The Deception (13 page)

“Do you know the reason for the falling out between the two families? I also missed my cousin, and Lord Edmund.”

Mrs. Needle sipped her tea, then set the cup on a small, very old table at her side.

“Her father didn’t sever the connection. Far be it from Old Rolfe to close off the till when his pockets were to let.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am. Marissa’s father was an honorable gentleman, and a man of some means.”

“Rolfe was a gambler, little lassie. He spent three fortunes. I believe he’s now spending a fourth fortune, one that he managed to steal by marrying his son to an heiress. Poor girl, with Old Rolfe as a papa-in-law.” “My father never told me that,” Evangeline said. “Surely you are mistaken.”

“Believe what ye want to believe. Old Rolfe never paid a single sovereign of the girl’s dowry to Duke William, not even a sou.” The old woman laughed.

“Oh, goodness. That bespeaks a fine gall, Mrs. Needle.”

“Aye, a very fine gall. He’s still doing so, as far as I know. I listen, but there’s no more to hear since Marissa died. Now, as for ye, little lassie, why don’t ye tell me what is troubling ye?” Evangeline was silent as a post. “Ye’re impetuous, just as she was, but ye’ve known a very different life. Yer English mother was the saving of ye, child. She gave ye balance, curbed yer willful ways. Ye’re proud, but not so proud that ye’d lose sight of what is right. Aye, and that father of yers, a beautiful man he was. I remember him very well from the wedding. A beautiful laugh he had as well. I’m sorry to hear he died. Odd, but I hadn’t expected that. It jest doesn’t feel right.” “He had a very bad heart.” Mrs. Needle just frowned at her, then turned to frown into the fire.

Evangeline’s eyes fixed on Mrs. Needle’s face. “How could you know about my mother? Indeed, what can you possibly know of my character? You never met me until yesterday.”

“I’ve lived for a very long time. I see things, ye must have guessed that already, and I know people, lassie. And of course her grace spoke of yer family. It’s true of many people that their character shines in their eyes. You are one of those, Madame.”

Evangeline moistened her lips. “You said I had heat in my eyes. What did you mean?”

The old lady’s nearly empty mouth smiled wide. “Ye’re all interested in that, are ye? I don’t blame ye. It’s a fine thing, having heat in yer eyes. Ye’ll find out soon enough. Yer life is just beginning. I only wish
ye’d tell me what bothers ye. Ye feel fear and the oddest thing—ye also feel tremendous guilt.”

Evangeline jumped to her feet. “I shouldn’t be here, that’s why,” she said, and banged the cup and saucer beside Mrs. Needle’s on the small table. “I should never have come to Chesleigh. Please, you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. There’s nothing to it. Just forget, Mrs. Needle. I beg of you, just forget what you feel, what you think you see in me.”

“I won’t tell anyone anything. Except for the duke. I tell his grace everything. He’s my proud boy, my beautiful boy.”

“He is much more than that. He is utterly without inhibition. He is outrageous. He’s also very amusing.” She dashed her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t expect him to be anything like the way he is.”

Mrs. Needle cocked her head, her eyes intent on Evangeline’s face. “His grace has tempered his wild ways, moderated his appetites. He’s become a good man. He awaits the mate of his heart to become happy as his father was.” “You speak of love as though it was fate.” “For some it is.”

“I don’t believe there is a single special person on this earth made just for the duke, made just for me. The chances are too great of that female or that male ever coming anywhere near the duke or me.”

“Aye, ye’d think that. It only makes sense. The world is a grand place, more people than one can imagine.” The old woman smiled at her and nodded. Her eyelids drooped. Evangeline just stood there, staring at the old woman, who looked to be on the verge of falling asleep under her nose.

“I will leave you, Mrs. Needle. Don’t get up. Thank you for the tea.”

“Think about what I’ve told ye. Come back.”

“I’ll come back.”

“I’d like to hear tales of this husband ye said ye had. Nay, don’t tell me tales now.” Mrs. Needle’s eyes were very open now, sharp, filled with knowledge. “Ye know, little lassie, loyalties are sometimes dreadful burdens. They tear and rend us, even blind us if we let them.”

“That’s true, but it hasn’t anything to do with me. Good-bye, Mrs. Needle.”

As she let herself out of the North Tower room, she heard the old woman’s soft snoring. Was she so very obvious that one could just look at her and tell that all was not well? No, surely not. The old woman was a witch, although Evangeline had never before believed in witches.

Dorrie arranged Evangeline’s hair in two thick braids, plaiting them together atop her head. She pulled free loose tendrils around her face, several falling down her neck. It was an attractive style on her. She looked at herself in the long mirror, aware that Dorrie was standing behind her, awaiting her reaction. She smiled at her image. The yellow silk gown, highwaisted and cut low over her breasts, fell in soft folds to the floor. Dorrie had removed the adorning flounce, indeed made the gown over, and it now fit her as if it had been made for her.

Both of them knew it was a success. And she needed a success. Mrs. Raleigh had told her just an hour before that the duke was entertaining, and he desired her presence. Evidently, he’d already sent word to Dorrie since the beautiful gown had been ready and waiting for her.

She drew up short as Bassick moved to open the
door to the vast salon. The sound of a girl’s sparkling laugh reached her ears nearly at the same moment as she saw the elegant young lady, laughing still, her white hand on the duke’s black sleeve. She saw a much older lady, a huge diamond tiara balancing precariously on her iron gray hair, rouge spotting her cheeks red, seated near the fireplace, a gentleman standing on each side of her.

“Madame de la Valette,” Bassick said in his deep voice.

Everyone in the room turned toward her. What the devil had she gotten herself into now? Who were these people? All she’d wanted was to be left alone so she could betray the duke and keep her father safe. She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them wide, smiled, and walked into the drawing room.

The young lady, whose hand was still resting possessively on the duke’s arm, looked up and smiled at her. She was a blonde, so fair her hair looked nearly silver in the candlelight. Her eyes were a pale blue, laughing eyes, and Evangeline imagined that a smile was her constant companion.

“Do come in, Madame,” the duke said easily, walking toward her. His dark eyes started on her hair, and she saw him nod in approval. She wanted to tell him that she’d even pinched her cheeks to bring color to her face, something she’d never done before in her life, and didn’t understand why she’d done it now. He should look at her face, yes, and nod in approval. No, he was looking intently at her breasts, she knew it, and he knew that she knew it. He gave her a wicked grin as he took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and lightly kissed her wrist. “You look beautiful, but of
course, you know it.”

“Stop looking at my bosom. I have other parts that are just as nice.”

“I’m not at all certain that you meant to say that. What parts are just as nice? Are these parts that would enchant me further south? Or perhaps these parts are tucked behind your ears? Later, you will tell me all about these parts. Perhaps I will concur with you, perhaps not. As for your breasts, it gives me great pleasure. Actually, they give me great pleasure. I wish my grammar to be correct, particularly in a situation as important as this one.

“Ah, Dorrie did a fine job on this gown. Now, before you forbid me to do other equally innocent things, let me introduce you to my great aunt, Lady Eudora Pemberly, and her goddaughter, Miss Felicia Storleigh. The gentleman with the wild-tossed hair who looks like he’s just come in from a high wind, although his aim is to look dashing and romantic, is Lord Pettigrew, Drew Halsey by name. And this is Sir John Edgerton, a dapper gentleman who fancies himself as great an arbitrator of fashion as the departed Brummel. Both gentlemen just arrived from London not above an hour ago. Ladies, gentleman, my cousin, Madame Evangeline de la Valette, recently arrived from Paris.”

Evangeline nodded politely to everyone, but it was difficult. She couldn’t believe he was here. It was too soon, much too soon. Her heart began to pound, loud slow deep strokes. She felt faintly ill. She stared, frozen in place, at John Edgerton.

H
e looked just the same. Perhaps there was a dash more of gray threaded in the light brown hair at his temples. Naturally, it hadn’t been all that long since she’d seen him last. His face was lean, an aesthete’s face, her father had once said, the face of a man with too much on his mind and not enough time. And now he was here.

Because she was.

She’d hoped she would have more time. She felt fear flood her, and for a moment she could think of nothing to say. No, she wished she had a gun. She’d shoot the bastard. The damnable, traitorous bastard.

She’d known he would contact her, oh yes, she’d known, but there’d been no time to prepare herself. She’d been a fool. She’d spent just a few hours with the duke, and she’d forgotten for minutes at a time why she was really here. Now everything was real again, far too real, and she hated it and she hated herself.

“You don’t need to introduce me to Evangeline,” John Edgerton said in his easy, deep voice, stepping toward her. “I have known Madame de la Valette since she was a little girl with stubby braids, dirt on her nose, and scuffed boots.”

He bowed deeply, took her stiff hand in his, and lightly kissed her palm. His lips were dry and cold. But his eyes, when he looked at her, were strangely soft and warm, as if none of this were real, as if he’d been only a man who’d liked the girl, remembered her fondly, as would a kind uncle, nothing more. He said, “It’s a pleasure to see old friends, don’t you agree, Evangeline? I hope you are well. May I say that you are looking beautiful? You’re the image of your dear father, except you have your mother’s eyes.”

“What is this?” the duke said, frowning from one to the other. Edgerton was still holding her hand. She looked odd, as if she were afraid to move, which was ridiculous. “You know her, John?”

Evangeline pulled her hand from John Edgerton’s grip, and her voice, when she finally got the words out, was smooth and calm. “Yes, I know him. It’s been a very long time. This is quite a surprise, Sir John. I hadn’t expected to see you, particularly this quickly.” They were nearly the same height. Her eyes met his, but she saw nothing in his eyes or in his expression except pleasure at seeing her. He was a master of lies, as well he should be, since his entire life was a lie and no one had appeared to have ever noticed. Well, what had she expected? To see the word
evil
written across his forehead?

“I hope all surprises aren’t bad, Evangeline,” Sir John said, only this time his eyes, warm and now caressing, strayed to her chest. The duke saw it. He also saw red. He drew back, surprised at himself. Good God, what was the matter with him? This woman was nothing to him, nothing at all, a relative who wasn’t really all that much of a relative at all. Ah, he was feeling protective since he’d recognized her as a relative,
since she was now, after all, under his protection. Yes, that was it. It was in his
seigneur’s
blood to feel like he wanted to smash John Edgerton, who’d had the gall to stare at her breasts.

Sir John said easily, just a touch of humor in his voice, “Ah, I see your cousin hovering, Evangeline. He obviously believes I’m monopolizing you far too early in the evening. Yes, you must make your curtsy to Lady Pemberly. She’s a dragon, but her fire won’t burn you, just scorch a bit. You and I will speak at greater length after dinner. There is so much you and I have to discuss. So much time has past since we last saw each other, hmm?” He turned to the duke. “I haven’t seen Evangeline for nearly two years. I knew her parents.”

And Edgerton was seeing too much of her, the duke thought, wanting to strangle his friend, but knowing at the same time that it was absurd. He watched Evangeline turn to make her curtsy to his aunt Eudora. He heard her speaking, her voice too soft, indistinct for him to make out the words. What the devil was the matter with her? He looked back at John Edgerton, but he was now speaking to Drew Halsey, gesticulating with those long, thin hands of his.

“So you are Marissa’s first cousin,” Lady Pemberly said, looking her up and down. “There’s no remarkable resemblance. Your hair is a rather muddy blond whereas Marisa had golden hair. Marissa was too short and you’re too tall. There are other differences, naturally.”

“Yes, my lady. I’m a big girl, it’s been remarked upon before.”

“I did the remarking, Aunt Eudora,” the duke said, and she jumped, not expecting him to be so close. “I doubt not that you’ve remarked on too many
things, my boy. Now, Madame, your English is more than passable. You speak nearly as well as a native. You are to be congratulated on your tutors. With more lessons, a lot of study, you just might become perfectly fluent.”

“My mother was English. Actually, I was raised in England, my lady. If you don’t mind, I would claim fluency.”

“I think she is scorched enough,” the duke said. “Come, Aunt Eudora, don’t try to run her off when she’s only just arrived. Edmund now believes the sun rises on her. Think of my boy’s happiness, if you please. Edmund now prefers her to either Rohan Carrington or Phillip Mercerault.”

“I had no idea he would shoot the peacock, Rex,” Evangeline said to Lady Pemberly, and the duke laughed, then told his great aunt all about the gift Evangeline had given to his small son. “Edmund also shot the rope tying his boat to the dock. As you can imagine, he didn’t do a great deal of damage.” To Evangeline’s surprise, Lady Pemberly’s painted face was in danger of cracking when she smiled widely, those witch green eyes of hers clearly willing to be amused now. “Well, my girl, if you bring a gun to a child, you must be more English than French. Gentlemen and their guns. One would think they sleep with them beneath their pillows. My father shot more tree stumps than my mother had bouts of the vapors. Yes, you did well. My boy here will teach his boy not to shoot anyone except highwaymen or perhaps the prime minister or the prince regent, both ineffectual boobs who undoubtedly deserve it.