The Duke's Deceit Page 9

  “Your Grace! Baron Renfrew! I must interrupt!” Dr. McAlister sputtered. “Baron, I told you it could have a disastrous effect if you shocked this man’s fragile constitution. Indeed it could throw him back into a brain fever!”

  Always having had the constitution of an ox, Richard was hard-pressed to stop his lips from twitching into a rueful grin.

  Adjusting his glasses higher upon his nose, the doctor peered at him officiously. “Having any more headaches, Your Grace?”

  An interesting development, this. And an opportunity for him to play out his own game.

  “Only now and again,” he drawled. “But I fear one is coming now.” It was slightly shocking to discover that deceit came with such facility.

  “I knew it!” the doctor cried, casting a reprimanding glance about the room. “His Grace must be allowed to regain his memory naturally and at his own pace.”

  “Rubbish, man!” Baron Renfrew stuck his vein-ridden nose into Richard’s face. “Why the blazes ain’t you fuming fire and brimstone at this baggage? Don’t you care that she set out to trap you, in your weakened state, for her own ends?”

  Put like that, Richard could hardly believe it himself, but he strengthened his resolve when Mary shrank deeper into his side. Either she was the greatest actress of all time, or there was something else going on here that he should know about. He glanced around, thereby catching in the corner of his eye Lottie’s frantic effort to restrain Ian. Wishing to put an end to this farce, he decided on a bit of theatrics himself.

  He spread his arms wide in a gesture of despair, caught Mary by the hand, and dragged her across the floor to the faded wing chair. Sighing deeply, he flung himself down.

  “I can’t think clearly, my head aches so.”

  He kept a firm grip on Mary’s fingers, forcing her to remain at his side. She stared at him with the same fey look that he remembered from when he had opened his eyes from the dark, swirling void. He wouldn’t easily let her off this hook of her own making. For reasons that were not as yet fully formulated in his mind, he was determined that they would all play the game to its end.

  “Then I see only one recourse, Richard.” His mother’s voice brought his gaze around to her, but he was wise enough not to meet her knowing eyes.

  “You must return to London. Surrounded by your own belongings, your memories will surely return as Dr. McAlister suggests. Naturally, and at your own pace.”

  For effect, he hesitated, letting his gaze wander over his mother’s cloud of white hair, dressed softly in a cornet, and the pearl drops dangling from her ears.

  Then he nodded. “Yes, that seems an excellent suggestion. However, since I would be among virtual strangers, I can’t contemplate going without Mary. After all, in my mind she is my betrothed, no matter what has gone before.”

  “You can’t take her to London!” The baron’s explosion shook the delicate porcelain figures at each end of the mantel. “I mean you can’t introduce her as your fiancée. Think of the embarrassment for Lady Hampton!”

  “Richard, the baron is correct that we must save Arabella pain. However, I have a plan.”

  That tone he knew quite well. It forced him to at last meet his mother’s determined eyes. What he saw there gave him pause; he only hoped that she would one day understand why he had to continue this pretense, even with her.

  “You cannot, of course, bring Mary as your fiancée,” she continued.

  “And you will not pass off this lowborn stablemucker as my relative!” Renfrew seemed like to give himself an apoplexy.

  “However, she can come with us as the relative of a dear family friend.” The duchess continued in the same reasonable voice that had guided him and his siblings through the rough waters of childhood, as if the baron had not spoken. “It appears Ian was dear Jeffries’s cousin. Mary will stay until all is resolved, however long that may be.”

  “I can’t go, Your Grace!” Mary gasped, vainly trying to free herself. In response, Richard only tightened his grip on her fingers.

  “Dear child, I understand the prospect may frighten you.” His mother gave her the peculiarly appealing smile that had placed the ton at her feet for forty years. “Ian tells me Miss Barton has been your companion since your parent’s death from influenza. Of course she may accompany you.”

  “No! This won’t do at all!” Renfrew broke in again. “Even the unassailable Duchess of Avalon can’t foist a … a doxy upon society!”

  “How dare you say such things about my dearest Lottie!”

  Stunned by Mary’s show of spirit, when she’d shown none to defend herself, Richard let loose her hand. She didn’t appear to notice as she faced down her grandfather, completely unafraid.

  “After my parents, your own daughter, died,” she bit out through white lips, “Lottie and Ian came to help me. There was no one else.”

  Taking three steps, Mary closed her arm around Lottie’s quivering shoulders. “Lottie gave up her millinery shop to act as my companion. I won’t have you speak ill of her!”

  “Nor will I, you bast—” Remembering where he was, Ian stopped. “Beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  “Quite so, Ian.” Resting dark eyes upon the baron’s face, Richard’s mother smiled ever so slightly. “I believe the matter is settled. However, Renfrew, there is one last thing you should understand. I fear you will be very sorry should any of these ugly accusations reach my ears, in London or out of it.”

  Falling back one pace from the thinly disguised fury so pointedly exhibited, the baron shook his head. “I want no part in this disaster. The chit ain’t no lady. Never will be, in London or out. You’ll all see for yourselves, mark my words!”

  No one stopped him as he stomped out, slamming the parlor doors behind him.

  “Your Grace, I thank you for your kindness, but surely after all this you can see it’s out of the question for me to go to London.” Mary cast a tortured look to where he still sprawled in the chair. “Richard, certainly you can see that this has all been a horrid mix-up. I … I never meant—”

  He raised his palm, stopping her. “Mary, none of this is your fault. You didn’t know of my prior engagement when we first met.”

  “Of course I didn’t know then.” There was the absolute ring of truth in her voice. Of that duplicity he believed her innocent. But for the rest he had to know the truth, on his own terms.

  “But Richard, surely you must see my grandfather was right. We were never really betro—”

  He gasped, rubbing his temples, again interrupting her before she said too much. It didn’t suit his plan to have her reveal herself here and now.

  Sputtering, Dr. McAlister rushed to his side. “I warned you! All of you! This man is fortunate to be alive. Any stress could be disastrous!” Hovering, the doctor peered intently at him. “Your Grace, what can we do to ease your pain?”

  “I think it best that Mary and I go to London so I might regain my memory. If she refuses, I will remain here with her and hope that I will, eventually, recover.” He finished with a sigh, his eyes shut to mere slits. From the reaction he elicited, he thought, perhaps he should consider a career with Kemble on the stage.

  “Mary, I think you should go.” Lottie’s voice choked with sobs. “It’s the proper thing to do. And I’ll do whatever her ladyship thinks best.”

  “Aye, lassie.” Ian spoke at last. “You’re quality, Mary my girl, whether you believe it or not, no matter what that skimble-shanks of a grandfather says.”

  “Miss Masterton, as Richard’s doctor I must insist you listen to his wise council.” Dr. McAlister’s head nodded pompously.

  “I hesitate to add to the burden of decision, my dear, but I fear I must.” The duchess glided across the room, standing in a way in which her calm gaze could move easily from Mary’s pale face to rest on Richard’s. Her eyes pierced thr
ough his façade to his very thoughts, but he threw up a barrier against the bond they shared. There was too much at stake.

  “It appears my son needs you with him in London,” she continued, her eyes never leaving his. “So I must join with your family and friends in urging you to accept my offer.”

  He sensed the moment that Mary gave in, saw it in the firm lift to her chin, and the way she widened her fawn eyes.

  “Then it appears, Your Grace, we are for London.”

  London. Tall row houses of whitewash and duncolored stone. Great mansions with highly polished brass door-knockers. Flagstone streets ringing under the wheels of carriers’ wagons, fine coaches, and phaetons. Street peddlers hawking their wares. Everywhere people.

  Her mother had described the picturesque bustle time and time again, along with stories of routs and balls and musicales that had made up her world. A world of ladies dressed in fine gowns and jewels, and gentlemen in satin evening coats. It was a foreign world.

  A world, her grandfather had correctly stated, that she did not belong to. Not now or ever.

  The very thought of what was ahead made her knees turn to pudding. Dropping down in the wing chair, still warm from Richard’s body, Mary buried her face in her hands.

  She must go to London with him. And he was a duke! The shock of his true identity trembled along her skin, chilling it, chilling her, until she was certain that a block of ice encased her heart.

  And his real fiancée. Mary would have to meet her, face her. After sharing his kiss and his touch. Lady Arabella Hampton. Had Richard held her, kissed her, too? Suddenly the ice block shattered, splintering into thousands of shards, each piercing her. She had to plan—she had to get away.

  Richard rested upstairs on the narrow bed in the sewing room, sent there by his anxious doctor. The duchess, accompanied by Dr. McAlister, was safely ensconced at the White Feathers for the night, while Mary prepared for the journey. Ian and Lottie made plans in the kitchen.

  She had no choice. She would have to go to London. She was trapped in her web of lies, and there was no escape until Richard either regained his memory and cast her out in revulsion, or was well enough to listen to her abject apology and explanation.

  Resigning herself to her fate, she dropped her hands in her lap and shut her eyes, trying to shut out the future.

  She only looked up when the door pushed open. Lottie and Ian entered together. Lottie placed a tea tray on the low table in front of the settee and straightened. There was a firm twist to her soft lips.

  “Mary, your uncle and I were talking in the kitchen, and we have decided it’s time to set a few things straight.”

  Responding to Lottie’s fierce look, Ian nodded. “Aye, lassie. After what that bast—I mean, your grandfather be sayin’, it’s time for you to hear the truth.” Taking a deep breath, her uncle thrust his short beard toward the ceiling. “Mary my girl, Lottie never owned a millinery shop. She was workin’ at the Thistle and Sword as a…” He glanced at Lottie. Obviously encouraged by her bobbing head, he continued. “As a cook.”

  “Hardly more than a bar wench, Ian, and you know it!” Lottie corrected sharply, her cheeks bright as flames. But her eyes rested on Mary’s face with a steady determination.

  “Mary, my parents were the butler and the housekeeper at one of Lord Ferguson’s lesser estates. But I was too full of myself to stay in the service of a fine family. No, I wanted to better myself. So I ran off to London. I did work in millinery shops, for as you know, I’ve a bit of a touch with flowers. I lost my last position when Madame LaFlore sold the shop. I met your uncle after I’d been at the Thistle and Sword for a year. I fair hated the place.”

  Lottie stopped for breath, her face flushed with bright color. The cherry red ribbons at the neck line of her dress unraveled under her worrying fingers.

  “So when Ian told me he was coming here to help you and asked me to accompany him, I did,” she rushed on, as if she must spill it all out. “I came with him even though he never made me any promises. If you know what I mean.”

  Flushing scarlet from his corded throat to his bushy hairline, Ian whistled through clenched teeth. “Now, Lottie lass, you know I’m not ready to settle down.”

  “Uncle Ian, please allow Lottie to continue,” Mary admonished, casting him as hard a glance as she’d ever given. She was appalled at his inability to fully appreciate Lottie’s worth. Really, she’d thought better of him, although she’d never allowed herself to dwell too closely upon Lottie and Ian’s relationship.

  “Thank you, Mary.” Lottie sniffed. “I just wanted you to know in case that hateful man ever confronts us again. But I grew up in a great house, and I know what’s proper. I’d be honored to be your companion in London if you still want me.”

  “Want you! I need you!” Surging to her feet, Mary swept Lottie into a fierce hug.

  “Oh, Lottie, I must have you, but can you really bear to leave Uncle Ian behind even for a short while?” She whispered this last into the fat curls over Lottie’s ear.

  Firmly gripping Mary’s shoulders, Lottie held her at arm’s length. “Your uncle can fend for himself. From the looks of things he plans to do so forever.” She sniffed as she flicked him a cold little glance.

  Chastened, Ian actually shuffled his feet but remained silent.

  “Come, Mary, we ladies have much to do to prepare for our journey. Although what proper clothes you have for London could be packed in a small jute bag!”

  With a toss of her head Lottie led Mary from the room. There was such earnest determination on Lottie’s face, Mary could almost smile, and her fear receded ever so slightly.

  Baron Renfrew stomped into the dining room, spewing curses like a sailor. Sir Robert Lancaster glanced up from the quite excellent lamb his cook had prepared, and enquired amicably, “Baron, what brings you to this godforsaken spot?”

  “Your abominable blundering, you fool!” The old man spit out the insult, pounding one fist upon the table so hard that the saucer of mint sauce jumped, spilling its contents out in a sticky green stream.

  A man fully used to hiding his true feelings, Sir Robert continued with his dinner.

  “I sent you a message that I was working on disassociating Mary from her surprising new attachment.”

  “But you didn’t tell me that the man is the Duke of Avalon!”

  Even his iron nerves weren’t proof against such a pronouncement. Slowly laying down his knife and fork, he at last gave the old baron his full attention.

  “Are you certain?”

  “I just spent an hour in the parlor of that cursed hovel with him and his mother, the duchess. She’s come to fetch her precious son home to London. He still has no memory and so refuses to leave Mary behind, thinking she’s his betrothed. Which she ain’t and never has been, for he’s to wed Lady Arabella Hampton. The baggage tricked him for her own ends. Tricked you, by God!”

  Sir Robert leaned back in his padded chair and spired his fingers, studying the tips. The sly puss. He could almost admire her resourcefulness, if she hadn’t put such a clog in his plans.

  But it was only one more score to settle when he had Mary where he wanted her.

  “Well, well, our naive Mary is more astute than I ever believed possible.” Staring up into Renfrew’s scarlet face, it briefly passed through Sir Robert’s thoughts that the old man might have an apoplexy on the spot.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked coolly.

  “If you want to keep earning the money I’ve been paying you, you’ll get yourself to London. Fetch her back here! Avalon’s smarter than it’s good for a man to be. If he starts sticking his nose into Mary’s business, I’ll be undone.”

  Some secret thing flashed through the baron’s watery blue eyes. Interested, Sir Robert pushed slowly to his feet.

  “What a fascinating obser
vation. Pray tell what secrets about a simple chit like Mary could be your undoing, Renfrew?”

  “Never you mind!” he barked back. “Just get yourself to London.”

  “It will cost you,” Sir Robert drawled, enjoying the skinflint’s discomfort.

  Snorting, the baron reached into his brown corded jacket and pulled out a fistful of fifty-pound notes. “This will get you to London. Contact me as soon as you’re settled somewhere. I’ll arrange a voucher on my bank. Just get the chit out of London as soon as you can. I don’t care how you do it!”

  He threw the notes on the table, spun on his heels, and stomped out of the room much as he had entered it.

  Relishing the feel of so much ready cash at his fingertips, Sir Robert smiled as he arranged the bills in neat piles upon the table cloth. It had been too long since he’d been in London. Too long since he’d lived the way he deserved to live.

  He laughed out loud, thinking about enjoying it all at Renfrew’s expense. His stay would be as expensive as he could made it, and as long. For he was more than a little interested in discovering for himself the secret that Renfrew was terrified that the Duke of Avalon might uncover.

  Chapter 7

  The Duchess of Avalon’s carriage was well-sprung and roomy, even with four occupants. Richard’s long frame sprawled beside Mary, as she had chosen to let Lottie ride facing forward. The duchess and Lottie were both asleep, their heads resting against olive velvet pillows.

  Mary gazed fondly at Lottie, whose poke bonnet was tipped over her eyes and had ridden down upon her nose. All that could be seen of her face was her round firm chin and rosebud lips. The duchess remained the perfect lady even in sleep, not a hair out of place, her hands folded properly in her lap.

  Out of the corner of her eye Mary glanced at Richard. His head was flung back, a lock of dark wavy hair fell across his brow, and his magnificent eyes were closed. Even he had succumbed to the bruising pace he himself had ordered.