Intimate Betrayal

  “Oh, Morgan,” Alyssa whispered, the horror evident in her voice.

  “They will be given a fair trial,” he insisted. “Several operatives have been killed, not to mention the damage done to our troops by the military information that was sold. Someone must be held accountable.”

  “And Priscilla?”

  “Baron Grantham is a very influential man. He was successful in dissuading Lord Castlereagh from putting his daughter on trial.” Morgan sighed heavily. “I have also promised Tristan I will try to persuade the ministry to deport Priscilla to America once the war has ended. Even though a deportation sentence is extremely harsh, at least her life will be spared.”

  Alyssa shuddered. Although Priscilla’s crime was reprehensible, Alyssa could not stomach the idea of having her put to death for it.

  “How is Caroline taking all of this?”

  “She is truly devastated. Tristan said they would return to Westgate Manor in the morning. He hopes spending time alone together will help her recovery.”

  “Speaking of recovery,” Alyssa prompted. “You had better get some rest yourself.” She got up from the bed and poured a substantial dose of laudanum in a glass of water for Morgan. “Drink it,” she instructed. “I want to go and check on Katherine. Mavis is sitting with her tonight. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  When Alyssa returned later, Morgan was fast asleep. She watched him as he slept, lightly stroking her fingertips over his jaw. She remembered with fearful clarity how close she had come to losing him tonight, and her eyes filled with tears. Shaking her head, she chased the horror from her mind and slipped between the sheets. She cuddled close to Morgan’s warmth, resting her head against his uninjured arm. In minutes she too was sleeping.

  The next morning, Alyssa bid good-bye to a tearful Caroline and an uncharacteristically subdued Tristan.

  “Promise you will write,” Alyssa instructed as she stood alone in the hall with Tristan while Caroline waited in the carriage. “I want you both to return to visit us as soon as Caroline is ready.”

  “We will,” Tristan agreed. “It will take a bit of time for Caroline to accept everything. I believe she is still in shock.”

  Alyssa felt a lump rise in her throat at his solemn, concerned expression. “I am so sorry, Tris.”

  “Don’t worry, Alyssa. Caroline and I will be fine. Truthfully, I am more concerned about you. Your endurance will be sorely tested in the next few days taking care of my brother. I was with him this morning during Baron Welles’s examination. The doctor has prescribed complete bed rest for the next five days. Morgan was most displeased with the idea.”

  “I can cope with my obstinate duke,” she responded. Stepping forward Alyssa opened her arms for Tristan’s affectionate hug of farewell. “Godspeed, Tris,” she whispered.

  Alyssa stood on the front stone steps for a few moments, watching the carriage disappear down the long drive. When the carriage was gone from view she went in search of Mrs. Keenly to compliment the housekeeper on making last night’s ball an outstanding success.

  Alyssa spent the remainder of the morning bidding her guests farewell, the dowager duchess standing supportively by her side, boldly lying to anyone who inquired about the whereabouts of her two grandsons. Alyssa could tell by the strain in the older woman’s eyes she was fully aware of everything that had occurred, but was putting on a marvelous front. Alyssa was fairly amazed that a society that so prized juicy gossip had thus far learned nothing of the tumultuous events of the previous evening. She hoped for Caroline’s sake it would remain unknown for a while longer.

  After the last of the guests had finally been packed off, the two women went together to check on Morgan. They discovered him propped up in bed, baby Katherine leaning comfortably against his muscular thigh. Morgan was calmly reading a newspaper while the baby chewed furiously on a teething ring. Mavis sat in a nearby chair, keeping an eye on both of them.

  “It is about time, madam,” Morgan said in a mocking tone. “Our poor child must be starving. She has been gnawing on that ring for the past half hour.”

  Alyssa merely smiled at her husband and picked up the gurgling baby. As she retreated to a warm corner of the room to nurse her daughter, the dowager duchess sat near the bed, engaging her grandson in earnest conversation.

  Katherine’s loud belch broke the gentle calm of the room, and the dowager duchess broke off in midsentence to smile at the baby’s hearty appetite.

  “Now that Katherine is finished, I will accompany her to the nursery,” the dowager duchess declared. She rose majestically from her chair and took the baby from Alyssa. Mavis followed them out of the room, clucking something about the proper way to carry a baby.

  Alyssa turned her grinning face to Morgan. “You realize, of course, it is just a matter of time before they come to blows over Katherine.”

  “I am putting my money on Mavis,” Morgan declared. “You should have seen the vile stuff she brought for my breakfast this morning. Called it gruel. She refused to bring me a proper meal, insisting I needed to regain my strength.”

  “How was it?” Alyssa inquired casually, not doubting for a moment Mavis had managed to get her obstinate husband to eat every bite of the porridge.

  “Not too bad,” Morgan admitted. He scowled suddenly, his face intently studying Alyssa’s as she approached the bed. “I’m not going soft, am I? First letting you make me wear this ridiculous nightshirt, next allowing an old woman to bully me into eating invalid food.”

  “No, Morgan,” Alyssa assured him gently, kicking off her shoes and joining him on the bed. “You are merely exercising good judgment in allowing those who love you to care for you properly.”

  He frowned for a moment, considering her words. “It makes me feel weak, Alyssa. And a bit vulnerable. I don’t like it.”

  “Good lord, Morgan,” Alyssa admonished. “You are recovering from a stab wound. The very least we can do is fuss over you for a while.” She scowled back at him, then decided to change the subject. “What was Grandmother lecturing you about so enthusiastically?”

  He grimaced, remembering the conversation. “She was singing your praises, as usual. And telling me I don’t appreciate my wife enough.”

  Alyssa leaned back against the pillows and crossed her arms over her chest. “Grandmother does have a valid point,” she remarked flippantly.

  “I know,” Morgan agreed, turning on his side to face her. “I haven’t appreciated you enough, Alyssa. Or, God help me, shown you how happy I am that you and Katherine are a part of my life.” He grinned mockingly. “I suppose my brush with death should change my attitude.”

  “Will it?”

  “A bit,” he replied seriously. “After all, Alyssa, you did save my life.”

  “As you did mine, Morgan, the day you walked into Westgate Manor,” she said with all sincerity.

  “I know I have hardly been a model husband—” he began, but Alyssa cut him off.

  “Our marriage began on a dismal note, Morgan; there is no disputing that fact. But I feel we have made great improvements in our relationship over the past few months. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” he answered. “I so want to do everything in my power to make you happy, Alyssa.”

  Alyssa felt the tears gathering in her eyes at his humble expression. “Do you love me, Morgan?”

  “I do,” he said in a husky voice. “More than I ever dreamed I could love another human being.”

  “Then it is enough,” she told him simply. “As long as you continue to love me, nothing can ruin our happiness.”

  He looked deeply into her sea-green eyes and saw her love reflected back at him. He reached over and pulled her head toward him for a soft, inviting kiss.

  “You must be very careful not to reinjure your shoulder.” Alyssa laughed throatily as he began pulling the pins from her hair. “I am sure Baron Welles would not approve of this, Morgan.” Desire darkened her eyes when she looked into his beloved, handsome face
.

  “Then you know what we must do, my love?” Morgan whispered, pressing lazy kisses on her neck.

  “What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “We must not inform him,” Morgan stated firmly. He pulled her tightly against his chest and proceeded to make sweet, gentle love to his wife.

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Adrienne Basso’s

  NOTORIOUS DECEPTION,

  available only as an eBook in March 2013!

  Chapter One

  London, England—1818

  The steady, rhythmic pounding of the rain atop the roof of the hired cab lulled its occupant into a false sense of security. Diana felt her eyes closing, her lids heavy, as the exhaustion she had been fighting for days finally threatened to overtake her. Her entire body was weary and sore from lack of sleep and the endless jostling of the poorly sprung vehicles she had ridden in for the past two weeks.

  Diana drifted sleepily on a cloud of exhaustion until the abrupt stopping of the carriage woke her. Instinctively she thrust her arms out to keep from falling onto the floor of the hackney carriage as she was propelled forward.

  “We’re here, missy,” the driver called down to her. He had to shout to be heard above the downpour.

  Diana, now fully awake, scrambled upright and squinted out of the grimy window in an effort to gain a better view of her destination. It was impossible to see very much of the building through the rain and the dirt on the glass. Sighing wearily, Diana gathered up her battered satchel and, clutching her black reticule in her hand, descended from the cab unassisted.

  The driver sat hunched over on the top of the carriage, water pouring off his wide-brimmed hat. He announced the fare, which Diana, though she had no experience of city ways, knew was exorbitant. But she did not bother to quibble with the driver. She was only relieved she had enough coin in her purse to pay the man, and once she did, he disappeared quickly down the soggy street.

  For a moment, Diana stood in the rain craning her neck skyward, taking in every detail of the impressive town house—from the carved stone front to the elegantly curved bay windows, balconies, and trellis work. Diana felt a moment of panic, wondering if she indeed was at the correct address, but she pushed that disturbing thought quickly toward the back of her mind. She had journeyed for too long and from too great a distance to be deterred any longer.

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched up the wide stone steps and stood before the arched front doors. As she reached up to grab the large, shiny knocker, she saw a coat of arms discretely etched in the brass work. Her spirits soared as she recognized the family crest of the Earl of Harrowby.

  “I’ve done it,” she muttered under her breath in relief. “I’ve actually done it.”

  With renewed confidence, she lifted the heavy brass door fixture and banged loudly. Her knock was answered quickly by a footman, elegantly garbed in silver-and-blue livery. A sudden gust of wind drowned out Diana’s voice as she spoke to the servant. Feeling utterly ridiculous standing outside in the pouring rain while shouting at the man, Diana entered the house uninvited.

  The young footman gaped at her in astonishment and called for someone named Dobbs, who appeared instantly. Diana assumed that Dobbs was the butler.

  “The servant’s entrance is in the rear, miss,” the man named Dobbs announced with a sniff, his long, pointed nose perched stiffly aloft. “Kindly remove yourself at once.”

  Diana swallowed back the scathing retort that sprang to her lips and deliberately dropped her soggy, rumpled satchel on the floor. Drawing her wet, travel-stained cloak regally around herself, she met the butler’s eyes squarely. In her opinion, the only people more snobbish than the English aristocracy were their servants, and she refused to let the butler’s superior manner intimidate her. She knew that she looked a sight, but it was hardly her fault she was wet and dripping water all over the finely polished marble floor. After all, it was raining heavily outside.

  She raised her chin haughtily and spoke firmly. “I am the Dowager Countess of Harrowby. Please inform the present earl that I wish to speak to him at once.”

  Her announcement was met with a stunned silence. The butler opened his mouth several times, but seemed suddenly incapable of speech. The footman stared at Diana as if she had lost her wits. Diana was beginning to grow uncomfortable under their astonished scrutiny, when the butler finally regained his voice.

  “One moment, milady,” he sneered, and with an expression that could only be classified as malicious, the butler left the hallway.

  The footman assisted Diana out of her cloak routinely, his astonished expression remaining as she tentatively smoothed out the wrinkles from her black crepe mourning gown. Diana willed herself to ignore the servant’s rude stare when he picked up her satchel and placed it in the corner of the entrance hall, hidden from view. Nervously licking her lips, Diana waited for the disapproving butler to return.

  “A toast to your health, milord,” Lord Tristan Ashton called out jokingly as he raised his glass of French brandy high above his head.

  “Stop it, Tristan,” his companion admonished. “I swear, if I have to put up with any additional ribbing about this bloody title, I shall renounce it.”

  Tristan laughed at his friend’s discomfort. “The boys still giving you a hard time, Derek?”

  Derek merely snorted his response and picked up the half-empty brandy decanter. He refilled both his glass and Tristan’s before answering.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already heard. Pierrepoint, Coventry and Grantham fell all over each other at White’s last evening, bowing and scraping. They put on quite a show.”

  Tristan smiled, despite his attempt not to. “They were only jesting Derek. They’re probably a bit jealous. It will be a long time before Grantham comes into his title. After all, it isn’t every day that a scoundrel such as you is raised to the rank of earl.”

  “It is still hard for me to believe I have been an earl for three months, Tris,” Derek said. “While it is scarcely a secret I was not fond of my cousin, I never seriously contemplated inheriting his title. And as unscrupulous as Giles was, I never thought he would come to his end in such a brutal manner. Being left to die in a London alley with his throat slit is hardly a fitting end to anyone’s life.”

  “Just be glad you managed to keep all the sordid details out of the newspapers.” Tristan grimaced. He had also held a low opinion of the former earl, but he had been suitably shocked at Giles’s sudden and bloody demise. “It has been several months since the body was discovered. Is there any further information about Giles’s death?”

  “Not from the authorities,” Derek replied. “Although I can hardly be surprised. They are an incompetent lot at best. I have hired a Bow Street runner to conduct an investigation.”

  Tristan nodded his head in approval. “He should have much better luck.”

  A thoughtful silence fell over the room as each man sat lost in his own thoughts. A sharp knock at the drawing room doors broke the companionable silence.

  “Come,” Derek barked loudly.

  The butler, Dobbs, entered the room. “You have a visitor, your lordship,” he said, wilting slightly under Derek’s cold, hard stare. “May I show the lady in?”

  “Lady?” Derek asked. “I was not expecting any visitors this afternoon.”

  “If you wish me to send her away, I shall,” the butler replied smoothly, his eyes darting swiftly about the room. “I am sure the dowager countess can visit with you at a more convenient time.”

  At the butler’s comment, Derek’s expression changed to one of exasperation. “Henriette,” he groaned. “She is not due to arrive until later this evening. Show her in at once Dobbs.” With a casual wave of his hand, Derek dismissed the servant.

  “Henriette is here?” Tristan inquired, rising to his feet. “Perhaps it is best if I take my leave.”

  “Don’t even think about it Tristan,” Derek warned, turning toward him. “’
Tis punishment enough that I will have Henriette in residence here for several days. I have no intention of facing the grieving widow without reinforcements by my side.”

  “You’re damned lucky I’m such a good friend,” Tristan grumbled as he resumed his seat. “There aren’t many who would stand by you at a time like this.”

  Tristan’s quip helped to ease the tension in the room. Though meant as a joke, his comment was not far off the mark. Both men had little tolerance for Giles’s widow, the overbearing and dramatic Henriette.

  Dobbs opened the door without knocking, announcing with a sneer, “The Dowager Countess of Harrowby.”

  Diana heard a gasp of astonishment as she entered the room and hesitated near the doorway, her eyes moving nervously from one man to the other. She had expected the earl to be alone and was caught off guard by the appearance of a second person. She felt extremely self-conscious as the men continued to stare rather rudely at her. She was also at a decided disadvantage since she did not know which one of the gentleman was the earl. Her hands clutched the sides of her black gown and she unconsciously balled the material up in her fists, crushing it. Finally, one of the men spoke to her.

  “I am sorry, but I did not catch your name,” he said in a smooth voice.

  “Diana, sir. I am Diana Rutledge, Dowager Countess of Harrowby,” she stated in a clear voice, pleased that it sounded steady to her own ears. She expectantly held out her hand to the gentlemen who had addressed her.

  He moved forward quickly and clasped it in greeting. “Charmed to make your acquaintance, madam,” he said. “I am Tristan Ashton. And this is Derek Rutledge, current Earl of Harrowby. But of course, you must already know that.”

  “Well, actually, no, I didn’t know that. I am not acquainted with the current earl.” Diana looked in confusion at Tristan and then at the earl. Tristan was smiling pleasantly at her; the earl was glowering. “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, my lord.” Diana dipped a small, graceful curtsy toward the silent man.