The Deception (18 page)

She wished now that the duke had already left. Houchard had even been right about that. The duke was a man like none other she’d ever met. He was a man she’d never imagined could exist. And he hated Napoleon. Soon, she would be no better than Edgerton. The thought made her want to vomit.

When she met the duke in the dining room, she was still thinking of the pit yawning at her feet, her brain squirreling about for a solution, for anything that could keep her from betraying him, from betraying her country. He was standing by his chair at the head of the table, smiling slightly. She tried to smile back at him, but the guilt was eating at her innards and she knew the pain of it showed on her face.

The devilment in his dark eyes immediately disappeared. “What’s wrong?”

Her head snapped up. “Wrong?” Oh, God, was she so transparent? If she was, it boded ill for her success, for her father’s life. “Why, nothing, your grace.” “You looked like you’ve lost your favorite pet.” That brought a wan smile. “No, although I loved my pug Bonnie very much. It was a very long time before I wanted another dog.”

“You have disarmed me, flushed me out of the bushes. I was going to tease you, perhaps try to make you blush for your quite refreshing and quite improper behavior on the beach. You are always surprising me, Evangeline. Come, sit down. You can see Edmund after your lunch.”

It was not until after the duke had dismissed the footman that he said, “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing, really,” she said, and fell silent. She must become a liar. It would be the only way she had a chance to survive. She raised her chin as she watched him fork several slices of very thinly sliced ham onto his place. She should say something utterly boring, something that would nauseate him with its blandness, but what came out of her mouth was “I was afraid you and Edmund would freeze in that water.” “I was too, but Edmund was determined. We were
only in the water for ten minutes, no more. We swim when I’m in residence here and if the weather is mild enough. It’s invigorating, to say the least. It will freeze the hide off your bones to say the best. That doesn’t sound like it makes sense, but it does. Do you understand?” “Yes.”

“Edmund and I are usually down at the cove at about the same time every morning. Oh, yes, I saw you coming out of the cave. Do have a care if you visit it again, especially when the tide is coming in. When I was a boy, I was foolish enough to hide there from my tutor, and got a good soaking. My father did too since he had to save me. I remember it was one of the very few times that he gave me a good hiding.” She smiled, trying to picture him as Edmund’s size. It wasn’t possible. “I’ll be careful. I noticed that the cave walls were damp and covered with slime. When the tide is high, it fills the cave completely?” “Very nearly.”

“It’s a pity that one can’t continue walking to the south of the cave, but the cliff juts right out into the sea.”

“Yes. But still the remaining scenery must have pleased you.” Why couldn’t he leave it alone? He was losing what little was left of his brain.

“Indeed. I never try to miss an educational opportunity.”

One of his black eyebrows shot up. “Surely I didn’t provide you with an excess of new knowledge. I’m just a man like your husband, the saintly André.”

She nearly choked on the bite of peas. She’d blundered. Lie, she thought, lie very well or you’ll sink. Her chin went up. “No, don’t be silly. Naturally you were nothing at all new to me. You were something
quite old, in fact. I believe, however, that the towel you were wearing knotted around your waist was new, very new, I would say, given my examination of it. Behold. I am a woman of the world, your grace.”

“I was just thinking that,” he said and she knew he was mocking her and enjoying himself. “I knew just how worldly you were after I— No, I won’t say any more. It isn’t well done of me. Finish your lunch, Evangeline.”

She was shaking her head. “I’ve come to realize that I’m the perfect foil for you. You can sharpen your wit endlessly on me.”

“Fair is fair. It’s what my mother does to me. Now, don’t get me wrong. You’re quick, you’ve a ready tongue— No, I won’t continue along those lines. Those lines would surely bring me lower than I am right now.”

“Perhaps it’s time I left you,” she said, and prepared to rise.

“No, don’t go. I would consider it running away. Come, Evangeline, admit it. You enjoy trying to outdo me verbally.”

She settled back into her seat. She folded her hands and propped up her chin. “I try never to run away, even when it would be in my best interest. As to outdoing you, well, I have to admit that you’re not a nitwit, as I have found most Englishmen to be.”

The duke nodded agreeably. “Since you grew up in the country, in Somerset, I’m not at all surprised at your prejudice. Red-faced squires abound. Provincial locals swagger about. Little lordlings have their noses in the air and their brains beneath their boots. All in all, I would agree that the lot of them wouldn’t provide an impressionable girl exquisite examples of wit and grace and elegance.”

“As in the qualities you exemplify?”

“Certainly. I trust you say that without irony. Now, was your husband such a man like those in Somerset? Tongue-tied around you? Only dealt well with his horses? A crashing bore at dinner? Dozed in the parlor after drinking too much port?” “Certainly not. He was French.” “Shall I describe him, then? Let me see. He was short, quite dark, was thin through the chest, swaggered about on skinny legs, and undoubtedly possessed of an oily kind of charm, and didn’t bathe every day.”

Evangeline saw the hole she’d dug at her feet. She’d described her mythical dead husband, André, with Henri in mind, the young man who’d wanted her in France. The duke’s description fit him quite nicely.

“He bathed often,” she said. Then remembered that Henri was addicted to the cologne bottle. She’d hated that musky, slightly sour smell on him. She frowned. “At least I think he did.”

“You
think
he bathed often? Really, Evangeline, if you had half the curiosity in your husband that you have shown for me in the past two days, I can’t imagine that you would have any doubts at all on the subject.”

For a long moment she simply stared at him, knowing she was near to slipping into that hole at her feet, deeper now than it had been just a minute before. “Er, actually, André, well, I’m not really certain. You see, he was a very modest gentleman.”

“He sounds like an idiot, a—” The duke stopped, seeing that Evangeline was quite red in the face. “Forgive me,” he said, rising slowly. “He was your husband. Now, I’m off to see a new hunter. Enjoy your afternoon. My heartfelt best wishes in your time with
Edmund.” He paused by her chair, looking down at her. “Is there anything I may bring you?”

Yes, she thought, he could bring her a very different life. He could bring her father freedom. He could not then look at her with hatred and contempt. She shook her head, mute.

“Very well. When I return, would you like to go riding with me? I have some business with several tenants. I can show you some of my favorite spots.” One more time, she thought. Surely it wouldn’t be horrible to have one more time alone with him. She nodded. “I should like that very much.” “Excellent. I will see you later.”

“T
here are too many letters. I never know when one should go behind another or in front of it. And nothing that sounds right has the same letters in it. Surely I don’t need to know all those letters? Just the ones that the words sound like?”

Evangeline said as she patted Edmund’s small hand, “I know there are lots and lots of letters. I hadn’t realized that there were perhaps too many of them. You’re probably right. And there are endless combinations, Edmund. I believe you must simply forgive all the long-dead folk who came up with them, and accept that all the letters, all the strange combinations, are here to stay. You’ve no choice in the matter. You must simply gird your loins. I learned them. Surely you, as a very bright boy, can also learn them.”

He looked convinced for only a moment. Not good headway. She said then, “I thought, Edmund, that you wished to be like your father.” His whole face changed. He straightened and said in a very creditable lordly voice, “I am like my father. Grandmama has told me countless times I’m like my father and like my grandfather, and I remember him very well. He was
a wonderful grandfather, but then he died, like my mama, and I didn’t see him anymore.”

“Your father knows how to read and write, as did his father before him. Your father girded his loins, stiffened his spine, and learned every letter and every combination.”

“You’re right,” Edmund said slowly. “I’ve seen him read. You don’t think he’s pretending to read just to draw me in so I’ll do it too?” “I’d guess he enjoys reading.” He eyed her suspiciously. She examined her thumbnail. “If you learn your letters, Edmund, I promise you that after your father returns to London, I’ll swim with you mornings that are warm enough.” She frankly couldn’t imagine even sticking her toe in the cold sea, but if it remained warm, she’d do so. And she’d teach Edmund how to swim better than his father had.

He looked her up and down. “You are big enough,” he said, then leaned over to feel her arm muscle. She flexed it. “Yes,” he said, “and you’re strong, for a girl.” But still he fidgeted, looking everywhere but at the blocks of letters strewn out over the desktop.

She sighed deeply and folded her hands over her heart. “All right, if you learn your letters, then I’ll play the highwayman and you can chase me down.” “Can I shoot you once I catch you?” “Yes,” she said, her head drooping. “You can shoot me.”

Edmund smiled. He squared his shoulders. “All right, I’ll do it.”

“A is for an apple that’s big and red and tastes tart and wonderful.” She placed her hand over Edmund’s fingers, tracing the letter. “Can you think of another word that begins with A?”

Edmund said almost immediately, “A is for ass. Papa’s always calling Phillip Mercerault an ass. I can’t tell you what Phillip calls him. It’s not a good word, my papa told me, for a lady’s sensitive ears. He said I was never to say it unless I was alone or with my pony.”

“Very well, then don’t say it. A is for ass. Yes, ass is an excellent word.”

And on they went. She didn’t crack a smile when Edmund announced that P was for proud, just like his papa. Evangeline was surprised, when she chanced to look up at the clock, at how quickly the time had passed. She gave Edmund a quick hug, for he had proudly written out his name. She glanced up to see the nursery door open and a very tall man, so thin he was gaunt, step into the room. She’d seen him several times in the past two days, but hadn’t yet met him. He was dressed in unrelieved black.

Edmund jumped to his feet and ran to the man, clasping his hands around his leg. “Bunyon,” he yelled. “You’re here to save me.”

“I’m not precisely certain just whom I am here to save,” Bunyon said. There was only a hint of a smile on that thin mouth. “Forgive my intrusion, ma’am,” he said as he disengaged Edmund from his leg and walked to the study table. “His grace suggested that I relieve you of your duties at just the point before Lord Edmund made you into a stuttering bedlamite. I am Bunyon, you know, his grace’s valet.”

“I can write now, Bunyon, just look. See, that’s my name and I printed it all by myself.”

Unlike Ellen, Edmund’s principal worshiper, Bunyon did not appear to be overly gratified by the Heir’s attention. Indeed, he paid Edmund no heed, his dark eyes on Evangeline’s face.

She smiled and rose from her chair. “I’m not even to the brink of stuttering. Edmund has agreed to learn his letters, and he’s doing quite well. And here is his name.” She watched as Bunyon examined the large block letters.

“His grace,” Bunyon said, “will be pleased. You have done well.” He shook Edmund’s hand. “Now, it’s time for you to find your bed and close your eyes. Not for long, just an hour.”

Edmund said, “Eve said she’d let me shoot her if I learned my letters. Will you help me come up with a strategy so I may catch her before I shoot her?”

“It will gratify me to be used in such a fashion,” Bunyon said. “Does Madame know what’s in store for her?”

“Tell him, Eve. Tell him that you promised to be a highwayman. I’ll catch you, then shoot you.”

“A bribe,” Evangeline said. “Purely and simply a bribe. Devise an excellent stratagem, if you please, Bunyon. I would not want to be shot after only a paltry chase. Shall I call Ellen, Bunyon?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I shall tuck him in. He has Ellen wrapped around all his fingers. It’s shameful.”

The duke rode at a leisurely pace back to Chesleigh, quite pleased with himself. He’d purchased the hunter he wanted, and at a price that suited him. Indeed, he thought, he’d been tight-fisted, as was his father’s occasional habit. When he turned Emperor into the stable yard, he saw Evangeline standing next to McComber, in serious conversation. His eyes crinkled in amusement, for she spoke very expressively, her hands leaving no doubt of her meaning. “I really didn’t test Dorcas’s mettle much this morning,
McComber. Just look at the duke on Emperor. He looks magnificent.”

This is interesting, McComber thought as he watched the duke ride into the stable yard. He cleared his throat and said, “I exercised her myself this early afternoon, Madame. She won’t give you a moment’s worry.”

The duke called out as he reined in Emperor, “Hello, Evangeline. You’re ready, I see.” He leaned forward to pat his neck. “My fellow’s tired, so you can forget any racing. You won’t rub my nose in the dirt today.”

“Perhaps Trevlin can have Biscuit fetched for you, your grace.”

He looked at her white throat just above the lace of her blouse. “I suppose I wouldn’t get away with it,” he said, and flexed his fingers.

“I know what you’re thinking, and no, you wouldn’t. I’m very strong. Edmund agrees.”

Not many minutes later, the duke led them southward along a narrow road overlooking the sea. He was in the midst of telling her of the hunter he’d purchased when a loud horn blast sounded from an oncoming mail coach. “Pull over, Evangeline,” the duke said, guiding Emperor down a slight incline off the road.