by Robyn DeHart
Yet, Bennett wasn’t at Oxford with the professor. He was here, back in London, with Miss Marrington in tow and he was expected to transform her into the Queen, as if he were some manner of nursemaid or nanny.
His butler scratched at the door and Bennett looked up from the papers he hadn’t been reading.
“There is a woman here to see you, my lord.”
Another woman? Why was his life suddenly overset with women? “Who is it?”
“An old friend, she claims,” Winston said.
“Send her in, but do come and relieve me if she hasn’t left in twenty minutes,” Bennett said.
Winston nodded. “Very well, my lord.”
Bennett stood and came around his desk to greet whomever had come to see him. He wasn’t in the mood. As it was, he was concerned about having Miss Marrington at his townhome; her presence had already lifted several brows of his servants. He’d ignored their questioning glances, explaining nothing more than that she was his guest.
He eyed the door as Winston held it open and gave entrance to the tall blond beauty. Gwyneth, his former fiancée.
“You should be glad that Winston answered the door and not Mrs. Kimble. He’s unfamiliar with you, but she would have refused you entrance.” His housekeeper had been with him since he’d been a boy; she was more like family than servant, and she’d loathed Gwyneth.
“Is that any way to greet me, Bennett? I thought you’d be pleased to see me.” She sauntered into the room, came around the desk, and propped one hip upon it.
“You thought wrong. What do you want, Gwyneth?”
She smiled, that knowing smile he’d once thought so enticing, but now he knew it hid a calculating, deceitful woman.
“You do know me, don’t you, love?”
“Don’t call me that. You never loved me.” He shoved aside the image of her sitting atop another man.
She leaned forward, giving him a brazen view down her bodice. “I miss you. Don’t you miss me? Even a little?”
Did she think him an utter fool? “No.”
With graceful movements, she slid her way onto his lap, snaked her arms behind his head, and toyed with his hair. How had he ever found her blatant sensuality attractive? She was so very different to the woman currently above stairs, in practically every way. It was almost as if they were a completely different species. Though Evelyn Marrington might look different and even behave different, with her wide eyes and country manners, Bennett had learned the hard way that women were never what they appeared to be. No matter their mood, there was always manipulation just beneath.
“I don’t believe you,” she purred, close to his ear. Her rosewater was cloyingly strong. “I was hoping to rekindle our romance. We never shared pleasures of the flesh and I know with you they could be so satisfying.”
“Indeed.”
“Oh yes.”
“Interesting, because I seem to recall that when I broke off our engagement you told me you were relieved. That you’d ended up in Phillip’s arms because you’d needed the affections of a man, not a beast; an oaf as large as me could surely injure such a genteel lady. I believe you also added that no woman could ever truly want me.”
She frowned, her bottom lip jutted out in a ridiculous pout. “I was angry, love. I was devastated when you jilted me. I wanted to be Lady Somersby.”
“You wanted my money.” He stood then, effectively removing her from his lap. She caught herself before she tumbled to the floor. “Honestly, woman, I am no fool. What the devil do you want? I have neither the interest nor the time in this charade.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me, Gwyneth, how is your husband?”
“Broke and drunk,” she said bitterly.
As well she deserved. He nodded.
Tears welled in her eyes, and if he wasn’t mistaken, they were real, legitimate tears. “He is to be sent to debtor’s prison.”
“You want me to pay his debts?” he asked, not quite believing her nerve.
“No, of course not. I was hoping we could come to an arrangement. One that served us both.” She held her arms out as if presenting herself to him. “I’m offering you my companionship in exchange for—”
“Money.”
“Not precisely money. Merely a lifestyle that I have grown accustomed to living. My dowry afforded Phillip and I to live in a certain way, but then he squandered the rest of the funds. Borrowed more money than either of us ever had.” She shook her head. “He is a fool.”
“You are offering to be my mistress?”
“I am.”
“I am not interested.”
“How can you refuse me?” She took a step towards him.
“If this is truly something you need do to survive, I have no doubt there are plenty of men here in London, with fatter purses than mine, who would love to warm your bed.”
“I could tell everyone about the Brotherhood.”
“Which would affect your husband as well since he, too, is a member.”
She waved her hand. “He has ruined himself already, but I know there are gossip rags that would pay to have a roster of members of the elite Brotherhood.”
“No one knows anything of our existence, and if they do, they do not find it all that interesting.”
“So you are refusing to pay me for my silence?”
“You know nothing. I have no reason to pay you.” He took a step forward, allowing his full height to tower over her. He never used his size to intimidate women, but in this case, he’d make an exception. “You’ve been after my money from the very beginning and I caught you, saw you for what you truly were before you imprisoned me in an unfaithful marriage. This is yet another ploy to get funds from me and I don’t take kindly to blackmail.”
“I shall sell my information to the highest bidder.”
“Do what you must.”
…
Evelyn did her best to appear as if she were exploring the corridor of the Somersby townhome instead of eavesdropping on the earl’s conversation with the pretty woman. The butler had walked by her twice and she’d pretended to be fascinated by the tapestry hanging on the wall. In truth, it was a lovely piece of work, depicting a scene where Guinevere was placed between King Arthur and Sir Lancelot, but she was more intrigued by the heated exchange coming from the earl’s study.
“So you are refusing to pay me for my silence?” the woman asked.
The woman was attempting to blackmail the earl for something or another, precisely the sort of scene that would make a perfect opening for her next book. Oh, how she wished she had her notebook with her. She’d have to rely on memory and write things down once she returned to her room.
She knew the earl was speaking, she could hear the low rumble of his voice, but he did not speak loudly enough for her to make out his words. Their exchange went back and forth for a few moments, then she heard footsteps. Evelyn slid herself next to a knight of armor. The blond woman stormed out of the earl’s study and down the corridor to the front door. She halted briefly, turning around and looking in Evelyn’s direction, but the armor must have hidden her well enough because the woman then left. She’d seen and heard enough to know that the woman and the earl had once been intimate. Lovers, perhaps.
Descriptions and ideas flittered through her head and she raced back up the stairs to find her notebook. She’d just stumbled onto the idea for her next book about a surly Earl who was blackmailed by a previous lover. It rang with possible intrigue and adventure, exactly what she wanted to write about.
Evelyn yawned and stretched to release the tension in her back. Shortly after she’d arisen, she’d been instructed that his lordship expected her presence in his study directly after she had breakfast, but she was tired and not moving as quickly as she normally did. She’d stayed up too late the night before working on her new book idea.
After witnessing the Earl’s interaction with his visitor, Evie had been flooded with thoughts about her characters and story. She’d made several pages of no
tes, and even written the opening scene between a cantankerous earl and a woman blackmailing him. So far this little adventure had been what she’d needed to get her writing progressing again.
Evelyn dressed as quickly as she could, surprised and relieved to find the trunk of her belongings had been transported to her bedchamber during the night while she’d slept. Here in this grand house, sleeping in a bedchamber that was larger than the one she’d grown up sharing with one of her sisters, it was comforting to have her clothes, despite the fact that they were probably worn and out of fashion. If he wanted her to dress better for this particular venture, he’d have to purchase her some new gowns.
After downing a quick breakfast, she knocked on the earl’s study door at a quarter after nine.
“Enter,” he said.
She pressed the door open and stepped inside, breaching his private sanctuary much as the woman had done last night.
He looked up from the parchment upon which he was writing and assessed her. His eyes scanned the length of her and a frown settled on his brow. He beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand. “Come, we have much work to accomplish before we leave for Buckingham.”
Work. So she would finally learn of what, specifically, she would be doing. She lowered herself gingerly into one of the chairs adjacent his desk, a massive, heavily carved desk of mahogany.
“Now then, I don’t know if you’ve already deduced what you’ll be doing for us, but I cannot stress enough the importance of your discretion. No one is to know, not your family, your friends, no one.”
His was formidable, there was no denying that, but she felt no fear in his presence. Instead, she found herself fascinated with the lines of his face, the square angle of his jawline, and the dimple that settled deep into his chin. He was ridiculously handsome, but his expression seemed permanently locked in a scowl. She wondered what a wealthy, handsome earl had to be so angry about.
He leveled his blue eyes on her. “Understood?”
She nodded.
He stood and walked around to her. He picked up a stray curl that rested near her ear, the strand curled around his finger as a cat’s tail wound around your leg when they begged for attention. She shivered against his touch. What had her cousin gotten her into?
“Have people ever told you that you resemble someone?” Earl Somersby asked.
His question nearly disappointed her, though she knew not what she’d expected. She frowned. “Once or twice I suppose.”
His brows rose. “Who have they said you look like?” He moved away from her then, sat in the chair adjacent to her.
“Well, one fellow in the market said that I was the spitting image of his Aunt Gertrude, but for the most part people say I favor Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.” Evie shook her head. She was loathe to admit that as she didn’t want him to laugh, so she quickly added. “Personally I don’t see it. Then again, I’ve never actually seen her, only portraits.”
“You and Her Majesty are about the same age,” he said.
“I am older, by two years I believe.”
He nodded, leaned forward, and braced his elbows on his knees. “Miss Marrington, I need to know that I can trust your discretion.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I work for the Crown, as your cousin told you. I will not detail how precisely, but suffice it to say, you have been chosen to assist on a very important task. We need you to pose as Her Majesty at an upcoming event.”
Had she heard him correctly? Certainly not. Charading as the monarch must be an act of treason. “I’m sorry, I thought you said that you want me to pose as the queen.”
“Correct.”
“Do I favor her that much?”
He eyed her, and under the weight of his scrutiny she squirmed in her chair. “You do favor her, I suppose. I am much more familiar with Her Majesty, obviously, but your features are quite similar.”
No doubt Her Majesty was much prettier than she, but there had been several times when she’d been in town that people had commented on the likeness.
“There is an important traveling opera group coming in from Belgium in two days and the Queen is supposed to attend. Has something to do with the royal family there. You will only sit in her box, wave pleasantly to people, and that is all. You will not speak, merely be there in her stead.”
“Yes, I can certainly do that.” Then she frowned, but what if she couldn’t? What if she failed? “I think I can do that. Where is the queen?”
He leaned back, crossed one long leg over the other. “That is not your concern. You need only know what is necessary for this one evening. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Now then, we’ll need to go over the names of the servants, the layout of Buckingham, and your mannerisms.”
“What is the matter with my mannerisms?”
“Nothing, but they are not royal. Victoria was raised to be our monarch, so she moves in a specific way.”
“I see.” Her mind virtually spun with thoughts, racing from one to another. She would be going into Buckingham palace, seeing parts of it that were reserved only for the royal family. “Who will know I’m there? That I’m not her?”
“Me, and perhaps one or two other members.”
Which meant she had an entire palace worth of people to fool.
“And something must be done about your hair.”
Had she not been so startled, she might have commented on his lack of manners. “My hair, my lord?”
“The Queen’s is not so—” He frowned as if searching for the right word. “Large or red.”
“I’ve not seen Her Majesty before, but I’d heard she was a ginger-haired as well. Is that not true?”
“Hers is more subtle. Yours will most assuredly give you away.”
She hoped that didn’t mean she had to cut her hair. It had always been on the wild side, curls going this way and that, and the color was closer to titian. “Will I wear her clothes?”
“Yes.”
“So do you live in the palace too? Do you get to call her by her Christian name? Do you travel with Her Majesty?”
“I will not answer any of these questions.”
She could see the resignation on his face. He was certainly not the one whom she could get information. She’d have to wait until the next time she saw Ellis. “Who was that woman who came here last night?” she asked abruptly.
His right brow cocked. “That is none of your concern. You are a curious sort.” He was quiet for a moment as if assessing her. “Do you understand the severity of this assignment and how crucial it is that you remain absolutely silent on it? That means you can never tell anyone.”
“Yes, I understand. You have mentioned as much several times already this morning. I can assure you, my lord, I might be from the country, but I am not a simpleton, nor am I a gossip.”
He made a sound that was very much like a snort.
“You scoff? Why?”
“I saw your family. They were every bit as much gossips as any I’ve seen in London.”
Handsome though he might be, the fact remained that Lord Somersby was rude and arrogant. “If you are so certain that I shall fail at this, why are you bringing me to London?” she asked.
“It is the assignment we have been given,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Somersby, but I do not work for the Crown. You cannot expect me to simply do your bidding after you’ve done nothing but criticize my family, and me. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my hair.”
“Well said, Miss Marrington,” a man said from the doorway.
It was the other man she’d seen at the ball that night, but she had not been introduced to him.
Somersby came to his feet. “Potterfield. I thought you were…” He glanced at Evelyn. “Is everything all right?”
Potterfield came into the room and stood near the bookshelf across from their chairs. “That all depends on how things are going here, and it doesn’t
sound as if they’re going very well. Somersby, did you insult this poor girl?”
The muscles along Lord Somersby’s jawline twitched and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Had she gotten the man in trouble? She did not think that noblemen could get into trouble.
“I did not insult her. I am doing what you instructed me to do. Training her in the ways of Victoria so that she can be a believable stand-in.” The words seemed to inch out through his clenched teeth.
Chapter Four
“Stand and walk to the other side of the room,” Bennett said.
“I beg your pardon?” Evie asked.
“I must evaluate how you walk.” It was tedious and ridiculous, still Potterfield had insisted. Bennett at least was thankful that the man had left and given Bennett privacy to follow through with these orders.
She gaped at him. “How I walk?”
“Do try and keep up, Miss Marrington. People will be watching.”
“Is there something wrong with how I walk?”
“Your walk is…” No. In truth, she walked with an unconscious grace and agility he found charming. There was nothing studied about her movements, nothing calculated. She managed to be both completely natural and totally bewitching, which was entirely beside the point. “Your walk is unstudied.”
“Are you staying I’m clumsy?” Her gaze sparked with indignation, but perhaps a flash of pain as well. “I am well aware that I lack the grace and cultivation of my older sisters, but I assure you I am not some clumsy oaf who can’t be trusted to walk into a room.”
He drew in a deep breath, praying for patience. This was why he wasn’t yet married. This was why he was absolutely the wrong man for this job.
“Your mannerisms must match hers,” he said tightly.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before standing, then walked across the room. It was not a clumsy or awkward gait, but not regal either.
“No.” He shook his head. “Try it again but slower, yet with more purpose.”
