Delia shook her head. “I don’t think —”
“However, this will be the last time, and I have conditions.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Delia muttered. “Well?”
“First, do not forget, dear sister, it is my reputation you hold in your hands. And regardless of how much I may envy your independence and everything else that goes along with it, I still have hopes of making a good match, preferably with a man I love. You may well wish to pursue experience, but I am still in pursuit of marriage. And right now I am far from ready to follow in your footsteps.”
“I shall guard your reputation as if it were my own.”
“Oh, please, do better than that.”
“Is there more?”
“Yes.” Cassie leaned forward, her tone abruptly serious. “I want you to consider your meeting with St. Stephens something of a test.”
Delia frowned. “What kind of test?”
“A test of his nature, his character, as it were.” Cassie thought for a moment. “He has no idea that you’re a widow; he thinks you’re me. A secluded meeting on a terrace, even a few kisses, are forgivable, but the kind of man who would continue the type of behavior that risks a lady’s reputation and, indeed, skates perilously close to scandal is —”
“Precisely like Charles,” Delia said simply.
Remorse colored Cassie’s face. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean —”
“No, you’re quite right.” Delia chose her words carefully. “I knew of Charles’s reputation from the beginning, but I quite enjoyed the secretive nature of our meetings. My adventure, if you recall. So, to a great extent, the fault for all that transpired was mine. The question is whether a truly honorable man would have let our clandestine adventures continue.”
“But he did do the honorable thing in the end. He did marry you and, in doing so, redeemed you from ruin.” Cassie paused. “Redeeming himself as well, perhaps?”
“Perhaps.” And became cool and remote in the process. “Do you think marriage changes men, Cassie?”
“Grandmother would say that one can only hope.”
Delia laughed.
Cassie considered her for a thoughtful moment. “There is much about you and Wilmont you have still not seen fit to tell me, isn’t there?”
Delia shrugged. “Nothing of importance.”
“You told me you didn’t lo —”
“I didn’t,” Delia cut in, then sighed. “But I could have quite easily and probably would have eventually.”
“And with St. Stephens?”
“I don’t know. It’s one of many things about the man I should like to find out.
Cassie paused. “You have to tell him who you really are, you know.”
Delia raised a brow. “Is that another condition?”
“Absolutely.” Cassie nodded. “If indeed he is an honorable man — and regardless of your intentions, I daresay you don’t want to be involved with a man who isn’t — the longer you let this deception continue, the greater his annoyance will be when he discovers the truth. You could lose him entirely.”
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. And I do intend on telling him the truth.”
“When?”
“When the moment is right.”
Cassie narrowed her eyes.
Delia sighed. “And I suspect that moment will come sooner rather than later.”
“I shall hold you to that. Besides, I do not intend to sit at home while you take my place at balls and parties.”
“Of course not, that wouldn’t be at all fair. I do promise this will be the last time. Besides” — Delia cast her sister a knowing grin — “I can’t very well become a woman of experience pretending to be you.”
It was a complicated scheme involving torn dresses and two separate social events and God knows what else. Tony eased away from his discreet position beside the barely opened door to the parlor and tried not to grin. Still, what the women planned in order to change places for tonight should well work. Indeed, Delia and her sister were formidable and, under far different circumstances, the sisters would have done rather well in his own line of work.
He signaled to the footman who waited down the hall near the back stairs. At once the man assumed his position at the front door. The footman was one of a half dozen new servants Delia had returned to find in her house, although she seemed to pay them little heed.
There were now footmen and maids and an underbutler, as well as a cook’s helper who only came in during the day. As per the duke’s orders, all of the additions to the household were in the employ of the department and charged with Delia’s protection — with the single exception of the cook’s helper. She was hired for the protection of everyone’s digestion, and Mrs. Miller was more than willing to let the other woman do the bulk of the work in the kitchen.
Life in Delia’s house was busy, what with the new servants who weren’t servants but played their parts well, and Delia’s meetings with various merchants that she ultimately paid scant attention to. But overall it was positively dull compared to other assignments he had had. And he rather liked it that way for now. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred and indeed there was no indication that Delia was in any kind of danger.
Tony wondered if the department had been misled. Regardless, his assignment was to stay, and stay he would.
Delia had been preoccupied since her return from the country, which had actually worked in his favor. He’d returned to London only the day before she had. He’d had to scramble to meet the duke’s orders regarding servants, as well as Delia’s orders about appointments and meetings. The duke’s commands were easily carried out. Delia’s proved to be far more trying for himself and the department.
He stepped into the library, closed the door behind him and strode across the room to take a seat at the desk. Delia would be busy with her sister for at least the next half hour and he had personal correspondence to deal with. And decisions to make.
He spread out his correspondence and stared at it unseeing.
Whether he liked it or not, this would probably be his final job. Oh, certainly the Duke of Roxborough could head a secret department of the British government and still handle the responsibilities of his title. But the duke had resources well beyond Tony’s, including the extensive Effington family and four loyal, competent brothers. Tony was alone in the world. The duke had grown up knowing full well someday the Roxborough title and the responsibilities that went with it would be his. He had been trained and taught and raised accordingly. Tony never imagined the brother he barely knew would succumb to a sudden illness and die without issue.
One of the letters before him forwarded from his estate was from the manager of his brother’s — no, his — property asking questions Tony had no idea how to answer. He had always thought himself skilled, competent and up to any situation. He could slip into an enemy-held city unnoticed or take on a new identity so thoroughly even his own mother wouldn’t know him, or, if necessary, kill a man without making a sound. But he hadn’t the foggiest idea how to be an English lord.
He could not put it off much longer. He’d always owed his complete allegiance and loyalty to his country and his king. Now there were people he’d never given a second thought to dependent on him. On his actions and decisions and patronage. Servants and tenant farmers and God only knew who else.
He blew a long breath and ran his hand through his hair. It was past time he learned precisely what was involved in being the Viscount St. Stephens. Exactly what his new responsibilities were to his family, or rather his heritage, his title and, well, the future. A future that required his ensuring his lineage and his title did not end with him. Like it or not, providing for the future meant one thing, and one thing only: a wife.
He’d not given much consideration to the idea of a wife up till now. In his nearly thirty years of life he really hadn’t seen much use for one. He’d simply assumed someday at some point he would wed some pleasant, biddable woman who wou
ld spend her days taking care of his needs. But now his life had taken a turn he had not foreseen. Now he had responsibilities beyond himself. Now a wife was no longer a vague concept somewhere in the far-off distance but a very real possibility, if not a necessity.
Had Wilmont thought the same thing? Had he too realized the time had come for him to live up to the responsibilities of his position? Had he decided Delia was part of that?
Tony drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. Why Wilmont had married Delia was still a mystery. But if he had decided she would make an excellent wife, not merely for an agent of the British crown but for a baron with wealth and responsibilities and possibly a need for a connection with a powerful family, their marriage made sense. And if Wilmont had come to that conclusion, perhaps he had made the same decision Tony had.
Had Wilmont felt he was working on his final job as well?
It was an interesting idea and possibly explained the man’s odd, reticent behavior between the day of his wedding and the day of his death. How did it all get so twisted? Tony knew full well the initial plan did not involve marriage, yet marriage was the end result. Unless.-Tony’s fingers stilled.
Unless Wilmont found himself caught in his own trap?
At once, the myriad pieces that had floated in Tony’s head for six months snapped into place.
Baron Wilmont, Charles, had fallen in love with Philadelphia Effington. It was the only thing that made sense. Tony probably hadn’t realized it before now because he hadn’t known her until now. Now he could well see how even the most jaded of men could fall under the spell of her charm and her laugh and the way she felt in his arms.
She was, in truth, all Tony had ever wanted in a woman. Bloody hell, she was all he’d ever wanted in a wife — except for that biddable business, and the challenge of marrying an Effington woman would likely make up for that. At least the duke thought so.
Whether she realized it or not, with all that independent widow nonsense she and her sister had spoken of, Delia — any woman, really — needed someone to take care of her. Why shouldn’t it be him? If she had spent a great deal of time thinking about him since their meeting on the terrace, he had spent at least that much thinking about her. Dreaming about her.
Besides, Tony was her late husband’s friend, and the least he could do for Wilmont was take care of his wife. Viewed that way, it didn’t seem the least bit like betrayal, but rather a solemn duty. Beyond that, he could have as easily drawn the assignment to court her as Wilmont. Indeed, couldn’t the dramatic upheaval in her life be at least partially blamed on Tony? And when seen in that light, it could well be considered his responsibility to…to what?
Marry her?
His stomach lurched at the thought. Marriage was a remarkably permanent institution. In spite of the changes in his own position, and his acknowledgment of the need for a wife, he still wasn’t especially certain he was ready for marriage. Yet. However, he certainly was not about to allow the woman he might, or might not, marry to go off and become a woman of experience. Not without him. Why, it was practically his duty to protect her from herself and each and every unsavory male who lay in wait for a lovely, lonely, wealthy widow. The best way to protect her might well be to occupy her time himself and hopefully her thoughts and, if it came to it, her bed. He damn near owed her that.
As she had apparently selected him as her first stepping-stone down the path to experience, the least he could do was cooperate, starting this very night. Indeed, if she wanted an honorable man, he would make certain she got one. Regardless of his current deception, he was, in truth, a man of honor and had every intention of behaving as one tonight. And how would Delia respond to that? He grinned. He quite looked forward to this evening.
Besides, the simple truth was he wanted to be with her as himself. He’d quite enjoyed talking with her and dancing with her and, most of all, kissing her. They hadn’t spent nearly enough time together and, as odd as it sounded, with every passing day he grew rather jealous of Gordon. Of himself. And with every passing day it grew more difficult not to take her in his arms.
She had the strangest effect on him, and had since the first moment he’d looked into her blue eyes. He wanted her, of course, in the way men want women who are pretty and clever and amusing. He’d already acknowledged that. But there was more to it than mere desire. And what that more was might well be the most exciting thing he’d ever done. And the most dangerous.
If Wilmont had indeed loved her, that explained why he had married her. But even if Wilmont had married Delia for love, had she married him for the same reason? Had Delia loved her husband?
And worse, did she love him still?
Chapter 11
This might well be an enormous mistake. Or a truly grand adventure.
Delia slipped into the massive salon at Lady Puget’s and adopted the distinct air of someone returning from the ladies’ retiring room rather than someone who had just now arrived. She smiled Cassie’s confident smile, joined the stream of guests circling the outer edges of the room, then slipped out of the flow of the crowd and stepped into a large, circular alcove. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided light for the cluster of potted palms and exotic plants positioned in the center of the alcove. During daylight hours, the windows provided a delightful panorama of Lady Puget’s impressive gardens.
Delia had been to Lord and Lady Puget’s fetes before and knew this spot was the perfect place from which to view the room. One could even have a private conversation while in full sight of the rest of the gathering, unless one chose to survey the gardens from the widows and was therefore forced to step behind the palms, which could be perfect as well for a bit of seclusion. After all, she did have Cassie’s reputation to consider, even if it was surprising to learn Cassie was concerned about such things. And surprising as well to realize she did not know everything about her sister. However, this was most definitely a public sort of place and absolutely no one could chastise a young woman for speaking with a gentleman here. If, of course, one could find said gentleman.
Delia scanned the ballroom in search of a tall, dark-haired stranger. Lord Mysterious. She smiled to herself.
It was such a perfect name for St. Stephens. Oh, certainly Cassie had managed to find out the basic details of his life, but it appeared no one really knew the man. Delia wasn’t entirely sure if that was a problem or a benefit. She rather liked the idea of a gentleman who did not drag the past along with him. She rather liked the idea of Lord Mysterious.
Of course, tonight a gentleman of mystery was most appropriate, given the machinations she and Cassie had gone through to get her to this point.
Cassie and their parents were to come to the Pugets’ reception but planned on nothing more than making a brief appearance, for reasons of both society and politics, and then proceed on to another gathering elsewhere. At the last minute, Cassie claimed to have torn her gown, insisted her parents go on without her and promised to join them at the second location. Accompanied by her maid, she had then taken a carriage to Delia’s, where Delia waited already wearing a gown she had earlier pulled from her nearly forgotten trunk. Cassie stayed behind and Delia proceeded to the reception, vowing to return within two hours.
Delia resisted the urge to laugh out loud. It had already been quite an exhilarating evening, and most definitely an adventure. She hadn’t had so much fun since her secret meetings with Charles in what seemed a lifetime ago. But this was entirely different.
With Charles, from their first moment, she’d understood her feelings completely. Right or wrong, she’d seen him very much as her last chance for adventure and had entered into their liaison with her eyes wide open. When she considered it, she’d really been rather practical.
With St. Stephens, she had no idea exactly how she felt except for a sweet, awful yearning deep inside her. It wasn’t simply a physical desire to know more of those things Charles had briefly introduced her to, although admittedly there was some of that. No, it was something
more profound. Something exquisite and more than a little frightening. There was a danger inherent in involvement with St. Stephens that went well beyond the threat of scandal.
“Once again, I feared you would not come.” St. Stephens’s voice sounded from the other side of the palms and a shiver of anticipation tripped up her spine.
“And once again I have surprised you.” She slanted him a quick glance and thought surely her very bones would dissolve at the simmering look in his eyes. Still, it would not do to let him know. She continued to study the crowd and forced a casual note to her voice. “How could I possibly resist such a charming invitation?”
“Did you like the flowers, then?”
“They were lovely.” Indeed, had she ever seen a rose that wasn’t lovely? “I am exceedingly fond of roses.”
“I hoped you would like them.” He stepped to her side. “I particularly thought that color would suit you.”
She didn’t allow her smile to so much as flicker. “It’s long been my favorite.”
“Really?” He studied her curiously. “I always thought red was the favorite of most women.”
“Most, perhaps, but I assure you” — she adopted a breezy tone that belied the fact that she had no idea what color her flowers, no, Cassie’s flowers, were; and she had no intention of wasting any of her precious time with him discussing them — “I am not like most women.”
“I did not doubt it for a moment.” He chuckled in a manner entirely too intimate and seductive to be proper.
She favored him with a knowing smile, then strolled toward the windows and gazed out into the garden, illuminated tonight with lanterns set strategically amid the plantings. “Look, my lord. Fairy lights in the garden.”
“I have always been quite fond of fairy lights,” he murmured.
She caught his gaze in the reflection of the window. “You haven’t even looked.”
“At the garden, no.” He shook his head slowly. “Why should I, when I can gaze into your eyes?”
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