The Rake's Bargain

by Lucy Ashford

  Deborah listened very carefully, knowing that what Beau said to her, and her understanding of it, might affect the rest of her life.

  ‘Paulette made advances to me,’ Beau said. ‘Both before her betrothal to Simon, and after it. I made it plain from the very start that I wasn’t interested in her, but unfortunately she wasn’t deterred. If anything, she became even more determined—for example, she planted herself in my bedroom one night, shortly before her marriage.’

  Deb let out a low exclamation of horror. He took her hand. ‘Believe me, I made my disgust all too apparent, and she didn’t try again. But she made my brother endure a few months of what I’d guess was a hellish marriage. First, she retreated to Norfolk—and then in March she ran away for good, as you know, with an extremely rich Italian admirer of hers. From Venice, she wrote to Simon to say that she and I had been lovers, both before and after his marriage. A final, bitter act—and it all but destroyed my brother.

  ‘Simon wrote to me at Brandon Abbey, as soon as he received Paulette’s poisonous letter, and he accused me of seducing his wife. I wrote back immediately, to say that it was all a terrible lie. But by then he’d set off to ride to Brandon Abbey overnight. He told his friends in London that he had an affair of honour to settle.’

  Deb hardly dared move. She could hardly breathe, even, for the terrible intensity of his emotions.

  ‘So he rode in the dark,’ Beau went on, ‘in a drunken rage, to challenge me to a duel—though I’m pretty sure that at that point, he would have much preferred to kill me without the fuss of pistols at dawn. He never reached Brandon Abbey. He fell from his horse on the turnpike road just north of London, and broke his neck. He was found in the ditch the next morning.’

  Deb said very quietly, ‘Couldn’t you have warned him before his marriage, about Paulette’s approaches to you?’

  ‘I tried. He didn’t listen to me.’ He dragged his hand through his hair. ‘He never would listen to me. You see, he always thought that he was second best to me. I think that he hated me.’

  She sat down. She was shivering deep inside. ‘But Beau, from everything you’ve said, I’ve always formed the impression that you loved him. You wanted to protect him. Why should he hate you?’

  ‘There’s one word for that, I’m afraid. Jealousy.’ He was standing before her now, his blue eyes dark with intensity and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his beautiful dark grey tailcoat. ‘Simon was weak. Oh, he was charming, he was handsome, but all in all he felt he could never best me. He could not forgive me for the fact that I would be the one to get the title and the estate. I was twenty-five when I inherited the dukedom, and though I gave Simon a London house and lands in Bedfordshire, he accepted it all as surlily as if I was throwing scraps to a dog. I told you how he attempted a career in the army. But they threw him out in less than a year, because of his gambling and drinking.’

  He realised that all the time she was listening to him with a burning intensity. Self-rebuke slammed into him like an iron fist. How could he ever have thought that she was anything like Paulette? Physically, yes—enough for them to be briefly mistaken for one another. But Deborah O’Hara was beautiful. Undeniably, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, and he had no idea how this was going to end, but he didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t bear to lose her.

  She was gazing at him with her clear, lovely eyes. ‘So you guessed from the beginning, that he might have gambled away the Brandon jewels?’

  ‘Indeed. From the moment I saw that the jewel case was empty, it was my biggest fear. Simon’s gambling made my family vulnerable. Even worse, it made Simon vulnerable. When I first met you, I thought that you might be able to uncover, far more subtly than I could, what had happened to the jewels. I was almost relieved to find out that Simon had apparently given them to Paulette. But then it turned out that my brother had gambled them away, after all.’

  He paused and looked directly at her. ‘Do you remember that day at the lake, when I was so hateful to you? And I told you that I’d rescued Simon from swimming there? I didn’t tell you everything. I didn’t tell you that the night before I’d saved him, I told him I’d paid off an enormous gaming debt of his, and that it was the very last time I would do so. The next day he drank himself into a stupor, then tried to drown himself in the lake. I followed him. I rescued him.

  ‘Afterwards, Simon said, “Damn you, Beau. You always have to be there for me, don’t you?”’

  ‘I’m sorry. So sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I begged Simon not to marry Paulette Palfreyman,’ he went on. ‘He was furious with me for interfering. “Still trying to belittle me,” he said. And I wish to hell I hadn’t been, as always, the one to be proved right.’ His voice was very low now. ‘I find it hard to live with the fact that my brother died wishing he could hold a duelling pistol at my head. And what is impossible to bear is the threat of Palfreyman spreading that very fact all around the town.’

  ‘And falsely blackening your name,’ Deb whispered, horrified. ‘This is dreadful for you. But surely there’s something you can do?’

  ‘I’ll stop Palfreyman from talking, of course. In the heat of his so-called “discovery” about Paulette and me, he’s quite forgotten why he agreed to participate in my plan in the first place. He’s forgotten how terrified he is, of the shame he’d face, if it became known how his daughter cheated and lied and ran from her marriage.’

  He smiled at Deb tiredly. ‘I’ll remind him once more that we both have a vested interest in keeping all this quiet. There’s absolutely no need for you to worry.’

  ‘Beau,’ she breathed, ‘this is so unfair. It sounds to me as if you’ve done your best for your family, always, and you’ve been repaid with all this. With a brother who hated you. And a sister-in-law whose family are intent on ruining your reputation.’

  ‘Life has its—surprises,’ he acknowledged, ‘even when you’re a Duke. For example, only the other month I was waylaid in a forest, by a bunch of quite shameless vagabonds...’

  She’d risen to her feet and was walking towards him. ‘I can’t tell you how much I regret that. If there’s anything I can do, about my uncle...’

  He’d caught her hand and was gazing at her intently. ‘I’ll tell you what you can do,’ he said. ‘You can believe in me. You can trust me. I have to go now, I’m afraid. I have a longstanding business appointment, but as soon as that’s over, I shall take steps to ensure that Palfreyman’s slanders are cut off at the root.’ His eyes searched her face gravely. ‘You will be here for me tonight, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ she said steadily.

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, but as soon as he was gone, she went to her valise and pulled out one of the books she’d hidden, because there was something she really had to do. Hugh Palfreyman had done his best to destroy her mother, and to try to ruin her Players. Now he was attempting to ruin the reputation of a man who was brave and self-sacrificing and honourable—and she wasn’t going to let him.

  Somehow she felt that her anger was steadying her as she hurried through the rain, swathed in her black cloak and veiled bonnet, to Hugh Palfreyman’s house in nearby Curzon Street. So much had happened since Beau had told her that she, a travelling actress, was about to play her biggest part yet. And she’d played it well. She’d actually become Paulette in the eyes of society, and in doing so she’d come to know who Beau really was. She’d seen the strength and the honour beneath the chilly mask he wore—was forced to wear—for a society that was all too ready to pounce on the least sign of weakness in any member of such a prominent family.

  She’d experienced a tenderness and passion she didn’t know existed in his arms, and now she was trying her hardest not to imagine her future; because she could not see any way out except hurt—unimaginable hurt—for herself. But she felt instinctive, rebellious rage welling up as s
he waited in the Palfreymans’ reception room for her uncle to receive her. Looking around, she realised that once she would have been intimidated by its grandeur, but now Palfreyman’s attempts at over-ornate luxury looked as contemptible as he was. Yes, she thought, he was contemptible, for threatening to expose Simon’s sad end. To try to contaminate the Duke’s reputation with his lies.

  Remember to control your anger and it will make you strong, Gerald O’Hara used to tell her. And perhaps it was true, for when Hugh Palfreyman came in at last and she rose to face him, Palfreyman looked just a little afraid.

  ‘Now—what’s this?’ he blustered. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

  ‘I though I’d pay you a visit, Uncle.’ Deb was smiling sweetly, but something in her voice made him take a step backwards.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You are giving yourself airs and graces, aren’t you?’

  Without saying anything, she walked slowly over to a table full of curios, on which stood various gilded ornaments and a portrait of Paulette. She gazed at the portrait, then at him. ‘I’ve saved your daughter’s reputation, Uncle,’ she reminded him softly. ‘If everyone were to know what she’d really done—that she’d run off into exile with her Italian lover, and caused her own husband’s death with her vicious lies about the Duke—then you would never dare to set foot in society again.’

  He muttered, ‘A pity the Duke could not have improved your manners, slut.’

  She stepped towards him. ‘What did you just say—Uncle?’

  He flushed and looked furious. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Because now, you’re going to listen to me for a change.’

  And she told him.

  She told him that she had his books of erotica, with his name inscribed in the front of each one. She told him that if he didn’t immediately retract his threat to expose the fact that Simon Beaumaris died while riding to challenge his brother to a duel, she would make sure that all of London society knew about Palfreyman’s secret library.

  She patted her pocket. ‘I have one of your books in here, Uncle. And two others, very safely hidden, believe me.’

  For a moment he was speechless, but then a torrent of abuse began to spill from his mouth. ‘You must have got the books from those travelling thieves, the Lambeth Players,’ he spluttered. ‘The rogues must have sold them on to you!’

  ‘Wrong on two counts, Uncle. Firstly, the Lambeth Players are not thieves and rogues. Secondly, they didn’t sell them to me. I stole them from you myself—because I’m one of the Lambeth Players.’

  Palfreyman was backing away from her, stunned. ‘You’re one of them?’

  ‘I’m one of them, yes. As my mother was. You tried to have the Players prosecuted, but you underestimated us. I know about your secret room; I know about the hypocrisy of your life as a Justice of the Peace. So here’s my plan. You will contact the Duke as soon as possible—tonight would be ideal—and you will apologise for threatening to reveal the fact that the Duke’s sadly misguided brother was about to challenge him to a duel. You will grovel to his Grace for daring to make the false claim that the Duke had an affair with your daughter. For you know, and I know, that his Grace the Duke of Cirencester has always acted with integrity and with complete honour.’

  Palfreyman looked as grey as death.

  ‘Well? Do you agree?’ she persisted calmly. ‘Will you apologise to the Duke for your vile slanders?’

  ‘Yes.’ He wiped the perspiration from his forehead. ‘Yes, I will, very soon...’

  Suddenly the big door flew open and Palfreyman swung round to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. ‘I’ve got an even better idea,’ said his Grace the Duke of Cirencester. ‘You can apologise to me right now, Palfreyman.’

  * * *

  When Beau had returned from seeing his lawyers and found her room empty, his first emotion had been bewilderment, followed by temporary relief, for he could see straight away that she hadn’t left. All her belongings were still here. But where was she?

  She was always so reckless. Whatever she was about to do, she should have consulted him. She should have trusted him...

  He stopped, closing his eyes briefly. Why in God’s name should she trust him?

  Utterly selfishly, he’d dragged her to London to solve the mystery of the jewels, and to let society see that she was paying her dues to his dead brother. And his plan had actually worked.

  But he’d gone further than that. He’d seduced her.

  She’d never pretended to be an innocent—with those books of hers, she’d even made out that she was a professional courtesan. But it hadn’t seemed to him, when she was lying in his arms, as if she was used to being paid. She made love to him as if she was giving him something she wasn’t prepared to give to anyone else.

  He stood in the centre of her room, breathing in the faint and delicious perfume of her soap, wondering where she’d gone, and why. And then, suddenly, he caught sight of that old brown valise lying open in the corner of the room. He’d guessed long ago that she kept those books in there, and swiftly he went to search it—to find that there were only two left. Wherever she’d gone, she’d taken the other one with her. But why?

  Distractedly he flicked open the cover of the book in his hand. With dawning incredulity, he saw the name inscribed in the front.

  And suddenly he knew exactly where she’d gone.

  * * *

  Arriving at Palfreyman’s house, Beau swept in past the bewildered butler towards the drawing room. Already he could hear a familiar voice—Palfreyman’s—and her defiant one.

  Those books. By God, they weren’t even hers. They were dratted Palfreyman’s.

  He felt something clench inside him; something that made him want to punch the hell out of Palfreyman for his insults and clasp Deborah O’Hara tightly in his arms. Except that he realised she could take on Palfreyman by herself, and had clearly been doing so, prior to his arrival, because as they both swung round to face him, Palfreyman looked furious.

  ‘Come here, Deborah,’ Beau said. As well as her bewitching beauty, he silently acknowledged that he was astounded by her strength, her resilience, her courage. ‘Come here,’ he repeated, this time more gently. ‘Please stand by my side.’

  Slowly she did so, her eyes never leaving his face, and he felt, somehow, as if those few steps she took towards him represented the most important moments of his life. He turned back to Palfreyman. ‘Well? I’m waiting for you to apologise, for your insinuation that I seduced your daughter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, your Grace,’ Palfreyman stuttered. ‘I was wrong.’

  ‘You were very wrong—and listen to me carefully. If you should even think of trying your sordid trickery again in the future—if you should ever try to repeat the obnoxious lie that I slept with your daughter, or encouraged her infatuation with me in the slightest—then just remember this. Not only can I tell the world the entire truth about your daughter—but I know about your reading habits, Palfreyman.’

  Hugh Palfreyman lost colour then took a step forward. ‘She told you. That lying little bitch told you—’

  ‘Any more talk like that,’ said Beau through clenched teeth, ‘and I’ll take the greatest pleasure in giving you a hiding here and now, before revealing your filthy secret to the world. Miss O’Hara didn’t tell me, as a matter of fact. She didn’t breathe a word of it, though it would have been to her advantage to do so.’

  He glanced at her and saw that she was holding herself very still. ‘Miss O’Hara,’ he went on, ‘has something called integrity—I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word. Our game is almost at an end, Palfreyman.’

  Palfreyman looked like a whipped dog.

  ‘For your information,’ Beau said levelly, ‘there’s to be a memorial service for my brother at
St Margaret’s church very soon. Miss O’Hara will be there, as Paulette.’ Beau raked him contemptuously with his eyes. ‘If you and your wife should decide to attend, then please ensure that you keep as far out of my sight as possible.’

  Palfreyman’s mouth worked furiously. The Duke turned his back on him and said calmly, ‘Are you ready to go, Miss O’Hara?’ He escorted her outside.

  * * *

  Beau had brought his carriage, and William Barry was already holding the door open. Once inside, Deb sank back against the velvet seat.

  The Duke sat close to her, so close she was sure he must hear her pounding heart. He’d looked so angry at Palfreyman’s. Angry with her uncle. Angry with her, for going there.

  He sat opposite her as the carriage moved off and leaned forward. ‘Oh, Deborah,’ he said quietly. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me everything from the beginning?’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘You mean the books, I suppose. I didn’t want to have to tell you that I’d broken into Palfreyman’s house, and stolen them—since burglary is a hanging offence. And at first, I thought you were Palfreyman’s friend.’

  ‘But surely you learned soon enough that I detested Palfreyman?’

  ‘I also thought you detested me,’ she answered quietly.

  He leaned back abruptly against the padded seat. ‘Go on. Please.’

  ‘I thought you despised me,’ she repeated. ‘And as time went on, I found it harder and harder to tell you that I’d lied so much, about those books.’

  ‘But to let me think, all this time, that you were for sale...’

  She bowed her head. ‘I felt it was safer for me, to let you think that I was the kind of woman you judged me to be. That I was...experienced.’

  ‘Why?’

  A faint flush tinged her pale cheeks. ‘I thought I could perhaps protect myself from my emotions. By reminding myself that you could never feel anything but contempt for someone like me.’

  ‘Someone like—’ He broke off and drew in a harsh breath. ‘Deborah. You’ve not once uttered a single word of blame against me. But all this is my fault too. My fault, for never giving you the chance to explain. Very much my fault, for not realising much, much earlier that your story about the books had to be a false one. For not letting myself acknowledge what I’d guessed all along—that you were sweet and innocent and honourable—’