The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  A man who was not Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill. At least he was not the Stephen Deaver that Nicholas currently knew. But someone who looked exactly like him.

  And once more, Nicholas' peace was shattered.

  Then he risked a look at Eliza and realized that for as much as his world had been upended, hers was likely about to be completely destroyed.

  "A ball for me?" the man said, his voice loud and clear and oh-so identical to the other Stephen's. Except that it was hard and cold, almost mocking. "You really shouldn't have."

  To his left, Nicholas could see Lord and Lady Framingham pushing through the crowd, heedless of the scene they were creating. As if the appearance of a man who looked exactly like the long-lost Framingham heir was not scandal enough already.

  "Francis?" That was the only word that Lady Framingham could squeak out, her soft voice echoing through the now-silent room. "But you are dead! And have been for nine and twenty years!"

  The man smiled but it was icy cold and even on the dance floor below, Nicholas could feel its chill. "No, Mama. I'm Stephen. That man," he looked pointedly to the dance floor, "is Francis. And he is not so dead as you might think, either."

  And beside Nicholas, Eliza - for the first time in her life - slumped into a swoon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Strong arms held her firmly in their grasp and Eliza struggled to come out of her swoon. She did not swoon! Well, except for tonight. Though in her mind, she had good reason. The very idea that there could be another man who looked exactly like Stephen was preposterous. And yet...not.

  As gracefully as she could, she righted herself, thankful for Nicholas' steady presence beside her. If he was there, she could weather all manner of scandal. She hoped.

  When she glanced up at Nicholas, however, she saw that his lips were set in a grim line and looked murderous. Except that his gaze was going past the man descending the stairs to another figure, this one clad in scarlet silk and accompanied by two Bow Street Runners. She recognized one of the Runners as Harry Greer, a man that had done many a favor for the elite young men of the ton over the last few years. And had, of course, been well compensated for it.

  Stiffly, Nicholas offered Eliza his arm and she took it, following where he led on shaky legs until she stood beside her parents at the bottom of the steps, watching the odd little group descend. She saw Stephen - or rather the man she had come to believe was Stephen - approach from the side. Lady Charlotte, she noted, was not far behind, even though Lord and Lady Waverly clearly held their daughter back from standing beside the man she had been dancing with earlier.

  The rest of the assembled guests seemed to back away, however, as if they feared a violent confrontation. Eliza could not blame them, for if things got ugly, she did not know if Nicholas would hold his temper.

  "Hello, Mama. Papa." The man finally reached the bottom of the steps. He looked at the other man who bore his face, but there was no trace of a smile. Not even a hint of welcome. "Francis." Then he inclined his head. "Even if I am fairly certain that you truly do not know who you really are. Or that you are finally in the position you should be." Finally, his gaze slid to Eliza. "Izzy." Then he smiled, and deep inside, Eliza knew. "Or should I call you 'Lizard,' eh?" This man was Stephen. She knew it down to the very core of her bones. Except he had changed. And not for the better, it would seem.

  Then he turned and bowed to Nicholas, though like everything else the man did, there was mockery within his actions. "Lord Candlewood. Or should I say, The Bloody Duke? That is what you prefer now, isn't it?" Stephen raised an eyebrow. "And courting my sister, no less. I asked you to watch over her, not chase after her. I should call you out for that. But I won't." He lifted his right arm and Eliza was surprised to see that it did not quite move the way it should. "Old war injury, you see. Though I would if I were able. Of that, have no doubt." For some reason, she rather thought this man simply wanted to see Nicholas dead than fight a duel over her. She was merely a convenient excuse.

  Eliza's gaze strayed to Nicholas. His jaw was set firm and he seemed to be studying the man before him. Only a small muscle twitch at the corner of his eye gave any indication at all that he was not in complete control of the situation.

  Finally he nodded in affirmation. "Stephen. It is you. Come home at last." That was enough confirmation for Eliza as well that she was right. This man was her brother, even if he was not the laughing, jovial boy she remembered. Instead, this newcomer looked at her with barely veiled disdain. But then who was the other man? The one she had decided to help welcome into her family home only a few days ago? The one who truly did seem to care for her welfare? Who on Earth was Francis?

  "Mama? Papa?" Eliza took a step forward towards her parents who were seemingly frozen in place. Neither of them moved. Instead, they stared straight ahead - unblinking - as if in a trance. "Who is Francis, Mama?" Eliza kept her words low and gentle. "He looks like Stephen. Was there another child that we did not know about?"

  It was her father who answered. "Identical twins," he whispered, his voice thick. "Do you know how rare that is? And how overjoyed we were to learn the news?" His lips quivered and Eliza was afraid that her stoic father might shed a tear. Was this the secret that had left them both broken so long ago? "Then, the midwife told us that one twin, the older of the two by a mere minute or so, had passed. Took but a few breaths before departing this earth." Then his gaze swung to the woman in scarlet silk. "A midwife who rather looked like a younger version of that woman. It was you, wasn't it? You were the woman who was here the other week, the one who gave my wife such a fright! But why?"

  Eliza could see the moment that the final pieces clicked into place in Nicholas' mind. All through the confrontation, he had been concentrating on taking everything in, not missing so much as the smallest gesture. He was being the spy that he had been trained to be.

  "Madame Philotes." Nicholas finally stepped forward and gave a slight, mocking bow. "It is a true pleasure." Then his lip curled in disdain. "And I am certain our beloved Prince Regent will welcome a meeting with you as well. Then the two of you might discuss your apparently long-standing habit of selling noble children. And a first-born son, no less. Tisk, tisk. That was badly done of you."

  Nicholas laced his hands behind his back and moved to study the woman, circling her warily. "That was why you came here the other day, was it not? To see if the man was really Stephen and not Francis? Did you worry that the people you sold Francis to as an infant had revealed the truth to him? Who were they, might I ask? Or do you no longer remember? Did they even know the truth themselves?" His gaze flicked to the real Stephen. "I am afraid you have me there, madam, as I do not know the particulars. But I should very much like to, as I am certain you well know from my good friend here, Mr. Greer."

  The woman said nothing, but she did not need to. The anger on her face was enough for Nicholas to know that her entire scheme was about to come crashing down around her. She would be lucky if she was not executed for her crimes.

  "Madame Philotes, as you call her, is otherwise known as Mrs. Poppy Green of Hoxton. She has spent years posing as a midwife to the wealthy families of society." Stephen's lips were set in a firm line. "Back then, she often sold the children of nobility to other, far-flung titled lords and ladies who could not have children of their own. From what I can gather, she did so with every eighth or ninth birth that she attended, more often with male offspring, obviously, than female. Especially when there was already an heir in the household she was assisting." This time, he outright sneered. "And all the time when twins were born."

  The woman tossed her head defiantly. "I was merely providing my clients with a service. The aristocracy tends to breed like rabbits anyway. What is one more child to a family that has many? Or to a woman of nobility who has been forced to bear a bastard child? Or an unwanted one? To a lord and lady with no child at all, however, it is everything! And for them, I always took the healthier babe if there were two." Her voice was prac
tically dripping venom and she yanked her arms, attempting to free herself from the Runners' grasp. She was able to shake one man free, but not Mr. Greer, who gripped her even tighter. So tight that she winced in obvious pain. Eliza did not feel in the least sorry for her.

  "You told me Francis was dead." Eliza's mother's voice was so soft that it was little more than a whisper. "I cried for months. A part of me perished that day along with him. You stole my son. How could you?"

  Madame Philotes was about to respond when Nicholas stepped forward again and Eliza was relieved that he was taking charge of the situation. It was about time. Yet she noticed that his skin had a greenish cast and he did not look well. Not well at all.

  "Because she is a money-grubbing whore!" Nicholas did not care if his language shocked, the mask of The Bloody Duke covering his features again. "It is why she coerces fallen society women into employment at her Golden Temple. She knows just what to say, how to convince them that they have no other choice. For she has had years of practice in dealing with the price of human life." His voice was full of anger and disdain, and Eliza wasn't certain she had ever seen him this furious. "And I am fairly certain that her network is rather extensive, most likely reaching all the way to the Scottish border. And quite likely beyond." Nicholas turned to look at the man now revealed to be Francis. "Otherwise, I am certain that a man with your features would have been recognized long ago as the presumed-dead Framingham heir. Even if no one else knew of your existence, Lord and Lady Framingham certainly did."

  Francis nodded, his face ashen and pale as the enormity of his identity - and his past - began to press in on him. "I did not lie, your grace. Please. You must believe me. And I am not a part of this woman's plot. I am as appalled by this as you are." He took a step forward, reaching not for his parents but for Eliza. "I truly do not remember who I am, Izzy. I am told that I was in a bar brawl in Brighton, though I do not remember that, either. They tell me that I was jumped by footpads in search of coin, but if that is the truth, I cannot say. What I do remember is that when I returned to consciousness, I was surrounded by men and women alike. I was in some sort of convalescent home and a great deal of time had passed."

  He reached for Eliza's hand and she allowed him to grasp it. She had not been completely wrong. This man was her family. And she did not care for him any less because his name was Francis and not Stephen. Even if they had not grown up together. He was still her flesh and blood and a part of her had somehow always known that. Even if her heart had argued against it at first.

  "Go on," she urged gently. "I know we never asked about what you do remember." Eliza glanced at Nicholas and then her family. "I think we were afraid of the answers. But we are ready now. We must be." Even if her parents did not wish to hear Francis' story, she did. She needed to know the truth.

  Francis squeezed her hand, clearly grateful for her words. "Someone at the home recognized me, said that he knew me as Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill." He shrugged helplessly. "He insisted that we served together on the Peninsula. He said that he would recognize my eyes and my hair anywhere. As I could not remember anything before I awoke, I took him at his word." Francis glanced down at his leg and the cane he still used to support himself at times. "As I had these injuries, I believed him. Why would I not? He knew me, and as I did not know myself, I took him at his word."

  "So Stephen Deaver you became." That actually sounded very reasonable to Nicholas.

  "I did," Francis admitted, biting his lower lip once more. "After all, why would this man claim to know me if he truly did not? He would not gain from it, after all. He was merely an old war chum, doing his comrade a good turn. I thought it odd that I, as an heir, would have gone off to serve in the army, but as I could not remember anything, I assumed there were reasons for my actions." He licked his lips and swallowed hard. "When I was finally well enough, I set off for London." He ran a hand over his head sheepishly. "I had not counted on losing my hair, however. After a rather drunken night at The Stuck Pig, I awoke to find myself shaved bald. I am assuming that I lost at cards or another game of chance." Having seen the patrons there for herself, Eliza could well believe that tale. "It never occurred to me that I was presumed dead. At least not until the night I returned here. Or that I was anyone other than whom I was told that I was."

  Nicholas turned back to Stephen. "And you? If you did not perish aboard the Echo, where have you been for the last six years?" It seemed a rather imperious demand to Eliza, but then Nicholas was not exactly acting like himself either. But he was acting like The Bloody Duke - which, at his core, was a large part of him.

  "Six years ago, I washed ashore in some Godforsaken town on the Bay of Biscay near the French border. Dashed against more rocks than you can possibly imagine, my body nearly torn to shreds. But I survived. And I did remember precisely who I was. Well, perhaps not at first, but eventually." He gave a self-depreciating smile, and Eliza could see her much-loved brother in the gesture. "How I returned to England is not important at the moment. What is important is that when I first set foot back on English soil, I was immediately mistaken for one Lord William Denton, Viscount Moxham, a local nobleman of some note from near the village of Cross Hill. And since I was not that man, I knew that something was very, very amiss."

  Eliza's mind raced to fill in the rest. "And so before returning to London, you decided to discover who this Lord Moxham was and how he had come to be. Didn't you?" That was something Stephen would do, she decided. In fact, it was entirely like him.

  Holding his head, high, Stephen smirked. And that expression was entirely like the brother Eliza had once known as well. "I did. And my search led me to the thoroughly wretched Madame Philotes as well as her activities as Mrs. Green. I was sickened." A dark look crossed over his face. "But I was appalled all the more when I returned to Town, only to find another had taken my place. And it was then that I realized that it had to be Lord Moxham. So I bided my time, collected information. Found out, much to my surprise, that he was the true Framingham heir. Imagine my shock when I learned that I was actually the spare! Had I but known, it would have saved me many a year of misery, despising my heritage and the role I would one day be forced to assume."

  "And you chose now to appear. When the audience is the largest rather than approaching the family in a quieter moment. And the potential for scandal at it greatest." Nicholas was uneasy. This man might be Stephen but something had changed within him. Francis was actually more like the man Nicholas had once called his friend. The war had changed something inside of Stephen, or perhaps it was his long journey through France to return home. But whatever the reason, this man was not the Stephen that Nicholas remembered. He was harder and more vengeful. And that worried Nicholas a bit. Or more than a bit, to be honest.

  Stephen glanced at Eliza. "I did not wish to harm anyone, at least not at first, but I needed my case to be heard. And then, I decided why should I be the only one to have my life ruined? Why should not all of this family, the ones who so easily believed me dead, suffer as I have?" Then he glanced back at Madame Philotes. "Also, it was not as easy prying this one away from her brothel as I had thought." His words were crude and meant to shock, another indication that Stephen had fundamentally changed. And not necessarily for the better. Then his lips curled defiantly. "Not to mention that when I discovered that The Bloody Duke - my former best friend - was courting my sister, I wondered what sort of madness had overtaken everyone."

  Nicholas glared at his old friend, icy anger running through him. "Tread carefully, Stephen. You are just back to Town and your claims far from validated." He looked at Francis once more. "Who is to say that man is not the real Stephen and you are Francis? No, I do not think we should take your word just yet. Though I will not deny that you are one of the Framingham twins. And that your tale is more likely true than not."

  Later, when the immediate fervor had passed, Nicholas would speak privately with Harry Greer and send out his own spies to determine the validity of Stephen's
claims. For the moment, mostly to preserve a sense of calm and not bring down yet more scandal upon Eliza and her family, Nicholas would refer to the newcomer as Stephen and the other man as Francis. The story Stephen had told was most likely true, as he had already acknowledged, but until Nicholas could confirm it, he would not accept it as gospel.

  "Oh, that is rich!" Stephen snorted, moving so close to Nicholas that they were now almost nose-to-nose. "Especially from a man that was low enough to lie with another man's wife and get her with child. Or did you forget all about that scandalous night with Lady Ellie Berkshire?"

  Immediately, Nicholas stiffened. Beside him, he could almost feel the physical manifestation of Eliza's shock as well. Damn the man to Hell and back! This was not how he had planned to admit the truth to the woman he had all but decided to marry! And given the malicious glint in Stephen's eyes, Nicholas had no doubt that the other man knew what they were about. If Stephen had managed to track Francis to The Stuck Pig, it was likely that he had friends in the area. Ones who had probably seen Nicholas and Eliza there a few nights previous.

  "Lady Berkshire was a treacherous, duplicitous woman. I, like many others, were taken in by the sweet facade she presented to the world when she was really nothing more than a viper in disguise." In general, Nicholas did not like to disparage the dead - or woman in general - but in this case, his future with Eliza was at stake. And he would do anything he could to preserve it. "Yes, I bedded her - once and that is a mistake I regret to this very day - but I did not get her with child!" Except that he knew there was a distinct possibility that he had. And from the look on Stephen's face, he knew it as well.

  "But there was a child, my lord!" Madame Philotes chose that moment to speak up, and Nicholas wanted to wring the bloody woman's neck until she was silent. However he allowed his hands to remain at his sides, his fists clenching and unclenching in anger. Beside him, Eliza still trembled, but he was not brave enough to risk a glance at her to see if it was in fear or anger. "She came to me when Berkshire ordered her out of the house." The madam laughed. "He was no fool and knew any babe his wife carried was not of his blood. She could return to him once she delivered her bastard, so long as she did not bring the child back with her." Then her lips curled into a sneer. "And everyone knows you were besotted with the chit. As were a goodly number of other men."