The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  Although he didn’t understand her, something he was growing rather used to, he set himself to soothe her, his fierce passion temporarily in check. But sweeping his hands down her back, pressing her breasts against him, kissing her ears, her throat, all soon had quite another effect on her. Evangeline didn’t question any of it. Her tears dried quickly as her hands stroked down his back. It was she who sought out his mouth, saying between kisses, “Yes, please. Just tell me what to do.”

  He studied her face, drawn to the vague, smoky sheen in her eyes. His hand caressed her belly, and he felt the taut muscles tense beneath his fingers. Her flesh was smooth, like slick silk.

  She tried to move upward against him, but he pressed her back. “No, lie still. My mouth this time, not my fingers.”

  And he moved between her legs, kissing her belly, his fingers probing her, finding her and sliding into her. When his mouth touched her, she lurched upward, panting so hard she wondered if her heart would burst.

  She yelled his name. He raised his head a moment, and grinned up at her, a very male grin, filled with pleasure and satisfaction. “Hold still. No, twist and turn about as much as you want. Yell, Evangeline. Yes, that’s it. Now, come to me again.” Any embarrassment disappeared in an instant. She bit his shoulder, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she cried, her pleasure was so intense and binding. As she flew out of control, he jerked away from her, pulled her thighs wide, and came into her hard.

  She was hot and so tight he gritted his teeth not to tear through her. He slowed himself, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He was stretching her. He looked down at her face and saw that she was still now, no longer squirming beneath him. Now she was staring at him.

  She was afraid. He saw it clearly on her face, but he didn’t understand. God, he wanted her so badly. He went into her more deeply. She moaned, her hands grabbing his arms to hold him still.

  “Hold still, Evangeline, it will be all right. Just hold still for me. You’ll become used to me. I’m going as slowly as I can.” And he eased deeper, and her fingers dug deeper into his arms.

  “No, please stop, please. It hurts. I didn’t think it would hurt. You told me you wouldn’t hurt me. I believed you.”

  He made himself stop. He held himself perfectly still as he balanced himself over her on his hands. “Get used to me. Yes, you can do it.”

  She eased, just a bit, and he went deeper. Then he froze. He stared down at her, disbelieving. He was butting against her maidenhead. Her damned maidenhead. Dearly departed saintly André had never existed. Her eyes were wide upon his face as he stared at her. And he thought the words very clearly: You didn’t even realize I would know you were a virgin. Just thinking those words made him go mad.

  Before either of them could breathe another breath, he drove forward. “I know it hurts. Just hang onto me.”

  She screamed, but this time it was pain, not pleasure, that tightened her body, that made her muscles lock. “No, hold on. Don’t fight me. There, I’ll hold still. I’m inside you now, all the way inside you, and you won’t have any more pain. Hold still for me. That’s right.” He ducked his head down and kissed her, hard and deep as he was in her body.

  She moved, and it nearly drove him over the edge. “Lie still. You must or I’ll be gone from you.”

  “No, I want you to stay with me,” she said, kissing and biting his throat, his shoulders. “Why did it hurt?” He laughed, then moaned as once again she shifted beneath him. “It won’t ever hurt again.”

  She was trembling beneath him. He didn’t know whether it was still pain or if his weight was too much for her. In another moment, though, it didn’t matter. She moved once again, and it was over for him. He gritted his teeth against the power of his need, his voice deep and hoarse. “I’ve tried, I’ve truly tried to distract myself, and you, but it’s just no good.”

  He tried to calm himself, to move just a bit inside her, but it was no good, just no damned good. He heaved over her like a savage, groaned into her mouth like a madman, and then he flew apart, reveling in every moment, knowing more pleasure than he’d ever imagined possible.

  As he calmed, as he kissed her ear, he heard her say, “I love you. I’ve loved you probably from that first evening in your library when you thought I was a former mistress. I’ll love you forever.”

  He managed to pull himself up on his elbows. He smiled down at her. “Good,” he said. “I know.” He collapsed over her, his head on the pillow beside hers. “Never,” he said, close to her ear, “never will I let you out of my sight again.”

  Chapter 34

  He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

  He came up over her again, balancing himself on his elbows.

  He saw her bite her lower lip, and close her eyes before he could look at her, but still, she wasn’t fast enough. He saw a wrenching pain. He felt instant, blinding fury. “What the hell is going on, Evangeline?”

  She looked at him, felt him still deep inside her, felt the tensing and easing of her muscles around him, and said, “I didn’t mean to say that. It was very nice, but it’s over now, even though you’re still inside me and I’ve never felt anything like this in my life, and I don’t want it to stop, ever.” “Now there’s a bit of news.” She refused to rise to the bait, which was probably a good thing, since she didn’t understand. She said nothing because there was nothing more to say.

  “I’m crushing you,” he said, and pulled out of her. He rolled onto his back, grabbing her as he moved, and pulled her against him. He felt her sigh deeply as she pressed her face against his shoulder. Her hand was palm down on his belly. He kissed her forehead and said, “You make me nearly blind with rage when you refuse to trust me. I believe you have a lot to tell me now.”

  She tried to rear up, but he held her down. “Talk to me,” he said. “Now. Trust me.”

  She bit his shoulder, then raised her head and yelled right in his face, “Why can’t you leave me alone? Why must you push and shove and prod? You’re worse than a nanny I had for a very short time when I was six years old. She picked, picked, picked. Just stop it. I have nothing at all to say to you, nothing. Leave me alone, your grace.”

  “Your grace? For God’s sake, woman, we have just made love—can’t you bring yourself to call me by my name?”

  “You’re ‘The Duke’ to me. That’s your name.” “Very well,” he said. “I can bear that for the moment. I’m a title to you. Dear God, you will age me before my time.” He squeezed her very hard against him. He waited a few moments. “All right. Talk to me, now.”

  Another lie, Evangeline. You must lie to him again. No, redo the lie, make him believe you this time. It’s over. Her voice was muddled, for she could not bring herself to look at him. “I don’t love you. It’s merely that you pushed me to feel such things that just forced the words out of me. I believe that’s how men make women succumb to them. They make them feel these wild feelings, make them drop their wits to the floor, and it’s all over for the women. Indeed, you’re unquestionably the most exciting man I’ve yet met. Thank you for the pleasure. It’s all I wanted from you, nothing more. I already told you that. Believe it.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly against him. What was he thinking? Would he yell at her? To her bewilderment, he burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed. She wanted to kill him.

  Finally he said, “I’m glad you didn’t spit all that out when I was inside you. It would have shriveled me fast.” And he laughed some more. “It’s the truth. Let me go. Leave me alone.” “So I’m the most skilled of all your lovers to date?” “Even though it will puff you up all the more, I told you the truth. Yes, damn you.” “Even though I hurt you?”

  “I felt immense pleasure first. I suppose it’s a fair enough trade.”

  “Normally it doesn’t hurt the woman at all. Didn’t you know that?” “Certainly. You’re large.”

  “Then you say I’m also the best-endowed of all your lovers to date?”

>   She felt the rumbling laughter deep in his chest. She arched back against his arms and hit him on the shoulder with her fist. “Damn you, stop this. I don’t understand you. Why are you doing this? I’ve told you the truth. Leave me alone.”

  He grabbed her hands and easily rolled her onto her back, jerking her arms above her head. She struggled briefly, then lay rigid beneath him.

  “I should beat you,” he said, his voice soft and thoughtful.

  “You try it and I’ll hurt you badly.” He wasn’t moving, was just lying flat on top of her, their bellies pressed together. She had to leave him now. She had to escape.

  She took him by surprise, but he managed to keep her down with his weight. He looked down at her pale face, her tangled hair, her mouth, beautiful, so very beautiful, and those eyes of hers that were so deep and held secrets he wanted to know.

  “Let me go,” she said. “Just let me go.”

  “I’d take myself to Bedlam if I let you up. Oh, no, as your most skilled lover to date, even more skilled than that clod, the saintly departed André, I want to leave an impression that will always be with you, until you’re an old woman and your memories are faded and blurred. You’ll still remember me, Evangeline. I’ll still be with you,” and he lowered his face and kissed her.

  She fought him, willing herself not to let him make her wild again, even when she felt those urgent feelings welling up inside her.

  He kissed her chin, her throat, licking the wildly beating pulse. Then he came up between her legs, pushing them even wider, and he smiled down at her, his eyes black and gleaming in the candlelight. He told her what he was going to do to her, and then he began kissing her breasts, every few breaths repeating what he was doing to her, what he was going to do to her next. By the time his mouth was hot and urgent against her belly, she was heaving and mewling, her hands in his hair, squeezing his shoulders, reaching any part of him she could. When his hands lifted her to his mouth, she was tense and ready. She heard herself begging him not to leave her. And he didn’t. When she bucked and yelled, he felt as if the world was his. And he was king of this world.

  He came into her hard and fast and deep, and though she was very small, her flesh quivering around him, he knew he wasn’t hurting her. He wanted it to last, he wanted to bring her to pleasure again, but his body wouldn’t allow it. He’d wanted her for so very long. He roared his pleasure to the rafters in his bedchamber.

  Finally, he raised himself on his elbows over her. “Tell me again that you don’t love me.”

  She raised wild eyes to his face. She stared at him, just stared, not speaking. Then she started crying.

  He rolled onto his side, leaned over her, and began to smooth the hair from her face. He lightly kissed her forehead, her temples, and the salty tears on her cheeks. “What is this? My Evangeline breaking into tears like just any weak woman? I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Not you, not my strong, stubborn girl.”

  She turned her face away from him. He heard her sniffing, heard her begin to hiccup.

  “Don’t move. I’ll take care of this ailment of yours.” He started to get up, but to his delirious pleasure, she held him, trying to bring him back to her. He grinned at her, and she hiccuped. “Let me go,” he said, and finally she did. “No,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m not leaving you. I’m just getting you a glass of water.”

  When she drank the water and sniffled into the handkerchief he’d brought her, she looked away. He stared at her tousled head, wondering why he must always be forced back further than where he’d originally begun.

  He frowned when he saw her thighs streaked with her virgin’s blood and his seed.

  This time when he left her, she said nothing. He imagined her brain was squirreling about madly to find more excuses, more lies to throw at him. He didn’t say anything, just returned with a basin of water and a washcloth.

  That roused her. “What’s that for?” she said, struggling up on her elbows.

  “Be quiet and lie back down.” “Oh, no. I won’t do anything until you tell me what you’re doing.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Of course you know what I’m doing. I’m going to bathe you, naturally.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. Are you mad? That is certainly something I shall do for myself. Oh, goodness, I’m covered with blood.”

  He ignored that and said easily, his voice as matter-of-fact as a magistrate’s, “It’s always the lover who performs this task.” He added with infuriating calm, “I assume that Frenchmen are no different from Englishmen in that regard.”

  That confused her, and he would have laughed openly if only things weren’t so damned serious, if only his life weren’t on the line here.

  “Of course not,” she said finally, and he could feel her struggling with herself to accept what he was doing to her, not wanting to, but knowing she had to accept it because it was the done thing.

  “Sometimes one wonders,” he said, “if there are differences amongst men of different countries.” She lay on her back, her eyes tightly closed, while he stroked the wet washcloth over her flesh. She’d bled a lot. But it seemed to have stopped. He leaned closer. Her woman’s flesh was chafed. He’d not been rough with her, but still it had been a lot for her.

  It was time to end it, but he said only, “Evangeline.”

  She opened her eyes to see him looking intently at her face. “It seems to me that you’re only expressive when I’m kissing you or caressing you or making you yell. It’s all going to stop now, all of it. All the secrets, they’re going to come out now. I can see that you’re already trying to think up more ridiculous lies. Let’s begin with an easy one. I know that you are—were—a virgin.”

  She was a doe facing a hunter. “That’s a stupid thing to say, your grace.”

  “I suppose I didn’t give you much time to make up something with more wit, with more punch, something with even a twinge of believability. You’re so bloody innocent that it still shocks me to my toes. I was blind. All the clues were there for me to see, to hear in your bravado. But I was blind and deaf to what you were. I saw only what you wanted me to see and hear.” She remained as still as a post. He sighed. “All right. Suffice it to say that at least I know a good bit about you. You were a virgin, and that’s why I hurt you. It hurts the woman the first time because the man has to get through her maidenhead. Then it doesn’t hurt, that is, if the man isn’t a clod, like the dearly departed saintly André who never graced this earth, did he?”

  “No,” she said, nothing more. “No, I’ve never been married.” It was over, she thought, because she’d been too stupid, too ignorant to realize that a man knew when a woman was a virgin. What would he do now? She didn’t have but an instant to wait.

  His long fingers began to stroke her shoulders. “Then why don’t you tell me what brought you to Chesleigh as Madame de la Valette, a poor widowed cousin to my dead wife?”

  A kaleidoscope of faces whirled through her mind. Houchard, grim and unwavering in his mission. John Edgerton—the Lynx—a murderer, the man who swore he’d murder Edmund as well as her father, and she believed him to her soul, for hadn’t he strangled Mrs. Needle as if she’d been of no account at all? Evangeline saw her clearly, cold and pale and dead in the dull morning light. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. There was nothing for her now, nothing except more lies. She said nothing, because her brain held nothing but unspeakable pain. She just shook her head.

  He rose and tossed the washcloth into the basin. It was a simple physical movement that calmed his immense frustration, his growing anger. “As odd as it may seem,” he said in a flat, emotionless voice, “I know that you love me. Your offering of yourself to me tonight was proof of that. No, don’t interrupt me yet with more lies, Evangeline. You will never have the wherewithal to play the harlot; it was foolish of you to attempt it, particularly with me. What I cannot understand—and believe me, I have tried—is why you came here in the first place. You must believe that I would provide you any ass
istance in my power. You have but to tell me what it is that troubles you.” He paused a moment, staring down at her. “My God, you’re terrified. Damn you, tell me!”

  She was more than terrified, she was desperate. She was caught and there was no escape. She was shaking her head even as she said, her breath harsh and ugly, “It’s true that I love you. I didn’t want to. I never even considered such a thing when I came here. But I couldn’t help myself. You’re right, of course. Since I couldn’t have you for my husband, I wanted what I could have from you. I wanted to give to you what I could as well. As for the rest—I know I can’t expect you to trust me. I’ve treated you too poorly to expect that. You have to believe me, though. I don’t want to hurt you, you or any of your family.”

  “Then what do you want from me now?”

  “I must—no, no, that is, I would like to remain at Chesleigh, just for a little while longer.”

  He just stood there, naked. And she saw that he didn’t know what to do. She jumped up from the bed, ran past him to bend down and pick up her gown. She looked at him again over her shoulder, shaking her head, then dashed toward the bedchamber door.

  He took three steps toward her, his hand out.

  “No,” she yelled. “No.” She pulled the gown over her head and thrust her arms through the sleeves. She grabbed the doorknob and was out of his bedchamber in but an instant, closing the door very quietly behind her.

  He stood there, staring at the closed door, then at her slippers and stockings lying in a small pile in the middle of his bedchamber.

  Chapter 35

  It was the blackest of nights, the only light from the white caps cresting the waves that were rolling gently into the cove. It was cold, very cold, and she pulled her dark cloak more closely around her as she walked to the cove. She kept to the cover of trees and bushes, as was her habit.

  Tonight, she thought, tonight she would give the man coming in a letter to Edgerton, telling him that she couldn’t continue. It would stop. It had to stop.