A Sinful Deception

by Isabella Bradford

  “You needn’t tell me you’d told me so, Father,” he continued. “I freely acknowledge that.”

  “Well, that is something,” Father said. “Perhaps there’s a small measure of contrition in you after all.”

  They were standing in the red drawing room before the fire in Father’s house, both too agitated to sit. With the sequins and silk embroidery on his coat glinting by the firelight, Father was already dressed for their Sunday midday dinner, a meal that usually included Harry and Gus, and their younger brother, Rivers, if he was in town, plus assorted cousins and their spouses. Geoffrey supposed it was a blessing that they hadn’t arrived yet, to add more witnesses to his disgrace: a small blessing, very small, but at this point, he’d take whatever came his way.

  “I’m well aware of the situation, Father,” he said, “and of what I have done, so there’s no need—”

  “What you have done?” Father exclaimed. “The strumpet deserves at least half the blame.”

  Geoffrey struggled to keep his temper in check. Losing it now would accomplish nothing—but damnation, it would be impossible if Father insisted on provoking him.

  He took a deep breath, then another, before he spoke as calmly as he could. “Pray recall, Father, that Miss Carew is a lady, not a strumpet.”

  “Very well, then. She is a lady who has behaved like a strumpet.” Father glared at him, the flames from the hearth reflected in his eyes. “Regardless, I hope she pleased you well enough, since you will be wedded to her for the remainder of your lives.”

  There it was, spelled out as plain as was possible and more than enough to send a chill down his spine. Marriage. He hadn’t wanted to marry anyone, not yet, and neither did she, but after this morning, he had no other honorable choice. As Father had said, they both were trapped, and the grim certainty of their situation was settling on Geoffrey with a wave of bitterness and regret.

  “You must ask for her hand as soon as is possible,” Father continued, unaware of Geoffrey’s thoughts. “Not today, of course. I doubt Allwyn would permit you within a mile of his house. But write to him this evening, asking permission to call upon him. Let him determine the time, and by God, be prompt, whatever he says.”

  “May I assume I have your approval?” Geoffrey asked, unable to keep the unhappiness from his voice.

  “You do,” Father said curtly. “The honor of our family demands that, doesn’t it?”

  “Most likely old Allwyn will say the same.”

  “You’d best hope he does,” Father said. “I’m not convinced he won’t put his own pride before the lady’s reputation, and refuse your suit outright.”

  Geoffrey frowned. He hadn’t considered that, but given the marquis’s wrath this morning, it was a distinct possibility. “He’d be a fool if he did that.”

  Shrewdly Father raised his brows and feigned surprise. “And here I thought you’d no wish to marry.”

  Damnation, Geoffrey thought, he’d blundered into that one. “I am attempting to behave honorably, and put Miss Carew first.”

  “You should have remembered that pretty notion before you left home this morning.” Father said, tapping his fingers on the edge of the mantel while he thought. “Still and all, I’ll grant you that this is far from the worst match you could have made, whatever the circumstances. I do not care for the lady’s boor of a grandfather, but her family is respectable, and she’ll bring you a decent fortune. There’s no denying she’s a beauty, too. His Majesty will be pleased to see you settled, and I’m sure the gossips will declare it to be a good pairing for you both.”

  Geoffrey gave a derisive little snort. “Their opinion has always been my first consideration.”

  “Often it must be, where a lady’s virtue is concerned,” Father said. “Truly, what is a good name, except the fortuitous report of a hundred other tattling folk?”

  He sighed deeply, the first small sign that he might share a part of Geoffrey’s misery. “Would you join me in a brandy?”

  Geoffrey nodded, and watched his father cross the room, pour the brandy himself, and return with the two crystal glasses. He handed one to Geoffrey, and raised his own glass, the liquor golden.

  “To Miss Carew,” he said. “May she bring you joy and contentment as your wife.”

  “To Miss Carew,” Geoffrey echoed, but without his father’s enthusiasm.

  It was impossible for him to forget his last memory of Serena from this morning: her face pale and streaked with tears, her dark hair wild and tangled, and her yellow dressing gown billowing around her as her aunt and a maidservant had half-dragged her from the room.

  He’d done that to her. She’d invited him there, but he was the one who should have known better, who should have considered her innocence, who shouldn’t have let himself be blinded by raging lust. Even now he recalled the taste of her lips, the lush softness of her body beneath his, the honey-sweet fragrance of her blossoming desire; if he wasn’t careful, he’d be hard again from the memory alone.

  But desire was only part of her attraction. He was fascinated by the air of wary vulnerability that surrounded her, and the mystery she wore like her sapphires. She’d come to trust him, a trust he treasured all the more because he realized how rarely it was given.

  And then this morning he’d betrayed that trust, and taken nearly every advantage she’d offered. It didn’t matter that she’d invited him to take the liberties he had; she was the innocent and a lady at that, and he should have been the one to know better. He could try to make it up to her by asking for her hand, but he wasn’t sure that would be enough.

  And the longer he stood here with his father, thinking of Serena, the more he came to realize that marriage might not be such an odious thing. He didn’t want her to refuse, and he didn’t want her grandfather to deny him, either. He wanted Serena to say yes, because he wanted her to be his wife.

  True, this wasn’t the most romantic of circumstances—but then, few noble marriages in their circle were. Most were carefully arranged alliances for money and power, and marriages based on love like his parents’ had been, and how Harry’s and Gus’s was now, were rare. He was certain that with time, he and Serena could find love, too. They were friends already, which would make for an agreeable start, and God only knew there was passion between them.

  “Drink up,” his father said. “The lady deserves it from you.”

  Chagrined at being caught so lost in thought, Geoffrey quickly raised his glass, and drank. “She deserves far more than that.”

  “I am glad to hear you say so.” Father nodded. “You’re hardly the first groom who didn’t wait for the banns to try to claim his bride. Consider your brother. I’ve no wish to slander his delightful Augusta, but Harry did test those waters more deeply than he should have before they were betrothed. If you and Miss Carew are rewarded with as fortuitous an outcome as those two, then you’ll be happy indeed.”

  Geoffrey didn’t answer, staring into his brandy. There could not be two women who were less alike than the freckle-faced, practical Gus and his elegant, exotic Serena. By all reports, Gus had as much as saved Harry’s life, and for that alone she could do no wrong in Father’s eyes. If he was expecting Serena to make the same sort of cheery, capable addition to the family, then she was bound to disappoint. It didn’t help that Gus was always regarded as a paragon of virtue, while Father was already judging Serena to be a strumpet.

  No, the only way Serena could rival Gus in Father’s eyes was to produce a son first, a little heir to his precious dukedom. The irony of that was unmistakable: before marriage, ladies were to be kept virtuously untouched, but from the wedding night onward, the sooner they could be gotten with child (and preferably a male child), the better.

  “I’ll have the family’s jewels brought out of safekeeping tomorrow,” Father was saying, “so you can choose something suitable for a betrothal ring. The Fitzroy women have acquired a veritable hoard of baubles over the years. You’re sure to find a jewel for your lady.”


  “Thank you, no,” Geoffrey said. “I already know the ring I wish for her.”

  Father shook his head. “You should not turn away from the family pieces, Geoffrey. From what I’ve observed, your Miss Carew already wears a fortune in jewels of her own. You’ll have to go deep into your pockets to buy a ring to impress a lady like that. You’re going to have expenses enough setting up housekeeping without—”

  “I’ll manage, Father,” he said firmly. He didn’t doubt it, either, even without considering Serena’s fortune. “We shall manage.”

  Slowly Father smiled, the first time he’d done so since Geoffrey had told him what had happened earlier, and patted him on the shoulder.

  “Win the lady first,” he said. “That will be the real challenge. After that, the rest should come easily.”

  Serena had been certain that being discovered with Geoffrey had been the most humiliating moment of her life. Grandpapa’s fury, Aunt Morley’s unhappiness, Geoffrey swearing, and her in the middle of it, trying to explain, trying to pull her clothes back to rights, and trying not to weep with frustration and mortification as they’d pulled her away from Geoffrey. Geoffrey, dearest Geoffrey: that had been the hardest part, knowing that the price of such a magical morning might be that she would never see him again.

  But that had been only the beginning.

  Considering her disgrace sufficiently serious to be a family affair, Grandpapa had summoned his eldest son and heir to join him. Serena’s father had felt no love for his brother, and Serena remembered how he’d said this animosity had been part of the reason he’d so happily left England behind.

  Serena understood why: she found Uncle Radnor to be self-righteous and ambitious to improve his station in society, full of bullying bravado and an arrogance that easily turned to cruelty. In turn her uncle had made no secret of how little use or affection he had for her. It was a considerable relief to her that her uncle did not live with them, but in his own lodgings in Hanover Square; whenever he came to his father’s house he would slyly tease and belittle her out of Grandpapa’s hearing, trying to reduce her to tears for his own amusement. But it was her guilt that had always given his torment a special edge, her fear that somehow he knew her secret. As long as Grandpapa lived, she’d be safe, but she dreaded what could become of her when Uncle Radnor became the Marquis of Allwyn, and her guardian.

  His appearance at the house that Sunday afternoon had only made everything worse. Her aunt had been accused of failing at her duty, and not included in the meeting between the two men. It was likely just as well for Aunt Morley. Behind closed doors, they had quarreled loudly over her; Serena had heard their raised voices all the way in her bedchamber. Uncle Radnor had been furious, and denounced her as a slattern and a whore with such vehemence that even Grandpapa, as angry as he was, had been forced to defend her. It had been enough to make Serena grateful to be shut away in her rooms and out of her uncle’s path while he and her grandfather decided her fate.

  Yet that decision, if it had been made, was not shared with her. For the last three days, she had been locked alone in her bedchamber, and her meals brought to her. But this morning, while her grandfather was out, her uncle had gone too far. Refusing to believe that Serena was still a virgin, he had brought a grim-faced midwife and her assistant, each wearing a white cap and apron, to Serena’s rooms, and ordered them to determine the truth.

  Horrified, Serena had tried to refuse, but the two women were larger and stronger, and apparently accustomed to such scenes. Together they pushed her onto her back on her bed, and though she kicked and flailed and screamed for help, they held her fast. The midwife tossed up her skirts and pushed apart her legs, and without ceremony shoved her fingers deep inside her. Serena had gasped and bucked at the invasion, but it was over quickly. The midwife nodded, wiping her fingers on her apron—something she hadn’t bothered to do before she’d assaulted Serena.

  “You—you are vile!” Serena said, her cheeks flaming with mortification over what had just been done to her. She sat upright, curling her legs beneath her, and yanked her skirts back over her legs and held them tightly at her ankles. “I shall report you to the constables for what you have done to me!”

  “Then you’ll have to report His Lordship, too, miss, for I only acted on his orders,” the midwife said, unperturbed. She opened the door, and Lord Radnor joined them.

  “Miss Carew is still a maid, my lord,” she proclaimed with inflated authority. “There’s no doubt of it. Her maidenhead’s tight as a drum, and I’ll swear to it in any court you wish.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Powell,” he said, pressing a coin into the woman’s palm. “The footman will show you out.”

  The women curtseyed, and as they passed through the door, Aunt Morley appeared, with Serena’s frightened maidservant behind her.

  “What has happened, Serena?” she asked sternly, and then saw Lord Radnor. “Radnor, why are you in Serena’s bedchamber? You have no right to be here.”

  “Go away, Aunt,” Radnor ordered. “This is none of your affair.”

  “It most certainly is,” she said staunchly, trying to press her way into the room. “I could hear all manner of disturbances clear from my rooms even before poor Martha came to fetch me. Serena, tell me. What manner of—”

  “I told you to leave us,” Radnor snarled, and rudely shoved her backward. He closed the door and latched it, ignoring Lady Morley’s indignant protests on the other side, and turned back to where Serena was still sitting huddled on the bed.

  “You shouldn’t treat her like that,” Serena said as fiercely as she could. She was almost more shocked by what he’d just done to her aunt than what he’d ordered done to her. “Villain! You wouldn’t have dared do any of this if Grandpapa were home.”

  “You should be grateful I did not stay in here to watch those women go about their work,” he said, coming to stand over her. “I would have been in my rights to do so, as a witness.”

  “You are wicked,” she said, striving to use her anger and be brave, and not to cower away from him. He seemed enormous, dressed in a costly dark green suit and looming over her. He was a tall man with a powerful build, much like her father had been. In fact it was that likeness that disturbed her the most, for Uncle Radnor had Father’s face as well as coloring, and even the timbre of his voice was similar. But while Father’s face had always been filled with joy and love and roguish charm, her uncle’s was twisted with scorn and arrogance and a darkness that frightened her, especially now.

  “You’ll see,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Aunt Morley will summon the footmen, and they’ll break that lock open.”

  “Why should they do that?” he asked contemptuously. “One day I will be their master, and if they challenge me now, they can be sure their places will be gone. No, we will not be disturbed, niece, and you will listen to what I have to say.”

  In spite of her intentions not to be afraid, she shrank away from him. Her heart was pounding, and she felt almost sick with dread.

  “You have been a shame and an embarrassment to this family from the day you were carried from that East India man,” he began. “If it had been up to me, you wouldn’t have been allowed into this house, but sent to an institution where you would have had the decency to die far from the the rest of us. But instead my father chose to coddle you here, a parasite and a constant reminder of my brother’s vile infatuation with that heathen foreign land.”

  She would not cry, not before him, and as resolutely as she could she raised her chin in trembling defiance.

  “I am not a parasite,” she said, her voice quavering more than she wanted. “My father provided for me before he died.”

  “Money that should have gone into the estate, not to you,” he said, the bitterness in his eyes welling into open hatred. “My God, what was Thomas thinking, to squander such a sum on a wretched little harlot like you?”

  “He did it because he loved me!” she cried. “Because I was his dau
ghter, and he loved me!”

  “Love,” he repeated scornfully. “How like your father you are, Serena, weak and romantic. No doubt Fitzroy seduced you in the name of love. How many empty promises did he have to make to you before you spread your legs for him?”

  She gasped, hating to hear him speak so of Geoffrey. “He never did that, never. He was far too honorable.”

  He drew back, sneering as if her words had a foul smell.

  “To my mind, there are only two ways for you to repair the damage you have done to this family’s name,” he said. “You can marry Fitzroy—”

  “No!” she exclaimed, at once imagining the perfect disaster of being married to Geoffrey, of his family’s resentment, of how out of place she’d be, of how her secret could be revealed horrifically if she presented the Duke of Breconridge with a dark-skinned grandchild. But now, too, she also imagined how humiliating such a possibility would be for Geoffrey, having to acknowledge such a wife and child as his own. Her entire life might be a lie, but she didn’t want to inflict that kind of dreadful deceit on him. He didn’t deserve it, not at all.

  “I cannot marry him,” she said, despair creeping into her voice. “I can’t.”

  “It would have been easier to coerce Fitzroy if he’d taken your virginity,” Radnor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Or better yet, if he’d gotten you with his bastard. Without that trump, and considering his disreputable family’s lack of honor, it may be impossible to persuade him to take you.”

  “But you don’t understand,” she said, urgency now combined with her fear. “Lord Geoffrey does not wish to marry, me or any other lady at this time, and neither do I.”

  He wrapped his hand around the post of her bed, leaning slightly toward her. “It is you who does not understand, Serena. I despise the Fitzroys as much as Father does. However, I desire a place at Court. Your Lord Geoffrey’s father is as thick as can be with His Majesty. It would help my suit immeasurably if you were the duke’s daughter-in-law. We would all be as … family.”