Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  But even after Ellen commanded her legs to move, her muscles made no response. Her heart was pounding so loudly beneath her breast that she feared she would give herself away. She was breathing so heavily that it was difficult to inhale in the confines of her tightly laced gown. Just a few steps, she told herself. Four, maybe five, and you can make your escape.

  Completely poised in appearance, she uncurled her fingers from the iron rail and walked the few steps into the safety of the bright room. But even out of sight of Hunt, she didn't feel safe. She felt trapped . . . by the gay music, by the laughter, by the closeness of the strangers.

  Ellen hurried through the ballroom, the ladies and gentlemen nothing but a blur. Someone caught her sleeve but she tore away. She lifted her petticoats and made a dash for the door. Like a wild animal pursued by its most dangerous predator, the only escape seemed to be flight.

  Ellen bumped the elbow of a servant carrying a tray of empty wine glasses, but even the sound of the shattering glass on the Genoese marble didn't slow her. She ran up the steps two at a time, through the small receiving room and out the front doors that had been left open to receive latecomers.

  "Madame, might I help you?" One of the liveried servants appeared at Ellen's side, his face etched with concern.

  Ellen could do nothing but shake her head mutely. All of this time, all this distance, all the careful planning, and still Hunt had found her.

  Suddenly, Ellen felt even more desperate than she had that rainy night she had fled Havering House. The night Waldron fell to his death, Ellen had had nothing to live for but life itself. But now . . . now she had Richard, she had the stage . . . she had Gavin.

  Ellen ran blindly down the curving steps, down the drive, and out onto The Strand, not hearing the sound of Gavin's voice as he called to her from the top step of Germaine's home.

  "Ellen! Ellen!" Gavin turned to the servant, shoving the two glasses into the young man's hands. "What happened?"

  "I don't know, my lord. She just came running out like the banshees of hell was upon 'er!. I tried to—"

  Gavin raced down the steps. "Ellen! Ellen, wait!" The dark street was no place for an unescorted woman. There were thieves, kidnappers, and murderers on every corner in the City these days, all looking to take advantage of the wealthy.

  By the time Gavin reached the end of the drive, Ellen had turned off the street down a narrow alley. "Ellen! Ellen, wait!" He traced her steps, gaining on her.

  Just a few feet before he reached the alley entrance Gavin heard Ellen scream. He whipped around the corner to see two sailors grasp her by the arms and push her roughly against the dilapidated wooden fence that blocked the alley.

  Gavin's first thought was to draw one of the pistols he wore at his waist, but fearful he might accidentally hit Ellen, he knew he would be better served to meet them flesh against flesh. Giving a blood curdling cry he had learned from his Shawnee companion in the Colonies, Gavin threw himself into the attackers.

  "Gavin!" Ellen screamed as she attempted to twist free. "Help me!"

  Gavin grasped one sailor by his tarred pigtail, jerking back his head so hard that the bones in his neck cracked.

  The sailor gave a wail as he was forced to release Ellen. "Bloody cur!" he cursed, swinging a powerful fist.

  Gavin returned the man's attack twofold, catching him first in the stomach with a punch, then square in the jaw.

  "Gavin!" Ellen cried.

  Gavin turned to catch a glance, out of the corner of his eye, of Ellen twisting free of the sailor's grip. But her attacker caught the tail of one of her petticoats and tripped her.

  Gavin ducked as his opponent swung a hard right and turned to reach for Ellen, but the sailor swung again and knocked him off balance, sending him tumbling. As Gavin scrambled to his feet, he saw Ellen pick up a splintered board from the ground and slam her attacker in the face. Blood spewed from the sailor's nose as he fell backward under the impact.

  Suddenly, Gavin's opponent stood in front of him in a low crouch, a curved-blade knife in his filthy hand. "You want to play, Mister Fancy Coat, Abner can play." He grinned to bare a set of wooden teeth.

  Ellen backed away from the three men, not wanting to get in Gavin's way. The man she had hit with the board still lay on the ground, semiconscious.

  "Behind me, Ellen," Gavin murmured with a wave, all the while keeping his eyes on the sailor with the knife. "Get behind me and get out of the alley."

  Shaking with fear, Ellen sidestepped the sailor on the ground and walked behind Gavin. She held her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out as she slowly backed out of the moonlit alley.

  "Come on," Gavin urged with a beckoning gesture. "I've not got all evening.

  Ellen watched as he crouched and began to circle the sailor with the knife, becoming the predator rather than the prey.

  The tarred pigtailed sailor lunged for Gavin, who stepped easily out of harm's way. With a flick of his wrist he brought his fist down on the sailor's forearm, and from just a few steps away, Ellen heard the bone crack. The sailor grunted and doubled over in pain.

  Gavin took advantage of the moment and, with a second swift motion, captured the weapon. Grasping the panting sailor by his ragged collar, he brought the knife up beneath his neck.

  "You broke me bloody arm!"

  "Better than a slit throat, I should think." Gavin touched the tip of the blade to the sailor's flesh, drawing a drop of blood for effect. "Now, my suggestion would be for you to take your friend and be gone from here, else I'll string up the both of you by your heels and slit you from end to end."

  The sailor shook with fear. "We . . . we didn't mean the lady no 'arm, honest we didn't!"

  "Just going to escort her home, no doubt . . ." Gavin shook him until his wooden teeth rattled. "Eh?" He paused. "Now, I'm going to count to ten, and if you and your friend are not long gone from here . . ."

  "We're going, as God is my witness!"

  Gavin loosened his grip and the sailor dropped to his knees. He grabbed his partner by the armpits and hauled him to his feet. "If you don't move, you're on yer own, Sandy," he warned as he began to back out of the alley.

  Ellen stepped out of the men's way and watched them pass. Gavin followed behind them to be certain they followed his instructions. It wasn't until they disappeared from the alley that Gavin turned to Ellen.

  "Are you all right?"

  He opened his arms to her, but Ellen couldn't move. She shook so hard from fear and shock that she was suddenly helpless.

  Gavin swore as he tucked the curved knife into the back of his breeches and came to her, enfolding her in his arms. "Why the hell did you run off like that, sweetheart? You could have been killed!"

  Ellen buried her face in his shoulder. The two sailors meant nothing. It was Hunt. It was Hunt she saw when she closed her eyes. A sob escaped her throat.

  "Ellen?" He grasped her shoulders and pushed her back enough that he could look at her. She was deathly pale but seemed unharmed. But it was her eyes that concerned him. She looked as if she'd seen Satan himself.

  Realizing he'd do better to get her off the street than to try and get any answers now, he pulled her against him and led her out of the alley. They walked up the street the short distance to Germaine's house and up the walk.

  The moment they approached the house, Ellen began to shake. "I . . . I don't want to go back in there. I—" her mind reeled, "I don't want anyone to see me like this."

  "We'll just step inside. I want Germaine to send around one of his coaches."

  She shook her head. "I . . . I'll wait here. I'll be well enough."

  He studied her ashen face for a moment. "You won't run again?"

  She shook her head again. "I won't."

  After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "I'll be right back. You stand here. No one will see you in the dark."

  She looked after him as he strode away. "Hurry, Gavin."

  He glanced over his shoulder. "I will."

  Rather
than tracking down Germaine, Gavin went to one of the servants on the steps. "Have one of your lord's coaches sent around immediately."

  The tall, lanky young man shifted weight from one foot to the other. "My lord?"

  "You heard me. I said have one of the Lord Lawrence's coaches brought around this instant."

  "I . . . I don't know that I can do that, my lord, not without word from Lord Lawrence."

  Gavin grabbed the boy by the gold braid of his green livery suit. "Either you send for a coach this instant, or it will be your head, man!"

  "Yes, yes, my lord. Right away, my lord."

  Gavin released him. "I'll wait at the end of the drive. "You may tell your master Lord Merrick borrowed his coach and it will be returned shortly."

  "Yes, sir," the servant called over his shoulder as he ran for the rear of the house to have the coach called for.

  Gavin walked back to where he had left Ellen and stood holding her in silence as they waited. Not five minutes passed before a coach with the coat of arms of Germaine's family pulled up.

  A footman opened the door and Gavin helped Ellen inside. He gave the man hushed directions to his apartment in Covent Garden and stepped in beside Ellen. The moment the coach rolled forward, he pulled her to his side, wrapping his arm tightly around her, and pressed a kiss to her damp temple. She smelled of wildflowers, clean hair . . . and fear. By the light of the candle that flickered in the sconce on the coach wall, he studied her face.

  "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

  "No." She kept her gaze lowered, afraid to look him in the eye. "Wh . . . where are we going?"

  "Home."

  "Home to Richard?" she asked hopefully.

  "No, my home." He smoothed a thick lock of her fiery red hair that had come undone from its pearl comb. "I'm going to take you home with me and then you're going to tell me what the hell happened back at Germaine's. Something or someone made you run, and I want to know what or who it was." He squeezed her cold, lifeless hand. "It's time we buried some of these secrets, Ellen."

  Chapter Nine

  Ellen allowed Gavin to escort her upstairs to his apartments. She knew she shouldn't be alone with him like this, not when she was suddenly so vulnerable. But it was that very vulnerability that made her want to be with him so desperately.

  A light, steady rain had begun to fall as they had left Germaine's, and now the September air had grown cool. Gavin ordered his blackamoor servant to light a fire in the main room and then dismissed the boy to the servants' quarters on the third floor, saying he'd not have need of him again this night.

  Gavin then unrolled a Turkish carpet in front of the blazing fire and brought pillows from his bedchamber. All the while Ellen sat stiffly in a chair, watching the flickering flames. He sat across from her in a velvet cushioned chair and removed his shoes, then knelt in front of her on the hardwood floor and reached for her trim ankles beneath her petticoats. He slipped off her slippers and rubbed the soles of each foot.

  Then he rose, took two glasses and a bottle of claret from a sideboard, and set them on the Turkish carpet. When he came back to Ellen, he took her hands and beckoned her.

  "Come sit with me," he whispered, his voice as smooth as the champagne they had sipped from the same glasses hours earlier.

  "Gavin, I shouldn't be here," she said, speaking her first words in an hour.

  "Do you want to be here?" They stood facing each other, their fingers entwined, their lives entangled.

  "Yes."

  "Then stay with me." His lips sought hers and she lifted her chin to receive his kiss. She felt cold, so cold inside. Only Gavin could make her warm again. Only he could take away the paralyzing fear she felt from the tips of her toes to the dyed red hair on her head.

  When their lips parted, she looked up into his green eyes that studied her so intently. She smiled. "I'll stay."

  He led her to the elaborately designed Turkish carpet and knelt, patting the floor, indicating for her to sit beside him. "And now will you tell me what it is that scared you?"

  When she made no reply, he reached for the glasses and poured a drink for each of them. "It has something to do with your secrets, doesn't it?"

  She accepted the glass he offered and sipped deeply, thankful for the warmth of the liquor. "It does."

  "Will you tell me?"

  Ellen gazed back into the flames of the fire. She was calmer now. Her hands no longer shook. Her mind was clearer. As the fear was subsiding, it was being replaced by anger . . . bitter anger that the Duke of Hunt could appear in her life again and threaten all that she had.

  She took another sip of the smooth claret. "I can't tell you, Gavin." She laid her hand on his thigh and swept it in a caress, enjoying the feel of his muscular strength beneath the tight breeches. "I can't tell you, not ever." She lifted her lashes to meet his gaze. "So I'll ask that you not press the issue."

  He took her hand and lifted it to his warm lips. "I don't understand."

  "I don't expect you to." She paused. "But can you accept it? Can you take me as I am with Richard, with my secrets, neither of which I can give up?"

  "You ask me to share you with another man? Even a scoundrel like myself would find that difficult."

  "Just the same, I won't leave him, not even for you."

  He draped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close. "But how can I not accept your terms when I've made it clear to you that I'll be gone in the spring . . . that I can make no promises to you, no sort of promises that most women seek."

  She touched his lips with her fingertips. "I want no promises. My life is here in London with Richard, yours is with your tobacco and wild Indians." She leaned into him, daring a kiss. "What I want now is to love and be loved, if only for a short time."

  Ellen knew that with her words she was giving away the one thing she had to give to a man . . . only once. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter that Gavin would be gone soon, even if soon were tomorrow. What mattered was this moment and the feelings she had for Gavin, be they reciprocated or not. What mattered was that if she made love with this man, it would be something her dead husband and Hunt could never take from her. If Hunt had her arrested and hung tomorrow, she would have had Gavin and would take that in her heart to her grave.

  Gavin brushed Ellen's hair back and deepened the kiss she had initiated. His mouth pressed insistently against hers, as his hand caressed her cheek. Slowly, he lowered her onto her back, stretching out beside her, his mouth still crushing against hers.

  His tongue delved deep, but rather than being frightened by his pressing ardor, Ellen was excited by it. Before this, the only thing she had known of the physical coupling of a man and woman was the harsh groping, pinching, and cursing of an impotent, bitter man. But this . . . this was wondrous, this touching, this tasting, this mingling of masculine and feminine scents.

  "Ellen, Ellen," Gavin moaned, completely overcome by her sudden abandon. "I've wanted you since that first time I saw you on the stage, and now that I have you, I'm at a loss." He laughed as he leaned to kiss her love-bruised lips. "Look at my hand, it's shaking." He lifted a hand.

  She laughed with him, threading her fingers through his as she looked up into his heavenly green eyes, now clouded with growing passion. "It is not. Now touch me, Gavin." Her eyelids drifted shut as she lowered his hand to her bosom, remembering what it had felt like there before. "Touch me. Chase away the demons I can never share with you."

  Gavin cupped his hand beneath her breasts, and even through the thickness of her clothing, she could feel her nipples bud in response. His mouth touched hers again, then lower, covering the exposed flesh above her neckline with smoldering kisses.

  When Gavin went to push away the shoulder of her gown, she sat up. "Unlace me," she whispered, a bare smile on her lips. "It's grown warm in here."

  As he kissed that soft spot between her shoulder and neck, Gavin's nimble fingers found the laces of her gown and quickly loosened them. Then Ellen lay down again and wi
th his help removed her gown, her busk, and even her petticoats, until she lay before him wearing nothing but a sheer linen shift.

  "Now you," she urged, running a hand over his shoulder. "Unseemly or not, I want to see what it is I touch."

  His eyes locked with hers as he pulled his linen shirt over his head and tossed it into the pile of discarded petticoats. But when he went to stretch beside her again, she shook her head. "The breeches, too." She lifted her lashes to stare at him boldly. "I want to see all of you."

  Gavin couldn't resist a smile as he reached behind him to slip the laces that held up his breeches. Then he rose and peeled them off to stand before her nude.

  By the glimmering light of fire, she watched him, unashamed by her curiosity. Gavin was more muscular than Richard, the only other naked man she had seen in her life. Gavin's shoulders were broad and tanned from months at sea, his chest well-shaped in muscular planes and sprinkled with dark curling hair. His stomach was flat and hard, a dark line of hair leading to his most intimate parts.

  Ellen felt her cheeks color as she stared at his hardened shaft, but she couldn't look away. He was beautiful, this man of hers, beautiful as only a virile man could be.

  Made suddenly self-conscious by Ellen's attention, he knelt beside her, running a hand up her leg, over her belly, and across her breasts. "You're so beautiful," he told her.

  She lifted her arms and he came to her, resting his body against hers so she could curl against him, hard muscles meeting soft, feminine curves. They kissed a kiss of lovers, gentle and probing at first, but building with intensity.

  As their mouths met again and again, Ellen stroked his body with her fingertips, exploring, fascinated by his hard male body and the scent of him.

  Her mind was awash with sensation, a heat rising from the pit of her stomach and radiating into a pulsating yearning that mystified her.

  Gavin's hands brushed over her damp flesh until she lost all sense of time and surroundings. The light of the fire and the feel of the wool carpet faded into the recesses of her mind as the sensations of Gavin's mouth and hands intensified.