The Deception (28 page)

He was like his father in another important way. He never bored her. Edmund didn’t realize it, would probably have been appalled if he did, but the truth was, he was her only comfort. Just yesterday he’d confided that he liked her better than Phillip Mercerault, a singular honor. Maybe he liked her even better than Rohan Carrington, something, he’d assured her, that he didn’t say lightly.

Edmund said now, “It won’t be long, Eve. Just you
wait. Wellington will kill him dead. He’ll ride his horse right up to him and stick his sword in Napoleon’s gullet. Then you can be happy again.” Oh, dear.

Evangeline rose unsteadily from the window seat and came down to her knees beside Edmund on the thick carpet. She couldn’t let him come to such conclusions, despite the fact that they were alarmingly accurate. “What do you mean, Edmund?”

But Edmund’s attention, for the moment, was back on his English battalion. He straightened a good dozen bayonets. He turned a major to face all his men, now in a perfectly straight line. He finally raised his eyes to her face. “Papa said I wasn’t to tease you.” Oh, dear. Was she so obvious? But she hadn’t even seen Edmund’s papa. At least she’d seen him only rarely.

She said, “But I like it when you tease me. Where is your gun? I believe I’m ready to execute a grand escape, and surely some brave boy will have to come after me, a ruthless highwayman, and shoot me right off my horse. Oh, no, you didn’t use all your ammunition on the peacocks, did you, Edmund?”

He gave her a look too wise for his years. “You’re trying to make me forget things, make me think of stories instead of what’s really here now. Papa said—” “What is it your papa said, Edmund?” The duke stood in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He must have just stepped into the room. Hopefully, he’d been there only a moment.

Evangeline started to scramble to her feet, but the duke stayed both of them with a wave of his hand. “No, Evangeline, don’t move. You look very comfortable. Now, Edmund, what did I tell you?” As he
spoke, he strode over to them and dropped to his knees.

Edmund rubbed a cannon between his hands. “I’m heating up the gunpowder,” he said at his father’s raised eyebrow, then added, “You said she was unhappy. You said the last thing she needed was for me to plague her, like all those locusts did to the Egyptians. I told Eve that Wellington would grind Napoleon’s bones for good. I wanted to make her smile. She did smile for just a little bit, Papa.”

The duke looked at her over his son’s head. “Did you succeed? Ask her, Edmund.”

Edmund aimed a general’s horse more to the left, then said, “I make you very happy, don’t I, Eve?”

“Happier than a cat who’s just lapped up a bowl of cream. Don’t you remember? Last night you told me more of your story and I laughed and laughed?”

“She did, Papa. I made my story funny, and she liked it very much. So did Grandmama. I thought she would fall over, she laughed so much. She told me I was the best grandson she’d ever had.”

“You’re her only grandson. She was indulging in irony.”

“Irony,” Edmund repeated. “I shall have to work irony into my story. Perhaps you’ll tell me exactly what it means when I’m ready to use it. Do you want to hear the story, Papa?”

“Yes, this evening I’ll tuck you in. You will tell me and make me laugh as well.”

“He is very clever, your grace. Now, Edmund, show your father what strategies you would use to defeat Napoleon.”

She eased away from Edmund’s battleground, as father and son realigned the soldiers’ positions and
shifted the artillery about, all to the sound of Edmund’s excited chatter.

“Not a bad shot at all, Edmund. Yes, aim the cannon on the flank more toward the front line. Yes, like this. That’s just excellent. Now, fire.”

“I got you,” Edmund shrieked. “I hit you right in your underbelly.”

“Damn, you did. I’ll have to take care or you’ll wipe out my entire battalion. Where did you hear that word, underbelly?”

“Bunyon calls my tummy my underbelly. He said I had to be careful of my middle parts because they’re softer than any other part of me. Look, Papa, Eve’s laughing.”

“Yes, even her eyes are shining, just a bit. Now, how would you like to take your grandmama to the Pantheon Bazaar today?”

Edmund was nearly speechless with excitement. “I haven’t been there just yet. Oh, yes, Papa, yes.”

“Very well. Bunyon is outside with your coat and gloves. Your grandmama is doubtless awaiting you with ill-concealed joy.”

Edmund grabbed Evangeline about her neck, kissed her cheek, bowed low to his father, then bounded out of the nursery. She heard Bunyon’s voice in the corridor, but couldn’t make out his words. However, Edmund gave another shout. She said to the duke, who looked large and lazy and immensely beautiful sprawled out on the floor, toy soldiers and guns surrounding him, “Does her grace know of the treat you arranged for her?”

“You think I forced her into it because I wanted to have you to myself?” He rose, gave his hand to her, and pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him, impossible not to because, quite simply, he was there, and it
gave her immense pleasure just to look at him. She swallowed, tried to take a step back, but he was holding her hands in his. “It’s quite true that I wanted you here alone, very close to me, but to be honest, it was her idea. If I’d had it first, I would doubtless have used it ruthlessly to get to you.”

He ran his large hands lightly up her arms, until his fingers circled her throat. His thumbs pushed up her chin. “I believe I must kiss you now or go quite mad,” he said, leaned down, and very gently touched his mouth to hers. Her breath whooshed out in a soft sigh.

She wanted to pull away from him, truly she did, but she didn’t have the strength to deny him or herself. She leaned into him, and felt him quicken. He pulled her tightly against him, bringing her to her toes so that she fit perfectly against him. She felt him against her belly, knew what it meant, this man’s desire, and felt herself pushing more against him because the intense pleasure it gave her nearly knocked her off her feet. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue lightly touching hers, not ravaging her. Careful, oh, yes, he was being careful not to frighten her.

Frighten her? Now, that was surely nonsense. There was no fear in her, not a bit. She wanted him naked, she wanted him flat on his back, and her on top of him. She wanted to kiss him until he was panting with the pleasure of it. She desperately wanted to touch him, caress him, know all of him, touch him and kiss him all the way to his big feet. But more than anything she wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him all of it, and—

She managed to heave herself away from him. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He let her go. He was panting, his eyes so dark and filled with shadows that she couldn’t bear to look at him because, she
imagined, that was the way she was looking back at him. Filled with hunger, near desperation. She turned away, looking into the fireplace.

What to say to him? What to do? “I can’t imagine any lady avoiding you, your grace.”

He said easily, “I have a given name, you know. I would say that any lady who responds to me as you do deserves to call me by it. You may call me St. John if Richard displeases you. My father called me St. John when he wanted to hide me, which was very rare indeed.

“When you’re not avoiding me, Evangeline, you try to distract me. You’ve an agile tongue. But as you just saw, it can’t make me keep my distance. I want you. I want you more than I did even yesterday, even this morning. We must do something about this.”

She closed her eyes against his words. He wanted her. Well, she wanted him, and that was a vast understatement. She more than wanted him, she—no, she couldn’t think that. She had to be logical about this. The duke was a highly sexual man, had probably enjoyed dozens of women, so naturally he would want her, a reasonably comely woman. She said, “It is you who have the agile tongue.”

“It pleases me that you think so, particularly if you mean when my tongue is in your mouth.”

She saw him naked, coming out of the sea. She was mad. She was beginning to understand lust very well. It was a highly frustrating commodity. She wanted to scream. “Don’t you have an engagement?” she said, trying to keep her voice cool and disinterested, a social voice that held no meaning. “Surely there must be a mistress or two hanging about in the wings waiting for you to come to them.” “Perhaps,” he said, and thought of Morgana. He
was paying the rent on her lovely apartment through the end of the quarter. “It doesn’t matter.” He raised his hands and gently closed them about her throat, his fingers lightly caressing her pulse. She didn’t move, just stared straight into the fire, but the heat she felt was from him, standing close behind her. His voice was a warm whisper against the back of her head. “What’s wrong, Evangeline? Are you afraid of me for some reason? Afraid that I will seduce you and leave you?” His strong fingers continued to caress her throat. Slowly he turned her to face him. “Are you afraid of me?” “No,” she said. “I’m afraid for you.” A black brow shot upward. “What does that mean?” She shook her head. “Won’t you tell me what you meant?” She shook her head again, remaining mute. She felt his mouth, feather-light, touch her lips, and instantly she wanted him, although she wasn’t quite certain about everything that was involved. She did know that he would come inside her body, an odd thing, surely, but it had to be wonderful because he was. She wanted to pull him tightly against her this very instant; she wanted no space at all between them. She wanted his heart to pound against hers. She wanted him to do anything he wanted to do, and she knew that anything he wanted to do surely would make her feel wonderful. He was so close now, and hard, and his scent, she loved his scent, the heat of his body, the gentleness of those long fingers. She closed her eyes, letting his mouth make her dizzy.

“Your saintly departed husband was an absolute clod,” he said into her mouth.

She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly. “No, André was a wonderful man, I’ve told you that.”

“I’m teaching you how to kiss me, Evangeline. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was the first man to touch you, to kiss you.” “Andre,” she said. “He was my husband.” He kissed her again, this time his tongue going more deeply into her mouth, startling her, and she gasped, just a bit, just a light in-drawn breath, but he pulled back and looked down at her. “You are a mystery, Evangeline.”

He didn’t begin to realize what she was. Her mouth was open to tell him, despite—oh no, Edgerton would have Edmund killed. No, she couldn’t bear that.

“Your grace, forgive the intrusion, but your tailor is here.”

It was Grayson, standing outside in the corridor, speaking through the closed door.

The duke touched his forehead to hers, drew a slow breath, and dropped his hands. He didn’t raise his head as he called out, “Thank you, Grayson. Tell the fellow I’ll be with him shortly.”

He straightened finally. He raised his hands and lightly patted her hair here and there, then tugged her gown, straightening it. “There, now, no one would guess that you were quite ready to fall to the carpet and let me have my way with you.” He turned, saying over his shoulder, “We must decide what to do, Evangeline. I hope that your dear departed André still isn’t holding your heart and your affections.”

He gave her no chance to answer him. He was gone, closing the nursery door behind him.

M
arianne Clothilde said to her son, “Edmund wanted examples of irony, dearest. ‘Irony’, I repeated after him, one of my eyebrows at half-mast. Do you know I couldn’t think of a single example to give him? He said he needed irony for his story, for you.”

“This entire situation is a fine example of irony,” the duke said, wondering where the devil his life was headed.

“Perhaps this is an interesting thing for you to say. I suppose you realize that Edmund is going very well with Evangeline. She loves him dearly, and he appears to adore her. Yes, it is a fine arrangement. It’s very odd, though, dearest,” she added after taking a sip of her tea, “but she outright refused to attend Sanderson’s masquerade ball this evening, because she claimed she didn’t own an appropriate costume. When I offered to procure her a mask and domino, she refused to hear of it. Naturally, it wasn’t my intention to make her feel like a poor relation. Her pride in this instance is misplaced. Will you speak to her? She’s so quiet, scarcely ever leaves the house, and she’s lost flesh. I don’t know what’s wrong, my dear, but you
must fix it. I know she’d enjoy a ball, anyone would. You’ll see to it, won’t you? Even Grayson has ruminated about it, and that is unusual. He’s fond of her as well.”

The duke frowned at the glowing embers in the fireplace. She’d kept her distance since he’d very nearly taken her in his son’s nursery the day before. He wondered what would have happened if Grayson hadn’t arrived announcing his tailor. He knew very well what would have happened, and nearly groaned with the thought of coming into her.

She wanted him very much. It seemed he had only to touch her, and she very nearly hurled herself at him. He loved it and knew very well at the same time that he shouldn’t touch her, ever. But it seemed he simply couldn’t keep his hands to himself when he was alone with her. He’d told her they had to resolve this, and he’d meant it. He just wasn’t sure what to do, since he simply didn’t understand her. He said more to the softly hissing fire than to anyone else, “I’m nearly ready to be shown the door into Bedlam.” “No,” Marianne Clothilde said very quietly. “I’ve never seen you in this condition before, dearest, but it’s quite obvious, at least to your mother who loves you and knows you really quite well.”

He shot her a harassed look. “Spare me your motherly advice or your damned motherly observations.”

“Very well. I shall simply sit back and watch you flounder, a very new experience for you.”

“I’ve experienced everything a man possibly can,” the duke said and kicked one of the glowing embers with the toe of his boot.

“Actually, you truly have as of now, but you don’t know it as yet, you just think you do.” “Very well, you will have your way, you will think
your motherly thoughts, you will make no sense at all. I will speak to Evangeline. I want her to go to that damned ball. I will tell her she is to come with us. I will tell her to accept a domino and a mask from you. She won’t refuse.”