A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

  Even though it wasn’t unexpected, hearing him confirm her fears was shocking. “You are intent on this plan?”

  “There is no way out now.”

  Neither pleading nor arguing would change his mind, so she remained silent. The carriage came to a stop in front of the theater. Goforth exited first and offered her his arm. She ignored it and took the step without assistance, sweeping past him and handing her cloak off to an attendant. Grandly gowned ladies and dapper gentlemen crowded into the grand saloon.

  The ceiling was beautifully arched, and a rotunda rose at the far end with two grand staircases leading to the private boxes that ringed the stage. Since her arrival in London, she had been looking forward to attending the theater, but not like this.

  Was it her imagination, or was she the focal point of too many gazes? Gazes that took liberties and made her long for her cloak. All she could do was hold her head high and formulate a plan of escape. Would word reach Simon of her presence? Hope flared.

  As they worked their way toward the rotunda and the staircases, Goforth introduced her to a dozen gentlemen. Some of them were familiar, like Sir Benedict Pennington, but most were strangers. None besides Sir Benedict possessed a title beyond a simple mister, and only one made an indelible impression. It wasn’t favorable.

  “Mr. McKelvey, is it?” Goforth asked, his brow furrowing.

  “That’s correct, sir.” Mr. McKelvey wasn’t ugly, but his face was stark and possessed not a whit of softness or humor. His shoulders stretched his black evening jacket to the limit of its seams. While his clothes were finely made, he did not give the impression of a gentleman. The shiver skating down her back was born of fear.

  Goforth seemed as taken aback by the man as Jessica. “How did you hear of our enterprise?”

  “My tastes are well known around town. Don’t worry, Mr. Goforth, I have the coin.” The man’s gaze licked down her body as if he had already laid claim. “You’ll not regret having me present at your enterprise.”

  “Very well then. You are welcome to join us.” Goforth passed McKelvey a sealed note. “The details are here.”

  Mr. McKelvey’s slight bow conveyed more animus than respect, but Goforth was too distracted to notice. He took her elbow and led her on, but she couldn’t stop from looking over her shoulder. Danger hovered around Mr. McKelvey like a cloak. If she ended up in his hands at the end of the night, what might befall her?

  Her knees quivered on the climb to their rented box. It was situated to the left of the stage in the middle of the second tier. Goforth positioned one of the chairs to put her on perfect display and then excused himself, leaving her to settle in alone.

  The green velvet chairs and curtains provided the perfect frame for her gold dress. Ladies and gentlemen alike held opera glasses and searched the crowd. After all, people came to the theater to see and be seen as much as to enjoy the show.

  She decided to do the same and pulled her glasses from her reticule. It didn’t take her long to find who she was not so subtly searching for. Simon was indeed in attendance. But he wasn’t alone. Next to him sat the beautiful woman from the ball. This evening she wore an exquisite lavender gown covered in sparkling beads of glass.

  Her beauty was lush and extravagant, her dark coloring the perfect foil for Simon’s burnished Adonis-like handsomeness. He smiled as the lady whispered in his ear, surely closer than was strictly necessary, but what stopped her heart was the hand caressing his thigh. Simon made no move to end her intimate touches.

  As if sensing her regard, he raised his gaze to meet hers. Jessica whipped the glasses into her lap. Fool. She had been a fool to trust him, and an even bigger fool for hoping he would ride to her rescue like a white knight.

  Goforth returned and took a seat behind and to the right of her. It wasn’t long before he too spotted Simon and his new ladylove. His chuckle was mocking. “I see the duke cast you aside easily enough for his old paramour, Lady Herriot. Can’t say that I blame him. She is a pretty piece of baggage and very experienced in pleasing a man, or so I’ve heard. You must have been quite the disappointment.”

  Heat rushed through her, anger and humiliation in equal parts. She refused to turn and give Goforth any more power than he already had over her.

  Had Simon used and discarded her? Had all his words and declarations and touches been false? With trembling fingers, she raised her glasses again. Simon was no longer looking in her direction, but fingering a curl of Lady Herriot’s hair. A sob threatened to choke her. It was clear no salvation would be forthcoming. If she was to be saved, she must do it herself.

  Chapter 22

  Lady Herriot looked at him quizzically, and Simon cursed internally. He hadn’t been listening, which was boorish considering how shamefully he was abusing her kindness. “I’m sorry, Kate. I’m rather distracted this evening.”

  Her throaty laugh held no censure. “While I was hoping to be your current distraction, I can see the beautiful young lady in gold has gained your full attention. Who is she?”

  “Miss Jessica Tremaine. Her younger brother inherited the Penhaven title.”

  Kate held up her opera glasses and casually glanced over the row of boxes across the theater. “Who is that with her? Not their father, obviously.”

  “Edward Goforth. Her stepfather.”

  “A mushroom.”

  Simon stifled a strained laugh. He was too tense to find anything truly humorous. “Lord Drummond voiced a similar opinion not long ago.”

  “Oh dear, I do believe she caught me staring.” She lowered the glasses to her lap and shifted to Simon. “I value honesty, Your Grace, and thought you did as well.”

  “I do. Of course I do.” The back of his neck heated. He sighed. “I should apologize.”

  “Yes, you should,” Kate said lightly. “You shouldn’t be using me to make another lady jealous, although I am flattered.”

  Simon gaped at her before composing himself. “That was not my intent.”

  “Miss Tremaine looks as though she wants to shove me into the Thames. If not to make her jealous, then why are you here with me? Most people will assume we have become lovers once more.”

  Simon’s collar shrunk at least two sizes. He tugged at it with a finger. “Miss Tremaine knows my heart is hers.”

  “Does she?”

  The skepticism in Kate’s voice gave Simon pause, and he glanced in Jessica’s direction. Without glasses, her expression was a mystery, but her rigid posture gave credence to Kate’s opinion.

  He could soothe Jessica’s tender feelings after Goforth’s scandalous game was finished this evening and she was safe. Although he wasn’t sure he would truly relax until he put the special license burning a hole in his pocket to use.

  Too many things could go wrong, and as Simon couldn’t appear at all interested in winning Jessica, he had to rely on others to carry out their plan. The level of trust required of him was proving difficult.

  As he watched surreptitiously, several gentlemen—and he used the label generously—stopped by Goforth’s box to offer greetings. The pattern was the same for each. Goforth would introduce each man to Jessica, a short chat would ensue, and then Goforth would take the man aside for a conversation. The more men who showed interest, the more difficult it would be for Simon’s plan to succeed.

  The lights dimmed. Shakespeare’s Macbeth was being performed with gusto. It was impossible to enjoy the tragedy being played out on the stage when the ending to his own life could be just as dismal. He was impatient for the interval. Damien was to meet him and pass along an update.

  As the lights came up, he excused himself from Kate’s box and weaved his way through the throng to procure a glass of champagne. Damien cut through the crowd like an apex predator. Simon was heartily glad Damien was on his side.

  Damien took a glass of champagne from a circulating footman and joined Simon. Their tête-à-tête was less conspicuous among the crowd. “She is here?”

  “Yes. At least twenty men
have shown interest.”

  Damien’s eyebrows rose as he took a sip. “More than we’d hoped, but she is a lovely woman.”

  Even lovelier than normal. Simon wasn’t sure if it was the dramatic gold gown or his carnal knowledge of what was underneath making her appear positively iridescent.

  “What have you learned?” he asked.

  “It seems Goforth’s gambling debts are mounting by the day. He is spread thin and will be desperate for this evening to go well.”

  “Gray’s man is in place?”

  Damien gave a brusque nod. “Let’s pray he’s trustworthy.”

  As Goforth would never allow Simon or anyone associated with him into the auction, Gray had offered up one of his contacts who’d agreed to pose as an interested party in return for payment. The bargain did not settle Simon’s worries in the least. If the man could be bought by Gray, then he could be turned if more money was offered from a different quarter.

  Damien looked over Simon’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “The lady approaches with her stepfather. You must not give us away.”

  Simon closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself before forcing a bland smile and turning. Goforth had Jessica’s hand tucked firmly on his arm. Some might see it as a protective gesture in such a crowded room, but more likely, he worried about her attempting an escape.

  Damien slipped away, the coward. Simon inclined his head. “Miss Tremaine. Goforth. How are you enjoying the production?”

  “A bit boring, if I’m being honest.” Goforth patted Jessica’s hand, which had pulled into a fist around his jacket. “I’m anxious for our next engagement to begin.”

  Simon nodded at a passing acquaintance and forced a note of disinterest into his voice. “I suppose you have grand dinner plans?”

  “More like a grand experiment.” Goforth’s smile was mocking. “You wouldn’t be interested considering you’ve already enjoyed the experience.”

  Simon tamped down his rising fury and did his best to mimic Damien’s perpetual air of insouciance. “Indeed. Why pay for something I’ve already enjoyed for free?”

  Jessica’s sharp intake of breath gutted him. Hurt flashed across her face, but she schooled her features quickly. She had to know he was playing the cad as well as any Drury Lane actor.

  He proffered a small inclination of his head. “I wish you luck with your experiment. If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my friend.”

  Before he could make good his exit, Jessica spoke. “Do you mean Lady Herriot?”

  “That’s right. She and I are old friends.” He imbued the last two words with as much insinuation as he was able. Which was quite a lot considering they had indeed been lovers.

  “I see,” she said in a small voice.

  She didn’t see at all. Reassuring words were ready to trip off his tongue until he caught sight of Damien shaking his head in warning behind Jessica and Goforth where he was eavesdropping.

  Simon met her gaze straight on and hoped she could see the truth of his heart. “I hope the evening concludes to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  It was the height of irony he was now the one forced to deceive her.

  However, if everything went to plan, the deception wouldn’t last long, and he would spent the rest of his life making it up to her.

  Goforth grunted and led Jessica away. She glanced over her shoulder at him once, and he took a step toward her without thinking. He could snatch her away and make a run for Gretna Green.

  Damien grabbed his shoulder. “You mustn’t.”

  His friend was correct. Simon had to let the evening play out, or else Blake would become Goforth’s new pawn. He returned to Lady Herriot’s box, only to be tortured by a rotation of men meeting Jessica.

  Finally, the interval ended. Every moment built tension until the penultimate scene of Macbeth’s beheading. Simon hoped there were no lessons for him to be found in the bloody ending.

  When the lights came up, he stole a glance toward Jessica and started at seeing the box empty. He rose, frozen in a moment of indecision and panic. How long had they been gone?

  “She left a quarter hour ago.” Kate rose and gathered her wrap around her.

  Courtesy dictated he see Kate to her carriage. He owed her that much at least. His impatience to be gone earned him an exasperated look from Kate. “I can see myself home. I don’t want a man who wants another.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate.” He meant it sincerely.

  “I am too.” Kate gave him a smile, albeit a sad one. “Begone with you. I hope matters of the heart go better for you than they have for me this evening.”

  He kissed her hand and pushed through the crowd for the door, praying everything was going as planned.

  It wasn’t.

  As soon as he walked through the door of his sister’s town house, Rafe met him in the entry with a tight mouth and crinkled brow. “We’ve hit a snag, I’m afraid.”

  “What sort of snag?”

  “Goforth changed the place of the auction. Or perhaps this was always the original plan and he put forth a dummy location to avoid undesirables from attending. In short, we don’t know where they went.”

  Simon ran a hand through his hair and cursed roundly. Minerva, who was pacing the rug threadbare, didn’t even chastise him. Gray was seated at Rafe’s desk, his head down as he dipped a quill in ink to continue scratching out a message.

  “Does Goforth suspect something?”

  “We hoped you might have learned something at the theater about their change in venue.” Minerva looked at him hopefully.

  “No, I bloody well did not learn anything. If you’ll recall, you people”—he pointed from Minerva to Gray to Rafe—“told me to make sure Goforth left with the impression I no longer wanted Jessica.”

  Gray finished his missive, sanded it, folded it, and applied a wax seal. “I realize this is not ideal, but I have faith the man I have in place will not betray us.”

  “He’s an honorable man then?” Simon asked.

  The look Rafe and Gray exchanged did nothing to settle his rising panic. “He has his own code of honor,” Gray finally said. “Most likely, Goforth suspects nothing and the change is not a change at all. Our man either has not had time to get a note off or is confident of his success.”

  “Not reassuring, Masterson,” Simon said through clenched teeth.

  “In endeavors such as these, one must adapt to the changing tides.” Gray rose and tucked the letter into his jacket. “I will ferret out the new location and send news once I have any.”

  “You are mad if you think I’m going to sit here and idle away the hours while you search for her.” Simon beat Gray to the door. “I’m coming with you.”

  Gray didn’t argue, and Simon followed him into the unknown.

  Chapter 23

  Jessica sat in the carriage and waited. If it wasn’t for the man guarding the door, she would have bolted. Except, if she were being honest, it wasn’t only the thick-necked man stopping her attempt. She had no clue where she was or where to go even if she did escape.

  It was clear Simon was not an option. He might help her out of guilt for what he’d taken with no care. Not her reputation or her maidenhead, but her heart. And what if she found Lady Herriot warming his bed? Her pride balked at the thought of throwing herself on his mercy.

  She had few other friends. The only one who came to mind was Lady Drummond. Yes, she was Simon’s sister, which made things deuced awkward, but she had been kind and offered her help. Something Jessica required badly at the moment.

  Jessica peeked out the window. They were in a narrow alley barely wide enough for the conveyance. Horse hooves striking stone echoed around her. She could hear the calls of men and women and the clack of carriages moving on distant lanes. The building was soot streaked but respectable. They weren’t in Mayfair, but neither were they in Clerkenwell.

  Night blanketed London. The darkness was accompanied by an ominous sense of doom. Her opportunities to escape her
fate were diminishing.

  A stranger emerged from the building. The man was dressed in black and had the unmistakable pompous airs of an upper servant. He murmured something to her guard. The thick-necked man said nothing, only opened the carriage door and stepped to the mouth of the alley. His bulk blocked any chance of escape.

  “My name is Bishop, miss, and I’m to escort you to a waiting area.” Bishop gave a perfunctory bow and gestured toward the side entrance, his tone bordering on rude. “If you please.”

  She didn’t please but had no choice in the matter. After taking her cloak, Bishop deposited her in a windowless receiving room and left her without even offering her a drink. Her hands were trembling too much to handle a delicate teacup, but she wouldn’t have turned down a tumbler of liquor.

  A brace of three candles cast a circle of light not bright enough to banish the shadows lurking in the corners, but she could see enough. The distinctly masculine room held an aura of shabby disuse. The colors were dark blues and the lines stark with no ruffle or flower pattern in sight. The chairs were wooden and stiff-backed without even a cushion.

  She was too nervous to sit anyway, so she searched the room for something of use. The only feminine touch was a small escritoire with a lattice of interlocking curves sitting in the corner like a lady left without a dance partner.

  She placed the candles on the scarred top, opened the desk, and riffled through blank sheets of paper. What if she wrote a note begging help? While she had no coin, if she could find a willing scullery maid or a groom, she would promise them a great reward to see it delivered. Her hands shook with a shot of hope. She found an ink well tucked into a cubby, but when she dabbed the quill, it came up dry.

  The disappointment was sharp. The urge to collapse in tears was there, but so was an abiding anger. She snapped the quill and dashed the contents of the escritoire to the floor. The plink of metal on wood drew her to a squat to sort through the mess.