Chapter 12
If one was fortunate enough to have the resources of a department of the British government behind him and intelligent enough to have the foresight to leave a carriage and driver far enough away to avoid the jam of vehicles in front of the Puget mansion, one could easily manage to return home well before anyone else. Particularly necessary if one also needed a few extra moments to change from a young viscount to an elderly butler.
Tony glanced in the gilded mirror near the front entry and nodded with satisfaction. Not a hair on Gordon’s head was out of place. He caught the eye of Mac stationed by the front door. The man gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Tony resisted the urge to grin. No, he resisted the urge to laugh out loud.
The evening with Delia had gone far better than he’d dreamed. She certainly hadn’t recognized him, and it had been rather wonderful to be with her as himself. And that nonsense with her parents — he choked back a laugh. Well, she deserved it. Pretending to be her sister and defying all the conventions of society by going out in public. Oh, certainly she had done the same thing at Effington Hall, but if one looked at it through particularly narrowed eyes, one could say that was hardly public. It was her family’s home, after all.
Mac opened the door and Delia swept into the entry.
“Good evening” — he paused for a heartbeat — “my lady.”
“Good evening, Gordon.” She nodded briskly. “Is my sister in the parlor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent.” She started toward the parlor. He reached the door a step ahead of her and pulled it open. She stepped over the threshold and stopped in midstride. “You know who I am?”
“Of course, Lady Wilmont.”
She glared up at him suspiciously. “How?”
“The look in your eye, ma’am,” he said in his best unruffled butler manner. “It is unmistakable.”
“Charming,” she muttered, and turned back into the room. He closed the door behind her, leaving it discreetly cracked open just enough to hear as much of the conversation as possible, then took up his position beside it.
“Well?” Miss Effington’s voice sounded from the library. “Was it —”
“Some of it was quite wonderful, but the evening did not turn out precisely as I had planned.” Delia sighed. “I encountered an unexpected problem.”
He could well imagine the look on her sister’s face.
“What kind of problem? You haven’t ruined me entirely, have you?”
“Of course not, don’t be silly.” Delia paused, obviously gathering her courage. “Do sit down, Cassie, I have a great deal to tell you.” Delia lowered her voice and, as much as Tony strained, he could not make out her words. He anticipated a shriek from her sister at any minute.
He certainly expected Miss Effington to be overset by the unexpected problems her sister had encountered, although certainly she was as much to blame as Delia herself. This should well be a lesson for them both about deception and impersonations.
He brushed aside the hypocritical nature of his criticism. After all, he was engaged in a far more extensive deception with an impersonation that had invaded Delia’s own household, her privacy, even her confidence. He knew full well she would see her sins as much less significant than his own, although he could certainly argue that, while her masquerade was for distinctly personal reasons, his was for a higher purpose, primarily her own safety. Indeed, one could even say his ruse was undertaken for the very security of his country. Why, looking at it that way, it was his patriotic duty to lie to her.
Regardless, she would never forgive him.
A leaden weight settled in the pit of his stomach. She would, in all likelihood, despise him. And in truth, who could blame her? He had deceived her, lied to her, from the very moment he stepped into her house. He used said deception to work his way into her confidence, even her affections. And tonight, he simply compounded his sins.
A peal of laughter sounded from the parlor. Tony and Mac traded glances. Tony had no idea if the laughter was a good sign or very, very bad.
Tony hadn’t intended to tell Delia he might well love her; he hadn’t really yet admitted it to himself. And he certainly hadn’t planned to bring up the possibility of marriage. The very thought of marriage, of permanence and commitment and confinement, brought a cold chill to his soul, although marriage, permanence, commitment and even confinement did not sound quite as bad with Delia. Indeed, it really had a rather intriguing appeal. Still, he wasn’t at all sure why he had mentioned marriage, although it had certainly been on his mind of late. The easy and obvious answer was that he had simply been caught up in the moment. Playing out that bit about insisting on meeting her parents, asking her father for permission to call on her, all in the name of presenting himself as an honorable man. He cringed at the thought. He did indeed have a well defined sense of honor, but Delia would most definitely not see it that way.
He would be lucky if she allowed him to live after all of this. Tony had been in dangerous situations before now, but none as potentially lethal as the game he was caught up in with Delia.
Welcome to the game.
Was it the duke’s fault, then? Had His Grace intentionally planted the idea of marriage in Tony’s mind? He wouldn’t put it at all past him, given his annoyance at having his niece involved in the first place. Probably his way of enacting revenge. The man was indeed diabolical.
No, it wasn’t the duke’s fault. Nor was it Delia’s or her sister’s or anyone’s fault, really. Blame it all on fate, perhaps, and the strange sequence of events that had begun half a year ago with Wilmont and taken them all to this point. The plain and simple fact was that he had indeed fallen in love with the woman he was deceiving and, more, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
A life she might well cut short when she knew the truth. She was probably as diabolical as her uncle. Just look at the convoluted, and fairly successful, plan she and her sister had cooked up for tonight. Diabolical no doubt ran in their blood.
There was no good way out of this mess. Confession on his part could well lead to murder on hers. The duke expected Tony to do the honorable thing if his ruse was made public, and while Tony was willing, he would wager his entire fortune Delia would not be. Now that she had wealth and independence, Tony didn’t doubt for a moment she would not be at all inclined to do anything she didn’t wish to do.
And she wished to become an experienced woman, not a wife.
Still, in spite of her intentions, he was confident she was not the sort of woman who could indulge in the carnal aspects of experience without involving her emotions as well. If he helped her achieve her objective, with a bit of luck, when the time came to tell her the truth she would be as in love with him as he was with her.
By God, that was the answer. He would mount a campaign for her heart that would indeed rival Wellington’s quest to defeat Napoleon. As reluctant as he was to admit that she had worked her way into his heart, he did love her and he didn’t want to lose her. He could easily see how Wilmont might have loved her as well.
Still…He straightened at the thought. She had not loved Wilmont. She had said as much tonight. If that was true, then it stood to reason she had not married him because she wanted to, but because she had to. Because Wilmont had ruined her and she saw no other choice. Tony had already concluded there was at the very least the possibility of affection on Wilmont’s side, but now he wondered which had come first: the seduction or the emotion.
If Delia wasn’t mourning the man she loved, there might well be room in her heart for Tony.
Abruptly, the murmur of voices in the library grew louder and Tony moved away from the door. A moment later the door opened and Delia and her sister stepped into the entry.
Miss Effington cast him a pleasant smile. “So nice to see you, Gordon. I trust you are feeling better?”
“I am, miss. Thank you for asking,” Tony said politely.
Delia’s brows drew toge
ther. “What are you talking about? Are you ill?”
“One of the other servants informed me Gordon was not feeling well and had taken to his bed. I didn’t see him at all this evening.” Miss Effington studied him carefully and he couldn’t help but wonder if she believed his story or considered him some kind of slacker.
“Oh, dear.” Delia turned a worried gaze toward him. “Are you all right? Should you be up and about?”
“I am quite well, ma’am. It was nothing at all.” His voice was firm. “No doubt something I ate.”
“I did think the food had vastly improved,” she murmured, studying him far too closely for comfort. “Very well, then, if you’re sure.” Delia turned toward her sister. “Thank you again. If you need me —”
“Oh, I shan’t need you.” Miss Effington grinned. “I can handle Mother. In truth, I rather look forward to it. Besides, the thrill of being the good sister has worn rather thin.”
“I thought it would,” Delia said wryly.
A few moments later, Miss Effington took her leave.
“Did the” — he cleared his throat — “evening go well, ma’am?”
“The evening was not without its merits.” Delia crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t approve, do you?”
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, my lady.”
“I see.” Delia’s voice was thoughtful. She turned and headed toward the library. “Would you care to join me for a brandy and a game, Gordon? I am far too restless to sleep. Brandy and losing a game or two to you should do the trick.”
“As you wish.” Tony stepped to the door, pulled it open an instant before she reached it, congratulated himself on his timing and followed her into the room. She headed toward the backgammon table, while he proceeded to the liquor cabinet. He poured them each a glass, then joined her at the table.
She sipped the brandy he’d handed her absently. They started the game in relative silence and continued through one long move after another. For a woman who claimed to be too restless to sleep, she was unusually subdued and it was damnably irritating. Indeed, she’d been uncharacteristically quiet ever since she’d returned to London. In his role as Gordon, Tony thought he had mastered the art of patience, and up to now he had not pressed her for her thoughts, but apparently his patience had a limit.
“Have I offended you in some way, Lady Wilmont?” He forced an offhand note to his voice.
“Other than the fact that you have thoroughly trounced me every night for the last three? Why, no.” Delia studied the backgammon table. “Why do you ask?”
“You have been remarkably quiet since your return from the country, and remarkably quiet tonight as well.”
“I thought you preferred silence when you played.”
“Silence from you, my lady, is more disturbing than noise.”
She glanced up at him. “Forgive me, Gordon, my mind has been occupied with other concerns of late.”
“Forgive me, my lady, if I overstep my bounds.”
“Not at all,” she said firmly. “I have already given you leave to speak your mind. I do not intend to renege on that now simply because I am preoccupied.”
“Might I be so forward as to ask if something happened while you were at Effington Hall? Or perhaps tonight?”
“Any number of things happened at Effington Hall.” She sipped her drink thoughtfully. “I discovered my family was not nearly as upset with me over my marriage and the scandal it aroused as I was myself. Indeed, I discovered the scandal itself was not as great as I had believed. Odd, don’t you think?”
“Not in the least. We are all the leading characters in our own dramas.”
“I suppose we are. How terribly astute of you, Gordon.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He bit back a smile. “Astute is something I strive for.”
She laughed, and it was good to hear.
“Gordon,” she said slowly, still pondering her next move. “Do you recall when you said I should find a husband and I said I was not especially interested in finding a husband?”
“Quite clearly.”
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know that I want another husband. I’m not ruling it out completely, but I’m not sure I want to leap into another marriage. At least not yet. However, I find it’s dreadfully lonely to live by oneself. What I do think I want…well…that is…”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“A man, Gordon.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “I should very much like a man in my life.”
“A certain man in particular, ma’am, or will any man do?”
“I do have a man in mind. Most definitely.” She laughed an odd, soft sort of laugh, as if she weren’t sure if what she was about to say was amusing or upsetting. “And I think — no, I know he has me in mind as well.”
“And this distresses you?”
Her gaze snapped to his. “No. It’s really rather wonderful. He’s really rather wonderful.”
“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully.
“Then would you be so good as to explain it to me?”
“You are troubled because you have feelings for this man and your husband has not yet been dead a year.”
“Guilt, then, you think?” She sat back in her chair and stared. “That’s very good, Gordon. Even, dare I say, astute? I may well be feeling a bit of guilt, but…” She paused for a long moment. “My marriage was a horrible mistake. I scarcely knew my husband.”
“And you don’t wish to make the same mistake again?”
“Good God, no.” She downed the brandy in her glass, set it on the table with a thunk and leaned forward. “I absolutely will not make another such dreadful mistake. I refuse to. After all, marriage is a permanent state. And one cannot count on one’s husband conveniently dying so soon after the wedding.”
Her eyes widened and she gasped in shock at her own words.
“I didn’t mean…that is, I never…oh, dear.” She buried her face in her hands. “I am a loathsome person.”
Tony stood, fetched the brandy decanter and returned to his seat. “I would say, ma’am, you are not unusual.”
“Hah.” She groaned, her face still hidden in her hands. “Then the world is full of loathsome people.”
“I suspect everyone has some unpleasant qualities on occasion,” he said mildly, refilling her glass. “And much of it is relative. What one thinks is, oh, say, dishonorable, someone else might see as a necessary evil. In service to one’s country or something like that.”
She raised her head and stared in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“A random thought, my lady, nothing more.” He handed her the glass.
“I’ve always thought of myself as a rather nice sort of person. It’s most distressing to realize I was wrong.” She shook her head and took a long, bracing sip. “I can’t believe I said such a thing. I can’t believe I even thought such a thing. What kind of woman thinks things like that?”
A woman who had not loved the man she’d married.
“A loathsome woman.” She aimed her glass at him pointedly. “That’s who.”
“Not at all. A young woman says such things, my lady,” he said firmly. “A young woman who finds herself in an untenable situation with no means of escape.”
“But I certainly did not wish him dead!”
“Of course not.” He studied her carefully. “However, it is the nature of mankind to see the benefits inherent in even the worst of circumstances.”
She wrinkled her nose. “More astute philosophy, Gordon?”
“One does what one can.” As informative as this discussion was, it was not precisely what he wanted. “Might I ask what all this has to do with the current gentleman in question?”
“The current gentleman in question is…” She paused for a long moment to choose her words or perhaps sort her thoughts. Tony held his breath. “As much as I fear making another mistake with my life, as much as I realize that, in truth, I don’t know him even as much as
I knew my husband when I went — when I married him, it feels as if I know him very well.”
She rested her elbow on the table, disregarding the playing pieces, and propped her chin in her free hand. “I don’t know what it is, Gordon, but he seems remarkably familiar. Something in the way he stands, perhaps — he is exceedingly tall.”
Without thinking, Tony slumped slightly in his chair.
“It’s the timbre of his voice, or maybe the intonation of his words.”
“Indeed,” he said, his voice a shade deeper than before.
“Or possibly the look in his eye. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown I’ve ever seen. Similar to yours,” she said thoughtfully. “Although yours are difficult to see behind your spectacles.”
“An unfortunate aspect of age, I’m afraid.” Tony sent a silent prayer heavenward in thanks to whatever bit of foresight had had him add glasses to the rest of his ensemble.
She swirled the brandy in her glass. “And when we speak together, it feels strangely as though we have spoken before. Long, intimate conversations. I know we’ve never even met. Still…” She sighed. “It is both disconcerting and quite nice.”
The last thing he wanted was for her to dwell on why he seemed so familiar and discover the truth on her own. It would be bad enough when he told her, but at least he would be in control of the situation. There was nothing worse in his experience than unexpected revelation.
“There are those in the world,” he said thoughtfully, “who believe one’s soul never dies. That it is reborn over and over and that we live our lives again and again.”
“Reincarnation.” She nodded. “My mother has spoken of it. It’s one of the many things she believes in.”
“It claims those we know in this life we have known before and will know again. It is said to be why people we have never met sometimes seem so familiar.”
“Because we’ve known them in another life? I’ve never given it much consideration before, but it’s a lovely idea. Then those we love in this life…”
“We have loved before.”
The Lady In Question Page 17