Dangerous Deceptions (30 page)

No,
I told him silently.
It’s yours, and you’ve made it.
“Go back to your family, Sebastian. Or, if you prefer, go to Miss Howe. We are finished, you and I.”

“Oh, no, we are not finished, Miss Fitzroy. And now we never will be.”

I did not shiver as he turned on his heel, nor did I flinch as he slammed the door. In fact, I did not permit myself to so much as move until Matthew had closed the bolt and Olivia had wrapped her arms around me.

“You won’t let him upset you, Peggy, will you?” she asked anxiously.

“Not anymore.” I patted her arm and moved myself gently away. Then I took Matthew’s hand, and I took Olivia’s.

“Thank you,” I said to them both. “I don’t know what will happen tonight, but thank you for being here with me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peggy,” said Olivia as she squeezed my fingers. “It’s a perfect scheme. I’m only surprised you thought of it first.”

If my smile was a little weak, it was at least sincere. I turned my gaze to Matthew.

“I could not be anywhere else,” he said, and kissed my hand.

If I had doubts, they fled. With Matthew and Olivia by my side, I could do anything, and I would dare the whole world to try to stop us.

I faced forward, flipped open my fan, and squared my shoulders. “Open the door. It’s time.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The drawing room was already full by the time we reached it. For once, my late arrival was calculated. When the footmen pushed open the doors, every eye turned to us, just as I knew they would.

Let them look.
I kept my own gaze straight ahead as I advanced.
For once, let everyone look.
Tonight, I would take center stage, and I meant to give the performance of my life.

Olivia and Matthew followed arm in arm, forming my personal entourage. The crush parted for us. Lords, ladies, and gentlemen drank in the details of our little procession as we made our way to where Her Royal Highness was seated among her other attendants. But it was not just Her Royal Highness. The Prince of Wales, resplendent in scarlet and gold, was also there, standing at his wife’s side.

I made my deepest curtsy.

“Well, well, Miss Fitzroy,” boomed the prince. “Mother and babies doing well, I trust?”

“Very well, sir, and I thank you,” I answered.

“Excellent. Anne will be pleased to hear it, won’t she, my dear?” I lifted my eyes just far enough to see him lay a hand on the princess’s shoulder. “And this is your cousin, I think, ain’t it, Miss Fitzroy?”

“Your Royal Highnesses, may I have leave to present Miss Olivia Amelia Pierpont?”

“Delighted.” The prince smiled. “Glad to welcome our Miss Fitzroy’s family at last.”

Olivia dropped her curtsy a fraction of an inch in modest acknowledgment.

“And, sir, madame, this is Mr. Matthew Reade of the Royal Academy for the Improvement of Art and Artists.”

“Ah, yes, yes, one of Thornhill’s men.” Prince George nodded sagely. “Heard of you, sir. My wife expects great things, you may be sure, as do I.”

“I will endeavor not to disappoint, Your Highness,” murmured Matthew.

I knew what was happening. It was known I had the princess’s good opinion. Now the prince was publicly indicating his approval as well. Such an open sign of royal favor was protection, and it was power, and they were both handing it to me, even though Her Royal Highness knew that I planned on humiliating a peer of the realm if I at all could.

I thought about Mr. Tinderflint and how he was going to be rather surprised at the strides I’d made once he returned from Paris. But that was a matter for later. If I had a later.

“And so I have done what I can, Margaret,” said the princess in light and conversational German. “The rest is up to you.”

I bent my knee that much farther in acknowledgment and gratitude. I also took the hint and backed away, with Matthew and Olivia following suit.

When I was able to turn around, the first thing I met was the fire in Sophy Howe’s glare. This was yet one more thing I’d expected, as was the sight of Sebastian skulking at her elbow. He added his furious glower to hers, and I had a moment to wonder exactly what he’d told Sophy about our most recent conversation.

It was not a long moment, however, because Olivia, Matthew, and I were quickly overtaken by a wave of silk-clad individuals demanding introductions. The gentlemen, in particular, were pleased to see Olivia, and my cousin fell right into the part of court belle, flirting and flapping her fan with the finest of us. Mary Bellenden, in fact, looked quite green with envy at Olivia’s easy demeanor as gentlemen, lords, and not one, but two, admirals kissed her hand in rapid succession. Not that I felt any satisfaction at seeing my sister maid of honor discomforted, of course. I had far weightier matters on my mind.

Because there at the edge of the crush waited Lord Lynnfield, and beside him stood Mr. Julius Sandford.

“I’m going,” I murmured to Olivia.

“Good luck,” she whispered back.

I felt the brush of callused fingers against mine. Of course it was Matthew, but I could not so much as glance back. I had to keep my gaze forward and a smile fixed on my face. I was not Peggy Mostly now. I was Miss Margaret Preston Fitzroy. I was the princess’s favorite and her confidante, and I was in demand with every highborn person in that room. My company was a mark of honor that I would condescend to extend to a chosen few.

It was with this attitude that I glided up to the Baron of Lynnfield and his older son.

“Well, now, Miss Fitzroy,” chuckled Lord Lynnfield as he straightened from his bow. “You’re looking very well this evening.” His eyes lingered a little on my sparkling bosom. I tried not to squirm.

“How do you do, Lord Lynnfield, Mr. Sandford? I am so very pleased that you could come.”

“Hate court,” said Lord Lynnfield. “Still. Must do the pretty every now and again.”

“And you, Mr. Sandford?” I turned to his son. “What are your feelings toward the current court?”

Julius Sandford shrugged. He was dressed in a pale blue coat, white velvet breeches, and a minimally acceptable amount of gilt-edged lace. The only jewel he wore was a fat gold ring with a plain black stone. His gaze was not on my bosom. It was busy traveling from my jeweled pins, to my bracelets, to my necklace and up to the gold and sapphires decorating my curls. I found myself wondering uncomfortably if he was picking out which of them were genuine and which were paste.

“Court is a necessary evil,” said Mr. Sandford quietly. “But I find of late it contains certain . . . surprises.”

I was ready to go on making small talk, but I caught sight of movement from the corner of my eye. Norris and Cavey had entered the drawing room, quietly, as well-trained servants were supposed to. If I hadn’t been waiting for them, I would probably not have even noticed. At almost the same moment, Libby slipped into place with the other ladies’ maids who stood in a tidy, inconspicuous row by the far wall.

My prologue was over. The stage was ready for me.

“Mr. Sandford,” I said cheerfully, “I believe you asked me for a game of piquet when we last met.”

“I did. Unfortunately, I do not see the tables set up.”

“Oh, we can play over there.” I pointed with my fan. Norris and Cavey had taken a rectangular gilt and marble table from its place in a shadowed corner and were carrying it between them to the hearth. All this was being done under the watchful eye of no less a person than Mrs. Howard. She glanced up at me. Our gazes met. She nodded once and retired.

Mr. Sandford took note of all of this, as he was meant to. “Ah,” he said. For the first time that evening, a genuine emotion colored his voice—curiosity. “I had no idea you were such a keen player, Miss Fitzroy.”

“It all depends on the partner, Mr. Sandford, and the stakes.”

Again, Mr. Sandford glanced over my shoulder. Norris and Cavey were putting the chairs in place now. Around us, the gathering became slowly but steadily aware that something unusual was being prepared. A murmur spread through the room. Lord Lynnfield chuckled, a nasty, wheezing noise that emanated from his nose as well as his mouth.

“What stakes do you envision for our particular game?” Mr. Sandford asked softly.

I did not speak softly. I pitched my voice to carry. “There exists a contract between my family and yours, Mr. Sandford. We will play for that.”

I suspect that seldom in the history of the world has such a large gathering gone so silent so suddenly. The last sound was a smothered giggle. That was Mary Bellenden, I was sure of it, although I did not look to see. I kept my eyes on Mr. Sandford, and I smiled.

“Unless, of course,” I went on, “you’re afraid you might lose.”

Mr. Sandford took three careful and deliberate steps toward me. Even though a distance of more than a yard separated me from my paramour, I still felt Matthew tense.

“It’s a pity, you know,” Julius Sandford drawled. His eyes once more traveled the length of my body, carefully picking out my valuables, both the genuine and the fake. “I might have had you for myself, but I declined the honor.” He shrugged and turned away.

For a moment, I thought I’d already won. I thought he’d refuse. But in this I was disappointed.

“What do you say, Sebastian?” Mr. Sandford called across the room. Sebastian started badly. Now all eyes were on him, and on Sophy Howe. “She’s your betrothed. Shall I win her back for you?”

Around us, the room erupted into laughter, applause, and loud speculation. That almost shook me out of my countenance. I’d hoped to fluster Julius Sandford, and I’d completely failed. He stood in the middle of the commotion and did nothing more than smile as Sebastian slipped off Sophy’s arm and stalked over to confront him.

“You lousy bastard,” Sebastian hissed. “Are you trying to humiliate us all?”

“Oh, heaven forbid, my brother bastard,” Julius replied calmly. “But I will point out that you’re helping Miss Fitzroy do the job quite admirably.”

“A moment, if you please,” called a single, clear, unmistakable voice.

The entire gathering turned around. Her Royal Highness had risen from her seat. All of us at once made our bows, including the Prince of Wales. My mistress moved gracefully forward to join my little conversational party. It was not to be missed that His Royal Highness fell into step behind her, and when she stopped, he remained at her side.

“This is most irregular, Lord Lynnfield,” the princess remarked. “Don’t you agree?”

“I’d have to say so . . . Your Highness.” I’d never seen anyone smirk at Princess Caroline before this. My estimation of Lord Lynnfield’s nerve rose.

My mistress did not mistake his expression, or the hesitation before he pronounced her title. “And perhaps a little less than dignified?” she inquired.

“Well, these young persons, ma’am. You know how they get. Especially the gels, eh?” Lord Lynnfield chuckled, but only a little. Even he had a hard time keeping up his humor in a room gone as silent as a winter’s grave.

The princess bent her mouth into a brief smile. “Matters of such importance are generally not settled over cards.” The sneer she applied to that final word was a work of art.

“Naturally not, naturally not,” agreed Lord Lynnfield. “But as I think Your Highness knows, all sorts of things may occasionally change hands under unusual circumstances.”

The high, hissing sound of dozens of breaths all being sucked in at once rushed through the room.

But Her Royal Highness seemed inclined to ignore this remark. “Will you agree to follow through on these unusual circumstances, Lord Lynnfield?”

“Never walked out on a bet in me life,” he replied curtly.

“And should your son lose?” inquired the prince.

For the first time, Lord Lynnfield seemed to notice His Royal Highness was there, and it startled him. “Ha! Not much chance of that. Sir.”

“Then have we any objections to this game, sir?” Princess Caroline said to her husband.

“Actually, I think it would be quite amusing,” said Prince George. “Although, I will say, my money’s going to be on Miss Fitzroy.”

That sealed it. The thunder of more than a hundred voices erupted. All other topics of conversation were forgotten as speculation flew back and forth, right along with the wagers. Molly Lepell looked as if she might faint. Mary Bellenden was clutching Lord Blakeney’s arm in her excitement.

Sophy and Sebastian stood side by side, watching, as I walked sedately toward the table.

Piquet is a two-handed game, and so the table was a narrow one. Matthew managed to keep himself as the first one in line to pull out my chair for me. I expected a number of gentlemen would have bruised feet and shins in the morning as the result of his efforts. I smiled at him and received in return his look of complete confidence. I could have flown to France and fought the Pretender one-handed after that.

Olivia took my fan. I needed her near me for this game, and like Matthew, she’d gotten herself into position admirably. Next, I gestured for Libby to come forward with the ivory box containing my cards. As I did, I noted that Mrs. Howard was standing right behind Sophy Howe. I saw her mouth move as she murmured something, and then I saw Sophy’s head snap around like she’d heard a shot fired.

“Just a moment, if you please,” called Sophy above the tidal rush of bets being orchestrated and paper being passed about.

This fresh interruption actually caused Julius Sandford to raise his eyebrows. Sophy slipped neatly through the ring of courtiers. “I recognize that box, I think,” she announced. “It’s your
personal
pack of cards, is it not, Miss Fitzroy?”

I pulled myself up, assuming my best haughty air. “It is. What of it?”

Sophy smiled, and I could see that she smelled blood. “Well, I could not say, to be sure, but, perhaps—purely in the interests of impartiality, of course—this game should be played with a different pack?”

I let myself rise, slowly. I clenched my fists and did everything possible to make a blush rise to my cheeks as I faced her.