Intimate Deception

by Laura Landon

  “Tell him. Tell Baron Fentington that you lied. Tell him you are still a virgin.”

  Grace held her father’s intense scrutiny only a moment before lowering her gaze to the floor.

  “Tell him!” he yelled, stepping around the corner of the desk. He grabbed her by the shoulders and roughly shook her.

  “I cannot.”

  An angry vein stood out at the side of her father’s neck, and for a fleeting moment, Grace felt sorry for him. It wasn’t that she cared overly much for him. No more than he cared for her or for any of his daughters. They’d all been disappointments to him. Seven daughters and not one son. But since she was the only one left, all the disappointment and disdain was aimed at her.

  Fentington spun around with a long, accusing finger pointed at her. “See! I told you, Portsmont. I told you your daughter was a Jezebel. A harlot. A whore!”

  Before she could protect herself, her father reached out his hand and slapped her across the face.

  Grace stumbled across the room and cried out in pain when her hip collided with the sharp corner of his desk. She clutched at the desktop, dazed and in pain, but was thankful she’d managed to stay on her feet.

  It was the first time she could remember her father striking any one of them.

  Whether it was the shock of his hitting her or the unleashed fury behind his attack, she knew she had created a chasm between them that would never be bridged.

  “Come here!” he yelled, clamping his fingers around her upper arm and jerking her toward him. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything!”

  Grace pressed her fingers against her stinging cheek and stared at her father. He released her with a shove and stepped over to where Baron Fentington stood. The baron’s face piously looked toward heaven and his lips moved as if reciting a silent prayer.

  Her father reached for some papers on his desk and took them to where Fentington stood. “It’s not too late, Fentington. I won’t ask as much for her now. She will come cheaper.”

  The air left Grace’s chest. Blood thundered inside her head. Her father was taking money for her. He was selling her as if she were a head of livestock or a bushel of grain.

  Fentington speared a look at her father that simmered with fire and brimstone. “She’s used, Portsmont. Tainted. The devil only knows who all has had her.”

  Her father turned on her. “Who, girl? Who is it?”

  Grace backed up until her legs hit one of the two matching leather chairs in front of the desk. Her father reached for her again, but this time she twisted to the side to avoid him. He kept coming after her.

  “Father, stop! What are you doing?”

  “Who is it, girl? Who have you been laying with?”

  She knew he wouldn’t give up without an answer. “You don’t know him.”

  Her father looked at her as if he couldn’t believe her, as if he thought she might be lying. “It doesn’t matter who it is, Fentington. Who it is can’t be of importance.”

  “Doesn’t matter! The girl can’t even assure us she isn’t carrying.”

  Her father’s head jerked back to her. “Are you? Are you carrying some man’s bastard?”

  Grace placed her hands on her stomach. Of course she wasn’t carrying his child. They’d only been together one night. The odds were his seed hadn’t taken hold. It had taken each of her sisters months of trying before they conceived. But she couldn’t let Fentington know that.

  She held her hands against her abdomen as if protecting something very special, then looked into her father’s face. What she saw stole her breath. There was hatred there, a repulsion and disgust she’d never noticed before.

  “Are you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  His arm swung out and he slapped her again. She tasted blood and touched her fingers to her mouth.

  Her father drew back his fist again, then stopped as if he realized it was too late. The damage was done. He faced the baron squarely with his head high and his shoulders braced. “We can come to an agreement, Fentington. I know she’s far past her prime and not nearly as pretty as the other six, but she’ll still serve you well.”

  “Father, no!”

  “She can be taught subservience. With you to guide and mold her, she can be an exemplary wife. She still has a few years of breeding left to give you the heir your other wives were unable to give you.”

  Fentington snorted a repulsive sound. “She’s too old to be molded, Portsmont, and she’s given herself as a whore. Any fool knows once a woman’s gone down the path of sin and degradation she can no longer be trusted. You keep her. She is of no value to me.”

  “No. She still has value. Tell him, Grace. Tell him you’ll be exactly the kind of wife he wants.”

  “Father!”

  “Tell him!”

  Grace felt the floor shift beneath her. “I’d rather rot in hell than let such a contemptible monster as Fentington anywhere near me. His sadistic penchants are so vile and revolting that even if half of the horrific stories about him aren’t based on fact, the ones that are true are enough to send him to hell for eternity.”

  Fentington staggered back as if her words had been a physical attack. The loathing in his glare suggested an underlying evil that frightened her. Then he smiled. The sneer on his face was the most sadistic grin she had ever seen. “Perhaps it would be my Christian duty to wed your daughter to save her soul.”

  “Yes! Yes!” her father agreed.

  Grace’s blood turned to ice. “Like you saved your last wife’s soul? Do you think there is even one person in all of Herefordshire who doesn’t know she took her life to escape you? That death was preferable to living with you?”

  Baron Fentington pursed his lips, grinding his teeth so loudly she could hear the grating noise in the deafening silence.

  “It would serve you right if I married you and brought you down a peg. You need that viperous tongue stilled and that high-handed attitude subdued. You need your sinful ways beaten out of you and need to be taught humility and respect and contrition. God says—”

  “God does not speak through you, Lord Fentington,” Grace said, willing herself to find the courage to stand up to him. “And if you ever try to force marriage, I swear I’ll go to Reverend Perry and tell him all your dirty little secrets. Perhaps I’ll invite him to tea along with Hannah and His Grace, the Duke of Sherefield, our local magistrate. Your daughter can tell them how wonderful it was growing up under your roof.”

  “Quiet! Don’t you mention that harlot’s name in my presence. I have no daughter. She is dead!”

  “No, she’s not. She’s alive and well and living the only life growing up in your house has left her.”

  Fentington’s face turned a mottled red. His eyes glared black fury. She could see murder in them and felt a fear unlike any she’d known before.

  “The devil has your soul, you spawn of Satan. I should—”

  “Try to force my hand, Lord Fentington, and I’ll spread the stories of your perverted penchants from here to London and back. And feel no regret while I’m doing it.”

  Fentington took a step toward her. Grace stepped back, fearing he would do her harm. Certain her father would not come to her aid if he did.

  “You can keep your harlot daughter,” he said, giving her a final malicious glare. “The devil owns her, body and soul.” He turned his attention back to her. “If your father is wise, he’ll rid himself and his home of you and throw you out on the street where you belong. You are nothing but a whore. And God will punish you as He does all evildoers for their wicked ways.”

  Grace lifted her chin and faced him squarely. She refused to be cowed by a man as repulsive as the baron.

  “You have played me for a fool. I’ll not forget it.” His eyes turned blacker. “I’ve let it out that you agreed to be my wife and will now have to face the humiliation of being spurned. You’ll pay for your betrayal. Pay!”

  Giving her a last glare,
he spun on his heel and stalked from the room. The door slammed behind him and Grace nearly collapsed from fear and relief. Her heart thundered in her breast and she had to reach out a hand and grasp the back of the leather chair to steady herself.

  She’d done it. She was safe from him and could spend her days in quiet contentment here in the country, reliving her one magical night and dreaming about the man who’d given it to her. Grace let her throbbing head drop to her hands.

  “Get out of my house,” her father growled from behind her.

  His words slammed against her with the force of a fist pummeling her stomach. The hatred in his voice stole the air from her and engulfed her in a fear from which she couldn’t find an escape.

  “You will not spend one more night under my roof,” he continued, taking a menacing step toward her.

  Grace grabbed a fistful of the leather on the back of the chair to keep from sinking to the floor.

  “Father—”

  “No!” he bellowed, slashing his hand through the air. “Do not call me that ever again. You are no longer my daughter.”

  She stiffened her shoulders as she faced him. “Were you that desperate for his money?”

  He stepped around her, circling her as a hunter circles his prey. “You lied to me. You told me you would accept Fentington’s offer once Anne was married.”

  “Only because you threatened to give her to Fentington if I refused to marry him. I could never have let our Annie marry such a monster.”

  “So you waited until she was married to drop this surprise on me.”

  “I waited until she was safe from him. And from you.”

  “How dare you,” he hissed and reached out to slap her again. Grace twisted away quickly enough to spare herself the full brunt of his blow.

  With a loud bellow, her father paced back and forth as a man demented. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  “I’ve done nothing except refuse to marry a man all of England knows is morally repugnant. You would not make me marry him if you knew what he was truly like.”

  “You think I don’t know?” Her father laughed. “You think I haven’t known for years the rumors that surround him?”

  Grace tried to speak but no words came out.

  “Do you know how much he offered for you? Do you know how rich it would have made me? And I would have gotten rid of you at the same time.”

  Her father staggered to a small table like a man already drunk. He filled a glass from one of the crystal decanters there and took a long swallow. Then turned back to her with an angry, black look on his face.

  “Get out! There is no room for you here anymore.” He refilled his glass and took another swallow, his actions more controlled this time. “I am remarrying.”

  Grace couldn’t believe this.

  “Lady Constance Sharpley will be my wife. You don’t know her. How could you when you spend all your time hiding in the country? But she knows you. Or knows you by reputation. Everyone remembers my oldest daughter who spent her London Season as a wallflower. Whose plain looks and sharp mind sent men fleeing instead of pursuing. Oh, yes. She knows you. Knows of your bookish, domineering ways. And my new countess wants you gone. She wants to come here to Warren Abbey and be mistress of her own home.”

  Grace couldn’t hide her look of surprise.

  “What, Grace? Did you think I would be content with you as my companion for the rest of my life? That I would let my spinster daughter hide away in the country because no one wanted her? That I would want you to nurse me in my old age so your life would have some semblance of worthiness in your otherwise dull existence?”

  “No, Father. I never thought that. Never thought you would ever want me. Just as you’ve never wanted any of us.”

  “I wanted a son! An heir! And I intend to have one.”

  Grace felt a chill of dread engulf her. “I see.”

  “Do you? It would have been so perfect for you to marry Fentington. He would have taken you off my hands and given me a healthy profit in the bargain. And I was so sure you were still a virgin. I never imagined that you weren’t. No one has ever shown an interest in you.”

  He spun around to face her. “Who have you been giving yourself to, Grace? One of the grooms? Surely no one of quality would want you, even if you gave your favors away freely.”

  Her legs buckled beneath her. “No. Surely no one of quality would want me.”

  “And you’d best pray he hasn’t planted his seed in you. If you think you can come back here and foist your bastard off on me to support, you’re sadly mistaken. Now get out before I have you thrown out!”

  Grace stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. “Be assured, my lord, you can sleep well tonight knowing you have rid your home of all things unwanted and undesirable.”

  Grace turned around and forced her legs to carry her across the room. She reached out a trembling hand and opened the door, then closed it behind her without a backward glance.

  Their butler was waiting in the hall. “George, have a wagon brought to the front.”

  “Now, my lady?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  “Very well.”

  Grace made her way up the stairs, refusing to let a single tear fall. She’d realized when she gave away her virginity that her life would never be the same and had made up her mind to accept the repercussions, no matter what.

  “Esther, have some trunks brought up, then come back to help me pack.”

  Grace ignored the shocked look on her maid’s face and threw open the doors to her clothes closet and pulled out her gowns. She had no idea where she was going or how she would live, but she would get by. She had no choice.

  Chapter 6

  Raeborn took the steps to Madam Genevieve’s two at a time. He’d waited the week as she’d demanded and cursed her every day for having the upper hand, for forcing him to bend to her will.

  How had this happened? What possible reason could any woman have for wanting to give her virginity to a man she didn’t know? To a man she’d never met?

  The more he thought about that night the angrier he got. He’d been used. Singled out for some reason only Genevieve knew.

  By the time he reached the front entrance, he was more inclined to kick the door off its hinges than to knock. Fortunately Jenkins didn’t give him the choice. The door opened before he reached for the brass knocker, and the familiar butler stood back to let him enter.

  “Where is she?”

  The butler bowed respectfully, showing no sign that he realized Raeborn’s temper was close to doing someone harm. “Good day, Your Grace. Madam Genevieve is waiting for you in the Gardenia—”

  Vincent didn’t wait for him to finish but stormed across the foyer and past the familiar half dozen sitting rooms. When he reached the Gardenia Room, the same room in which he’d met with her one week earlier, he threw open the door and entered.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said when he halted in front of her. She pointed to a chair angled before the fireplace. “Would you care to sit?”

  “Where is she? Who is she?”

  Genevieve lifted the corners of her lips into something that resembled a smile but was not quite and walked past him to close the door.

  Raeborn felt his temper snap. “I want her name, Genevieve! I want to know who I slept with. I want to know the name of the woman whose virginity I took under the assumption that she was one of your girls.” He sucked in a deep breath that left an ache inside his chest. “Dammit! I want to know the name of the woman I could have left pregnant!”

  Genevieve paused with her hand still on the closed door, then dropped it and walked over to a small serving cart against the wall. “Such a dominating air may serve you well in the House, Raeborn, or in your own home, but you know me well enough to realize it has no effect here.” She poured them each a glass of wine and handed him one. “Please, let’s sit down and discuss this rationally.”

  Raeborn took the wine, keeping his gaze locked w
ith hers. A part of him wanted to throttle her. Another part trusted her enough to know that whatever her reason, the need to do what she did had been compelling enough to leave her no other choice. He understood her well enough to know her actions had been born of desperation.

  He walked to the settee and waited for her to join him.

  She stopped in front of him but did not sit. “I need to preface what I’m about to tell you by explaining that there was no hidden agenda behind what we did. In fact,” she added, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, “we both hoped you’d never notice you’d just made love to a virgin.”

  “Was that the reason you added something to my drink?”

  “It was just to relax you. To keep you from being too aware of what was happening. It would have been totally effective on most men.”

  “Obviously I’m not most men,” he added without humor.

  “Obviously.”

  Genevieve sat on the edge of the settee, her outward appearance relaxed and composed. Only her clutched hands in her lap gave evidence that she was not.

  He sat down and waited for her to begin.

  “This is not easy for me, Raeborn. I gave a friend a promise and she will know I betrayed her.”

  “You should have known that would happen when you included me in your plan.”

  His voice contained none of his usual ease, but was hard and cold. His anger prevented him from trying to understand why Genevieve had used him. “First of all, I want to know her name.”

  Genevieve hesitated, then answered his question. “Her name is Grace. You don’t need to know more.”

  Raeborn started to object, then stopped when he saw the determined look on Genevieve’s face.

  “She is my best friend, Raeborn. Probably my only friend. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

  “You have already proved that. At my expense.”

  “And I would do it again.”

  He felt his temper erupt. “I just want to know why this Grace needed to play the whore for one night!”

  Genevieve sucked in a deep breath and turned to face him squarely. He knew from the look in her eyes that if their roles were different and Genevieve were a man, they’d be facing each other over pistols in the morning. When she spoke, the tone of her voice proved it.