Intimate Deception

by Laura Landon

  Grace shook her head. “That’s a dream I’ve long given up. Falling madly in love isn’t possible when you’re an aging spinster.”

  “You’re not that old, Grace. You’re not yet thirty.”

  Grace smiled. “I will be next month.”

  Grace shifted her gaze to where her father stood. Baron Fentington was still there, watching them. Watching her. Her skin crawled and she wanted to hide from his probing gaze, from the way he had of undressing her with his eyes. She rubbed her hands against her arms, unconsciously trying to rub away the unclean feeling.

  “Why is that repulsive man staring at us, Grace? I can hardly abide knowing he’s in the same room with us, let alone ogling us.”

  “Ignore him, Linny.”

  “That’s impossible. Have you heard? One of Josie’s upstairs maids is related to one of the baron’s servants.” Linny paused. “She’s with child. Fentington’s child.”

  A cold chill shot the length of Grace’s spine. The hairs at the back of her neck pinched painfully.

  “Josie said the poor girl is only thirteen and that the baron nearly killed her when he forced himself on her. Then he beat her within an inch of her life when she threatened to go to Reverend Perry for help. Everyone’s hiding the girl’s condition as long as possible because they know as soon as he finds out she’s carrying, he’ll punish her.”

  Grace felt sick to her stomach. “We can’t let her go through that alone, Linny. Someone has to—”

  Caroline reached for Grace’s hand. “I’ve already sent for her. I’ll take her in as soon as she turns up on my doorstep.”

  “Oh, thank God. I should have known you wouldn’t let someone that young suffer alone.”

  “What I’d like to do, though,” Caroline said, glaring at the baron, “could get me hanged. Look how pious he wants people to think he is.” Caroline’s tone dripped with contempt. “He’s dressed in all white, as if his outward appearance will hide the rot and maggot-ridden soul inside.”

  Grace gave her sister’s fingers a gentle squeeze. Of all her sisters, Caroline was the most aware of Fentington’s evil penchants.

  “I wonder how righteous he’d try to appear if we informed the ton that he played a role in his first wife’s death. Or that his second wife took her own life rather than submit to his cruelty and sexual depravity one day longer.”

  Grace breathed a trembling sigh. “He’d escape society’s censure as he always has. People are always fooled by a person’s outward appearance.”

  “Look at how he hangs at Father’s side. I’d love to know what Father has that he wants.”

  Grace’s blood ran cold. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” She turned her head and forced herself to breathe. “Look. Anne and her Mr. Wexley are about to leave. Let’s hurry or we’ll miss telling them good-bye.”

  Grace and Caroline made their way across the foyer to wish the bride and groom farewell. Caroline stepped into her waiting husband’s arms, and Grace squeezed through the crowd just as Anne and her husband reached the door. Anne turned around one last time and, upon seeing Grace, raced back to give her a tight hug.

  “I love you, Grace.”

  “I love you too, Annie. Always be happy.”

  “I will. Oh, I will.”

  Grace wiped a tear from her sister’s cheek, then stepped away from the crush of people as her sister stepped back into her husband’s arms and raced out the door and down the steps.

  “How touching,” Baron Fentington whispered from close behind her.

  Grace fought the shudder that racked her body, the lurching of her stomach.

  “Just think, Lady Grace. In only a few weeks you and I will be the focus of this same attention. Our friends and family will offer us the same congratulations, then wish us well as we race out the door to enter a lifetime of wedded bliss. I can hardly wait to have you all to myself.”

  Grace feared she would be ill. Baron Fentington looked at her as if he could see through her cool facade and gave her a sinister smile.

  “Although I hesitate to admit you were not my first choice of a bride, I can now see you were right when you offered yourself in your sister’s place. It is ever so much more rewarding to realize I am getting the better prize in you. You are, after all, a woman who’s kept herself pure and untouched her entire lifetime. A woman above reproach and without a spot on her character. What more could a man who demands perfection want in a bride?”

  Grace tried to step away from him, but he followed, closing the gap that separated them until he was so close she could feel his breath against her neck.

  “I had my reservations, you know. But then realized I was indeed blessed. To have found someone of your years and maturity, still untouched by the sins of the flesh. To know I am the first.”

  Grace felt the pressure of Baron Fentington’s fingers as he rubbed them against the bare flesh at the inside of her upper arm and fought the urge to jerk away from him. Instead, she turned to boldly face him. She lifted her chin and gave him her most haughty air. “If I recall correctly, you gave your word you would not press your suit until the wedding festivities were long over. They are far from over, my lord, and already you have broken your word.”

  The expression on Fentington’s face turned serious, and the hardened look in his eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat. A wave of fear threatened to buckle her knees. Grace knew she had good reason to fear him. There was something truly evil about him. Something dangerous. He reached for her hand and held her fast. When she tried to pull out of his grasp, he squeezed harder.

  “Oh, Lady Grace,” he said, lifting the corners of his mouth in a sadistic grin. “I can see I made a good decision in offering for you. I will so enjoy curbing that tongue of yours and teaching you submission. But you are right. I did make a promise. So if you will excuse me,” he said, lifting her hand until it touched his lips, “I will go home and await word that you are ready to be my wife.”

  Grace stood numbly as Fentington walked away from her. Her stomach roiled and she clamped her hand over her mouth, then raced to the nearest retiring room. She barely reached a chamber pot before she was violently ill.

  Chapter 2

  Grace stepped out of the carriage onto the rain-dampened cobblestones at the rear entrance of the large, imposing house halfway across town from her father’s town house and willed herself to find the courage to do what she had to do.

  “Wait here, Philus. I won’t be long.”

  “Are you sure about this, my lady? A respectable lady like yourself shouldn’t be anywhere near a place like this.”

  “It’s all right,” she reassured him, even though her heart thundered in her breast. “I’ll be fine.”

  She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and made her way to the back entrance. Before she could knock, the door opened and a regal-looking butler stepped back to allow her to enter.

  “Good evening, my lady,” the butler greeted, taking her cloak. He handed it to a waiting footman. “The mistress is expecting you.”

  Grace smiled a timid smile and entered her friend’s home. The foyer was very similar to their own town house, yet even more elegant, with a rare shade of pink marble on the floor and a number of priceless paintings on the wall. In the center of the circular room a large Louis XV table supported a mammoth bouquet of fresh flowers. And overhead hung one of the most beautiful crystal chandeliers Grace had ever seen. The candles were all aglow, and they lighted the room as if it were day instead of the middle of the night.

  Grace wasn’t sure what she thought she’d find, but realized she hadn’t expected anything this grand.

  The butler led her across the foyer and down a long, well-lit corridor.

  She’d never been here before. Hannah had always been protective of Grace’s reputation and insisted they meet in private where no one would see them together. She also insisted Grace always leave first so no one would associate the one with the other. Tonight Grace was too desperate to care if the wh
ole world saw her enter the famous Madam Genevieve’s business.

  At the end of the hallway, the butler stopped and rapped softly on a door. Grace heard Hannah’s familiar voice bid them enter, and she stepped hesitantly through the opening.

  “Grace?”

  Grace looked across the room to where Hannah stood and stopped short. She knew it was her friend standing there, but this wasn’t the Hannah that Grace was used to seeing. This wasn’t the Hannah who always dressed in a plain yet fashionable day dress that drew no attention when they met. The Hannah who wore her hair in a modest yet stylish fashion that didn’t cause heads to turn.

  The woman who stood before her now didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to that other woman—her childhood friend. The girl with whom she’d shared all her secrets, her fears, her dreams.

  The woman standing before her tonight was more stunning than any female Grace had ever seen. No wonder the rumors surrounding the famous Madam Genevieve were legendary. They were true.

  Madam Genevieve wore a low-cut gown of scarlet satin that revealed enough of her rounded breasts to be scandalous, yet not so much as to pass the line of obscenity.

  Her hair was done up in an intricate style that allowed her golden tresses to cascade down over her shoulder. Shimmering wisps framed her heart-shaped face. Several scarlet satin ribbons twined through the loose curls. And there were scores of tiny rubies—whether real or not, Grace couldn’t tell—throughout her hair. They sparkled like colored stars in the candlelight.

  But it was Madam Genevieve’s face that held Grace’s attention. Hannah had always been beautiful. The creamy complexion of her face and midnight blue of her eyes set her apart from even the loveliest women society had to offer. No wonder her name was bandied about as the most notorious madam in London.

  “This isn’t how you’re used to seeing me, is it, Grace?”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m just not used to seeing you dressed so elegantly.”

  Hannah laughed. “You’re used to seeing me as little Hannah from Sussex County. That’s who I used to be. This is who I am now. Madam Genevieve from fashionable London. One of the city’s most famous courtesans.”

  Grace lowered her gaze.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, Grace. I’m quite comfortable with who I am.”

  “I know. And it’s all right. Really it is.”

  “But...” Hannah continued as she walked toward her, “there’s enough of the prim, proper Lady Grace inside you that’s more than a little shocked when you come face-to-face with an honest-to-goodness whore.”

  Grace was dismayed. “Don’t call yourself that. That term is too demeaning for you.”

  Hannah laughed. “I see I’ve shocked your delicate sensibilities.”

  Grace smiled. “I was hoping I could keep them hidden.”

  “There’s very little either one of us can hide from the other. We’ve been friends too long.” Hannah reached for Grace’s hands, then pulled her into a tight embrace. “So why don’t you sit down and tell me why you’re here,” she said when she released her. “You shouldn’t be, you know. It’s not at all respectable. But those dark circles beneath your eyes tell me whatever brought you here must be serious.”

  Grace followed Hannah to a settee on the other side of the room. She lowered her gaze when she sat in order to hide the telltale signs of the last two sleepless nights. She wasn’t sure she could go through with this, but she knew she had no choice. It was the only plan she could come up with to avoid the life of hell she would live if she married the baron.

  “I’m desperate, Hannah. I need your help.”

  Hannah’s concerned look focused on Grace as she sat next to her and reached for her hands. “Are you carrying a babe, Grace?”

  Grace’s eyes popped open. “I only wish it were that simple.”

  A frown deepened across Hannah’s forehead. “Well, I’m relieved to hear you’re not, but I’d hardly call being with child a ‘simple’ problem. If it’s not a babe, then what is it?”

  “I’m being forced to marry.”

  Hannah leaned back against the cushions. “I take it your father found someone to line his coffers adequately.”

  Grace nodded.

  “But the man is not of your choosing?”

  Grace looked away uncomfortably.

  Hannah’s brows lifted. “He must be terribly unsuitable if the idea of marrying him has brought you to me.”

  “He is.”

  “And none of your sisters can help?”

  Grace shook her head. “No. They must never find out about this.”

  “The man your father promised you to must truly be reprehensible. I can only think of one person who would be so—”

  Grace knew the moment her friend realized who her father intended her to marry. Hannah’s body stiffened and her grip on Grace’s fingers tightened. “Does this have anything to do with your sister Anne’s recent marriage?”

  Grace nodded.

  Hannah rose from the settee and stood with her back to Grace. She absently stared at the logs still burning in the fireplace but kept her hands clenched at her sides. When she spoke, her words came out strained, as if it took an effort to speak. “He wanted her, didn’t he? The bastard wanted Anne, and to save her you offered yourself in her place.”

  Grace didn’t answer. There was no need. They both let the fragile silence buffer their anger, knowing no matter what happened, the hatred and bitterness they shared would not go away.

  Grace clutched her hands in her lap. “He’s coming to make the final arrangements next week. He will, of course, want my assurance that I am still a...a...”

  Hannah slashed her hand through the air, the sharp movement stopping Grace’s words. “Of course. That you are still a virgin. How like him,” she whispered. “He will need to make sure his new wife is a vestal virgin before he sacrifices her to his demonic gods.”

  Grace shuddered. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I know this is painful for you, but...”

  Hannah lifted her chin and faced Grace squarely. “Painful, yes. But I was only his daughter. I was able to escape. It is the poor women he marries who have no hope. Except to choose to take their own lives rather than live with someone so evil.”

  Grace lowered her head, trying not to think of the hell Fentington’s two wives had endured. “I won’t marry him, Hannah. I lied to him and my father and said I would to stall for time and save Anne. But there’s no way I’ll marry him.”

  “Nor would I let you,” Hannah said with a vehemence Grace wasn’t used to hearing from her friend.

  Hannah stepped over to where Grace sat and knelt in front of her. “What do you want me to do?” she said, clutching her hands.

  “I’ve thought for days, but I can’t think of any way to escape marrying him except one.”

  Hannah’s eyes opened wide when she realized what Grace meant to do. “Oh, Grace.”

  “Is there another way? Can you think of any other way, Hannah?”

  There was a long silence before Hannah raised her head. When she looked into Grace’s eyes, she wasn’t Hannah any longer, but Madam Genevieve.

  “No, Grace. That’s the only way. The bastard will never want you if he knows you’ve already given your body to someone else.”

  Grace breathed a deep breath of resolve. “Will you help me?”

  “You know I will.” Hannah released Grace’s hands and stood. “Do you know what this means, Grace? I mean...do you know what a man must do to take a woman’s virginity?”

  Grace tried to smile but couldn’t. “Yes. I have six married sisters, none of whom have ever been shy when it comes to discussing even the private aspects of marriage. I also have eleven—soon to be twelve—nieces and nephews, more than half of whom I’ve helped deliver. Unfortunately, I’m only too well aware of what has to happen. Although I think this is one instance when ignorance might be blissful.”

  “Have you thought what you will do if you conceive?”

  The air caug
ht in Grace’s throat. She wouldn’t let herself even consider that possibility. “I won’t.”

  Hannah shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Grace. I know this isn’t how you wanted your life to go.”

  “None of us get everything we ask for. Some get far less. You know that as well as I.”

  Her friend gave her a quick hug, then stepped back, a serious look on her face. “Is there anyone special to whom you wish to give yourself?” she asked.

  Grace felt her cheeks flame. “I don’t want to know him, Hannah. Although, since I haven’t been an active part of London’s social life for more than ten years, I doubt that’s a probability. And I don’t want him to be younger than I am. It just wouldn’t be right to give myself to someone who is as young as one of my sisters’ husbands. And most of all,” Grace said, staring down at the floor, “I don’t want him to be married.”

  “Oh, Grace. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

  “So do I.” Grace hesitated, then said, “Have I asked for too much? Do you think there’s anyone in London who fits my requirements?”

  Hannah paced the floor, then stopped in front of the fire to stare at the flames. Grace fought her nervous anticipation while she waited for Hannah to answer. When Hannah turned, there was a serious look on her face.

  “Yes, Grace. I think there just might be. I’ll send my carriage for you on Thursday. There’s no need for your driver to wait all night at the back entrance and risk someone recognizing your carriage.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.” Grace swept away an errant tear that dared to tumble down her cheek.

  Hannah narrowed her gaze, the harsh resolve evident on her face. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  “No,” Grace argued. “He’s not worth it.”

  But a small part of her wished someone had done just that.

  Chapter 3

  Vincent Germaine, Duke of Raeborn, sat behind his mammoth oak desk and shuffled through the stack of papers in front of him. Bills. Each one of them another damning piece of evidence that outlined his cousin’s extravagance and waste.