Then again, he could always give Gianna a tumble and then decide what to do with her.
Nicholas was still considering all of the ideas before him - as well as the possibility that he simply might remain at home - when Randolph, his butler, came charging through the door, out of breath.
"Your grace! There is a young lady to see you!" The man was so panicked that Nicholas immediately felt his own pulse quicken, though he kept his face impassive. Out of all of the servants in his employ, only Drayton knew that Nicholas wasn't quite what he appeared to be. "She says it is an emergency."
Slowly, he rose, not caring that his banyan gaped open, perfecting the image of a disreputable wastrel. "If it is Adelphie again, send her away. I am not in the mood for her petulant games this evening." The chit had banged on his door in the middle of the night the previous week, much to Nicholas' dismay. Though he had been firm in his refusal to see her, he wouldn't put it past her to try again. She was desperate for a husband - preferably a rich and titled one. A duke would certainly meet her requirements.
"It is not your trollop-of-the-week this time, Nicholas."
A darkly cloaked figure appeared behind Randolph, and Nicholas felt himself go still. There was only one woman of his acquaintance with a voice so low and husky that it reminded him of a fine, rich scotch. Or would have the temerity to burst into his bedchamber. Unannounced. In the middle of the bloody night.
The woman was cloaked like a servant, the old, repeatedly patched, and much-worn garment's hood protecting her identity. To an extent. For though she looked like a plain serving wench, she still carried herself like a lady. No amount of drab clothing could conceal that.
"Brat." Nicholas' voice was menacing. Truly, was there nothing this termagant would not do? Invading a man's bedchambers however, was a bit much. Even for her. "What are you about?" He was furious with her, taking such a risk. He had long known that she snuck out of her home in the early morning hours a few times each week, but that was always to conduct her family's business. That sort of behavior he allowed, for if she did not do so, then the Deaver family secrets might be laid bare for all to examine - something that would never do. However he had no idea what had possessed her to come to his door at this late hour. But he intended to find out. And then he would deliver a tongue lashing that she would not soon forget.
Eliza pushed the hood of her ragged cloak back from her face, and to his surprise, he saw that she was in a state of complete disarray. She was also very clearly terrified, which made his stomach clench unexpectedly. To most, her face might appear impassive, but Nicholas had known her long enough to be aware of the small, telltale signs of unease. The tightness of her jaw and the thin press of her lips, mixed with the flashes of fear that she could not conceal within her eyes. They all combined so that he could plainly see her agitation, even if another could not.
"It is Stephen. He has come home."
And with those few, simple words, Nicholas felt his world upend, just as it had so long ago on the grounds of Seldon Park when he watched his best friend, Benjamin Sinclair kill his own father - and Nicholas' neighbor - to save Nicholas' sister Julia from certain death.
Brusquely, the duke waved a hand in the air. He did not wish for an audience at the moment. "Gentlemen. Leave us."
Randolph looked as if he was about to protest, much as any good butler should, but Drayton hurried the other man out the door. Before they both departed, the valet turned back to face Nicholas. "Use caution, your grace." Then he was gone, pulling the butler with him.
Nicholas waited until the footfalls of both men disappeared down the long corridor before he spoke, the silence stretching between him and Eliza nearly interminable. When he was certain they were alone, he gestured to the chair he had just vacated, cinching his banyan tighter around his waist. He did not waste time on pretense. Or to dress. This was Eliza after all. Even if she was a proper lady. Most of the time.
"How can you be certain?" For Nicholas most certainly was not.
Nicholas also did his best not to think about how completely inappropriate it was for Eliza to be alone with him - in his bedchamber no less. However, he rationalized it by reminding himself once more that this was Eliza, and she, more so than any other woman, would not desire him. She did not view him as a matrimonial prize to be won, but rather an annoyance, like an overly inquisitive and intrusive older brother. Which was perfect for that was precisely how he viewed her as well. To him, she was nothing more than an annoying younger sister who was forever seeking trouble.
With deadly calm, Eliza clasped her hands in front of her, as if she was gathering her strength. "This man has my eyes," she said simply, raising her gaze to Nicholas', as if she needed to remind him of the piercing turquoise stare that was unique to the Deaver family. "And that is something he cannot fake. No one can."
Realization, swift and hot, punched Nicholas in the gut. Eliza was, of course, correct. A man could fake many things when pretending to be another. Over the years, he had personally witnessed scores of men traipsing through the Framingham's drawing room with all manner of scars and disfigurements pretending to be the late, lamented Stephen Deaver, Viscount Underhill. Each of them had been so certain that they would succeed, confident that they knew enough about the young viscount's past that they could fake their way into the family and that the title of marquess would eventually be theirs for the taking.
Or they were confident until Eliza entered the room, and turned her burning gaze on the men who would seek to swindle the Deaver family out of their fortune. And the men would realize that their ruse had been discovered. Because their eyes did not match those of the only surviving Deaver child. And never could. No matter what sort of trickery they pulled.
Many a time, Nicholas had forced himself to suppress a laugh when the fool in question stuttered and stammered, attempting to explain himself. A bump on the head causing memory loss. The desire to help a family in mourning. Whatever the reason, each time, Nicholas had taken great delight in tossing the men out on their arses, knowing good and well they would disappear back under whatever rock they had crawled out from under.
Now a man had arrived who could pass the ultimate test of validity. Those unique, hauntingly beautiful eyes.
Was it possible that Stephen was alive? Nicholas did not believe so. All of his work over the years had led him to believe that when the frigate HMS Echo sank off the coast of Spain, the vessel gutted by fire and tossed about like a cork by high, gale-force winds, all hands had been lost. True, six bodies had never been recovered, Stephen's among them, but given the depth of the sea at that spot, it was assumed they had been carried away by the tides.
Yet Eliza claimed that this man had her eyes. Was it possible there was another Framingham heir about? A distant relative, perhaps, that might be able to pass what was thought to be an impossible test. Nicholas owed it to his long-dead friend to discover the truth. More than that, he owed it to Eliza.
"He could be lying, you know." Nicholas decided to test Eliza's conviction about the man once more, even though he knew it was a foolish endeavor. His Brat was nothing if not pragmatic and practical. If she said the man had Stephen's eyes, then he did.
"He is not. At least not about being related to the family. I am not so foolish as to believe that he is Stephen, but I also cannot say precisely who he is. Other than someone who might very well be able to pass for my brother." Restless, she rose and began to pace the room. "This man, Nick. There is something about him. I cannot describe it, but he is different from the others." She held up her hands when he would have spoken. "I know that you wish to gainsay me, tell me that I am being fanciful. But, Nicholas, you know me well enough by now to realize that I would not allow a fraud near my parents. He would have been gone from the house immediately upon my arrival home. All it would take is for them to believe a lie and all would be lost. They would be so happy to have their long-lost son home..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
Nichola
s did it for her. "That they would give him anything that he asked for. Including the title when the time came."
Eliza growled deep in her throat, surprising him. "I will not allow them to be hurt." She turned away for a brief moment before whirling back towards him and he could see her eyes ablaze with anger, hot and bright. "They are all that I have, Nick. And they would give everything away to a man like that without hesitation. So long as they were convinced that it was Stephen. They are blind to the realities of men like that."
"And you are not." It saddened Nicholas sometimes to realize how jaded Eliza had become. He had known her since she was a child at Stephen's side, young and carefree, much like any young woman of good birth. This was not the future he would have chosen for her, one where she was alone and shouldering the burden of responsibility.
"No, I am not." Eliza shook her head. "But you know they will not listen to me. This man managed to get past Tibbs and into the drawing room. For all I know, even now this imposter is bleeding them dry. He is close enough to pass, far closer than any other and that worries me. Greatly." She paused and took a deep breath. "But they will listen to you. Especially my father."
"You wish me to intervene, then?" Nicholas had made it a point over the years not to directly interfere with anything regarding the Deavers or the Framingham marquisate. Though his ties to the family ran deep, he did not wish to be viewed as interfering where he was not wanted. After all, Jonas Deaver was a proud man, and it would reflect poorly upon everyone if the great and mighty Duke of Candlewood appeared to believe the older man incapable of managing his own affairs.
However, if Nicholas arrived under the guise of The Bloody Duke, long rumored to be one of Prinny's private spies, just as he had so many times before? If he made it appear that he was acting on behalf of the Crown? That might cast what was certain to be a messy affair into a slightly better light. After all, there had been rumors swirling around the marquisate for quite some time, and it was well known by all that Prinny liked to keep his fingers in the proverbial pie as often as possible. Especially when large sums of money and titles were involved. Many times in the past, Nicholas had been his chosen messenger. This time would be no different.
"I do." Eliza nodded firmly and Nicholas could see the faintest hint of relief on her face. "They will not heed my counsel. They still believe me to be little better than a child in the nursery." She shrugged as if that realization did not matter, though he suspected that it did. Very much so. "But you are the powerful Lord Candlewood. The notorious Bloody Duke. Frequent guest at Carlton House. You have the ear of the Crown. More than that, you have a reputation." She inclined her head. "I am simply asking that you use it. Albeit to my benefit." She cast her eyes down. "I need this favor, Nicholas. I will be forever in your debt if you do so."
In that moment, Nicholas was struck with many realizations, including the fact that Eliza was enduring much that a proper lady never should. She had learned the art of trading favors, something that no woman, other than whores, should ever do. She knew of debts and favors and how the male world, in general, worked. It saddened him, but he also knew that it could not be undone. It had, unfortunately, been necessary. Though it still pained him that she had paid the price for it.
Nicholas also knew that this situation was partially one of his own making. Eliza's path to becoming a bluestocking spinster was largely - if not completely - his fault. It was he who owed her a great debt, not the other way around.
However he mentioned none of those things. Instead he nodded. "As you like. Go home as you came. My stable hand Timothy will accompany you to ensure your safety." Eliza looked as if she was about to protest, but Nicholas held up his hand. "Once there, have Tibbs sneak you back into your room and remain there. Act as if you are preparing for bed." He glanced at her, realizing that, save for the old cloak, she was still clad in the same fine gown she had worn at the Devonmont musicale earlier that evening. "I will be along shortly after and will call for you when it is necessary. But do not come down before. If we do not wish to make a muck of this, we must be very careful. Emotions, especially parent to child, can be extremely volatile things."
Eliza seemed to want to argue with him, but instead obviously thought better of it. "Very well." Then she cast a critical eye at him and for once, Nicholas felt uncomfortable with a female scrutinizing his nearly nude form. "But hurry and dress, please, before my parents give away the marquisate right out from beneath them." Then, she was gone in a swirl of heavy black wool and the faint scent of lavender, a reminder that she, too, was not exactly as she appeared to be.
With a sigh, Nicholas went to the door to call for both Drayton and Randolph. There was much to do and precious little time. Clearly, his plans for a trip to Lycosura this evening would have to wait.
Eliza did her best not to pace back and forth in her bedchamber, but she found it increasingly difficult to remain still. Or calm. It had been nearly the better part of an hour since she had used the gardens and mews of Mayfair to sneak back to Deaver House, accompanied this time by young Timothy. She had been perfectly capable of finding her way back alone, the ragged cloak providing surprisingly effective disguise, but since she was about to be deeply in Nicholas' debt, she did not see the value in provoking him to anger if she could help it.
In truth, The Bloody Duke was the only man in all of England that her father might - and she stressed the word might - heed when it came to the issue of Stephen. And Eliza was convinced that the man currently in her family's drawing room was not Stephen. No matter what color his eyes were. He simply did not feel right to her and she could not explain it any better than that.
That man could not possibly be her brother. Stephen was dead. If this man was indeed Stephen, then so many, many things would no longer be the same. And for as much as Eliza had come to detest sameness, there was, she had to admit now, something comforting about the idea as well.
With no heir, and her father unwilling to name one, the Framingham marquisate, along with everything that was entailed, would revert to the Crown once her father passed. However there were several properties, including the dower house at Langton Abby, that were unentailed and those would pass to Eliza.
Not that she was greedy. Certainly not. However as an unwed spinster, there were certain practicalities she would have to face sooner or later, especially if her mother outlived her father. With no heir, Eliza and her mother could retire to a small cottage in Herefordshire - or the dower house, if her mother was so inclined - and live out their days in comfort with the bulk of the unentailed funds at their disposal. Given how proficient she had become at managing money, Eliza was certain she and her mother could live out the rest of their days in comfort, if not the opulent wealth they were accustomed to.
For Eliza, that was a better future than many of the older and still unwed young ladies she knew could boast. Many of them were faced with the prospect of becoming a governess or perhaps one of the infamous Berkshire Grey Ladies - provided the new Berkshire heir ever showed up, that was. It had been nearly a year since the old marquess' passing, after all.
But that was the future and right now, Eliza had to concentrate on the present. And the man in her family's drawing room. The man who, with those odd eyes of his, had the power to change everything in her world. And not necessarily for the better.
Frustrated with the delay, Eliza placed a hand on the doorknob, but was unable to make herself open it. She had given Nicholas her word that she would follow his lead and do as he asked. That meant he had a plan. She also remembered with vivid clarity their confrontation behind the potted palms earlier in the evening. He had been angry with her and she supposed he had every right. Yet when she had gone to him for help, he had agreed to give it without hesitation. She supposed that said something about his regard for her, as well as their long-standing friendship. True, friends - even passing ones - should not see each other in such states of undress as she had seen Nicholas earlier that evening, but there was nothing to
be done for it now.
Inwardly she winced as she remembered nearly shoving aside Randolph in her desperation to reach Nicholas. In his bedchamber of all places. She should be ashamed of herself. And she was. But perhaps not nearly as much as she should have been.
Because for an aging spinster like Eliza, there had been a decided thrill in seeing Nicholas' nearly bare chest. She was also well aware that his might be the only male chest she would ever see, as it was increasingly unlikely that she would wed. Still, if all men looked like Nicholas did without their clothes, she could understand why young widows were so eager to seek out male companionship. And why young ladies were cautioned to guard their virtue. She was fairly certain that a convent full of nuns would be unable to resist such a man as Nicholas Rosemont in the flesh.
Still, she had behaved deplorably and when she finally found a moment alone with Nicholas, Eliza knew she would apologize. Profusely. He had been a good friend to her over the years, even if no one knew it but the two of them. And really, what business was it of anyone's but theirs? Nicholas had been Stephen's friend and now hers - even if they argued more than they agreed. True, theirs was an unlikely friendship, as conventional thinking dictated that men and women could not possibly be friends, but in Eliza's mind, if she was ever in a pinch, there was no one she trusted more than Nicholas.
That was why she had waited so long in her room to be summoned. However, Eliza also thought that she had waited quite long enough, thank you very much, and was preparing to sweep downstairs - or at the very least, creep quietly - when the door swung open and Theresa, Eliza's maid came scurrying in, twisting her hands tightly in front of her.
"The Bloody Duke," Theresa fairly squeaked with fear, her eyes wide as saucers. "He's in the drawing room, my lady, with..." She waved her hand in the air as if to indicate the rest of the Deaver family. Including the imposter.
The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza Page 3
