A Sinful Deception

by Isabella Bradford

  “You are the one who worries too much, Serena, not I,” Aunt Morley said with a sigh. “There’s Lady Ralston waving to us from the whist table in the next room. Come, a few hands will cheer you.”

  But Serena hung back, in no mood for the exuberant gossip of her aunt’s friend.

  “You may go ahead,” she said. “I mean to survey the supper table first.”

  Her aunt nodded with approval. “Remember to be agreeable, Serena. There’s always a cluster of hungry gentlemen about the meats.”

  In truth Serena had no interest in either supper or the gentlemen about the meats, but both served to give her a few moments alone before she must follow her aunt to the gaming room. She stood before one of the tall windows, staring out into the dark back court. Perhaps this was the true kismet, that her acquaintance with Geoffrey last for a matter of days instead of a lifetime. There was nothing now that could be done to change it, nothing that she could have done before.

  The bright candles and the company reflected in the glass before her like a distant blurred painting come to life, making her feel even more apart from the gaiety. Suddenly chill, she drew the black lace scarf over her shoulders; she never was warm enough in England, one more way that she didn’t belong.

  As she absently watched the reflection, she became aware of a figure entering the room behind her, purposefully making his way through the crowd. He came closer until it was clear he was approaching her, and to her joy she realized it was Geoffrey. Eagerly she turned around to greet him, her smile warm with welcome and relief as she curtseyed quickly and offered him her hand.

  She’d thought she’d never forget anything about him—his easy smile, his well-muscled figure and unexpected grace, his blue eyes and unruly dark hair and the sharp, clean line of his jaw—but there was no way she could ever truly remember the intoxicating masculine perfection that all those random parts, however pleasing, could create when combined. As was to be expected, he was richly dressed in a suit of deep plum-colored silk, exactly tailored to show off his broad shoulders, with the coat and waistcoat cut away in the newest fashion to shamelessly display the close fit of his breeches. It was devastating.

  “Good evening, Lord Geoffrey,” she said, her voice husky with pleasure. “I feared you weren’t here, and now—now you are.”

  But instead of the happy reunion she’d expected, his expression was impassive and slightly bored as he bowed over her hand.

  “We are being watched,” he said softly, so only she could hear him as he leaned forward. “Act as if my company were the most tedious thing in the world.”

  She didn’t have to look to know he was right. She could sense it all around them. She was always being watched: not only by her aunt and grandfather, but by people who believed her to be a beautiful, exotic curiosity, deserving of the same stares and bold attention as animals in a menagerie.

  At once she banished her happy smile, and composed her features into her usual guarded indifference. Inside, however, she was bubbling with excitement and pleasure that he’d sought her out, and how the ruse he was asking her to share was making them conspirators.

  “Thank you for warning me,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. “It’s wise to be careful.”

  “With you, always,” he said. To those who were watching, his expression, his posture, could not have been more dispassionate. But when he looked up at her over her hand, his eyes were full of fire and daring and a little bit of mischief, exactly as she remembered. “How lovely you are tonight.”

  She blushed, unable to control her response. “I chose this gown so you would see me first among all the other ladies here.”

  “It’s not your clothes that are beautiful,” he said. “It’s you. Your face, your form, your soul. I would have found you if you’d worn nothing but your shift.”

  Her blush deepened, immediately imagining herself standing before him wearing so scandalously little. From the way his gaze was drifting lower over her body, she suspected he was imagining it as well.

  “You shouldn’t say such things if you wish me to appear bored,” she said. “You shouldn’t be saying them to me at all.”

  He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Very well,” he said. “Then instead I shall say how much I’ve missed you.”

  She had to remind herself to breathe. “I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered. “Oh, so much.”

  “It has been … torment.” He’d held her hand too long for the ennui they were pretending, but she could feel his reluctance as he let go, a match for her own need. “Especially for a champion.”

  She smiled at how he’d remembered. She couldn’t help it, even as she finally slipped her hand free.

  “I need to be with you alone, Serena,” he said, a statement that was almost an order, not a request. “Count off five minutes’ time, then meet me in the library.”

  She very nearly gasped aloud. She didn’t know which was more startling: that he’d used her given name so intimately, or that he proposed such an audacious assignation. And yet what was truly scandalous was that she wasn’t as shocked as she should be. To hear him call her by name seemed the most natural thing in the world, and to be with him alone was all that she desired.

  “Five minutes, Serena,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I pray you won’t disappoint either of us.”

  She was only half-aware of another gentleman joining them until Geoffrey smiled at him, placing his hand on the newcomer’s shoulder.

  “Here you are at last, Millbury,” Geoffrey said heartily, his manner shifting to one full of bravado. “And here’s the lady I promised to present to you. Miss Carew, this is one of my oldest friends, Edmund Castle, Earl of Millbury. He has been gazing at you like a lovesick mooncalf all evening.”

  “I’m honored, Miss Carew,” Lord Millbury said, bobbing quickly over her hand. His face was good-natured if not handsome, round-cheeked and ruddy beneath an exuberant wig. “Your servant.”

  “Good evening, Lord Millbury.” Bewildered, Serena smiled and curtseyed, and looked to Geoffrey for an explanation that did not come. “You are, ah, an old friend of Lord Geoffrey’s?”

  “The oldest, Miss Carew,” the earl said cheerfully. “At least a thousand years. Perhaps more.”

  “There now, I knew you two would have much in common,” Geoffrey said in the same too-hearty voice. “Now I shall leave you together, as you doubtless wish, and return to the gaming.”

  Without another glance, he left them, plunging back into the crowded room.

  “You needn’t look so devastated, Miss Carew,” the earl said. “You’ve only to bear my lesser company for five minutes, and then off you go to the library.”

  “You are party to this, my lord?” Serena asked with surprise.

  He grinned, puckish and gallant at the same time. “As Fitzroy explained, we are the oldest of old friends, more than willing to perform certain, ah, services to the betterment of the other’s circumstances. Now you and I will converse for the next four-and-a-half minutes, and then I shall point you in the proper direction of the library, and you’ll be done with me. It’s all for the show, isn’t it?”

  Serena wasn’t sure she could agree. It was one thing for Geoffrey to suggest they meet elsewhere in the house, but another entirely for him to have involved his friend. What had first seemed pure impulse now smacked of all that she’d been warned against regarding gentlemen, and though she’d never become involved in an intrigue before, this had the distinct taint of being one.

  Sensing her hesitation, Lord Millbury sighed dramatically. “All he desires, Miss Carew—at least at present—is to say a few words to you in private. Besides, how could anything untoward occur in a library, surrounded by the gathered wisdom of the ages as witness?”

  The chance to speak alone with Geoffrey was a heady temptation. When she’d gone onto the garden walk with him on that first night they’d met she’d no idea how rare such conversations would become. Geoffrey might have a few words for her, but
she had just as many that she’d like to say to him. Where could be the harm or scandal in that?

  “It’s almost time, Miss Carew,” Lord Millbury said. “Pray do not feel obligated to attend our friend—he would not wish that—but I am certain he will be gravely disappointed if you decline his invitation. It’s your decision entirely.”

  It was her decision. She’d gone through every day they’d been apart thinking of ideas and experiences she longed to share with him, things she knew would make him smile or think or simply agree with her. The truth was that she hadn’t realized how much she’d miss his company until it had been taken from her. She hadn’t expected it to be that way, but it was, and in the end, that was what decided for her now.

  “If it pleases you, Miss Carew,” Lord Millbury said, “I can show you to the library.”

  “Thank you, my lord, but no.” He was only trying to be helpful, as any gentleman would, but this was her decision, not his, and like everything else in her life, she’d be more at ease doing this alone. “If you’ll excuse me, I should rejoin my aunt.”

  His nodded, understanding. “I would have you know that if ever you tire of Fitzroy and his shenanigans, I would be honored to step into the fray. All you need do is give me a sign that you are … intrigued.”

  Serena blushed furiously, surprised by the attention that she did not want. “I don’t believe that is what Lord Geoffrey expects from a gentleman he considers his friend.”

  Millbury chuckled. “Oh, I assure you, Miss Carew, he has done far, far worse to me,” he said wryly. “All’s fair in love and war, yes?”

  She wouldn’t answer that. “Good evening, Lord Millbury.”

  “As you wish, Miss Carew,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he bowed and stepped away. “Pray enjoy the remainder of your evening with your aunt.”

  She curtseyed, and turned from him, melting in with the other guests as if hunting for her aunt. In truth the last person she wished to see now was Aunt Morley, and as soon as she could she slipped back into the hall. She stopped a footman and asked directions to the library, and then hurried off down the hall and in the direction he’d pointed in the grand house.

  It occurred to her that the library wasn’t simply any library, but the library belonging to the duke, a realization that added an extra layer of trepidation. She could only trust that Geoffrey was sufficiently aware of his father’s habits to know that he wouldn’t retreat to his library with a houseful of guests. In fact she was trusting Geoffrey a great deal in everything, yet still she hurried up the stairs toward the library, and him.

  To her relief, with all servants pressed into service with the rout, there was no footman standing ready at the door to open it for her, and no one to witness what she now would do. With her heart racing, she turned the knob herself and slipped inside.

  There was a fire in the grate, but no candles lit, and she blinked to accustom her eyes to the relative darkness. She’d a rapid impression of the walls lined with book-filled shelves, of leather-covered armchairs and a soft Chinese rug underfoot, and then she saw nothing else because Geoffrey was standing before her.

  “You came,” he said simply, one side of his handsome face burnished by the golden light of the flames and the other hidden in shadow. The half-light seemed to lessen the refinement of his evening clothes, and instead emphasized his height and the size of his leanly muscular frame. He’d put aside the air of disinterest that he’d affected earlier, and while he did not seem to share her giddy happiness—what gentleman would?—he did look intensely satisfied to see her there, as if he’d already won a battle she hadn’t realized was being waged. “I wasn’t certain you would, you know.”

  “How could I not?” she asked, breathless with excitement and a bit of trepidation, too. He seemed somehow larger and more intoxicatingly male now, or maybe it was only that she was so focused on him that she could see nothing else in comparison. “I came by myself, too.”

  He raised a single brow with surprise. “Millbury didn’t bring you?”

  She shook her head, and swallowed. This was the first time in her life that she’d been alone in a room with a gentleman who wasn’t her father or grandfather, and she’d been trained to think only of the danger of such a situation. It might indeed be dangerous; Geoffrey was a man, after all, and men of every class did pose a certain risk to a lady’s reputation as well as to her person, no matter if it was Britain or India.

  But none of the warnings had mentioned the frisson of the forbidden, or how that undercurrent simmered between them, as if the three feet of emptiness between them didn’t exist.

  “If I am sufficiently brave—or mad—to come here,” she said, “then I am likewise brave or mad enough to come here on my own.”

  He chuckled, a sound she’d missed. “If you are brave or mad, then I must be as well.”

  “Most likely.” She smiled, glad that they’d fallen into their familiar pattern of banter. “But I did not require an escort.”

  “Poor Millbury!” he said wryly. “I didn’t intend him to be an escort so much as an alibi in the event your aunt saw me with you. There is no more stolidly proper fellow than Millbury, and he was glad to oblige me where a beautiful lady was concerned.”

  She tipped her head to one side, watching him. “His lordship seemed thoroughly familiar with the role.”

  “Not as familiar as you might think,” he said. “This particular ruse is new to me as well.”

  “A ruse?” she repeated, wishing he hadn’t used that word. Her entire life was a ruse, though of course he couldn’t know that, and she didn’t want to be reminded of how perilous any kind of true intimacy could be.

  “A ruse, a gambit, a deception, a deceit,” he continued, amusing himself with a litany of duplicity. “All arranged by your loyal champion. May I offer you a glass of canary?”

  “I must go,” she said, backing away. “Forgive me, but I’ve been away from the others too long.”

  “Hush, hush, no, you haven’t,” he said softly, reaching to take one of her hands. “I’ve missed you too much to give you up so soon.”

  “I must go,” she said again, but not pulling her hand away as she warred with herself. “My aunt—”

  “Your aunt will be well enough without you,” he said, coaxing. “You’re cold, Serena. Come stand by the fire with me first and warm yourself.”

  She stilled, and looked up at him. “That’s the second time you’ve used my given name this night.”

  He smiled, charming enough to warm her better than the fire. “I’d hoped it would make you use mine in turn. Go on: it’s not difficult.”

  “Geoffrey,” she said, for it was in fact easy for her to do. “Geoffrey, please.”

  “Please me, and stay.” Gently he drew her farther into the room to stand before the fire. “I don’t want you to be cold.”

  “How do you know I’m cold?” she blurted out: a foolish question, considering her fingers were likely icicles in his hand. She stood facing him, closer than they had been before. One side of her was warmed by the fire, while the other, which faced the door, was still chilled, and as she gazed up at him, she thought of how apt that was. The door was her path back to the others, to a cold life alone, while here with him by the fire was warmth and happiness.

  He smiled down at her, his gaze so intense that she could almost feel it on her skin. He was the fire, and she was the foolish moth, determined to immolate herself in the bright, irresistible flame that was Geoffrey. To stay here in this room much longer could destroy her good name, and yet like that moth, she was unable to keep from dancing ever-closer to the fire, no matter the peril.

  “I knew you were cold because everyone is cold in England once they’ve lived in India,” he said easily, saying nothing of her cold fingers as he circled his arm around her waist, above her hoops. “You’re a sweet jasmine flower, roughly dropped into harsh old London.”

  “No one here knows of jasmines,” she said wistfully. His arm felt natural around h
er waist, secure and steady. “They grew everywhere in our gardens at Sundara Manōra.”

  She liked having him before her, an excuse to study the handsome perfection of his face. With his arm at her waist, she dared to rest her hands lightly on his shoulders, and that, too, felt right. Beneath the silk of his coat she felt the powerful muscles of his chest and shoulders, and realized her hands were no longer cold. None of her was.

  “Did you wear the jasmine flowers in your hair?” he asked, the words rumbling low in his chest.

  “Oh, yes,” she said softly, letting herself drift back into the memories she usually kept bound tight inside her. “All the girls and women did. We’d pick the blossoms early in the day, when the petals were still tightly shut, and keep them in a special dark cabinet through the heat of the day. Then, in the evening, we would pin them into our braids, and the petals would slowly open as the stars came into the sky. When the moon was high, the fragrance would be at its sweetest.”

  He pulled her nearer, closing the gap between them. “I wish I could tuck one into your hair now.”

  He lightly touched her temple, running his fingers over her hair as if pretending to put a flower in place.

  She laughed softly, imagining her hair once again crowned with white jasmine, instead of the hard glitter of diamonds.

  “The scent was magical,” she said. “I can remember it exactly, although it’s been years ago now. Oh, Geoffrey, this is exactly—exactly!—why I have missed you so!”

  “It’s why I’ve missed you, too, Serena,” he said, his eyes hooded and his voice bewitchingly low. “Will you be my own jasmine flower now, ready to blossom in the night?”

  He leaned closer, his mouth slanting above hers. There was no doubt in her mind that he was going to kiss her, and no doubt, either, that she would let him, and in that instant she realized how fast everything was changing between them.