Venetia watched several unsuccessful hunters pass through the long gallery in this fragmented fashion. She began to feel frustrated, as she was scarcely concealed behind one of her father’s prized Italian sculptures. It was finally Lord Wistowe who penetrated far enough into the room to find her there.
“Aha! I have found one of you,” he said as a flash of lightning lit the room. “Dammed if I know which one, but it cannot matter, eh?”
Venetia started to come out and was startled when he took one of her hands in his and put his other hand on her arm, pushing her back.
“Not yet, my lovely. Where is my reward for finding you?”
“What reward?” She felt uneasy, for he had stepped very close to her.
“Shy? Then it must be that I have captured the gentle lamb, Lady Vivian. I will be gentle, too, my pet.” He lowered his face toward hers and she realized that he meant to kiss her.
Who had set these rules? No one but him, she was certain. Did he think he would take advantage of her sister? She averted her face and pushed back with all her weight, catching him quite unprepared.
“Your mistake, Lord Wistowe. I am Lady Venetia, and you have captured no one.” It was the perfect exit line, but he recovered, his balance faster than she had expected. As she tried to slip past him, he seized her around the waist and pushed her roughly back into the corner by the statue.
“Minx! You’ll not escape that easily.” He laughed, but there was an edge to his laughter that she did not like. “Pay my reward, or pay a forfeit.”
“Which is?”
“Double my reward!” He claimed her lips quickly, before she could say more, kissing her hard and long. “Mm, I’ll take the forfeit, too,” he added then, without removing his mouth from hers. He probed with his tongue, and she was tempted to bite it. How dare he take such liberties? But he was still a guest, invited by her father. She held very still, waiting for him to finish. What would her father do if he knew about this? I wonder if he would really care. He never shows his face except at dinner.
Lord Wistowe stepped back from her, looking pleased with himself and somehow expectant. What was she supposed to do? Swoon at his feet? Thank him? Her lips still tingled from the pressure of his mouth on hers, but not with pleasure as they had after Lord Cranford’s kiss.
“Well?”
Obviously she had to say something. “I think Lady Adela would be very pleased if you happened to find her. I can turn myself in, if you like.”
***
As the game continued against a stormy backdrop, Venetia became more adept at juggling the two roles she had to play. When it was her turn to be one of the hunters, she would hide quickly in an obvious place and make sure that another seeker found “Vivian.” Once “Vivian” had been sent off to hunt, Venetia would hastily find someone who was hiding and return in triumph as herself, pretending she had looked at length.
In both roles she was grateful for the advantage of knowing the house so much better than the other players. She knew every servants’ door and passageway, and could get from one place to another quickly and unseen. She knew the best hiding places and the worst ones, and used them all.
“Vivi’s an expert at hiding,” she informed some fellow hunters at a point when she could not get away to play her twin. “If she really puts her mind to it, you’ll never find her.”
At another point she enjoyed listening to Lord Amberton pour the butter boat over her while he thought she was Vivian. His complaints about Venetia’s lack of decorum and odd sense of humor were especially interesting. She would have to test if he still held those opinions sometime later when she was herself.
She counted herself fortunate that she did not run into Lord Cranford directly. She narrowly escaped him several times, ducking through a servants’ door or around a corner when she saw him coming. Nicholas would understand exactly what she was doing if he stopped long enough to consider, but she did not want to risk the chance that Cranford might realize, also. She also did not wish to face the questions he was liable to ask after this morning’s ride.
Her hope of avoiding him at least until she could have a word with Nicholas about him was dashed just as the game came to an end. Vivian was supposedly hiding, and Venetia was a hunter—it was the perfect opportunity to slip away to check on the real Vivian and see if she was up to rejoining the group. The series of storms had finally passed through, and fine, steady sunlight was streaming in the windows. As Venetia hurried through one of the drawing rooms, intent on reaching the south servants’ stairs, Cranford hailed her.
“Ha, Lady Vivian—caught in transit! I’m afraid you will have to come with me. You are one of the last ones still out—we are ending the game once we have collected everyone.”
Did he really take her for Vivian? He could hardly-have gotten a good look at her, so perhaps he did. Venetia was stymied. Should she point out his error, or go along with his assumption? As Vivian, she thought she might escape the difficult questions she knew he wished to ask. But if she returned with him now, how was she to retrieve Vivian from her room? She doubted that the game could end until both of the twins made their appearances. They might wait a very long time for a “Venetia” who had never been summoned.
“You know, you and I have some unfinished business,” he said in a low voice. “You did say on Monday that we could talk later.”
That was when she had been playing Vivian before. If only she had found out what was between him and her sister!
“Now is not the right time for a discussion, but perhaps we could meet later this afternoon?” he suggested.
Now she was in a coil. Would Vivian wish to make this appointment or not? He was waiting for an answer.
“All right,” she said softly, attempting to raise the pitch of her voice just slightly, like her sister’s. “Four o’clock, by the entrance to the walled garden.”
Venetia would deal with that problem then. What she needed to do now was escape. Her salvation came moments later when Lady Norbridge walked in on them.
“Ah, what have we here? Has Lord Cranford caught the elusive Lady Vivian? Or has she caught him? Or have I caught you both, now that the game is up? Perhaps it is Lady Venetia, after all. Come, you must confess all.” She laughed at her own cleverness.
“I have caught Lady Vivian fair and square,” Cranford began, turning to the countess. Venetia began to back away. “She is one of the last still out—I believe the others are looking for Lord Lindell.”
Lady Norbridge could not see her, for Venetia was careful to keep Cranford’s tall form between them until the last moment. She guessed that little would have distracted the countess from gazing at the viscount anyway—Lady Norbridge’s attraction to him was obvious. She only hoped that he was paying similar attention to the countess. Finally she was able to turn and make a run for the door.
“Damnation! There she goes,” cried Cranford, quite forgetting himself.
“Forgot to warn you that I cheat,” Venetia called back over her shoulder. If he chose to pursue her she would be in a worse coil than before. Lady Norbridge, I am counting on you, she prayed silently.
She needn’t have worried. Lady Norbridge latched on to Cranford’s arm as fast as a trout leaping for bait. “Let her go,” she heard the countess purr just as the door was closing. “Let someone else catch her. Now we can have a moment alone, instead.”
***
Later, after the game was over and Gilbey had managed to part from Lady Norbridge, he wandered out into the garden to think. He wondered which of the twins would appear at four o’clock, or if either of them would come at all. He had said nothing more about the meeting when both twins had appeared at the end of the game.
He, had known that the Lady “Vivian” he’d caught was really Venetia as soon as he had gotten a good look at her. It had occurred to him then that he had
not seen the twins together since they had fled the stableyard that morning, although he had caught separate glimpses of what he had assumed was both twins all through the hours of the game.
Had Venetia been playing both twins all that time? He did not know. Certainly she had tried to fool him at the end. She had also pretended to be her sister on Monday on Sandler’s Hill. Had there been other times?
He tried looking at the questions from another angle. Did Vivian ever try to play Venetia? Had they switched places any time when both were present? He needed to consider that, but he did not think so. Why did they do it? He did not believe that it was purely mischief—the look in Venetia’s eyes was enough to tell him that. Was it one of their tests? Did Nicholas know? Surely he must be aware of these masquerades.
Gilbey pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Half an hour still to pass. If either of the twins kept their appointment, how was he going to handle the meeting? With chagrin he admitted that everything depended upon who came.
Slowly he strolled through the gravel paths and paved terraces of the gardens, making his way toward the walkway that led to the walled garden. He had discovered this walk on an earlier exploration, and thought it somehow ironically fitting that his confrontation with the twins should take place here, in the one magical spot he most admired and enjoyed.
The spot Venetia had chosen held everything that he liked about Rivington—the history that engaged the scholar in him and the beauty that appealed to his artist’s eye. The stone wall that served as the west wall of the garden was an ancient relic left from the abbey or priory that had once stood in Rivington’s valley and its heavy stone arch and wooden door served as the garden entrance. The walkway ran parallel to this wall, under a pergola made from six pairs of stone columns. The entire frame of the pergola and much of the ancient wall beside it were covered with a profusion of the most delightfully exotic plant he had ever seen, with gracefully twisting, woody branches, feathery leaves, and long plumes of mauve and lavender blossoms.
It was the kind of spot that might inspire a man to love—if such a thing could be permitted. After this day, he might never feel the same about it again. He might not ever be here again. He walked slowly through the pergola, staring up into the canopy over his head, studying the interplay of blossom, leaf, and sunlight.
Absorbed in the patterns, he almost forgot why he was there and felt some surprise when he arrived at the end next to the arched doorway in the wall. He looked about, but saw no one as yet.
By the entrance of the walled garden, she had said. Well, he was here. Now it remained to be seen if anyone else would be. He settled himself against the stone arch, where he could continue to study the flowering vines while he kept a watch on the walkway.
At what must have been precisely four o’clock, one of the twins came down the walk. She looked beautiful and fragile, a golden-haired vision in white, framed by flowers as delicate as she was. Was it Venetia, Venetia pretending to be Vivian, or Vivian herself? He studied her as she approached.
“I have been admiring your flowers,” he began cordially, removing his hat. “I have never seen anything like them.”
She smiled, stopping a few feet from him. “They are a particular pet of my father’s, sent by a friend in America. I was very small when the gardeners first put them in and were trying to coax them to grow. We were absolutely forbidden to touch them.”
“They seem to grow in great profusion, now.”
She sighed. “I wish my mother could see how they’ve begun to take over everything in these recent years. She loved them. We called them Chinese teahouse flowers, although I don’t know where she got that name. Since last year they have been named wisteria, after the American who had been cultivating them. I do think they are pretty.”
She reached up and broke off a single tendril of blossoms, holding it gently in her fingers.
“You are very knowledgeable, Lady Venetia. And I see you are not afraid to touch them now.”
She looked startled. “Why do you call me Venetia? I thought you and I were the ones with a discussion to finish.”
“Ah, refresh my memory. What was it we were discussing?”
“My sister.”
Ah, he thought, she has done her homework. At some time she must have spoken with Vivian to find out what this was about.
“Almost correct,” he said “Your sister and I were discussing you.”
She looked chagrined. “No, you and I . . .”
“You and I have been playing games, and it is time to stop. You don’t fool me, Venetia. I have kept your little secrets, but now you owe me an explanation.”
“I am not Venetia—Lady Venetia, to you. I am Lady Vivian, and I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about, Lord Cranford.”
He had moved out from the doorway and now he circled around her. “I kept silent on Sandler’s Hill when you were parading around pretending to be your sister. I said nothing today, either.” Let her wonder how much I have noticed, he thought. “Are you planning to continue to do this all the rest of the time your guests are here? Do you enjoy making fools of everyone? Does it entertain you at our expense? A week and a half is a long time to expect me to continue to keep quiet about your masquerades.”
He thought if he upset her she might give in. He was wrong.
“What makes you think any of what you are saying is true?”
“I told you the first day I arrived that I could tell you and your sister apart, Venetia. With every day that passes, I learn more ways to distinguish you. You two may look alike, but in truth you are every bit as different as my twin sister and I. You toss your head like a wild stallion. Your sister tends to keep her eyes on her toes. When your sister looks up, she has an innocent, wide-eyed look of surprise about her. You always look as if you were born knowing all the answers. You have a way of turning your head to the side and looking down your nose at the same time that speaks volumes for your arrogance.” He did not add that the way this exposed her neck set his blood on fire.
“Stop! That all means nothing. Any actress can learn to imitate those things.”
“At least you admit that you have been acting.”
“No . . .”
This was not going at all the way he meant it to. He had meant to be gentle and offer his help. Instead they were arguing, the last thing he wanted.
“Venetia.” He spoke her name softly and reached for her hand. “I can prove that you are not Vivian.”
She might have been going to ask how, but he did not give her that much time. Slipping off his spectacles, he pulled her toward him, and taking advantage of her surprise, claimed her lips.
Dear God, she smelled of jasmine and tasted like honey. He could not get enough of her sweetness. He did not wish to frighten her, but he wanted—needed—more, and his kiss began to demand it. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, his loins, everywhere. He could feel her responding, and he brought her closer against him, as if he could make her warm softness one with him. His lips left hers and trailed down across her small jaw to her neck, where he nuzzled her soft skin. She moaned and he nearly lost the last shreds of his control.
“Venetia.” He whispered her name, resting his cheek against hers. “I could no more mistake you for someone else than I could my own self.” He knew he had to stop, to let her go. With the greatest reluctance, he drew back.
She was looking up at him, her clear blue-violet eyes now brimming with moisture. Damnation! He had not meant to make her cry. He tried to keep his voice gentle. “Don’t you know that you can trust me? Even Nicholas would tell you so. You are a fraud, Lady Venetia St. Aldwyn, and never more so than at this moment. I am asking you to be honest with me. Please, let me help you.”
Would she turn and walk away? The words had come out all wrong. But she just shook her head.
“I cannot.”
“Why?” He felt so close to reaching her. “Just tell me why.”
Chapter Thirteen
“You truly do not know, do you?”
If Venetia had harbored any lingering, secret doubts about Cranford, in that instant they were gone. Perhaps they had disappeared long before, even before the first time he had kissed her, but now she could no longer fool herself. She had tasted caring in his kiss, and total honesty. She practiced honesty so little now, she wondered that she could even recognize it.
He was waiting for her to say something more, holding out his handkerchief to her for the tears that had spilled over. She took it and mopped her eyes.
She did trust him, and trusting him restored her faith in Nicholas, too, that he would have such a friend. But her response to Cranford’s kisses had showed her that she felt more than trust—dangerously more. To have him help would be foolish, possibly disastrous. She could not trust herself.
No, she could not let him help. Above all, she could not tell him why. She needed to keep him at a safe distance—as far away as possible. Perhaps there was still a chance that she was not already in love with him. No matter what she felt, she had to put Vivian’s needs first.
Vivian trusts him, came a wicked little voice. Vivian had liked and trusted him long before now. And they did need help. They were no closer now to finding out the blackmailer than when they had started—perhaps even less close. At least when they’d started she had been half sure the villain was him. Now she did not know what to think.
A man can investigate in ways Vivian and I cannot, simply because we are women, she told herself. They had not dared to go to Nicholas for help; they feared he might expose their secret in his rush to do something heroic. Lord Cranford might be far better-suited to help them, with his quiet, unassuming manner and studious ways.
Gail Eastwood Page 15