War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5

by Lynne Connolly

  “I see.” Relief flooded him. Reaching forward, he poured himself another drink and passed d’Argento the decanter. He was free of whatever had afflicted him.

  But why? Was it because of his separation from Virginie, or his abstinence from intimate relations? Or something else? Someone else?

  They enjoyed their brandy before d’Argento spoke again. “Another matter, if you would. You are about to receive visitors.”

  “Oh?”

  “I rooted them out on my way here. They live in a castle close to Scarborough, on the coast.”

  “Scarborough is hardly on the way.”

  “It is if you are coming from the north.”

  “Or the sea.”

  D’Argento made no comment on that. Did he possess a secret of his own? If he did, he didn’t vouchsafe it to Marcus. “I traced them the mortal way, as I have done for a while. I listed all the people I knew were at that fatal dinner more than thirty years ago, and then followed their movements.” He had done that with Marcus, although Marcus had never been lost. He had always known who he was and the role he was intended to play. “I found them in one of the family’s smaller properties. Their parents are still alive, although they do not venture beyond their house much these days.”

  Marcus suspected a sinister reason for that, but he forbore to say anything. He was too interested in what d’Argento needed to tell him.

  “Two women. I found Diana, and the nymph Nerine.

  Marcus stiffened in shock. As a child he’d been betrothed to a lady called Nerine, but he had not thought of that contract for years, ever since his man of business informed him it was invalid. He’d never pursued the matter and considered it closed. But what if she was meant for him?

  An odd sensation made him shudder, instant revulsion to the stray thought. Perhaps because he’d suffered one brush with a potentially disastrous love affair, and he did not want another so soon. Not to mention a potentially disastrous marriage to Rhea Simpson.

  Or something else? Even at the height of the affair, he’d kept a part of himself detached, watching like a cynical observer as he made a complete fool of himself in front of London society.

  “They have two brothers. One is abroad, and I’m reliably informed he is Diana’s twin Apollo, and the other is a man called Barnabas. He’s immortal, but not a named one.” Many immortals, like nymphs and giants, were just that, without names. “He’s also somewhat simple.” Amidei touched his temple in a delicate gesture. “I met him briefly. By his appearance, I would assume he is a giant of some kind. Though he has two eyes.”

  “So not a Cyclops, then.”

  “Unlikely.”

  “You told them to come here?”

  D’Argento slanted a look at him. “Just the ladies. Barnabas does not travel. He feels safer in familiar surroundings. Is there a problem with them calling? They have been living isolated, not sure who they could trust. I want to introduce them to society. Our society, to be specific.”

  “No problem.” Except he resented his privacy being invaded.

  “They told me they had a contract with you.”

  Apprehension gripped him, making his wine sour. He put down the glass. “Not really. Their parents took a notion to marry me to Lady Nerine, and they did draw it up as part of the contract that passed a parcel of land from their possession to ours. In truth I forgot their existence. Our paths never crossed. Since Lady Nerine and I were mere children at the time, the contract has no validity in law.”

  D’Argento nodded. “Nevertheless, if you truly want nothing to do with them, you would be wise to have them sign to that effect. Court cases can be expensive, if they decide to pursue the case.”

  Marcus agreed. Although the reminder returned to niggle him, he could see no problem. And he didn’t want Lady Nerine. If he wanted anyone, he would choose Ruth. He stilled, and took another gulp of his drink, more to cover his concern than because he wanted it. “In that case, I will announce Miss Simpson’s status to the house. I see no reason why the twins’ aunt should not take charge of their care and become a member of the household.”

  “Agreed. I would like her under my eye for a while. If you can persuade her.”

  He would accomplish that if it killed him.

  The thought occurred to him, or rather, slammed into him with the power of a coach and six. He was free of the enchantment. Any attraction he felt for Ruth was because of what lay between them, and he did feel an attraction. However, the urges were not so urgent, or so painful as he had known before. As well as desiring her, he liked her. He had not known Virginie well at all, even when they were in the throes of their torrid affair. They’d taken no time to talk or to get to know each other.

  Ruth was gently born, the daughter of a country squire. Moreover, she was aunt to the twins. Apart from the small matter of the contract with Lady Nerine, nobody could separate them, and even that would not prove an impediment in the long term. But Ruth had gone through too much.

  She was the children’s aunt. She would be accepted in society. Even though he never married their mother, he had declared his intent. They would have married, had she not died. Yes, they could brush through it. If his rank were lower, or hers not respectable, then perhaps they would have more problems. But they could do this.

  Everything made sense. He would not let her leave. He would do anything, including marrying her, even though he would need to persuade her into it. Seduce her, if need be. That would be no hardship. God knew he’d wanted her the moment he’d clapped eyes on her.

  Marrying their aunt might even go some way towards improving his standing in society. He would be doing the “right thing”.

  Why not? Why should he not pursue a connection that would benefit them both?

  * * * * *

  She would not sleep tonight. After changing into her night rail and robe, Ruth paced her room in a useless effort to calm herself. Since she could not sleep, she might as well continue with her plan. Now the duke knew who she was he would not want her in his house any longer. She could not bear to view his fury, not after he had been so kind to her. Not after she had—she cut off her thoughts right there.

  Ruth dragged her shabby bag out from under the bed and began to pack. She would be away from this house at dawn. Walking to the village might help her to regain some of her senses, before the stage arrived. There was little chance the vehicle would be full, and in any case there should be room on the roof. She needed to get away, she could not stay here a moment longer.

  If Marcus—his grace, that was—decided to prosecute her, she would not blame him. She entered his house under false pretences. How could she argue with that? How would she feel if someone hid who they were and why they were here?

  The realisation hit her like a thunderbolt. Her plan was wrong, deceitful and underhanded. All things she preferred to think she was not. Tears blurred her eyes as she folded the garments she’d arrived with and tucked them away. Apart from her hooped skirt, they all fit into the relatively small bag. A sad statement, but one she would rectify when she got to London.

  She had not been paid yet, but she had the money she’d saved before she came here, enough to take her to her next appointment if she was careful and it did not take too long. At the bottom of the drawer lay the papers she had forged to gain this position. She had no choice—much though it went against the grain, she needed to use them again. Either that or starve, or go home. She would have to eat humble pie for the rest of her life if she did that. Would she rather starve?

  On the whole, she rather thought she would. At least the agony would end sooner.

  With sudden resolve, she lifted her head and stared into the small, age-spotted mirror that hung on the wall above the chest of drawers. Gangly, plain, overlooked. That was her whole existence. Her hair was covered with a practical linen cap, and her neckline was too high for fashion. Besides, i
t covered a frankly disappointing bosom. She was not endowed as generously as most society beauties. She would have settled for pretty. Her lips twisted. “You’ll never be pretty,” she told her reflection, and turned away.

  She gave a small shriek as a pair of arms caught her and closed around her. The familiar scent of the man she deceived wreathed around her.

  When she tried to wrench herself away, he held her tightly and turned her so she was facing him. “Not so fast, my lady.”

  So her reckoning had come. “I’m sorry,” she said to his waistcoat. “I truly didn’t mean to lie to you.”

  “Then why use an assumed name?”

  “I didn’t think you would let me in if you knew who I was.”

  He grunted, the sound unnaturally loud since her ear was pressed to his chest. “Are you sure?”

  “I didn’t know you then.” That was true. The man she knew was a fair one, and he would have at least listened. “I think you would.”

  “Something of too little, too late? Maybe you should have trusted me.”

  She still couldn’t move away. She must speak to him while he held her, keep her mind together when all she wanted to do was snuggle into him and forget everything. All her problems, all her mistakes crowded in, demanding for their time. “I should have. But I had no cause to trust anyone. People regularly changed their minds, or considered me not important enough to respect in that way.” Everyone she knew broke their word to her sooner or later. She had learned to accept it as the way the world ran, at least for her.

  “You should trust more people.”

  She had not heard that gruffly spoken remark, had she? Or perhaps he meant something different. Daring to lift her head, she met his gaze. He was calmly staring down at her.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Talk to me. Tell me why you think that people don’t respect you.” He glanced around, and took her to the bed, a narrow but sturdily built example.

  He took her there. It was either that or let him drag her there. He was not releasing her.

  After he sat her on the bed, he took his place next to her and lashed his arm around her shoulders. “I want you to explain,” he said. “Tell me why you decided to come first.”

  She thought back, needing little reminder to that painful night. “I loved Rhea. Oh, she was feckless and foolish, but she had a joy for life I never possessed. I was away from home when you visited, attending to my sister who had just given birth. It was then I realised my role in life was to be a companion and aunt. A spinster,” she said bitterly. “At first I determined to make the best of my life, until my family treated me more like a servant than a relative. Then my lot became worse, and I thought I might as well be paid for what I did.”

  She hastened on with her story, refusing to feel sorry for herself. He stroked her shoulder, his touch gentle and soothing. “I came here, and I was treated better than at home. I came here to assure myself the babies were well cared for.”

  She met his eyes, fired by indignation at the memory of her sister. “When Rhea announced she was expecting, my parents cast her out. Told her to go, and said she could come back when the baby was gone. She cried, prayed and begged, but they forced her to go. As far as I know they gave her nothing to help her. I was the only one she confided in up to that point. She said she’d met you and fallen in love.”

  She stopped, knowing exactly how that could happen. Although what Marcus had told her since cast doubts on that. “She seemed convinced you would marry her.” Swallowing, she recalled someone who had been Rhea’s friend. “I don’t suppose you know about a woman called Mrs. Davenport?”

  He stilled, and his hand paused in its rhythmic stroking. His eyes widened. “I’ve met her, yes. She worked at the Pantheon for a while.” Without her having to ask him, he explained. “That’s the club d’Argento owns. After she left—” He broke off. “Another time. Suffice it to say I met her.”

  “She was our housekeeper, and she was very kind to Rhea. Although she left before my sister, I thought she might have taken charge of her. I hoped that was the case, anyway. Then we heard Rhea had died. If it weren’t that I discovered the letter, I would not have known she had given birth to twins.” She closed her eyes as he began that soothing motion again. For two pins, she would subside into his arms and forget everything else. The temptation grew in her, a warm sensation encompassing her heart. She could trust this man.

  She cleared her throat, the remnants of her tears still with her, but passing quickly, thanks to the man who caused them. No, she caused them herself. She had put herself in this mess. “I read the letter my father discarded. I discovered the twins were in your care. I was unhappy. I decided to do something about my life, and Rhea proved the spur.”

  She lifted her head, resting it on his strong shoulder as if natural to her. It felt far too good, comfortable and something more, that same feeling from before. “I thought if I was doing the job of governess, I might as well be paid for it.”

  To her shock, he laughed. “I admire your pragmatism. So what is practical about this?” He nudged the bag, which they were currently leaning against.

  She struggled to sit up. He loosened his hold on her but kept his arm around her shoulders. It felt too good, but at least she could shrug him off when she wanted to, and of course she wanted to. There was no alternative. “I’m content you will care for my sister’s babies properly. You are not seeking revenge, or some other scheme, and you are treating them excellently.”

  “Do you know who the father could be?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Perhaps. Rhea was always a flirt, but one man in particular may have done the deed. At one time she was convinced Harry would ask her to marry him, but he never did, and wed elsewhere, to an heiress from Newcastle. But she flirted with everyone, including our footmen. It was just her way. Rhea was furious about Harry, though. That all happened a month before you arrived.”

  “I see.” He didn’t seem overly concerned, but shrugged. “They are in my care now, however. I cannot see that I could achieve anything by seeking him out now.”

  That relieved her. Harry was as feckless and selfish as Rhea. The twins would receive better care here. The duke’s arrival in the district, shortly after another aristocrat had been and gone, had set local society by its ear and in the fuss Rhea’s disappointment with Harry was forgotten. “I should continue with my plan.”

  “Which is?”

  “I told you. I should go to London and seek a post as a governess to a family with children of the right age. I have a career to pursue.”

  “What if you returned home?”

  She swallowed. “I would either be grudgingly readmitted or told to make myself scarce. I believe they would take me back.”

  “You do not wish for that?”

  “Who would?” She bit her lip and forced herself to slow down. “I know I should feel more duty, and they will accuse me of unnatural feeling. Perhaps I do, but I could not rest until I knew my nephews were safe and being cared for.”

  “You’re happy?”

  Her mouth turned down. “I wouldn’t say that, but I’m satisfied.” The thought of leaving the boys nearly broke her heart, but they were in good hands. She tried to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice. “I am looking forward to the next stage of my life. I will keep the fare to Cumbria safe, so if my venture doesn’t come to pass, I can still go home. Back to my parents’ house,” she added, not without a touch of bitterness.

  “Why would you do that when you may stay here?” He said it as if that was the natural conclusion to her tale.

  “I should not. Could not.”

  “Why not?” he said, finishing the rhetorical rule of three.

  She wanted to stay, oh how much!—but it was impossible. How could she do such a thing? “How can you trust me ever again? I behaved reprehensibly.”

  “Yes, you
did, and for the best possible reasons. I would have done the same. You might have considered asking me, but you did not know me, did you?” He turned towards her.

  Instinctively she moved away, but came against her pillow, propped at the end of the bed, and fell backwards. He went with her, watching her all the while until he was leaning over her. She stared at him, swallowed but did not gainsay him. This might be the last time he touched her or showed her any kindness, because she was still determined to leave at first light.

  “You know me now,” he said before he kissed her.

  Helpless to resist, Ruth curved her arm around his waist, thrusting her hand up into his hair, the silken strands threading seductively through her fingers, an invitation to sin.

  If this was all she would have of him, then so be it. She wanted what he was willing to give her, and she would take it. This once, this memory to take with her, to remember when she was depressed or unhappy.

  He broke the kiss to lift up on his elbows and stare into her face. This close, with his body pressed intimately into hers, his strength thrummed through her like a living thing. When he held her like this Ruth could not believe anything ill could happen to her. He would take care of her.

  Gazing at him, she gave herself wordlessly to him. Consolation for the decision she had made. One last time and she would go.

  It was Marcus who said, “I find it hard to be by you and not touch you, Ruth. We should not be doing this.”

  “I know,” she said, but she didn’t try to push him away.

  “Tell me no now, if you must.” His voice lowered, passion in every syllable. “I want you. You must know that. I’ve desired you for weeks.”

  When she first arrived in this house she would have castigated him as a satyr, a man who lived for bodily passions and nothing else, but she knew better now. Marcus cared very much for what people thought of him and how they behaved to him. It mattered so much he had taken the children of a woman he once bedded into care, even though they were not his. He must have realised the dates were wrong.