The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  “I’m very sorry. The loss of parents is difficult. My own father died last year. I loved him dearly. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and lowered her eyes so he wouldn’t see the lie in them. She had a sudden memory of his father, a beautiful man with charming manners, tall and straight as a post, darker even than his son. “I’m sorry about your father. I remember him. He was very kind to me.”

  He nodded, then sat back and eyed her, wishing she wasn’t so pale, that her father hadn’t died, for he knew what a difficult thing that was. “Yes, that makes sense.” He balanced his elbows on the padded arms and tapped his fingertips thoughtfully together. “Marissa’s father, as well as your own, was an émigré. Marissa’s father also hated Napoleon, as did, I assume, your father. He wouldn’t ever go back until Napoleon was out of power. Actually, Marissa’s father still resides in London, quite content with his adopted country. Does your uncle know that you’re here?”

  “No. He didn’t even know that Papa and I had returned to France. We have no further ties to his family, or to yours.”

  “Did your husband die in England, Madame? Was he also an émigré?”

  She knew he would ask. She knew because Houchard had known he would, and had asked her question after question until she was clear and smooth in her answers. Still, she felt a stab of nausea low in her stomach. The lies would stack up, higher and higher until she wouldn’t be able to see beyond them. “He did, your grace. Like my father, he was also an émigré. I just realized that I’m now thirsty, your grace. May I have a cup of tea, before I leave?”

  He rose and walked to the wall, and pulled the bell cord. Without saying anything more, he left her sitting alone in the library.

  Now, this was certainly strange, she thought, rising to warm her hands in front of the fire. Where had he gone?

  Chapter 5

  Ten minutes later, he reappeared, carrying a large tray himself. No servant accompanied him. “Am I so disreputable a visitor that you don’t wish your servants even to see me? Are you afraid that they’ll gossip about you, alone with a young woman who shouldn’t be here in the first place?”

  He grinned at her. It was devastating. In that instant she knew that he wasn’t just a very wickedly handsome man; he was also a man of infinite charm, if he chose to be charming, and he appeared to wish it now. All that charm was in that grin of his. Even for a strong woman that grin could be a killing blow.

  “How did you know? Ah, perhaps you’ve already heard my servants talking. Yes, I’m quite in the habit of entertaining young ladies in my den of iniquity.” He set the tray down, then expertly poured both of them a cup of tea. “No fluid retort to that? I don’t blame you. That was quite a detour into idiocy, Madame. Now, do try one of Cook’s lemon tarts. I don’t want to unleash you just yet on my people. Actually, I don’t want them to see you until I know what I’m going to be doing for you. I cannot imagine that you just came to Chesleigh Castle on an afternoon lark.

  “Yes, do try one of the lemon tarts. You’re on the thin side, even though your endowments look quite sufficient, at least from my perspective. Now that you’ve got your mouth full, do tell me about your husband. Was he an émigré? Did you meet him here in England?”

  “Yes, I did,” she said around a lemon tart that tasted so crisp and sharp, it nearly made her eyes water. It was the best lemon tart she’d ever eaten in her life. She immediately reached for another. To her surprise, his hand covered her. “No, you don’t want to fill yourself on just one thing. Here, try the apple patty. Cook has a way with the pastry that makes your belly sing.”

  She ate the apple patty in two bites. She reached for another, then drew her own hand back. It required all her resolution not to grab for that single small slice of what looked to be raisins and pears, all stuffed inside a round pastry.

  “You’re smart to desist. I admire anyone with such willpower. A friend of mine, Phillip Mercerault, is also the proud and possessive employer of an excellent cook. We’ve talked about a competition between the two kitchens but haven’t done it yet. Like Phillip, I’m very careful when I’m here, as was my father before me.” He paused a moment, then gave her that devastating grin again. “My father always told me that ladies didn’t particularly take to gentlemen with fat on their bellies.”

  “You don’t have any.”

  “Thank you for noticing.”

  “But I really can’t be certain. You’re still wearing your cloak.”

  That was well done of her. He rose and untied his cloak, tossing it over the back of the settee. He stood there a moment, letting her look at him. “I suppose you are still without fat.” “Naturally, I was a dutiful son. I always attended my father.” He sat back down, folding his hands over his belly. “Now, about your husband.”

  “I met him here, since we lived in Kent. We married here.”

  “What was his full name?”

  “Andre de la Valette. His father was the Comte de la Valette. The line is now dead. It is a pity.” Say no more, Houchard had told her. Let him wonder. It will amuse him to wonder. He is a man easily bored.

  “I see. Now, I suppose I must ask you why you are here.”

  She sat forward in her chair. “As you know, your grace, I have never seen my cousin Edmund. Mama was quite ill throughout those years, and I could not leave her. Also, I believe, there was some sort of falling out with your family, and such visits, had they been possible, were discouraged.”

  She saw a sudden flash of anger in the duke’s eyes. “I don’t suppose that your father or your esteemed uncle told you the reason for the estrangement? Oh, yes, most assuredly there is one, of many years standing.”

  She shook her head. “I should like to know, your grace, for I was very fond of Marissa and missed her. I always wanted to meet her son.”

  The duke laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, but an angry one, that held not a whit of humor. Then he shrugged and drank some of his tea. “Perhaps someday you will know. If you father did not tell you, it is not my place to do so. As for your cousin and my son, he is the very best of lads, five years old now.”

  She heard the softening of his voice, saw the pride in his dark eyes. He loved his son. She waited. He set down his empty teacup. “Now, no more thrashing the bushes, Madame. I don’t imagine you came here to see the view from my windows, although it is spectacular when the blasted rain doesn’t turn everything gray. Tell me what I can do to assist you.”

  She looked at him full face and said baldly, “I have no money. After my father’s death the French took everything left, not that there was very much. They claimed that my father and I weren’t really loyal to the country of our birth, and thus with his death I would get nothing from his estate.” “Why did you not write to me and tell me of this?” “There was not time. Besides, you might have simply ignored a letter. You cannot ignore me, at least now that I’m here, you can’t.” He said nothing, just looked at her. “I had nowhere else to go. I have given this a lot of thought, your grace. I don’t wish to be a poor relation, clutching at your sleeve. I don’t wish to be dependent. In short, your grace, I would like to remain here at Chesleigh Castle and become Edmund’s nanny.” There, it had all spilled out of her mouth, much more quickly than was wise, but she couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. She added, “Please, your grace. I’m not a frivolous ninny. I’m educated, my father saw to that. He was a brilliant philosopher. I know the classics. I love children.” “That relieves my mind greatly.” Suddenly she looked very alone and vulnerable. “I spent my last francs on a packet from Calais to Dover. One of the blacksmiths was coming this way. He gave me a ride in his cart.”

  He didn’t know where the blasted words came from, but they did come out of his mouth. “Was it raining?” “It stopped shortly after we left Dover.” “Did you know I was in residence here?” She shook her head. She drank a sip of tea. “I didn’t know. I prayed you would be.” Of course she’d known he was here, but she couldn’t tell him that. “D
id your father turn you against me?” “No, not at all. I believe he approved of you. Not only was there a rift between your family and my uncle’s family, my father also didn’t speak to his brother. I don’t know the reasons for either rift. I wish I did know.” If it was true. She didn’t know anything. She’d heard servants’ gossip some years before, something about her uncle being in love with her mother, but she hadn’t said anything to either of them. After her mother had died, it seemed cruel to ask her father. Naturally, it could be something else entirely.

  Before she’d been bundled out of Paris, it hadn’t occurred to her to speak of such unimportant things to her father.

  “If I hadn’t been here, then what would you have done?”

  She managed a crooked grin. “I suppose I would have had to build a willow lodge at the edge of the Grampston forest and wait you out.”

  “It’s the dead of winter. It rains all the time. You would have caught an inflammation of the lung.”

  “But you were here.” She drew a very deep breath and plunged forward. “Will you let me meet Edmund? If we suit, will you let me remain here as his nanny?” “I had no clue of your existence yesterday, and now here you are, sitting in my library, offering yourself up as a nanny. It is unexpected, Madame.” “I know, and I’m sorry for it. I had no choice. I didn’t want to become Monsieur Dumornay’s mistress. That was my only other option.” “Who is this Dumornay?”

  “He was one of my papa’s supposed friends. I’m certain his wife had no idea that he would have gladly set me up in a house and supported me. She is a very nice woman. He is a lecherous idiot.”

  “Most men of his stripe are idiots. Now, did you bring a maid?”

  She shook her head and looked down at a particularly round and seductive scone. It looked to have raisins in it. It looked delicious. She said, “There was no money to pay for one. I left Margueritte in France.”

  “I see.” He had become the formal nobleman. He was looking at the narrow arcs of flame that leapt upward from the smoldering embers in the fireplace. He looked about ready to nap.

  If she’d had a rock, she would have thrown it at him. She jumped to her feet, grabbing her cloak. He had no interest in her at all. He didn’t care if she died on the side of the road. He didn’t care if she caught an inflammation of the lung.

  She was interrupting his solitude, the bastard. She wanted nothing more than to march out of his damned library, out of his damned castle and never look back. But she couldn’t.

  She drew a deep breath, took a hold of herself. “I’m hungry. Surely before you dismiss me I may eat something? Perhaps in the kitchen with this goddess cook of yours?”

  “Eat the scone you’ve been eyeing.” He rose slowly to face her. She found herself staring at his snowy white cravat. Evangeline was tall, taller than just about any woman she’d ever met. She been called a maypole by Tommy Barkly when she was twelve years old and he’d been thirteen. As she raised her eyes to the duke’s face, she felt suddenly quite short. It was the strangest feeling. He was giving her this brooding look that she couldn’t begin to decipher.

  And he remained silent, merely looking down at her. It was over. She’d failed.

  She was angry. He was cold. He wasn’t a gentleman. She drew up, stiffer than the fireplace poker. “Very well, I’m not all that hungry. I don’t want that scone. I’m leaving.”

  He said mildly, even as he snagged her arm in one of his big hands, “No, it’s all right. I’ll feed you, although I don’t think you’ll still be all that hungry if you satisfy your gluttony with that scone. Ah, yes, now I understand. It’s meat and substantial vegetables you want. Very well.”

  He paused again, then added, “I can’t believe you, a young lady, traveled all the way from France here, with no escort.”

  “What would I have used to pay an escort? One of my boots?”

  “If I had been the escort, I would have demanded both boots and a chance to put my hands on you.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d insulted her like that, but what was said was said. He watched her brown eyes change color, literally change from a rich dark brown to a lighter whiskey color. It was fascinating.

  She said, very low, “I’m a widow, your grace, not a trollop.”

  “Dammit, I know that.” Still, he didn’t apologize, saying instead, “First thing, I will have Mrs. Raleigh, my housekeeper, show you to a room. At the very least, you will meet Edmund in the morning. Do you have any luggage?”

  He hadn’t made up his mind. Well, had she been in his boots, she wouldn’t have either. It was his son, his heir, and he loved the boy. He would be very careful whom he allowed near Edmund. “I have one valise. Bassick has it.” Then, because she couldn’t bear it, she said, “I didn’t come to plead for you to assist me. I came to offer myself as a nanny. Honest work, that’s all I’m asking for, your grace. I won’t steal the silver. I’m responsible, I swear it. You’ll not be disappointed in me.”

  Her voice was defensive. She didn’t look much like a nanny. At least she didn’t look like his own Mrs. Tucker, who’d spanked him, hugged him against her massive bosom, sung to him, rapped his knuckles when he was rude, and loved him until she’d died ten years before.

  He thought about sitting here all evening in solitude, anger smoldering in him, and helplessness, because the bastard who’d killed Robbie Faraday was still loose, doubtless laughing at them because he’d escaped whole-hide. No, even brandy didn’t sound all that appealing now.

  He couldn’t very well have dinner served to her in her bedchamber. That wouldn’t be well done of him. There was no hope for it. Actually, he didn’t mind at all.

  “I know,” he said finally, not really remembering what she’d said, only that it had been pitiful. He turned back to her. He dashed his fingers through his thick hair, standing it on end. “Damnation.”

  “Goodness. I didn’t realize what I was about to say would upset you so much, your grace.”

  There was wit in her, when she wasn’t terrified that he would kick her out. No, that wasn’t precisely true. She’d used that tongue of hers to try to outdo him from the moment he’d stomped into his library. He said, “The proprieties, Madame. My mother is in London. There is no one here to be your chaperone, to protect your good name.”

  She smiled at that. “Oh, that’s not important. I’m a widow, your grace, not some young girl, pure and innocent of mind and person, with hopes of finding a rich husband. I’m also a relative, of sorts. No one would believe you would have your wicked way with me, surely.”

  “You must be remarkably ignorant of my reputation, Madame.”

  “Oh, no, I know many wicked stories about you. Again, I’m a widow, a mature woman, a woman who surely couldn’t be of any interest to anyone, a woman beyond the need for such observances.”

  “Not only are you appallingly ignorant, you are also obtuse.”

  “I’m a cousin. Relatives are a different matter entirely.”

  She couldn’t know his reputation or she wouldn’t be so flippant about the matter. But the fact remained that she was destitute. Where would she go? No, there was no choice. She had to remain here. He would try to prevent anyone knowing why she was here. The fact that she was related to him by marriage only made it worse. She didn’t realize that a simple unknown employee would be perfectly safe because, frankly, that simple unknown employee would have no reputation to protect. He would leave her in ignorance.

  “Doubtless you are right, Madame. You also forgot to mention your advanced years.”

  “No, I told you I was a mature woman. Maturity means advanced years.”

  “I’ve always hated the word. So does my beautiful mother.”

  Not a full minute passed before Mrs. Raleigh came to the library, her lustrous purple bombazine skirts rustling with every light fairy step she took. She was very small, beautiful white hair piled atop her head, framing an unaged face. She wore a thick key ring about her narrow waist. It was highly polished key ring, o
ne that the duke’s mother had given her some years before.

  “Mrs. Raleigh,” the duke said, smiling down at her. On a good day when she was wearing slippers with heels, she came to his shoulder. This day he could easily fit her under his arm. “This is Madame de la Valette, my cousin. Actually, she was her ladyship’s cousin. She’s come to pay us a visit, to meet Lord Edmund. Perhaps, if I can convince her to remain, she will become Lord Edmund’s nanny. Unfortunately, all but one of Madame’s valises were lost in a Channel storm. Her traveling companion became very ill and insisted on returning to France. Thus we have her to ourselves for a time.”

  Evangeline wanted to applaud his tale. It was generous and fluent and well done of him. “Mrs. Raleigh,” she said, and nodded to the small woman with the large key ring. Mrs. Raleigh gave her a graceful curtsy. “Ah, you’re another tall one, just like his grace’s mama. We are glad you are here, Madame. Such a treat this will be for Lord Edmund. If you will come with me to your bedchamber. Do you wish to dine at six o’clock, your grace?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Raleigh. Do tell Mrs. Dent that she has a new convert, one who will doubtless eat every dish that’s placed in front of her, one who will likely kill the butcher if he displeases her.”

  “Mrs. Dent will be pleased. I will also tell her that Madame is too slight and needs to gain flesh. It will become a mission for her.”

  “Why not show Madame to the duchess’s bedchamber? Perhaps it will comfort her to be in her cousin’s room.”

  Mrs. Raleigh said to her, “We keep the bedchamber spanking clean, but no one has stayed in it since her grace left us over two years ago. Oh, dear, such a sad time. I hope it will please and comfort you, Madame.” “It is bound to do something,” she said, nodded to the duke, and followed the very youthful Mrs. Raleigh from the library.