Double Deceit

by Allison Lane

  He’d known that revealing the truth would cause trouble. In fact, he’d racked his brains all the way to the house, searching for a way to broach the subject. But never had he pictured this.

  He had postponed confessing once too often, he admitted as grief penetrated the shock, lashing his heart in its turn.

  He’d been wrong. The pain was already worse.

  Someone must have written to her, for she’d been clutching a letter through much of her diatribe. Though how anyone could have known—

  The how didn’t matter. Only the result. She was so incensed that she refused to listen, refused to think, refused even to recognize the facts staring her in the face.

  Recalling her disbelief sent his temper soaring. It had been wishful thinking to hope she might care. Even a mild tendre would have prompted her to listen. But she hadn’t. Miss Holier-than-thou Vale wanted everything her way. She could do whatever she wanted, but everyone else must be a saint.

  Damn her to hell! And damn himself for forgetting how scheming and cunning women were. One couldn’t trust them a moment. She might well have conceived this farce so she could wrest control of her dowry while he was reeling from shock. It was the sort of ploy her father often used.

  Ringing for Simms, he stuffed clothes into valises, letting the anger build. She was as arbitrary as his father – blind, deaf, unwilling to accept anything that didn’t fit her neat little image of the world. Damn her for acting so confounded superior when her own sins were as bad as his. He should have known that Sir Winton would never have produced an honest daughter.

  Idiot!

  “Tony—” Jon was pushing the door open.

  “Pack. We’re leaving,” he ordered. “I want to be out of here in five minutes.”

  “But—”

  “Move! If you aren’t ready, you can find your own way home.” He flung one valise toward the door while dumping cravats into the other.

  Jon’s gasped.

  “Well?”

  “Immediately.” He ran for his room.

  The coachman was slow, but they pulled away only ten minutes later. Murch’s frown followed them down the drive.

  * * * *

  Alex retched until the pain in her stomach matched that in her heart, then cried until she was dry. Then she repeated the cycle. She finally shoved the sodden pillow aside, disgusted with herself for caring. He wasn’t worth this much upset. He certainly wasn’t worth tears.

  How could she have been so stupid? The signs had been there from the beginning. He was a schemer and liar of the first order, who hadn’t had time to get comfortable in his role before arriving – which explained his nervousness when she’d questioned him that first night. At the very least, she should have suspected manipulation when she realized that he knew Bushnell. Torwell supposedly knew no one.

  Damn the man! How dare he sneak into her house and steal her heart? How dare he feed her dreams – and even incite new ones – then dash them to pieces, grin, and walk away? That bow had mocked her even more than his scorn.

  Deformed freak … meant your character…

  The words sliced deep, hurting more than everything her father had said in six-and-twenty years. New tears coursed down her cheeks, sending her back to the chamber pot.

  Thought you might be different … scheming jade … hiding behind her skirts … coward … coward … coward…

  She moaned, stifling the sound in a pillow. “What have I done?”

  No more than you had to.

  It was true, she insisted, whipping up her fury. How dare he hide from what all the world knew, then blame her for protecting herself? He could protest until his face turned blue about his innocence, but people did not make up tales. No one woke up one morning with the bright idea of ruining Tony Linden’s life.

  He was the villain. He was the schemer. Dear God, why had she been born a woman? It left her vulnerable to wretches like Linden. Even his respect had been a lie. He’d manipulated her from the start so he could get what he wanted. He cared nothing for her, even using her most cherished dreams against her. Life was unfair.

  A soft rap penetrated her fuming.

  “Who is it?”

  “Sarah. I need to talk to you.”

  “Not today.”

  “Are you ill?”

  She exhaled slowly, forcing control over her voice. “I am fine, Sarah. But I do not wish to be disturbed today.”

  The door rattled, but the lock held. “Alex! We have to talk.”

  “No!” she shouted, desperate to be alone. “Get out.”

  “What is wrong, Alex?”

  She gave up responding, unwilling to explain. The burst of fury had died, leaving excruciating pain and desolation behind. Clasping pillows over her head to deaden Sarah’s voice, she sank into misery.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “For the last time, no! I will not return. I will not wed that scheming witch. And I will not listen to another word!” Tony twisted sideways to stare out the window.

  “The tiff cannot be that serious,” protested Jon. “I have never seen two people so perfectly suited.”

  “Enough, Jon.” Anger faded into weariness. “I am pleased that you are betrothed, and I understand that you want us to share your joy, but neither of us is interested. If you continue harassing me, I will have to ride on the box.”

  The carriage fell blessedly silent.

  Hard travel had exhausted him, numbing his wounds, though the agonizing pain still lurked, ready to pounce the moment he relaxed. Yesterday, he had stopped only long enough to change horses until Jon’s concern for the coachman had prompted a brief midnight halt at an inn. But despite a sleepless night and long day, he’d found no rest, plagued by nightmares whenever he dozed off, each harsher than the last. Now the sun was again setting, its last rays turning a passing tree red.

  The same red as her hair.

  No!

  Remembering was pointless, he reminded himself. Forgiveness was an alien concept to Miss Lying-Through-Her-Teeth Merideth-Vale. She wanted absolutes in her life – absolute honesty, absolute purity, absolute respect for her talents. Well, she could have her absolutes. He was absolutely gone and he would stay that way.

  He recognized the church spire in the distance. They would push on for another three hours before stopping. A dawn start would bring them to Linden Park by three. Speaking with his father was a meeting neither would enjoy, but he could not postpone it. Only days remained before they must be gone.

  She would never forgive him. She might have eventually done so if his only crime had been that insane deception. But he’d lost his temper, deliberately hurting her in childish retaliation for his own pain, tossing out words he knew would slice deep into her heart. He’d watched each one hit, taking satisfaction at every cringe, every blink, every tightening of her fists. It had been a stupid revenge. He shouldn’t have done it. Every one of her flinches had scraped a new strip from his soul. And he had stepped outside the bounds of civilized conduct.

  Maybe she was right. His character was fatally flawed. He might protest that he was innocent, but his reputation was a product of his own behavior. New anger had prompted a tirade consistent with that reputation, despite being alien to Torwell’s usual conduct and his own self-image. The hole he’d dug himself into was now six feet deep, and the coffin lid was sealed. He was the last person on earth she would consider forgiving.

  So he must move on. Once he confessed this latest failure and made what peace he could with his father, he would look to the future. Yesterday’s plans were even sounder without the added expense of a wife and family. He could not allow his mother to suffer. Sharing a roof with his father would be a well-deserved punishment for throwing his reputation to the dogs.

  * * * *

  When Tony entered the study, Linden ignored him. He’d drawn his favorite wing chair close to the fire, but not a muscle moved as he stared at the flames. In the weeks since their last meeting, he had aged at least ten years.

>   “Father?” Though nervous, he sat in the other chair. This was a time for confession and compromise, not confrontation. Pacing or looming above Linden’s head would create the wrong impression.

  “I am surprised that you returned.” His voice lacked its usual harshness. “There is little point. Sir Winton’s trustee will take charge in two days.”

  This was not the reception he had expected. He scrambled to revise his planned opening as his father continued.

  “But at least this gives me an opportunity to beg your forgiveness.”

  “It is done. Nothing can be changed. As you pointed out at our last meeting, the estate was yours to dispose of as you pleased.”

  “That is not what I meant.” Linden shifted, revealing the tension his pose had hidden, a tension growing from pain rather than the anger and arrogance he usually radiated. “The estate was a family treasure, to be guarded and nourished by each custodian until it passed to the next generation. When we last spoke, I was still trying to deflect responsibility for my poor stewardship.”

  “I understand. We all find ways to excuse ourselves, but it is done.” He was more uncomfortable than if the man had ranted in his usual way. At least he knew how to deal with that.

  “Yes, it is done, but I must apologize. Losing everything is my well-deserved punishment for a lifetime of poor decisions and inexcusable arrogance. I can live with that. What I find hard to accept is that others must also pay for my crimes – you, your mother, the servants, the tenants…

  “This is not necessary, Father.” Had the man been drinking again? Never before had he been maudlin. But a quick glance found no sign of wine.

  Linden bit his lip. “I do not expect forgiveness, but at least hear me out.”

  Tony nodded. Listening hurt, but he’d been on the other end of that request only three days ago. Refusing made him no better than Miss Vale. If he ever hoped to build rapport with his father, he must let him explain.

  “I have ruined your life, for you would never have followed this course had I not railed so loudly against it.”

  “Perhaps, though I have made plenty of mistakes on my own.”

  “I wanted to protect you from repeating my errors.” He seemed not to have heard the interruption. “You were such a bright child, Tony. Happy and healthy, with charm to spare. I prayed that you would always remain happy, but I feared what would happen when you grew older. You were so like my brother Daniel – and me.”

  Tony stared, unable to recognize this blue-deviled man as the disapproving autocrat he usually faced. Something was happening that he couldn’t explain. Had Linden spent the entire month in maudlin contemplation? “What do you mean?”

  “I was wild as a youth,” Linden admitted, briefly raising his eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “As was Daniel, though he quieted once he married. Thank God Jonathan inherited that calm while avoiding Daniel’s instability.”

  “What tale is this?”

  Linden shrugged. “I should have told you years ago. Daniel ran berserk one day, killing his wife and then himself. Explosive tempers are the family curse.”

  “My God.” He’d always thought Jon’s parents had died in a carriage accident. Did Jon know the truth?

  “In my case, temper combined with the arrogance of knowing I was heir to a title. My father’s discourses on the exalted deeds of our ancestors made that arrogance worse. I never allowed anyone to question my actions – which cost me dearly enough. If someone challenged my courage or my expertise, I had to prove them wrong. Winton Vale took advantage of that failing. I lost a good portion of my allowance to him nearly every quarter. Though I knew I was a terrible card player, I would invariably respond to his taunts and dares by accepting a game. He always won.”

  Biting his lip to remain quiet, Tony sifted the words. He had never met anyone whose luck was consistently out, so it was more likely that Sir Winton had already mastered the art of sharping cards. Even if prudence prevented him from cheating others, Linden had been an unsuspecting victim.

  He knew other men who needed to prove themselves superior. They jumped at any challenge, never considering the consequences. Some complained loudly and bitterly when they lost – and fought frequent duels when their complaints included charges of cheating. Others crawled away to lick their wounds in private, feeling ill-used. But none learned anything from the experience. So why had he never detected such a fault in his father?

  “When I reached London, I tried to avoid him,” Linden continued. “But he had a knack for finding me when I was in my cups, then talking me into just one game. But my luck was always out with him.”

  He leaned forward to dangle his hands between his legs, turning toward the fire so he could only see Tony by looking over his shoulder. “My skill had improved with time and study, so I played often with others, amassing a fortune to protect me from Winton. But even skill does not guarantee success. The culmination of my folly occurred two years after you were born. Winton was not in London, so I feared nothing. I was well into the second bottle when Lady Luck deserted me. Hand after hand fell to my opponent. By evening’s end, he held vowels for nearly everything I owned. In desperation, I offered one last wager – Linden Park against that mound of vowels, the winner to be decided on a single cut of the cards.”

  “My God.”

  He glanced back. “Insanity. I agree. I turned up a four and was calculating how long it would take to stagger home and put an end to my life—”

  Another gasp escaped his throat.

  “—when he drew a three. I’d escaped by the narrowest of margins. Even drunk, I swore I would never wager again. By morning, I’d renewed that vow. I left London immediately and never returned, fearful that a taunt would draw me into another game. And I swore that somehow I would keep you from making the same mistake. Yet in the end, I broke both vows. Sir Winton found me, enticing me into a game of dice. And I drove you into the very trouble I had hoped to avoid.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Don’t be kind, Tony. I know you would never have pursued the course you’ve taken without my constant nagging.”

  “True. Tossing my reputation away in response to your pressure was stupid – though even that first year, my behavior was never as sordid as gossip suggested. And it has been many years since it matched at all.”

  Linden again glanced over his shoulder, then sighed. “Then I have more to repent than I thought, for my continued laments over your excesses must have contributed to public perception.”

  “Undoubtedly.” This was one point that he would not concede. He had done nothing for at least eight years that would support that reputation, yet it continued to grow.

  “Our last meeting was the first time I suspected I might have been wrong,” he said wearily. “You reminded me that you have never overspent your allowance. It was not a point I had considered, but I cannot think of a single friend whose children can make that claim. How can you support yourself? You receive no more from the estate than I did forty years ago, but surely prices have risen. If you won significant amounts at the table, rumor would have reported it.”

  “Actually, I have done little gaming of any kind since leaving school,” he admitted. “And even in school, I usually won as much as I lost – not that you would have heard; one large loss is noteworthy while ten minor wins pass unnoticed.”

  “And I suppose you will claim that those very sordid house parties you attend are merely a way to reduce expenses?” This time his voice contained a hint of his usual displeasure.

  “Gossip.” Tony shook his head. “Once one acquires a lurid reputation, people will believe any tale. While I am sure that such parties exist – though not as many as rumor would have us believe – I have never attended one. But that has become the accepted explanation for any absence from town. I’m sure most of society believes I am engaged in yet another orgy right now.”

  “Then where do you go?”

  He paced the room, though he had decided even
before arriving home that he would have to reveal everything. “I realized long ago that nothing would overturn the reputation my temper had created. Yet it barred me from pursuing any of my interests. I could have become yet another useless fribble content to prance about London until the title fell into my hands, but society bores me, and I have never aspired to leisure. So my only choice was to become someone else. Because he cannot risk meeting anyone who knows Tony Linden, Mr. Torwell is a recluse. Yet his excavations have drawn considerable interest in antiquarian circles.”

  “You dig up remains?” demanded Linden.

  “Roman sites in remote areas, for most of each summer. I’ve been fascinated by the past since finding a Roman denarius in the stream twenty years ago. Torwell is now considered an authority on the period.” He spotted several copies of The Edinburgh Review on a shelf. Opening a six-months-old volume, he dropped it in his father’s lap.

  “Regional Differences in Roman Mosaic Design, a comparative study of themes and ornamentation found in decorative flooring from Lincolnshire and Gloucestershire,” Linden read, each word sounding more incredulous than the last. “You wrote this?”

  He nodded.

  “Yet you’ve never shown the least interest in that site Frosham is so proud of.”

  “Who do you think discovered it?”

  “B-but that was fourteen years ago.”

  “I didn’t consider how that coin might have washed into the stream until several years after finding it. Its condition was too good to have tumbled for long, so I poked about upstream, finally stumbling across Frosham’s villa. I had to return to school, so I could not do the actual excavation, but I had dug out enough to know what he had.”

  “I’ve never known you at all, have I?”

  “That is as much my fault as yours, Father. I was too stubborn to admit that your antagonism grew from concern, and even after I realized that my rebellion was childish – and was hurting me far more than you – I made no attempt to reveal the truth. But we can discuss that later. Now we need to consider the future. I tried to regain the estate by offering for Miss Vale, but I handled it very badly.” He explained his sojourn at Vale House, though deleting any mention of her villa. “She will never forgive me, so the estate is truly lost.”