The Duke's Deceit Read online

  His eyes searched for and found Mary’s open cornflower gaze. Her glorious hair was piled loosely on top of her head. An ivory comb over one small shell-like ear looked ready to give way and allow a heavy lock of auburn to spill across Mary’s smooth throat. There was something oddly enticing about the loose arrangement of hair that at any moment might tumble down around her shoulders and breasts. His fingers tingled, remembering the feel of the silken strands in his hands.

  “Your hair looks quite fetching, Mary,” he drawled as evenly as possible.

  “Do you like it, Avalon? It was my idea.” Arabella preened. “What do you think, my lord?” she asked sweetly of Charlesworth, from whom she’d scarcely removed her eye since he appeared.

  “I must agree with Long, besides adding my compliments to you, Lady Arabella, on your sense of style. It’s quite perfect for Miss Masterton’s unique beauty.”

  His gallantry brought a surprising flush of color to Bella’s pale skin, something Richard had rarely, if ever, seen on the spoiled beauty’s countenance.

  Of Mary’s delightful blush he had too many memories to contemplate with any degree of sangfroid at this time or place. To stop them, he turned the conversation to a different tack.

  “Mother, I’ve decided the best way to jog this stubborn memory of mine is to have a ball for all of our friends.” He met his mother’s dark, questioning eyes with a steady stare of his own. “Besides helping me remember, it will give us the opportunity to introduce Mary to the ton.”

  Mary’s gasp warred with Bella’s laughter.

  “See, Mary, I knew you would have need of a ball gown!”

  Richard wasn’t listening to Bella’s excited questions or his mother’s calmer replies. He was staring at Mary. She rose slowly to her feet, and in her eyes was an expression of utter confusion.

  “Richard, I must speak with you alone,” she muttered in an almost inarticulate flutter, and bolted through the door.

  He caught up with her at the entrance to the conservatory. Lottie was bent over some plants at the far end of the sunny room, so Richard led Mary to the bench next to the fountain whose shepherdess eternally poured water from a pail onto the stones around her feet. The splashing water would hide their voices and give them the privacy Mary sought.

  He sat down beside her on the cool bench, his gaze holding hers. Her usually deep blue eyes had the opaque quality he’d first seen on her grandfather’s arrival in Hexham. It had been there again last night when she’d finally told him the bitter truth. As a herald of powerful emotion, it was potent in the air of utter vulnerability it gave her.

  “Why would you wish to introduce me to the ton? Especially after last night; especially considering how you feel about me,” she asked softly.

  “And how is that?” he taunted, despite what his instinct demanded. If only he could flow with this fire between them that had been forged in those dark hours, when he lay close to death and only her voice and touch had called him back. A different man had awakened in her arms; free of the constraint of his cynicism, he’d touched and enjoyed the pleasures of life in a new way. But his greatest joy had been the compelling gift Mary had offered, the slow flowering of her passion. He couldn’t quite accept the fact that she had only been pretending for her own ends. No doubt such denial was a stubborn remnant of his famed arrogance.

  “How do I feel about you?” This time he waited for a reply. When it didn’t come, he reached out slowly to release the curl from the fragile comb behind her ear. He wound the thick strand around his wrist and tugged gently, bringing their faces closer. “Nothing to say, Mary? No more lies to tell? No more pretending? No more having to endure this?”

  A whimper escaped her as his hard fingers tilted her chin. His mouth sought her mouth. The kiss was hot and scarring, spiraling arousal through his blood. Dragging his lips from her, he admitted to himself that he’d wished to punish her, but had only deepened his own wound.

  “Are you happy, Richard?” she flashed out. “I wonder which one of us is the more accomplished liar!” Her anger brought full color back to her eyes, and they shot blue flames.

  “The man I knew those weeks in Hexham might turn away from me for my terrible lie, but he would never have played such cruel games. Don’t make everyone else pay for my mistakes. This absurd idea for a ball will only bring unhappiness to everyone. My grandfather has no desire to have the ton know of my existence, and I have no desire to be known.”

  He released her completely, her hair spilling from his fingers. “Your grandfather will get exactly what he deserves,” he said with dead certainty.

  “It appears you want to see that I do, too!” She threw the insult as she brushed past him and fled the room.

  He started to follow, then stopped, whirling around at the shuffle of slippers on the stone floor. Totally absorbed with Mary, he’d forgotten Lottie was across the room. Her eyes glared at him, accusing him, before she ran after Mary.

  Battered by conflicting emotions, his usual rational manner fled. Indeed, which man was he? The cynical, bored, but always coolly rational, Duke of Avalon? Or was he Richard Byron, a man obviously more driven by his passion than his sense?

  The noise in the hallway brought Sir Robert’s eyes from the mirror, where he was absorbed in the intricate folds of his cravat, to rest on his chamber door. Renfrew crashed through, looking like the devil.

  “Nasty habit you have, Baron, bursting in on a fellow.”

  The beady eyes, nearly buried in the red fleshy face, flew about the snug rented rooms, surveying the fine furniture and the obviously new carpet and rich bed hangings.

  “See you’re spending my money free enough. When are you going to start earning it? You stupid fool! It might already be too late!”

  Watching the old man’s reflection in the glass, Sir Robert smiled. “As you can see, I am dressed and ready to make a call now on my beloved Mary.”

  “What you don’t see is that Avalon has already ferreted out I sponsored you into White’s. He’s on to us!” Ramming his bulbous nose practically into Sir Robert’s face, he glared. “He’s planning a ball to introduce Mary to the ton!”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Sir Robert sneered back. “That humbling experience might be the very thing to drive poor Mary into my waiting arms. Who do you think is going to look twice at the penniless daughter of a man who was hardly more than a stable hand, even if she is the granddaughter of a baron? To overcome such a slur she needs be an heiress.”

  There it was again—something shifting deep in the old man’s eyes!

  “Thinking of leaving her your fortune, Renfrew?” he taunted, filled with excitement. There must be something here he could use to his advantage.

  “Ain’t leaving the chit a farthing of mine!” Lumbering away, the baron paced the room with short strides. “Just get her out of town before this cursed ball actually comes about. Don’t care how you do it. Just do it!”

  Shrugging, Sir Robert moved away from the mirror and picked up a silver-handled walking stick. “As you say, Avalon is a knowing one, even without his memory. To best such a man might be more than I’m capable of doing.”

  A greedy man himself, Renfrew had no trouble correctly interpreting the words. “How much to get rid of her now?”

  “Twenty thousand pounds a year for the rest of my life.” He demanded the audacious figure, and then suspended movement, thought, even breathing, as he waited.

  “Done!” the baron hissed. “But I want the job finished quickly, do you understand?”

  A hot rush of excitement burned his skin. Good God, his gamble was paying off! There must be a bloody fortune at stake for Renfrew to agree to this extortion. Little did the baron guess that in the end Sir Robert fully intended to have it all.

  Flown with success, he managed a comforting smile. “Don’t fret, sir. I will accompli
sh my deed posthaste. Of course I will need some surety of our little agreement.” He spread his arms wide in a rueful gesture. “A note guaranteeing payment drawn up by your solicitor, perhaps?”

  The look of loathing that the baron flashed him might have discomfited a more sensitive man. Sir Robert met it quite openly.

  “It shall be on condition that you get the chit back north where she belongs. Marry her and keep her hidden away.”

  “Consider it done,” Sir Robert bowed with mockery. “And our contract?”

  “I’ll have it tomorrow,” he growled, stalking to the door. “Best your part be completed not far behind!” He flung the words over his shoulder as he stormed out.

  Slowly Sir Robert went back to the mirror and resumed perfecting his neck cloth. Even here alone, and to his own reflection, he maintained the outward veneer of coolness. Inside he was boiling with excitement. At last his money problems were about to end! And not just end—twenty thousand a year was a decent fortune. But what heated his blood was the surety, now firmly fixed, in his mind that there was a bigger fortune to be had.

  Once he married the chit and left her buried away in the country, he could return to London a wealthy man. Then he’d have all the time in the world to wheedle or blackmail the rest from Mary’s unnatural grandpapa. Given what he knew about his soon-to-be-bride, there was no doubt in his mind that he had the perfect tack to take with her.

  It seemed to be taking Mary forever to get through the house. She was almost to the safety of the west wing, where she could lock herself in her bedchamber to weep herself into oblivion, when the duchess suddenly appeared at the head of the wide staircase.

  “Mary, could I please have a word with you in the upstairs sitting room?”

  Good manners dictated that she must nod and smile, even though her face ached from the forced normalcy and her insides quivered.

  This was one of her favorite rooms in the vast mansion. With walls of pale yellow and tall windows that let in bright sun, the stuffed cozy sofa and chairs of chintz glowed in a buttercup light.

  Buttercup light. That image brought back, with piercing clarity, Richard’s remarks in the stable on their last night together. Other visions flashed through her mind: Richard lying helpless while she held his hand, calling him back from darkness; the first time he’d kissed her in the bedchamber; the golden day at the pond; then full circle back to those forbidden and unforgettable moments in the stable. She hadn’t known she was lonely until she’d been clasped securely in his arms.

  He’d unlocked her heart and mind to emotions and thoughts she’d never dreamed she was capable of feeling. Was the price of this pain eating away her insides worth those moments that must last her a lifetime?

  How happy she was that just three days ago she’d sent for Uncle Ian. It had been for Lottie’s sake—she seemed so lonely here in London. Now, suddenly, she saw her uncle’s arrival as her own salvation. She’d make up some plausible reason why she must go—and leave this house before anything else could happen.

  “I can see your talk with my son did not go well.”

  The expression in the duchess’s chocolate eyes was so full of compassion and support that Mary ached to unburden herself, but she could not add another betrayal to the weight of her past mistakes.

  “Your Grace, everything is not always as it appears.” Sitting down on an overstuffed slipper chair near the duchess, Mary offered the words as a sop to her need to be as truthful as she could be to this kind woman. “I know you must be aware there were … misunderstandings between Richard and me from the very beginning. I want you to know there were desperate reasons for them. I deeply regret any pain my foolishness has caused. I have always been determined to help Richard back to full health no matter what.”

  The duchess reached out and tightly clasped her hand. “Of course you have. But you are right that things are not always as they seem. I wish you to remember this, and forgive as willingly as you place all the blame upon your own shoulders.”

  Puzzled by her words, Mary blinked rapidly. The duchess squeezed her fingers once before releasing them to rise and move to a charming painting of three beautiful children. Richard was easy to spot. He towered above the other two: an earnest young boy and a delicate little girl.

  “My son is a complex man with many layers that might take a lifetime to explore. But the journey, for the right woman, would be without equal.”

  Her words concurred with Mary’s own feeling in the conservatory. That man who held her with such scalding heat was a different incarnation than the one whose hands and lips had whispered so sweetly over her body in Hexham. Yet in both there was a common thread, a forbidden appeal.

  Hardly believing where her thoughts were leading her, Mary rose to confront the duchess. “Your Grace, your son’s true betrothed is Lady Arabella. Everyone but Richard knows and accepts that.” “Yes, that is true.” The duchess turned from the painting to look searchingly at her. “However, is it true that theirs is a love match?”

  Mary couldn’t help but remember Arabella’s unhappy expression and her words at Madame Beaudin’s. Indeed, Arabella did not appear to love Richard, but by his actions when he’d thought her his fiancée, his feelings for his true betrothed were very much engaged.

  The thought of Richard suffering more pain and disappointment caused her to be unable to blink back the tears any longer.

  “Your Grace, what is it you expect me to do?” she asked carefully.

  “I expect you, and Richard, to do exactly what you wish.” The calm voice was as firm as it was unhelpful. “In the meantime I wish to express my thoughts on this upcoming ball.”

  Stiffening her spine, Mary prepared for the inevitable. Surely the duchess knew, as she did herself, and as her grandfather so vehemently reinforced, that she couldn’t be foisted upon the ton, any more than pigs could fly.

  “I think it an excellent notion, regardless of Richard’s true motives. You must know, and believe in your heart, that you have a place here.”

  The duchess’s warmth and confidence called to Mary, making her feel warm and secure.

  “Your mother made the choice to live her life out of this sphere. You, too, have a choice, Mary. You must in good part experience both worlds before you choose. I am delighted to give you the chance to do so. In fact, I quite look forward to it,” she added, as her gentle fingers settled the forgotten lock of hair securely back into its comb.

  She floated from the room, leaving Mary as confused as she’d been after the scene with Richard.

  The door creaked slowly open and she turned in alarm. Lottie slipped through quietly. Tiny bits of earth clung to the front of her simple pale pink cotton gown. She’d been in the conservatory, Mary suddenly remembered, and there could be no doubt after one long look into her kind face. She had seen all.

  “Mary, are you all right? I came after you straightaway, but didn’t wish to interrupt Her Grace.” She stretched out her arms invitingly.

  Mary stepped toward her just as the door again opened.

  “Sir Robert Lancaster to see Miss Masterton,” Wilkens boomed.

  Another disaster on this day of disasters!

  Sir Robert pushed into the room, having apparently followed Wilkens up. The butler gave him a disapproving glance but was too well trained to comment. Lottie stood her ground, but Robert spared her not a glance. He rushed toward Mary. Here, as in Hexham, the brush of his full lips upon her hand sent shivers quivering deep inside her.

  “Mary, I came immediately upon hearing of your predicament. Imagine Richard Byron turning out to be the unassailable Duke of Avalon! And engaged to someone else! I’m here to help you in any way I can, my dear.”

  Falling back a pace from the unpleasant aura which surrounded him, and which always repelled her, Mary lifted her chin.

  “Yes, it has been very confu
sing. The long and short of it is Richard was grievously injured. I am staying here until he is completely recovered. Then we shall see.”

  “How very awkward for you.” Swaying closer, he flicked her cheek with one finger. “This really isn’t the place for you, is it? Avalon’s sojourn in Hexham was obviously an aberration. He and his family must be eager to put it behind them and get on with their lives. A life that you have no real part in,” he said calmly, without a trace of expression.

  Mary had borne up as best she could the past weeks, as her confined world crumbled about her feet. She was angry at herself and at Richard, but now at Sir Robert’s smug certainty that he knew what was best for her, her pride came to the fore.

  The duchess’s words rang in a strengthening refrain through her head. Wisdom demanded that she sample both worlds. Truth to tell, despite the pain of being near Richard and at the mercy of his anger, she yearned to stay here a bit longer. She didn’t believe for one moment that she’d ever truly be accepted by the ton, but staying just seemed the wise thing to do for the moment. After the ball she would know for sure what, if any, parts of her mother’s dreamy memories of the ton held meaning for her. If there was nothing binding her here, she would go home to Hexham, to Uncle Ian. Then she could tell him with utmost honesty, that birthright or not, London and the ton was not her world.

  “On the contrary, Sir Robert, I have been made to feel quite welcome.” The ring of confidence in her voice pleased her. “In fact, the duchess is giving a ball in the hopes it will jog Richard’s memory and also to introduce me to the ton. After all, I am the granddaughter of a baron, whether or not he acknowledges me.”

  “A ball? How nice for all of you,” he said with false civility. “However, given your grandfather’s rejection of you, do you really wish to expose yourself to the censure of the ton? They can be utterly merciless.”

  “Why would they be nasty to a beautiful good girl like Mary?” Lottie’s shaky voice broke into the unpleasant spell Robert wove. “I should think she’d be a breath of fresh air.”