Outside, a coach rumbled by. She watched it pass blindly. But to unmask him might put her own life in jeopardy. No. She should report his presence to the Admiralty. That seemed to be the most expedient thing to do. But what if they required proof? She had only her word that Nathan was Helios. Would they believe her? She nibbled her lip, picturing Lord Howell patting her head and telling her to go home with her silly ideas.
He would do it, she was sure. As would the other admirals. No. She must have proof. Perhaps she could catch Helios in the act of pilfering whatever documents he sought.
Yes, she liked that idea. She'd been used. And she would be damned if she let Nathan get away with it. No, indeed. This time she would make a man pay the price for his betrayal. Nathan Trevain would pay. That she vowed.
PARTTWO
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
SHAKESPEARE
6
The prospect of facing Nathan after what she'd discovered left Ariel feeling rather like a cat with a hair ball stuck in its throat. It didn't help that she'd spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning. Time and again she replayed her meetings with the cad. Staged. All of them. Her coming to London he no doubt considered a boon. But with each memory of their conversations, each recollection of how cynically he'd intended to use her, she grew more and more angry.
And an angry D'Archer was a frightening thing. Between her gypsy blood and her father's love of battle, she'd inherited a terrific propensity for war.
And she declared war on Nathan Trevain.
So when she received a note from him asking to see her, she declined. If he wanted to play cat and mouse, she would play cat and mouse.
In fact, it was two days before she agreed to see him, and then only because they would meet in public.
"Will you go?" Phoebe asked.
"Yes," Ariel said, reading his note again. "There will be several guests at his uncle's, too. ‘Twill be the perfect place to break the news to him that I no longer wish to see him."
"I still do not understand why you do not simply send him a note."
No, Phoebe couldn't understand, and Ariel wouldn't tell her. It was bad enough to bear this humiliation alone. She didn't think she could cope with Phoebe's pity over the situation, too.
So it was that later that evening she chose a gold satin that exactly matched the color of her eyes. The hoops were subtle rather than large, a dark-brown, wide bow above the waist that accentuated her figure. The neckline was modest. Her hair was swept away from her face. She hated wigs, and the thought of wearing one through tonight's battle was more than she could stand, so she elected to go against fashion. She had to look her best. To be brave. To remember that she had much to gain by proving Nathan Trevain a spy. Revenge. Satisfaction. Perhaps even redemption with society.
Be brave she repeated to herself as she went down to meet him before they departed for the duke's. Her palms were sweaty. And her hands shook. And she wasn't at all sure she could face the man without going at him with her nails. She curled her fingers into her palms just to safeguard herself against the urge.
"Mr. Trevain, good evening," she said, her tone even although her jaw felt all but locked shut.
He stood by the window in the drawing room, his scar in shadows cast by the candles. She could do this, she told herself, heart pounding, but gracious, this evening he looked every inch the spy. Or was that her own cynical assessment? She narrowed her eyes as she studied him. He wore dark clothes. The better to skulk around the city at night, she surmised. His breeches were black, a severe fashion faux pas, not that he appeared to care. Perhaps he had an appointment tonight to break into somebody's home. Perhaps her and her father's home.
"Lady D'Archer," he said, his expression one of concern and. . .pique? Yes, he was piqued. Well, good. She would pique him until he turned blue in the face.
"I confess myself relieved that you agreed to see me tonight."
She would wager he was.
"Yes, I do beg your pardon for being less than social. However, I was rather ill, or didn't Phoebe explain that to you?"
"Oh, she explained it," he murmured, but his eyes told her he plainly didn't believe it.
She felt her eyes narrow. "Well, that is all behind us, for we are here now, and I am set to go to your uncle's with you."
He stared, his eyes probing her eyes intently. What he saw she had no idea. Truth be told, she feared he could read every angry thought she had about him on her face.
"You look lovely," he offered.
"Do I?" she found herself snapping. Lovely enough to seduce?
His eyes traveled down the length of her, and was it her imagination, or did they warm? "That color suits you well."
Yes, no doubt he enjoyed the modest neckline. And no doubt he hoped the stays would release easily in the event he wished to kiss her in that most tender of spots.
She colored, clenched her hands. Never. Never would she allow him such a liberty.
"Yes, well, thank you." She gave him what she hoped was a smile, though she knew it was tight at best. "Shall we be on our way?"
She thought she saw his eyes narrow, realized she needed to be more careful. It wouldn't do to anger him now, not when she most needed to get close to him.
Still, it was hard. She attempted conversation a few times on their way to his uncle's, but her answers came out short, terse, even to her ears. She wasn't sure if Nathan noticed. Honestly, the evening had already begun to blur.
A line of carriages had already formed outside the duke's home, suggesting that this would be much more than just a small dinner party. She wore gloves tonight; her hands were sweaty beneath the white material. She tried to calm her shaking limbs, wondered if she'd bitten off more than she could chew with her plan, then glanced over at Nathan Trevain.
Helios.
She straightened. No. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she allowed him to help her down a few minutes later, reluctantly placing her hand upon his forearm as he led her up the steps to the duke's home.
The sudden brightness of candles nearly blinded her as she stepped through the open door. They were everywhere, lighting the place as brightly as the sun. A gray and white marble floor, so polished that it reflected the image of those candles, echoed the sound of their footsteps. Cherry wood furniture, rare for its red wood, decorated the hall.
Couples were gathered in an elegant tan and white room to her right. Gilt frames surrounding mirrors and portraits conveyed an instant sense of elegance and extreme wealth. Her attention, however, was pulled away from the room's decor by the instant drop in the level of conversation. She eyed the fashionably dressed ensemble before her proudly.
It was worse than any ball she'd been to thus far. Much worse. Ariel knew it in an instant. Obviously the duke meant to humiliate her. His dislike for her was evident in that he didn't even come forward to greet her. She studied him. He wore a long wig, curls rolling down the sides of it. His face was powdered, yet it could not conceal the striking resemblance to Nathan. But for the large girth and aged, wrinkled face, the man was the spitting image of Nathan Trevain.
She pulled her gaze away. Ladies eyed her up and down rudely. The men, too, stared at her. Ariel forced herself to take a deep breath.
"Uncle, may I present Lady Ariel D'Archer."
"You may," the duke drawled. Ariel's lips tightened. His pompous wig and equally pompous air made her want to poke him in his overlarge, corseted girth.
"Your grace," she said, giving him an elegant curtsy. Not for nothing was she an earl's daughter. She could behave with as much refinement as the rest of them. "You have a very elegant home."
"Yes, I do. Too bad some of its more recent additions are not to my liking."
She stiffened, for 'twas obvious he meant her. She almost turned and left the room then, but Trevain must have sensed what she w
as about to do, for he covered her hand with his own, patting it.
"If everyone is present, uncle, shall we go in to dinner?"
It was usually the host's duty to say such a thing, but obviously Nathan did not care about such formalities. His voice sounded clipped, his anger at his uncle obvious. He turned Ariel away, not even waiting for the duke to answer. Instead he propelled her from the room as if balls of fire scalded their heels.
"Ariel, I am sorry," he said, dipping his head and hurriedly whispering. "I had no idea—"
"Do not say a word," she interrupted. "If they hear you apologize, it will only make it worse."
She chanced a glance up at him, surprised to see that he appeared genuinely chagrined by the happenings. It made him appear as if he had a heart, but she knew better. No man could plan to use a woman as he did and have anything approaching a conscience. Yet he did look remarkably contrite, seeming to take extra care in seating her. There were place cards on the table. Ariel realized that Nathan was to sit nowhere near her. For a brief instant panic assailed her; then she chastised herself. Gracious, what did she need the lying cad for? She could do this. Not for nothing had she been taught the finest of manners.
She kept her rear firmly planted upon the seat. If it was a show they came for, then it was a show they would get.
The duke took his seat at the head of the table three chairs away. Other people followed the duke's example. It became apparent immediately that her presence was not welcome to many.
"My dear Lady D'Archer," said the woman to her left. "How good it is to see you back in society. I confess, I never thought to see the day."
Ariel turned. "I confess myself surprised, too, my lady."
Her ladyship stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, then turned her attention away, most likely for the entire night. Ariel resigned herself to her fate. She would behave as she was born, the daughter of an earl. And though these people might not like her presence, she was determined to give them no reason to gossip about her further. So when she heard someone say something about tainted bloodlines, she ignored him. Yes, she was half gypsy and proud of it. And when she heard a lady near the end of the table mention what an affront her presence was, she ignored that, too. Still, as she sat there, one course after another served, it grew harder and harder to ignore the barbs. Oh, not everyone was so openly hostile. Nathan watched her with a look of concern from his end of the table. But only one or two rude people were needed to make her feel miserable. Her hand tightened around her fork. Her body shook with the effort it took to hold herself erect. But she sat through it all, and when the meal was over, she felt as if her face would crack as the ladies rose. Heaven help her, she didn't think she could take much more.
"Are you well?" a deep voice asked.
Ariel started, surprised to realize Nathan had come to help her from her chair. She sat there for a second, wondering how to answer, or even if she dared to open her mouth. If she did, she feared what might come out would not be at all pleasant.
"Ariel?" he repeated, his voice not unkind.
She rose slowly, took a deep breath as she prepared to face him. "I enjoyed the meal immensely, Mr. Trevain."
His expression clearly told her he knew the words were a lie. That he had overheard many of the barbs there could be no doubt. Most of the table had no doubt heard.
"You are a courageous woman," he said in a low voice, and heavens, but his words sounded sincere. Too bad she knew them for what they were: a sad attempt at making her feel charitable toward him.
She would make him pay.
"Lady D'Archer, I wonder if I might have a word with you." Both she and Nathan turned. His uncle stood there, his expression all politeness, his eyes anything but.
"Uncle, her ladyship is not feeling well. I thought I might take her home—"
"No," Ariel interrupted, squaring her shoulders. Whatever this man had to say, it could be no worse than the snippets of conversation she'd overheard that night. "I am well enough to converse with your uncle, Nathan. Truly, I'm sure what he has to say will not take long."
Nathan's lips tightened. He looked at his uncle. "Then I shall join you."
His uncle's own lips tightened, then he said, "I'd rather speak to her alone, if you do not mind."
"I do mind," Nathan said, his voice low so as not to be overheard by the guests leaving the room. "I warn you, Uncle—"
"Nathan," Ariel cut him off by touching his arm, surprised by the way she wanted to hold onto that arm, which just went to show her how much the evening's activities had upset her. "I'm sure your uncle will be a gracious host."
Nathan's expression said he was sure he would not. Ariel understood his concerns. She was sure, too, but she would bear it. After all, she would need to make peace with the uncle if she wanted to maintain her relationship with Nathan. And maintain it she would, at least until she could expose him.
The vow gave her courage. She mustered up the willpower to smile, then turned to follow his uncle to a private room. The sound of the other guests faded as he closed he door behind him. Ariel realized in an instant that he'd chosen this room as a way of intimidating her. The library.
Masculine artifacts surrounded her. High bookshelves with voluminous tomes meant to remind her that she was only a woman and as such would never have the intelligence to glean the information between the covers on the pages. She wondered what his grace would do if he knew she'd read many of the books surrounding them. No doubt he wouldn't believe her.
"Won't your guests mind your leaving them?" she offered by way of opening the conversation, since he seemed content to let her wallow in the discomfort of silence. Only the sound of the fire crackled through the room. The smell of burning candles was barely masked by the smell of books. She watched him settle himself in an overlarge armchair, the leather squeaking as he sat.
"My guests will understand where I have gone and what I hope to do."
"Scare me away?" she offered, taking a seat opposite him, though he hadn't offered it to her. "Remind me of what a disgrace I am in the hope that I will tuck my tail and run?"
The duke's eyes narrowed. "So you prefer plain speaking, do you?" he asked.
She nodded. "As I'm sure you would prefer, too."
He didn't say anything, just stared at her as if assessing her worthiness as an opponent. "Very well," he said at last, "plain speaking it will be."
She tensed, waiting for the barrage. Not for nothing was she an admiral's daughter. She could be patient as she waited for the attack.
It wasn't long in coming.
"I do not approve of my nephew's involvement with you."
She lifted a brow. "I did not expect you would."
"Then you must know why."
She gave him a chilly smile. "You believe me soiled goods."
He looked surprised by her frankness, murmuring, "Indeed," his wrinkled face filled with disapproval.
"And so you will ask me to do the honorable thing by bowing out of this engagement?" she offered.
He was better at concealing his surprise this time. "Will you?"
"No," she answered bluntly.
If she'd thought him angry before, it was nothing to the expression on his face now. "No." He repeated the word as if never having heard it before. And perhaps he hadn't. As a duke she would wager there weren't many who said the word to him.
"No," she repeated, resting her hands on the arms of her chair nonchalantly.
"And if I tell you I will leave the Davenport fortune to someone else if you persist in this marriage?"
"I would remind you that I have a fortune of my own, despite my sad lack of morals."
His face turned as red as the book binding to her left. "You scheming seductress."
She laughed, actually laughed. It felt good to do so, truth be told. It'd been far too long since she'd felt she had the upper hand. "Is that what you think I am?"
His face tightened. "What else am I to think? You charm my nephew into
proposing marriage within days of meeting you. Obviously you lured him with your body into doing so."
She laughed again. If only he knew the truth. "Really, your grace, do you think anyone could force your nephew into doing something he didn't want to do?"
"I find it harder to believe that he would align himself with someone like you."
Someone like her. The words pricked at the bubble of her composure, though she refused to let him see it. "And what bothers you more? That I refuse to be cowed by your orders? Or that I would dare to deem myself worthy to become a duchess of Davenport after being so thoroughly ruined?"
His jaw began to tic.
"Or is it neither of those things," she continued, knowing she pushed him, but helpless to stop herself. "Perhaps it is my bloodlines. Perhaps you are bothered by my gypsy heritage."
His hands tightened on the arms of his chair.
"Are you worried, your grace, that I might teach the Davenport children black magic?"
"Get out," he roared, shooting up from the chair. "Get out now. I will tolerate no more of your insolence."
"As I will tolerate no more of yours."
"You are worse than a trollop," he yelled. "You are the most common of women, a whore—"
"I am an earl's daughter," she interjected.
"With a gypsy's morals," he shot right back.
"Enough!" roared a voice.
Ariel jumped. They both turned. Nathan stood by the door, his face livid, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he didn't trust himself not to hit his uncle.
"Ariel, come with me. I should like to take you home."
Out of the frying pan and into the fire? she wanted to ask. Still, an enemy ally was better than no ally at all.
"Stay," the uncle bellowed.
They turned toward the enraged man.
"You will remain behind, Nathan."
"Not if you plan to continue humiliating my fiancée."
Shock held Ariel immobile for a moment. He was defending her.
Well, of course he is, Ariel. He wants to gain your trust.
A deep bitterness filled her. Would that he was the sort of man who would defend her for honor's sake. But she should have known better than to wish for such a thing. Men were ever deceitful creatures.
Enchanted by Your Kisses Page 7
