Silver Deceptions
Page 10
“Oh, I don’t think so. As the players left the stage, she cast you a look of such longing, I almost pitied her. I swear, if she’d seen the hungry way you’d watched her throughout the play, she’d have raced through the theater to be at your side.”
“I doubt that,” he said irritably. Then he spotted the Falkham coach and changed the subject. “Do you think Falkham will keep up his pretense of being sick once we return to your town house?”
She laughed low, not at all fooled by his refusal to speak of Annabelle. But she humored him. “He’d rather die than admit his mistake. I believe he truly thought that if he claimed to be deathly ill, I’d not go to the play. This is the third time he’s tried to put me off. I was getting very tired of it.”
“I’ll admit Falkham isn’t much interested in theater.”
Her brow creased in a frown. “Yes, but he doesn’t want me to go unaccompanied either. He thought to get around me, but I’ve demonstrated that he can’t. I’m so glad you agreed to take me. He couldn’t very well refuse to let me go when you’d so generously offered to accompany me while he was . . . ill.”
Colin smiled. “I’m sure he’s cursing himself now.”
“I do hope so. He might not be jealous of you, but he’s surely pacing the floors, thinking that half the gallants in the theater are flirting with me.”
He wisely kept his mouth shut. Falkham wasn’t above being jealous even of Colin and was probably more than a bit mortified at the thought of his wife being out with a rake, even one he could trust.
Of course, it served the man right for not taking Mina to the theater for one damnable night, while at the same time insisting she shouldn’t go alone. Then again, perhaps Falkham was wiser than Colin gave him credit for. The theater had become a gathering place for all the false creatures in London society, particularly the court, with its base gossip and petty intrigues. No man with a life of purpose would waste his time at the theater.
He shouldn’t even be here. He’d thought he was fulfilling his own purpose, repaying a debt to an old friend while keeping abreast of any intrigues that might be of use to him later. Now he wasn’t so sure. His experience with Annabelle had heightened his desire to find something better in life than spying, than intrigue and gossip. Court machinations disgusted him increasingly every day.
The coach rumbled up then, putting an end to his ruminations, but before the coachman had even leapt from his perch, Colin heard his name called. He turned to find Charity Woodfield rushing toward him, her pretty cheeks flushed.
“Lord Hampden,” she gasped as she tried to catch her breath. She cast Mina a wary glance. “I . . . I must speak with you.”
Just what he needed—Annabelle Maynard trying to sink her claws into him again. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. I’m leaving.”
“Please, milord, I wasn’t the one to insult you. Give me a moment of yer time. I beg of you.”
He gritted his teeth. He felt Mina’s eyes on him, shining with curiosity, but didn’t enlighten her. “Yes, all right. What is it?”
Charity glanced at Mina.
“Lady Falkham is the wife of my dearest friend,” he explained. “You can speak in front of her.”
With a quick curtsy, Charity murmured, “Begging your pardon, milord, but it’s about . . . about my mistress.”
“Of course. What does she want—a second chance to flay me with her tongue? Perhaps this time she’d like to put a dagger through me.”
Charity colored. “She needs yer lordship’s help with a private matter.”
“Tell her to call Somerset. I’m sure he’d do her bidding.”
He started to turn away, but Charity grabbed his arm. “Oh, please, milord, I know you have good cause to be angry with her. But she thought she had no choice. In any case, she’s full of shame for it. And she needs yer help. Come back to the tiring-room with me for one moment and hear her out.”
“If she’s so desperate for my help, why didn’t she come herself?” he bit out, hesitating despite himself.
“Because I told her not to. I feared you’d run away before she could speak.”
He stiffened. “Your mistress may be a coward, but I’m not.”
“Then will you lower yerself to speak to her . . . if only for a moment?”
Charity’s pleas affected him despite his attempts to remain unaffected. No matter what Annabelle had said at Sir John’s, she wasn’t the kind of woman to toy with him. If she needed his aid so badly that she’d swallow her pride and send her maid to ask for it, then she must be desperate indeed. But damn the woman, what right had she to ask at all?
“Go on, Hampden,” Mina said in a low voice beside him. “What can it hurt to speak to the poor woman?”
“Believe me, Mina, the Silver Swan is not a poor woman,” he ground out. “She’s quite capable of taking care of herself.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, as we both well know. Go on. I’ll wait here in the carriage. I’ll be perfectly safe until you return.”
Colin sighed. What a fool he was for these sweet-faced women. Hell and furies, he might as well go. If he didn’t, he’d spend his nights worrying about what trouble she was in instead of damning her to hell as he should. That could be far more dangerous to his peace of mind.
“All right, then,” he growled. “But this had better be worth it.”
Chapter Eight
“Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls must dive below.”
—John Dryden, All for Love, Prologue
Time passed far too slowly for Annabelle as she waited in the tiring-room. Everyone had left the theater to pursue the evening’s amusements.
Being here alone reminded her of the first time Colin had kissed her so temptingly. She touched her fingers to her lips. Would he ever kiss her again? Dared she let him? And what if he insisted on more?
Then she would give it to him. Between him and the king, Colin seemed a less dangerous choice. Perhaps he’d even help her out of the kindness of his heart.
A mirthless laugh escaped her. After how she’d treated him, she’d be lucky if he helped her for a price.
A knock sounded at the door and Charity peeked around the corner. “Oh good, no one’s here. I brought his lordship.”
“Thank heaven,” Annabelle breathed, then caught her breath again when Colin entered.
Never had he looked so handsome. His hair gilded his shoulders like a mantle of gold chain mail, and his tight hose outlined every muscle of his calves. How could she have forgotten what an attractive figure he cut?
If only his eyes weren’t so terribly cold. “Leave us,” he commanded Charity.
The maid fled.
“So, madam, what do you want?” he asked in a cutting tone. “A new recipe for tea? Or perhaps you’re short of funds and you’d like my ring back.”
She forced down her hurt. “I deserve that. I had no right to call you a bastard there before God and everyone, but I didn’t know you actually were—That is—”
“Spare me your tender pity. I’ve long accustomed myself to being a bastard. That’s not what angered me. That was merely the final straw in a long line of offenses, beginning with the tea you tried to force on me. But that’s neither here nor there. Tell me what you want, so I can leave.”
Wishing he looked less fierce, she handed him the envelope Rochester had given her. With a suspicious glance, he opened it and read the contents. For a moment, he went rigid.
Then his gaze swung back to hers, even colder than before. “What do you need me for? To help you decide what to wear?”
The words knifed through her. She forced herself to endure his scorn. “I don’t want to go, Colin. Please, you have to get me out of it.”
He looked startled, then intrigued. “Half the actresses in London would give their eyeteeth to warm the king’s bed, and you want to get out of it?”
She lowered her gaze to her hands. “I know it sounds . . . odd, but ye
s.”
“Why?”
The simple word struck terror in her. How could she explain without sounding like a frightened virgin before her wedding night, which, in a sense, she was? “I don’t want to be involved in these court intrigues. I don’t understand all the machinations, and I—”
“Don’t be absurd, Annabelle. He wants a quick tumble, not a female spy. He doesn’t give a fig for your behavior in court. Unless he makes you his mistress, which isn’t likely at the moment, he’ll have his way with you, send you off with a piece of jewelry or some gold, and not trouble you for anything else.”
She flinched at the description of what sounded suspiciously like a transaction between a whore and her customer. Still, she couldn’t give him her real reasons, for then he would want to know it all. “I don’t think I could please His Majesty.”
His jaw tightened. “Well, then, I can’t help you with that. I draw the line at giving lessons on that sort of thing when another man plans to benefit from them.”
Nettled by his apparent calm, she cried, “Devil take you, Colin, do you want me to lie with His Majesty?”
With a curse, he crumpled the note from the king. “No. In truth, I don’t want you anywhere near him. It’s probably just my stung pride. I’m afraid to discover that he might succeed in melting your heart where I failed, but I don’t want you to go.”
Relief seized her. He did still feel something for her. “Then help me. I know you can find a way out of this. I have but three hours to come up with a plan that will work. You’ve got to help me!”
He fixed her with a hard stare. “Why don’t you just admit the real reason you don’t want to ‘sup’ with His Majesty?”
She blanched. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He advanced on her. “It’s not that you’re afraid you won’t please him or know how to handle the court’s political intrigues. It’s because you’re a virgin. And that’s an explanation even I can understand.”
“I’m not a virgin any more than you are,” she protested weakly.
“Don’t think you can play your ‘wanton’ role with me. It won’t work.” He scoured her with a long glance. “You smile like a virgin, you walk like a virgin . . . in every way, your innocence shows. It’s a beacon to all the debauched rakes in London.” His tone grew harsh. “ ’ Tis why they flock to you, wanting to wipe their grimy paws all over your sweet body. Our king apparently is no exception.”
She fought to keep her composure. “You obviously pay no attention to the gossip, or you’d know I’m rumored to be quite free with my favors.”
For the first time since he’d entered, a smile crossed his lips. “Haven’t you yet learned that I’m not like the other witless fools at court? I’m a master of rumor and innuendo. I honed my skills very well during the war, and I can detect a false tale hidden beneath beds of roses. That one is certainly a false tale.”
“Why would anyone tell such a tale about me?” she whispered, trying to hold on to her role.
“Obviously, someone started it for a good reason.” He crossed his arms. “Someone like you, perhaps.” Her startled expression elicited another smile from him. “Of course you started it. Why else would you be drugging gallants to maintain it? Or associating with fops like Somerset? As for why . . . well, that I don’t know. But I mean to find out.”
Of course he did. “Believe what you wish about my virtue. I still don’t wish to meet with His Majesty. Will you help me or no?”
She could see the indecision on his face, the terrible struggle between his pride and his sense of compassion. Then he growled, “I’ll help you, damn my soul. I can’t very well send a virgin off to be sacrificed to our regent god, can I?”
Her breath escaped in a whoosh. “Thank you, Colin!” She wanted to kiss him but knew it was likely to annoy him.
“Don’t be so hasty in your thanks. My help comes at a price.”
She sucked in her breath, an unwarranted thrill coursing through her even as she cursed him for being such a rogue. “Anything you ask,” she choked out.
His eyes narrowed as he guessed what she was thinking. He allowed his insolent gaze to linger on her body. “I admit that the offer is tempting. But it isn’t your damnable virtue I wish to exact from you.”
“Then . . . then what do you want?”
“The truth. If I’m to keep you out of the king’s lecherous clutches, then I expect you to tell me everything—why you pretend to be a wanton . . . why you came to London . . . and why my advances so frighten you.”
She said in a small voice, “I’d rather you take my virtue, my lord.”
He gave a dark chuckle. “No doubt you would. And perhaps I will have that, too.” Before she could react to his presumption, he added, “But I’ll not take it as a payment for my service to you. ’Tis only of value if freely given.”
The burning awareness in his eyes seared her, challenged her . . . and frightened her sorely. “You think I will give it to you?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” With a rakish grin, he leaned back against the wall. “So, dear Annabelle, do we have a bargain? My help for your secrets?”
She stepped to the window and stared out at the streets below as she considered his proposal. She daren’t tell him all, but perhaps she could tell him enough to assuage his curiosity. “Aye, we have a bargain.”
“Good. Then I have a plan. But we must work quickly. My friend Lady Falkham awaits me in her carriage. I think I can persuade her to take us to your lodgings and help us.”
Annabelle spotted the lone carriage waiting at the end of the alley. “Is Lady Falkham the new woman in your life?” She cursed herself for sounding less than nonchalant.
Especially when Colin laughed. “Don’t tell me that my coldhearted swan is jealous.”
She refused to face him, afraid he would read the jealousy in her face. “I merely thought it interesting that you waited so little time after relinquishing your pursuit of me before engaging in the pursuit of another.”
With a curse, he crossed the room and swung her around to face him. “Listen to me well, my sharp-tongued beauty. Lady Falkham is the wife of my dearest friend, the Earl of Falkham, and I have never so much as touched her hand without her husband’s express permission. She’s a gracious lady who will most likely help you this evening, so I suggest you be civil to her. I won’t have you scoring her with your cutting words.”
The truth of what he spoke shone clear in his face, filling her with a quick shame. She glanced away, hurt by the obvious respect he felt for this lady and the comparative contempt he held her in. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be more than courteous, I assure you.”
He glared at her for a long moment. Then his expression shifted to one of desire, of yearning. It was the first time he’d touched her since she’d insulted him before his friends. Both of them were intensely aware of it.
He cupped her cheek, his fingers cold as iron against her flushed skin. But his eyes burned hotter than any smelting furnace. “You twist my heart when you stare at me that way. Did you know that? I only wish I knew what terrible storm lies beneath those sad eyes.”
She swallowed. “Sometimes ’tis better not to know these things.”
He searched her face, as if he could gain her secrets that way. Then, with a sigh, he released her and turned for the door. “Perhaps,” he muttered.
But somehow she knew he didn’t believe it.
TO ANNABELLE’S VAST relief, Lady Falkham proved to be a woman of wit, with a soft heart and no apparent scruples about associating with an actress. During their short ride, Colin told her of the problem facing them. Once they reached Annabelle’s lodgings, Colin laid out his plan, which involved making her appear to be ill.
“I got the idea from Falkham,” he told her ladyship. “It may not have worked well for him, but it might work for Annabelle, if you can make it convincing.”
Apparently Lady Falkham was a healer, or had been before her marriage.
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s made properly, Mina?”
Lady Falkham went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “It will warm her skin for a bit, but it won’t last. And we can achieve a dramatic effect if we use an emetic to make her vomit—”
“No,” Colin interrupted, with a glance at Annabelle, “I don’t think we should do anything that will be uncomfortable for her.”
“Won’t be nearly as uncomfortable as bedding the king,” Charity put in.
Colin scowled.
“The discomfort doesn’t bother me,” Annabelle broke in, tired of hearing them discuss her as if she weren’t there. “I’m willing to have a real ague if it saves me.”
“No need for a real one, but we can certainly have a pretend one.” Lady Falkham put one finger to her chin. “We can manufacture the fever and the vomiting. The coughing and other effects will simply be good acting.” She smiled at Annabelle. “From what I saw at the theater, you’ll have no problems with that.”
Annabelle blushed at the compliment.
“No problem at all,” Charity put in proudly. “My mistress can play a role to perfection when she wishes.”
Colin’s gaze locked with Annabelle’s, and she knew he was thinking of the last time he’d been in her lodgings. “I can attest to that,” he said dryly. “Annabelle is one of the most accomplished actresses I know.”
“Then it’s settled. Annabelle will have an ague.” Lady Falkham added, with a glance at Colin, “And ’tis best to use the emetic. After all, His Majesty is sending Rochester to carry her to Whitehall. So it must be convincing.”
“That’s why I wanted your help,” Colin put in. “Since His Majesty knows you’re a healer, he’s more likely to believe her truly ill if he hears you’re attending her. If the king even hears a hint of this deception, he might be insulted enough to have her discharged from the duke’s company. I don’t think she’d want that.”