first Season, when she became betrothed to Will.”

“But did you ever really talk to her?”

“Well, of course I did.” March paused, frowning. “N-no,” he continued slowly, “I guess I didn’t. Not really. I only saw her with Will, or with a number of other people. Why do you ask?”

“What was your impression of Susannah?”

March lifted an impatient hand. “She seemed a good enough girl. A little flighty—spoiled—somewhat self-centered. Aunt...?”

Lady Edith inclined her head in a frail gesture. “I promise you I have a reason for all this, my dear. Were you very close to William in your growing up years?” At his uncomprehending nod, she continued quietly. “And what is your assessment of his character?”