A Sinful Deception

by Isabella Bradford

  She raised her chin a fraction higher. “You misremember, Uncle,” she said. “You did not support me. You threatened me, telling me you’d have me locked away as a madwoman if I did not do as you wished. You wanted me to marry Lord Geoffrey, and I have, and how thankful I am that I did! Because my husband would never believe your lies or your threats.”

  “Then you see the wisdom of obliging me,” he said, completely misinterpreting her point. “Do as I ask regarding the duke, and we both prosper.”

  “I could tell you I will, Uncle,” she said, her voice rising with emotion, “and let you think that of me. But I won’t. Nor would I put at risk my relations with my husband’s family by endorsing you in any fashion. That is the truth, Uncle. I have no intention of obliging or obeying you ever again.”

  She rose, hoping that Radnor would realize she meant their conversation to be over.

  But he rose, too, coming to stand so close to her that she was forced to back away.

  “Listen to you, Serena, all high and mighty with your new title!” he jeered. “Better you should listen to me, and then you’ll think twice about being so haughty. Because I’ve heard the talk about you, Lady Geoffrey. I’ve heard what’s being whispered about you since you married into the Fitzroys, about how you’re not exactly what you seem.”

  “I should not think a gentleman such as yourself would heed idle gossip, Uncle,” she said as defiantly as she could. “If you care to listen, there are whispers regarding everyone in London.”

  His smile was an ominous smirk. “Not like what’s said of you, Serena,” he said. “They’re saying you’re not my brother’s daughter at all, but some conniving Indian lady from the Royal Court of Hyderabad, sent out of India by her true family.”

  A royal Indian lady! It was so preposterous, and so far from the bitter truth, that she nearly laughed aloud. At least she was able to honestly deny it.

  “How could you give credence to such a ridiculous lie?” she said. “I was little more than a child when I arrived in London, and grievously ill at that. How could I possibly have ‘connived’ my passage in that state? Besides, everyone who knew Father remarks on the likeness between us.”

  It was a plain and logical defense, or so she thought. But it was only the beginning for her uncle.

  “Indeed you do resemble him,” he said, surprising her by agreeing. “No one could doubt that. Why, it’s an insult to our family, that kind of slander, and to set it right once and for all, I’ve written to your mama’s family in Scotland to prove it.”

  “They’re all dead,” she said, relying on years of pretense to keep her voice level and her expression composed. “Grandpapa told me so. He tried to contact my grandparents when I first arrived, only to learn that they were dead.”

  “Your grandparents, yes,” he said, inching closer. “Father went no further than was necessary, not wanting to share you with your mother’s family. But it seems your mother had a brother who is an officer in the army, stationed in the north of India.”

  “She did?” Serena frowned, startled. She recalled the portrait of Asha’s mother, hanging in their dining room. But she’d never recalled hearing of this phantom brother, especially not of him being in India. “He never came to our house.”

  “I doubt Major Dalton had leave to do that,” her uncle said. “Soldiers are never their own men. But his regiment has newly returned to Britain, and I’ve written him for any memories he may have of you or Lady Thomas.”

  “Why should you think that this gentleman’s presence would have any bearing with regards to your request?” she said, striving to sound both firm and unconcerned. “There is nothing he could say that could make me change my mind.”

  “Because the matter is far more complicated than that,” Radnor said easily, his argument well practiced. “If Major Dalton can discover a familial resemblance in you and identify you as his niece, then all that gossip will be put to rest. If he does not, why, then I shall be forced to regard you as an imposter and false claimant to my late brother’s estate, and begin proceedings against you.”

  “I would welcome the truth, Uncle,” she said calmly, even as she felt her world cracking and crumbling around her. What had he heard? What made him suspect her now, after so many years? Did this Scottish officer truly exist, or was he only another invention by her uncle to intimidate her? “I thank you for pursuing it.”

  He drew back and frowned, clearly not expecting that response from her. “Is that all you have to say? That you thank me?”

  “It seems sufficient, yes,” she said. “What better way to silence this gossip about me and my poor mother than with truth?”

  “By God, but you’re a cold little chit,” he said, anger rippling through his voice. “Truth, eh? I doubt you know the meaning of it. You’re as much a lying, deceitful scoundrel as my brother ever was.”

  That was enough. He could threaten her and call her whatever foul names he pleased, but she refused to listen to him slander her father.

  “Good day, Uncle,” she said, turning toward the door to summon one of the footman to show him out.

  But before she could, her uncle grabbed her by the arm. She cried out, his fingers hurting her as they tightened. With her free hand, she shoved hard at his chest, struggling to break free, but he held her fast.

  “Impudent jade,” he said furiously. “I’ll leave when I’m ready, after you’ve heard me out. If you’re half the liar I suspect you are, then I’ll wager your pretty husband will be done with you. He’ll cast you aside for being the wicked little bitch that I always—”

  She didn’t hear the door open behind her, but from the corner of her eye she saw the flash of Geoffrey’s blue coat as he charged forward. He struck swiftly, mercilessly, driving his fist into Radnor’s jaw with the full force of his anger. Caught off-balance and by surprise, her uncle staggered backward, and Serena wrenched her arm free of his grasp and pulled away.

  But Geoffrey wasn’t done. He threw himself at the larger man, knocking him sprawling across the floor. While Serena watched in horror, Geoffrey pinned Radnor down and relentlessly pummeled the other man with his fists, his face fixed and flushed with rage. All her uncle could do was try to defend himself, shielding his face with his arms and attempting to twist away.

  “Stop, Geoffrey, I beg you!” she cried, hovering near the grappling men. She’d never seen gentlemen fighting like this and she’d never dreamed her husband would react with such violence: it terrified her. He was so focused on his fury that he didn’t seem to hear her at all. “Geoffrey, stop!”

  Desperate, she glanced back at the doorway, where Colburn and several footmen were crowded together to watch, waiting for orders, the way servants always did. They couldn’t lay hands on their master, but she could.

  She reached down and grabbed Geoffrey by the shoulder to pull him back, or at least get his attention. She was stunned by the tension in his muscles beneath her hand, the power he’d marshaled to strike her uncle.

  “Geoffrey, please,” she said breathlessly. “You must stop this. You must.”

  At the touch of her hand he sat back, breathing hard, and stopped his attack. He shoved his hair from his face, his eyes still wild, but at least she’d managed to break the madness that had possessed him.

  “Geoffrey,” she said. “Please.”

  He rose in a single agile motion and stepped away from Radnor, who remained groaning on the floor. She placed her hand on Geoffrey’s arm, an unspoken restraint. She was shaking after what had just happened, and she prayed he was too preoccupied himself to notice.

  Quickly she motioned to the servants, and they hurried forward to help Radnor, groaning and daubing at his battered face with his handkerchief. There was blood splattered on the front of his shirt, and blossoming on the handkerchief from his nose.

  “Damn you, Fitzroy,” he sputtered as the servants helped him to his feet on shaky legs. “I vow you’ve broken my nose, and I shall—”

  “Leave my house at
once,” Geoffrey ordered harshly, his voice almost a growl. “Leave now, and never come back. And if I ever learn that you have come near my wife again, so help me, I will hunt you down, and I will make you pay.”

  With a small bow, Colburn handed her uncle his hat, as pointedly as Geoffrey’s words. Leaning heavily on the footman’s arm, Uncle Radnor snatched the hat and jammed it onto his head, and glared at Serena over the bunched, bloodied handkerchief in his hand.

  “You see the manner of rascal you have chosen, niece,” he rasped. “Exactly as you deserve.”

  She felt Geoffrey tense beside her, but before he could react, her uncle had lurched unsteadily through the door. She clung to Geoffrey, watching Radnor’s progress as he made his way through the hall and finally out the front door to where his own carriage must be waiting. She didn’t know for certain, and she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was that he was gone from their house, and that Geoffrey hadn’t killed him outright.

  She didn’t wait for a footman to close the parlor door, but darted away from Geoffrey to shut it herself, not wanting the servants to overhear the conversation that must come next. Yet as soon as the latch clicked, the enormity of everything that she had heard and seen in the last half hour swept over her.

  There had always been whispers about her—it was the main reason she’d purposefully kept herself apart from others—but whatever had set her uncle so brazenly on this particular course was new. And if he’d heard it, then likely Geoffrey would as well. Perhaps his father or brother had already shared it with him this morning, which would explain his odd humor in the carriage. No matter how happy she’d been these last weeks, here was fresh proof that she’d never be free of her past. It never ended.

  Unsure of what would happen next with Geoffrey, she wearily pulled her hat from her head, and rested her hands and her forehead against the door.

  “Serena.” Geoffrey came and turned her around to face him, keeping his hands at her waist. She looked down, unable to meet his eye.

  “Speak to me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough. “Tell me what happened. What did your uncle say? Did he hurt you?”

  She knew she couldn’t hide, not from him, and forced herself to look up. Despite the furious anger that had driven him to beat her uncle only minutes before, his eyes now were filled with concern for her. Emotion welled up within her and spilled out in a quick sting of tears she could no longer keep back.

  “He—he threatened me,” she said, her voice breaking. “He wishes me to persuade your father to help him find a place at Court.”

  “He expected that of you?” he said, stunned, his earlier anger returning. “After all the infamy he has spoken against our family, he desires our help? Did he threaten to hurt you if you didn’t obey him?”

  She brushed aside her tears and shook her head. So Geoffrey hadn’t yet heard the rumors; he wouldn’t be shocked now if he had, nor, really, would he likely have come back to defend her.

  “Uncle didn’t threaten me with force, no,” she said, choosing her words with the greatest care. “But he said hateful things of me and of my mother, and threatened to spread them to defame me, and you as well. He said he would instigate a case against me as being unworthy, and try to claim my father’s fortune as his own.”

  “What a greedy, thieving bastard, to think that he could do that to you,” Geoffrey fumed, his voice crackling with anger. “Such an ill-founded case would be tossed from any court, of course, but if he dared to do it, he would have to answer to me first.”

  Oh, this was treacherous ground! As tempting as it was to hear Geoffrey defend her so soundly, she knew she was dancing perilously close to disaster, and before she tripped herself, she retreated to the safety of unquestionable truth.

  “Uncle Radnor was very forceful toward me, Geoffrey,” she said softly, “and it did frighten me.”

  “I should have thrashed him in the street for that alone,” he said with such vehemence that she pressed her palms on his chest, wanting to calm him. There was a dark mood that remained around him, a lingering hint of the anger and violence with which he’d struck her uncle, and that frightened her nearly as much as had the fight itself.

  “Don’t say such things,” she said anxiously, worried for him. “I don’t want you ever again to fight anyone on my behalf.”

  He curled his fingers around one of her wrists, lightly, possessively, stroking his thumb across her pulse. There was blood on his shirt, her uncle’s blood, crimson on the white linen, a reminder she couldn’t avoid.

  “He was hurting you, Serena,” he said. “You can’t deny it. I saw it on your face and in your eyes. I will not allow that, not in our house. I would fight anyone, anywhere, who tried to harm you.”

  “No,” she said again. “No! Where would it stop? When one of you is gravely wounded?”

  “He would be the one injured, Serena, not me.”

  “You can’t swear to that!” she cried, frustrated by his conviction. “What if he brought a pistol or a sword? What if he challenged you to a duel?”

  He leaned into her, his hips crushing into her muslin skirts and hoops, and deftly guided her away from the door until her back bumped into the sturdier pilaster that framed the doorway. He liked this little game of trapping her, almost as much as she liked to be trapped, making their clothes too much of a barrier between them and yet too little as well. Her kerchief had come untucked from the neckline of her bodice, baring the rise and fall of her breasts, and she was acutely aware of the heavy fullness in his breeches as he pressed against her thigh.

  “You’d like a duel fought over you,” he said, his voice lower, challenging and teasing at the same time. Idly he pulled the kerchief away entirely, his gaze dropping to her breasts. “Admit it. To have two men face death for your sake. Every woman craves that.”

  “I don’t,” she said, her words now breathy and making a lie of their meaning.

  How could she possibly condone a duel, or the foolish, impulsive danger it signified? And yet at the same time she couldn’t deny that having Geoffrey defend her as he had felt like a primal declaration of his love, and an exciting one, too. If there were a dragon in her life, it had always been Uncle Radnor, and now Geoffrey had vanquished him and defended her. He truly was her champion.

  She reached up to touch his jaw, and he turned his face to nip at her fingers. “I couldn’t bear the risk of losing you.”

  “You can’t lose me.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped to the rough growl that she adored. “I can’t be away from you, even for an hour.”

  He put his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the elaborate construction of her hair, and held her steady as he bent to kiss her. He kissed her possessively, reminding her of how he’d saved her and claimed her, how she was his, and she kissed him the same way, hungry for the warm sanctuary of his mouth.

  “You came back,” she said breathlessly. She threaded her hands inside his coat and under his waistcoat, pulling his long shirttails free to reach up inside his shirt and along his bare back and spine. His skin was heated, the muscles bunching luxuriantly beneath her touch, and she dared to use her nails, raking lightly across his shoulder blades.

  “You said you were going to White’s,” she said, “but when I needed you, you were here. Somehow you knew, and you came. For me.”

  “I was going to White’s,” he said, “but I had the driver turn around and bring me back. I couldn’t keep away from you.”

  He knew the intricacies of her dress, and now he pulled out the top pins that closed her bodice and scooped her breasts free of her stays. He bent to draw first one breast, then the other, into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the tender flesh as he sucked until she felt the pull of it deep within her core. She whimpered, clutching his shoulders for support as she arched shamelessly against his mouth.

  When he finally lifted his head, her nipples were bright red and ripe and pebbled like berries. Her lips were swollen, almost bruised, from
his kisses, and her golden eyes were heavy-lidded and wanton for him.

  This was why he’d come back, Geoffrey thought, white-hot desire searing through him as he gazed at her. When he’d left her in the carriage earlier, he’d been frustrated, confused, even angry, thinking of how once again she’d withdrawn from him, and thinking, too, of the rumors that Father had hinted at. As furious as Radnor had made him—and as much as Serena’s uncle had deserved the thrashing he’d given him—having a way to vent some of those pent-up emotions had come almost as a relief. She’d been threatened, and he’d defended her, briskly and brutally, paying Radnor back for all the suffering he’d caused Serena both today and in the past. It had felt good in an ungentlemanly way, too good, though it hadn’t solved the problem itself.

  She’d already confided her difficult childhood, and he’d seen how it had marked her. What else could there be that she still found impossible to share? Each time he’d believed that she had finally come to trust him as a wife should, she retreated, keeping some part of herself away from him. It was as if she were still living in that faraway house where she’d been born, behind an impenetrable wall of stone that he could never breach, no matter how hard he battered against it.

  Yet as much as she’d frustrated him earlier, she still had the effortless power to draw him back. No matter how he’d wanted to do otherwise, to find time alone to think and consider, he couldn’t keep away. It was as simple, and as complicated, as that. The door of the house had scarcely closed behind her, and he’d already begun thinking of how soon he could return.

  No, it had been far more than that: he could think of nothing else besides her, of how she smiled and laughed, of the little kindnesses she showed him and the way she said his name in her lilting hint of an accent, pronouncing it in a way that marked it as her own. He’d thought of the seductive grace that was in every one of her movements, of the golden amber of her eyes, her scent, her taste. He remembered the countless pleasures of making love to her, the shimmering sweetness of her voluptuous body, her little cries and her eager abandon and how she moved so sinuously beneath him and around him.