He caught her hand and led her out of the cabin. "I can promise you, you'd want no part of me until I had a bath, Ellen."
She stopped at the ladder that led up to the deck and turned to face him. "Tonight?"
"Would you like me to come to your apartment?"
She shook her head. "I wouldn't feel right. Not at Richard's."
"Then mine. I'll send a coach for you at the theater after your performance." He brushed the ermine trim of her hood. "Chambray won't expect you home?"
She kissed him again, this time her lips lingering over his as she thought of the evening of lovemaking to come. "I told him I wouldn't be home until after the play tomorrow night."
He shook his head. "I just don't like this, Ellen. I'm a selfish man; I want you to myself." He took her soft hand and rubbed it with his own one that was callused from the ship's work. "Move in with me."
"I told you I don't want to. What we have is enough."
"When I think of living without you, of sailing in the spring without you at my side, I begin to wonder, Ellen"—he glanced up at her, his eyes intense—"could we—"
She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. "Remember, your place is in the Colonies and mine is here. Don't talk to me of permanence, Gavin. It just can't be."
Gavin heard the sincerity in her voice and saw a look of determination in her eyes. He wondered what ailed him to be thinking of such things. Of course, he couldn't take her to America. Ellen was an actress, for heaven's sake! Besides, her life was here with her theater, gay parties . . . and her Richard, be he whatever he was to her. And Gavin certainly needed no wife. Look where a wife had gotten Waldron—six feet under.
Gavin brushed Ellen's cheek with the back of his hand. "Go on with you now, wench, and let me get back to work. I have an appointment in Whitehall later in the day."
"Is it about your land grant?"
"I hope so. I'd like to have the deed secured so I can start buying seed and supplies. I figure I can fill one ship with my own needs, and two more with things my friends have sent me to purchase and with merchandise I intend to sell in the Colonies."
Ellen stepped up the first rung of the ladder and turned back to face him. "You're very wealthy, aren't you, Gavin?"
He grabbed the rail. "Sailing in the king's name was profitable, the tobacco trade perhaps even more so."
She smiled. "A self-made man. I like that. Too many men in London live on what belonged to ancestors two hundred years back."
"It's the English class system, Ellen. It's the way it's worked for a thousand years."
"But that's not the way it is in the Americas, is it?"
"No. It's not." He swatted her buttocks through the mountain of skirting and petticoats. "Now get topside and stop blocking traffic!"
Up above, on the deck of the Maid Marion, Gavin escorted her down the gangplank, where the footman waited to take her back to the coach. He kissed her one last time and sent her on her way, saying he would see her that evening.
Gavin had been back on board ship no more than five minutes when the boatswain's pipe announced the boarding of another visitor. He handed his hammer to a workman on the bridge, then walked down to the gangplank on the stern, to find the Duke of Hunt. As always, he was dressed impeccably, today in a fashionable French-tailored suit of maroon and navy, with a sword on his hip.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, sir?" Gavin had not seen Hunt in nearly a month. He removed his hat out of respect for the man's title and bowed slightly.
The albino tucked his hands behind his back and walked along the ship's rail. "I came to see what progress you've made in locating your brother's murderess. I've not heard from you."
Gavin dropped his hat back onto his head, slightly irritated by the man's tone of voice. "That's because I've found out almost nothing. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps she died of the pox or married some Frenchman and escaped to Paris. It would have been the wisest thing to do for a woman in her position."
Hunt walked from well out of earshot of the worker on the deck, leaning over the rail to peer down at the filthy water in the harbor. He watched with great interest as a rat floated by on the lid of a crate. "I've champion news for you, then." He paused, enjoying the suspense he created. "I believe Lady Waxton has been seen."
Gavin's attention was immediately riveted. "Here, in London? By whom? I thought you said no one knew her!"
Hunt watched the rat leap off its vessel and onto a line running down the hull of a ship in the next slip over. "There's been no confirmation, so I hesitate to speak just yet." He turned to face Gavin. "I only wanted you to know that your time and money spent may well not have been futile."
"Can you tell me at least where she was seen? Where should I be looking for her? A whorehouse on Threadneedle or a bakeshop in Cheapside?"
"She was at a supper at the Barkely House on The Strand not two weeks ago."
Gavin leaned on the rail in thought. "The Barkely House? That of Germaine Barkely?"
"His father's, I do believe."
Gavin glanced into the harbor, amazed that he could have been so close to his brother's murderess and not known it. "I was there that night."
"Were you? I was, as well, for a brief time."
"You saw her then?"
"I told you, there's no certainty as of yet. It was dark. She looked much different."
"So I should begin looking in the homes of my friends?" He swore softly.
"For now I would advise you to simply take caution. When she is found, she must be dealt with carefully. There is a delicate matter I have to resolve. I should like to have a chance to speak with her before you turn her over to the authorities."
"What sort of matter are you talking about?"
The Duke of Hunt began to walk back toward the gangplank. "It's naught to concern yourself with."
"So what do you suggest I do now?" Gavin asked, knowing the duke must have a suggestion.
"I think you should commit more time and pounds to your investigation. I could recommend some very discreet spies. I would put my own to it, but considering my circumstances, it would be unseemly." He glanced at Gavin, who stood tall and masculine in the bright sunlight, and felt a pang of jealousy for the dashing good looks he had never had. "I would also recommend that you come to a supper in my home two weeks hence."
"I thank you for the invitation."
"It will be on the twelfth. I'll send an invitation to you, but I wanted to invite you myself." He stopped at the gangplank. "I understand you've no wife. Have you a suitable woman to bring? No whores, of course. The king has promised to attend. It will be my first social event since my return from France."
Gavin dropped his hands to his hips. "I can think of a woman quite suitable."
"The actress?"
Gavin's brow creased. "How did you know?"
"I told you, I know some excellents spies for hire. I'd put them up against Buckingham's any dark night."
"Yes, she is an actress at His Majesty's theater, but I can promise you, she's cut of a different silk than most there."
"I've heard from others that she's a striking beauty. I've not seen her, only because I do not frequent theaters. I've much better ways to spend my time than watching strumpets walk across the stage babbling Shakespeare gibberish."
"Well, sir, I thank you for the invitation, and I'll surely be there. In the meantime, I would ask that you let me know if you hear else of Lady Waxton. I'm anxious to put my brother's death behind me."
"No doubt you are," Hunt said, going down the gangplank. "Good day."
Hunt stepped down onto the dock and headed for his coach. He didn't know where Thomasina was, but he would find her. He would find her and have Merrick bring her to him. Of course, once Hunt had possession of the letter, he would be free to dispose of her as he saw fit. If there was any backlash—which he seriously doubted there would be—there would always be the dashing naive fool Merrick to blame.
"So what do you think?" Ell
en spun on her toes in the center of the bedchamber as Richard looked on. "Is it appropriate to meet the king in?"
Richard smoothed his mustache, not allowing the smile that tugged at his lips. Appropriate? She was damned well stunningly beautiful. Not only would she catch the king's eye in such a costume, but it might well warrant words with Castlemaime, the king's jealous mistress.
Ellen wore an emerald-green taffeta gown embellished with scrolls of gold. There were green stockings and shoes to match, and a black velvet cloak and mask. At her throat she wore the emeralds that belonged to Richard's father's estate. Emerald earbobs hung from her lobes and her hair was piled high in a tour.
Ellen's smile turned downward in a frown. "You don't like it." She brushed her gloved hands over her scanty neckline. "Too much skin? I look like the stage whore, don't I?"
The look on Ellen's face, the tone of her voice, made Richard's resolve crumble. He came to her and very gently, so as not to wrinkle her gown, kissed her on the lips. "You're as lovely tonight as I think I've ever seen you. I hate to admit it, Ellen, love, but that Merrick has brought a glow to your face I could never give you."
She smoothed his cheek. "I don't want you to be unhappy, Richard."
He sighed, walking away to lift his brandy glass from the carved mantel. "It's not a matter of being happy or unhappy, Ellen. That's what I continually try to make you understand. It's your safety that concerns me, not my own jealousies."
She turned to a Venetian mirror framed with gold cupids and smoothed the rice powder on her cheeks. Richard went on. "It's just that this is madness, your going to Hunt's home. He's going to see you."
"And then what?" she challenged defiantly as she spun around. "What's he going to do to me? Drag me out of the house in front of the king?" She lifted a gloved finger. "You forget, I have the letter. I know he knows I have it. I'm certain that's what Waldron told him of before he died. Why else would he have come after me like that?"
"You speak as if this is some game. This is your life you talk of!"
"Exactly, and that's why I intend to never again let any man control my life, not even you, Richard."
He swirled the brandy in his glass. "Tell me where the letter is. Perhaps—"
"You know I can't do that! We agreed, Richard. If you know where the letter is or who else is mentioned in it, you, too, will be endangered."
He brought the glass down hard on a carved oak side table. "I just feel so damned inadequate!" He looked up at her. "I feel as if I should be doing something to protect, and yet you will let me do nothing!"
There was a rap at the door.
Ellen glanced away, then back at Richard. "That will be Gavin. I have to go."
He let out an exasperated sigh. "Will you come home tonight?"
"I will." She went to him and lifted up on her toes to kiss him. "I swear it."
The knock came again and Ellen hurried to the door. Gavin stood in the hallway dressed in evening finery. He bowed cordially to Richard, who nodded.
Before either man could speak, Ellen grabbed Gavin's arm and pulled him out the door. "I'll see you tonight, Richard. Good night!"
Richard stood in brooding silence, watching the door swing behind them.
Ellen laughed gaily at the snide remark made by a gentleman standing in the group. She sipped her champagne and smiled up at Gavin. What an enchanting evening this had been. Hunt's home was even more beautiful than Germaine's and the guest list far longer. Gavin had explained to her that anyone at court who was anyone had been invited tonight.
Ellen had kissed the hand of the queen and the king, so enthralled that she had barely been able to speak. Gavin had teased her later, suggesting that it was Charles's good looks that had left her mute, but she had sworn Gavin was more to her liking. Ellen had even met Lady Castelmaime, the king's current mistress. The woman was indeed as beautiful up close as she appeared in the royal box at the theater, and Ellen had learned firsthand that her tongue was truly as vicious as she had been led to believe. But not even Castlemaime's rude reference to Ellen being an actress could dampen her spirits. The night was too magical.
Gavin had danced with her dance after dance, surrendering to other partners only under duress. They had dined in the popular buffet fashion, seated on little chairs in the gallery that ran along the lighted gardens. Gavin and Ellen had then walked up and down the gallery, studying the unusual, sometimes shockingly hideous artwork Hunt was so proud of.
Much to her surprise, she and Gavin had not yet been introduced to the host, who had been attending to his more important guests all evening. After several glasses of French champagne and an evening on Gavin's arm, Ellen felt she could face anything, though. In fact, she almost wondered if she should seek out the Duke of Hunt and face the fear of the last years.
It was well past midnight when Gavin suggested that he and Ellen call for their coach to take them home. Tired but giddy with happiness, she agreed, wishing she could just go home with Gavin but knowing she had promised Richard she would return tonight. She and Gavin were making their way through the crowd, saying their goodbyes, when a familiar voice spoke up from behind them.
"Good evening. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves. My apologies for having not sought you out earlier, but the duties of host without hostess can be taxing."
Gavin turned to face the Duke of Hunt, with Ellen on his arm. He bowed formally. Ellen curtsied, her heart tripping as she avoided eye contact with the albino. No matter how well she had prepared herself for this moment, now that it was here, she was afraid.
"We've enjoyed ourselves immensely, Your Grace." Gavin indicated Ellen with his chin. "This is Madame Ellen Scarlet. Ellen, the Duke of Hunt."
Ellen forced a smile as she looked up to defiantly meet Hunt's rodent eyes. She didn't want to give Gavin any suspicions that she and the duke had been acquainted before. "Your servant, sir."
He smiled ever so slightly. "Gad, Lord Waxton, and where did you find such a paragon of beauty? Since Lady Marmont went into the country with the pox, I vow we haven't seen a single decent face at court."
A numbness washed over Ellen as her mind ground its gears in utter confusion. The voices of Gavin and Hunt faded into the background of her mind until they were nothing but a buzz. Lord Waxton? Had Hunt called Gavin Lord Waxton? Was this some sick joke of the duke's?
But she knew it was not as she looked up at Gavin who had gone on chatting with the duke. Ellen suddenly felt so cold that she thought she must now know what death felt like.
Intuitively, Ellen knew that Gavin Merrick was Morley Waxton, her late husband's dead brother . . .
Chapter Eleven
"Ellen, are you all right?"
She looked up in stunned confusion to see both the wicked Hunt and her darling Gavin staring at her, their faces, in her perception, twisted oddly.
"I said, are you well?" Gavin repeated, grasping her arm.
Ellen realized she must have swayed. She suddenly felt smothered . . . trapped. She couldn't take a deep breath. She was surrounded by enemies but unable to flee. Her thoughts tumbled as she struggled to remain in control of her words and actions. How in the Holy Mother's name could Gavin be the brother to such a monster as Waldron had been?
Worse, did Gavin know who she was? Were he and Hunt together in this game of cat and mouse?
"Ellen?"
"It's . . . it's overly warm in here." She pulled from Gavin's grasp and fluttered her painted fan, stalling for the time she needed to compose herself. "I'm just a little faint." She breathed deeply, wishing her damnable stays weren't so tight.
"Let me call for a servant. You can lie down, madame." Hunt reached to touch her elbow, but she shrank back.
"No." She swallowed against the repulsion she felt at the thought of Hunt's touch. She remembered the disgusting, perverted things he had once whispered he was going to do to her when he finally took her maidenhead. "No, that won't be necessary." She forced herself to look at Gavin . . . her Gavin, who had so obvi
ously played her false . . . her Gavin, who may have well betrayed her tonight. "Please, just take me home."
"Are you quite certain, madame?" Hunt went on in his host's voice.
She stared at him for a moment, memories flipping through her mind in rapid succession. Somehow in the time that had passed, she had allowed herself to forget what a loathsome man her husband had been. But seeing Hunt standing here, the memories were once again all too real. And the worst of it was that no matter how abominable a man the Earl of Waxton had been, Ellen knew Hunt was worse.
With abrupt determination, she turned and walked away from Hunt's smirk, which lurked just below the surface of his feigned concern.
Gavin watched her go, then turned back to the duke, puzzled by Ellen's impertinent retreat. "Excuse us, Your Grace, will you?" He bowed, hoping Hunt was not insulted, but concerned about Ellen. Something was obviously very wrong.
Hunt made a grand sweep of his arm, the gold garnitures at his elbows fluttering. "By all means, see to the lady."
Gavin turned away to hurry after Ellen.
"Oh, and Merrick . . ."
Gavin turned back. "Yes?"
"Contact me soon." He smiled as he tucked his hands behind him. "I may well have some information on the woman you seek."
"Thank you. I'll do that, Your Grace." Nodding farewell, he followed Ellen, who had nearly reached the door. A servant was bringing her her cloak and mask when Gavin reached her.
"Are you certain you're all right, sweetheart? You're ashen." He reached to stroke her cheek but she lifted her mask, interrupting his movement.
Ellen was far enough away from Hunt now that she could think more clearly. Gavin didn't know who she was, she was certain of that; she could see it in his eyes. A woman couldn't sleep with a man and not know something of his character. But he had still lied to her. He had not told her his true name, why, she could only guess. Was she, in actuality, the woman he spoke vaguely of seeking months back? The thought seemed so preposterous that it might well be true.
Without speaking, Ellen strode out the door, her head held high to combat her rush of emotion. He had lied to her, and as silly as it seemed in the scheme of things, she was deeply hurt that he had done so.
Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity) Page 13