Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  "Ellen, what is it?"

  Their coach pulled up and a footman helped her climb in. The moment Gavin pulled the flimsy leather door closed behind him, she spoke. Her days of hiding and holding her tongue were over. She would speak and be heard.

  "You lied to me, you rotting knave!"

  He went to sit beside her but thought better of it, sliding into the seat across from her instead. "What by the king's cod are you talking about? I lied to you about what?"

  "Who you were!" she spat. "First I find out you're an earl. Then I find Gavin isn't really even your name!"

  "That . . ." He looked away.

  "Yes, that!" She struck her knee with her fan, snapping it in half. Her anger felt good. Anger made her strong. It was fear that made her weak. She threw the fan to the floor. "Why did you do it, Gavin—or whatever the blast your name is?"

  He crossed his legs at the ankles, taking his time in answering. When he spoke his voice was hushed, his words carefully chosen. "My name is Gavin. Morley Gavin Waxton, the Viscount Merrick. If your father had named you Morley, you'd have well gone by another name."

  "And what of the Earl of Waxton?" She couldn't control the bitter sound in her voice. If it had beep a thousand years, it would still have been too soon to hear that surname.

  He purposefully directed his gaze toward her, holding her in the spell of his green eyes. "I've only recently inherited the title. I've been using my father's lesser title for reasons I'd prefer not to have to go into. But by any name, Ellen, I'm still the same man who walked into that house tonight. I am still the man you've spent so many days and not enough nights with."

  A sob rose in her throat and her eyes clouded with tears. She looked away. Was life always like this? Did God aways give, only to snatch away? She thought of Gavin's words. There was honest, bitter truth in what he said. In a way, he was still the same man she had loved these past few months, whether she had professed that love or not. And truthfully, at this moment, her love for him was unchanged. The fact that he was Waldron's brother and that she had murdered Waldron was also unchanged. The only difference between now and a few hours ago was that now she and Gavin must part. She took a deep, shuddering sigh, fighting tears.

  "I just want to go home, Gavin." Her voice trembled. "Please, just take me home."

  Gavin wanted to say something, but he could think of nothing to say. He wanted her to understand why he had kept his identity from her. He wanted to tell her about Waldron and about the woman who had killed his brother. But he couldn't, not yet. He told himself it was reasonable not to share the information in order to protect his quest, but he knew he still protected himself. As long as he didn't tell all there was to tell of himself, he could still hold himself apart emotionally from Ellen. He could keep from admitting that the thought of sailing to the Colonies without her seemed more impossible with each passing day. He wouldn't have to tell her he loved her.

  Gavin rode the remainder of the distance to Richard Chambray's apartment in silence. When they reached the address, Ellen leaped from the coach before he had a chance to speak. Stepping out into the darkness, he watched her run up the front steps. He wondered if he should just go home and wait until tomorrow to speak with her. Perhaps he should just let her go to her precious Richard and let him soothe her anger.

  But the jealousy Gavin felt in his chest wouldn't allow him to let her go like this. If he continually allowed Chambray to step in with Ellen when matters became complicated, he would always lose out to her keeper in the end. If Gavin wanted to win her love from this man, who kept her as mistress but did not use her as such, then he had to follow Ellen.

  Taking the steps two at a time, Gavin caught up with her.

  "Go home," she murmured, throwing open the door. "Go home and let me be, Gavin."

  "Ellen, you can't run from me. Let me talk to you. Let me explain." He caught the door before she could slam it in his face, walking into the apartment behind her.

  She strode through the room that was lit only by a few sputtering candles, tossing her cloak and mask on a chair as she sailed by.

  "Ellen!" Gavin shouted in anger.

  Richard appeared in the doorway that Ellen had disappeared through. He was barefooted, wearing a long silk dressing gown. His hair, cropped short for periwigs, was tousled from sleep. "What in holy hell is going on here?" he demanded.

  Gavin yanked his hat off his head and tossed it carelessly onto the same chair Ellen had dropped her cloak on. "This is private, Chambray. Stand aside."

  Richard blocked the doorway, and though he was not as brawny a man as Gavin, he was still an imposing figure in the semidarkness. "What's happened? What have you done to her, Merrick?"

  "I said step aside. What passes between Ellen and me is not of your concern!"

  "It damned well is! Now I suggest you take your leave, sir, before I lose my temper and escort you myself!"

  Gavin shook his head. "I can't leave her like this!" His voice suddenly softened. "I have to explain to her . . . I have to make her understand that no matter what the secrets are between us, I can't live without her."

  Richard stared directly into Gavin's eyes, as if weighing the truth of his words. Then suddenly he sighed, relaxing his stance. "Would you care for a brandy?"

  Gavin looked over Richard's shoulder, down the dark hallway. "I honestly need to speak with her. I've hurt her, Chambray. God knows I didn't mean to, but I have."

  "Haven't we both?" Richard walked past Gavin and to the table near the fireplace, to pour them both a drink. He indicated a chair with a nod of his head. "Let her be a few moments. She's always more sensible after some time alone."

  Gavin glanced down the hall again, but suddenly curious about Chambray's puzzling behavior, he came back toward the center of the room. He didn't know what he wanted to say to this man, but he felt there was something that needed to be said.

  Gavin took the brandy Chambray offered him, but not the chair. "I don't understand the relationship between the two of you," he said flatly.

  Richard walked to the fireplace and leaned against it. "What explanation has Ellen given you?"

  "She says she loves you." Gavin felt a physical pang of jealousy as he watched Chambray smile faintly. "She says she won't leave you . . . not for me, not for anyone."

  "She thinks she owes me something," Richard offered, swirling his brandy to watch it whirlpool in the stemmed glass.

  "I think not." Gavin paused. "I think she honestly loves you."

  "But she loves you, too. And you can give her what I can never give her."

  Gavin frowned, puzzled. "And what is that?"

  Richard looked up over the rim of his glass as he took a long sip. "Marriage . . . children . . . a future."

  "She was a virgin." Gavin had never had such an intimate conversation with another man, and yet for some reason he felt no discomfort. This was Ellen they spoke of, his mysterious Ellen, and this man Chambray seemed to be the only person who could unlock Gavin's understanding of her.

  "She was indeed."

  "It doesn't make any sense, Chambray. She says you are her keeper. Those at the theater say you are her lover, but that's obviously false. Just who are you? Her brother?"

  "No." Richard caught the tie of his silk dressing gown. "I wish that I were, because it would make loving her easier. No. This is why I have never made love to her. This is why I can never possess her as you can . . ."

  Gavin knew his jaw must have dropped when Chambray tugged on the tie of his gown, letting it fall open to expose himself. "Christ," was all he could manage as he stared at the man's grotesque disfigurement.

  Richard let the gown fall open for only a moment, then covered himself. "I found Ellen at a time in her life when she needed someone desperately. I fell in love with her." He retied the silk gown. "Who wouldn't? And our love, perhaps, could have developed into what I fear yours has. But for obvious reasons," he splayed his hands, "that was impossible."

  Gavin grimaced. "I'm sorry." W
hat else could he say? What comfort could he offer this man who had bared his soul . . . who had admitted to another what Gavin could never have admitted? "I'm sorry," he repeated.

  "Not half as sorry as me, my friend." Richard went to pour himself another brandy. "So though I love Ellen and she me, it's a different love. It couldn't help but be. Ellen is just having a difficult time dealing with that fact."

  Gavin was still at a loss for words. He felt as if he wanted to reach out and touch this man, to comfort him in some way, an odd feeling indeed. Instead, he spoke with all the compassion he felt in his heart. "I take it this is not a recent wound." Having been in battle, Gavin recognized the mark of a Turkish blade.

  "No. Ellen knew when she came here to live with me."

  "Then why set yourselves up as mistress and keeper?"

  "To protect her." It was now Richard who chose his words carefully. "She came at a time in her life when she needed protection as well as guidance."

  "But you're not going to tell me who you were protecting her from?"

  Richard smiled. "You know I cannot."

  Gavin set down his glass on a small table near a chair. "All this time you've been playing mistress and keeper to the world, and no one has set your plan astray."

  Richard glared morosely. "No one until you."

  "I would never purposefully endanger her, I want you to know that, Chambray."

  "I think I do." Richard paused for a moment, deep in thought. "You know I realized I would lose her one day. I knew she wouldn't be mine forever, but it's too soon." He sipped his brandy. "I suppose it would always be too soon."

  "She refuses to move into my apartments. And I have to admit that I'm jealous of you, Chambray. Even now that I know you don't lie with her, I'm still jealous. I want to possess her heart the way you possess it."

  "Have you told her so?" Richard watched him by the candlelight.

  Gavin began to pace the length of the room, his heeled shoes tapping on the hardwood floor, his shadow shortening and then growing longer, only to grow short again as he passed a candle sconce on the wall. "No, I admit I haven't."

  "Why not?"

  "Christ's bones," Gavin glanced up. "You sound like her nursemaid."

  "I've played that role among many. Now tell me, Gavin Merrick, why have you not proclaimed your love for the woman who tugs at your heartstrings?"

  "A million reasons. None good when each stands alone, but together . . ." His voice trailed off into silence.

  Richard waited.

  "She's made it clear she wants nothing permanent." Gavin felt oddly defensive. "I'm going back to Maryland with the first spring winds. She says she'll not leave the stage or you." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "It seemed less complicated to keep words of love to myself."

  "And has it made it so?"

  "Less complicated?" Gavin ran a finger along a carved floral Venetian mirror frame, avoiding eye contact with himself. "In some ways, yes. Others . . . no." He glanced up at Richard through the reflection in the mirror. "Do you know Ellen is the first woman I've laid with more than once that has not spoken of love?"

  Richard sat in his favorite chair and crossed his legs. "You're much alike, the two of you. Both making yourselves unhappy, I would guess."

  "So you know her so well, what am I supposed to do?"

  "Why should I tell you? I would lose a part of my very being if I lost Ellen. Besides, it's not safe for her . . . being with you, knowing you."

  "It's not that I want to take her from you, but only that I must have her, Chambray."

  "Offer to marry her, then. Take her to your precious Colonies and love her the rest of her days."

  Gavin gave a little laugh. "Marry her?"

  "If you love her. If you cannot live without her as you proclaim, marriage seems the only solution. I know it's what I would have done the first night I met her were it not for my circumstance."

  Gavin turned away from the mirror to study the man he had once thought his enemy but whom he now admired immensely. "You would give her up—for me?"

  "For her sake, not yours, and not happily. But I want what's best for Ellen, even if it means you."

  Gavin leaned over the back of the chair that sat opposite from Richard. "She'd never agree. It's not what she wants."

  "Ellen is not certain what she wants, except happiness, which she blessed well deserves."

  Gavin watched him rise and head for the darkened hallway.

  "If you'll excuse me," Richard said from the shadows, "I'll be back in a moment."

  Gavin barely had time to contemplate all that had passed between him and Chambray, when the tall, dark-haired man appeared again, this time fully dressed and carrying his cloak. "Where are you going?"

  "Out." He lifted his aristocratic chin in the direction of the hallway. "Ellen is in her bedchamber. I'll be back in the morning."

  Gavin followed him to the door. There was nothing the two men could say that had not been said, but as Richard passed through the outside doorway, Gavin, on impulse, reached out to lay his hand on the other man's shoulder. Richard stopped but didn't turn. A silence of understanding passed between the two men. Then Richard disappeared into the dark stairwell.

  Ellen heard her bedchamber door creak open, but she didn't lift her eyelids. Rose had helped her to undress and now Ellen lay in her shift on top of the coverlet. She could hear her own steady breathing and her parrot scratching the paper in his cage. "He's gone, isn't he?" she asked, knowing she had heard the outside door close, knowing Richard had sent him away, knowing Gavin was gone forever.

  "He's gone."

  Ellen's eyes flashed open. This wasn't Richard, it was Gavin! She didn't want Gavin . . . but oh, she did. She needed him. Brother to Waldron be damned, she needed to feel his arms around her one last time.

  Gavin stood hesitantly in the doorway. He had loosened his lace cravat and his well-groomed hair was now slightly disheveled. The shadows of the room cast an eerie light across his rugged features, etched with concern. He was as handsome standing there in the semidarkness as she had ever seen him.

  "Where's Richard gone?" Ellen asked, barely trusting herself to speak.

  "I don't know. Out, he said. He'll be back in the morning."

  Richard had left them alone, here in his own apartment? Richard, who completely disapproved of the relationship? It didn't make sense. "I heard your voices," she said softly. "What did he say?"

  "It doesn't matter right now."

  "He told you about . . . about his injury, didn't he?" She squeezed her eyes tighter. "He told you about us."

  "It doesn't matter. None of it matters, Ellen."

  She laid her palm on her forehead. She felt clammy and flushed at the same time. "What do you want?"

  He came to the bed and sat down, shifting her weight on the bed so that she naturally was turned toward him. He leaned over her until their lips nearly touched, until she could smell the brandy on his breath and hear the rise and fall of his breathing.

  Ellen felt forced to open her eyes and stare up at him. His green eyes were the color of the ocean in the wake of a storm, dark and smoldering. "Tell me what you want."

  "I want to tell you I love you, Ellen."

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellen blinked. "What did you say?"

  His lips brushed hers in a kiss so faint it was like the tender, fleeting brush of a moth's wings. "I said I love you, Ellen. Secrets be damned, yours or mine, I love you."

  She shook her head. "Don't say it," she whispered. "It won't work; this can never work. It'll only make it hurt more when we part."

  "Then we won't part. We'll find a way. We'll make it work!"

  He was so intense in his conviction that Ellen couldn't resist a smile. "It's impossible, I tell you. If you only knew what I'd done—who I was—you'd hate me, Gavin."

  "I've done things in the past to be ashamed of as well. So I don't care about your past." He took her hand in his and kissed one knuckle at a time. "You are who you are
today . . . now."

  She pulled her hand away. "You're not listening to me. You're not being sensible."

  "Tell me you don't love me, Ellen." He grasped her shoulders. "Tell me that you don't love me and I'll go."

  Caught in the countenance of his sea-green eyes, she sighed. "It's not that."

  "Say it."

  "All right! All right!" She sat up, leaning against the headboard so that they were eye level. "I love you. I love you, Gavin Merrick, Morley Waxton. I love you whoever in God's Holy name you are!" There. She'd said it. She'd finally said it after all these months. She'd finally admitted it, not just to Gavin, but to herself.

  For a long moment neither moved. They only stared at each other, lost in the moment. Ellen could hear her heart pounding beneath her thin shift. She could feel her pulse quicken as he reached out to her. When their lips met, it was no gentle virgin's kiss; it was a kiss of fire and fury. It was a kiss of pent-up emotions finally freed.

  Gavin's mouth pressed so hard against hers that it hurt, but she didn't care. The pain was real; it was evidence of their passion. Her hands found his thick hair and she plucked at the ribbon that held it back. As his tongue delved deep in her mouth, she threaded her fingers through his dark hair, fanning it out over his shoulder. Frenzied by his kiss, she ran her hands over the familiar planes of his muscled back, excited by the sheer power of his physical strength.

  When their lips parted, Gavin kissed a path to the bodice of her shift. Through the sheer linen he found her nipple, and she rose up with a moan of pleasure as his wet mouth closed over it. Shudders of sweet, torturous pleasure swept her breasts, flowing outward until her entire body tingled with excitement.

  "Gavin, Gavin," she whispered huskily in his ear. "Say it. Say it again." Ellen knew that after tonight she could never see Gavin again. It was too dangerous, surely for her, perhaps even for him if he didn't know what part Hunt played in this deadly game. But if tonight were the last night she would ever spend in his arms, then it would have to be a night in which the memories could last a lifetime. "Tell me you love me," she urged.