The Duke's Deceit

by Sherrill Bodine

  “Desolated as I am to contradict you, I fear I must.” Shaking his head, he strolled toward her.

  Sensing Lottie’s round-eyed recoil, Mary rushed to step between them.

  “You of all people should know about censure, Miss Barton. Just think what a may game the ton will make of your dear Mary once they learn her companion the last few years has been—”

  “That’s quite enough, sir!” At the end of her tether, Mary exploded.

  In mock horror, Robert placed one palm over his heart, and his dark flat eyes widened in surprise. “Mary, you misunderstand. I wish only to be of assistance. That’s why I came, to let you know my whereabouts in case I’m needed. I have rooms at Thirty St. James Place.”

  His gaze slipped past her again to rest on Lottie menacingly. “When you are ready to go back where you belong, you have only to come to me.”

  Frantic to be free of him, she left Lottie unprotected to step quickly to the door. She flung it open. Wilkens stumbled in, practically falling to his knees.

  “Excuse me, Miss Masterton. I was coming to inquire if you and your guest require refreshment.”

  He was so ponderously proper that it never entered her mind to rebuke him for eavesdropping. Instead she was delighted to have reinforcements.

  “Sir Robert is just leaving.”

  At her pointed look Robert presented a perfect bow. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again very soon, my dear Mary.”

  Alone at last, Mary met Lottie halfway across the room. She wasn’t sure who was comforting whom—seeing the plump cheeks smeared with tears, and feeling the deep catch of sobs in Lottie’s chest, Mary was filled with rage.

  It was more than time for her to seize control of her life.

  Chapter 10

  Richard had spent the night at White’s, tediously keeping up his pretense of memory loss. His regard for Charlesworth was increasing by leaps and bounds. As if the world had suddenly tilted off its axis and was spinning backward, Richard was the pupil and Frederick the teacher. Gently but firmly, he eased him back into the world of the haut monde.

  It was doing Charlesworth a world of good, Richard kept telling himself. Besides, when all was at last accomplished, Frederick would end up with his heart’s desire. He must keep reassuring himself that this game would ultimately set everyone’s life on the proper course. If he didn’t, his conscience would burn a hole straight through his heart, or his head, or wherever the bloody thing was supposed to be located!

  As it was, after the scene with Mary in the conservatory, his conscience was as hot as coals in a grate. His blazing cogitations, more than the wish to while away the hours with old cronies, had kept him awake most of the night. Riddled with regret and confusion, emotions heretofore rejected by the arrogant Duke of Avalon, he found himself in his library at eight in the morning, pouring yet another whiskey. Frowning, he looked down at the small amount of amber liquid, briefly thought that it was too early to begin imbibing, and promptly tilted the entire glass down his throat.

  The door swished open, and he cocked his head slightly to one side, flicking a glance at the threshold.

  “Drinking your breakfast, Richard? What a charmingly decadent new habit.” His mother, her eyes as bright as buttons, floated into the room, her gray silk gown a cloud of softness about her.

  “Yes. Decadent,” he drawled. Lowering his lids he peered at the crystal decanter, debating the wisdom of consuming another glass. Finally, sanity prevailed, and he placed the glass back on the tray.

  Silk drifted across the settee as his mother reclined gracefully, studying him. “You look dreadful, dear. Aren’t you sleeping well?” Her tone held surprisingly little concern.

  “Since you know everything that goes on in this house, you know full well I am not.”

  “Just as I know the true reason why rest is eluding you. Even if you don’t,” she added cryptically.

  The bond of love they shared was only strengthened by the similarity of their questing intellects. For the first time in his life, Richard eyed his mother’s placid face with vague stirrings of misgiving.

  “What reason would that be, madam?” he ventured, for in truth he could do nothing else.

  Her mouth curled in a fetching smile, and Richard’s misgiving shifted sharply to foreboding.

  “Since the grand gesture and the outrageous have always been as natural to you as breathing, it only stands to reason that this momentous occasion could hardly be less. Others might mark the moment they finally met their true match by loving thoughtfulness, as Charlesworth is doing so unconsciously with Arabella. You, my dear, are marking it by dragging us all through the depths of Hades.”

  He was seized by a desperation more fierce than any feeling he’d ever known to deny his mother’s words. “It may not appear so to you, Mother, but I assure you I continue this game not for my own amusement, but to benefit others.”

  Her even stare of interest spurred him on.

  “Given a bit more time Bella shall cry off and I will do the proper by urging Frederick to follow his heart. Meanwhile I’m hot on the trail of the true reason Mary’s grandfather is so eager to keep her from the notice of the ton. So you see, I’m dragging us all, as you so charmingly put it, through Hades, for a very good reason.” He punctuated his pronouncement with an imperious stare to accentuate his vindication.

  “Yes, Richard, I do see.” She smoothed the pearl gray silk gown tidily over her knees, carefully examining the delicate fabric. After a few moments, apparently satisfied, her fingers stilled, and she raised a wide gaze to his face. “If I understand you properly, Richard, as soon as you have arranged all neatly to your desire, you will tell Mary the truth about your supposed illness and thus set her free. Do I have the right of it, my dear?”

  Mary felt free to push open Lottie’s bedroom door after she hadn’t responded to the third knock. Her eyes immediately found the white note propped carefully upon the pillows of the perfectly made bed. With trembling fingers she opened it and read: “My dear Mary, Sir Robert is right. You belong here but I do not and never will. I care about you too much to cause you any pain. So I’m going back where I came from. Know this time with you and Ian has been the happiest of my life. Your friend, Lottie Barton.”

  Mary’s tears fell onto the paper, blending into the faint moisture stains that already marred the thin parchment. Her clenched fist covered her lips. That horrid Sir Robert and his hateful words had done this!

  She wasn’t going to let him get away with this cruelty. Somehow, she’d pay him out. But first, she must find Lottie and bring her back to safety. If, as Mary feared, Lottie had returned to the Thistle and Sword, she could only fear for her future.

  The thought of Lottie lost and friendless tore at her heart. She was racked with sobs, and her hand shook so that it was difficult to write a legible note to her uncle.

  With a commanding presence that was almost as shocking to her as it appeared to be to Wilkens, she demanded that he send a footman posthaste on the road to Hexham with a missive for Uncle Ian. Surely he would be on his way by now, but she couldn’t take the chance.

  That done, her next inclination was to go to Richard and allow him to shoulder some of this burden, as he’d done in those idyllic days on the farm before reality intruded.

  Dismayed and shamed by such weakness, Mary hesitated in the foyer. Wilkens, marching behind her, practically ran her over.

  “Are you following me?” she demanded, her nerves stretched painfully to their limits.

  “Miss Masterton, you appear to be in a state of some confusion,” he stated with perfect propriety. “How may I direct you?”

  “Where is Her Grace?” Her chaotic thoughts craved that odd sense of peace the duchess always inspired. “I must speak with her at once.”

  “I believe I saw Her Grace enter the library some ti
me ago.” Wilkens moved as if to lead.

  She stepped in front of him. “I know my way to the library, Wilkens. I need you to ask the servants if anyone knows how Miss Barton left the house. Perhaps someone saw something. Anything!”

  He bowed deeply, spun on his heels, and left her. She approached the closed double doors of the library but, hearing voices, she stopped short.

  “I repeat, Richard, when are you planning to tell Mary you regained your memory long ago?”

  The duchess’s calm voice was clearly audible through the wooden doors. She froze in place. He knew? He had his memory intact? She crept closer to hear the response.

  “I’ll inform her of the happy event when I’m finished with her and this sordid business concerning her grandfather. Then she’ll be free to do as she wishes.” He drawled the words like a man with an utterly clear conscience.

  Reality dissolved around her like melting candle wax. For a moment she felt and saw nothing. When her senses returned, emotions eddied around her—anger, fear, disbelief, despair.

  Anger prevailed. It roared through her like the flames destroying her stable on that long ago, ill-fated day they’d met.

  She thrust open the door and marched in.

  The man whose pitiless nature had reduced the fragile threads of her life to broken bits of string, leaving her untethered to her old existence in Hexham, yet still unattached to anything new, turned to face her.

  “No doubt if the truth hit you over the head like my stable lintel did, you still wouldn’t recognize it!” She was taking air into her hot lungs in short gasps, but her voice sounded reasonably calm. “Nevertheless, here it is: I heard all that was said!”

  “Ah.”

  The duchess rose gracefully and exited the room while Mary stared into Richard’s dark, unfathomable eyes. Neither of them registered the door closing behind her.

  “You regained your memory that morning in the stable, didn’t you? One moment we were … were…” Stumbling into this quagmire, she was momentarily lost.

  Something flitted deep in his eyes, and his mouth quivered with the suspicion of a smile.

  She was filled with bitterness. “You know how we were!” Her power of speech returned in full force. “And the next moment it was gone. Whatever had been between us had vanished.”

  “How perceptive of you, Mary.” His sardonic smile failed to light his eyes, which had darkened to ebony. “I believe the whatever you are struggling to name was … lust. And, of course your accomplished performance of returning my … regard.”

  “I told you why I first lied!” She flashed out, his last insult scalding her to core. “Once started, I couldn’t withdraw for fear it might harm you. But you!”

  Anguish fed her energy to whirl away and then back again to face him, as if she must move, do something, to spill out this feeling before it devoured her.

  “You’ve been lying to me for weeks! You regained your memory. You knew I’d misled you about our relationship, yet you forced me to come to London. You allowed me to agonize over your health, your very life, if I should divulge the truth! You’re despicable!” she snapped, much like her nerves felt ready to do.

  “If I’m despicable, what does that make you?” His smile was so sweetly cruel that he could have been the devil himself, promising forbidden fruit. “I may have continued this farce for my own ends, but my motives are a good deal more high-minded than your charming scheme to steal my horse and my ring even before you had the corpse disposed of!”

  She’d expected retaliation, but nothing as cruel as this. “I told you … I was afraid of Sir Robert. I had no wish … to be forced into marriage … with him.” Her words came out in sobs of anger. “My only thought was to be free of him.”

  He strode toward her, stopping so close that she was forced to tilt back her head to search his closed, cold face.

  “The debt!” He bit out the words. “Given your amazing performance of loving devotion to me, I wonder how far you might have gone in your scheme to settle the bloody thing. If I’d pressed, would you have given yourself to me, Mary? Would you even now?”

  Her nerves quivered like a bow releasing its final arrow. At last, it was too much. All her fears for Lottie, all her pain at the hatred her grandfather showed her, all her love-laced anger toward the man looming over her gave strength to the upsweep of her arm.

  The contact of her flat palm against his cheek ripped through her arm, numbing it to the shoulder.

  She couldn’t believe she’d slapped him. She raised her hand to look at it in wonder, then watched the print of her fingers redden in stark relief upon his white cheek.

  His derisive crack of laughter took her off guard.

  Before she could push him away, his hands found her waist in a swift movement that jerked her into his tight embrace. The hard knot of pain in her throat made it impossible to speak, and her heart was bouncing so hard against her ribs that she felt it vibrate through her breasts and onto his chest.

  She tried desperately to pull away from him, but his arms tightened like a vise.

  “Let’s find the real answer to my question, Mary.” His voice was taut with emotion.

  She was too shocked to understand his intent. He took her mouth in a hot open kiss that almost made her lose herself. Only by sheer force of will did she remain standing.

  She’d known her own truth long ago, and now she discovered, to her shame, that not even his cruel game could change her feelings.

  When at last he let her go, she waited a full five heartbeats before she opened her eyes upon his face, for she feared what she would find.

  She looked with wonder, for his strength had dissolved into aching vulnerability. There was a curious imprint of pain in his chocolate eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

  She knew she couldn’t have hurt him; she didn’t wield such power. Only love, as she knew to her deep regret, could scar the soul so completely.

  The door opened, and she stumbled away from him. Trembling, she placed a hand upon the back of a wing chair to steady her knees.

  Wilkens’s face was a study in contrast; his countenance was a careful mask, but his eyes were nearly starting from his head as they darted from Richard, to her, and back again.

  “Your Grace, I am deeply sorry to interrupt.” For the first time Mary heard a note of something besides pomposity in his voice. “However, a message has just arrived from Lord Fordham. He must see you at once at Fordham Mansion. His grandmama has accompanied him to town and awaits you there.”

  Richard scrutinized her from under heavy eyelids. “I must attend to this business, Mary. We will finish our discussion upon my return, you can count on it!”

  Mary glared at him as she tried to conjure up a biting retort, but he forestalled her by spinning on his heels and quitting the room.

  Then the answer came to her. “I shall be long about my business before you return, Your Grace!” she whispered to the empty space.

  She sped up the stairs for a cloak to fling over her new morning dress of cameo pink after she had decided that she would rent a carriage and take the road north. Lottie must be on the stage and she felt certain she could overtake her.

  The frantic planning threw up a barrier in her mind, protecting her from thoughts of Richard. She gathered a few things, jamming them into her reticule along with her mother’s jewelry and all the money she possessed.

  When she flung open the great front door of Avalon House, she came face-to-face with Richard’s betrothed.

  Arabella gave her the self-assured smile of a reigning beauty. “Going out, Mary? I was just coming to see if all your clothes have arrived from Madame Beaudin’s.”

  “Last evening,” she said with a trace of impatience. “I don’t wish to be rude, but I must be off.” Confused, Mary looked both ways down
the treelined street. “Do you know the direction to a coaching establishment where I might hire a carriage?”

  Blinking rapidly, Arabella studied her. “Why, yes. Pulman’s—the only place my Mama will ever hire a conveyance—but only, of course, when Papa is out of town, or would be inconvenienced by our taking the barouche. Of course, Mama wouldn’t be seen in anything less than the very finest.”

  Mary interrupted impatiently, “But where is it?”

  “Oh, it is quite convenient. Near St. James Place. You have only to send a footman about two blocks north and then west for another six.”

  “Thank you, Arabella. No doubt the walk shall allow me to fully collect my thoughts,” Mary declared with renewed determination.

  “You plan to walk eight blocks?” Arabella squeaked in horror, her hands fluttering to her throat. “Whatever for?”

  “For a dear friend!” Mary retorted sharply. Giving the stunned beauty a brief smile, she stepped off the portico. Hurrying through the iron gate, Mary was infused with new anger. She, like Richard, had serious business to attend to!

  The duchess hurried across the wide entry, seeing Arabella standing in the open doorway gazing out into the street.

  “My dear child, whatever is the matter?”

  Blinking her absurdly long lashes, Arabella stepped over the threshold. “The oddest thing, Your Grace. Mary just rushed out to rent a carriage at Pulman’s on St. James Place. She was actually walking there, and without a maid!”

  Trying to control an uncharacteristic urge to meddle, the duchess closed the door and drew Arabella into the foyer. “Why wouldn’t she come to me and request our town carriage?”

  “Well, I must say she looked somewhat distressed,” Arabella said, a faint pucker marring her smooth forehead. “Has something unpleasant occurred?”

  Unpleasant. The word was meaningless before the powerful conflagration which had, no doubt, ignited in the library between Richard and Mary. And just where was Richard?