My Wicked Little Lies

by Victoria Alexander

  And furthermore, his wife was not the least bit dull. Why, she was the most exciting woman he had ever met. Adventurous and courageous and amusing.

  And far too clever to dally with a man like Radington. How could he have been so stupid? Beryl was absolutely right. Evie would never have an affair with a man of Radington’s reputation. She would choose better than that.

  Not that she had chosen. Not that she was doing anything untoward at all. Not that this wasn’t entirely in his own imagination fueled by nothing save a certain preoccupation in her manner. He was making something out of nothing. He knew it and yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He should stop this nonsense right now. Doubt fueled by jealousy and the fear of losing what he cherished most was far too powerful to overcome with mere reason. Still, hadn’t he made enough of a fool out of himself already?

  Apparently not. It was past time to get to the bottom of this.

  He stalked into his house, barely pausing to hand his hat and coat to Stewart, the butler. “Is Lady Waterston at home?”

  The servant shook his head. “No, my lord. I believe I heard something mentioned about afternoon tea but I—”

  “Hah.” Adrian glared at the poor man. “From now on there shall be no going out for afternoon tea.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Stewart stared.

  “We have perfectly good tea right here.”

  “Indeed we do, my lord,” the butler said quickly. “And as Miss DeRochette did not accompany Lady Waterston, I assume tea was not involved after all.”

  “Excellent,” he snapped and headed toward Evie’s parlor. “Is Miss DeRochette in Lady Waterston’s parlor?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Stewart called after him. No doubt the man was even now resisting the urge to follow to discover what had put his lordship in such a rare, foul mood.

  He flung open the door to Evie’s private parlor. Miss DeRochette jumped up from her seat behind the ladies’ desk that was her domain in the house. “Where is she, Miss DeRochette?”

  Her eyes widened. “My lord?”

  “My wife. Where is my wife?”

  She stared. “She had some calls to make, my lord. And she was going to stop at the milliner’s and select some fabric, and stop at a bookseller’s—”

  A lesser man might have shown some outward expression of the realization that struck him with the force of a bullet.

  “A bookseller’s?” he said slowly. “Hatchard’s?”

  He should have seen it from the beginning. Love certainly did muck up a rational man’s mind.

  “No, sir.” She shook her head. “Fenwick and Sons.”

  Bloody hell, he was indeed an idiot.

  Part Two

  Deception

  The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.

  —Oscar Wilde

  Chapter 9

  “You simply must take your husband in hand.”

  “I what?” Evelyn stared in confusion and a fair amount of disbelief.

  She had not yet recovered from the shock of Lady Dunwell calling on her. The woman had swept into Evelyn’s parlor with the single-minded determination of a hound with the scent of fox in his nose. Evelyn couldn’t recall the last time she had been at a loss for words, but Lady Dunwell’s presence had done just that. Had Lady Dunwell accused her of searching her library or suspecting Lord Dunwell of nefarious acts, Evelyn could have responded with an appropriate comment. That she was at least somewhat prepared for. But as relieved as she was that Lady Dunwell’s visit had nothing to do with Evelyn’s assignment, this demand of the woman’s left her unable to do little more than stare.

  Lady Dunwell rolled her gaze toward the ceiling in exasperation. “I said you must do something about your husband.” She sank dramatically into one of two matching blue brocade ladies’ chairs. “He is not in his right mind.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Evelyn said indignantly and sat on the edge of the peach-colored sofa, which nicely matched the chairs in style. “My husband is not mad. Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

  “Perhaps out of his mind is an exaggeration on my part.” Lady Dunwell heaved a theatrical sigh. “Do forgive me but surely you can understand my concern.”

  “No, I can’t.” Evelyn drew her brows together. “I understand neither your concern nor why you’re here. Why are you here?”

  Lady Dunwell narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “No, I suppose he wouldn’t. The embarrassment, no doubt. Men like Lord Waterston do so hate to admit when they’re wrong. Still, I did have the impression that you were one of those annoying couples who share things that are probably best not shared.”

  “We are.” Evelyn glared. “And what was he wrong about?”

  Lady Dunwell considered her for a moment. “May I be completely candid?”

  “Can you be?” Evelyn said in a tone harder than she had intended.

  “Oh my.” It was Lady Dunwell’s turn to stare. “You’re a bit sharper than I had expected. I had always thought you were fairly docile.”

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “So it would seem. I might have misjudged you.” She studied Evelyn curiously. “Oh, certainly you had something of a reputation before your marriage, but it was never especially scandalous or interesting. And since your marriage, you have been the epitome of propriety.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It was not intended as a compliment.”

  “Yes, I know.” Evelyn adopted her most pleasant smile.

  Lady Dunwell’s eyes widened and then a touch of what might have been an admiring smile curved the corners of her lips. She drew a deep breath. “Do I have your word you will keep this entirely between us? Except for Adrian, of course. You will want to speak to him. But will you assure me this will go no farther?”

  “Yes, I suppose.” What on earth did the woman want?

  “Then that will have to do.” Lady Dunwell paused to pull her thoughts together. “Yesterday afternoon, I was, oh, shall we say, having tea, privately, with a friend at the Langham, when your husband burst in upon us.”

  Evelyn drew her brows together. “Why would he interrupt your tea?”

  Lady Dunwell stared as if Evelyn were the one who made no sense. “Perhaps I haven’t misjudged you after all.” She huffed. “The tea was a very expensive champagne. The privacy was provided by a suite, not overly large but nicely appointed. The friend was a gentleman, and while we weren’t actually pouring tea at the moment your husband arrived, we were also not properly dressed.”

  Evelyn stared.

  “Or dressed at all,” Lady Dunwell said sharply. “Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

  “Well, yes, I think—”

  “I was engaged in an afternoon of fun and frolic with a gentleman who was not my husband in a hotel room when we were interrupted by your husband.” Lady Dunwell glared. “Now do you understand?”

  “I understood when you said pouring tea,” Evelyn snapped. “What I don’t understand is why my husband was there and why you have come to me.”

  “You have to do something about him. As I said, you need to take him in hand.” She met Evelyn’s gaze firmly. “He came looking for you.”

  “For me?” Evelyn shook her head in confusion. “Why on earth would he go to a hotel looking for me?”

  “Apparently ...” Lady Dunwell paused for emphasis. The woman certainly did have a flair for the dramatic. “He does not think you are quite as proper as you appear.”

  Evelyn sucked in a hard breath. “He can’t possibly ...”

  Lady Dunwell raised a brow.

  “Absolutely not,” Evelyn said staunchly. Why, Adrian trusted her as she trusted him. Certainly, he had noticed her preoccupation, and yes, at the Dunwells’ reception he had shown a distinct hint of jealousy, and last night, she had caught him more than once studying her with an
odd look of consideration. Of course, a touch of jealousy at a party was one thing. Thinking she was engaged in afternoon tea with a gentleman in a hotel room was quite another. Indignation rushed through her. “How could he?”

  “No matter what else he may be, he is first and foremost a man. And men are odd and unfathomable creatures and, for the most part, not worth the effort they require. Worse, they think they are the sensible ones.” She tugged at the fingers of her left glove and pulled it off. Which obviously meant she planned to stay. “And I must say, I find all this explaining has left me rather parched.”

  “Tea perhaps?” Evelyn said in a dry manner.

  “One always enjoys a good cup of tea.” Lady Dunwell removed her other glove.

  “I know I shall never quite enjoy it in the same manner again.” Evelyn stood, moved to the door, and asked the butler to order tea. Where were her manners? She should have thought of refreshments earlier. Besides, it gave her a momentary reprieve from the gaze of Lady Dunwell. And time to consider exactly what she had just revealed.

  Wasn’t it only the other night that Adrian had said he trusted her? Obviously he was more concerned about her recent preoccupation than he’d let on. But to suspect she’d be unfaithful, when she’d never so much as looked at another man, was both upsetting and infuriating. His unfounded suspicions said something rather disturbing about the man she thought she knew. And perhaps about their marriage as well.

  She braced herself and returned to her seat. “So, tell me.” She met the other woman’s gaze directly. “Once again, why are you here?”

  “I don’t know really.” Lady Dunwell blew a long breath. “Is Adrian here, by the way?”

  “No, I’m not sure where he is.” Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “I don’t watch him every moment.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  “I didn’t know it was necessary.”

  A maid knocked at the door, then entered with a tea cart bearing a tea service and a plate of Cook’s biscuits. Evelyn never failed to be pleased by the efficiency of the staff, most of whom had been in service here for years.

  “I realize this is your first marriage,” Lady Dunwell said as soon as the maid took her leave.

  “My first and last.” Evelyn poured a cup and handed it to the other woman.

  “One never knows.” Lady Dunwell shrugged. “As to why I am here, I seem to feel some sort of obligation to you.”

  Evelyn scoffed. “I was under the impression you didn’t like me.”

  “Oh, I don’t.” She took a sip. “But then I don’t know you, do I?”

  Evelyn ignored her. “And this obligation?”

  “Obligation may well be the wrong word.” She thought for a moment. “I simply feel that if my husband were going about bursting into hotel rooms, suspecting me of scandalous behavior, I should like to know. And I would hope someone would make me aware of his actions. Especially”—Lady Dunwell leveled her a hard look—“if I was innocent of anything untoward.”

  Evelyn bit back an immediate response as to how that was none of the other woman’s concern but thought better of it. She chose her words with care. “Then you have my thanks.”

  “Furthermore, while I am not opposed to the sharing of gossip when I am not the subject, I should not like my husband to discover through rumor that I was caught en flagrante in a hotel.” She shuddered. “He would not like that at all.”

  “I thought you and your husband were, well, independent.”

  Her brow rose. “What a clever way of putting it. I like that. It’s quite witty. I shall take that as my own. In spite of our independence, we have as well agreed upon a certain discretion.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Evelyn said coolly. “I daresay Adrian won’t mention the incident to anyone. Although I can now understand why he said nothing to me.”

  “I hope so. But men are worse than women when it comes to talking among themselves. One says something to another in strictest secrecy ...” Lady Dunwell sipped her tea in a thoughtful manner. “Still, he was quite embarrassed and I imagine he would not want his error to become common knowledge nor would he want the fact of his ...” She met Evelyn’s gaze. “Groundless suspicions?”

  Evelyn surrendered and nodded.

  “To become public as well.”

  “I don’t like the idea of his suspicions becoming fuel for gossip either as I have done nothing to make him question my devotion.” Evelyn narrowed her eyes. “And I’m not at all happy to learn he doesn’t truly trust me.”

  Lady Dunwell shrugged in a casual manner. “Quite often men who question their wives’ fidelity do so because they have something to hide themselves.”

  “Adrian has nothing to hide,” Evelyn said staunchly. Certainly Adrian had sown his wild oats with indiscriminate abandon before their marriage, but now there wasn’t a question in her mind that the Earl of Waterston was completely faithful to his wife.

  “Then he loves you,” Lady Dunwell said simply.

  “Then he should trust me.” Evelyn’s jaw tightened. What had possessed the man?

  “Probably, but love plays havoc with the heads of even the most intelligent of men.” Lady Dunwell selected a biscuit. “No man wants to lose what he loves. Would that my husband be as jealous, so fearful of losing me.” She paused. “No, on further consideration, that wouldn’t suit me at all.”

  “Yours was not a love match then?” Evelyn couldn’t resist the question even though, given all she had heard about Lord and Lady Dunwell, she already knew the answer.

  “Good Lord, no.” Lady Dunwell scoffed. “I have never experienced love nor do I particularly wish to. My first husband, Charles, was much older than I and very wealthy. He already had a grown heir and all he wanted was a wife who would look good on his arm. I wanted to be the wife of a wealthy nobleman although we did get on well together. Lionel, Lord Dunwell, wanted a wife who would help further his ambitions. He intends to be prime minister one day.” She took a bite of her biscuit. “I should like to be the wife of the prime minister.”

  “You sound well suited.”

  “We are.” Lady Dunwell thought for a moment. “I may not love him, but I do rather like him. Perhaps I will love him one day, but it’s been my observation that love makes women even more vulnerable than we already are.” She glanced at the biscuit in her hand. “These are excellent, by the way. I should steal your cook from you.”

  “You could certainly try.” Evelyn adopted her most pleasant manner. “But she has been here for a very long time. Why, we consider her part of the family, and she feels the same about us. Besides.” She smiled. “We pay her exceptionally well.”

  “And loyalty cannot be bought.” Lady Dunwell nodded. “You would be wise to remember that.”

  Evelyn raised a brow.

  “He’s not a bad sort, you know. My husband, that is.” She shook her head. “Underneath all that ruthless ambition he’s really a good man in his own way. He has limits and a certain code of honor, which is often at odds with what he wants.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Adrian is a good man as well.”

  “I have always thought so,” Evelyn said under her breath.

  “Good men are exceptionally rare. I like your husband. There was a time when I more than liked him. It’s not often one finds a man who is as good as well as exciting.” She leaned forward in a confidential manner. “Aside from politics, Lionel is not particularly exciting.” She paused. “I had rather planned to keep him, you know. Adrian, that is.”

  “So I have heard,” Evelyn said wryly.

  Lady Dunwell finished the biscuit and looked at her fingers as if she would like to lick them clean. “Truly excellent.”

  “I shall pass on your compliments.”

  “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Lady Dunwell picked up her gloves. “Now then.” She rose to her feet. “I think we should be friends.”

  “Why?” Evelyn asked without thinking.

  “I don’t seem to have any female friends. I’
m not sure why.” She frowned. “I have a fair number of female acquaintances but no true friends.”

  “Oh, I daresay, Lady Dunwell, that’s not—”

  She laughed. “What a proper and polite thing to say, but I fear it is true. And as we are to be friends, you should call me Beryl.” She pinned Evelyn with a firm look. “I suspect you don’t have many friends either.”

  Evelyn scoffed. “I have any number of friends.”

  “Not so anyone would notice. Your husband’s sisters perhaps, but they are obligatory friends as they are also relations.” She thought for a moment. “However, if we are to be friends, you should know I have few scruples, my morals are questionable, and I am quite selfish.”

  “What a ringing endorsement for friendship.”

  “But I am unfailingly loyal to my friends. I am a friend you can always count on for very nearly anything.”

  Evelyn cast her a skeptical look. “I thought you didn’t have any friends?”

  “That’s why.” Beryl sighed. “Unfailing loyalty takes a great deal out of me.”

  “Friends do not steal their friends’ cooks.” Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “Or their husbands.”

  “Yet another argument for friendship because otherwise, make no mistake, I would have your husband in a minute if the opportunity presented itself.”

  “We have nothing whatsoever in common,” Evelyn warned.

  “Oh, I would never have a friend who is exactly like me.” Beryl shuddered. “One of me in a friendship is quite enough.”

  Evelyn choked back a laugh.

  “And I can be most amusing.” She grinned. “Well?” For the briefest moment something that might have been apprehension flashed in Beryl’s eyes.

  It struck Evelyn that, in spite of her confident manner and scandalous tendencies, Beryl Dunwell was a lonely woman. And hadn’t Evelyn recently decided she needed friends? A friendship with the notorious Lady Dunwell might be something of an adventure. Besides, if Lord Dunwell was involved in the theft of the file, which seemed less and less likely to Evelyn, it wouldn’t hurt to be friends with his wife. She’d had no word from Maxwell since she’d picked up The Three Musketeers yesterday and the message it contained had said little more than “wait.” It was too soon to hope this assignment was at an end yet hope she did.