A Daring Deception

by Trentham, Laura

  “How was your evening, my lady?” Abby picked up the brown dress from the floor and shook it out with only a slight disapproving glance. She opened the wardrobe and hung the brown dress among the rainbow of dresses Jessica had brought for the party. A rainbow painted by a blind artist.

  “It was fine.” Jessica stifled a yawn and a small ironic laugh at the unconscious mirror of her words to the cook.

  “Are you feeling well? You look…” Abby pursed her lips and averted her gaze.

  “I didn’t sleep well. That means less work for you.”

  Abby made a sound that didn’t sound pleased. “Have you considered actually trying?”

  “Trying what?” She sat at the dressing table, and Abby began scraping her hair back into the tightest bun imaginable. A headache was already invading her temples. Actually, it would be nice not to have to lie about not feeling well to retreat to her room.

  “You are prettier than any of those other ladies. If you married well, you could leave Penhaven and your stepfather behind. And take me along, of course.” Abby gave her a cheeky smile in the wavery reflection.

  “That would leave Blake to deal with our stepfather by himself. I couldn’t. His constitution is delicate, much like our mother’s.” Jessica fiddled with a pin before handing it to Abby to jab into her scalp.

  “He didn’t seem delicate on his last visit home. He was boisterous and happy.”

  “Exactly. He is happy and safe at Eton.” Jessica handed over another pin. “Anyway, marriage may mean exchanging one hell for another. A gentleman could offer pretty words to lure me into marriage and turn into a monster behind closed doors.”

  “The duke isn’t a monster.”

  Did Abby know? Heat flushed through Jessica’s body and lit her cheeks on fire. She would need her powder after all. “Why do you say that?”

  Abby lifted one shoulder, her attention on capturing any stray hairs with the next pin. “He’s very popular with the Wintermarsh servants. They say he is kind.”

  It was no small endorsement, but then again, Jessica already knew he was kind to servants. Too kind. Her blush intensified.

  “I can’t imagine marrying a duke.” Except in the recesses of her mind, hadn’t she imagined sharing Simon’s life and bed? Instead, she spoke an actual truth. “I’m not cut out to be a duchess, Abby.”

  Abby giggled. “It would be rather intimidating to be expected to be a hostess. You’ve not much experience there, I’m afraid.”

  Jessica had little experience with anything. She remained silent while Abby rubbed soot into the hair around her face to hide the red and leave it looking dull. Then she pinned on the hideous mobcap. Jessica closed her eyes and tilted her face up while Abby applied the creams and powders that sallowed her skin and blunted her features. The padding was next and then the dull gray dress of a poor spinster.

  “How do I look?” Jessica stood and shook out her skirts, adjusting the padding so there were no suspicious lumps.

  “Terrible,” Abby said with a sigh of disappointment. “If you would allow me to—”

  “No.” Jessica turned away from the looking glass. “That will be all. I won’t require you again until this evening. Can you keep yourself out of the way and anonymous?”

  “Easily.” Abby stopped at the door. “I’m going to need another novel to read though.”

  Jessica should have packed more than two books. Early into Abby’s tenure as a housemaid, Jessica had caught Abby pocketing a book Jessica had finished reading. Knowing how important novels were for escaping everyday trials, Jessica had not only not punished Abby but had taken her on as a personal maid and encouraged her habit. “I’ll acquire one. I’m sure Lady Drummond has a novel I can borrow.”

  Abby smiled and disappeared. It was Jessica’s turn to leave the safety of her room for an exhausting day of deflections and ruses.

  If she had timed things right, she had missed the hunting party and was early enough to avoid the late-rising ladies. She might even be able to enjoy a cup of tea and toast by herself. The door to the dining room was ajar, and just as she was about to push it fully open, she heard voices. Jessica froze.

  “You are utterly scandalous. Anyone could walk in.” While Jessica couldn’t be sure, the voice sounded like it belonged to Lady Drummond.

  “You think you can have your way with me this morning, make me miss the hunt, and then not allow me my turn?” The rough baritone most definitely belonged to Lord Drummond. Then in a sweetly cajoling tone Jessica was shocked to hear from the intimating man, he added, “I just want to kiss you, sweetheart.”

  “It’s where you want to kiss me that would cause the ladies to swoon if they were to walk in on us.” The sounds coming from the other side of the door were only too familiar after her experience in the stables with Simon. Getting caught eavesdropping on the couple would be beyond humiliating.

  Jessica slid her foot back to take a step away as Lady Drummond said, “That’s quite enough, you wicked man. I’m going to make you sit on the other side of the table if you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

  Lord Drummond’s laugh was as warm as velvet. Jessica had rarely seen him without a scowl on his face.

  “I can’t wait for this little party of yours to be over so we can have Wintermarsh to ourselves again.”

  “You would prefer everyone to pack up and leave today. No one will accuse you of being the most congenial host,” Minerva said pertly. The tinkle of silverware had Jessica’s shoulders dropping. She could enter the room without causing anyone embarrassment now. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open another inch.

  “By the way, what is wrong with your brother?” Lord Drummond asked.

  Jessica stilled the swing of the door.

  “Nothing is wrong with him,” Lady Drummond said. “What’s that look for? He’s fine. Even better than fine. He’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him in years. Someone enjoys my parties.”

  “He’s been acting odd. The past two evenings, he’s disappeared to God knows where. I’ve seen him more than once wearing a puppyish smile, and I heard him whistling last night—whistling, Minerva—and then he leaves me to deal with that ass Goforth when he’s the one who wanted him invited.”

  Warmth bloomed in her chest and spread out, reaching to her toes, which had curled in her slippers. Simon’s smiles and whistling were because of her.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was in love.” Lord Drummond’s pronouncement landed like a cannonball. Shock reverberated through Jessica.

  Silverware clattered on the other side of the door. “In love? But with whom? He hasn’t paid any of young ladies marked attention whatsoever, except for…” A lull descended. “I did see Miss Danforth slip out to the garden yesterday evening soon after Simon went for a smoke.”

  “Miss Danforth?” A shudder of distaste entered Lord Drummond’s voice. “That girl is trouble. I hope he’s not taken with her.”

  “What about Miss Tremaine?”

  “What about her?”

  “Was he lying to us earlier? Could Simon be taken with her?”

  “I’ve never seen him with anything less than a diamond of the first water. Who was that woman he took up with a few years ago? The widow, Lady Kate something or other. She was a stunner.” A thick silence descended before Rafe tripped out words, “Not as stunning as you though. You know I love you.”

  “Oh, I’m not mad.” Indeed, Lady Drummond sounded more amused than angry. “In fact, Delilah and I were just discussing how deliciously handsome Damien Northcutt is.”

  With a familiar belligerence, Lord Drummond said, “I rather like Northcutt. Don’t give me a reason to rearrange his face, Minerva.”

  Wicked laughter from Lady Drummond followed his threat.

  Mrs. Devlin led Henry Mitchell and another footman around the corner with chafing dishes. Jessica straightened and stepped away from the door, glancing up at Henry through her lashes, but he didn’t spare her a glance. It was
reassuring and settled her nerves somewhat.

  She trailed the servants inside. Mrs. Devlin and Lady Drummond were discussing the dinner menu, but Lady Drummond noted her entrance with a quick glance. “Good morning, Miss Tremaine.”

  Jessica nodded as way of greeting and eyed the sideboard, bypassing the sausages and kippers for a piece of toast with butter and a cup of tea. She hesitated, wondering if she could make excuses to dine alone.

  “Come join us, Miss Tremaine. Most of the gentlemen are off in the wilds tending to their primitive selves.” Lady Drummond gestured to the chair at her right.

  Politeness dictated she accept the invitation. Jessica slid into the chair, and Lady Drummond pushed a jar of jam toward her. “The blackberries are from the estate.”

  “Thank you,” Jessica mumbled, concentrating on spreading the jam as if painting a masterpiece.

  “My brother and his friend Mr. Northcutt missed the hunt, and I haven’t seen them yet this morning. I hope they didn’t stay up all night playing cards.” Lady Drummond exuded casual nonchalance, but when Jessica glanced up at the mention of Simon, she realized it had been a trap to gauge her interest.

  “Oh.” Jessica cursed herself roundly in her head and searched for something to throw Lady Drummond off the scent. Assuming a priggish tone, she said, “Gambling is an ignoble pastime.”

  In actuality, Jessica knew little about gambling except the fact Goforth spent considerable time at the tables when he was in town.

  Lord Drummond merely chuckled. “Don’t let Northcutt hear you say such. Although he regards gambling as more a profession than a pastime.”

  He rose and bussed his wife’s cheek. Jessica had a difficult time squaring the affection and tease and heat they generated together. What was normal? The happy ease between her parents, the domination of Goforth and her mother, or something akin to what the Drummonds shared?

  “What are your plans, love?” Lady Drummond asked.

  “My only plan is to avoid—” He shot a wide-eyed glance toward Jessica, who couldn’t stem a small smile.

  “I believe our plans coincide, my lord,” Jessica said.

  With a bark of laughter, he strode out of the room, taking his palpable energy with him.

  Lady Drummond smoothed the paper sitting next to her empty plate. “I was catching up on the news.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Prinny will attempt to tie up Parliament in the next session to keep his wife out of the country. Poor Simon will be banging his head against a stone wall. None of his measures will pass given the current climate.”

  “That is a shame. Many would be better off if the duke could see his vision enacted.”

  Lady Drummond poured each of them another cup of tea. “Considering your stepfather’s views, I am somewhat surprised to hear you say that.”

  Jessica thought it best to answer with a shrug.

  Lady Drummond dropped a sugar cube into her cup and stirred. The tink of the spoon filled the silence. She didn’t seem bothered by the quiet, studying Jessica over the delicate rim as she took a sip. “Have you considered my offer to help with your launch in the spring?”

  “My stepfather has made no mention of a season as of yet. Anyway, I’m not looking to snag a husband, Lady Drummond. I plan to remain firmly on the shelf. I have my brother to see to.” Jessica drank her tea black, the bitter brew helping to steady her thoughts.

  “I’ve seen women bartered for land, money, votes. I have the feeling you’ll be married by the end of the spring season, whether you wish it or not. If you’ll allow me to help, you may be able to steer your ship toward a more favorable pairing.”

  Jessica took a bite of toast. Even though the sweet-tart blackberry jam was delicious, she had trouble swallowing past the lump of dread that had spouted. The reality of a forced marriage hung over her. No matter her protests, Goforth would use her to his maximum benefit.

  The walls were closing in on her. She had nothing to look forward to but a few stolen moments with a man she could never have. But she could have him for now. Her earlier decision to avoid Simon at all costs was forgotten. She would go to the clearing as soon as darkness fell and hope he hadn’t given up on her.

  Jessica stood, the abruptness of the motion sloshing tea over the side of her cup. “May I borrow a novel? I believe I’ll find a seat in the garden and read a spell.”

  “Of course. There is a stack in the drawing room, or if none suit, an entire shelf in the study. Enjoy the fresh air and sunshine before winter is upon us.”

  Jessica inclined her head and made good her escape. Something told her Lady Drummond was merely conceding and didn’t plan on abandoning the issue of her introduction to society.

  She made her way to the drawing room and peeked around the door. Empty. She sighed and went directly to the stack of books on a small table in the corner. Shuffling through them, she picked one that looked suitably gothic and hair-raising for Abby.

  The clack of footsteps in the entry had her glancing to the door, her only means of escape, like a fox on the run. Goforth entered, shutting the door behind him. “Good. I caught you alone. We need to talk.”

  “Are you enjoying the party?” She parried with a dull question, inching her way toward the door.

  “I would enjoy it more if your wardrobe and hair and lack of manners weren’t such an embarrassment. You have been a disappointment.” He blocked her and set his fisted hands on his hips. She kept her gaze on those fists. They could do damage. “Why have you squandered the evenings by retiring early? It’s unacceptable.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to compete with the other young ladies for the few available gentlemen in attendance. The duke is the prime catch, and he wouldn’t be swayed enough by my scintillating conversation to make an offer.” A tiny sliver of hope invaded her voice.

  Goforth made a sound of disgust. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t accept. He is the one man I’d never countenance, duke or no.”

  “Your pride is worth more than his title and coin and political influence?” Goforth and Simon’s first meeting had festered for years, but she was surprised Goforth’s greed hadn’t trumped his bruised ego.

  “Political influence? Bah. I would rather see you wed to a man who could take the duke down a few pegs.”

  “It’s neither here nor there, considering I have no prospects and am not likely to gain any.”

  “You aren’t even putting forth an effort, and I’m beginning to wonder how much of that is deliberate.”

  Her heart kicked hard. How much did he suspect? “I’m afraid I’m a dull, unaccomplished lady compared to the present company.”

  He hummed and considered her for a long moment. “I see now I shouldn’t have ignored you all these years. You need to resign yourself.”

  “Resign myself to what exactly?” She forced herself not to take a step away from him. He relished her fear, fed upon it.

  “You will be presented in London in the spring. As the sister of an earl with an attractive dowry, you will receive offers. I will pick the one who will advance me the most, and you will marry him. Blake is still several years away from acting as my emissary.”

  “Your puppet, you mean. Once he comes of age, he’ll be his own man, and you won’t have power over us anymore.” Anger and hatred had burned away her usual discretion. She wanted to stuff the words back in her mouth, but it was too late. She’d unleashed the monster.

  Wearing a brutish expression, he rolled his shoulders and closed the distance between them. She backpedaled, her hip bumping the pianoforte. The keys jangled. Cursing her weakness, she forced her gaze to meet his. He grabbed her forearm and twisted her arm, forcing her to lean farther into the pianoforte, the edge biting into her side.

  “You’re hurting me.” How she hated the tremble in her voice.

  “Good.” Instead of releasing her, he shook her even harder.

  The pianoforte accompanied the violence discordantly.

  It hurt. Tea
rs burned up her throat. She blinked furiously and didn’t break their locked gazes, even though it would be wise to pretend she was thoroughly cowed and repentant. Surely he wouldn’t hit her? Not with so many to witness her bruising. “Let me go.”

  He shook her hard enough to whip her head back and forth and then moved to whisper in her ear, “You will never have the chance to poison your brother. I give you three years before you go the way of your mother.”

  Cold swept through her, her fear transformed into fury. She spit in his face. The glob trailed down the side of his nose. His utter shock might have made her laugh if she wasn’t instantly aware of how stupid she’d been to react in such a way. The game she played was long and complex, but it could be lost in an instant.

  With a grunt, he swung her around and shoved her to the ground. The fall would leave a bruise on her hip even through her padding, and his fingers would be imprinted on her arm. She slowly rose from the ground, rubbing her side. Just bruised, and she counted herself lucky. No blood drawn today.

  He wiped her spittle off with a handkerchief. They stood on opposite sides of the rug like two pugilists between rounds. Goforth conceded the field, tramping to the door and stalking out. She rubbed her sore arm and attempted to even out her shuddery breathing. Her chin wobbled precipitously, and she had to concentrate to keep the tears at bay.

  She had played her role poorly and might have forfeited the game. Her future had taken a turn for the bleak, which was saying something. Picking up the book from the floor with trembling fingers, she held it close to her chest as if she could protect her heart from slings and arrows.

  Chapter 12

  Simon strode through the front door, his destination the study to hopefully pacify Rafe, who was understandably annoyed. The object of his brother-in-law’s annoyance stalked out of the drawing room. Before Simon could pull up, their shoulders collided.

  Simon stumbled to the side but caught his balance easily enough. The greater mass of Goforth spun into a table with festive decorations. A vase full of lilies tottered and sloshed water across the Goforth, wetting his jacket, shirtfront, and cravat, which wilted with the damp.