An Accidental Seduction (18 page)

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, old chap,” he said, and Savaana turned at the niggle of familiarity.

There, front and center, was Sean Gallagher, dressed in frock coat and starched cravat, and looking like nothing so much as a debutante’s lusty dreams.

S
avaana felt her mouth drop open.

“Just dance,” he ordered.

“What happened to your brogue? And where—” she began, but he was already leading her into the first steps, his movements fluid and sure. “What’s this about?”

He didn’t look at her. “I might ask as much of you.”

She leaned away from him, watching his face. It looked the same, yet different somehow. His chiseled chin was elevated, his lovely body stiff, his eyes imbued with a confusing mix of anger and boredom. “What are you talking about? Where did you get that jacket?” It fit marvelously across his wide shoulders.

“Why are you here?”

“Why—” She felt well out of her depths and sinking fast. “I’m with my husband, Lord Tilmont. You remember him, don’t you?”

“Oh I remember him, but he’s not your husband.” His posture was perfect as he swept her into a twirl.

“You’re deluded.” She felt breathless. Maybe it was from the spinning. Maybe not.

“And happily so,” he said.

“Do you know what the penalty is for impersonating your betters?”

He glanced down at her, allowing a smidgen of the Irish to shine through. “Are you so sure I’m impersonating,
lass
?” He drawled the last word, employing the damnable brogue.

She tripped. He pulled her tighter to his chest and continued on, forcing her to follow his perfect lead. “Careful there, my lady. We wouldn’t want you to ruin your fine new frock.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Your frock,” he said, eyes blazing as he skimmed her low décolletage. “It’s quite nice, by the by. Flattering, if you don’t mind showing a bit of your—”

“What do you mean you’re not impersonating?” she hissed, and he grinned coldly.

“Ahh that,” he said, and returning to his perfect posture, danced her toward the edge of the gargantuan floor. “Well, perhaps you’re not the only one pretending to be what she’s not,” he said.

She shook her head in confusion. “So you’re…” She managed a shrug. “…a woman?”

He grinned a little at her wit, but didn’t bother to glance down. Instead, he kept his head turned away, his
shoulders drawn back. The muscles of his thighs felt as hard as hewn granite, his hand strong and callused against hers.

“You deserve more,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’d give you more.”

“You!” She gasped the word. “You’re a liar and a…I don’t know what you are.”

“Maybe I’m the heir to a small fortune.”

“You…I…” She was at a loss for words. “You seduced me for money!” she said, and the song swept to a crescendo. He twirled her away and then into his arms, her back against the hard plane of his chest.

“Not for money.”

Her breath was coming hard. “For a bet. You seduced me for a bet!” she hissed, and his patience exploded.

“I seduced you because you’re irresistible. Because you’re bright and funny and brave and built…” He skimmed her bosom again. “…like a damned hourglass with legs.”

Their gazes caught. Her breath stopped. He was leaning toward her. Their lips almost met, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a brush of movement. A woman turned toward her for an instant. Her dark hair was pulled into a chignon beneath an ivory bonnet. A veil shadowed her features and her gown was high-necked. Pale and lacy, it covered nearly every inch of her. But for
an instant, for just a fractured moment in time, she drew the lace back from her face. Their eyes met. It was like looking in a mirror.

“Dear God,” Savaana rasped.

“No. Just a good lover,” Gallagher said, and leaned down, but she was already struggling out of his grip.

The woman in ivory was gliding toward the door that led to the gardens.

Savaana pivoted in that direction, but the Irishman held her wrist. “I was only joking,” he said. “Please—” But she barely heard him and tugged urgently at her arm.

“I have to go.”

“Go? Where? Listen, I apologize. We need—”

“Just…I need some air. Time alone. Leave me,” she said, and pulled out of his grasp. The crowd surged like a wild tide against her, but she pushed through. Outside, the mist had rolled over Lady Reardon’s rose garden. But she thought she caught a glimpse of white lace in the darkness. She rushed through the shadows. The outer gate creaked as she hurried toward it.

“Clarette,” she whispered. Not a soul answered, just the soft song of pool frogs. “Lady Tilmont,” she said, and stepped through the gate. It groaned shut behind her. She glanced toward the house, bright with a thousand candles. Beyond their glittering light the world looked as black as sin. Fear gnawed at her. But a thousand ragged memories pushed her on. She stepped into uncertainty.

Footsteps, light and quick, hurried away, and she followed, down a well laid path of stone that led to the river. The moon shone for a moment on the dropping land below. Freedom called to her. She could leave. Could quit all this. Could return to her caravan, to the people who had accepted her as their own, but blood ties were still strong.

“If you’re here—” she began, but suddenly hands grabbed her.

She gasped. Someone was already covering her mouth, pulling her roughly into the black lee of a towering oak. She struggled wildly. The other’s grip broke.

“Holy hell!”

Savaana pulled away, ready to run, but at that instant recognized the voice. “Clarette?”

“I think you broke my nose.”

“Clarette, is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.” Her voice was hissed. “Who the devil did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. How was I to know you—What are you doing here?”

“What am
I
doing here?” she rasped. “We were supposed to meet. At Knollcrest. Remember Knollcrest, the place where I am paying you to remain?”

“Of course I remember, but you’re early and—”

“And what? You decided to enthrall some lusty peer of the realm when you were supposed to make absolutely
certain my husband didn’t suspect me of having interest in another?”

“He’s not a peer.”

“What is he, then?”

Hell if she knew. “An Irishman?”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to enthrall a lusty Irishman while I was gone either.”

“I didn’t…He’s not…” Savaana shook her head. “You’re the one who left for a tryst.”

“And you’re the one who was supposed to stay put. What the devil are you doing here in the first place?”

“How did you find me?”

“I saw Mrs. Edwards in
my
tilbury. Naturally I was a bit curious. Why the hell would you hire a chaperone?”

“I…It’s a long story.”

“Well, I’ve got all night, since
I’m
not flirting with a lusty Irishman.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why? Do you think the Celt will follow you?”

“Him or your husband.”

Clarette grabbed Savaana’s arm. “Why would my husband follow you?” Her tone was low, threatening.

“I don’t know,” Savaana snapped, pulling from her grasp. “Maybe he likes me. What’s he doing here, anyway? I thought he was supposed to be in Bath.”

“He
was
supposed to be in Bath!”

“Well, he’s not.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had much time to ask him, what with the parties and the clothes and the…” Her voice trailed away.

“And the what?” Clarette asked, glaring.

Savaana refrained from stepping back. “Listen, we’ve got more important things to discuss.”

“More important than whether you’ve been sleeping with my husband?”

For a moment inexplicable guilt flooded Savaana, but she quashed it. “You wanted nothing to do with your husband!” she hissed.

“That hardly means I wanted
you
to do something with him.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t sleep with him?”

She tried not to wince, but she had been dealing with sister guilt for as long as she could remember. It was she, after all, who had wanted their mother to abandon the squalling baby. “I…”

“What?”

“We slept, that’s all.”

Clarette hissed air through her teeth. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Savaana countered. “He’d been drinking.”

Clarette scowled as if thinking that sounded likely. “Does he know who you are?”

“Of course not.”

They stared at each other, then Clarette shook her head and paced away, all nerves and angst and anger. “I should have known better than to trust a Gypsy. They lie. They cheat. It’s in their blood like—”

“You’re Rom.”

Clarette paced back abruptly, then barked a low laugh. “Ah, splendid, and now you’re mad as well.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Well…” She snorted a laugh and paced again. “I’ve been called a lot of things. A whore. A vixen. A liar. A snobbish little marquis once called me an ill-mannered goat. But never a Rom.”

Savaana was calm now, as if the entirety of her existence rested on this moment and there was nothing she could do to change the events one way or the other. “Your mother was Rom.”

Clarette stopped as if tripped. “You know nothing of my mother.”

Savaana took a careful breath. “She had the voice of an angel.”

Absolute silence echoed between them for a heartbeat. From somewhere far away laughter twittered through the still night air. It sounded surreal and disembodied on the floating mist.

Clarette shook her head.

“She sang lullabies.”

“Every mother—”

“In Delvanian.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Taking a careful breath, Savaana softly sang the words she still remembered, but Clarette stopped her before she’d uttered two lines.

“Who sent you?” Her voice was weak, her face pale.

“She had hair like fresh ginger. The same color as yours.”

“My hair is black.” The words were whispered.

“Only so you can escape your past.”

Clarette opened her mouth to deny the words, then shook her head. “You know nothing of me. Nothing of her. You don’t.” She repeated the words like a mantra, like one in a trance.

“She gave birth to two daughters,” Savaana whispered. “Less than eighteen months apart.”

“You’re wrong.”

“She gifted you with her necklace.”

“You don’t…She…” Clarette began, then laughed again. “’Twas the Earl of Ayrshire who put you up to this, wasn’t it? He was angry when I left him. That, I knew, but I didn’t think he’d stoop to—”

“I found it in your jewelry box.”

The air left her lungs like the rasp of a bellows. “You had no right to go through my things.”

Savaana almost made excuses, but finally smiled at the ridiculousness of the situation. “But pretending to be
you…lying to Gallagher, your servants, your
husband…
that was perfectly fine?”

Clarette stared at her in silence for a moment. There might have been guilt in her expression. “Who are you, really?”

Silence ticked steadily away.

“I think you know,” Savaana said finally.

Clarette shook her head. “This is madness.”

“They’re not simple rocks.”

For a moment Savaana thought she would pretend not to understand, but finally she spoke, her voice low and hushed. “The necklace,” Clarette said.

Savaana nodded.

“Mother said they were nothing but river stones Father had collected. She kept them in memory of him.”

“I think she lied to keep them safe. To keep
you
safe.”

“From what?”

Savaana drew a steadying breath and wondered if she was right or if all her years of searching for the truth were for nothing. Maybe she had fabricated everything to satisfy her own vanity. “The Ludricks.”

“I’ve never even heard of—” Clarette stopped, half turned away, then swiveled back. “You’re daft.”

“The stones are diamonds. Uncut paragons.”

“You’re lying.”

“I took them to a jeweler. Two, in fact.”

“How dare you?” she asked, but her voice was soft.

“I dare because I’m your sister.”

Clarette shook her head and backed away. “No. You’re making up tales.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you want the necklace.”

“No…” Savaana began, then almost laughed at herself. “I
do
rather want the necklace.”

“Well, you can’t have it!”

“Very well,” she said, and remained exactly as she was.

Clarette’s brows lowered quizzically. “It wasn’t the Earl of Ayrshire who sent you?”

“No.”

“Lord Griffin?”

Savaana shook her head.

“Baron Von Brandt?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Lord Aramount?”

“Sounds like a biblical mountain.”

“Sergeant MacDugal?”

“How many lovers have you had?”

The baroness scowled. “It was Fen, wasn’t it?”

Savaana was getting tired. “Fen?”

“He didn’t have a title, but he had…” She raised her brows suggestively. “…something else.”

“If we weren’t sisters I wouldn’t even
speak
to you.”

“We’re not sisters!” The words came out on a hiss. “I’m Lady Tilmont.”

“You’re wrong,” someone said, and stepped from the shadows.

They jerked toward him in surprise. He was little more than a silhouette in the darkness, but he was there, his black top hat just visible above his gray hair.

“Your mother was Princess Eliane.”

“What?” Clarette rasped.

“You’re the man from the alley,” Savaana said, and stepped sideways, putting herself between him and Clarette.

“My apologies for our unforgivable behavior of yesterday.” His voice was very formal, slightly accented.

Savaana’s head was spinning. What had she done? After all these years, had she brought trouble to her sister’s doorstep? “If it’s unforgivable, apologizing seems a waste of time.”

The little man smiled. “You’ve your mother’s quick wit,
cea dulce.
”

“Who are you?” she asked. Perhaps if she yelled, Gallagher would come running. Funny how minutes ago she had been trying to avoid him.

“My name would mean nothing to you. What is important is that we have found you. But there is little time to talk. We must leave this place,” he said, and stepped forward.