Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  She took deep breaths to silence the panic forming.

  “I love it when you breathe deeply, my dear. Your breasts nearly pop right out of the top of that charming gown. Did your mother choose it to lure me into proposing?”

  “You never intended to propose.”

  “Au contraire. You wound me.” He slapped his hand across his heart. “I did think of marriage until dear Papa took me aside and told me I was a fool to dance with you twice at public balls, sending a clear message of my intentions. He said you were unsuitable to be the wife of the future Duke of Gresham. You see, my father has someone picked out for me and is waiting for her to be presented. It’s been in the works for years, I gather.”

  “We were discussing the proposal?”

  He sighed. “Your grandfather was a cit, made a lot of money, which we don’t need. Father said you would stain our pure bloodline that goes back nearly to William the Conqueror. He said he’d cut me off without a farthing if I wed you. He did not say I couldn’t pursue you.” He paused and tilted his head. “Oh dear, I wonder if that was a misstep on his part.” He waggled his eyebrows. “That’s when I decided to make you my mistress.” He paused. “Would you like that, Jocelyn? You could still have me. Or was it the prospect of marrying a future duke that enticed you to allow liberties that you now seem to abhor.”

  So her twin had not been completely honest with her. Jane should have known. Mama or Matilda had lurked during most of their conversations. If Jocelyn had said she’d had intimate encounters with Aubrey—yes, she’d used his given name—Jane would not have gone through with this deception. Now she was stuck, not having divined any moral character in this specimen sitting before her.

  “Should we go to our bedchamber? I find I am in need of some sleep. First, a bit of sport, eh? You may stop all this nonsense now, Jocelyn. The only reason for you embarking on this charade is because you’ve convinced yourself you’ve changed your mind. I know you want me. What woman wouldn’t? A number of widows have made themselves available. I prefer untouched specimens, and I am tired of shrieking housemaids.”

  Untouched specimens. My sister might still be redeemable.

  He stood and held out his hand. Jane sat in the chair, unmoving, wondering if she could hook her foot around the leg of the table and remain in that spot. No, the brute would merely lift her, throw her over his shoulder, and haul her upstairs.

  “My fresh pot of tea hasn’t arrived. If you’re going to have your way with me, can I at least be refreshed enough not to fall asleep? As you’ve said, I won’t want to miss a minute.”

  He sat again and cracked that feral smile she was beginning to resent. “Very well. I do not want you to fall asleep during my, er, ministrations.” He yawned and covered his lips with his hand. “Only one cup.”

  He quirked his finger, and the footman appeared. “Yes, milord?”

  “Will you watch my treasure here while I make a quick trip outside?”

  “I will indeed, milord.”

  He scooted the chair back and bowed. “Ah. Here’s your tea. Drink up. Refresh yourself, and begin thinking about the most wonderful experience you will ever have, Jocelyn.”

  “I am Jane.”

  “And rid yourself of the accent.”

  She scowled and looked hopefully at the footman. He turned away and walked back to stand in front of the door.

  Dawdling over her tea, she decided to take preemptive action. “Can you show me to my chamber? I feel the need for the chamber pot.”

  The young footman turned scarlet and glanced out the door. Turning back, he shrugged and bade her to follow him. He probably figured there was nowhere for her to run off to without getting quickly caught. The chamber they entered was garish in its furnishings with red velvet bed hangings and pictures of couples in various inappropriate poses. Jane shook her head, thanked the footman, and closed the door, noting there was no lock on it.

  So this was his love nest. Well, this bird was not going to flutter and peep. It was going to fly away. When she was sure the footman’s footsteps had grown fainter, she opened the door and fled to the next chamber. This one was larger with tasteful accoutrements. It must be his father’s quarters. This was confirmed when she spied a door to an adjoining suite. She entered that room, also well-furnished in pale blue and gold with a large mirror and a closet full of women’s clothing. His mother’s room. Turning back, she noted both doors had locks and the keys were in the holes on the inside of the doors.

  Success at last.

  She turned the locks with a snick and removed the keys. He would have to break the doors to get to her. That would give Ralston more time to find her.

  Please, Gilbert. Do your duty. Surely someone knows about this place.

  She found the unneeded chamber pot behind a screen. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her odious shoes at long last. If she heard the door splinter, she’d put them on. With luck, there might be sturdier shoes in the anteroom where the clothes were kept.

  A stiff kick to his lordship’s manly parts would be in order, and she was ready. Now to find more weapons. Hairpins should be somewhere. Maybe even a letter opener. She was not Jocelyn. She was Jane.

  And she would not go down without a fight.

  Chapter 32

  Ralston blessed the villager who gave them directions. With heavy tree foliage, they would have missed the approach. A half hour later they passed between stone pillars. A grand house of three floors flanked by single-story wings loomed in the distance. An unkept ornamental garden faced the entryway, and grooves in the dirt driveway indicated a carriage had passed through fairly recently.

  Not a popular ducal habitation by the looks of it.

  They halted a few hundred yards away from the house and debated. Was it better to force their way into the house by the front door or circle to the rear and take everyone by surprise? Ralston was for the direct approach. Cardmore thought a more clandestine tactic might be best, given Leisterbridge’s history.

  “Very well. I’ll announce myself and demand he release her,” said Ralston. “You go in through the back and find the servants’ stairs. You have that air of military authority. I doubt anyone will challenge you. I want to confront the bounder.”

  Was he even here?

  They parted, and Ralston rode to the front. No one came out to see to his horse. He tied it himself and pounded on the front door. An elderly butler in outdated livery answered.

  “I’m Ralston, and I demand to see Lord Leisterbridge.”

  “He is not at home, sir. He hasn’t been here for several months.” The man fidgeted with nervousness, his gaze avoiding Ralston’s. He began to close the door.

  Making a sudden decision, Ralston pushed back and waltzed inside, noting the dingy outdated furnishings. This must be one of the duke’s neglected estates, given the amount of dust he noted on the side table.

  “I’ll wait. I have it on good authority he is due momentarily.”

  “But . . .”

  “Is this the front receiving room?” He walked around, looking for evidence of recent use and finding none. “Perhaps a library or study might be a better place to wait, eh?”

  Ralston pushed his way into the hall and peeked in downstairs rooms. A slight commotion appeared to be taking place upstairs. Cardmore had not called out, so Ralston walked more briskly. When he reached the dining room, he spied remnants of two breakfasts that hadn’t been cleared.

  “Do the servants dine here when the master is away? I shall have to report this to the duke.”

  “No, sir. I mean . . .”

  “Yes, what exactly do you mean?”

  Another door opened, and the marquis danced in, buttoning the flap of his trousers. “Where is my little bird of paradise? Did she fly away?” He stopped when he noticed Ralston, and his li
ps formed a grim line. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to rescue your bird,” he said. Had he come too late? Was she outside, running for her life after being violated? “Tell me where she is.”

  “You mean Jocelyn? What fun she’s turned out to be. She’s told me a delicious tale about being someone else altogether. Can you countenance it? She entertained me in the carriage and all during breakfast.”

  Rage surged and blinded him to any rational response. He wanted to pummel that smug face with his fists until it was covered with blood. Instead, he stepped closer and curled his fingers around the man’s cravat, bringing the scoundrel’s face closer.

  “Where is she? If she is harmed, I swear I will kill you.”

  The marquis stepped back, his cravat hanging in front of his coat, and laughed. “She came willingly. She wants to marry me, you see. But she’s playing an excellent game, pretending to be a twin called Jane. She and I had a very cordial breakfast, and she is free to leave whenever she wants.”

  “Take me to her.”

  He surveyed the room. “Collier? Where is the lady?”

  “I believe she has retired to her chamber, milord.”

  “See? She doesn’t want to go anywhere.” He grinned.

  “You’re planning to marry Jocelyn?”

  “Of course not. My father will skin me alive if I don’t marry that prune-faced chit he’s selected. Jocelyn knows that. I was quite candid with her. She came anyway.”

  Ralston, losing his patience with this narcissistic imbecile, shook his fist. “I demand to see her. Now.”

  Cardmore shouted from the top of the stairwell. “I think she’s locked herself in a room. You need to coax her out. She doesn’t know me.”

  Ralston ran up the stairs and banged on the door. “Jane. It’s Gilbert. It’s safe to come out.”

  “Where’s Leisterbridge?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “I won’t marry him.”

  “I know. Come out now, and Lord Cardmore and I will take you home.”

  The lock turned, and the door opened. Ralston’s heart turned over as he viewed her torn, rumpled attire and tousled hair. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. She took a few cautious steps then fell into his arms.

  My God, my God, how could this have happened?

  His muscles hardened as he revised his views about challenging the rogue to a duel.

  He ground his teeth and forced himself to remain calm, stilling the murderous thoughts invading his brain.

  “Are you harmed? Should I demand a duel?”

  “No. A slight bump on the head is all.”

  Breath whooshed from his lungs.

  “He thought I was Jocelyn, even though I repeatedly told him I was Jane.”

  “You’re safe now.” He said the words, knowing her reputation would be in tatters and most likely Jocelyn’s as well.

  She didn’t whimper, although her body trembled within his arms. After a full minute, she moved away. “I cannot believe Jocelyn wanted to marry that man. He is despicable.”

  Ralston swallowed and studied her face. “Did he harm you . . . in other ways?”

  “No. I am intact if that’s what you are asking.”

  He sighed. If they had arrived later, her answer might be different.

  “Come. Let’s get you home. Can you ride pillion?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll hire a conveyance at the first inn we come to. You’ve been up all night. I daresay you’re exhausted after this ordeal.” The gown she wore was inappropriate for travel. He glanced through the door at the feminine accoutrements of the room she’d come out of. “Was this the duchess’s chamber?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Let’s see if there’s a cloak in the closet you can wear. There’s a chill in the air, and your gown is for evening wear.” He shook his head at the memory of his first sight of her in the lovely gown. She’d stolen his breath.

  She nodded, and they hurried into the anteroom where clothes were kept, sorted through old-fashioned garments, and came out with a long cloak, its hood trimmed in fur. “This will work. It shall have to be returned,” said Jane.

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “Who did you say is with you?”

  “Lord Cardmore. You met him at the ball. I imagine you cannot remember half the people who greeted you in the receiving line. His wife is Lady Emily.”

  “Ah yes, she spoke to me at length when I was waiting for one of my dance partners. She’s someone I would like to know better.”

  They made their way to the lower floor. She wrenched free of his arm and confronted her smirking captor. “You are a wretched arse, leading my poor sister on as if you cared about her. I hope one of your conquests gives you the pox.” She raised her knee and caught him between the legs. He shrieked and toppled over in pain.

  She marched out the front door, her head held high, like a queen walking to meet a crowd of adoring subjects.

  Ralston and Cardmore followed. “Jane can ride with me.” He climbed into the saddle, and Cardmore boosted her up behind him. “Hold tight. We have about a half hour’s ride to the village.”

  She pressed her body into his back and clasped her hands together in front of his waist. He glanced down and noted she was riding astride, her stocking-clad calves and ankles peeping out from under her widespread skirts. No time to worry about propriety. If someone noticed as they passed through the village, so be it.

  They rode as swiftly as was safe along the country road. Noting how weary and worn Jane appeared, he halted his horse behind a blacksmith’s shop while Cardmore made arrangements to find a coach for hire. Once that was done, and it was brought around, he helped Jane inside, handed her a clean horse blanket Cardmore had acquired, and told her to sleep on the seat.

  “Are we going back to Lady Siltsbury’s house?”

  “No. I’m taking you to my sister. You’ve had a terrifying ordeal, and while I gather it has not yet sunk in, when it does, you’ll need rest. I’d take you to Aunt Amelia, but Elizabeth’s home is closer.”

  “Thank you. I-I cannot see my mother right now.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Get some sleep.”

  He closed the door and signaled the coachman to proceed. He would ride alongside, and Cardmore would go back to London.

  “I am indebted to you. Thank you for accompanying me,” said Ralston.

  “Nonsense. I am repaying a long overdue debt to you, my friend. Without you I might not have Emily and certainly not my son. Will the rake marry her?”

  “No. She doesn’t wish it, and I doubt if I could bring the duke to agree. He protects and makes excuses for his errant heir. Jane isn’t the first young lady to suffer his base needs and insufferable narcissism.”

  “I believe I heard some gossip to that effect. A shame his father is so indulgent. I know females in service often suffer from unwanted attention from their employers or the sons of the house. Young ladies of the ton are usually sheltered.”

  “Jocelyn, it seems, has not been acting like a lady. I shall have a word with her mother when we return.”

  They rode for a few hours, then Cardmore bid him goodbye and turned his horse toward the city. Ralston peeked in the coach to see if Jane needed a respite. She was asleep on the seat. He let her be.

  It was afternoon when they finally arrived. He hurried inside and informed his astonished sister of what had happened. Then he returned to the coach.

  “Jane. Wake up.”

  She rose, her hair around her shoulders and her gown awry. A bolt of lust made him turn away. Ashamed, considering her recent misadventure, he squared his shoulders and turned back, offering his hand. She alighted and gave him a sleepy smile.

  “I have a pain i
n my neck. I think I slept with it tilted.”

  “You’ll have a soft bed and pillow when we get in the house. Do you wish to eat anything first? You must be famished. I know I am.”

  “Perhaps a tray in my room? I won’t need a maid. I can care for myself.”

  “You’ve certainly proven that.”

  They entered the house, and Lady Elizabeth took her arm. “Come, my dear. I’ll be your lady’s maid and help you into nightwear. A pot of tea awaits, and I can arrange a hot bath if you wish to have one now.”

  “Both sound delightful. As uncomfortable as it was, the coach did give me a few hours of sleep.”

  Jane stopped in the middle of the stairs. “Do you remain, milord?”

  “Tonight. Then I must leave.”

  “I shall see you before you go.”

  He watched her ascend, and he knew his heart was thoroughly engaged.

  Chapter 33

  Jane languished in the bath at Lady Elizabeth’s country estate, barely keeping her eyes open, even though she’d slept most of the day.

  The water soothed, and the scent of lavender seemed to calm her as she breathed deeply and let the thoughts she’d been keeping at bay intrude.

  She’d scrubbed her body everywhere the marquis had touched her, shuddering when she thought about what might have happened. By the time she rose and dried herself, happy for once she had no maid to witness her anguish, she shook like a thief caught pilfering the poor box.

  Why? I have done nothing wrong.

  If her monthlong instruction was correct, society would not see it that way. Some would think much worse had occurred.

  Ralston had warned her about rogues, but had merely alluded to the perfidy that might befall someone who put themselves recklessly in harm’s way. He’d told her to rely on her intelligence and good sense to keep out of dangerous situations. It was Maddie who had taught her how to defend her honor. Run for a room with a door that locks. Scratch at the eyes. Kick at the crotch. She’d never asked Maddie how she knew these things.