Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  "I love you, I love you, I love you, sweet, mysterious woman of my dreams." He buried his face in the swell of her breasts. Then with a sweep of his hand, he caught the gathered neckline of her bodice and yanked it.

  Ellen only laughed at the sound of the tearing linen, aroused by the knowledge that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. As he caught one nipple between his teeth and tugged gently, she pushed away the shredded shift. Now only his breeches and shirt were the barrier between flesh and flesh.

  "Wait," she whispered. "Take off your clothes." She ran her hand over his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Take it all off so I can see you. So I can touch you." She lifted her smoldering gaze to meet his. "So I can taste you."

  Gavin turned on the bed and hurriedly removed his shoes and silk stockings, throwing them on the floor. Then he rose to turn and face her as his hands found the buttons of his tight breeches.

  He watched Ellen draw her knees up against her chest to sit and watch him, her hair flowing down over her shoulders to conceal most of her lithe body in an erotic curtain of fiery red.

  A smile crept across her face and she felt her cheeks grow warm as she watched him watch her as he peeled away the breeches and tossed them aside. The last thing he removed was his shirt, and when he lifted it over his head, she sighed in awe. What a beautiful creation a man's body was, all sleek and hard in comparison to her own soft curves.

  She put out her arms to him and he came to her. They stretched out side by side on the soft bed, she on her back, he on his side. With a tantalizing slowness he began a dance of love, caressing every inch of her pale flesh with his fingertips, adding a kiss here and there. Each time she tried to sit up or reach for him, he lowered her arms. "Let me do this," he whispered. "For you. For me."

  When he lowered his mouth to the soft triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, she moaned, sucking in her breath. The air in the chilly bedchamber had grown warm and musky-smelling with the heat of their lovemaking.

  Ellen's fingers grew tangled in his hair as she twisted beneath the ecstasy of his touch. Again and again he brought her to the crest of fulfillment, only to let her slide down again.

  Finally, when she could take his exquisite torture no longer, she sat up, pushing him aside so that she could climb on top of him and sit astride his hips.

  "Where are we going?" he teased, his voice throaty with desire. "I wasn't finished."

  She leaned over to nip his lower lip with her teeth. "Hush," she ordered. "You would drive me mad if I let you."

  His only reply was a husky laugh, as he let his eyelids close when she caught his hard nipple between her lips and suckled it as he had suckled hers.

  Ellen was still in awe of the pleasure the two had found in each other. What was amazing was that it seemed it was not just a surface physical delight but one that went far deeper, one she carried in her heart in a glow for days after they made love.

  Is this what is is to love and be loved? she wondered as she kissed her way down his flat belly. Is this what Richard spoke of when he spoke of a love so many seek yet so few ever find?

  Driven breathless by Ellen's attentions, Gavin grasped her forearms and tugged. "Now," he whispered urgently. "Now, sweet Ellen."

  She started to roll off him so that she might lie flat on the bed, but he caught her hand. "No, stay where you are, just slide forward."

  A shy smile crept across her lips as she realized what he meant. A little afraid but wickedly curious, she followed his husky whispers, slipping over his tumescent shaft.

  She cried out in delighted surprise at the new sensation, and after only a moment or two of adjustment she began to move, enjoying the thought of being in control of their lovemaking.

  Gavin tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at her with heavy-lidded, smoldering desire. Their gazes locked as she moved up and down, forward and back, exploring her own realms of pleasure while taking delight in his.

  Again and again, Ellen ceased her movement when she heard Gavin's breathing change in near fulfillment. Again and again, she brought him to the edge of ultimate pleasure, only to let the moment slip away, just as he had done to her so many times.

  With a growl of frustration, Gavin finally caught her buttocks with his hands and began to guide her in her rhythm. Growing lost in her own pleasure, she gave up her control, letting him lead them to a sudden conscious-shattering moment of climax. She reached the summit of her pleasure and collapsed over him in breathless wonder, burying her face in his damp, pungent hair, for the moment utterly content.

  For a long time Ellen lay on top of him, still feeling the heat of him inside her, bathing in the pleasure of his hand that stroked her hair.

  "I love you, Ellen," he murmured sleepily.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  Then reluctantly she slid off him. She blew out the single bedside candle and snuggled in his arms, peacefully drifting off to sleep.

  When Ellen woke in the morning, Gavin was already up and dressing. He smiled from where he sat rolling up his stockings in a ray of sunshine on the far side of the room. "Good morning."

  She stretched with feline grace. "Good morning. Off so soon?"

  "I've an appointment at Whitehall. I need to go home and bathe and change."

  She lay back on a pillow, pulling up the corner of the coverlet to partially conceal her nakedness. "But I thought we might have a little more time." She kept her voice light and teasing, but suddenly her heart was heavy. Gavin had made her so happy these last months, how could she say goodbye? But he was Waldron's brother, and he would hate her if he ever knew the truth. No, it was better to part now and save herself the agony of Gavin despising her one day.

  Gavin rose, tying his stock. "I really do have to go. Besides," he winked, "I think you've well worn me out."

  Their laughter joined, echoing in the bedchamber.

  As Gavin finished dressing, he went to the bird cage that hung near the window and pulled off the cover. He stuck his finger through the wires and into the cage. "When will I see you again, Ellen?"

  The parrot plucked his head from beneath his wing. "See you again, see you again . . ." Squawk! "When will I see you again?"

  Ellen gripped the coverlet until her knuckles went white. She just couldn't bring herself to tell Gavin "never." Not when he was so happy this morning. Not when she could still taste his lips on hers. "I don't know," she lied. "I'll send you a message." She forced a smile.

  Gavin snatched his finger out of the cage just in time to prevent being pecked by the parrot. "All right, then." He came to her and leaned down, giving her a husbandly kiss. "But soon. We have plans to make. Things to discuss."

  She reached up to brush his stubbled chin with her fingertips as he pulled away. "Goodbye, Gavin."

  He walked to the doorway, then turned back to her as if deep in thought. "Ellen . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Tell Richard thank you for me, will you?"

  She smiled. Another time, another place, and this could have worked, she mused bittersweetly. We really could have been happy together. "I will."

  It wasn't until she heard the front door close that the first tears trickled down her cheeks.

  "You think he's who?" Richard stood frozen in the doorway, a silver coffeepot in his hand.

  Ellen swept back the hair from her shoulders, pulling her knees up to her chest to curl up in the chair. She had lain in her bed for more than an hour, listening to the silence of the room, wishing she could change the past but unable to bring herself to regret her husband's death. If losing Gavin was the price she had to pay for her freedom, then pay she would. Whatever had made her think there would be no price for her escape—and a dear one at that?

  Ellen pushed her china cup toward him. "I think . . . no, I know he's Waldron's brother."

  Richard swore foully in French. "What do you mean the brother to Waxton? You never told me Waxton had a brother!"

  She shrugged. "Yes I did. He wa
s supposedly lost at sea. It's been years, Richard. I've forgotten the details."

  Richard came to the table where Ellen sat toying with a sugar spoon. He poured them both a cup of thick, steaming brew, then took the chair across from her. "Why didn't you tell me this last night? Why didn't you tell me that was why you were so distraught? Here I thought the clod had insulted you or something else petty!" Richard rested his forehead on the heel of his hand. "Why in the bloody hell didn't you tell me before I told him to marry you?"

  Despite the graveness of the situation, Ellen couldn't resist a smile. "You told him to marry me?" Her gentle laughter filled the small antechamber. "Whatever would have possessed you to say such a thing?"

  He took a sip of the coffee and swore again as it burned the roof of his mouth. "Because I thought you loved him. Damn you, jade, for laughing! I thought he loved you."

  Still smiling, Ellen reached across the table to cover his big hand with her smaller one. "I'm not laughing at you but at myself, at the silly irony of it all." She stroked the back of his hand. "But never at you, Richard." She paused. "I do love him. I think perhaps he even loves me. That was a gallant thing to do, suggesting such a thing."

  Richard looked up. "But you can never see him again now that you know who he is."

  "I can never see him again," she echoed as she withdrew her hand and reached for her coffee, not wanting the tears to start anew. "I know that. I knew it last night."

  "That's why you were so upset."

  "No." Her voice grew stronger. "I was upset. . . . I was angry because he lied to me. He lied about who he was!"

  "The question is, why did he lie, Ellen?"

  "I don't know. I'm afraid. . . . I'm afraid he's looking for me, Richard, and he just doesn't know it."

  "Looking for you?" He reached for a slice of bread and the plate of anchovies. "You're not making any sense."

  She sighed heavily. "When I first met Gavin he mentioned a woman he was looking for, but he didn't want to speak of the matter and it seemed unimportant."

  "It seemed unimportant!"

  She pushed away from the table angrily. "Don't look at me like that! Who would have thought in a city so large I'd have met the one man who could be my downfall!"

  "It seems that in one night you've managed to meet both men who could see you hanged."

  She paced the floor in her bare feet, her dressing gown swishing behind her. "Hunt."

  "Yes, Hunt." Richard turned in his chair, wood scraping wood. "And what makes you think they're not in this together? What makes you think your lover didn't know who you were from the start?"

  She walked to a window and brushed aside the heavy draperies so that she could watch the activity in the street below. Vendors were beginning to fill the streets now, peddling their fresh meats and cool milk. A young towheaded boy pulled a dogcart filled with kindling, a puppy following closely at his heels. "I just know he didn't. He doesn't know who I am. Not yet, at least."

  "But Hunt did?"

  "Oh, yes." She turned away from the window, letting the draperies fall into place. "He knew. I could see it in his eyes. I could hear it in his voice." She thought for a moment. "But he's not going to turn me in, Richard."

  "And why not?"

  "Because he wants the letter."

  "If he has you arrested and thrown into Newgate, you'll be of no harm to him. They'll stretch your neck for the murder of your husband and you'll tell no tales."

  "Too risky. What if I were to give the letter to someone? No, he wants the letter in his own hand. As long as I have it, I'll be safe enough."

  Despite the early hour, Richard poured himself a drink. "So what if Merrick . . . Waxton . . . I don't know what the hell to call him now . . ."

  "You could call him Gavin."

  "All right . . . Gavin," he conceded angrily. "So what if Gavin and Hunt are working together to corner you?"

  "Hunt wouldn't confide in anyone. I would wager not one of the men on the list knows who else is on the list."

  "And you're positive Gavin's name does not appear in any form?"

  "I read the list, remember? I'm certain Gavin's not on it."

  "So why did Hunt make such an issue of letting you know who Gavin really was?"

  "I think he saw an opportunity and he took it. I think he was just trying to frighten me." She ran a hand through her hair. "And I have to admit, he did a fine job of it."

  Richard walked to the cold fireplace and leaned on the mantel. "Well, at least we finally agree that you can't see Gavin anymore. We pack up and go to the estate in Essex. You'll be safe enough there."

  "I'll not see Gavin anymore." She looked up at Richard defiantly. "But I'll not leave London."

  "But it would be suicide to stay now, knowing both men seek you! You'll hang for your cocky games, Ellen, as sure as I stand here!"

  She made a fist. "As long as I have the letter, I'm safe from Hunt. He can frighten me, he can intimidate me, but he can't have me arrested."

  "And Waxton?"

  "It's nearly Christmas. In two or three months time he'll sail for his beloved Colonies. He has his inheritance now. Why would he pursue finding the woman . . . me?" She took a deep breath. "Besides, I'm still protected by the king as long as I remain on stage. Gavin wouldn't have the time nor the power to pursue getting a writ from the king to have me arrested."

  "This is insanity!"

  "Richard, it's my life! I told you, I'll not run. Not ever again! If I have to live in constant fear as I did when I lived in Waxton's house, then I'd rather be dead."

  Richard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I feel like you're killing yourself one day at a time, and I can do nothing but stand and watch you."

  She walked to him. "Do you want me to go?"

  "Go?"

  "I'll pack and find my own apartment near the theater."

  "So this is what it comes to?"

  It was hard for Ellen to look up at him, to see the fear and pain in his handsome face. It was even harder to know she was causing the pain and fear when he loved her so much. "Richard, without you I'd never have survived. You helped me to become whole again, but now it's time to stand back. I'm strong enough to make my own decisions and I want to do so."

  "You want to leave me. . . ."

  She looped her arm through his and rested her cheek on his shoulder, ignoring the fact that he remained stiff and unyielding. "I don't want to leave you, so don't make me. Let me be responsible for my own choices." She reached up to touch his chin, forcing him to look her straight in the eye. "You know, if they came and took me away today, I'd have no regrets. I'd hang not being sorry for all I could have done, but being happy I had done what I had. Isn't that the point of life? Isn't that what you have done?"

  "Christ's bones, Ellen." Richard wrapped her in his arms. "It's only a matter of time until this shatters in our faces, don't you know that?"

  She rested her head on his chest, comforted by his touch but feeling guilty for wanting Gavin. "Mayhap, but mayhap not."

  He stroked her hair. "You told Gavin you'd see him no longer?"

  She shook her head. "I couldn't do it. Not here. Not after I'd lain in his arms."

  "But you will tell him." Richard gripped her shoulders, pushing her away from his body. "Swear to me, Ellen."

  "I'll tell him." She laid her cheek against Richard's chest again, clinging to him. "I'll tell him."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gavin brushed back a wisp of dark hair that had escaped his queue and tapped the marred wooden table with his knuckles, signaling the serving girl. He was in some drinking house down near the wharfs, though where he wasn't certain.

  The Sea Serpent, a dilapidated wooden structure on some fetid alley, catered to sailors and other waterfront ruffians. The food was putrid, the ale stale, and the whores old and snaggletoothed. Gavin had only come at the urging of an old friend, Julius, the man who would captain his ship on the return voyage to the Colonies in the spring.

  When t
he serving wench, who was seeing to another customer, didn't respond to Gavin, he pounded his fist on the table so hard that it rocked, knocking over Julius's bottle and spilling the remainder of its contents.

  Cocking her head sideways, the dark-haired girl flipped him an obscene gesture. "I'm comin', my lord, but you'll have to wait yer turn same as the rest of these salts!"

  Gavin scowled.

  "Easy. Easy there, old boy," Julius soothed, mopping up the spilt ale with his sleeve. "There's plenty to go 'round. Just give the poxbox a chance."

  Gavin looked up across the table through the haze of his alcohol-clouded mind. Julius Reason was not ten years older than Gavin, but he looked to be a man of at least sixty. His hair had gone grey, his skin dark and leathery from the years in the sun. His hands were wrinkled, his clothing worse, but he was a man Gavin knew he could trust. He was a friend worth having.

  "Why'd you bring me, Julius? A man could die of thirst here, if he don't die of food poisoning first."

  "You seem to have had no problem taking your fill, friend," Julius responded good-naturedly. "You're soused."

  Gavin lifted his empty sack bottle to his lips to catch the last drop. "If I am, it's not drunk enough."

  Julius chuckled as he leaned across the table to shake a knurled finger. "Admit it. You love her, else why would you have yourself turned inside out like this?"

  Gavin tossed the empty bottle over his head. He waited for the satisfying crash of broken glass before he responded. Several other breaking bottles echoed in the dark, smoky alehouse. "So what if I love her?" He hiccuped. "I told you. She won't see me, Jules. She sends back my gifts. I sent her an emerald—I swear to Christ, it was the size of a goose egg—and she had the messenger return it!"

  "You tried to talk to her?"

  "She must nearly break a leg running off the stage at the end of the play and she goes home in her costume. That jackanapes Chambray guards her like a hawk in their apartment. I can't get near her. I can't get the chance to try to make her understand why I lied about who I was. And the one time that I did get to speak with her, she just kept saying she was sorry." He looked up. "I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't concentrate on my work. What the hell am I going to do?"