A Little Deception

by Beverley Eikli

  ‘I had hoped you might feel inclined to do a bit of dabbling in oils for a few days.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, the very idea had struck me,’ Felix said, rising. ‘I intend to preserve the fair Miss Cecily’s foxy prettiness for posterity. I suspect her mama will be much too taken with the idea of her daughter’s immortalization to object to the many hours we shall necessarily be closeted together.’ From the doorway he asked, ‘Whose portrait had you in mind that I should paint?’

  Rampton shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. ‘Obviously you’re not going to be here, so it doesn’t matter,’ he said, rising also and following his brother out of the door.

  ‘Perhaps the fair Helen of Troy whom I saw you manhandle at the masquerade?’

  Rampton managed to sound cool though the thought that he’d been blatantly targeted by a calculating debutante was terrifying in the extreme. ‘The shameless young woman positively threw herself at me.’

  Felix made a pretence of being scandalized. ‘No! And don’t tell me. She isn’t even married? Mark my words, Rampton, you’ll get your fingers burned one of these days. However, I’ll paint the fair Lady Chesterfield’s portrait – as I assume that’s what you want – when I return from the Kenilworths.’

  Rampton frowned. ‘No discussion over remuneration? Why do you accept so readily?’

  Felix raised an eyebrow. ‘Because, Rampton, your exploits are legion, and I am filled with envy and humility. And it just occurs to me that I have never properly seen you in action.’

  Rampton allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up but he remained silent as he contemplated the very delicious idea of being closeted alone with Lady Chesterfield for hours at a time. He was not about to admit the extent to which he’d been affected.

  The little chit knew exactly what she was doing and was enjoying this game of cat and mouse, he thought with irritation. Quite clearly the lacklustre Lord Chesterfield was as unexciting as a wet rag and she’d singled out Rampton for more than just the benefits of absolving herself of her debt. The fact she’d chosen to pursue him using blushing innocence as her bait, was a novel change, he supposed, to the jaded sophistication employed by most married women.

  His reverie was broken by Felix’s laugh. ‘Just make sure you’re discreet when you finally succeed in bedding this fair creature with whom I can see you’re entirely obsessed.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think her husband is a concern–”

  ‘It’s not her husband I was referring to,” Felix said over his shoulder from half way up the stairs to his quarters. ‘Jealous adversaries of the female variety can be far more dangerous.’

  ‘Oh–you mean the baroness?’

  ‘She’s not the only one. I mean, Rampton, you’re the catch of the season.” Felix grinned. ‘Just be careful.’

  ***

  When Rose received a hastily scrawled note from her Aunt Alice after she’d dressed herself for the morning she had no idea as to the reason for the peremptory summons? Especially knowing her aunt was laid up in bed with a nasty head cold.

  Alice was certainly playing the invalid to the hilt when Rose was announced. She was propped up in bed on pillows, a scented flannel upon her brow but her eyes were bright and her voice eager. Indicating a chair at her side she gushed, ‘My dear girl, I am so glad you came so promptly. Now, tell me, what communication have you had with your father’s family since he died?’

  Rose tried to think. ‘Why, none,’ she replied. ‘That is … not since the condolences.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alice smiled knowingly. ‘Do you perhaps recall your father’s Aunt Gwendolyn? An older half-sister of his mother?’

  Rose looked blank, though she had an inkling as to where this was heading.

  Aunt Alice sat up straighter, the sudden exertion causing a fit of coughing. Waving aside the glass of water Rose offered her she said, ‘My dear, I’ve just heard the most wonderful news.’

  ‘Yes?’ Rose suspected that what Alice considered wonderful involved a corpse or two.

  ‘Lady Rodham came to visit me last night. She mentioned the death of the son of a dear friend of hers, a certain Obediah Pike. At first I didn’t take much notice, but the name sounded familiar. It wasn’t until this morning that it struck me. Obediah was the only child of your father’s Aunt Gwendolyn. Well,’ Aunt Alice wrapped her shawl more tightly round her, warming to her theme, ‘I had one of my lads make enquiries first thing, and I was right!’ Falling back into the pillows, her expression was full of expectation as she searched her niece’s face.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded in response to Rose’s silence. ‘Say something!’

  Rose hesitated. ‘Poor Mr Pike,’ she said, lamely.

  ‘Yes, yes, and pity his mother too,’ Alice said impatiently. ‘The thing is, it won’t be long before Gwendolyn starts thinking about her heirs, now that her only son is dead and she an invalid. She never was very close to her natural brother and sister, but was quite attached to your father at one time. My dear Rose,’ she rubbed her hands together, ‘the time has come to pay your Great-Aunt Gwendolyn a visit. But first I’ll take you to my dressmaker!’

  Rose chewed her thumb nail and contemplated the possibilities an unexpected windfall – whether it was from Great-Aunt Gwendolyn’s quarter, or elsewhere – suggested.

  If she were able to repay Lord Rampton’s debt she’d have no reason to see him again. It was a dampening thought. The intensity with which he’d gazed into her eyes had quite clearly conveyed his interest in her. As for herself, simply conjuring up his image was enough to make her breath come fast and shallow and her body react in all manner of unexpected ways. She fanned herself with the book Aunt Alice had just asked her to read to her as she tried to master her emotions using her usual ally, common sense. Clearly, she must have misinterpreted his lordship. She was a married woman as far as he was concerned so there could obviously be no deeper association between them than existed now.

  But it was disquieting to know what a slave she was becoming to her feelings for him. No, she decided, clearing her voice to begin a novel titled Sense and Sensibility, which surely preached the virtues she must uphold, there could be no future with the handsome viscount for so many reasons, meaning she should limit any contact she had with him.

  ***

  Sitting in front of a small fire in the drawing room, Charles laid down the law. Reluctantly, Rose agreed that accompanying everyone to Almack’s after dinner was unwise, telling herself for the thousandth time that she must avoid opportunities that would only inflame her dangerous infatuation of the gentleman to whom they owed so much. At Lord Rampton’s dinner which was to precede the outing to Almacks, she need only speak when spoken to directly, and allow Charles to speak whenever possible on her behalf.

  Aunt Alice had nearly secured the funds that would enable them all to sail honourably home after Arabella had contracted a suitable match. She had no further reason to court the good offices of Lord Rampton.

  She glanced across at her brother, who was still talking, his tone now fearful. ‘Besides, why has Lord Rampton invited us to dine? You don’t think he’s changed his mind and is going to call in the debt immediately, do you?’

  ‘I expect we’ll just have to wait until the turbot in chive sauce to find out, darling.’ Helena’s voice drifted across the room from where she sat playing cards. As usual, her sarcasm seemed not to faze Charles.

  Raking his fingers through his thin pale hair he addressed Rose, who sat opposite him, with contrived firmness. ‘Now, you’re to behave yourself, Rose. Your conduct last time we dined with Rampton was scandalous and deeply embarrassing.’

  ‘Well, I for one wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ interjected Helena. Rose bit her lip and forced herself to remain silent. She was usually good at wheedling her brother into doing things for which he had no enthusiasm, but she recognized that, in this matter, the least said the better. He could dig his heels in at any moment and state categorically that she should not be allowed to go
and she couldn’t bear that to happen, having decided that tonight’s dinner must be the last time she enjoyed Lord Rampton’s company.

  ‘Watching Rose at the masquerade, anyone would think she was quite a woman of the world,’ Helena added, appearing at her husband’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. ‘With vast experience of men.’

  Rose quelled the impulse to defend herself. ‘Are you still put out that he rejected the advances of the fair Helen of Troy by bringing you back to your chaperone so smartly?’

  ‘I was simply put out at being treated like a silly little debutante— all on account of your silly little deception,’ Helena said, coolly.

  If Rose felt angered by her sister-in-law’s remark then, she was able to enjoy a sense of victory later that evening as their host gazed at her across the table with blatant admiration.

  ‘You’re not missing anything, Lady Chesterfield, if you elect not to accompany the rest of your family to Almack’s.’ Lord Rampton’s tone was intimate; and of course Rose should have been embarrassed by the fact that he had eyes only for her and that dinner, as on the first occasion on which they had met, was almost a tête-à-tête between them. Charles was again rendered virtually mute by a mixture of awe and helpless indignation, while Helena contributed little because it seemed she was playing the debutante to the hilt.

  Yes, Rose should have felt embarrassed. Instead, she felt exultant.

  ‘Its reputation is quite undeserved.’ His eyes were once more drawn to Rose as he added, ‘I have never understood the lengths the public will go to be admitted. Desire will have people do extraordinary things.’ His voice was like a caress. Rose plucked at the neckline of the gown Helena had lent her and wondered whether the others noticed the viscount’s interest. It certainly could not have escaped Helena’s attention.

  ‘I’m told the strongest refreshment served is orgeat,’ she said. ‘Not even champagne punch. And that Lady Jersey and the other patronesses wield enormous power.’

  ‘A mere whiff of scandal will have one banned from their hallowed precincts,’ said Helena. ‘Which is enough to destroy anyone who has social pretensions. Still,’ she added, virtuously, ‘scandal is only dangerous to those careless enough to get caught.’

  Rampton gave a short laugh. ‘Hypocrisy is alive and well, Miss Chesterfield.’ He rubbed his jaw and added, with a disarmingly frank look at Rose, ‘Alas, subterfuge is often the only defence when one is a slave to duty and one’s family’s dynastic ambitions.’

  Rose felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. Of course he could know nothing of her own deception. Nevertheless, it was a wounding remark to make in any husband’s hearing, and Rose sent an anxious glance across to Charles. It appeared that he’d not registered Rampton’s words. He was gazing at Helena whose sharp eyes followed the exchange between Rose and Rampton.

  ‘Phew!’ Charles whistled once they were back in their carriage, relaxing into the squabs with apparent relief before glaring at Rose. ‘This is madness! Why on earth do we persist with this ridiculous charade? When will Aunt Alice tell us whether we have the money to pay the man, or not? If we don’t, I’d rather come clean with his lordship and to hell with the consequences.’

  ‘It certainly was none of my idea,’ Helena pointed out, self-righteously. ‘But darling Rose swears her stalling tactics are necessary to give Aunt Alice time to lay her hands on the necessary funds, and that scandal and humiliation are in store for all of us if her fraud should be revealed.’

  Rose didn’t enter into the argument, only pushed aside the curtain to look into the darkened streets. The back of her neck prickled with a mixture of guilt and desire. Of course she should never have got themselves into such a mess, but revealing the truth was too dangerous and had the potential to cause a scandal that would damage Arabella’s chances.

  She had always prided herself on her sense of duty, yet nothing now seemed important when compared with the pleasure of Lord Rampton’s company. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and exuded a magnetism she’d never encountered before. No, for the first time she knew what it was like to be fêted as a beautiful and desirable woman, just as Helena was constantly feted. And the feeling was irresistible.

  She listened as the rain beat loudly on the carriage roof and felt the carriage jerk as the horses responded to the coachman’s whip. Not only was she in love, but she relished the freedom that her disguise as a married woman gave her. Longing tugged at her heart and she closed her eyes, despair curdling in her stomach as she reflected upon Lord Rampton’s obvious desire: a desire she had no choice but to resist.

  She was glad when the others deposited her at their town house before going out again to spend the rest of the evening at Almack’s. She must wean herself off this dangerous man who made her feel things she should not, and want things she knew she could never have. Her heart was not important. As long as they repaid Rampton his debt they could return to their plantation after seeing Arabella contract a wonderful match….

  Yarrowby?

  She felt a moment’s discomfort at the thought of Lord Rampton’s warning but she rallied at the memory of Lady Rodham’s description of two young men fighting in Regent’s Park. Rampton and Yarrowby had clashed over a woman. Clearly rivalry was at the root of Lord Rampton’s caution.

  ‘Miss Rose, you have a visitor.’ Edith stood in the doorway, her grey hair hanging down her shoulder in one heavy plait, a thick shawl wrapped about her shoulders.

  Rose put down the book she was reading and glanced, surprised, at the clock. ‘It’s nearly ten o clock.’

  ‘It’s Lord Rampton.’ Closing the door quietly behind her, Edith crossed the room. ‘Fortunately no one else saw him.’ She spoke softly. ‘I was able to leave him to wait in the library while I enquired as to whether you were receiving visitors at this late hour.’

  Rose felt the colour flood her face. Lord Rampton? Did gentlemen really visit married ladies at such a late hour? But then, if no one but Edith and seen him….

  She tossed the book to the floor, sat up straight. ‘Oh, Edith,’ she whispered urgently. ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Do you want to see him or not?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Embarrassed by such a heartfelt and spontaneous admission, she added, ‘Well … I daresay I shouldn’t, should I? I mean … what would Charles say?’

  ‘We would never tell Sir Charles,’ declared Edith, as if Rose were mad. Her pale eyes shone. ‘And what harm could there be in receiving a gentleman caller? I would be near by if you needed me.’

  Rose blinked. Could Edith, who had always been such a stickler for proprieties, be encouraging her to do something which would cause any self-respecting mama to die of shame? Or would it? That is, if it were never made public? It did not require much persuasion.

  ‘Lord Rampton is greatly taken with you, Miss Rose. He is not here on account of the debt he is owed.’ Edith gripped her wrists, her meaning never clearer. She’d devoted her life to Rose and her siblings and was as vigilant as any designing mama. ‘Make the most of your chances, Miss Rose.’ The urgency in her tone infused Rose with daring. ‘Chance does not knock at your door every day. You are unmarried and he is in need of a wife.’

  Shocked and excited by Edith’s approval, while ignoring the inherent conflict created by her deception, Rose tilted up her chin and took a deep breath. Then, like a woman of the world who was used to such requests, and not the green girl she really was, she said, ‘Yes, tell him to come.’

  The wave of anticipation that flooded her as he was announced was nearly overwhelming but she managed to retain her composure with the observation that she’d discussed Byron with him over his dinner table, calmly and intelligently, not two hours since. Now he faced her, tall and broad-shouldered, his eyes impossible to read. He had come seeking her out. Her and her alone.

  Not that his first words indicated this. ‘I see you are unaccompanied, Lady Chesterfield,’ he remarked casually, as if this surprised him.

  ‘You know
very well that I’m alone.’ Her voice was low as she watched him carefully. Why had he come? What did he want? ‘We discussed this evening’s agenda over your dinner table.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said in a low voice, taking a step forward and standing just a little to the right of the fire so that he did not block her heat. Not that there was any need for such a gesture. Rose’s temperature was rising rapidly.

  His eyes held hers and a smile curled the corners of his lips. This time Rose had no response. Her heart thudded so painfully she wondered whether he could hear it. She schooled herself to remain still, not to squirm with embarrassment or appear too eager. Nor to turn him away with a lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘I looked in at Almack’s briefly.’ He remained standing a few feet from her, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘In case you had chosen to accompany your family, after all. When I saw you had not I was concerned …’ His voice trailed away and his intensely blue eyes bored into hers before he added softly, ‘that you might be lonely.’

  Still Rose made no rejoinder. It was hard enough just forcing herself to breathe. Every nerve ending was like a taut violin string, heat prickled the surface of her skin and the most unbearable longing threatened to turn her into a fool. No, she had no choice but to wait, then act accordingly.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, softly, and Rose felt her body answer the summons before her mind had time to fully comprehend. Before she had registered what she was doing she had closed the distance between them and was abandoning good sense with the breath that left her body in a whoosh as she raised her lips to meet his.

  There were no gentle preliminaries. Hot and demanding, his mouth covered hers as he cupped her face, almost drinking her in and she, seemingly boneless, wilted in his embrace.

  His lips burned hers as he growled against them, ‘I’ve looked forward to this moment since I first laid eyes on you,’ before resuming his passionate assault, his hands roaming over her body, cupping her bottom as he drew her against him.