"The rest of them," Eliza supplied evenly, keeping her voice calm and her face impassive. "Yes. I know.
Theresa shook her head, clearly in awe of how Eliza knew of the duke's presence, mixed with a healthy dose of fear for the man himself. "He's asking for you." She said those last four words as if she had just condemned Eliza to the gallows.
"Very well." Eliza took a brief look in the mirror. She hadn't bothered to alter her appearance after she had returned home, not wishing to be too undressed to appear in the drawing room when requested. Her wild trip through the hedgerows had done sufficient damage to her coiffure that she looked appropriately messy, as if she had been thinking of preparing for bed. She had removed her jewelry before she had made the trip to Nicholas' town home and had long ago exchanged her spangled slippers for a pair of old, sturdy boots. Now she paused but a moment to slip on a soft, well-worn pair of house slippers that she preferred when she was not going out for the day.
Deciding that she was as ready as she would ever be, Eliza reached down and scooped a small metal ring from her dressing table and slid it over her little finger. Once upon a time, it had been a birthday gift from Stephen. The only one she had received that year. Though the metal was old and battered, the garnet inside of the setting still sparkled in the light.
Eliza had carried this particular talisman with her for more days than she could count any longer. If there was one thing this man in the drawing room should remember, it was this ring. Along with Nicholas, the thin piece of metal was the last barrier she had between her world as she knew it and utter chaos. She prayed that it would be enough.
Chapter Three
"I am telling you that I do not remember! I remember nothing before the tavern in Weymouth and even that is sketchy!" The man standing before Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. "My most vivid memories begin in the convalescent room at a boarding house. Not a moment before!"
"And I am telling you, my good man, that I simply don't believe you." In contrast, Nicholas was leaning lazily against the hearth, his attention seemingly focused on the intricate ormolu clock in the shape of a Roman chariot, complete with rider, that ticked away rhythmically to his right. He took a sip from his glass of scotch before rolling the glass lackadaisically across his fingers. "You are not the first man to claim to be Stephen Deaver, you know." He smiled charmingly but if one was close enough, as this man was, it was evident that there was more malice in Nicholas' expression than pleasure.
This man standing before him in defiance was not Stephen. Nicholas was not certain how he knew that. He simply did. Just as Eliza had. That she could spot a fraud where her parents could not troubled him greatly, and once more, he was struck by just how much of a burden she had shouldered over the years. He also felt guilty. He knew of her plight - at least to some degree. He could have helped. Not directly, certainly, but he was The Bloody Duke. There was much he could have done in thousands of small ways that she would never have noticed. Then again, the chit was exceedingly clever, so perhaps she might have.
In any case, the point was moot. One could not go back and undo time. But one could prevent further disaster moving forward. Which was exactly what Nicholas planned to do.
"I realize that," the man reasoned forcefully, and Nicholas watched his hands flex tightly. "But I can assure you, I am who I claim to be. Even if I don't remember much."
Nicholas watched from the corner of his eye as, on the other side of the drawing room, Lord and Lady Framingham watched him carefully in return. When he had arrived at their door, stating that he knew a man claiming to be Stephen was in residence, they had been shocked. At first anyway. They had also initially refused him entrance, claiming that this was a family matter. However, all it took was a single mention of Prinny and "covert sources" and, as Nicholas had expected, Lord Framingham had acquiesced.
Nicholas had also smiled, that toothy, wolfish grin that was his trademark. Most people did not like it when he did that, for often times when he did, bloodshed was quick to follow.
At the moment, as far as either of the Deavers knew, Nicholas was here in an official capacity. And he would not disabuse them of that notion. Oh, Nicholas would inform the Crown on the morrow of these developments, certainly. After all, news this big could not be kept silent. However there was still the matter of what, precisely, to say when he arrived at Carlton House. That rather sort of depended on how the evening progressed. Thus far, it was not looking favorable for the man claiming to be the lost Framingham heir.
Lord and Lady Framingham had made their beliefs clear, however. In their eyes, this man was their son. And they had been embracing him as such when Nicholas had entered. In fact, Lady Framingham had her arms wrapped around this tall, muscular man, as if he was the most precious thing in the world to her. Her face shone with a light and life that Nicholas had not seen since well before that ugly August day when he personally had informed the marquess and his wife of the accident that had claimed their only son's life. For his part, Lord Framingham was as proud as any man Nicholas had ever seen, already speaking of changes he would make to his will, about how things would change now that the heir had returned from the dead.
But there was no sign of Eliza. It was as if she didn't exist. No one - in particular Lord and Lady Framingham - had thought to summon the other member of the family, instead lavishing all of the attention on the man in travel-worn clothes as if he was the king himself.
And it was then that Nicholas had finally and completely understood the true depths of the hell Eliza had been living. She was an afterthought. An inanimate object to be moved about on a whim. As if she was not a living, breathing person in her own right. One who also required attention. Not to mention affection.
And for some reason, an unaccountable anger had bubbled up inside of Nicholas at the thought. So quietly, so very quietly as to not alert anyone else, Nicholas had sent Tibbs to fetch Eliza. For she was as much a part of this little farce of a reunion as anyone. Perhaps even more so. For it was her future that would change in an instant the moment the marquess altered his will.
Nicholas had made a vow to the real Stephen to protect Eliza. And that was precisely what he was going to do.
Now, Nicholas, who had long since removed his gloves, studied his fingernails as if he was completely and utterly bored, even though he was careful to keep an eye on every single person in the room. "We shall see." Then he drained the rest of his scotch in one gulp, relishing the feel of the fiery liquid as it burned its way down his gut.
"Now see here, Candlewood!" The marquess surprised him by springing from the sofa with an energy a man half his age might not possess. "This man is Stephen! I can feel it in my very bones! He has battle scars and the well-honed body of a man who has worked hard in service to his country. Moreover, he has the Deaver eyes! It can be no one else!"
A flash of anger finally showing through his cool exterior, Nicholas pushed away from the hearth. "Ah, yes. The eyes. I am not certain how this man achieved the effect, but they are an excellent match, I will grant you that. Perhaps even an exact match." Then he cocked his head to study the other man. "And I will also grant you that physically, he is a match as well. Though without any hair - again a color and texture so peculiar to this family that the likes of it is not seen elsewhere in England - it is difficult, if not impossible, to say for certain that his claim is a valid one."
Lacing his hands behind his back, Nicholas circled the other man, studying him as if he were a caged animal. "But no memory of who he was until a bar brawl in Weymouth? He has no idea how he spent the time after he washed ashore following the shipwreck? He had no idea he was Viscount Underhill and heir to a great marquisate? But now, suddenly, after a blow to the head, he remembers all, including those idyllic summer days at Langton Abby?"
"That is precisely what I am saying!" Stephen - for it was now difficult not to think of him thus - shot back, his own temper rising as he stalked towards the duke, very nearly challenging
him. "I remember all of it now! Or...well...most of it." The man faltered a bit at the end. As Nicholas had expected.
At that, Nicholas' smile changed and a chill seemed to sweep through the room. Even Lady Framingham must have felt it for she pulled her evening wrap tighter about her shoulders. "Oh, really?" The duke's voice dripped with something akin to pure venom tinged with black sarcasm. "And yet, here we stand." He moved back a few steps so that he could sweep out his hands to encompass the entire room. "And you do not recognize that one of the most important pieces of this puzzle is missing."
A trace of fear flashed across Stephen's face. "As I said, my memory is spotty. A new wife is an easy thing for a man to forget." His brow was damp with sweat and Nicholas took perverse satisfaction in making the man squirm.
"A wife?" Nicholas quirked an eyebrow and gave a short bark of humorless laughter. On the sofa, the Deavers shifted uncomfortably, as if it might have finally occurred to them that this man was not truly Stephen at all. "You think a wife is what is missing from this picture?" He knew he sounded incredulous, just as he had planned. See if he could not shock this miscreant into admitting to his ruse.
Stephen nodded firmly, though his chin quivered. Just a bit. "A wife."
With a few quick strides, Nicholas crossed the room and yanked open the drawing room doors. Then, he performed a gallant bow and offered the person on the other side of the door his arm. "How about a sister?" he sneered as he led Eliza into the room on shaky legs. He could feel her quivering beside him, she was that unnerved. "A sister that worshiped the ground you walked upon, no less. One whom you practically begged me to protect with my very life because you cared for her so very much."
Nicholas knew that last part was no exaggeration. He had spent many a summer day with the real Stephen and had watched his friend encourage the weak, sickly Eliza to push herself harder. To run when she should have only walked. To be more than what most people expected of her. To be the sort of sister he knew she could be.
Now, Nicholas led Eliza slowly into the room, thankful that she had done as he had requested. Not looking too perfect, but rather a bit of a mess. Just as the real Stephen had seen her last. She was bloody perfect, if he did say so himself. A true actress at heart - and he meant that as a compliment.
"Eliza!" Jonas Deaver barked sharply. "Return to your room this instant! This does not concern you!"
"No!" Nicholas' voice was sharper, louder and far more commanding than the marquess'. "She stays! For I have said so!" He was well aware that he had slipped seamlessly back into his role as The Bloody Duke, cold and ruthless, but he did not give a damn. "And this concerns her very, very much." He turned back to the marquess. "For what happens to Eliza when you turn your entire fortune and estate over to this man? What becomes of her?"
The marquess shifted uncomfortably, as if considering the notion for the first time. "Well, Stephen will make certain she is well settled."
Nicholas let out another bark of dry laughter. "A sister he cannot even remember? You fool yourself, Framingham, if you think this man will give a care for her welfare. Thankfully, there are others who value her far more than you do." Then he turned to Stephen, his movements sharp and crisp, belaying the late hour. "You see, the day you departed for Spain, Stephen, you made me promise you something."
"I...I do not recall any such promise." Stephen was truly sweating now, so much so that his clothes were becoming damp. Nicholas almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
"Why am I not surprised, given how little else you recall?" Gently, Nicholas escorted Eliza to where Stephen still stood, praying that she was strong enough to endure what he was about to put her through. He hadn't mentioned this part of his plan to her simply because when she had departed his town home, he had not yet thought of it.
But he did now. And it was a very important part of his plan, actually.
For until that very moment, it had not occurred to Nicholas that once this evening was at an end, he would have no reason to stay in contact with the family as they sorted this mess out. No reason to continue to observe the man that the Deavers so clearly believed was their long-lost son. Oh, he could spy, certainly, but he would not be among the family's intimate circle, privy to hushed conversations and detailed knowledge of what the man was truly about. That would not do. If Nicholas was to keep his long-ago promise to the real Stephen, he needed to be close to Eliza. He cared for her parents - to a point. But it was Stephen who had been Eliza's champion. And when he had departed for Spain, that task had been delegated to Nicholas. It was one he might not have always taken seriously. But he did now.
Until now, there was little Nicholas had to do in that regard, instead free to spend his time spying and mourning the loss of the one woman he had once believed himself in love with. He was friendly with Eliza, but no more. As of this evening, however, everything had changed and now she needed to be the focus of his world - at least if he was to uphold his word as a gentleman. And that was something he always made certain to do. It was a point of pride.
The task before him would be difficult, certainly, but not impossible. And Nicholas was nothing if not adaptable. He had to be. He was a spy, after all.
And Eliza had come to him for help. He suspected that she would be more than willing to play along. At least, he hoped she would.
Nicholas halted in front of Stephen, gazing into those familiar turquoise blue eyes. Eliza had been right. They were a perfect match. But she had also been correct when she had said this man was not Stephen. There was an emptiness in this man's gaze, as if he had never been in this town home before. It was possible he did not remember. Nicholas had heard of such cases from Dr. Hastings. But to remember the parents and not the sibling? Something did not seem right. And Nicholas was not about to allow Eliza to fall prey to whatever game this con man was playing.
There was also no recognition in the man's eyes when he looked at Eliza. True, she was tall and willowy, her body not of the current fashion. Not to mention that her hideously ugly glasses did not help matters much. But she was elegant in her own way and she did have those magnetic eyes. If nothing else, this man should have reacted to that. But he did not. And a fresh wave of anger surged within Nicholas. Yet he tamped it back down, unwilling to allow his emotions to rule him. He had been burned once before by them. Never again.
"That day at my home in Grovesnor Square, you exacted a promise from me." Nicholas made sure to keep his tone appropriately droll. And bored. "You made me swear upon my life and my honor as a gentleman that I would protect your sister if anything happened to you. You asked me for my word and I gave it."
Stephen swallowed hard, his gaze shifting from Nicholas to Eliza and then back again. "I do not recall that conversation."
"I'm sure you don't" Nicholas snapped icily. "Which is why I am here now. To uphold that promise." Then he turned and looked at Eliza, his face changing slightly as he beheld her, covering her still-gloved hand with his bare one. "I know we had thought to keep this a secret, my dear, but I am afraid our hand has been forced."
"Forced?" she squeaked and he could see the first glimpse of real fear in her eyes. It was clear she had no idea what game he was playing, and that terrified her.
The marquess was obviously just as confused, for he was quickly beside the trio, his irritation evident. "Unhand my daughter, Candlewood. You might be a duke but that gives you no right to barge in here and speak on her behalf."
At that, Nicholas cocked an eyebrow in what looked like amusement. "Oh, I have every right, Framingham. I am courting your daughter. Very seriously, might I add, with an eye to wedding her. And it is your son," he shot a brief, dark look at Stephen, "who gave his consent for me to do so if anything happened to him. Consent he gave six years ago and now does not seem to recall."
For the second time that night, Eliza's world tilted beneath her and if not for her hand on Nicholas' strong and steady arm, she might well have swooned like any ninny-witted female. She was also angry, but she push
ed that emotion down deep inside of herself. There would be time to deal with that later. For the moment, she had to concentrate on what was directly in front of her. Nicholas. Courting her. Eventually marrying her. That was as unbelievable as it was to think that the sun might rise in the west tomorrow morning. It simply would not happen. No one would look at her and believe her worthy of a man like The Bloody Duke. Not one single person. And Nicholas expected her to carry off this charade with him? To what end?
Still, when she looked into his eyes, she saw not The Bloody Duke but rather the man she had called friend for so many years. In the rich, brown depths, she saw not the ruthless man that society feared but rather the painfully shy boy - so much older than both her and Stephen - who had been nearly friendless that first summer at Langton Abby when he had returned to Eton at Stephen's side. And that boy, the one who had encouraged her right along with her late brother, was the person starting down at her now, practically begging for her trust. The Bloody Duke did not beg. But Nicholas did.
Very well.
"Nicholas, do you think this is really the appropriate time for this?" Eliza chose her words carefully, never pulling her gaze from his, praying that he understood her unspoken message. She was willing to play his game. For now anyway. There was too much at risk if she did not. But he would not be spared her tongue lashing when they were alone. If he believed she was not angry for ambushing her, then he was sorely mistaken.
"If not now, my dear, then when?" He turned his black gaze back to Stephen. "After all, tonight is clearly a night for celebration! The dead have risen from the very grave!" Eliza felt certain that her parents missed the sarcasm in Nicholas' tone given the way they stared blankly at him. "Why not add to the joyous occasion? After all, I am certain that once Stephen recovers his memories, he will indeed recall the promise he exacted from me, and I, as one of his best friends, would be remiss as both a friend and a gentleman, if I did not uphold it."
The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza Page 4