Sweet Deception (Hidden Identity)

by Colleen French

  A smile touched Ellen's lips. He was a good man, Gavin Waxton. If only it could have been he her father had betrothed her to so many years ago . . . She pushed up her sleeves. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I'll need hot water—boil it first. And sharp scissors to cut these clothes off him. We've got to get these wounds clean before they start festering on him." He walked to the window and yanked open the drapes. "A good thread and needle, too."

  He came back toward her. "Got anything to drink?"

  She turned to go. "I'll see if the bastards left anything." When she reached the door, she turned back to Gavin. "But if he's barely conscious, you think we should give him brandy?"

  Gavin looked up from where he stood by the bed, carefully rolling Richard onto his side. "The brandy's not for Richard, sweet. It's for me."

  Late that night, when Richard's wounds were bandaged, his leg set in a splint, and he was sleeping under the influence of a strong drug, Ellen rose from the chair beside his bed and wandered down the dark hallway to find Gavin.

  The apartment was still in a shambles, but Rose had worked diligently all day, righting furniture and cleaning up broken glass. Salvageable paintings had been rehung on the walls and the soot had been washed from the floral wallpapers. The rooms didn't look good, but they certainly looked better. When the clock struck ten, Ellen had dismissed Rose, praising her and insisting she get a full night's rest. Ellen and Gavin would take turns watching over Richard tonight.

  Ellen found Gavin seated before the fireplace, his long legs sprawled out, his eyes closed, a chipped glass hanging from his fingertips.

  She smiled. What man would have done what Gavin did today for a practical stranger? Few would have done it for their own loved one. Gavin had been skillful and efficient in his ministering to Richard's wounds, taking great care not to put him in any more pain than necessary.

  Ellen slipped the glass from his hand and rested it on the mantel. Then she went back to him, kneeling at his feet. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she rested her head on his lap. She was tired to the bone, both her energy and emotions drained. She needed to feel Gavin close to her. She needed the reassurance of his strength. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you, Gavin Merrick."

  As she lay her cheek on his thigh, he stirred. "You know that's the first time you've said that in a long time," he murmured sleepily.

  She lifted her head to stare up into his eyes. "What?"

  "That you love me."

  "Of course, I love you."

  He stroked the back of her head with his hand. "I know you do. I'm just telling you, you don't say it very often." He smoothed her hair as she laid her head in his lap again. "I like it, Ellen. Even a man likes to hear those words. You're tired," he whispered. "I've had my nap. You go to bed and let me sit up with him."

  She lifted her head to smile up at his sleepy face. His hair was disheveled. His stock was missing, his shirt open at the neckline to reveal a sprinkling of dark curls. "I'd rather stay here with you."

  He reached out and lifted her into his arms, drawing her onto his lap. "Minx. Temptress. Witch." He nestled his face in the hollow of her neck, breathing deeply the scent of her fresh, clean hair.

  She caught his face between her palms, enjoying the roughness of the stubble. "I want to thank you for what you've done today . . . for Richard, for me," she whispered. "You're a good man."

  He nipped at her earlobe with his lips. "A good man who knows a good woman when he sees one."

  She let her eyes drift shut as he pressed kisses to the tender spot on her neck. "You didn't have to stay. You didn't have to help, but you did."

  His mouth found hers and he silenced her with a kiss. "Hush," he whispered, his tongue darting out to tease her lower lip. "Just kiss me, Ellen, love. Kiss me like you've never kissed another man . . . like you'll never kiss again."

  Something in his voice struck a chord in her and a sob escaped her lips. The love between them was so good, why couldn't it last forever? She cursed Waldron for the hundredth time that day as she pressed her lips to his younger brother's, kissing him hard with the force of her resentment.

  Gavin slipped his warm hand into her silk dressing gown and she sighed with pleasure. His rough fingertips found the bud of her breast and gently coaxed it to a peak. Ellen squirmed in his lap, molding her body to his, running her fingers through his long sleek hair as she reveled in his touch.

  When Gavin leaned to kiss her breast, she arched her back to aid him. Shivers of pleasure coursed through her veins, making her heart pound and her breath short.

  "Ellen, sweet Ellen," Gavin murmured as he pushed the dressing gown from her shoulders, baring her breasts in the warm light of the fire. "Tell me you'll love me always. Tell me you'll always be mine."

  "No promises," she whispered huskily in his ear. "Not tonight. Just love me for who I am at this moment, Gavin. Please, just love me."

  Gavin groaned in exasperation. He wanted more. He wanted commitment. But at this moment, he wanted her any way he could have her.

  Ellen sat up in his lap and pulled his shirt over his head, so she could run her palms over the muscular planes of his bare suntanned chest. When he hugged her against him, bare flesh caressed bare flesh, making her skin tingle.

  His mouth covered hers, his kisses deep and filled with desperation. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the fullness of her breasts, leaving a trail of desire that burned hotter with each passing moment.

  When Gavin lifted her to stand on her feet, she gave no protest. He joined her, standing face to face as he untied the belt of her dressing gown and let it slip to a silken puddle on the hardwood floor.

  When her fingers found the ties of his breeches, he smiled, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with amusement.

  "You've become bold," he teased as she unlaced the ribbons.

  "I've had a good teacher," she answered saucily.

  Gavin closed his eyes, sighing in pleasure as she pushed down his breeches and caressed his hardened shaft with her capable hands. "I love to touch you," she whispered breathlessly in his ear. "Like this, and this . . ."

  Gavin groaned. "You'll be the ruination of me," he managed thickly.

  She smiled in the semidarkness, her hand still moving to that mysterious rhythm all lovers know. As she stroked him, she found his nipple with her mouth and teased it to a rigid nub.

  "Enough! Enough," Gavin protested weakly. "Come sit with me, sweet."

  Their lips met again, their tongues darting to entwine and taste the nectar of passion. Then Gavin sat down, pulling her onto his lap, and with a little guidance she slid down over his tumescent member, crying out in delight from the new sensation.

  Gavin lifted and lowered his hips beneath her until she caught the rhythm, and then they moved as one. Her hands snaked around his neck and she held on to him tightly, breathing in the heavy scent of his masculinity, wanting the pleasure to go on forever but knowing it couldn't.

  When her strangled cry of sweet climax filled the room, Gavin's followed just behind her. They laughed together as they rode in the last waves of pleasure and then she sank against him, treasuring the feel of his body deep within hers.

  For a long time they sat with her straddling his lap, until finally she became so groggy with satiated love and exhaustion that he lifted her gently and carried her to her bedchamber.

  "Richard," she protested sleepily as she rested her cheek against his warm, bare chest.

  "I'll watch now. You sleep," he told her as he lowered her onto her bed. "I'll wake you if I need you."

  Her eyes fluttered open for a moment as he covered her with a soft sheet and coverlet. "Thank you," she whispered.

  He kissed her forehead. "For what?"

  She laughed, snuggling down in the covers and closing her eyes. "For everything. For being you. For accepting me and my secrets."

  He brushed a long lock of red hair from her cheek in a tender caress. "I could be even more accepting if you'd be my wife, Ellen."


  "I can't."

  "Tell me you'll consider it. It's all I ask."

  "I love you," she whispered, already half asleep as she rolled onto her side. "Isn't that enough?"

  "No. I need a commitment. A promise."

  She snuggled deeper into her pillow. "Ask me again tomorrow."

  He kissed the back of her head and leaned down to blow out the candle beside her bed. "I will. And the day after that and the day after that, until you say yes," he murmured to himself. Ellen was already asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gavin slipped a clean, pressed shirt over his head and reached for his lace cravat. Somewhere in the distance he heard the ringing of church bells. Christmastide had come to London again.

  He smiled to himself as he tied his stock. Tonight he and Ellen would celebrate in her apartments. He would have preferred to bring her here to his own place, to his own bedchamber to celebrate in intimate privacy, but Richard was still bedridden with his mending leg. Ellen refused to leave him except to go to the theater and for short shopping trips, so Gavin had little choice. If he wanted to be with Ellen, he would have to share her company with Chambray, for at least part of the evening.

  But forced to, Gavin would have to admit that in the last weeks, he had come to enjoy Chambray's company. The two men had much in common besides their love for the redheaded actress, and they got along well as long as both controlled their jealousies. Often, when Ellen went to the theater, Gavin came by to wile away a few hours playing slur and knap with Richard. It was odd to think of, but despite the circumstances, the two men had found friendship in each other.

  Gavin sat down on the edge of his tester bed to roll on his stockings, and his heel scraped something sharp on the floor. He lifted the bedskirt to find the culprit. The corner of a picture frame.

  The portrait of Thomasina Waxton, of course.

  In the activity of the last few weeks, he'd almost forgotten the haunting picture. He dropped down on his knees on the floor and eased it out from under the bed. He told himself that he had placed it there not wanting to offend Ellen by having the portrait of another woman in his bedchamber, but the truth was that he hadn't been ready to share the beauty with anyone. Not with Ellen, not with a servant, and not with one of his gentleman friends.

  Gavin carried the heavy framed picture across the room and leaned it up against a paneled chest of drawers. Eyeing the piece of artwork, he went back to the bed to roll on his other silk embroidered stocking. As he dressed, he studied the mysterious woman who had brought disaster to the Waxton family.

  It was strange, but the hate Gavin had once felt for this woman had dissipated. Somehow his relationship with Ellen had altered his desire for retribution. Nothing could bring his brother Waldron back, not even the capture and execution of the woman who had murdered him. Ellen had somehow made him see that, perhaps in showing him that life went on and that life was good.

  Yes, Gavin was beginning to think that it was time to give up his quest for Thomasina. He could have his brother's assets legally transferred to his own accounts and let the past slip into the shadow of his memory. It was time he put aside this obsession of finding the murderess and began to truly deal with the possibility of a future with Ellen.

  As Gavin stared at the portrait, searching his feelings, he found his need for revenge was gone. Now he felt only a stirring sense of curiosity.

  Who was Thomasina Waxton? Was she truly the woman Waldron had described, the woman Gavin perceived her to be? Just what did she look like? As vain as most women were, why had she turned her face away from the artist? Why had she not allowed him to capture her spirit? Judging from the name of the artist scrawled on the lower corner of the portrait, Waldron had no doubt paid an exorbitant sum for the sitting. Why had he allowed his wife to look away?

  Gavin slipped his feet into his heeled shoes and walked to the portrait on the far side of the room. Thoughtfully, he ran a finger along the dusty frame. He wondered what he should do with it. Have it destroyed? Send it back to Havering House? He was ready to give up his search for her, but was he ready to give up her picture?

  His gaze wandered to the paneled wall above the fireplace. An oil painting done by some obscure French artist had been hung there by the landlord or her decorator. Gavin had always detested the picture. The damned sails on the ship were blowing the wrong way!

  On impulse, he retrieved a straight-backed chair from the corner of the room and placed it on the hearth. Standing on the chair, he removed the seascape and set it on the floor. Carefully, he raised Thomasina's portrait to the paneled wall and hung it.

  Coming off the chair, he stepped back to admire the portrait. Twice he went back to raise a corner until it hung perfectly straight. Standing in the center of the room, he smiled. He would let Thomasina hang there until his curiosity was gone, and then he would send her back to Havering House to be auctioned off with his brother's other belongings. In America he would have no need for stiff portraits or the priceless Oriental antiques his elder brother had been fond of.

  With that settled, Gavin slipped on a burgundy shirtwaist and grabbed his coat from the bedpost. He would stop at the cookshop down the street to pick up Chambray's favorite pudding, and then he would be on his way. Just as he blew out the candles in the bedchamber, he heard a rap at the door.

  As Gavin swung open the door, he couldn't resist a frown.

  Hunt.

  "Waxton, good to find you in."

  "Your servant, sir." Gavin bowed, eyeing the two burly men that stood in the shadows behind Hunt. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

  Hunt glanced over Gavin's shoulder. "You're alone, I take it?"

  "Yes."

  Hunt smirked. "No ladies or strumpets in your boudoir?"

  "Quite alone, sir."

  "Might I come in, then? I see you've a vehicle waiting below, so I won't keep you."

  Gavin stepped back, letting the paneled oak door swing on its hinges. "Yes, I do have an engagement, but I've a moment." He kept his voice cordial but none too friendly. He didn't like Hunt and he didn't want him here. At first he had appreciated his interest in Waldron's death, but as the months passed, it had become clear to him that Hunt had ulterior motives. Gavin didn't know what they were, but he had learned enough about Hunt from reliable sources, including an intriguing conversation with Chambray, to know he wanted no part of the duke and his scheming.

  Gavin followed Hunt into the apartment and closed the door, leaving the duke's two men in the drafty hallway. Hunt walked to the fireplace and struck one of the typical court poses that Gavin found so absurd.

  Gavin crossed his arms over his chest stoically.

  "I understand the king has just signed the land grants for the Maryland Colony you've been waiting on." Hunt offered a bellicose smile.

  Gavin had, in fact, not been yet notified, but it was common knowledge that Hunt knew much of what went on at Whitehall, be it at the front or back stairs. "Yes . . ."

  "So I would guess you'll be departing soon."

  The two men stared at each other, each gauging his own position. There was obviously opposition here, but exactly what it was had not yet been stated.

  "When the weather permits. Early March, I should think."

  Hunt reached into the pocket of his gaudy green and gold coat and pulled out a white ferret with eyes the same pink hue as his own. As he went on to speak, he stroked the animal with a gentle hand. "I've heard nothing from you as of late concerning your brother's wife. My patience has worn thin, so I thought I would call on you myself."

  "I've been occupied with more pressing matters."

  "The redheaded whore at the theater, no doubt."

  Gavin didn't flinch. "I can't imagine a man of your position would be concerned with the company I keep."

  "You know she's not what she appears to be, your sweet Ellen." He almost spit the last words. "She has secrets . . . dark secrets some are aware of while others are not."

  I
t was obvious that Hunt was insinuating he knew something about Ellen that Gavin did not. For some reason that made Gavin furious, not because Hunt might have information that he didn't, but because the duke would think it mattered to Gavin.

  "Back to the subject of my brother's wife." Gavin paused for an instant before going on. "I've three shiploads of merchandise for my Maryland neighbors to transport when I return to the Colonies. That preparation has kept me too busy to concern myself with the missing woman. My solicitor has told me my brother's inheritance can be transferred into my name without locating the wife, so it's not imperative that I find her."

  "You have a duty to your brother, to your family, Waxton!"

  Gavin watched Hunt's eyes flicker with restrained anger. "I am the last of my family, sir. As I see it, it is now I who decide what is important and what is not. What I don't see is why this concerns you so greatly. Surely a man of your importance must have more pressing court matters to concern himself with."

  "I told you that when you located little Thomasina, I had need to speak with her."

  Gavin offered a hint of a sarcastic smile. "But you see I haven't found her."

  Hunt lifted the ferret and kissed it on its pinched face. "You're certain?"

  Gavin looked at the clock on the mantel behind Hunt. Ellen was expecting him. "Look here, I'm tired of your innuendos. You've suggested numerous times that you have information on the slattern but you do not offer it. I've lost interest in her. The truth is that I may well be too busy between now and when I set sail to spend any more time or money in searching for her."

  Hunt glowered, his voice raising an octave. "But I told you I need to speak with her."

  "So why not seek her yourself?" Gavin lifted an eyebrow. "You knew her. I didn't. You've hinted that you know she's near. If you feel a need to avenge my brother's death, why not do so?"

  Hunt went on stroking his pet. "It would be awkward."

  Gavin's eyes narrowed. "Awkward how?"

  "That, Lord Waxton, is none of your concern. What is your concern is the jade Thomasina Waxton and bringing her to me."