The Duke's Deceit (10 page)

Arabella gasped. “Why, you are quite beautiful when you smile!” Tapping one cherry red slipper, she narrowed her eyes, studying Mary. “With your hair and the way your eyes slant just so, I believe I shall strive for a more exotic look. Come, Mary, we have much to do!”

Mary found herself caught up in Arabella’s flurry, and before she knew it they were in front of a shop with a discreet sign proclaiming
Madame Beaudin, Modiste
.

Arabella whisked her through the doorway and into a back room hung with narrow mirrors. Obviously, they were expected.

Madame Beaudin herself, a tall raw-boned woman with ebony hair pulled back in a severe bun, surveyed Mary from all angles as she walked slowly around her.

“Everything is here for perfection.” She stopped pacing to purse her lips. “The neck, a quite fine bosom, the narrow waist, the long line of hip and thigh. That she should be clothed in this abomination is disgraceful. Mimi, remove it from my sight at once!”

Mary was overcome with embarrassment. She couldn’t quite believe the compliments, so she fastened on the one thing that was familiar—the contempt of her clothes. Her grandfather was right; she wasn’t fit to be in society.

“What Madame Beaudin is saying, Mary, is that you’re a beautiful girl, but your clothing does you no justice.”

Taken aback at Arabella’s momentary softness, Mary smiled in return. “Dreadfully so, I’m afraid.” She was surprised at the other girl’s obvious kindness to her. She wasn’t certain she’d be so cheerful if her betrothed asked her to help another woman look more modish. She was afraid she’d be overcome with jealousy.

Arabella seemed oblivious to anything but designs and fabric. Bolt after bolt of material was considered for walking costumes, riding habits, morning dresses, and ball gowns. Mary’s mind swam in confusion. This wasn’t her world. She would never need such clothes back in Hexham where she belonged.

Her attempts to stay Arabella fell on deaf ears. A morning dress of buttercup yellow with long sleeves and a softly scooped neckline, another of a pale peach stripe with two ruffles at the hem, and a third of cameo-pink satin with Spanish sleeves were ordered. Two walking costumes, one of gray, the other soft sapphire, each with a matching pelisse and half boots of kid were added. An emerald green riding habit, with a most fetching hat adorned by a white plume, caused even Mary to nod in speechless wonder.

But when Arabella insisted that the neckline of an ivory silk evening gown be cut deeper to display Mary’s bosom to perfection, she called a halt.

“Absolutely not!” she declared, removing the silk that spilled across her body like moonbeams. “I shall have no need of such a gown.”

“Oh, pooh!” Arabella pouted, her face as pretty as ever. “I shan’t fight with you. All in all, we have done quite well.”

“
Oui
, Mademoiselle,” Madame Beaudin nodded. “How shall Miss Masterton’s hair be dressed?”

Both women studied the heavy auburn locks. The assistant, Mimi, pulled out the pins, and an abundance of hair fell straight down her back to her waist.

“It won’t hold a curl. My mother once put it in curling papers for two full days to no avail,” Mary offered.

“Then we shall trim it slightly and pile it loosely upon your head with combs. It will drive the gentlemen mad as they anticipate it tumbling down upon your shoulders,” Arabella declared with a breathless laugh.

Mimi giggled as she buttoned Mary back into her offensive dress.

Madame appeared not to notice as she smiled at Arabella in appreciation. “Mademoiselle knows men and what they admire.”

“I’m not sure about that any longer,” Arabella replied, with a whimsical smile that seemed out of character.

Mary was shocked to see a faint flush color her pale skin. Wishing to somehow repay her kindnesses, Mary tried to diffuse the sudden awkwardness.

“Obviously you know what Richard admires. I’m sure he’ll return to normal soon.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Arabella shrugged with that pretty pout again turning her lips. “I know this reprieve can’t go on forever.”

Even if stunned disbelief hadn’t stilled her tongue, Mary didn’t know Arabella well enough to question such a shocking statement. Particularly when its implications sent a soaring joy singing through her veins.

But, just as quickly, sadness followed in its wake like a splash of icy water. No matter what happened between Richard and his fiancée, Mary had no place in his life. Of that there could be no doubt.

“There is no doubt about it, Miss Barton, you are a genius with flowers!” The duchess eyed the stunning creation of roses, an artful tangle of ivy, and lacy stems of pinks that Lottie had put together after they had finished a cozy luncheon.

“You’re ever so kind, Your Grace. I’d be happy to help your gardener do arrangements for the house,” Lottie offered, as the duchess hoped she would. It was the perfect vehicle to ease Lottie’s nerves and involve her in the flow of life here.

“I’m sure he will be as pleased as I am at your offer.” She placed her teacup firmly on its saucer and folded her hands in her lap. “Miss Barton, may I ask you a few questions about the time you spent with my son?”

She could see by the tightening of Lottie’s soft lips that she was steeling herself to deflect any questions about Mary.

“Was he terribly upset at his memory loss?” she asked carefully.

“At first. Then he seemed content to slide into life on the horse farm.” Lottie stopped, considering for a moment. “Knowing who he is now, that seems hard to believe. It’s a hard life, Your Grace. And he was ever so helpful. Rebuilt the stable when Ian came to London with the ring.”

“Yes, the ring. I have much to be grateful to Mary for,” the duchess said, weighing her words wisely. “She appears to be as concerned about Richard’s health as I am.”

“She is, Your Grace!” Lottie declared with round-eyed fervor. “Why, Mary stayed by his side night and day when he lay in that dreadful coma. Poor soul! Once we thought we’d lose him, but Mary refused to give up hope.”

“Were they happy together before I arrived?”

She could sense by Lottie’s hesitation that she might have overstepped the boundaries, so she hastened to clarify. “The way Richard leapt to her defense when her grandfather attacked her so viciously indicates deep feelings. It is not usually my son’s way to demonstrate such overt…”

Lottie blinked at her in what the duchess could only believe was surprise. “Fair couldn’t keep his hands off her. Playful he was.”

“Richard? Playful?” Shock at her offspring’s actions was such a rare occurrence that she had to consider these new feelings about him and label them correctly.

“Yes, Your Grace. Mary, too, which is something that warmed my heart, seeing that she is usually such a serious child. Loaded down with responsibility she’s always been. Caring for her late father’s dream of a successful horse farm, while fending off that dreadful Sir Robert Lancaster’s advances, and him urging her to wed in order to satisfy her father’s debts.” Warming to the subject, Lottie leaned closer. “To answer your question, Your Grace. Yes, in spite of Mary’s guilt, she was happy, and so was your son, before you came.”

The duchess stared intently into Lottie’s round face, and what she saw there caused her to nod. Richard had at last met his match. She hoped that her restless, intelligent son had a vestige of sense left to realize it.

The moment Richard collapsed in a deep wing chair at White’s opposite Lord Fordham, he realized that the younger man was speechless with fright. A slight movement of his hand brought a waiter at once, and Richard ordered three glasses of rum punch.

Twirling the crystal between two long fingers, he watched both Fordham and Charlesworth take a long drink.

“I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me, Fordham,” he drawled, taking a sip and letting the rum roll around on his tongue.

Young Lord Fordham gazed at him in awe. “Your Grace, before a stable fell on your head you never even spoke to me. The fact that we’re drinking together will raise my credit higher than I’d ever dared hope. I’m in your debt!”

Amused despite his knowledge of the absurdities of his world, Richard gave the boy a kind smile. “Actually, I need your help in tracing someone once connected to your family. It is Charlotte Grenshaw, who, I believe, was once married to your late grandfather’s youngest brother.”

A sandy curl fell over Fordham’s eyes as he nodded. “I recall stories about him. A real black sheep. Went to the colonies, you know. Died there young of over-indulgence, so the stories go.”

“I’m searching for information concerning his widow. Can you help me?” he asked lazily, not by a flicker of an eyelash giving any indication that this was of paramount importance.

“Of course!” the young man exclaimed. “I’ll ask my grandmother. The old gal knows by heart every family scandal in the last fifty years. Loves to drag them out at just the right moment to embarrass us all.” A deep flush crossed his face at this revelation. “I’ll ride to Fordham Manor right now to talk to her, and report to you immediately upon my return!”

The boy jumped to his feet and raced from the room before Richard could utter another word.

Chuckling, he turned to say something to Charlesworth, but the words died in his throat as he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure from the corner of his eyes.

Sir Robert Lancaster. Here?

“Richard, what is it? Has your memory returned?” Charlesworth leapt to his feet, hovering over him.

“That man in black, just leaving—find out why he is here, who sponsored him!” Richard bit out the commands so sharply, Charlesworth spun on his heels without question to do his bidding.

He would have gone after Lancaster himself, but he was still paralyzed by what he had learned last night about Mary, Lancaster, and, most importantly, himself.

Charlesworth returned quickly, setting another drink in front of him. He realized, to his chagrin, that he had downed the other without tasting a thing.

“You look like you need this,” Charlesworth said with a quirk of his lips.

Richard tossed the entire contents down his throat, then looked up into his friend’s face. “It was Sir Robert Lancaster, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Charlesworth perched on the chair beside him and leaned closer. “I was told he recently arrived in London. His sponsor is Baron Renfrew. Does this have anything to do with your business with Fordham?”

Pleased by Charlesworth’s shrewdness, Richard met his gaze evenly. He’d do very well by Bella, indeed.

“Yes, my friend. The pieces of a rather complex puzzle are finally falling into place.”

His mother was correct. He was now, and always had been, convinced that the focus of his will could achieve whatever he wished. Such arrogance staggered him, especially now that he’d met Mary and couldn’t find a way to set all to rights. Yet a remnant of his old self-confidence brought him to his feet.

“Come, Charlesworth, let me introduce you to Mary’s grandfather,” he purred, flicking his friend a lazy smile.

The baron glanced up from a hand of solitaire. Scarlet rushed into the puffy face above his dreadfully tied cravat when he realized that they were coming his way.

“Good day, Baron. Are you acquainted with Lord Charlesworth?”

Without ceremony, Richard sprawled in the chair across the table from the old baron. Clearly at a loss, Frederick hovered beside him. Mary’s grandfather remained grimly silent, his beady eyes flicking uncertainly between the two men as Richard smiled gently.

“We were just discussing the ball at which my mother is planning to introduce Mary to the
ton
.”

“You’re a devil, Avalon!” the old baron hissed, his face quivering. “I told you I’d have no part of this!”

“Sir, your granddaughter is quite lovely. I don’t doubt she’ll become all the rage,” Charlesworth offered gallantly, in a vain attempt to slice through the awkward tension pulsing across the table. At the look of horror draining all color from Renfrew’s blotchy skin, Charlesworth glanced at Richard with troubled eyes.

“Freddie, would you mind leaving the baron and me alone to discuss the upcoming festivities?” Richard nodded briefly to reassure him.

“I’ll be in the reading room if you need me,” Charlesworth responded cryptically. He didn’t even bow to the ugly-tempered man who glowered and was so ungracious.

Richard endured, with some degree of enjoyment, Renfrew’s uneasy glare.

“The chit ain’t no concern of yours!” the baron sputtered, then drained his glass in one gulp. “What the devil are you up to, Avalon?”

“I was just asking myself the same question about you.”

Richard crossed his ankles and smiled, so that any curious observer would think they were having a friendly chat, instead of the careful interrogation he had every intention of performing.

“I caught a glimpse of Mary’s neighbor, Sir Robert Lancaster, in here a few moments ago. Imagine my surprise when Charlesworth learned
you
had sponsored him. Here, I thought you’d never gone near Mary all these years. Yet you are obviously a close friend of the man who has attempted to force her into marriage and who holds her late father’s debts.”

“Didn’t know you had your lackey snooping for you,” Renfrew sneered.

“What an apt description for Lancaster!” Keeping his tone deceptively lazy, Richard leaned closer. “You’ve had your lackey making sure your daughter and her husband stayed in debt all their lives. You’ve spied on Mary and kept her buried away, haven’t you, Baron? I can’t but wonder what you fear from your beautiful granddaughter.”

Absorbing a hiss of air, Renfrew surged clumsily to his feet. “It ain’t none of your damn business, Avalon. Don’t muddle in affairs that don’t concern you. You might regret it.”

In response to so paltry a threat Richard flung back his head and laughed up into the older man’s face.

His lips rolling over his teeth, Renfrew smirked back. “You’ll see. Mark my words!”

“Yes, I believe I will see, Baron, everything. You mark
my
words!” Faint contempt seasoned his voice.

Richard’s lazy smile still curved his mouth as the baron stalked out. He rose swiftly to find Charlesworth and spent the journey back to Avalon House dodging his perceptive questions. Frederick had been a surprisingly able ally in the aftermath of Waterloo two years ago. Now, Richard realized with a start of surprised pleasure, he had become a trusted friend.

“I’m not quite sure myself what’s afoot,” he confided. “I’ll have a better idea once I hear what Fordham’s grandmama has to say.”

The unflappable Wilkens opened the front door, and they entered the gracious hallway.

“Where’s my mother?”

“All the ladies are in the afternoon room, Your Grace.” The butler’s deep voice echoed with importance.

Placing a hand on Charlesworth’s shoulder, Richard urged him to follow. “Say nothing to the ladies. Just be aware Lancaster is not to be trusted. If you should see him anywhere near Mary you must make it known to me at once.”

With a stern twist to his kind mouth, Frederick nodded solemnly. “Of course, Long. At once!”

Satisfied at this day’s work, Richard flung open the doors. All three ladies instantly looked up from their needlework. From the comfortable scene they presented, it appeared that they were all in great charity with each other.

His eyes searched for and found Mary’s open cornflower gaze. Her glorious hair was piled loosely on top of her head. An ivory comb over one small shell-like ear looked ready to give way and allow a heavy lock of auburn to spill across Mary’s smooth throat. There was something oddly enticing about the loose arrangement of hair that at any moment might tumble down around her shoulders and breasts. His fingers tingled, remembering the feel of the silken strands in his hands.

“Your hair looks quite fetching, Mary,” he drawled as evenly as possible.

“Do you like it, Avalon? It was my idea.” Arabella preened. “What do you think, my lord?” she asked sweetly of Charlesworth, from whom she’d scarcely removed her eye since he appeared.

“I must agree with Long, besides adding my compliments to you, Lady Arabella, on your sense of style. It’s quite perfect for Miss Masterton’s unique beauty.”

His gallantry brought a surprising flush of color to Bella’s pale skin, something Richard had rarely, if ever, seen on the spoiled beauty’s countenance.

Of Mary’s delightful blush he had too many memories to contemplate with any degree of sangfroid at this time or place. To stop them, he turned the conversation to a different tack.

“Mother, I’ve decided the best way to jog this stubborn memory of mine is to have a ball for all of our friends.” He met his mother’s dark, questioning eyes with a steady stare of his own. “Besides helping me remember, it will give us the opportunity to introduce Mary to the
ton
.”

Mary’s gasp warred with Bella’s laughter.

“See, Mary, I knew you would have need of a ball gown!”

Richard wasn’t listening to Bella’s excited questions or his mother’s calmer replies. He was staring at Mary. She rose slowly to her feet, and in her eyes was an expression of utter confusion.

“Richard, I must speak with you alone,” she muttered in an almost inarticulate flutter, and bolted through the door.

He caught up with her at the entrance to the conservatory. Lottie was bent over some plants at the far end of the sunny room, so Richard led Mary to the bench next to the fountain whose shepherdess eternally poured water from a pail onto the stones around her feet. The splashing water would hide their voices and give them the privacy Mary sought.

He sat down beside her on the cool bench, his gaze holding hers. Her usually deep blue eyes had the opaque quality he’d first seen on her grandfather’s arrival in Hexham. It had been there again last night when she’d finally told him the bitter truth. As a herald of powerful emotion, it was potent in the air of utter vulnerability it gave her.

“Why would you wish to introduce me to the
ton
? Especially after last night; especially considering how you feel about me,” she asked softly.

“And how is that?” he taunted, despite what his instinct demanded. If only he could flow with this fire between them that had been forged in those dark hours, when he lay close to death and only her voice and touch had called him back. A different man had awakened in her arms; free of the constraint of his cynicism, he’d touched and enjoyed the pleasures of life in a new way. But his greatest joy had been the compelling gift Mary had offered, the slow flowering of her passion. He couldn’t quite accept the fact that she had only been pretending for her own ends. No doubt such denial was a stubborn remnant of his famed arrogance.

“How
do
I feel about you?” This time he waited for a reply. When it didn’t come, he reached out slowly to release the curl from the fragile comb behind her ear. He wound the thick strand around his wrist and tugged gently, bringing their faces closer. “Nothing to say, Mary? No more lies to tell? No more pretending? No more having to endure this?”

A whimper escaped her as his hard fingers tilted her chin. His mouth sought her mouth. The kiss was hot and scarring, spiraling arousal through his blood. Dragging his lips from her, he admitted to himself that he’d wished to punish her, but had only deepened his own wound.

“Are you happy, Richard?” she flashed out. “I wonder which one of us is the more accomplished liar!” Her anger brought full color back to her eyes, and they shot blue flames.

“The man I knew those weeks in Hexham might turn away from me for my terrible lie, but he would never have played such cruel games. Don’t make everyone else pay for my mistakes. This absurd idea for a ball will only bring unhappiness to everyone. My grandfather has no desire to have the
ton
know of my existence, and I have no desire to be known.”

He released her completely, her hair spilling from his fingers. “Your grandfather will get exactly what he deserves,” he said with dead certainty.

“It appears you want to see that I do, too!” She threw the insult as she brushed past him and fled the room.

He started to follow, then stopped, whirling around at the shuffle of slippers on the stone floor. Totally absorbed with Mary, he’d forgotten Lottie was across the room. Her eyes glared at him, accusing him, before she ran after Mary.

Battered by conflicting emotions, his usual rational manner fled. Indeed, which man was he? The cynical, bored, but always coolly rational, Duke of Avalon? Or was he Richard Byron, a man obviously more driven by his passion than his sense?

The noise in the hallway brought Sir Robert’s eyes from the mirror, where he was absorbed in the intricate folds of his cravat, to rest on his chamber door. Renfrew crashed through, looking like the devil.

“Nasty habit you have, Baron, bursting in on a fellow.”

The beady eyes, nearly buried in the red fleshy face, flew about the snug rented rooms, surveying the fine furniture and the obviously new carpet and rich bed hangings.

“See you’re spending my money free enough. When are you going to start earning it? You stupid fool! It might already be too late!”

Watching the old man’s reflection in the glass, Sir Robert smiled. “As you can see, I am dressed and ready to make a call now on my beloved Mary.”

“What
you
don’t see is that Avalon has already ferreted out I sponsored you into White’s. He’s on to us!” Ramming his bulbous nose practically into Sir Robert’s face, he glared. “He’s planning a ball to introduce Mary to the
ton
!”

Folding his arms across his chest, Sir Robert sneered back. “That humbling experience might be the very thing to drive poor Mary into my waiting arms. Who do you think is going to look twice at the penniless daughter of a man who was hardly more than a stable hand, even if she is the granddaughter of a baron? To overcome such a slur she needs be an heiress.”

There it was again—something shifting deep in the old man’s eyes!

“Thinking of leaving her your fortune, Renfrew?” he taunted, filled with excitement. There must be something here he could use to his advantage.

“Ain’t leaving the chit a farthing of mine!” Lumbering away, the baron paced the room with short strides. “Just get her out of town before this cursed ball actually comes about. Don’t care how you do it. Just do it!”

Shrugging, Sir Robert moved away from the mirror and picked up a silver-handled walking stick. “As you say, Avalon is a knowing one, even without his memory. To best such a man might be more than I’m capable of doing.”

A greedy man himself, Renfrew had no trouble correctly interpreting the words. “How much to get rid of her now?”

“Twenty thousand pounds a year for the rest of my life.” He demanded the audacious figure, and then suspended movement, thought, even breathing, as he waited.

“Done!” the baron hissed. “But I want the job finished quickly, do you understand?”

A hot rush of excitement burned his skin. Good God, his gamble was paying off! There must be a bloody fortune at stake for Renfrew to agree to this extortion. Little did the baron guess that in the end Sir Robert fully intended to have it all.

Flown with success, he managed a comforting smile. “Don’t fret, sir. I will accomplish my deed posthaste. Of course I will need some surety of our little agreement.” He spread his arms wide in a rueful gesture. “A note guaranteeing payment drawn up by your solicitor, perhaps?”

The look of loathing that the baron flashed him might have discomfited a more sensitive man. Sir Robert met it quite openly.

“It shall be on condition that you get the chit back north where she belongs. Marry her and keep her hidden away.”

“Consider it done,” Sir Robert bowed with mockery. “And our contract?”

“I’ll have it tomorrow,” he growled, stalking to the door. “Best your part be completed not far behind!” He flung the words over his shoulder as he stormed out.

Slowly Sir Robert went back to the mirror and resumed perfecting his neck cloth. Even here alone, and to his own reflection, he maintained the outward veneer of coolness. Inside he was boiling with excitement. At last his money problems were about to end! And not just end—twenty thousand a year was a decent fortune. But what heated his blood was the surety, now firmly fixed, in his mind that there was a bigger fortune to be had.

Once he married the chit and left her buried away in the country, he could return to London a wealthy man. Then he’d have all the time in the world to wheedle or blackmail the rest from Mary’s unnatural grandpapa. Given what he knew about his soon-to-be-bride, there was no doubt in his mind that he had the perfect tack to take with her.

It seemed to be taking Mary forever to get through the house. She was almost to the safety of the west wing, where she could lock herself in her bedchamber to weep herself into oblivion, when the duchess suddenly appeared at the head of the wide staircase.