The Deception (32 page)

Evangeline laughed. “Did the bully know how to swim?”

“As I recall, Teddy Lawson was torturing other children the very next day.” “Whatever happened to him?” “The last I heard, he was a vicar somewhere in the Cotswolds. Life is interesting, is it not?”

Her head went down. She drew stillness over her as if it were a shield to protect her. He frowned at her bent head. “You didn’t answer me,” he said. “Don’t you agree that life is interesting? That life prepares sometimes very unusual dishes to put on your plate?”

“Yes,” she said, raising her head again, still not looking at him. “Life is so unexpected that I sometimes
want to die. No, I didn’t mean that. How silly of me to say such a ridiculous thing.”

It was a start, the duke thought. They’d been back to Chesleigh for only two days. He already knew that she’d suffered pain in her short life; the sainted Andre had departed this life, and her father and mother had also died. But there was something else, and it was different. He felt immense frustration. Why had she wanted to come back to Chesleigh, and with so little warning?

He leaned his shoulder against the mantelpiece, a glass of brandy in his hand, and looked thoughtful a moment. He said abruptly, “Perhaps you would like to come with me to Southampton. We could sail to the Isle of Wight. If it pleased you, we could remain at my house in Ventnor for several days. Edmund loves it there, as I already told you. It would be a rare treat for him.”

She felt fear, panic, and a terrible regret well up inside her. The instruction given to her by Conan DeWitt was that she meet one of Houchard’s men the following evening at the cove and he would have further orders for her. “No,” she said quickly. She saw the puzzlement on his face and added quickly. “That is, I’m a dreadful sailor. I have a fear of boats, even big ones. I know it makes no sense, that it’s stupid, really”—she fanned her hands in front of her—“I just can’t help it.”

He’d finally caught her in what seemed to him to be an utterly meaningless lie. He said, “Ah, a good swimmer, but afraid of the water.” “No, just boats.”

“You know, Evangeline, you don’t have to lie in order to remain here at Chesleigh. Or is it Chesleigh itself that holds you? No, that isn’t it. As I recall, you
couldn’t wait to leave here just a very short time ago. And now you’re back again. It doesn’t make sense, does it? Perhaps you just don’t want to be in my company. Are you thinking I’ll try to seduce you? Rid yourself of such a notion. That is something altogether different; our coming together is something that is between you and me. I truly believe you’d enjoy Ventnor.”

A headache was building ferociously over her left eyebrow. “I’m not worried about seduction. I’m not worried about anything. I want to stay at Chesleigh. I love it here. I don’t want to leave.” “Until you beg me to take you to London again?” “I don’t fancy I will want to go to London again.” “Why the devil not?” She just shook her head, not looking at him, not saying anything at all. He pushed away from the mantelpiece, snapped down his glass, and strode over to her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. He shook her. “Damn you, we’ve been home now two days. You’ve done your best to avoid me. I wanted to go riding with you, and you pleaded the headache. You’re skulking around like a damned shadow, that or a convict hiding from the magistrate. What the devil is wrong?” He eyed her with growing frustration. “There’s nothing at all wrong.” He let her go and began pacing. He said over his shoulder, “I hate games, Evangeline. If you find my company distasteful to you, then all you have to do is say so. I won’t order you to leave Chesleigh. I won’t kick you into a ditch. If you don’t want me, damn you, just tell me. I assure you that I’ve never forced a woman in my life. By God, every time I’ve touched you, you’ve gone wild for me. We’ve gone wild for each other. Now, tell me, what’s going on?” In the
next instant he pulled her up tightly against him, his arms wrapped around her, so close to her that he could smell her scent, feel the steady beat of her heart against his.

“Ah, Evangeline,” he said. She looked up at him and saw all that he felt for her in his eyes, dark, dark eyes, the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen in her life. Oh, no, she thought, oh, no. She became aware that he was studying her, a curious expression in his eyes.

“Evangeline?”

She hated the tenderness in his voice, hated what it meant because she wasn’t worthy. She wasn’t anything that was good or wholesome or honest.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She stared at him, bereft of words. She couldn’t move. He wanted to marry her? That meant he cared for her, truly cared for her; it wasn’t just that he wanted her body. No. She licked her tongue over her bottom lip. She felt him tighten. “No,” she said very quietly, so unhappy, so despairing, that she wondered how she’d go on. “I cannot. You don’t mean that, surely you don’t. You’ve just been thrown in my company too much. You like my breasts, that’s all. That’s it, isn’t it?”

He brought his thumbs under her chin and pushed up her face. “I worship your breasts. They are divine breasts. Also, I just happen to adore your company. I don’t want to spend time with any other woman, just you. I don’t want to make love to any other woman, just you. I want you to marry me. I will be so faithful, you’ll occasionally want to kick me off your hearth. And if you didn’t hear me the first time, yes, I revere your breasts.”

She pulled away from him, and he let her go. It was
her turn to pace. She wanted to run but knew she couldn’t. He’d catch her. He already knew something was terribly wrong. She had to convince him that she wasn’t anything he could possibly want. His wife? Oh, God, no.

“You’re mocking me. You are amusing yourself at my expense,” she said at last. “It isn’t well done of you.”

“I suppose I did rush my fences a bit,” he said. “And here I’ve always considered myself a bit of an expert on handling women. I wouldn’t ever amuse myself to hurt you, Evangeline. Marriage is a serious business. I don’t think I could jest about how I wish to spend my life.”

She felt a nearly overwhelming burst of utter joy, but almost immediately she saw Edmund, dead, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. She saw her father, and he was dead as well, his white hands folded over his chest, his eyes closed, two copper pennies covering them, just as her mother’s eyes had been closed with copper pennies in her death. She couldn’t bear it, she just couldn’t. She wanted to shriek. Instead, she felt tears sting the back of her eyes, tears of rage at her helplessness.

There was no choice for her. She forced herself to turn away from him. She forced herself to say in a faraway voice, “I thank you, your grace, but my answer to your gracious offer must be no. I don’t wish to marry again. I don’t wish to be at the whim of another man for the rest of my life. I’m sorry, truly, if I’ve distressed you—”

He laughed. “I’ve never before heard that phrase, but I know it’s one that’s supposedly popular with young ladies who want to be polite as they turn down a suitor. Is this the first time you’ve had to use it?”

She had to find something else, anything. “It’s an English lady you must wed, your grace, not some half-French nobody without a dowry who has already been once married.”

He laughed again, shaking his head at her. “No, Evangeline. I don’t want an English lady. It’s a lady who is half French, who is a thorn in my side, who is more stubborn than a stoat, who loves my son as much as he loves her. Ah, and don’t let me overlook her tongue that flays me when she isn’t kissing me or looking at me like she wants to leap on me.

“You must know that the last thing I need is a dowry. As to your having already been married, it makes no difference. How could you ever think that it would? Believe me, I’ve no interest at all in some young twit who’s as ignorant as the winter is long. As to being at another man’s whims, I promise you that if I ever become an autocrat, you can pound me in the head. Isn’t that fair?”

“I don’t want to,” she said, and she knew that it wasn’t enough, but her brain was blank, only emptiness remained. “Please, don’t speak of it further.”

“This is the most unusual experience of my life. Here is a woman I wish to marry. I know she wants me. I fancy that she cares for me. I’m not a blind man. You also care mightily for my son. I believe there is some sort of problem that is apart from the two of us. If you would but tell me, I’ll do my best to fix it.” Then his dark eyes widened. “No,” he said, “oh, no. Your husband, the sainted André. He isn’t still alive, is he?”

She was shaking her head even as she realized he’d given her a perfect reason. He held up his hand as he saw her mouth open.
“Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t even try. Why won’t you marry me, Evangeline?”

“I won’t deny that I want you,” she said. “But I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want you for a husband. And I simply don’t understand why you, a man who told me he didn’t even believe in love, should want to tie himself to one woman? Why?”

“Ask me again in three or four decades, and then we can discuss my obvious weakness for you.”

She was drowning and he was offering her life, only she couldn’t take it. One day he would discover what she was. On that day he would revile her. He would curse her. She was his enemy; he just didn’t yet realize it.

“You’ve mistaken my feelings. I don’t love you.” He didn’t believe her. She’d been silent for too long. He’d told her he wasn’t a blind man. He’d seen the myriad expressions on her face, one leaving, another shadowing her eyes, and he’d seen more anguish than he could begin to understand. He wanted to shake her, yell at her, but something held him back. He said quite mildly, “Then what are your feelings for me that I have so misunderstood?”

She raised her eyes to his face, knowing that she must hurt him, and herself. She remembered Lady Jane Bellerman’s insults, so childish, really, but she had no choice but to try them. She hated herself even as she said, her voice cold, “You don’t have to offer me marriage, your grace. You asked me what my feelings for you are. I find you a very desirable man, as I suspect most women do. I would like to bed you, not wed you.” She forced herself to shrug her shoulders indifferently. “As Lady Jane said, Englishmen don’t wed ladies who have already known another man. You
may admit it to me, your grace, it’s my body you want, not interminable years in my company. Believe me, I’m honored that you would push for marriage just to get me in your bed. You may stop your marriage talk now. I’ll come to your bed, willingly.”

It was odd. He’d known her for less then two months, but he knew she was lying. Actually, she didn’t lie all that well. What to do? To buy himself time, he said only, “I don’t understand you, Evangeline.”

She gave what he assumed was her rendition of a Gallic shrug, not a very good one. “If I were entirely English—one of you—and a virgin, no doubt I should view such an offer with far different eyes. But I’ve been married. I don’t wish to do that again. Perhaps you were right that André was a clod with lovemaking. I know that you’re not. I know that you’d be perfect about all of it.”

What would he say? What would he do? Would she shortly see contempt for her in his eyes?

“So,” he said, and there was simple amusement in his dark eyes. “So, now you appear to have found a use for me. At least now you admit that the dearly departed Saint André wasn’t a magnificent, godlike specimen.” He paused, and his voice lowered. “Did he abuse you? Did the bastard hit you?”

“No, of course not. Listen, I simply prefer my widowed life. I enjoy doing what I wish.” No, that couldn’t be right. “While it’s true that I haven’t much money, I do enjoy Edmund, I enjoy living at Chesleigh.” Good God, she was digging a hole that would shortly land her in faraway China.

“And what you wish,” he said slowly, “is that I become your lover and not your husband?” “I enjoy kissing you.”

“Ah, that’s nice to hear.” What was going on here?
He walked to her slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. She didn’t back away from him. This was getting more interesting. He closed his hands about her shoulders and pulled her slowly against him. She tried to free herself, but he tightened his hold and brought her closer. Her breasts touched his chest, and he knew he was hard as a stone. Then he felt all of her and wanted to howl with the overwhelming lust and tenderness and urgency that were flooding over him. Would she always have this effect on him? He imagined so. He smiled at her as he forced her face upward. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice warm and light against her forehead. Then he lowered his head, slowly and deliberately, and kissed her. “You’re mine. Now and forever, you’re only mine.”

“No,” she said, and knew she wanted him so much she would shatter if she couldn’t kiss him now, this very instant. “Oh, yes. No more playacting, Evangeline.” “Please,” she said, and he kissed her once, again, not forcing her mouth to open, but she did open her mouth, eagerly. His hands were in her hair, pulling out all the pins, freeing her hair, stroking his fingers through it, then down her back, cupping her buttocks in his big hands. Then his hands were back in her hair, tangling it around his fingers, and he didn’t stop kissing her. He said into her mouth, his voice not at all steady, “Do you remember when I told you your hair is exquisite?”

“Yes,” she said, just the sound of her voice nearly bringing him to his knees. His hands were on her hips again, lifting her against him, pressing her tighter and tighter. He wanted more than anything to have her naked, pressed this tightly against him. She felt his lips against her temples, her cheeks, the
hollow of her throat. He drew back, his hands still cupping her hips, and looked down into her face.

“What are you feeling, Evangeline?”

She didn’t think it an odd question, for she had no experience with men. She opened her eyes, and for a long moment she found herself unable to say anything.

“I would give my life for you,” she said.

He stared at her, even as he felt a surge of lust so powerful that he nearly pulled her to the carpet beneath their feet. No, no, he thought. Not yet. He got a grip on himself. “Will you always surprise me with the unexpected? Would you tell me why a woman who merely has a wish for a lover would feel so strongly about her lover’s well-being?”