A Measure of Deceit

by Jess Michaels

  Connor stood up, anger pulsing through him. “My God!”

  Grace shrugged. “He wanted a son, so he hardly stood me, but Madeline was a nightmare to him, a slur on his bloodline, I suppose. And what came after she died…”

  She pressed a hand to her eyes and fisted the other at her side. It was too much for Connor to bear, and he crossed the room to her to gather her into his arms. She leaned into him, her breath coming short as she relived pains he could hardly imagine.

  “What came after?” he whispered into her hair.

  She took a moment and he felt her strength come back into her. She pulled from his arms with a slight smile of gratitude. “My mother broke. She wept constantly and couldn’t leave her bed. I had to stay with her, to help her because my father refused to hire help during her grief.”

  “At eight?” Connor asked, trying to picture Grace as a sad little girl forced to protect her mother.

  “Yes. And it was worse, because he would come in to see her and rail at her. He told her she was weak for her breakdown and that she made weak children at that.” Grace turned her face. “It was horrible. He did that for months as she mourned. Eventually he gave up and abandoned us to the country estate. Once he was gone, my mother slowly recovered, though it took years for her to become even a shadow of what she was before.”

  “Did he ever come back?” Connor asked.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Grace said, her voice brittle. “Once the hard work was done and his wife was ‘fixed’, he trotted home and demanded she make him a son. She attempted to oblige him, I suppose, but it never happened. And it was for the best, for I could see how much she despised him. How detached she became whenever he entered a room.”

  “I won’t pretend I don’t know that they’re both gone now,” he said.

  “That and Leo’s death are likely the only hint of heartache in my public record,” she said with a humorless laugh. “She died the year I came out and he about a year after my husband. I mourned her—and I spat on his grave with a smile on my face.”

  “With good reason,” Connor reassured her. “No one could blame you for those feelings.”

  “But my father was also my greatest influence,” she said, turning to look at him full on.

  “How so?” he asked softly, doing his best not to dominate or push this conversation.

  She shook her head. “I learned from him never to show vulnerability. Never to be like my mother and have a weak moment. Never to displease him. My strength was my protection and I built it up every day.”

  She lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and Connor now saw those actions for what they were. She was no ice queen; in fact, she felt keenly. She only didn’t feel safe in allowing others to observe her, to see her for what she truly was.

  Yet she offered that glimpse to him.

  Even though it obviously terrified her to do so.

  Connor met her eyes. “I don’t like the fact that you went through what you did, Grace, but your strength is admirable and always has been.”

  For a moment she almost drooped, but corrected herself with a shrug. “Perhaps that is true. I’ve certainly gained a great deal by putting on that mask of untouchable steel. But lately I’ve begun to realize how it has also distanced me from everything. From everyone.” She took a ragged breath. “From you.”

  “No,” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “My friends have been hurt by my keeping myself from them—I know they have. My marriage likely suffered from it. Leo cared for me, but he never truly knew me. I made certain of it. And you…I lied to you about my true identity not because I feared you would reveal it, but because I’d gotten too close to you. If you knew that the Lady and I were one, you would also have some of my secrets, some of what I felt safe telling you because I would never be forced to look you in the eye.”

  He reached for her, and she caught his hand and lifted it to her heart. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

  “But I can’t keep certain secrets any longer. Not if I want any kind of life, any kind of happiness. I have to tell you, I have to say…” She caught her breath and then seemed to force herself to go on. “Connor Sheridan, I am in love with you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “It is a very romantic notion that all can be overcome by love.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  All the air went out of Grace’s lungs the moment she said the words that had been burning inside of her. Part of her felt immense freedom in being able to speak them out loud to Connor at last.

  The other part was terrified. She had never been so vulnerable with another person. She had never offered anything without knowing if she would receive something in return. In fact, even when she knew a return was guaranteed she had often held back to protect herself.

  And now the waiting was all made worse since Connor was just…staring at her. He hadn’t released her hand, some small comfort, but his expression was blank and unreadable.

  “This is not the reaction I expected. Nor hoped for,” she said softly, when the silence seemed to have stretched out forever. She could only be pleased that her voice didn’t break as she said the words.

  “I just—” He cut himself off and opened and shut his mouth several times. Her heart sank. “Grace—” he began again, his tone so soothing and soft and filled with…comfort.

  Her heart seemed to shatter in her chest, shards of pain shooting through every nerve, every muscle. She tried to tug away from him.

  “Don’t console me,” she said, shocked her voice carried at all when it seemed even forming words was like a stab through her body. “You obviously don’t feel the same way and—”

  “No!”

  He tugged her hard and she stumbled against his chest. His arms came around her, imprisoning her and forcing her to look up into his face. His beautiful face that she loved so much, that she dreamed about…his beautiful face that was racked with pain.

  “Grace, it isn’t that at all,” he reassured her as his arms came tighter around her. “I fell in love with the Lady over the months, the years we corresponded. And when I met you I was instantly drawn to you. I admit I was shocked how quickly we connected. How easily our relationship came not just in the bedroom, but outside of it. I have fallen in love with you as well. That you two are the same person certainly makes my life less complicated.”

  She blinked as those words sunk in, and she smiled at the little quip and the flash of happiness in his eyes as he made it. A smile that faded as he continued.

  “But we come from very different worlds.” He released her and backed away, leaving her cold. “I’m the illegitimate son of a marquess who all but despises me and will never acknowledge me even as a man, let alone his son. I’m in trade. What little fortune my father gifted to me has all been sunk into my business, so I don’t have much money.”

  Grace blinked and shook her head, mostly because she didn’t know why he believed any of this was new information to her. “And?”

  He raised his hands, as if those words were self-explanatory.

  “You think that matters to me?” she asked.

  He nodded. “It certainly should. You are a duchess, raised in privilege, if not happiness. I would assume a great deal of money has been settled upon you both by your father and your late husband that has nothing to do with whatever title you hold. Our lives are almost diametrically opposed.”

  Her lips parted as the reality of what he was saying sank in.

  “You would throw away a love we both claim to feel because of station?” she asked in shock.

  He walked away a few steps, his frustration clear. “I don’t belong in your world. I don’t really like your world. And I doubt you would like mine.”

  She folded her arms. Her anger was beginning to build as she thought of all his disparaging comments since coming into Society.

  “I can’t believe I never saw it before. You are a snob,” she said softly. “And a coward.”

  If he had somet
hing else to say, her accusation stopped him. He pivoted to face her and his face was pale.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have spent your entire life judging those of my rank by your father’s bad behavior.” She arched a brow in challenge, daring him to refute a charge they both knew was absolutely true.

  He didn’t, but his jaw took a stubborn, hard set. “I have seen many in the ton act without honor. Your story today about the cruelty of your father is just another in a long line.”

  She shook her head. “And you have seen many good men too, if you would recall it. I believe both Lyndham and Northfield would call you a friend, and no one could besmirch their characters.” She hesitated. “Well, perhaps Northfield’s, but only in a harmlessly rakish way and never since he married Jacinda. But that isn’t the point. The point is that you choose to overlook the good men so you can use the bad as proof of some kind of forgone conclusion.”

  “You canna pretend that there aren’t more men in your sphere behaving badly than perhaps in any other,” he snapped, his accent betraying his emotion on the subject. “It’s why Adrian and I began publishing in the first place. We wanted to challenge them, to unmask them, perhaps even change them.”

  “So you wanted to preach to my peers about their shortcomings?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Do you really think that kind of attitude ever works in changing anything?” she asked. “Telling people how awful they are instead of striving to find those who might have some influence and decency and working beside them for change?”

  “What if they willna work beside a man so far below them?” he snapped and she turned her face away from his heated tone and words.

  “I would,” she said softly.

  His jaw tightened and he dismissed her words with his expression even before he said, “You are different.”

  She looked at him. He truly believed what he said. He grouped those of title or wealth as some kind of different person, almost a different species from his own. Oh, he might grant one or two some basic human qualities, but they were anomalies who proved his rule. One way or another, he couldn’t have any faith whatsoever in them.

  And in her, even if he claimed that he saw her in a better light.

  “You maintain I’m different, but you are saying the way I was born, a fact I have no control over, precludes me from being anything but your lover, despite any feelings we share.”

  She all but held her breath as she waited for his answer. He struggled with it for so long that she ended up not needing to hear it at all. It was self-explanatory. And it broke her heart that he loved her but couldn’t look past his prejudices.

  She reached up to cover his lips with her fingers so that he wouldn’t answer her question.

  “I can’t do that,” she whispered. “If I can’t have all of you, it would be better not to have any.”

  His face crumpled and for a moment, she hoped he might find a way to fix things between them. But instead, he nodded once and backed away from her touch. She lowered her fingers and clutched them, for they were still warm from his skin.

  “I respect your opinion, my lady,” he said softly. “And obviously I should go. Good night.”

  She watched him as he walked slowly to her door and left without so much as looking back over his shoulder. She clung to the back of the closest chair and whispered, “It is more than good night. It’s goodbye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Desire can have unintended outcomes, both for good and for bad.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures

  Grace sat staring into her teacup, trying not blink or cry or think or feel. And failing horribly at them all. Especially when she looked up to find both Isabel and Jacinda on the edges of their seats, leaning over in anticipation.

  “And then?” Isabel burst out.

  “Please tell us,” Jacinda urged, her hands clenched.

  “Then he left,” Grace finished, finally saying the words that represented the nightmare. “And I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Especially since he has apparently declined four or five invitations in the last day or so. It seems he will wash his hands of our dirty, rotten company.”

  Jacinda sniffed and a tear trailed down her cheek. “Gracie, I’m so sorry. When did this happen?”

  “Three days ago,” Grace whispered and was horrified when a sob hiccupped from her lips. She covered her mouth and stared at her friends. Both of them had faces lined with concern and love and sadness.

  But shockingly, not pity.

  “Come here,” Isabel said, opening her arms.

  Grace leaned in and allowed the hug. All the feelings she had kept inside, all the pain that she had been fighting to ignore and control, bubbled up and she wept as Jacinda stroked her hair and Isabel held her without censure or any other words.

  And when she had cried out all the tears and sat up, she shook her head.

  “You know,” she said as she took the embroidered handkerchief that Jacinda had seemed to produce from thin air. “We can thank Connor for one thing.”

  Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “I do realize now that being a bit more open isn’t the worst thing in the world,” she said as she dabbed her eyes. “I have avoided it for so long, but to be able to tell you the truth and express my emotions on the subject…it helps.”

  “Well, then perhaps that was his purpose in your life,” Jacinda offered helpfully.

  Isabel jumped up. “Don’t try to soften him, Jacinda, you sweet, lovely angel. I have never been so angry at someone in my life. To be offered love by someone as remarkable as you are, Grace, and to refuse it for such a foolhardy reason? I could strangle the man with his own neckerchief!”

  Grace blinked. She had been the one rushing to the defense of her friends for so long, she could scarcely believe it was now coming back to her.

  But Isabel wasn’t finished, it seemed. “When I tell Seth, I’ll demand he pull his support of that man’s ridiculous books and—”

  “No!” Grace said, holding up her hand. “Please don’t do that. Tell Seth if you must—I know you don’t keep things from him—but I beg of you, don’t destroy Connor. He has a great many reasons for his position, making him suffer won’t change them. He is a good man, a good…” She caught her breath. “He was my very good friend and I wouldn’t want to see him hurt.”

  Isabel folded her arms. “Fine. I’ll do it your way. But that man is going to know that I hold him responsible for your pain.”

  “I think he holds himself responsible,” Grace said softly. “But not every person in the world gets the fairy tale you two have, you know. Sometimes we love people and they are simply out of reach. And so I shall go on living my life and probably never see the man again.”

  Her throat swelled at those words, but she swallowed hard so she wouldn’t lose herself in hysterics a second time. Once was quite enough to prove she had a heart. More than that would be ridiculous.

  “Perhaps with time, he’ll realize what he’s lost,” Jacinda suggested. “Perhaps he’ll—”

  She was cut off by the perfectly timed arrival of Nash. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but this was just delivered. It was marked urgent.”

  He held out a letter and Grace tilted her head. “An urgent post?” she repeated as she got to her feet and moved toward her servant.

  For a brief, shining moment, her heart swelled. Could it be from Connor? Could Jacinda be right that a few days apart might have made him reconsider? But as she reached her butler’s side, her hope evaporated, for she could see the hand on the addressing of the letter and it wasn’t Connor’s neat, even script she knew so very well.

  “Thank you, Nash,” she said, trying to keep her utter disappointment from her voice. He bowed from the room and she turned back to her friends. “Will you give me a moment?”

  The two women nodded and she paced to the window to open the mysterious letter. It was light, thin and written on cheap paper.
She arched a brow as she unfolded the pages, but the moment she did her world stopped, her breath stopped, everything stopped except for the words written before her.

  I know who you are. I know you wrote the book. If you think you won’t be punished, think again.

  Bile rose up in her throat and she clenched a fist against the glass as she read the three simple sentences over and over again.

  “What is it?” Isabel called out from across the room.

  Grace refolded the note and shoved it in her pelisse pocket. She drew a few breaths before she turned to face her friends. They both stared at her expectantly. And why not? It wasn’t often that a tea was interrupted by an “urgent” message.

  “You’re very pale,” Jacinda observed, rising with an expression of concern.

  Grace swallowed. She could tell her friends about the note, but she knew what would happen then. There would be massive upset, which she didn’t think would be good for Jacinda’s baby. And worse than that, her two friends would suddenly wish to take care of her. That was fine, she was beginning to accept that there was value in being vulnerable and open, but if this person who had written the note was serious…

  Well, her friends could be in danger just by being here.

  And didn’t she have to believe the author of the letter was serious? After all, he had delivered his poisoned threat directly to her door. There was no doubt he had determined her identity.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, for once happy she had told that practiced lie so many times over the years. It still slipped effortlessly from her lips. “Just some foolish person demanding I come to a party in a few days. How that classifies as urgent, I shall never know.”

  Isabel wrinkled her brow as if she questioned that response, but said nothing. Jacinda’s face filled with relief, even as her hand strayed down to cover the belly that did not yet reveal her condition.