A Sinful Deception

by Isabella Bradford

  She bowed her head, her thoughts racing. Her uncle must not know her secret after all; if he did, he’d never suggest this marriage. But knowing his reason only increased her peril. If the truth of who she truly was ever came out, then he’d be blamed as well, and he’d never, ever forgive her.

  “I can’t marry Lord Geoffrey, Uncle Radnor,” she said, her head still bowed over her knees. “I cannot.”

  “Then perhaps you would prefer the alternative,” her uncle said sharply, a vein in his forehead below the front of his wig pulsing with displeasure. “It would be easy enough to make you simply vanish completely. I know of an esteemed physician who would be willing to accept you as a patient.”

  “But I am not ill,” she protested. “I’m in perfect health.”

  “Of course you would say that,” her uncle said, smiling. “Yet I’m sure that the physician would consider both your irrational behavior and the wantonness that is so unnatural for a lady of our family, and declare your wits are unsettled. He would suggest a lengthy treatment at his private asylum in Lancastershire, a place that welcomes inconvenient ladies like yourself until they regain their wits and decorum. Sadly, so few of them do.”

  She gasped, stunned, and stared at him in horror. How misguided she’d been to believe that she was her own mistress because her father had left her his fortune! Her dream of being Geoffrey’s lover and then traveling on her own abroad had been no more than a fool’s fancy. This was her reality, harsh and unrelenting. Her grandfather was an elderly man. After his death, she would become her uncle’s ward, and the law declared that she’d have no rights as an unwed woman. He would have all the control, and always would.

  “An asylum,” she repeated, reeling. “A madhouse! Grandpapa would never believe you or your charlatan of a physician. He would never have me committed to such a place!”

  “He would if he believed a stay there could help you, Serena,” he said. “He remembers all too well when your father began to behave in outrageous ways, until at last he was lost to us forever.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, denying everything. “You are the mad one, Uncle, for only a madman would say such evil things.”

  He nodded, his smile chilly and without humor. “It is entirely your decision to make, my dear niece, and the consequences will be yours as well. My advice is to choose wisely.”

  “Radnor!” Her grandfather’s voice sounded crossly from the other side of the door as he rattled the latch. “What the devil are you doing in there? Why is this door locked? I’ll have no doors locked against me in my own house!”

  Her uncle glanced at her one more time and opened the door.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” he said mildly. “I suppose it was stuck. You should tell your housekeeper to oil your locks more frequently.”

  “Damn the locks.” Grandpapa pushed past him and into the room. “Are you well, Serena? Your aunt said Radnor was causing you some, ah, some distress.”

  Aunt Morley was in the hall, peering anxiously through the half-open door, with several servants behind her.

  Serena sucked in her breath. If she repeated everything that her uncle had just said to her, he would simply deny it. Worse, she would appear the irrational one, and play exactly into his scheme.

  “I am perfectly well, Grandpapa,” she said carefully, without looking at her aunt. “I’m not distressed in the least.”

  Her grandfather nodded, clearly relieved. “I am glad of it, Serena, most glad. I want you in fine spirits.” He pulled a letter from his pocket, holding it up for her to see. “That rogue Fitzroy has written, asking permission to call and address me. I have put off my reply for two days, but I cannot avoid it any longer.”

  “Address you?” asked Serena, not understanding. “Address you how?”

  “Don’t be thick, Serena,” he said grimly. “There’s only one decent way this entire wretched adventure of yours can be resolved, and Fitzroy is showing himself more of a gentleman than I credited. He is coming to do the honorable thing, and ask for your hand in marriage. And by God, if he pleases me, I intend to give it to him.”

  The following afternoon, Geoffrey sat alone in Lord Allwyn’s empty parlor, waiting for the marquis to join him. He had (uncharacteristically) made such a point of being prompt that he had arrived a quarter hour earlier than the time that Allwyn had written. Now he’d nothing to do but remain as calm as he could, and pray that the old man would not make this conversation any more difficult than it needed to be, so that he could once again see Serena.

  He had thought of her incessantly since they’d been forced apart. It had been no surprise that she hadn’t written to him, and he hadn’t tried to send word to her, knowing how closely she must be being watched. He imagined her kept as a virtual prisoner, locked away in the house since Sunday, and he could only hope her aunt and grandfather were not being too harsh with her.

  He, on the other hand, had gone about his life as usual, albeit cautiously, expecting that the winds of gossip had seized upon him and Serena. He’d been prepared, even eager, to defend her name and her virtue, but to his amazement, no one had said a word to him. From his club to the playhouse to the park, he didn’t hear a single whisper about what could have become the season’s scandale célèbre, nor was there a single breathless syllable of it in any of the news-sheets. He’d been certain that the clergyman who’d accompanied Allwyn would have told at least one person what he’d witnessed—in Geoffrey’s experience, clerics were among the most judgmental of tattles—but somehow this one had held his tongue. And what of the servants? They were always whispering what they’d seen to people outside the house.

  He was relieved, of course, but mystified as well. Because of his father’s rank and place at Court and his family’s royal blood, the Fitzroys were often in the public eye. He was accustomed to the attention, to being peered at by strangers and seeing his name reduced to initials and dashes in popular journals. As a result, he couldn’t understand how the son of the Duke of Breconridge and the wealthiest, unwed titled lady in London had been caught together in a compromising situation and yet somehow had completely escaped the notice of the world. There was no sense to it, but at least it might make this conversation with Serena’s grandfather less of an ordeal.

  Or, if he was to believe his father, it might make it easier for Allwyn to refuse his suit outright.

  Geoffrey reached into the pocket of his waistcoat where he’d put the betrothal ring for safekeeping, giving the leather-covered box an extra little pat of reassurance. He hadn’t wanted Serena to wear a ring that carried another woman’s story, even if the woman had been his own mother. He wanted this ring to be hers alone, and one that reflected her, too.

  This ring did. The center stone was a glorious oval golden-yellow topaz from Brazil by way of Portugal, and once the jeweler had shown him that, the rest had been easy to decide. The topaz had been surrounded with diamonds, which were set in silver to make the stones brighter, and the band was yellow gold, fashioned into a wreath of flowers that could very well have been jasmine. The topaz was like a concentration of the clearest sunshine, bright and intense, and its golden glow reminded him of the amber fire in Serena’s eyes. No other woman in London had eyes like hers, and no other woman would wear this ring, either, and he smiled to think of slipping it on her finger.

  He heard the door open behind him, and immediately he turned and bowed as Lord Allwyn entered the room. He was determined to be respectful and obliging to the old man, knowing that Serena would be his reward afterward.

  As he rose, however, he saw that Allwyn wasn’t alone, but flanked by a large, stern-faced, glowering gentleman: Lord Radnor, his older son and heir and Serena’s uncle. Now he understood why Allwyn had given himself three days before they met: not to cool his temper, but to bring in his son from the country as reinforcement.

  Damnation, if he’d known the marquis was going to play things this way, he would have brought his brothers with him.

  “Good day, Fitzroy
,” Allwyn said, already sounding testy. “I’m glad to see you’re man enough to answer for your misdeeds.”

  “I am honored by your invitation, Lord Allwyn,” Geoffrey said, striving to sound pleasant, as if this were any other social call. “Lord Radnor. Good day to you both.”

  “It’s hardly a good day when my brother’s only daughter is debauched by a scoundrel,” Lord Radnor began heatedly. “When I think upon how—”

  “None of that, Radnor,” Allwyn said, raising his hand. “Let us see first if Lord Geoffrey is prepared to do what an honorable gentleman must.”

  Geoffrey nodded. He fully intended to be an honorable gentleman; and he didn’t doubt that he was the only civilized one in the room, either.

  “Indeed I have, Lord Allwyn,” he said, falling back into the little speech he’d rehearsed earlier. “I have the greatest admiration and regard for Miss Carew, and I dare to hope that she is not adverse to my attentions. I have in fact formed such an attachment for the lady, that I come to you now to ask for the honor of her hand in marriage.”

  There, he’d said it, the words he’d never thought to utter, or at least not for another ten years. If he’d expected to be congratulated on his bravery (which, fortunately, he hadn’t), then he was sure to be disappointed. But if he’d likewise hoped to receive a swift affirmative to his request (which he rather had), followed by being ushered through the next set of doors to the prize that was Serena, then that was another disappointment.

  Instead, the Allwyn men continued to stare at him in a menacing silence, as if he’d just made the most dastardly of declarations. While Geoffrey’s inclination was to say more to fill that yawning, unpleasant silence, he didn’t. He’d already said what was necessary. Anything more wouldn’t be.

  Finally the marquis made a gruff grunt.

  “You surprise me, Fitzroy,” he said grudgingly. “I would’ve wagered against you stepping forward like this. Not that it changes my opinion of you in the least. You aren’t my first choice for my granddaughter’s hand, and never will be.”

  Geoffrey gave a small nod of acknowledgment, not agreement. “My wife will want for nothing,” he said. “My estate is—”

  “Your estate is well enough,” Allwyn said. “I’ve already had my people look into that. At least I know you’re not after Serena’s fortune.”

  “Not at all,” Geoffrey said. He was likely the only gentleman she’d met in town who wasn’t.

  “No, I’ve no doubt you’ll keep her well enough,” Allwyn continued. “It’s your honor that I doubt.”

  “My honor has never been in question, Lord Allwyn,” Geoffrey said, sharpness creeping into his voice. He sensed that the marquis was purposefully goading him, yet he was finding it impossible not to respond. “If you can find one instance—”

  “Oh, come, come, Fitzroy,” the marquis said. “It’s not a question of a single instance. Your entire family is riddled and rotten with dishonorable doings. You can’t deny it. Even your father’s dukedom was founded on whoring.”

  “Lord Allwyn,” Geoffrey said curtly. He had purposefully not worn a sword to this meeting, but now he wished he had. “I cannot let you refer to the first duchess in that way.”

  The old marquis’s eyes glinted with smugness. “You can’t, eh? Could you deny that she was made a duchess without a duke, a whore’s price for sharing the king’s bed?”

  “Lord Allwyn,” he said, biting each syllable even as his fingers clutched at his side where his sword should be. “If you continue in this fashion, I shall be compelled to defend my family’s honor in the only way a gentleman can.”

  “Your family’s honor,” scoffed Lord Radnor disdainfully. “I should scarcely believe that merits your defense.”

  “To me it does,” Geoffrey retorted. “Nor do I see that Miss Carew has thus far suffered from her connection to me or my family.”

  “That’s only because no one knows of it yet,” Lord Radnor said. “We’ve kept word of your iniquity to this house, not for the sake of my slatternly niece, but for the good of the entire family. Our people, our servants, are loyal to us. It’s you who shall benefit from a connection with us. We’re not like you Fitzroys, parading your dirty shifts and shirts about for all the world to—”

  “Radnor, enough,” the marquis said. “Serena is no slattern, and never has been. It’s this fellow who led her astray, and now he must make good on his actions.”

  The older man’s gaze hadn’t left Geoffrey’s face. “Would you defend your wife’s honor with the same fervor? Would you run through any rascal who spoke ill of her?”

  So that was the old man’s game. At least Geoffrey could answer his question with perfect honesty.

  “I would, Lord Allwyn,” he said. “Not only because the lady would be a member of my family, but, most important, because she would be my wife.”

  The marquis nodded. “Serena has suffered much in her life,” he said, his face losing its flintiness as he mentioned his granddaughter. “To lose both her parents in the fashion she has, and to have endured so much that a young lady shouldn’t in that heathen part of the world. She’s never spoken the half of it, I know, but still it breaks my heart to think of her alone in that dreadful foreign place.”

  The emotion in his voice touched Geoffrey, and he thought of the sorrow he himself had sometimes glimpsed in Serena’s eyes.

  “I would do all in my power to see that my wife never suffers,” he said, and as soon as he spoke the words, he realized how much he meant them. “Above all things, I would want to make her happy.”

  The marquis leaned a fraction closer. “Would you swear to that?” he demanded gruffly. “On your honor, on your life, on your family’s name, such as it is? Would you give up whoring and the rest of your rakish ways for the sake of your wife?”

  Geoffrey didn’t hesitate. “I would, Lord Allwyn,” he said firmly. He wasn’t at all sure exactly what was entailed by such a promise, or how he would keep it, but for Serena’s sake, he would find a way. “For Miss Carew, you have my word that I will.”

  Allwyn nodded again. “You had better keep that pledge,” he warned. “Because if I ever learn that you’ve hurt her, Fitzroy, or betrayed her in any way, then by God, I shall hunt you down. And if I am no longer on this earth, then my son shall act for me.”

  To Geoffrey’s surprise, the marquis seized his hand and shook it.

  “There,” he said, pumping Geoffrey’s hand. “As two gentlemen should. You’re still not my choice for my granddaughter, but she’s as headstrong as her father was before her. She has decided upon you, and I must agree. You see, I believe in making her happy as well.”

  He laughed, a strange sort of guffaw that his son echoed, and uneasily Geoffrey joined them.

  “You do not wish to have me as your enemy,” Lord Radnor said with a grimace of a smile, taking his turn to shake Geoffrey’s hand. “We shall do much better as family, and as allies.”

  “Indeed,” Geoffrey said, finding both prospects singularly unpleasant. He was determined to make everything work out as it should with Serena in the future, for he’d no wish to be confronted like this again by her male relatives. Which was, of course, the point of this entire conversation, but it was a damnably queasy way to be welcomed into the family.

  “So Miss Carew will approve of my suit?” he asked, just to make certain. “She will give me the, ah, answer I seek?”

  “If the answer you is seek ‘yes,’ then you’ll have it,” Allwyn said briskly. “Serena knows her duty.”

  Duty was not a word Geoffrey ever wished to associate with a proposal of marriage. Given the circumstances, however, it did not seem wise to object.

  “Is there an agreeable time when I might call upon Miss Carew?” he asked instead, the safer course.

  “Call upon her now,” Allwyn said, still watching Geoffrey with all the charity of a wary old hawk. “She is in the garden, waiting for you. I daresay you already know the way, eh?”

  He did, but decided t
hat a silent bow was likely the safest course, especially with Radnor once again grim-faced. If Allwyn was the hawk, then his son was more the buzzard, ready to pounce on whatever random carrion was left behind.

  “Address her as you please, Lord Geoffrey,” the marquis continued. “You may prattle whatever honeyed words you choose. I know you must have a stock of them. But that is all. No more of your rakish tricks before you’re wed. Mind you, we shall be watching you from the window to make certain you don’t.”

  Geoffrey had had enough of this, and he’d no reason to linger in such company. He bowed one last time and left them, following the footman to the door that led to the garden—not through the small parlor where he’d been with Serena, but through the grander entrance in the center hall.

  Instantly he felt relieved to be free of the house and its overbearing inhabitants, and he took a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d needed. He glanced up at the sky, the clear blue framed by the surrounding houses. He was going to propose to Serena, and she was going to say yes, and become Lady Geoffrey Fitzroy. She’d be his wife, there at his side for the rest of their lives, and the mother of his children.

  He felt all manner of lurching butterflies in his belly at the momentous step he was about to take, at all the responsibilities and commitments that being a married man entailed. Then he thought of Serena herself, and all the butterflies vanished. This was right, and he realized how very much he wanted it, and her.

  He walked down into the garden, past the first row of boxwood, and there, at last, was his prize.

  Serena.

  CHAPTER

  9

  As soon as Geoffrey walked down the steps to the garden, he saw Serena, sitting on a carved bench, her aunt beside her. Lady Morley was holding an old stocking out to her black spaniel, and the small dog was growling fiercely as he tugged and worried the stretching stocking. Lady Morley was chuckling, urging her pet on, but it was clear Serena wasn’t sharing her amusement.