Authors: Adrienne Basso
Intimate Betrayal (16 page)
After Ned left, Alyssa started walking down the hall. She stiffened noticeably when she saw him. Her eyes darted nervously around, and for a moment Morgan thought she would turn and run. But she held her ground.
Alyssa’s heart raced strongly as she stood only a few feet from Morgan. His hair was rumpled, his face unshaven, his shirt collar opened, the white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and hanging out on the left side of his breeches. He looked irresistible.
“Good morning,” he said in a husky voice, uncertain of his reception.
She nodded her head slightly, not trusting her voice. They stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. I am going to start crying again, Alyssa realized suddenly with alarm, and turned quickly to escape him.
“Alyssa, stop,” he implored, starting after her.
“Don’t,” she beseeched him as his hand clasped hers. She wrenched her fingers free. “Please, just leave me in peace.”
Morgan winced at the agony he heard in her voice. “There are a few things we need to clarify, Alyssa.” She lifted her head up, staring at him as though he had lost his wits.
“I do not wish to discuss this further with you, Your Grace,” she said wearily. “We have already had our discussions. There is nothing left to be said.”
“I beg to differ,” he insisted as he guided her into the library and shut the door behind them. Alyssa allowed it, since she did not have the strength to fight him.
“First of all, I’d like to apologize for . . . for everything,” he said lamely. He ran his hands through his hair in vexation, trying to gather his thoughts. This was proving more difficult than he imagined. Alyssa stood near the door, poised for flight, looking like a wounded doe.
The hurt and betrayal etched on her lovely face was too much for Morgan to bear. With a deep breath, he took the plunge.
“We shall be married as soon as I can produce a special license,” the duke stated flatly.
The cold determination in his voice startled her. “I don’t understand. Why have you suddenly changed your mind?”
Morgan’s mouth formed a cynical smile. “It became rather clear to me last night, Alyssa. I have taken gross advantage of your vulnerability and innocence. Honor dictates I make amends.”
Alyssa shook her head sadly. He must be feeling guilty. His words, meant to bring her joy, brought only deep remorse to her already bruised heart. She took a small breath to marshal her courage.
“We will never marry, Your Grace,” she said tonelessly. “I could not endure our life together knowing you reluctantly shackled yourself to me in a moment of weakness. A none too sober moment of weakness, I suspect.” Aimlessly she stroked the neck of an empty wine bottle resting on the desktop. “Someday you would come to hate me for forcing this unwanted marriage upon you. And that I could not bear.”
For a split second he thought to argue his case, but caught himself. It was best to make a clean break of it now, he convinced himself. In the long run it would be best for both of them.
It was Alyssa who finally broke the long silence. Her voice was low as she spoke, but forceful.
“I have packed all the clothes you bought for me in the trunks they were delivered in. Ned will carry them down to the front hall. You may instruct Perkins where they should be shipped. The key to the house is locked inside the small jewel case, which is in the large green trunk. Ned will make the arrangements to send the gray gelding wherever you desire.”
“Alyssa,” the duke interrupted. “This is quite unnecessary. I purchased those things for you. I want you to have them, especially the house.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered hoarsely, remembering the blissful afternoon they had spent together at the lovely house. Was that only yesterday, she mused? It seemed a lifetime ago.
It hurt Morgan deeply that she would accept nothing from him. Yet the possibility existed she might have already unknowingly accepted the most precious gift any man could bestow upon a woman. And he wondered how in God’s name he was going to broach that delicate subject with her.
“Alyssa, there are . . . um . . . consequences of the times we have spent together,” he began carefully.
She looked at him in total bewilderment. He surmised she did not have the faintest idea what he was trying to say. So much for diplomacy, he decided. He was too tired and too hung over to be delicate.
“Oh, bloody hell,” he swore. “When did you last have your monthly courses?”
Alyssa felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. She cast her eyes to the carpet, scarcely believing she heard his question correctly.
“For heaven’s sake,” she gasped, not knowing how he could possibly ask her such an intimate question. Or how she could possibly answer him. It was a subject she had discussed only one other time in her life, when she was 13 and Mavis had explained the miraculous changes her body was experiencing.
“Alyssa, our lovemaking could result in the creation of a child,” Morgan pressed on. “Not having your monthly courses is a sign of pregnancy.”
“I wasn’t sure about that.” Her crimson cheeks blanched white. “A child,” she muttered, shaking her head to and fro. “How could I care for a child?”
“You must tell me at once if you are pregnant. Do you understand?”
“What will you do?”
Morgan sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will take care of you, Alyssa. You must trust me. I want your promise that you will write to me immediately. Send the letter to Ramsgate Castle or my London town house. Do you still have the addresses?”
She nodded. “You want me to write something that personal in a letter?”
He thought for a moment. “It is not necessary to write anything specific about the state of your health. Just send me a personal letter. I will understand your meaning. I have your promise, then?”
Alyssa agreed because it seemed so important to him. Naturally she had no idea what she would do if she did find herself in such a disgraceful predicament. Probably die of shame, for one thing.
Morgan let out a sigh of relief and sat down on the brocade settee, thankful that difficult task was completed. Absently he drank the last of his cold coffee, his eyes never leaving Alyssa’s pale face. She looked to be in shock.
Alyssa became aware of his gaze and squirmed uncomfortably. “I also want a promise from you, Your Grace.”
She could see that he was instantly on his guard.
“I would like to finish my job here at Westgate Manor. Mr. Walsh predicts the house will be ready for Tristan and Caroline to occupy by the end of the summer.
“I would not ask Tris to fire you, Alyssa,” he interrupted, dismayed she would think him such a brute.
“I know,” she said quietly. “But it will be very awkward having to see you. I want your promise that you will stay away from Westgate Manor until I leave.”
Morgan’s face remained expressionless, hiding the wound her simple request had inflicted on him.
“If that is what you wish.”
“It is the only solution,” she assured him, her heart breaking anew.
“Then so be it.”
It was settled. There was nothing left to say.
Chapter Eleven
It was mid-May, nearly two months since Alyssa had last seen Morgan. The duke kept his promise and did not visit Westgate Manor, but Tristan, Caroline, and her sister, Priscilla, were there often conferring with Mr. Walsh on the renovations to the house. They always made a point of visiting with Alyssa during these trips and inadvertently kept her apprised of Morgan’s activities.
Caroline would chatter enthusiastically about all the wonderful parties she and Tristan were attending in honor of their upcoming nuptials, and also about her new friend, the lovely Madeline Duponce. Caroline was convinced Mlle Duponce had captured the roving eye of the fickle duke, and Alyssa felt the familiar dull ache in her heart sharpen as Caroline described what a handsome pair they made. It became impossible for Alyssa to sit calmly by and listen to the endless round of social events the duke and his fair Madeline attended together without feeling physically ill, and she began avoiding Caroline.
Priscilla took an active interest in the manor’s renovations, and Alyssa often sought refuge in her company. Alyssa never minded answering Priscilla’s endless questions, and when she was unavailable to escort her about the estate, Priscilla always graciously explored on her own.
There were, however, more pressing problems for Alyssa to work out than the jealousy she felt over Morgan’s latest conquest. As the days and weeks passed with still no sign of her monthly courses, Alyssa began to panic. It was almost beyond her realm of tolerance to entertain the possibility that she carried Morgan’s child. It was her nerves, she decided. She was driving herself to distraction with worry. Fate would not be so cruel as to thrust an innocent babe upon a woman who was financially unprepared to raise a child.
The work at the manor house was progressing at a slower pace than Mr. Walsh predicted, and Alyssa was grateful. Keeping busy all day helped distract her mind, although her nights were often spent pacing her bedroom floor. As long as the renovations were under way Alyssa was assured of a position, and in her current state of upheaval her job represented the only stability in her life.
Tristan continued to come often to Westgate Manor, occasionally with Caroline, other times alone. Alyssa found solace in the company of Morgan’s younger brother, and looked forward to his visits. He was an affable man, always in good spirits and blessed with a dry, rapier wit. Alyssa could always count on Tris to lighten her dour mood.
On this lovely spring morning the south garden beckoned Alyssa with its early roses in bloom. Taking an unaccustomed break from her work, she strolled among the flowers, marveling over the magical creations the new gardener’s hard work had produced. She inhaled the sweet, heady fragrance of the perfect blossoms as she gathered a basket of cuttings for the vase in her bedchamber. The blooms still held morning dewdrops on their petals, moist and velvety to the touch. As Alyssa bent low to cut a flower from underneath the sprawling bush, she felt the blood rush from her face, making her feel light-headed and queasy. Yellow dots swam before her eyes, and then everything went black for a few seconds as she fell to the ground in a dead faint.
“Lady Alyssa!” Ned cried out in alarm when he saw her crumple to the ground. He rushed over to help. “Are you all right?”
Alyssa slowly opened her eyes. Colors swirled and blended until Ned’s concerned features eventually became focused.
“I’m fine, Ned,” she assured him shakily. Ned gently assisted Alyssa to her feet. “I must have lost my balance.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” Ned repeated, not convinced. “You look awfully pale. Let me help you inside so you can lie down.”
Mr. Walsh met them as they came through the French doors. “My goodness, what has happened?” he exclaimed when he saw Ned with his arm around Alyssa, steadying her as she slowly walked into the room. “Have you injured yourself in some way, Lady Alyssa?”
“Goodness no, Mr. Walsh.” Alyssa tried making light of the incident. “I was merely clumsy and fell. Ned was kind enough to help me. Thank you, Ned.” She moved deliberately away from the lad and stood alone, clutching a mahogany end table to maintain her balance, vainly hoping they would believe her and leave. Alyssa felt the familiar nausea rise up in her throat, and prayed they would go before she disgraced herself by throwing up her meager breakfast. She closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths, trying to keep the nausea at bay.
“I’m getting Mavis,” Ned declared, watching Alyssa with growing concern.
“It is not necessary, Ned,” Alyssa protested, but he ignored her and left quickly. Mr. Walsh hesitantly assisted Alyssa to the settee and poured a goblet of water. He awkwardly fussed over her while they waited, and she thought she would scream over his unwanted attention. Her stomach pitched and rolled, and the effort it cost her to keep her upset stomach under control made her break out in a fine sweat.
They were both relieved when Mavis finally appeared. “Now what’s all this about you falling down, my girl?” Mavis said in a blustery tone. “Ned said you fainted in the garden.”
“I did no such thing,” Alyssa insisted. “I just lost my balance. I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss.” Alyssa stared up innocently at the small group of concerned faces surrounding her.
“I suspect you have been working her too hard, Mr. Walsh,” Mavis decided, not liking the absence of color in Alyssa’s face. The girl was white as a sheet.
Mr. Walsh sputtered. “I can assure you, I have not been overworking Lady Alyssa,” he replied indignantly. He leaned down to observe her closely. “I do agree, however, she looks peaked. Perhaps it would be prudent for Lady Alyssa to rest today. I’m sure I can manage without her this afternoon.”
Alyssa instantly opened her mouth to disagree, but the forceful protest in Mavis’s eyes gave her pause. “Thank you, Mr. Walsh,” Alyssa reluctantly replied. “I appreciate your concern. I shall see you in the morning.”
“I hope you are feeling better soon,” Mr. Walsh concluded before leaving the room.
“If you’ll not be needing me for anything else, I’d best be getting back to work,” Ned chimed in. “Lord Tristan’s new coach has arrived, and Hawkins needs my help cleaning it up.” Alyssa was mildly annoyed that Ned ignored her nod of approval, but waited instead for Mavis’s permission before he left.
Once they were alone, Alyssa could feel Mavis’s sharp eyes on her.
“I’m fine, Mavis,” Alyssa hastily assured her old nurse. “I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss.”
“Well, you don’t look fine.”
“Thank you,” Alyssa retorted wryly.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Stratton to brew you some tea. It will help settle your stomach.”
“How did you know my stomach was upset?” Alyssa stammered before she realized what she had revealed.
Mavis’s eyes narrowed, and her lips compressed. “I think it’s high time we had a talk, my girl. Isn’t there something you want to tell me?”
“Oh, Mavis,” Alyssa said, her eyes clouding with emotion. “It can’t be true.”
Mavis let out a long sigh, her nagging suspicions at last confirmed. “Just because you don’t want it be true won’t change things.” She reached over and patted Alyssa’s hand soothingly. “I daresay you aren’t the first girl who’s been surprised to discover she was carrying a babe,” Mavis said.
“How will I ever take care of a child, Mavis?” Alyssa trembled, still trying to accept the reality of her condition.
“You’re going to have help, that’s for sure. I’ll be with you, for one thing. And we will just see what the duke has to say about all this,” Mavis concluded shrewdly.
Alyssa looked up at Mavis, admiring how nothing escaped the older woman’s notice. “I cannot marry him, you know,” she responded in a small voice. She sounded so forlorn, so unlike the strong, capable woman Mavis knew.
“You are going to tell him about the child, aren’t you?” Mavis asked worriedly.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No,” Mavis stated firmly.
“Then I shall tell him. I will write the letter this afternoon. The duke told me I was to contact him at Ramsgate Castle or in London if the need arose.” Alyssa looked sheepishly down at her hands. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed in me, Mavis.”
“Of course not,” the older woman said, hugging Alyssa tightly. Mavis had been sick with worry ever since Alyssa had, without emotion, informed her that she and the duke were not getting married. Whatever had broken the two of them up would have to be fixed, Mavis decided. There was an unborn child to consider. Mavis had complete faith the duke would do right by Alyssa, despite the younger girl’s skepticism.
“Now enough weeping,” Mavis said, feeling Alyssa’s tears on her shoulder. “Everything will work out for the best. You’ll see. Tell me, how have you been feeling?”
“Dreadful,” Alyssa answered, grateful to finally be able to discuss all her symptoms. “I’m tired most of the time, and all I have to do is smell Mrs. Stratton’s cooking and I feel nauseous.”
Mavis nodded her head in understanding. “Your mother was the same way. Don’t worry, it will pass.”
Wordlessly she held out her snowy white handkerchief so Alyssa could dry her tears. They talked a while longer and calculated the baby would be born sometime before Christmas. By the time Mavis left her, sipping a weak cup of tea, Alyssa felt better. It was a relief to finally have the situation out in the open. She would contact the duke and a suitable solution would be found.
Alyssa spent the remainder of the day locked in her room at her writing table, trying to compose a letter to Morgan. She did not have the faintest idea what to say. Finally she wrote a brief note inquiring about his health and asking his advice on a suitable wedding gift for Tristan and Caroline. She copied the note twice on her best watermark stationery and sent one to Ramsgate Castle and one to the duke’s London house in Grosvenor Square. Since she was not certain where the duke was in residence, Alyssa took no chances.
Alyssa boldly wrote
Personal
on the outside of both envelopes, hoping to snag Morgan’s attention and cause him to come at once to Westgate Manor. In the end, she needn’t have bothered. Her cautious efforts proved fruitless, because the duke never received either letter.
Personal
on the outside of both envelopes, hoping to snag Morgan’s attention and cause him to come at once to Westgate Manor. In the end, she needn’t have bothered. Her cautious efforts proved fruitless, because the duke never received either letter.
Henri Duponce enjoyed being a spy. He liked the excitement and the danger, and of course, the money. He was not like some, who spied because of loyalty or ideology. He spied because of the thrill it gave him.
The fact that spying was a treasonable offense, punishable by death, did not bother Henri. One had to be caught before one could be put to death, he reasoned, and Henri had no intention of being caught. Ever. He was much too clever for the dim-witted British authorities.
Obtaining information for the French was laughably easy. The so-called British nobility were entirely too well informed and too loose lipped for their own good. A few drinks, a few rounds of cards, and it was easy to discover who was currently working with sensitive information at the War Ministry.
Once a mark had been identified, it was a relatively simple task getting someone on the inside; the ton changed household servants as often as they changed clothes. After the informant located where the information was kept, the Falcon went to work. Even after all these months of working together, Henri was still in awe of the Falcon’s talent. Cunning, ruthless, and light-fingered, the Falcon never failed to produce the documents. Although Henri had originally trained the spy, he admitted the Falcon’s talents now rivaled his own.
Madeline Duponce entered the sitting room, interrupting Henri at his work. She was clad in a thin, transparent dressing gown, loosely belted at the waist. She crossed the room and came to rest at Henri’s side, running her fingers gingerly through his hair. She rubbed her lithe body provocatively against him, trying to gain his attention. They had spent an exhausting hour in bed together, but her actions, coupled with the memories of himself thrusting deeply inside her willing body, made him harden again.
“Come back to bed, Henri.” Madeline pouted, pushing her breasts forward tantalizingly. “I grow lonely for your company.”
“You are an insatiable slut.” He snorted with disgust. “You know I must copy this information and return it to the Falcon before six o’clock this evening. These documents must be returned to their owner before they are missed.”
“But you have been in here for hours,” Madeline whined. “Why is it taking so long?”
“I am using a new code,” Henri admitted. “It is very complicated and requires my complete attention.”
“A different code? Again? Why does the Falcon insist on changing codes constantly?”
“Because we have changed couriers and the Falcon does not wish to be placed in jeopardy if this man is caught. Very clever, no?”
Madeline made a face at him, showing her opinion of the matter.
“If I didn’t know better, I would say you are jealous of my admiration for the Falcon,” Henri baited her.
“Ha,” she retorted with a flip of her long brown hair. “What a ridiculous notion.”
Madeline was not, as everyone thought, his blood sister. She was his accomplice and lover and was as possessive of him in private as he pretended to be of her in public. They had been two ragged urchins, barely surviving on the revolutionary streets of Paris, when Phillipe Lobeur had discovered them. He was fleeing the country and had been handsomely paid to bring his sister’s two children with him. He did not properly care for the youngsters and they took ill and died. Phillipe was devastated by the loss, knowing he needed the children to obtain the guardianship necessary to access the vast Duponce fortune.
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