Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  Ellen slipped off her dressing gown and reached for the new smock the maid had left out for her on the bed. "But Waldron's only brother is dead. He died at sea years ago."

  "So the man isn't Waxton's brother. There are certainly enough fortune hunters these days traveling under false pretenses. And the assets are still sitting there, waiting for you or someone to claim them. Just the same, the man could be dangerous."

  She took her time before speaking, knowing what was coming. "So what is it you suggest I do, Richard?"

  "We'll close up the apartment and go to my family home in Essex." He took the smock from her and dropped it over her head. "I'm certain Mother will welcome the company."

  "I'll not flee, not ever again," Ellen murmured through the folds of material. The moment her head came through, she turned around to face Richard. "I'll not do it," she resounded firmly.

  "You're being absurd. Just a few weeks. A month or two until we see what Hunt's intent is, and this man gives up and seeks easier money."

  She turned for him to lace her up. "No. I ran once out of terror, but I'm no longer a frightened child. I won't run again. Besides, I can't leave the theater. Even if Hunt were to try and have me arrested, he couldn't do it without causing a great deal of trouble. Only the king himself can have one of his own servants arrested."

  "It's Merrick, isn't it?"

  She broke away and went to the chest to find her slippers. "You're wrong. And you're jealous."

  "I am jealous. Jealous that Merrick could have what I can never have. Jealous that I've done so much for you and you've fallen for him so easily."

  Locating the shoes, she slipped her feet into them. "Whatever I may feel for Gavin has nothing to do with you, Richard." She looked up at him. "I love you and I will always love you."

  "But you love him as well."

  "Perhaps." She looked away, lost in her own thoughts for a moment, then back at him. "I don't know. I only know that what I feel for Gavin is different. More physical . . . unsteady."

  Richard turned away. "You love the bastard, all right."

  She stared at his stiff back for a long moment and then went to him, brushing her hand across his shoulder blades. "But I told you. Gavin won't be here long. He won't be a part of my life long. Just the same, my life is here in London now. It's the theater. It's our friends. It's the freedom to come and go, to speak my thoughts without fear of punishment, something I was never able to do in either my father's home or my husband's." She took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. "Richard, I can't go back to being the woman I was. I just can't."

  "Don't you see, I'm not asking you to." He faced her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "All I'm asking is that we take some precautions. That we avoid the possible trouble before it smacks us in the face."

  "I understand what you're saying, but I'm not going to Essex. I'm not going anywhere except to the theater." She looked up at the German clock on the mantel. "I'm going to be late as it is."

  "Please at least think about it?"

  She smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "I'll think about it, I'm sure. But I won't change my mind. Now, are you going to drop me off at the theater or must I call a hackney myself?" She went to her dressing table to check her face. She'd put on her stage makeup when she reached the theater.

  "I'll take you." Richard crossed his arms over his chest. "So when can I expect you tonight? Late?"

  She picked up her cloak from the bed, sailing by him and out the bedchamber. "Early. I promise."

  Chapter Eight

  As Ellen stepped out of Richard's coach, she saw Gavin standing under the weathered tavern sign of the Six Pence. He waved casually.

  She waved back.

  Richard rose to help her out, but she declined his aid with a shake of her head. "I'll see you this evening, Richard," she said firmly.

  "If you think I'll embarrass you or make a fool of myself, you're wrong. I only want to warn the man that it would be in his best interest to take care with you."

  She patted Richard on the knee. "He wouldn't harm a red hair on my head, nor would he let anyone else."

  "Does that include highwaymen?"

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Anyone can be held up, and there was no harm done." She brushed her painted lips against his cheek. "Now, have a good evening with your friends, don't lose too many pounds, and I'll see you at home later."

  Richard scowled but kept his seat, allowing a footman to help her out of the enclosed coach. Once out on the street, she stuck her head back inside. "Don't worry. I vow I'll be fine." Then, before he could answer, she turned away and walked toward Gavin.

  He took her hand and kissed it. "Now, we can dine here, or if you like, we could go to a friend's house. I was invited for an informal supper but wasn't sure whether or not to accept." He gave her a sly grin. "Of course, we could skip the meal and go back to my apartments; I've a very inviting bedchamber I'm most anxious to show you."

  She sank her elbow into his side, knowing that though he obviously desired her and indeed wanted her in his bed, he was just teasing. "No lewd comments or I'll go home, I vow I will."

  He opened his arms, appearing the innocent. "Can you blame a man for trying? Admit it, you'd be disappointed if I didn't."

  Ellen couldn't resist a smile as she took in Gavin's easy grin, his comfortable stance. She would guess he had taken less time to dress this evening than any other gentleman walking down the crowded street, yet he stood out among them. He was dressed in a fawn-colored coat and breeches, with a feathered cavalier hat. He wore no periwig, but instead had pulled his dark hair back in a savage's braid again. Ellen decided she liked the radical hairstyle; it said something about the man who wore it.

  She took his hand, paying no mind to the steady flow of foot and vehicle traffic around them. "Let's go to the supper."

  "You don't mind being seen in public with me? I don't know who will be there."

  She shrugged. "Richard knows I've gone out for the evening with you. In fact, he brought me himself." As for anyone else seeing me, she thought, I'll cross that path when I come to it.

  "That was him, peering from the coach like a jealous nursemaid, I take it?"

  "Please, let's not talk about Richard tonight." She smiled up at him as he led her toward a hackney that had stopped to pick them up. "Tell me instead about who this is that's invited you to sup. How is it you have so many friends here in London when you've been gone so long?"

  "Germaine's grandfather was a friend of my father's. Germaine and I knew each other as boys." Reaching the hired open coach, he helped her up and gave the ragged coachman directions. They turned in the middle of the street and headed toward The Strand.

  "Your father, really?" Ellen found herself suddenly curious about Gavin's family. He had said almost nothing about them, and what he did say was rather vague . . . as vague as what she had had to say about her family. "Where was it you grew up? Here in London?"

  Gavin, who had been gazing intently at Ellen's sparkling dark eyes, looked away. He had been feeling guilty these last few days, not having told Ellen the truth about why he had returned to London. What harm could there be in telling her the tragedy of Waldron's death? She could, perhaps, even offer some insight into the mind of a woman who would have committed such a horrendous crime.

  But the instinct of the man who had once wintered with Indians told him to keep silent. On his last visit to see Hunt, the duke had indicated that perhaps he knew more of the night's events than he had originally led Gavin to believe. If Gavin were to gain the confidence of a man of such importance as Hunt, it would be better to lay low just a little longer. He knew that Ellen would not purposefully give away any information he provided, but he thought it best not to take any chances.

  Ellen's brow crinkled. "Gavin?"

  He blinked. "I'm sorry. I was lost for a moment in memories, silly boyish memories," he lied. He gave her his full attention once again. "Actually, I grew up in no part
icular place. My father was a traveler. He had estates in several counties, liked to winter in the city, and made trips abroad frequently. I was dragged around like a piece of extra baggage."

  "But the estates are gone?"

  He nodded. "Gone in the wars, the same sad tale as half of the court's. The only thing I have left is an old country estate that I'm in the process of selling."

  "But couldn't the king return some of those lands?"

  "I'm not interested at this point. They were sold off a long time ago. Were they returned, innocent parties would suffer. After all these years, my land grant in the Colonies is far more important to me."

  She nodded. "And your mother? What of her?"

  "She died when I was very young. My father remarried once, but the girl died in childbirth a year after they were married. After that he gave up with women." At least that much was true.

  Ellen fingered Gavin's coat sleeve thoughtfully. From the tone of his voice, she got the impression that Gavin was not being completely honest with her. But who was she to question another's honesty? Perhaps there had been some dishonor in the family name in the past, some dishonor Gavin preferred to leave buried with his parents.

  Still, she couldn't resist just one more prying question. "Had you any brothers or sisters . . . that lived, I mean?"

  He made a face. "What is all this with questions tonight? The Spanish Inquisition? Or have you become a spy for Buckingham? I understand half of London is under his hire."

  She laughed with him. What did it matter who Gavin's family had been, anyway? Richard was paranoid to be so concerned about who Gavin was. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to meddle." She looked up, studying his heavenly green eyes. "I only want to know more about you. Is that so wrong?"

  He took her hand, cradling it warmly in his own. "Wrong? No, I suppose not. But rather boring, for certain." He glanced out at the darkening street. "Look, we're here."

  The hackney pulled into a drive and to a halt in front of a home with Tudor origins and recent updated refurbishing. Every window in the formidable house was glowing with candlelight, and the sound of music wafted through the air. Several coaches were pulling up the circular lane, with ladies and gentlemen in handsome outfits disembarking.

  Gavin paid the driver and lifted Ellen down. "We'll stay as long as you like. Just let me know when you've had enough indecent propositions from these fops."

  "Only if you let me know when you've had enough batting of eyelashes, tapping of fans, and indecent suggestions from the ladies."

  The two laughed at their joke, amused that they both saw the social life of London in the same humorous light.

  Gavin linked Ellen's arm through his. "Shall we go?"

  Suddenly self-conscious, she wished she had called Madame Dubois to come and do her hair in a more elegant coiffure. Tonight Ellen had worn it in a simple style, pulled off her crown to fall in waves of curls down her back, much in the same manner she had worn it as Thomasina in a time that seemed a thousand years in the past. "Are you certain your friend won't mind my coming?"

  He brushed his lips against hers. "You look so lovely, you're bound to be the gossip of the evening." He tightened his hold on her arm and started up the lamp-lit walkway toward the front door and winding stone stairs. "As for Germaine, he'd be glad to see me if I had a harem in tow."

  A servant in emerald-green livery escorted them in the door and announced their arrival. "Lord Merrick and Madame Ellen Scarlet."

  As they came down the marble steps into a grand ballroom, Ellen stared at him, taken off guard. "Lord? You didn't tell me you were titled."

  He shrugged. "In America titles mean little. I suppose I've gotten out of the habit of using it. Viscount means little to an Indian trader or a field of tobacco."

  Ellen started to say something else but was interrupted by a blond-wigged gentleman, dressed in scarlet with a great deal of gold trimming. He hurried across the marble floor, his high-heeled red shoes tapping loudly. "Gavin! Ods fish! I didn't expect you to actually come, else I'd never have invited you, you filthy colonial savage!" He took his hand warmly, then hugged him.

  Just as he withdrew, he pretended to see Ellen for the first time. "And this must be the Madame Scarlet, who's captured our hearts from our theater boxes and simply refuses to let them loose." He took her hand and kissed it, making a great event to the gesture. "Tell me, dear, how is it you dare be seen with this Saracen? His fashion taste is simply archaic!"

  Gavin clapped Germaine on the shoulder none too gently. "Enough of the dramatics, Germaine. Go see to your other guests and let mine alone."

  Nonplussed, Germaine patted his periwig, making puffs of white powder billow in the air. "Mon Dieu! I must see to my Lady Richardson, the old bawd. But swear to me, Gavin, love, that you won't carry Madame Scarlet off before I get a chance to dance with her."

  "I'll let you know before we go."

  "There's some of that fabulous new French champagne to try, heaving tables of tidbits, and gaming in the far gallery." He lifted his painted eyebrows. "Of course, there's entertainment for gentlemen upstairs, but I don't suppose you'd have any interest in partaking of that, Gavin, with such a luscious female companion of your own. Oh, well! Enjoy!" Germaine swaggered away, waving a handkerchief to a guest just being announced.

  Ellen was uncertain what to say as she watched Germaine depart. He certainly didn't seem the type of friend she thought Gavin would have.

  As if reading her thoughts, Gavin leaned over to speak in her ear. "Ignore the antics and the face powder; he's a damned fine man. I swear, though, he belongs on the stage as well as anyone."

  Ellen turned to gaze at the round ballroom they stood in. "From the looks of this, I'd not think he'd be seeking employment."

  Twenty or thirty crystal chandeliers hung from the painted ceiling, casting thousands of diamonds of lights over the one hundred or so guests. The house swarmed with earls and dukes and countesses and duchesses, all dressed in silk and weighted down with glittering jewels. Green liveried servants numbering almost as many as the guests made haste seeing to their needs, serving delicacies for the palate and drinks for the spirit.

  Gavin swept up two glasses of champagne, and side by side he and Ellen moved from anteroom to anteroom, chatting to those one or the other knew. Ellen could feel all eyes following her, admiring her, and it made her tingle inside. Women flirted outrageously with Gavin from behind fans, but his attention was always wholly on Ellen.

  They danced dance after dance until Ellen was breathless. "No more, no more," she protested as a piece ended and couples scattered. She fluttered her fan. "My busk is too tight. I'm going to faint if I turn once more."

  Gavin laughed, his voice rich with the closeness of her and the indulgence of fine wines. "Let's step outside onto the balcony, then, and take a breath."

  He ushered her out of the ballroom to a balcony that overlooked darkened gardens. Here beneath a canopy of stars, he eased her against the railing and brought his lips to hers. "I've waited all night for that kiss," he whispered.

  There were several other couples enjoying the fresh night air and relative privacy, but in the cloak of darkness no identities were obvious. Ellen felt alone with Gavin even if she truly wasn't.

  She touched his lower lip. "You taste like champagne." Her voice was husky. She'd had too much to drink, too many dances; she was flushed and intoxicated as much from the evening as from the libations.

  "Come home with me, Ellen," he whispered in her ear. He held her tightly around the waist, his cheek nestled on her bare shoulder.

  "I can't."

  "Come home and let me make love to you." He caressed her bare arm in a slow sweep of his palm. "Let me touch you the way I've dreamed of touching you."

  Ellen lowered her gaze. "Something to drink." She looked up with a little laugh. "But no wine. Could you get me something to drink?"

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are sending me off so that you can make your escape?"

  "I'll
wait right here, I swear it." She lowered her arms from his shoulders. "Just one drink and then we'll go."

  He touched her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. "To my place?"

  "Home. I have to go home, Gavin. I promised Richard."

  He started to say something, then checked himself. With another quick brush of his lips against hers, he went off in search of something to drink, leaving her in the darkness.

  Ellen turned and leaned over the rail to stare down at the lush gardens below. A lighted fountain sprayed a mist in the air, creating a veil of magic over the greenery below. The cool breeze off the Thames blew the wisps of hair off Ellen's face, cooling her.

  Just as she was about to turn back, she heard footsteps as a couple walked onto the balcony, then a voice that sent a chill of terror down her spine. For a moment she stood frozen, praying beyond reason that she had imagined it but knowing she had not.

  Then she heard it again. Laughter this time in the midst of a conversation with a young woman.

  Directly behind Ellen stood the Duke of Hunt.

  She didn't know what to do. She had known that someday she would see him again. He was too important a man in London to simply disappear. She knew he would probably not recognize her with her dyed hair and painted face, the innocence of her past gone forever. But still deep inside, Ellen was afraid that if she turned, if Hunt saw her, he would point an accusing finger and she would be carried off to Newgate, only to hang for her crime of murder.

  Ellen gripped the iron balcony rail, listening as Hunt and the woman moved to the right. After taking several deep breaths, Ellen forced herself to turn her head and look. She had to be certain it was Hunt. She had to see him with her own eyes.

  Even by the dim light of the moon and the candlelight from within the ballroom, she could see the deathly white of his skin and hair. Even hidden in the darkness she imagined she could feel his pink rodent eyes boring down on her.

  She turned back. Of course he hadn't seen her. He was lost in conversation with the young woman in the false curls. All Ellen had to do was walk away. Hunt would never know she had been there. He would never suspect how closely he had come to her this night.