The Pretender (47 page)

Liverpool frowned. "What are you saying, woman?"

"I'm saying that she's been lying about being married. She's been living with a hired man dressed up to play her husband. Why wouldn't she lie about me as well?"

There was a murmur of disapproval from the primarily male audience. Dalton Montmorency stepped forward. "I doubt we need take the word of a traitor for any value."

"Fine," Lavinia said with a snarl. "Ask for her wedding license. What clergyman married her?"

Agatha didn't respond, and Simon could see several frowns on the faces in the crowd. The very influential crowd.

Lavinia laughed, an ugly, vindictive sound. "No, there was no marriage. Was there, Agatha? See what a liar she is? But the worst of it is, the lover is nothing but a filthy chimneysweep!"

Dalton made to speak again, but Liverpool spoke up. "Is this true, Miss—?"

Simon held his breath.
Lie, damsel. Lie
!

Agatha felt ill at the way everyone was looking at her. What had she done that was so wrong? She'd fallen in love, that was all. As she gazed out over the people surrounding her, she saw him.

Simon stood far from her and made no move to come closer. She'd made herself into a public scandal now. And Simon, secret, invisible Simon, could never get close to her again.

She could see the anguish on his face as he met her gaze, and her heart ached for him. She'd never meant to tear at him this way. It would be best to end it now, before she hurt him any further.

Besides, she couldn't lie anymore, and she could never bear to lie about her love. She raised her voice and said the one thing that would separate them forever. The truth.

"I am indeed in love with a chimneysweep." The crowd around her made a mingled noise of shock and titillation. She heard laughter and the beginnings of some very ungentle-manly jests. Agatha ignored them and raised her voice still more.
"And Lady Winchell is indeed a murderous traitor!"

Even Simon was unprepared for the outcry that followed. Foul names were flung at Lavinia, and the crowd tightened around both women until Agatha was blocked from his view.

Mobs could turn ugly at moments like these. Worried, Simon pushed forward through the crowd. He could only see Dalton towering over the rest, obviously trying to get Agatha to safety.

Someone grabbed Simon's arm. He shook them off and continued on to Agatha. Then Liverpool pulled him roughly to a stop. "Simon, stop this immediately!"

"She'll be hurt!"

"Etheridge has her. See, they've made it into the building. Now remove yourself!"

Simon turned on his superior, a snarl on his lips. "You simply stood there! You stood there and let her be laid bare to ridicule."

"Not at all," declared Liverpool calmly. "I made sure it happened."

Rage boiled through Simon, and he itched to take Liverpool to pieces with his bare hands. "You made her a laughingstock on purpose? Why?"

"It was necessary. You've become too attached. You can't afford such a point of weakness in your position and you know it." Liverpool smiled then, a chill reptilian smile, and Simon understood the depths of the man's inflexibility.

Liverpool would spare nothing and no one in his defense of England. He had precisely the ruthlessness that Simon had always cultivated within himself.

Until Agatha had come along.

"It was she who saved your life. I won't let her be your sacrificial lamb."

"You must. You belong to England, Simon, not to her. You are irreplaceable. She is not."

Liverpool delivered a flinty stare, then turned away and was lost in the crowd.

Agatha closed the door to James's room and ventured back downstairs, her weariness like a leaden cloak about her shoulders. Despite her joy that James would be all right, she could scarcely feel anything at all.

It was full night now, the end of perhaps the longest day of her life. She had not slept more than a few hours in the past three days, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could force herself to function.

She had yet to pay the physician, who disapproved of her so mightily that he refused to bill her later. She'd not even have been able to force him to come to her house had it not been for Dalton.

It had been Dalton who had stepped in to save her from the crowd and who had arranged for Jamie to be brought home. If it had not been for Dalton's strength, she didn't know how she would have managed.

She needed to rest before she became seriously unhinged.

When she reached the parlor, however, she found that the doctor had gone. Dalton awaited her alone.

When she entered the room, he turned from his contemplation of the fire. She was struck yet again by his picture-book perfection. He was indeed a grand fellow and was proving himself a good friend as well.

"I took care of the doctor for you, Miss Cunnington."

"Thank you."

He stepped forward to take her hands. "Please, you must sit. You appear ready to drop."

"Oh, no. I dropped hours ago. I'm sleeping now, and you are only a dream."

He smiled at that.

"You don't smile often, do you? Neither does Simon." She smiled wistfully. "I always feel as though I've won a prize when I can make him smile."

Dalton led her to the sofa and took the chair alongside. His expression was thoughtful. "What are you going to do now?"

"I suspect I'll stay in for a while. James needs me to care for him, and I'm not feeling very sociable." She tried to make light of her predicament, but in truth she was fast realizing precisely what she had done.

Not that she regretted releasing Simon. It was what he needed, to be free of her. But when she considered her future and the future of the child she might even now be carrying, she felt deep dismay. It was one thing to bear an illegitimate child in sheltering isolation, but now…

She herself would likely be well enough at Appleby and in the village where she was known and loved, although if they decided to pity her it might be worse. But her child would always be ostracized by everyone who knew. And now everyone knew.

Bastards were only acceptable if they were from royalty. A chimneysweep's child would have no easy road. And she had purposely done this to her innocent babe. Her selfishness truly knew no bounds.

"What about when James has healed?"

"Home to Lancashire, I suppose. Life in London has lost some of its appeal, I fear."

She decided a change of subject was in order. She attempted a bright smile. "Did you know that James is to be decorated as soon as he can appear before the Prince?"

"Yes, I did know. He is to be congratulated. I believe his act of heroism will go a long way to disproving any hint of his collaboration with the French."

She blinked at him. "You know about his involvement in intelligence?"

His smile was only slight. "Yes. I am rather involved as well."

It was too much. Agatha began to laugh, soft, helpless laughter with a tinge of bitterness. "Of course you are. I declare, if I should pick an attractive man out of a crowd, he'll prove himself to be a spy."

Dalton looked surprised. "You find me attractive?"

Agatha snorted. "Utterly. You are an absolute god. Therefore, you are guaranteed to be wholly committed to something else. It is a basic mathematical formula, proven time and again. I think I'll name it Agatha's Theorem."

Dalton's reflective gaze became sympathetic. "You've really had a time of it, haven't you?"

"Don't pity me," Agatha retorted sharply. "Not unless you wish me to collapse in a puddle at your feet."

He held up both hands. "God forbid. Very well, I shall offer you no pity. I shall, however, offer you an option, as Collis puts it." He took her hand gently in his. Without a speck of passion in his voice he said, "Marry me. Immediately."

She could only stare at him for a long moment. "You are sincere, aren't you?"

"Entirely. I think we'd suit. I need a wife to add stability to my reputation, and you need a powerful husband to salvage yours."

"I hardly think I'll add anything to your reputation except scandal."

He dismissed the notion. "Gossip. It will die away once you've wed me."

The thought snaked through her foggy mind that if she could wed him immediately, and manage to bed him—for he wasn't entirely unappealing—then her possible child would be completely acceptable to the world. As Dalton's coloring was close enough to Simon's, she need never let on otherwise, even to him.

Another lie. She could not do it.

"Dalton, I will answer your question after you answer mine."

"Yes?"

"Would you be able to raise another man's child as your own?"

That threw him, she could see it in his eyes.

"You're increasing?"

"It is a possibility."

"But I thought—Simon didn't seem the sort—"

Agatha smiled wearily. "I was quite determined. Simon didn't stand a chance. Please don't hold it against him."

He shook his head slowly. "I won't. But that does change things."

She couldn't help a pang of disappointment. A quick marriage to a man she respected would have been a bearable solution to her problem. "I rather thought it might."

His eyes narrowed. "But not the way you think. I'd no idea the involvement was so deep. The best arrangement would be for you to work this out with Simon."

She shook her head, a quick, painful denial. "That is not possible."

"Perhaps," he said with a nod. "But first, I must make certain."

Her eyes were threatening to close with exhaustion. Agatha stood abruptly. "Fine. If you decide that your answer is yes, then mine will be yes as well."

She turned blindly to the hall and the stairs that would carry her off to bed. "I must sleep—please excuse me—good night."

The stairs were a mountain and the hall an endless path, but at last Agatha closed herself into her own room. There was a fire in the hearth, but no candles were lit. Nellie must have gone on to bed.

Agatha reached behind her neck to remove the gown she had donned immediately upon reaching the house in Carriage Square. But Nellie had helped her into it, and now Agatha found that her wrenched shoulder would not allow her to undo it.

Almost weeping with frustration, Agatha tried again. She was only able to fumble a few buttons free. Then warm fingers covered hers, moving her hands gently aside.

"Let me."

"S-Simon?" She tried to turn, but he prevented her.

Tenderly he shushed her. "I came to ease my mind about you. Let me help you, damsel."

She stood still in the near darkness while he undressed her and laid her things neatly on a chair. Finally, he led her, clad only in her chemise, to the bed, then made her sit while his fingers worked to free the pins in her hair.

"I'd like to help you wash the Thames from your hair, but I think you need sleep more."

Agatha only whimpered as his warm hands began to knead her shoulders. Then he lifted the covers and helped her slip between them.

"Lie down, sweeting. Go to sleep."

She fumbled for his hand. "Stay."

He smoothed her hair back and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, then one on her bruised lips. "I wouldn't dream of leaving."

She couldn't keep her eyes open to watch him in the dimness, but she was aware of the sound of him undressing. Then his large warm body joined hers beneath the counterpane, and she melted wearily into him.

He enclosed her in his arms, tucking her into the curve of his body until he surrounded every bit of her.

Only then, finally, was she able to leave the world behind and sleep.