Silver Deceptions

by Sabrina Jeffries

  The carriage jerked to a stop before a ramshackle lodging house. Annabelle glanced out but couldn’t believe her eyes. His friend actually lived in Grub Street? She’d assumed the woman was some nobleman’s widow who spent her time hopping from one wit’s bed to another now that her husband’s money had made her independent. But no nobleman would leave his wife to live in such a disreputable place.

  Annabelle cast a quizzical glance at Colin, but he was already climbing out of the carriage and shouting commands to the coachman. Then he handed her out of the carriage and brought her inside and up the stairs.

  When Mrs. Behn herself greeted them at the door, she met Annabelle’s expectations in one respect. She was in her late twenties and quite pretty. Though she was olive-skinned and had a rather longish face, masses of dark reddish curls fell over her shoulders and she had a pouting, heart-shaped mouth that would tempt most men. Nonetheless, the effect was somewhat ruined by the dust smeared across one cheek, over her pert nose, and along her wide forehead.

  “Come in, come in,” she said, swiping her hair back with one dirty hand and putting a fresh smear across the other cheek. Then she sneezed. “I’m sorry, Hampden. There’s dust everywhere. I’ve been putting the place to rights since you came by this morning, but I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

  She flashed Annabelle an apologetic glance. “Can’t afford a servant, you see, so I do it all myself, and I truly detest cleaning.”

  Still uncertain if she even wanted to be here, Annabelle didn’t know how to respond. Yet breeding and a natural tendency toward courtesy made her say, “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Behn ushered them into what was apparently her drawing room and motioned to the coachman to start bringing in Annabelle’s luggage. “If you’re letting a room from me, it ought to be clean, don’t you think?”

  Annabelle’s startled gaze flew to Colin, but he was already reaching into his vest and withdrawing a small purse. “This should cover Annabelle’s expenses while I’m gone,” he murmured, pressing the purse into Mrs. Behn’s hand. “You know where to reach me should you need more.”

  “Colin,” Annabelle began, “I’m perfectly capable of paying for—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “ ’Twas my idea to move you from your own lodgings, and the cost is a trifle. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

  Looking amused, Mrs. Behn tucked the purse into a pocket of her apron, then winked at Annabelle. “It might be a trifle to you, Hampden, but for women of the world like your friend and me it’s bread and wine for some time to come.”

  Annabelle wasn’t certain what Mrs. Behn meant by “women of the world like your friend and me.” Surely Colin hadn’t brought her to the house of a . . . a vizard-mask, had he?

  Quickly, she surveyed her surroundings. What she saw reassured her. Not that she knew what the drawing room of that sort of woman would look like. Yet surely it would be more flamboyant and extravagant than this woefully cramped room filled with worn furniture and fraying rugs. Surely a vizard-mask wouldn’t have piles of paper and pots of ink scattered about.

  Noting Annabelle’s curious stare, Colin said, “In addition to being a spy and an adventuress, Mrs. Behn fancies herself a writer. She means to write for the stage.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Behn put in bitterly, “if I can ever give off writing petitions to His Majesty and letters to all of my friends from here to the Continent requesting help in getting my due from him. I swear, I’ve one foot in the debtors’ prison, thanks to the king and his tight purse, and no one gives a damn.”

  Colin raised an eyebrow.

  Mrs. Behn laughed. “Except for you, of course, Hampden. You’re a dear for thinking of me when searching for a place for your friend. I know this is your roundabout way of giving me charity, since I wouldn’t take your money outright.”

  “Not at all,” he insisted. “You’ll provide the perfect haven for Annabelle.”

  “I do hope so. I can use an actress’s advice.” She smiled at Annabelle.

  At least the mystery of why the widow had such poor quarters was solved. Still, Annabelle burned to know the woman’s relationship with Colin.

  Colin’s gaze rested on Mrs. Behn with friendly warmth, which didn’t reassure Annabelle much. “As long as you keep His Majesty from her, I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you.” He turned to Annabelle. “Aye, dearling?”

  It was the first time since last night that he’d used the endearment, and Annabelle noted that Mrs. Behn seemed intrigued rather than perturbed by it. That cheered her. “Aye,” she said softly. “I’ll be glad to tell you whatever I can, such as it is.”

  “Good, good,” Mrs. Behn stated, “but don’t worry. I’ll not make you work for your keep. Besides, you’ll be safe as a clam in a shell here. His Majesty avoids me these days.” Her confident expression faltered. “Unfortunately.”

  “Well, then,” Colin said brightly. “It sounds as if Annabelle will be safe here, so I’d best be on my way.”

  Mrs. Behn glanced from him to Annabelle, eyes narrowing. “I’ll go tidy up the kitchen while you say your goodbyes.” In a flurry of skirts, she bustled out. They could hear her sneezing as she entered the next room.

  Colin laughed. “I somehow knew Mrs. Behn would be terrible at a mundane task like cleaning. She’s much too absorbed with lofty ideas and schemes to bother. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  At the quiet evenness of her tone, he turned to stare at her. “I know you don’t like being thrust on a stranger like this, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Believe me, I would have preferred that the king had never noticed you.” His jaw tightened. “Unfortunately, no man with eyes in his head could have managed that, and certainly not Old Rowley.”

  The resentment behind his words, when coupled with his strangely remote behavior, made something snap within her. “Yes, and we know how I led him on by treading the boards before God and everyone. I ought to have realized that a woman has no right to put herself forward in public, even if she is simply trying to earn a living. How foolish of me to expect to be treated with the same dignity accorded male performers instead of like . . . like . . . any common whore.”

  With a curse, he clasped her elbow. “Surely you knew when you chose to be so conspicuously scandalous what would be expected of you. Yes, the world is unfair to women and always has been. Did you think the rules would change simply because you wanted them to? What did you expect?”

  “I didn’t expect you to treat me like a whore, too.” She instantly wished she could unsay the words that showed how much his behavior bothered her.

  “For the love of God, Annabelle, what are you talking about?”

  She tried to pull away, but he snaked a hand around her waist to hold her tightly against him.

  “I was told to expect this of men,” she said shakily, ashamed at herself for being so emotional in front of him when he was already itching to leave. “Once they bed you, they want nothing more to do with you. They toss you aside and trot off to attend to their business affairs. I’ve seen it happen with countless actresses, but I thought—”

  “Forget the other actresses,” he ground out. “Forget every damnable lie you’ve ever been told about men. This is me, Annabelle, and I’m not tossing you aside. If you think that one night of bliss could purge you from my blood, then you’re a bigger fool than I gave you credit for.”

  She kept staring at the buttons of his coat, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “Hell and furies, look at me,” he commanded, and when she did he added, “You want the truth?” His face was all harsh angles and mysterious shadows. “The thought of leaving you here with so little protection terrifies me. I feel I hold you by the most tenuous thread, which will snap the second I leave.”

  “Do you trust me so little?”

  His dark gaze lingered over her face. “Promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “To
wear my ring until I return. As a sign of your . . . affection for me. The other gallants won’t bother you if they know you wear my ring. Promise me.”

  How could she deny him, when he stared at her with such uncertainty, such pain in his eyes? “I promise.”

  He released a great breath. “ ’Sdeath, I wish I didn’t have to go, but I must. It’s more important than you could possibly imagine.”

  How odd that he spoke with such earnestness of attending to his estate. She’d barely even heard him mention it before. Perhaps more was amiss than he was letting on.

  “I’m only sorry you feel abandoned,” he continued.

  “I’m merely being silly. Don’t mind me,” she said in a whisper, fearing that her emotional outburst would drive him away even more.

  “How can I not? Even when you’re not near, the pain behind your eyes haunts my dreams until I can’t think without thinking of you. The orange scent of you fills my nostrils until I can’t breathe without breathing you.”

  Her pulse beat madly from his thrilling words. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then his lips trailed soft kisses along her temple to her ear, and he drew her against him so closely she could feel his arousal.

  “Since last night,” he said huskily, “when I discovered how soft you are, how wild and sweet under my caresses, I’m even more obsessed.” He spoke the words as if they were forced from him. “So how can I not care what you feel? It’s all I think about. The trouble is, you won’t tell me what you’re feeling. I know you keep secrets from me, but I don’t know why.”

  His lips against her hair were firing her blood as they had the night before. “I—I keep no secrets from you,” she forced herself to say, although baring her soul to him sounded tempting at the moment.

  He went still. He held her against him, not moving, not speaking, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

  Then he released her with a tight-lipped expression. “Come now, I know you too well for that. I can tell by the way you shy from me still that you hold a great many dark secrets behind your bright smiles.”

  She couldn’t deny it again. So she said nothing, though her heart slammed in her chest.

  He stood there, his eyes boring into her, probing for the truths he seemed to know she hid. Then he muttered a low curse. “My mysterious swan, always hiding. I pray that your secrets are worth lying for. Because I may not be able to control my temper if I discover they are not.”

  With that dire pronouncement, he whirled on his heels and left.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “O heaven, were man

  But constant, he would be perfect.”

  —William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 5, Sc. 4

  Five days after Annabelle moved into Aphra Behn’s lodgings, Charity came over to help her prepare her lines. That evening the duke’s players were to perform at Whitehall for the king, and Annabelle was very nervous about it. This would be her first chance to see how well her alliance with Aphra kept His Majesty at bay.

  Charity gestured broadly as she read a line, and in the process knocked over a stack of heavy tomes. “Odsfish, don’t this woman have a cartload of books!”

  “Aphra does enjoy reading,” Annabelle said as she studied her part. Aphra had gone out an hour ago to deliver another petition to the palace and was to return any moment.

  “So what’s she like?”

  “Very clever,” Annabelle said without glancing up. “She’s probably read more books than I’ve ever dreamed of. She’s bold, adventurous, and willing to unravel any conundrum. I like her.”

  “John says she’s wild, likes to swagger and talk of love like a rake.”

  With a smile, Annabelle thought of Aphra poring over her journal in the evening. “She hasn’t swaggered around me. She does talk rather freely about love, although I wouldn’t call her wild.”

  Annabelle glanced up at Charity. “Actually, she’s a lot like you. She’s been married and widowed, and as a result is rather cynical about courtship. She says she’d rather take a lover of her own choice than marry some old bastard simply because he has money.”

  “She sounds wild to me,” Charity said with a sniff.

  Grinning at Charity’s apparent resentment of Aphra, Annabelle pointed out, “You took a lover of your own choice rather than marry.”

  “Aye, and I begin to see the folly of that,” Charity muttered.

  Annabelle put down her script. “Why? Is Sir John mistreating you?”

  “He’s been talking about setting me up in a cottage in the country.” Her voice hardened. “You know, where others won’t know about me. When I threaten to leave him if he closets me out away from my friends, he talks about wanting me to have his children.”

  “It sounds as if he’s becoming quite serious about you.”

  “Not exactly,” she grumbled. At Annabelle’s questioning glance, she sighed. “John has a fiancée. So he can’t be too serious, can he, when he’s preparing to marry a viscount’s daughter come autumn? Her family wants his money, and he wants their connections. ’Tis the same old story.”

  Although Charity pretended to be a worldly woman who understood such things, Annabelle could see she was hurting. “I’m sorry, Charity. I didn’t know.”

  Charity scowled. “Nor did I at first, and when I found out, I couldn’t very well get angry with him after telling him I didn’t want an attachment. I tell you, Mrs. Behn may talk about taking lovers, but ’tisn’t all that grand. Being free means you leave him free, too. And with a man, a little freedom goes a long way.”

  Annabelle touched Colin’s ring. Might he also have a fiancée hidden away? He’d already made it clear she wasn’t to be part of his life at his estate. In how many other respects was she to be kept apart, so she wouldn’t embarrass him? Or would he be one of those rakes who enjoyed flaunting their mistresses and public opinion be damned?

  Neither possibility appealed to her. Dear heaven, how she wished Colin were here to kiss away her doubts. If she could feel more sure of him, it wouldn’t pain her so much to think of a future as his mistress.

  Though she’d had time to realize there would be advantages to being his mistress. She’d have him to talk to over supper after a play . . . then to share a bed with in the evenings. A blush stained her cheeks. Ah yes, she could grow to enjoy waking up every day in the arms of the man she loved.

  She groaned. The man she loved. Oh no, she could not love Colin. She mustn’t! He didn’t love her, so she had to protect her heart.

  But how could she when he’d already slipped beneath her defenses with his kindness and fervent words? It was too late. She already loved him. She’d loved him almost since the day he caught her alone in the tiring-room.

  Determinedly, she thrust that memory from her mind. She mustn’t let him change her into a pining, heartsick woman like those wives of philanderers she saw at the theater, trying to make their husbands jealous and carrying out petty vengeances on their husbands’ mistresses.

  Then the sound of footsteps on the stairs made both her and Charity look up. Aphra was home.

  “Good day,” Aphra said as she entered, though she avoided Annabelle’s gaze to focus on Charity. “ ’Tis good that you’re here with Annabelle. She can use the company.”

  Annabelle wondered at that peculiar statement. “How are things at Whitehall? Did you deliver your petition without any trouble?”

  Picking up the books Charity had knocked over, Aphra began to restack them. “Oh yes. It went well, though I hate dealing with that scurrilous Master of Requests. He assured me His Majesty would attend to the petition soon. Which means, of course, that I’ll be fortunate if the king even reads it in the next month.”

  From what the widow had said, this was no different than before. So why was Aphra so perturbed? When the woman began flitting about, straightening rugs, kicking crumbs under the table, and clearing away dishes, Annabelle frowned. “Did you hear any interesting gossip at Whitehall?”

  Aphra got ve
ry nervous. “Er, no, not a word.”

  In the past five days, Annabelle had come to know the woman well. They agreed on many issues, particularly the need for women to have better chances for education and independence. In her limited experience, Aphra was always outspoken. Never evasive.

  “What is it?” Annabelle prodded. “Did you hear something about me at Whitehall? Has His Majesty found out about the ruse Colin and I used to trick him? You and I can deal with that. We’ll send word to Colin at Kent and—”

  “He’s not in Kent,” Aphra blurted out. Then she grimaced. “Oh, pish, I shouldn’t have told you. But you’d have been damned angry at me if you’d learned the truth and I hadn’t said a word.”

  Annabelle’s heart sank. “What do you mean? He said—”

  “He lied.” Aphra’s pitying look gave credence to her words.

  “Why?” Annabelle whispered.

  “I don’t know.” Aphra sighed. “I found out by accident when I overheard Rochester and Sir Charles discussing him. Sir Charles headed out of town on the same day Hampden left, and they ran into each other at an inn, so they shared lunch. When they parted, Hampden went north. Not south to Kent.”

  Annabelle’s throat felt raw. “Perhaps he meant to . . . to . . .” To what?

  “Sir Charles told Rochester that Hampden wouldn’t reveal where he was heading.” The lines of pity on Aphra’s face deepened. “But Sir Charles did say that Hampden asked him not to mention their meeting to you.”

  Annabelle choked back hot tears. Sweet Mary, and she’d been thinking how madly she loved him! This was what she got for falling into such a trap.

  Devil take the deceitful man! How could he have lied to her? How could he have gone off to pursue some secret business after having just bedded her? “I should have known he wasn’t telling the truth. He was so closemouthed about it.”