Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  She didn't know why she kept the gifts. All she knew was that there was something about Gavin Merrick that excited her . . . that made her stomach flutter each time she thought of him. Richard made her feel secure, but this giddy feeling associated with Gavin was different. He made her feel deliciously unsteady.

  With each gift, Gavin sent a note. It always read the same: "Sup with me just once," it always said. And it was always signed simply "G."

  What would be the harm? Ellen thought, rolling over so that her back was pressed to Richard's bare chest. It would hurt Richard. I can't hurt Richard, her mind echoed.

  But he wants me to be happy.

  Ellen smoothed her pillow and laid her head down again. It still felt like betrayal. Why else would she not have told Richard about Gavin? Because nothing was going to come of it. Because there was no need, she told herself. It was too soon to really go out in the world. Too soon to think of faraway thoughts like a husband and children. Hunt was still out there. She still had to be careful. Time, Richard said. It was all going to take time.

  She sighed and closed her eyes, determined to push away all thoughts of Gavin Merrick. The fright of her nightmare had passed and she was suddenly tired. The next time he sends a gift, I won't accept it, she decided, nestling deeper into the soft bedding. I'll send it back and that will be the end of him.

  "Good afternoon, madame!" Squawk! What a beauty you are. Tearing fine! Tearing fine!" Squawk!

  The crowd of actors and actresses that had gathered around Ellen's dressing table laughed and clapped their hands, all talking at once.

  "Where did it come from, Ellen?"

  "Is it African?"

  "Who taught it to talk?"

  Lucy, one of the women Ellen often switched roles with, ran her fingernail across the gilded wires of the parrot's cage. "They say Lady Dumois has a parrot that talks, but only in French. She can't teach it to speak a word of English. Imagine that! What an uncivilized bird!"

  The parrot flapped its blue and green wings and leaped to a swing that hung from the center of the cage. "My name is Sir Gavin." Squawk! "Come sup with me. Tearing fine beauty. Tearing fine!" Squawk!

  Lucy glanced at Ellen. "So where did he come from, this Sir Gavin the parrot?"

  Ellen stared at the beautiful bird. It was large, with blue and green feathers tipped in gold. It had a long, shiny yellow beak and beady black eyes speckled with gold highlights. The bird had been delivered by a young boy and had come with no note, but Ellen had known immediately who had sent it.

  "Well, who sent it to you?" Lucy arched her painted black eyebrows. "That exquisite Richard of yours?"

  The parrot swung on his perch, lifting one clawed foot and then the other. Squawk! "Tearing fine beauty, tearing fine! Come sup with me." Squawk! "Sir Gavin! Sir Gavin!"

  "A friend." Ellen lifted the purple velvet cage cover and dropped it over the gilded cage with a smile. "A friend sent him."

  With the bird silenced, the group of actresses and actors dispersed, all busy talking about other parrots they'd seen. Ellen waited until they were gone, then pulled her curtain around her dressing table and sat down to remove her stage makeup. Just as she was completing her task, she heard a masculine voice from the other side of the curtain.

  "Knock, knock."

  Ellen knew who it was. She made no response. Of course, she had to return the parrot. He was too expensive a gift. Too precious. But he was so beautiful!

  "Anyone in there but a parrot?"

  Ellen laughed and drew back the curtain to let Gavin in. "He's beautiful. But you shouldn't have sent him."

  "I thought you might find him intriguing. He can imitate anything you say with a little practice."

  Gavin's smile was infectious. "Wherever did you find him?"

  "A friend who's just come into port from the islands had him in his ship's cabin, but his wife wouldn't let the bird in the house. He's an orphan." Gavin gave a wave of his hand. "The bird, I mean, not my friend."

  Ellen ran her hand over the velvet cage cover. "Let me pay you for him, at least."

  Gavin nodded. "All right."

  Ellen looked up. The quarters were so close behind the curtain that she could have reached up and touched Gavin if she'd wanted to. She rose up out of her chair so that she could look at him eye to eye. "Name your price. I don't carry coin with me, but I can give you a note for my goldsmith."

  Gavin caught a lock of her bright red hair and twisted it around his finger, mesmerized by the color and the way the light played off it. "My price is higher, Ellen. The bird for one supper."

  She pulled back. "I told you I can't possibly."

  "Just one." His gaze met hers as he slowly released the red curl. "And then I swear I'll never come back unless invited."

  "You wouldn't just rather have the money? I'd pay you well for him."

  He took her hand and turned up her palm, pressing a kiss to its middle. "One supper," he murmured, "and I'll be gone from your life."

  A quiver of cold heat ran up her arm. She shouldn't. She knew she shouldn't. But his hand felt so warm in hers. His lips had made her shiver. "Not tonight." Tonight she was meeting Richard and some of his friends at the Partridge and Plume for supper and cards. "Tomorrow night."

  "I take it you don't want me to come for you?"

  "I'm free to come and go as I please, but I'll not hurt my Richard's feelings."

  My Richard's feelings . . . An odd sense of jealousy came over Gavin. "I'll be discreet, madame."

  Ellen reached for her cloak and the bird cage. If she didn't hurry, Richard would come looking for her. "I have to go. I'll rent a hackney. Just tell me where to meet you."

  "At the Six Pence. Do you know it?"

  "The new tavern on King Street?"

  He smiled as she passed him. "Exactly. Seven?"

  "Eight."

  Gavin lifted his plumed cranberry hat, lowering it onto his head as he swept into, a bow. "Your servant, madame. I'll see you tomorrow night."

  She waggled a finger. "But just this once, and then you must swear you'll let me be." Her gaze caught his. "I've no place in my life for you, Gavin Merrick."

  He laid his hand over his heart, his voice laced with amusement. "I swear it."

  Ellen turned away before he saw her smile and she hurried down the hall, swinging her bird cage.

  Chapter Four

  Gavin leaned back in a comfortable chair, one booted foot propped up on a stool as he sipped his glass of burgundy. In ten minutes time he would leave for the Six Pence and his assignation with the beautiful actress Ellen Scarlet.

  Across the room, leaned up against the wall, was the portrait Gavin had brought from Havering House last week. He studied it thoughtfully.

  His search for the woman who had murdered his brother was not going as well as he had hoped it would. The Lady Waxton had no friends, no living relatives. So where had she fled? Who harbored her? There was no place for a woman of her station to go in the late of night in the middle of a thunderstorm. There was no place for her to hide. Yet that night she had vanished without a trace. It was almost as if she had never existed.

  Yet Gavin knew she had. The haunting portrait was proof.

  In anger, he set down his glass with a clatter. It was because of her that his brother, his dear half brother who had been so kind to him as a child, rested in a grave in the churchyard near Havering House. It was because of her that Gavin had been forced to leave Maryland, to cross the ocean he had sworn to never cross again.

  Gavin stared at the woman who had turned her face away when the artist had painted her. "Where are you?" he inquired softly. "Where have you gone without money, without friends? Without a person left in the world who knew you?"

  No. That wasn't quite true. There had been the servants. But Gavin had been unable to locate even one of them. They, too, had fled or been dismissed by someone within a day or two of Waldron's death.

  The only lead that remained was something his brother's gossiping goldsmi
th had said. Despite his sister-in-law's cloistered life, there was supposedly one man who had known her, a Duke of Hunt who had been out of the country for some time now but was soon to return. The Duke of Hunt had been a friend to Gavin's brother and apparently had known Thomasina. There was even rumor that Hunt had been there at Havering House the night Waldron was murdered. But details were sketchy. Because Gavin had been unable to find a single servant in the village who had actually worked at Havering House, it was only through a cousin of one of the housemaids that he had learned what little he had about the night his brother was murdered.

  Perhaps this Duke of Hunt would be the stroke of luck Gavin needed. Gavin had visited Hunt's home, and according to his housekeeper, he was expected back from France any day now. When he arrived, Gavin would call on him. Perhaps this Hunt could shed some light on what had happened that night at Havering House. Perhaps he would have some idea as to where the Lady Waxton had fled.

  Of course, there was always the possibility that she was dead. Dead or had left the country. Gavin knew that.

  He looked back at the portrait that leaned against the wall. "But you're not dead, are you?" His voice reverberated off the dark wood-paneled walls. "You're not dead and you haven't run far, have you? You're right here in the City. I can feel you out there, trying to lose yourself in the masses. But you won't get away, my lady." He slid forward in his chair, staring intently at the portrait. "I'll find you, wherever you are, and I will see that you pay for my brother's life with your own."

  "Seven o'clock on a warm summer's night and all is we—ell," the watch down below called as he walked down the street.

  Gavin rose from his seat and reached for his coat. His coach waited down below on the street for him. It was time he went on to the Six Pence. He wanted to arrive there early to be certain everything was prepared to his liking. He wanted nothing to go wrong tonight. This Ellen Scarlet had caught his eye, and if he tossed his dice wisely, he'd have her between his sheets by midnight.

  The fact that Ellen was obviously cheating on her keeper didn't concern him. She was a woman who walked the boards. She was an actress who traded her body for a place to live and food on her table. No more could be expected of such a person and he didn't hold it against her. What did he care, anyway? He wanted no long-term relationship. Once he received his land and found his brother's killer—and he would find her—then he would be on his way back to the American Colonies, never to return to mother England again.

  Gavin took one last look at the mysterious portrait of Lady Waxton, then grabbed his green worsted coat from the back of a chair and stepped out of his apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

  King Street, where the Six Pence was located, was a muddy fashionable street that ran through the Whitehall palace grounds. Along its east side were a great many large residences, while on the west were several taverns patronized by the wealthy and poor alike. By the time Ellen's hired hackney pulled up beneath the weather-beaten sign bearing six shiny pence, she was so nervous that she felt lightheaded.

  After Richard had left the apartment, she had dressed carefully. She wore a sage-green smock with full sleeves and abundant skirting, laced all in ribbon. Her short, tight busk made her waist small and her breasts stand high and firm. With green silk stockings, lacy garters, and flat black slippers, she knew she was dressed in the height of fashion. But as she had curled her hair and dusted her face with rice powder, she had wondered if Gavin would care what she wore.

  She thought not. Though Gavin Merrick dressed well in coats cut of the finest cloth, he wore them without the air of most of the court fops. While it had become all the mode for a gentleman of Charles's court to take more care with his wardrobe than a lady did with hers, Gavin had somehow escaped that eccentricity. No, this was a man who judged another by the person he or she was, not by the weight of a purse or the popularity of a dressmaker.

  By the time Ellen stepped out of the coach and paid the driver, Gavin was coming out the door of the tavern to greet her. He took her hand, kissing it roguishly, and then led her inside the Six Pence.

  Several heads turned as Ellen passed the tables of men in the common public room. Someone gave a low whistle, but the threatening glance Gavin threw in the direction of the offender was enough to make him turn his attention to the bottle of sack in his hand. Ellen kept her eyes fixed ahead and prayed none of Richard's friends were supping here tonight. She cursed herself for not having thought to wear a mask and vizard.

  "I'm so glad you didn't change your mind," Gavin whispered in her ear as he directed her to the steps in the rear of the common room. "I feared you wouldn't come."

  "I'm a woman of my word." She was relieved to reach the second floor, where private rooms were rented to the nobility.

  Gavin took her light cloak from her shoulders and dropped it onto a peg beside the door.

  The proprietor of the Six Pence hovered behind Gavin. "Your meal will be sent directly." He clasped his chubby hands, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Ellen, who had walked to the window to look down on the street. "Is there else I can do for you, my lord? Perhaps a ballad or two while you dine? I can send one of the minstrels up."

  Gavin held open the door, inviting the tavern-keeper to take his leave. "Thank you. If we've need of else, I'll ring you."

  Gavin closed the door behind the nosey proprietor, then he turned to study Ellen for a moment.

  She returned his gaze, though a little hesitantly. This tenacious attraction she felt for this man who was a complete stranger was overwhelming. At this point when her new life was still in its infancy, Ellen knew she could not afford to reach out beyond the bounds Richard had so lovingly constructed for her. It just wasn't safe, not yet. Nonetheless, she found herself staring back at Gavin with the eyes of a woman who wanted to touch and be touched.

  Gavin had taken off his coat, so he stood in a pair of trim fawn-colored breeches and soft linen shirt with a lace cravat. The shirt was well fitted to accentuate the width of his broad chest and shoulders. His breeches clung to the hard, long muscles of his thighs, leading to an apex that left no doubt this was a male of the species. Gavin's stockings were silk, but rather than shoes he wore polished black boots that came nearly to his knees. A fashion from the colonies, no doubt.

  He wore a thin mustache that hung above a smug grin, emphasizing the unsparing good looks of his rugged suntanned face. His dark, silky hair fell straight to brush his shoulders as he turned his head to catch the last rays of the afternoon sunlight.

  Ellen felt her cheeks grow warm with her own intimate scrutiny, and she looked away from the dark-eyed gaze that followed her movement. "You say you've just come back from the Americas. I've heard others speak of the colonies but never met anyone who's actually been there." She ran a finger along the windowsill, watching a cart full of drunken students roll down the street.

  "I've land there." She heard a chair scrape against the wood floor as he sat down. "I'm a planter in a colony called Maryland."

  She turned back to see that he had seated himself at the long, narrow table that dominated the small room. He was making himself busy removing the linen napkins that covered their supper.

  "Is it the desolate place they say, with naked savages and wild beasts?"

  "A few naked savages and wild beasts, yes." He was obviously amused. "But desolate? Definitely not. It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen, and I've been to many a land in my travels." He pointed to the chair that was across the table from him. "Sit before the food grows cold, and I'll tell you about Maryland whilst we eat."

  Ellen sat down to the sumptuous meal of steaming leek soup, duck stuffed with oysters, crusty bread and cheese, and peas swimming in a cream sauce. Gavin talked and she listened, fascinated by his tales of the forest wilderness across the ocean called Maryland.

  As the evening progressed and Ellen shared a bottle of white Rhenish with him, she became more talkative. She asked questions about his plantation, about the people
who lived in the colonies, why they went, and the reasons they stayed.

  Ellen was amazed that she felt so comfortable alone in a tavern room with a man she didn't know. But he made her laugh. He made her think. He had a good sense of humor, not only about the world but about himself, too.

  A serving girl came into the room to clean away the remnants of dinner, bringing a bowl of nuts to crack and a plate of dried fruits for dessert. When the two had had their fill, Gavin produced a deck of cards and they proceeded to play a game of slur and knap.

  Ellen loved to play cards. Though both her father and husband had rarely permitted gambling in their homes, with Richard's tutoring, Ellen had become quite proficient at various card games.

  Another hour passed as she and Gavin took turns winning, talking and laughing as if they'd known each other a lifetime. It was not until Gavin began to question Ellen about herself that she grew uncomfortable.

  She focused her attention on her hand of cards, laughing uneasily. "There's nothing to tell of myself. Honestly."

  Gavin planted his elbow on the scarred table and leaned in toward her. "Nonsense. You've not been an actress your entire life. When I left in '61, there were no women yet on the stage of the Royal Theater. Tell me where you're from. Tell me how it is you find yourself gracing the stage."

  "You mean, what brought me to such a low station."

  "No. I don't. I only—"

  She laid down her cards and stood abruptly. "It's late. I must go."

  "It's still early." He pushed up out of his chair. "I apologize for my questions. I only asked of your past in curiosity. I really don't care what you did or where you came from."

  She took a step back. "I've had a lovely evening, but I really must go. Richard will—"

  He came around the table so quickly that Ellen didn't have time to retreat. Before she could think, he had her hand. He took her in his arms.

  The smell of him so close, mixed with the strong wine she had drunk, was making her head reel. She wanted to pull away. She knew she should. But there was something about the way he looked at her with his green eyes . . . something about the way his arms felt around her.