A Little Deception

by Beverley Eikli

  Foreboding and confusion coursed through her. ‘Warn me?’ Rose repeated faintly, her hand going to the low neckline of the pretty pale-mauve voile Helena had surprisingly insisted she must borrow for her unchaperoned visit.

  ‘Lord Yarrowby is a rake.’ He stated it baldly, with relish.

  ‘And Arabella danced with him but three times,’ Rose replied. Clearly Lord Rampton had requested her company on false pretences. Now was time to show strength. Lord Rampton was dangerous territory. Dangerous … she had to remind herself. She must have as little to do with him as she could before discharging Helena’s debt.

  ‘If you … summoned me here,’ she emphasized the word with disdain, though her heart felt like breaking, ‘simply to tell me that, then I think you have perhaps overestimated the depth of our acquaintance, sir.’ She rose and looked around for a repository for her barely touched sherry.

  Lord Yarrowby was a remarkable catch. Everyone said so, and if Lord Rampton wanted to pretend concern over Yarrowby’s suitability merely to draw Rose into his lair… well, it was simply too much of a sacrifice to make – on either Arabella’s or her behalf.

  Drawing in a breath that she hoped would replenish the sensible side of her, she was surprised by his obvious dismay. Surely she had not strayed so far from propriety that he wouldn’t understand by now that she did not take kindly to his subterfuge? His next words, however, had the effect of shocking her so much that she dropped back into her seat.

  ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I had thought your apparent fondness for young Arabella betokened a certain regard for her personal happiness. I had not realized that you planned to honour your debt through her … success.’

  ‘Of course I intend no such thing!’ Rose declared. ‘Only I thought you had requested me to come here on the pretext of—’ She stopped abruptly.

  Lord Rampton watched her confusion with amusement. ‘Yes?’ he prompted, mildly.

  She waved one hand through the air dismissively, then took another sustaining breath in order to gather her disordered wits. ‘Naturally,’ she said through clenched teeth, ‘where my sister…er…sister-in-law is concerned it is of far greater importance to me that Lord Yarrowby should be a man of decency and honour than that he has a fortune and a title.’

  ‘Bravo.’ Her host congratulated her with heavy irony. ‘Being somewhat tender-hearted myself I hoped to elicit such a declaration.’

  ‘I am not completely shameless,’ Rose muttered. ‘You will get your money, as promised, my lord, and I shall ensure that my sister-in-law makes a match that will secure her future happiness which, I hope, will be free from financial hardship.’ She rose. ‘Good day.’

  Lord Rampton shadowed her as she navigated her way around the furniture towards the door. She could almost feel the radiation from his body and she turned, supporting herself with one hand on the back of the club sofa, looking up to find his generously curved mouth smiling down at her, his deep-blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

  ‘Lady Chesterfield,’ he said, taking her hand, his voice filled with remorse, ‘I have offended you. Hardly the action of a gentleman, especially when I have just accused Yarrowby – who is, I must tell you, a former friend – of lacking the qualities required to be called one.’

  Rose had no choice but to surrender her hand, which he bent over with a flourish. A rush of sensation whooshed to her lower belly and she drew in her breath sharply. What had caused that? Surely not the mere touch of his lips upon her suddenly sensitised skin as he murmured, ‘Pray, forgive me.’

  ‘Perhaps I overreacted a trifle, Lord Rampton.’ Rose slanted a sideways look towards him as she’d seen Helena do in the company of attractive men. ‘You see, my sister-in-law is very dear to me and her happiness is paramount. I was horrified at the charge you just levelled at me.’

  ‘In that case, Lady Chesterfield, all the more reason to heed my warning.’

  ‘That Lord Yarrowby is a rake? But, my lord,’ Rose smiled wickedly, ‘I had not thought the charge such a terrible one. If we ladies were to be warned off every so-called rake in town, who would be left to marry?’

  Instead of responding in like fashion to her flirtatious banter Lord Ramtpon lowered his head even further. In fact, for one tantalizingly terrifying moment Rose thought he was going to actually brush his lips against hers and she stiffened, every fibre of her being on full alert.

  She was still wondering whether she was disappointed or otherwise that he had not, when he added ominously, ‘Most rakes, I am pleased to report, have more respect for their womenfolk. Now,’ His tone was matter of fact as he straightened and saw Rose to the door, ‘when shall I have the pleasure of furthering our acquaintance, Lady Chesterfield? Perhaps at Lady Pendleton’s soirée tomorrow night? You have my promise – as a rake and a gentleman – that when next we meet, we shall concern ourselves with matters that are altogether more …’ the wolfish smile was in place as he supplied suggestively, ‘diverting.’

  ***

  Helena sighed as she twirled a cushion tassel round her middle finger and gazed through the grimy windows at the church spire. ‘I can’t decide whether it’s more fun being fêted as the unworldly virgin, or watching you grapple with the subtleties of experience. Come now, Rose,’ she laughed her husky laugh, ‘I’ve already pledged to play the part you’ve assigned to me.’

  Too absorbed in her own dilemma as to whether it was pure folly to attend Lady Pendleton’s soirée, Rose did not notice how bright her sister-in-law’s eyes were, and how out of character was her enthusiasm for a plan from which she did not, apparently, benefit directly. She was relieved when Aunt Alice was announced.

  ‘We were just discussing Lady Pendleton’s masquerade tomorrow night, Mrs Withers,’ said Helena, ignoring Rose’s imploring look and small shake of the head. ‘Happily Rose has agreed to accompany us.’

  ‘Delightful!’ Aunt Alice beamed as she settled herself.

  ‘No, Helena, I was just saying I had decided not to accompany you,’ Rose corrected her.

  Helena, looking disappointed, turned an appealing gaze upon the older woman. ‘Don’t you think it wrong that Rose should deny herself the pleasures of the season when she has only this one chance to secure a husband, for all she insists she doesn’t want one?’

  ‘Indeed, yes! What is it, child?’ asked her aunt directly, turning to Rose. ‘Is it clothes?’

  ‘Helena has kindly promised to lend me those.’ Rose summoned inspiration for her excuse.

  ‘Then what is it, dear? You’re not …’ Aunt Alice’s eyes widened as an idea dawned, ‘afraid, are you?’

  ‘Of … men?’ Rose shook her head in emphatic denial, ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Dear Rose thinks herself the equal of any man,’ came a lazy-sounding voice from the doorway.

  ‘My dear Charles, so good to see you,’ Aunt Alice exclaimed as her nephew entered the room.

  Taking a seat, Charles added, ‘No, Rose continues to eschew the idea of marriage as she has not yet met a man she considers her equal.’

  ‘Well, perhaps it is not quite right to consider ourselves equal to men, but it is most definitely a shame to allow fear to stand in the way of finding a good husband. How is the world to go on?’ said Aunt Alice with a definitive air, glancing about as if for corroboration.

  ‘What wisdom, Mrs Withers,’ said Helena with no hint of irony. ‘The problem Rose has is that she can’t go out without being involved in a terrible deception.’

  In response to the obvious stupefaction of the others, she elaborated with an artful smile, ‘All right, I confess, it was all my fault to begin with.’

  ‘My dear Helena,’ Charles interjected, but Helena cut him off, saying, quickly, ‘Dear Aunt Alice – you don’t mind if I call you that? No? And perhaps you, too, enjoy a little intrigue. Yes?’ She glanced at Charles and Rose as if challenging them to interrupt before launching into her version of the truth. ‘You see, it all began when Charles had an important meeting with a rich and influential ge
ntleman – perhaps you know of him? Lord Rampton.’

  ‘Indeed, I do.’ Aunt Alice’s tone was almost reverential. ‘A dashing rake but the catch of the season, nonetheless.’

  Helena nodded. ‘However, I was indisposed, and as Charles could not go alone Rose had a wild idea that she would go in my place …’ She broke off, silence giving greater effect to her next words: ‘masquerading as me!’

  A small frown of incomprehension creased Aunt Alice’s brow. ‘I’m sure it would have been perfectly appropriate for her to have gone as herself with Charles as chaperone.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ Helena laughed. ‘But Rose sometimes has these wild ideas and she doesn’t think of the consequences until after she acts. Apparently she had nothing suitable of her own to wear, and it would seem that wearing my clothes filled her with some rather outrageous inspiration. Consequently,’ she took a deep breath, ‘it appears that Lord Rampton was quite taken with Rose, yet thinks she is …’ she looked around the room, her emerald eyes gleaming with amusement and finished with a staccato, ‘me!’

  Rose was fuming. Wouldn’t Aunt Alice be shocked to learn that her niece by marriage was a gambler who had all but ruined the family, and that Rose’s actions had been prompted to save the plantation and only home they had?

  Revealing the bald facts was too much of a risk. Aunt Alice was a gossip and any suggestion that the Chesterfields were at the mercy of creditors would severely curtail Arabella’s chances.

  Rose smiled almost sheepishly at her aunt. ‘Lord Rampton was supposed to be leaving for the Continent by the end of the week so it seemed a safe enough deception in view of the fact that I needed to petition him for a little extra time to meet a small debt we owe him.’

  ‘You owe Lord Rampton money?’

  Rose felt the heat in her cheeks. Unable to look her aunt in the face she murmured, ‘Happily, he has given us until the end of the season. I couldn’t have asked for more.’

  Aunt Alice clicked her tongue and said, as if Rose were the guilty party, ‘Just like your father, and yet he was adored by so many …’ She broke off, as if a thought had occurred to her. ‘You say you owe Lord Rampton money? Why, I may just be able to help you. Meanwhile, perhaps all this deception is not such a wicked thing after all.’

  Even Helena looked taken aback at this.

  Obviously relishing the intrigue Aunt Alice continued, ‘From what little I know of Lord Rampton, I gather he is only interested in married ladies…’ She pursed her lips like a schoolgirl plotting a great surprise. ‘Why, my dear Rose, I think you may have accidentally stumbled upon the only way to call Lord Rampton’s bluff. So, as Arabella’s chaperone tomorrow night and,’ she directed a decidedly crafty glance at Helena, ‘yours, Helena, I’ll be able to assist in carrying off this perfectly wicked little charade while investigating other avenues for honouring this debt,’ her blue eyes twinkled with excitement, ‘if it is ever called in.’

  Chapter Four

  HAVING TAKEN LEAVE of two satyrs and a wood nymph Rampton fingered the cutlass at his belt, slung low upon his hips, and scanned the crowd.

  For a moment he regretted his choice of costume. With one eye covered by a black leather eye-patch it was even more difficult to find her amongst the sea of elaborately costumed guests. Surely, if Lady Chesterfield saw him first she would make her presence known?

  A frisson of concern tempered his confidence. She had been angered by what she considered his underhand tactics in luring her to his drawing room the other night.

  With a sigh of moral righteousness he drew himself up. Of course he had to warn Lady Chesterfield of the danger Yarrowby posed to her young sister-in-law, even if it had provided a convenient excuse to see her again.

  As for the debt, well, he’d much rather absolve her from that in return for her sensual charms though she seemed not as forthcoming with those as he’d been led to hope. He tested the blade of his weapon. Something did not sit right with the picture that Babbage had painted, though outwardly Lady Chesterfield lived up to every detail of his glowing description.

  ‘One of the few villains here, I see.’ Glancing down at the owner of the husky voice which had intruded upon his reverie, he smiled at the exquisite Helen of Troy who now swept a pair of stunning emerald eyes from his boots upwards, pausing as they encountered the triangle of chest revealed by the open linen shirt. The young woman tilted her face up to his. ‘Most gentlemen, I note, have chosen to parade as their favourite hero.’ The full lips curved into a slight smile as she purred, ‘I, however, have always found villains much more exciting.’

  Rampton returned her admiring look.

  ‘As bold as you are beautiful, fair Helen of Troy,’ he returned gallantly, bowing over her outstretched hand. ‘However, villain that I am, I adhere stringently to convention by never pursuing conversations with beautiful women to whom I have not been properly introduced.’

  ‘We have been introduced, my lord,’ the young woman said pertly, adding in response to his enquiring look, ‘The other day in the park. You were with my sister-in-law—’

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Chesterfield.’ He cut her off, emphasizing her maiden title, ‘but as you are a foreigner and apparently unaware of appropriate behaviour for debutantes in this town I feel it my duty to escort you back to your chaperone. Please lead the way.’

  Her look of outrage made him smile; however he had no intention of fostering false hopes. The young Miss Chesterfield was undeniably an exquisite creature. To judge by her knowing eyes she was of the kind who would singe a thousand admirers who worshipped at her flame before waltzing off with the prize catch of the season.

  And that was not him!

  No, Rampton was far more interested in her exquisite sister-in-law, the strangely alluring and quixotic Lady Chesterfield; the brazen beauty at his elbow, now looking more sulky than sultry, was just the one to assist him.

  ‘Allow me to escort you back to your party. Ah, Lady Chesterfield.’ He bowed, gratified by the faint blush that bloomed in the young woman’s cheeks. Unless she were a master of deception she appeared genuinely discomfited by his presence. ‘Your sister-in-law became separated from your group and lost in the crowd. Fortunately, I was on hand to return her’ - he swept Helen of Troy a disapproving glance, adding - ‘before any damage was done.’

  Rose managed a slightly shaken smile, despite amusement at Helena’s obvious chagrin, but for all that, she was seriously discomposed. Not just by Lord Rampton’s sudden appearance – and what a fine figure he cut in his pirate’s rig-out, nor by the wonderfully disconcerting fact that he looked positively delighted to see her; but by the discovery that he clearly disapproved of young women wandering off alone without their chaperones.

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Rose directed a chastening frown at Helena, adding reprovingly, ‘Take care, next time, my dear. You are no longer a colonial hoyden amongst familiar society.’

  As soon as Rampton had left, after claiming a waltz later in the evening from Rose, Lord Yarrowby appeared. Dimpling, Arabella graciously acceded to his request, before gushing excitedly, ‘He wants to wait for the waltz. Like Lord Rampton. Oh, Rose, imagine! If we take the fancies of Lord Yarrowby and Lord Rampton, Helena can gamble to her heart’s content.’

  Helena, directing a singularly unimpressed look at her sister-in-law as Charles returned to her side, placed a graceful hand upon her husband’s sleeve and coldly indicated that she wished him to lead her on to the dance floor.

  ‘What Arabella says is entirely true,’ declared Aunt Alice when Helena and Charles were out of hearing. ‘Two perfect matches! How I wish your mother were here to have seen it.’

  The pang of unease that assailed Rose was not prompted by her own behaviour. She glanced at Arabella, who was gazing happily in the direction of her new admirer. Before Rose voiced concern regarding Yarrowby she must investigate whether there was truth in Lord Rampton’s allegations. And she must do so before Arabella’s feelings progressed beyond youthful adula
tion.

  Yet how could Lord Yarrowby be guilty as charged by Lord Rampton when she had heard not a whisper against him? Dressed as Julius Caesar, a laurel wreath topping his golden curls, Lord Yarrowby looked handsome and boyish, despite his more than thirty years. Rose watched as he turned and perceived Arabella’s eyes on him, his own crinkling in response. His extravagant bow caused a blushing Arabella to turn away to collect her disordered wits. The face she presented to her sister shone with excitement.

  It was too early to voice caution. Lord Rampton’s summons the other afternoon had been nothing more than a ruse to see how willingly Rose would go to him – and believe him. Rampton was clearly conscious of his power over women.

  It was time to take him to task.

  Thus, when Rose found herself in that gentleman’s arms on the dance floor, questioning him about Yarrowby was one way to alleviate the self-consciousness she felt at being in such close proximity, to counter the light-headed sensations that threatened to turn her into a fool, for the aroma of bergamot-scented soap, leather and fresh sweat were a powerfully erotic combination.

  Watching an ecstatic Arabella whirl past in Lord Yarrowby’s embrace, Rose remarked, ‘I can’t believe Lord Yarrowby is as bad as you say. He appears such a good-natured gentleman.’

  Rampton, executing a tight manoeuvre past a couple who had stumbled, pressed Rose more tightly against his chest. For one wild moment she was possessed by the idea of touching her lips to the triangle of bare flesh revealed by his open pirate’s shirt – pretending it an accident, of course – just to see what a man’s bare skin actually felt like. Indeed, daring and excitement thrummed through her and she immediately berated herself for missing her opportunity as he resumed the former steady rhythm of the dancing and remarked, conversationally, ‘Far more good natured than I am, I daresay.’

  ‘But the other day you said—’

  He cut her off. ‘With respect, my dear Lady Chesterfield, this is neither the time nor the place. Now,’ he finished briskly, as the music slowed to a finish, ‘perhaps you would care to admire our host’s fine collection of Old Masters.’