Deception

by Amanda Quick

  “I knew you would see the cleverness of my scheme.”

  “Quite right. And you need not trouble yourself with finding a house to let. As your man of affairs, I shall arrange for a suitable residence.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Chillhurst. I do not know what I would do without you.”

  Chapter 7

  The lecture rooms of the Musgrave Institution were only sparsely filled for Mr. Blanchard’s talk on travels in the West Indies.

  “Not at all as large as the crowd that turned out for Mr. Elkins’s wonderful discourse on his trip to the South Seas,” a plump woman seated next to Olympia confided. “But then I fear Mr. Blanchard’s manner of speaking is not nearly so entertaining as Mr. Elkins’s.”

  Olympia could not argue with that. Mr. Blanchard was obviously a well-traveled man gifted with a highly observant eye but he lacked the first qualification for speaking in public. He failed to entertain his audience.

  Olympia had attended the lecture with high hopes of gaining new information about the geography of the West Indies. It had become obvious from her reading of the Lightbourne diary that one of the keys to solving the puzzle was to locate the island Claire Lightbourne referenced, a small bit of land to the north of Jamaica.

  She had attempted to explain that to Jared last night while they were sharing their evening brandies but, as usual, he had changed the subject.

  Olympia, Jared, and the rest of the household, including Minotaur, had been settled in London for three days now. This was her first foray to an event sponsored by the Society for Travel and Exploration and she had been quite looking forward to it.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Blanchard’s dull talk was not holding her attention. She glanced down at the small watch pinned to her bodice and saw that it would be another half hour before Jared and the boys arrived to fetch her.

  Jared. In the privacy of her thoughts she called him by his Christian name. The degree of intimacy that she felt growing between them made it impossible to think of him as Mr. Chillhurst. She was careful to address him properly by his last name whenever she spoke to him aloud, however.

  It took considerable willpower to stay on formal terms when she was around him, though. Every time she encountered him in the hall or on the stairs, she was nearly overcome with a desire to throw herself into his arms. Their evenings together in her little study were becoming almost intolerable. Olympia did not know how much longer she could restrain herself.

  Adding to the thrilling tension was the knowledge that Jared was forced to exert an equal amount of self-discipline whenever he was near her.

  That very morning there had been another heart-stopping encounter in front of his bedchamber door. Olympia had been hurrying downstairs for breakfast, her vision obscured by a stack of journals and a globe that she was carrying. Jared had just stepped out into the hall.

  The collision that had ensued had been an act of fate as far as Olympia was concerned. She even wondered if some small part of her had actually planned it. After all, she had known precisely when Jared would leave his bedchamber. He was a man who valued habit and routine. After three mornings of listening to his movements on the other side of the wall that separated them, Olympia knew that Jared went downstairs at the stroke of seven.

  “Good heavens. I beg your pardon.” Olympia had staggered and clutched at the globe as Jared had turned away from the door and walked straight into her path.

  Even though she had come up on his blind side, his reaction had been swift and unhesitating. He had deftly caught the globe as it tumbled from her hands.

  “Your pardon, Miss Wingfield. Did you sleep well?”

  Olympia had been so riveted by the sight of him standing so close at such an early hour that she had had a difficult time answering the simple question. For a few seconds all she could do was gaze at him and wonder desperately if he would take the opportunity to kiss her.

  “Yes, I slept very well, Mr. Chillhurst,” she said, disappointed when he made no move to crush her mouth beneath his own. “And yourself?” How was she going to stand this every morning for an entire month? she wondered frantically.

  “I do not have much time for sleep lately,” Jared said. His gaze went to her lips. “At night my thoughts are filled with you, siren.”

  “Oh, Jared,” Olympia breathed. “I mean, Mr. Chillhurst.” An aching longing deep inside her made her feel curiously weak. “I think about you for the better portion of most nights, too.”

  Jared smiled his faint, slightly amused smile. “One of these nights we shall have to do something about our mutual problem or we shall never get any sleep.”

  Olympia’s eyes widened in dismayed understanding. “Yes, of course, I am no doubt creating havoc with your schedule. I am sorry to interrupt your routine, sir. I know how important it is to you. I realize that it is crucial for reasons of health to get a proper night’s sleep.”

  “I believe I shall survive, Miss Wingfield.”

  And then he had kissed her, right there in the hall. It had been a swift, stolen kiss taken after Jared had glanced about to make certain there were no young boys peeking out of their bedchambers.

  When it was over, he had calmly carried the globe downstairs for her.

  It seemed to Olympia that her lips were still tingling from the kiss. She straightened in her chair and tried to refocus her thoughts on the lecture.

  Hunched over his notes on the lectern, Mr. Blanchard droned on in a monotone that had already put several members of the audience to sleep. “In addition to sugar, the islands in the West Indies export a variety of goods including tobacco, coffee, shells, and timber. They must, of course, import nearly every item deemed necessary to civilized living.”

  Olympia’s mind began to wander again. She was here to learn about lost islands and legends, not imports and exports. To break the boredom she covertly examined the small group of people seated around her. Most were members of the Society for Travel and Exploration, which was sponsoring Mr. Blanchard’s lecture. No doubt she had corresponded with some of them. She wondered how to go about introducing herself after the talk.

  “Have you attended the other lectures in this series?” the plump woman whispered behind her gloved hand.

  “No,” Olympia admitted in a low voice. “I am a member of the society but I have only recently arrived in London. I have not had an opportunity to attend any of the public lectures until now.”

  “Pity you had to begin with this one. Mr. Duncan’s talk on the Ottoman Empire was quite fascinating.”

  “I was looking forward to this lecture because I am especially interested in the geography of the West Indies.”

  The woman leaned closer. “Are you, indeed? So are Mr. Torbert and Lord Aldridge. You must meet them.”

  Olympia was delighted. “I should love to meet them. I have read their papers on the West Indies in the quarterly journal.”

  “They are both here today. Sitting on opposite sides of the room of course.” The woman chuckled. “Expect you know that they are bitter rivals. Been feuding for years.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I shall be happy to introduce you to them. But first allow me to introduce myself. I am Mrs. Dalton.”

  “I am Miss Wingfield of Upper Tudway in Dorset,” Olympia said quickly. “So nice to meet you Mrs. Dalton.”

  Mrs. Dalton’s eyes widened in pleased surprise. “Not the Miss Wingfield who writes those wonderfully interesting papers on legendary treasures and unusual customs of other lands?”

  Olympia blushed. It was the first time anyone had actually complimented her on her work. No one in Upper Tudway even bothered to read the society’s quarterly journal.

  “I have written one or two articles of that nature, yes,” Olympia said in what she hoped was a modest manner.

  “My dear, this is quite exciting, not only for me, but for several other members of the society. As soon as Mr. Blanchard has finished his lecture, I must introduce you to everyone.”

  “That is
very kind of you.”

  “Not at all, you are practically a legend yourself my dear Miss Wingfield. Why, Torbert and Aldridge were saying just the other day that they would not think of leaving England without taking along one or two of your papers to guide them in their travels.”

  “Posing as a tutor? Outrageous. What devilish game are you playing, Chillhurst?” Felix Hartwell slanted a glance that was half-amused and half-respectfully wary at Jared.

  “I’m not at all certain I know the answer to that, Felix.” Jared’s mouth curved wryly. He kept his gaze on Ethan, Hugh, and Robert who were some distance away, struggling to get a new kite into the air.

  The kite had been purchased shortly after they had all escorted Olympia to the Musgrave Institution. After seeing her safely inside the lecture rooms, Jared had taken the boys to a nearby park and sent a message around to Felix.

  Felix had appeared within minutes. That was one of the many things Jared appreciated about his trusted man of affairs. Felix had the same respect for punctuality as Jared. They had worked well together over the years and Jared had come to consider Felix a friend, virtually the only one in whom he could confide.

  Indeed, the two men were much alike in many ways, Jared acknowledged. They both had calm, unemotional—some said dull—natures. They shared a logical, pragmatic approach to both personal affairs and matters of business. Two men with the souls of tradesmen, as his father would say, Jared thought.

  But things had changed recently. Jared wondered how Felix would react when he learned that his employer had become a helpless victim of passion.

  Felix snorted. “I know you too well to believe that you do not know what you are doing and why, Chillhurst. You never do anything without forethought and planning. It is not in your nature to act on whim or fancy, sir.”

  “You see before you a changed man.” Jared glanced at Felix and grinned briefly.

  Felix stared back, amazed. Jared was not surprised. After all, he himself was still coming to grips with this new aspect of his personality. It was no wonder that Felix should be stunned and somewhat confused by the transformation.

  Although he corresponded with him frequently, it had been several months since Jared had last seen his man of affairs in person. The last occasion had been when Felix had journeyed to Jared’s home on the Isle of Flame off the coast of Devon in order to spend a fortnight reviewing Flamecrest business plans.

  Jared rarely traveled to London. He much preferred the spectacularly rugged landscape of his island home to the shallow glitter of the city.

  Although he saw him infrequently, it seemed to Jared that Felix changed little over the years. Felix was a man of the town and it showed in the softness of his hands and the fashionable cut of his coat. His friendly, open features concealed a shrewd intelligence that Jared valued highly.

  “Changed? You?” Felix chuckled. “Not likely. I have never known a more deliberate strategist in my life. Working for you is like working for a consummate chess player. I cannot always envision how the moves will play out, but I have learned that you are always in command of the game.”

  “I am not playing chess this time.” Jared watched, pleased, as the colorful kite took to the air. Ethan and Hugh cheered and started to run after Robert who was dashing off, string in hand. “Indeed, fate has made a helpless toy of me. I am rather like that kite at the moment. A creature born to ride the airy vapors.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “You may as well know, Felix, I have surrendered to the powerful forces of raw passion.”

  “Raw passion? You? Chillhurst, you are talking to me, Felix Hartwell. I have been your agent here in London for nearly ten years. I know more about your business affairs and the way you manage them than anyone else on the face of the earth. I suspect I know more about you than anyone else, because we are alike in temperament.”

  “That is very true.”

  “It certainly is. And if there is one thing I know for certain about you, it is that you are not a man who is guided by passions of any sort. You are a paragon of self-control, sir.”

  “Not anymore.” Jared thought of the kiss he had given Olympia that morning in the hall outside his bedchamber. A hot rush of pleasure went through him. Residing under the same roof as the object of his desire was proving to be the sweet torture he had envisioned. His only consolation was knowing that Olympia was suffering, too. “I have heard the siren’s call and I am lost.”

  “Siren?”

  “Otherwise known as Miss Olympia Wingfield.”

  “Sir, are you amusing yourself at my expense?” Felix asked bluntly. “Because if so, I wish you would have done with the jest.”

  “Alas, I do not jest.” Jared had given Felix a brief summary of events but he had not bothered to explain the matter of the Lightbourne diary and how it had led him to Olympia. The diary, after all, had ceased to matter. “Do you know something, Felix? For the first time in my life, I begin to comprehend the antics of the members of my own family.”

  “Allow me to tell you, Chillhurst, that no one could comprehend the bizarre fits and starts of your family. No offense, but you are the only rational member of the clan and well you know it. You have told me so, often enough.”

  “Blood will tell, apparently.” Jared smiled again. “Who could be rational and deliberate when one is swept by the flames of immoderate passions?”

  Felix stiffened and inclined his head in a brusque, offended fashion. “My lord, I do not comprehend any of this. The thought of you masquerading as a tutor in order to pursue this odd Miss Wingfield is beyond belief. You are not the sort to develop immoderate passions.”

  Jared’s humor faded. “I should make something clear, Felix. I do not want any of this to go any further. Miss Wingfield’s reputation is at stake.”

  Felix shot Jared a quick, searching glance and then looked away. “After all these years, sir,” he said very quietly, “I would hope that you could trust me not to reveal a confidence.”

  “Of course, I trust you,” Jared said. “If I did not, we would not be having this conversation. Now, then, in addition to not revealing the fact that I am employed as a tutor to Miss Wingfield’s nephews, I must ask you not to tell anyone that I am even in London.”

  Felix’s expression sharpened with sudden comprehension. His eyes reflected a measure of what might have been acute relief. “Ah, then you are indeed involved in one of your infamously clever schemes. I knew it.”

  Jared saw no reason to explain himself further. Romantic passion was, after all, a private affair. “You will oblige me by keeping secret my presence here in town?”

  “Of course.” Felix’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “As you almost never come to London and do not go about in Society when you do, no one is likely to ask after you.”

  “I assumed as much. I am also counting on the fact that very few people recognize me on sight.”

  “There is little risk of your being recognized by even the handful of people who do know you, sir.” Felix’s expression was wry. “You are obviously not planning to move in polite circles and no one would think to look for you in that small house in Ibberton Street.”

  “That little house is just what I wanted, Felix. It is a residence perfectly suited to the requirements of a family of modest means from the country. As long as I avoid the clubs and fashionable haunts, I should be able to move about London with complete anonymity.”

  Felix chuckled. “You could probably ride unnoticed in Hyde Park so long as you took your three young charges with you. People see only what they expect to see. I assure you no one will expect to see the Viscount Chillhurst acting as a tutor.”

  “Precisely.” Jared was relieved that the intelligent, pragmatic Felix actually saw some logic to the crazed scheme. His own judgment, Jared knew, was no longer to be trusted. “We should all be quite safe.”

  Felix slanted him a questioning glance. “Safe from what, sir?”

  “Disaster,” Jared said.


  “What sort of disaster?”

  “Why, discovery, of course,” Jared said. “There is always the threat of being found out in a situation such as this and I fear the consequences. It is much too soon.”

  Felix began to look concerned again. “Too soon, my lord?”

  “Yes. Wooing a siren is a tricky business, Felix, and one in which I have had no experience whatsoever. I would not want the entire project to come crashing down around my ears before the proper groundwork has been laid.”

  Felix heaved a sigh. “If I did not know you better, sir, I would say that you have become as odd as the rest of your family.”

  Jared laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “A chilling thought.”

  “Indeed. No offense, my lord.”

  “Do not concern yourself, Felix. I am hardly likely to take offense at the truth. No one can deny that my family does have a certain reputation for producing Originals.”

  “Yes, sir.” Felix hesitated. “Perhaps I should just mention one thing that you may wish to bear in mind.”

  “What is that?”

  “Demetria Seaton is in town. She is Lady Beaumont now, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Jared kept his voice even.

  “I have heard that Lord Beaumont is in London seeking yet another cure for his small, but apparently rather persistent problem.”

  “Still cannot beget himself an heir, I take it?”

  “It never ceases to amaze me how well informed you are, Chillhurst, considering the fact that you almost never come to town. You are quite right. The on dit is that Beaumont cannot even consummate his recent marriage.”

  “Indeed?” That fact was hardly likely to bother Demetria, Jared thought.

  “Apparently even the presence of the lovely Lady Beaumont in his bed is not sufficient to help him overcome his impotence,” Felix murmured.

  “A pity. But I suspect that Lady Beaumont is not entirely unhappy with the situation,” Jared said.