Ellen heard Gavin's hunchbacked coachman give a fierce, muffled curse.
"A good night to you, Gavin," Julius called as the coach rolled away. "And a good luck to you! You're going to need it."
Gavin pulled the door closed and the vehicle picked up its speed again. For a few moments Ellen and Gavin sat in silence, regarding each other until finally she spoke.
"Well, are you going to untie me, or am I to remain bound like the Yuletide pig?"
"That depends on whether you're going to injure me or not again." There was amusement in his voice, but a hint of aggravation as well.
"Then mayhap you'd best leave me tied." Her gaze met his in defiance. What right did he have to be out of sorts? She was the one who'd been kidnapped in her nightdress!
Gavin studied her face for a moment, then made a motion indicating she should turn around. His hands found the ties that bound her wrists behind her back and he loosened them. "You gave me no choice, Ellen. I tried every reasonable way I knew how to talk to you. This was the only way I could think to get you alone."
"So now I have no choice."
"You didn't even say goodbye." He threw the cloths on the floorboards and leaned over to free her ankles. "No explanation, nothing. Just no, I won't see you anymore." He lifted his head to look at her. "After that last night in your bedchamber, it wasn't right. You owe me more than that."
She rubbed her chafed wrists, trying to hold on to the anger she felt so quickly subsiding. He loved her so much that he'd kidnapped her! Well, perhaps not love, but at least want. He had wanted her. "I didn't want a fight. That last night, it was—"
"It was magic . . . sorcery." He took her hands in his and rubbed her wrists with slow deliberateness. "I'm sorry that I lied to you about who I was. I told you that. I thought you accepted my apologies."
She shook her head, wanting to pull away but wanting at the same time to feel his touch. She'd been so lonely these last two weeks without him. Not only had she ached for the stroke of his callused hands, but also for his voice, his laughter. "It's not just the lies, Gavin, mine or yours." She struggled to find the right words, to convince not just Gavin, but herself that this union could never be.
He brought his lips to the pulse point of her wrist. "What then?"
She exhaled, letting her eyes drift shut. "It's everything, Gavin. It's Richard, it's your lies, my deceptions, my past, perhaps yours." She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. "You forget who I am. Barely more than a common street whore. An actress, a woman who works for her keep. You're an earl. You have a position to uphold. Can't you see the impossibility of it all?"
"Nothing is impossible. I don't care if you're an actress or whore to an army of men. Now I want you to tell me who you're afraid of. Who did you think had come to take you tonight?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Have you a husband?"
She shook her head.
"Because if you do, I'll take you, anyway. I'll kill him if you prefer."
She traced the line of his chin, taking notice that he hadn't shaved today. She liked the rough feel of his beard beneath her fingertips. "I almost think you're serious when you say that."
"I am, entirely."
Ellen leaned back in the leather seat, suddenly feeling the chill of the night air through her thin gown. Seeing her action, Gavin immediately shrugged off his burgundy coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
"Where are we going? I have to let Richard know I'm all right."
"I had Jules leave him a note saying you would return three days hence."
"The theater. John will be furious when I don't show up for rehearsal tomorrow at noon."
"Taken care of. You were feeling poorly so you sent word this evening that you would be traveling to the Springs in Marchion and will return three days hence, rested and ready to continue."
She gave him a dry smile. "It seems you've taken care of everything."
The flicker of yellow lamplight shone across his handsome face. "Does that mean you'll come with me?"
"Have I a choice?"
"No."
She leaned back against the seat, drawing her legs up beneath her. She could feel his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck. "Are you going to tie me up again?"
He leaned to nip at her earlobe with his warm lips. "Only if you want me to, sweet."
She punched him in the shoulder, and their laughter mingled as she snuggled against him and let her eyes close. She knew this didn't make any sense. She knew she was taking chances with her own life to be with Gavin, to even consider seeing him again. She knew that she would be hurting Richard again, salting the wound she had already created. But somehow all of that didn't matter. Gavin loved her. He loved her! Even if their time together would be brief and riddled with uncertainty, how could she give that up?
The truth of the matter was that she couldn't.
That night Ellen and Gavin stayed at an inn on the outskirts of the east side of the City. Though the establishment was small, the food and drink the host and hostess served was tasty, the room neat and clean. That night Ellen and Gavin did not make love, but instead lay in each other's arms, both strangely pensive but nonetheless content.
In the morning, they broke their fast with fresh pullet eggs baked in cream, fried fish, and bread with sweet butter, all washed down with cups of warm milk. After thanking the host and hostess and paying them handsomely, Ellen and Gavin returned to the coach.
"Where are we going?" Ellen asked, her eyes bright with the thought of the excursion. Wherever Gavin took her, it was always an adventure. He knew so much about the world and she so little that each moment with him seemed magical.
"It's a surprise," he answered, his breath clouding in the sharp morning air. It was almost Christmastide and the weather had turned cool, a refreshing relief from the stagnant heat of the unusual fall.
"A surprise?" She couldn't resist a smile. Gavin looked so young and dashing this morning in a pair of tight black breeches, a simple white shirt, and a black cloak with a matching hat. He still wore the silly colonial boots and his hair pulled back and braided like a savage's, but she had grown used to it. In fact, she actually liked the idea that the man she loved would always stand out in a crowd, whether it be on some foreign wharf or in Queen Catherine's drawing room.
A short time later the coach halted near the winding Thames, and Gavin and Ellen got out. Carrying a carpetbag with a change of clothing for himself and the few things Julius had stolen from her bedchamber, they approached a small dock, where a private bargelike sailboat was tied up.
"This is the surprise?" Ellen's brow creased. "A barge with sails?"
"But a very special barge." He kissed her cheek. "One created for your pleasure."
After giving the coachman directions to return to London, Gavin caught Ellen's arm and led her down the rickety dock. To her surprise, Julius appeared from below. "A good morning to you!" he called cheerfully as he picked up a piece of line and began to coil it.
Ellen stopped. "Don't tell me he's going?"
"Someone's got to steer the boat." He winked as he leaned down to untie a line from a bulkhead. "And I have other intentions."
She frowned. "The man kidnapped me!"
"I had you kidnapped and you slept with me last night."
She pushed back the hood of her cloak and dropped her hands to her hips. "It's not the same thing!"
"Come now! Jules is a good man. He's my friend, and the best thing is that he'll leave us to our privacy."
Ellen hesitated. It was the principle of the thing! This scruffy man had tied her up and snatched her from her apartment in her nightclothes, for sweet Mary's sake!
Gavin brushed her back with his hand. "It'll be fun, sweet, I promise you."
She eyed the boat, not fully trusting its seaworthiness. "Where are we going? You said I'd be back in London in three days."
"Just down the river."
"I thought floating down the Thames was just for the summer."
He linked his arm through hers and led her down the dock. "I suppose you thought picnics were just for summer, too, but just wait. These will be three of the finest days of your life, I'll promise you."
By the time the sun had peaked in the blue sky, Ellen was convinced Gavin would stand up to his promise. Once boarding, they had set out down the river into the countryside, with Julius sailing the vessel and remaining inconspicuous.
Gavin and Ellen rested on the bow, where there were comfortable padded lounging chairs and canvas walls, which not only served as windbreaks but for privacy as well. Despite the fact that it was early December, Ellen was pleased to discover how warm it was on the bow of the boat lying out in the sunshine, safe from the north wind.
Sitting side by side in the chairs, Gavin and Ellen talked about nonsensical things, simply enjoying each other's company.
As Gavin told a tale of an adventure with the Indians in Maryland, Ellen let her mind wander.
I should end this deceit and tell Gavin who I am. I should tell him what his brother did to me. Surely Gavin will believe me when I say Waldron's death was accidental, or at the very least self-defense. Surely he will believe me once he realizes what a monster his brother was!
But a paralyzing inner fear kept her from speaking up. What if he didn't believe her? At least with the lies, she could have him today, tomorrow, maybe a few more months until he set sail. But what if he didn't believe her? What if he didn't understand? What if he hated her?
Gavin finished his tale and was silent. Before Ellen could work up the courage to attempt any conversation about the truth of her identity, he spoke again.
"Ellen, I want to tell you why I wasn't entirely truthful about who I am."
She pushed her cloak she had been using for a blanket onto the deck and stretched like a cat in the warm sunshine. "I've no intentions of sharing secrets, if that's what you seek."
He crossed his arms over his chest. He had shed his linen shirt and lay taking in the sun's rays, his broad pectorals already beginning to brown. "I'm not seeking anything. I just want you to know."
She sighed. "Don't you see, I don't want to know, Gavin. I don't care."
"If you didn't care, you'd not have tried to end our relationship so abruptly. I lied about my name and my identity, or at least deceived you, and you deserve an explanation."
Ellen reached between the chairs to take his hand. "I'd rather make love."
He kissed the back of her hand. "Later. I'm confessing now."
She glanced away, watching the countryside as it passed. The boat moved so slowly, so gently through the water, that it seemed as if the hills and small villages were moving instead. She smiled at the sight of a fisherman on the bank, his young son beside him, imitating his every move.
She glanced back at Gavin, admitting to herself that she was curious as to what his explanation would be. Would he lie? Or would he tell her the truth? Would he admit he was Waldron's brother? Would he say he sought his murdering sister-in-law with the help of the Duke of Hunt? Or would he tell half-truths? She didn't know which was worse.
She lifted her dark lashes. "I'm listening. Confess if you must, but don't feel compelled. I can love you whoever you are, at least for today."
He shook his head. "Such a fatalistic attitude for one so young."
She looked away to avoid eye contact, as images of her father, her husband, and the Duke of Hunt flashed through her mind. "If you'd lived the life I did, you'd be fatalistic, too."
"Tell me," he entreated softly, half rising out of his chair. "Trust me when I say I won't care. Trust me when I say I can help you."
"Remember, this is your confession, not mine."
Realizing he was pressing her too hard, he lay back in the chair and began his tale. "I am Viscount Gavin Merrick, in that that's one of my father's lesser titles."
"But you have another title?"
"I'm also the Earl of Waxton. The title was inherited through my brother, who died while I was in the Colonies."
So he is to tell the truth, Ellen thought. Or at least part of it. "So why hide your inheritance, title or otherwise, if the inheritance was legal?"
There was a long pause, as he seemed to debate whether to tell the truth or how much to tell. Ellen waited, feeling frightened yet having to know the truth.
"Because my brother was murdered."
She forced herself to meet his gaze, hoping he wouldn't see the flicker of fear in her eyes. "And?"
"And I seek the woman who murdered him. His wife." He exhaled as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
There had been obvious pain in his voice as he spoke, and that pain disturbed Ellen. He had cared for his brother! This wasn't just justice being sought. It was vengeance!
"You knew her?" Ellen's voice was barely audible above the swish of the water as the boat glided up the Thames in the direction of Essex and Havering House.
"I did not." He ran a hand through his hair that now fell loose on his shoulders. "You see, my brother Waldron was almost twenty-five years my elder. I was gone when he met and married his wife. He spoke of her several times in letters, but then we lost contact with each other. I was a man for the Stuarts, he for Cromwell." He looked at her. "But to Waldron that made no difference. We were still brothers. He encouraged me to follow my heart, as our father would have encouraged me." He looked away, as if lost in the past. "Apparently, sometime in '57 Waldron received word of my death. A ship I was supposed to be aboard was sunk by the Spaniards, but actually I was in Paris laid up with a musket ball in my thigh. I sent word I was safe, but he never received it."
Ellen vaguely remembered her husband's mention of his little brother's demise, but the memory was dim. Waldron had seemed unaffected at the time. In fact, she did remember him making some comment about his brother Morley getting what he deserved like the other sinners. "You never saw each other again?" Ellen prodded carefully.
"We did, in London in '60, just after the king returned, but the visit was brief. I don't know if you were here in London that May, but the city was mad. I was busy getting my land grant. Waldron had business in Europe. I never even got a chance to go to his home and meet his wife."
As Ellen flipped back through the pages of time in her mind, she remembered Waldron's trip to London to see the king arrive. She had wanted to go so badly that she had protested. Waldron had locked her in her room for a week, taking away her books as well as her freedom, ending the matter. And there had been no trip to France for Waldron that year; he rarely traveled. She also remembered distinctly that her husband had made no mention of a reunion with his brother. He had, in fact, never told her his little brother Morley was, indeed, alive rather than dead, as reported.
Ellen turned her attention to Gavin as he went on with his story. "That was the last time I saw Waldron alive." He smiled at his memory. "We supped together, talked like old friends. He was instrumental in helping me get my land so quickly. Then I set sail for the American Colonies with my land grant in my hand and he returned home to his young wife to take her to tour Europe."
As Ellen listened to Gavin's story, not only to his words but also to his tone of voice, she imagined the Waldron Waxton whom Gavin must have known . . . or thought he knew. The Earl of Waxton he spoke of sounded like a kindly elder brother, almost fatherly in his devotions. He sounded like a sensitive, dedicated husband who took his wife on tour.
Of course, it was all lies. Ellen knew him . . . or at least Thomasina had. The memory of her old name brought tears to her eyes and she looked away so that Gavin could not see them. It had been a long time since she had thought of Thomasina, poor little Thomasina, sold by her father at thirteen to be the bride of a man old enough to be her grandsire. Poor Thomasina, who had spent so many years in Havering House a prisoner not only of the walls but also of her husband's whims.
Ellen didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want to hear Waldron's lies and deceptions. She didn't want to remember the pain.
But she was compelled to hear the whole truth. She had to understand Gavin's position. She had to know if he was involved with Hunt. "You said she murdered him . . . the wife?" Ellen heard herself say softly.
"In cold blood." His voice was bitter and raspy. "She set fire to his lab and pushed him out the window. He fell several stories and broke his neck. He lived but a few minutes."
Long enough to tell Hunt about the letter, Ellen thought.
"I've since found out that their fight was probably due to his discovery of her infidelity to him. Of her many infidelities."
Liar! Ellen wanted to scream. Bloody whore-mongering lair! I was true to you, husband, and you knew it!
"Where—" Ellen's voice stuck in her throat, "where is she now?"
"I don't know. In the confusion of the fire and my brother's death, she escaped and was never found."
"If she was never found, she might well be dead," Ellen offered. Thomasina is dead. Long dead and gone. How could you pursue the woman who had to defend her own life? How can you persecute her after all she suffered at that beast's hands?
Of course, Gavin didn't know the truth about the circumstances. No one knew but she and Richard and, of course, Hunt.
Gavin flexed his hands, as if he could strangle the life from his brother's murderess with the motion. "I hid my identity, Ellen, because I wanted to find her. I wanted to see justice done. I wanted to see her hang for her crimes."
Ellen knew she was not past the point of no return. She would know all Gavin knew, or at least would admit to. If she was going to carry on this dangerous relationship, she had to at least know the odds. "And have you found her?"
"Perhaps."
Her brow knitted. "You don't know?"
"I'm very close. The thing is"—he met her gaze with his steady one—"since I've met you . . . since I've come to realize I love you, I'm not certain I care about Thomasina Waxton anymore."
A shiver coursed through Ellen's limbs at the sound of the man she loved speaking her name with such rancor. "I . . . I don't see what I have to do with this woman. Why lie to me?"
Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity) Page 17