The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  He stood up quickly, pulling Evangeline to her feet with him. “I mean that you wanted me touching you, pleasuring you. You were yielding and giving, and you enjoyed everything I did to you. Didn’t you enjoy your husband touching you? Caressing you?”

  She stared up at him, saying nothing. After all, what could she say?

  He looked like he wanted to strangle her. He stepped away, his voice brisk, cold. “Such a thing will not occur again, as long as you are living under my roof. I wouldn’t ever want you to fear me or take me into dislike.”

  She felt torn apart by guilt. How could she do this? She merely nodded, her head down.

  He felt hot lust twist in his groin. “You must go to bed, Evangeline. It’s very late.”

  She stared at him silently for a long moment, then said in a curiously sad voice, “I could never fear or dislike you. That would have to fall to you. But you’re right, it mustn’t happen again. Good night, your grace.” She picked up her candle with a trembling hand and walked quickly from the library, quietly closing the door behind her.

  When the duke lay in his own bed some time later, he decided that this young woman who was dependent upon him, who would see to the care of his young son, had to be safe from him. He thought of tasting her breasts and shuddered. He would leave for London as planned, at the end of the week. She tempted him more than any other woman he’d ever known. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, far from it. He had no idea what drew him to her, but something did. He would put distance and time between them to clear his mind of her. It was what he wanted.

  Chapter 15

  Evangeline stood in the long picture gallery, the morning sun spilling down on her through the high, diamond-shaped window panes. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning. Already it was promising to be the second very warm day in the middle of February, a phenomenon that surely couldn’t last after today. She looked up at a seventeenth-century Duke of Portsmouth, who looked out onto the world with a particularly stringent expression on his long, handsome face. She said to that long-ago duke, “Your grace, my father told me that all the young men I’d met were just that-young. In addition, they were woefully inexperienced. I pointed out to him that they were also possessive, like Henri. Goodness, Henri didn’t want me out of his sight. He wanted me with him, always with him, as if he was afraid that I’d go haring off with one of his friends. My father laughed when I told him that and just shook his head. I remember he said that I was to be patient, that boys became men, just as girls become women.” She paused and looked down at her slippers, not Marissa’s. Marissa’s were much too small. But the skirt that lightly touched those slippers was one of Marissa’s, a rich forest green muslin with beautiful gold braid twisted beneath her breasts and braided trim for the circular neckline. She looked up at the painting again. The duke still looked stringent and not one bit interested in what she was saying. After the previous night in the duke’s library, after he’d had his hands on her bare breasts, well, there was a lot to think about. She said, her voice quieter, a frowning voice to match her thoughts, “But Papa wasn’t right. I’ve met older men, men he’d call sophisticated, but there was nothing there, nothing at all, except perhaps boredom.” She drew in a deep breath. “I must be going mad to stand here talking to you. I know it, but at least I know you won’t give away any confidences. Oh, dear. What I did last night, what I allowed the duke to do, it was wondrous. It was beyond anything I could have imagined. But I shouldn’t have ever followed him. I guess I wanted to go with him, to see what he would do, to hear what he would say—I can’t lie to myself about that. You still don’t answer, and I’m beginning to expect you to. Ah, I’m well and truly mad.”

  The duke drew back behind one of his mother’s favorite antiquities, a white marble bust of some ancient playwright in Greece. He was smiling. He wondered how much of her one-sided conversation with a ducal ancestor he’d missed out on. What he’d heard made him halt in his tracks. Wondrous, was it? It made him sweat. He’d wanted to lay her out on the carpet in front of the fireplace. He wouldn’t have cared if she was on top of him or vice versa, truth be told. He’d wanted to kiss her until she was whimpering, and then he’d wanted to come into that beautiful body of hers and—

  “Your grace. You are standing here seemingly without any particular purpose. A gentleman of your stature should always have a purpose. Is there some sort of problem?”

  He turned to see Bassick, not a foot from him, looking for all the world like one of the dons at Oxford. Bassick was just standing there as well, also seemingly without purpose, looking as aloof and determined as that damned former duke who was being confided in by Evangeline. A lovely name, that. It was soft on the tongue. He liked the feel of it in his mouth, sounding in his mind. How long had Bassick been there? “You walk more quietly than a bloody shadow, Bassick.” “One endeavors, your grace.” “Is that sweat I see on your forehead?” “It is too early to sweat, your grace, but perhaps later I will have to dab my handkerchief to my brow. I believe we may regard this as very strange weather for February in England. It is weather that properly belongs to August. Now, may I assist your grace?”

  “I don’t need anything. I merely heard Madame speaking and wondered who was the recipient. It turns out to be one of my ancestors. I doubt he’s much for conversation now. Go away, Bassick. I’ll fetch Madame down to breakfast.”

  “Yes, your grace,” Bassick said, turned on his heel and began his stately march down the long corridor.

  The duke called out, a smile on his face, “Evangeline, are you here? I thought I heard you speaking to someone.”

  There was silence for two heartbeats, then she said, her voice deep and guilty-sounding, “Yes, I’m right here. I was just admiring the gold frames on the portraits. There is a lot of gold.”

  She was walking toward him, wearing one of Marissa’s gowns that he remembered, and he wondered where Dorrie had found all the additional material to accommodate Evangeline’s marvelous breasts. She looked splendid. He saw those breasts of hers clearly in his mind, bare and beautifully glowing in the firelight the night before. He drew in his breath. This would never do.

  “If I ever lose all my money, why, I’ll just sell some of those gold frames. Surely they’ll support me for a good long time.” He added, looking down, unable not to, “You know, they are rather fine.”

  “What’s fine?” she said, knowing very well what he was doing, and staring at him until she realized what she was doing. She jerked her head away.

  “The frames, naturally. Now, would you like to come with me to breakfast?”

  “Yes, I’m quite hungry. Shall we get Edmund to breakfast with us?”

  A thick black eyebrow went up. “I don’t fancy Bedlam with my coffee and porridge. No, we will leave Edmund to Ellen. After breakfast he’s mine for the entire morning. You have nothing more to do than resume your doubtless fascinating monologue to my ancestors. Don’t worry about him.”

  Had he really overheard her speaking to his oblivious relative? The thought that he had made her nearly trip over her slippers. “Your head doesn’t hurt this morning?”

  “Oh, no. I’m one of those lucky men who rarely feel more than just a bit drowsy if they’ve imbibed too much. Ah, and just how do you feel this morning, Evangeline?”

  She was silent as a stone, walking beside him, her eyes straight ahead. He added, his voice lower, “I can tell you how you felt last night, but I suppose you wouldn’t take that in the spirit in which I would present it to you. There goes your chin, up a good two inches. No, I won’t tease you, but it’s tempting, very tempting. I will be a gentleman.” He sighed deeply.

  She was trying desperately to remember if she’d said anything to the portrait about betraying him. No, surely not, but she’d been about to. The guilt had been near to spilling out of her. She tamped down on it. Not now. She’d have to stew alive in the guilt, for there was simply nothing she could do about it. Yes, there was. She could make h
erself stop slavering over him with every other thought in her head.

  He ushered her into a small breakfast room that gave onto the east lawn. Sunlight flooded into this charming, airy room.

  “I see that Mrs. Dent did as instructed,” he said, and pulled back her chair for her. The footman moved back to stand by the door.

  “Oh, goodness,” she said and stared with delight at the plate of croissants in front of her plate.

  “Good morning, your grace, Madame,” Mrs. Raleigh said, sweeping into the small room. This morning she was wearing a gown of the palest pink with beautiful Valencienne lace at the collar and the cuffs, banded with a darker pink satin beneath the bodice. She looked slight and beautiful, and a bit strange with the huge ring of keys dangling from a narrow leather belt tight at her waist, particularly since there wasn’t a waist. “I see you’ve noticed the croissants. His grace ordered them especially for you, you being half French and all. Mrs. Dent hopes they’re to your liking.”

  “It’s wonderful, Mrs. Raleigh. Thank you, your grace. It is very thoughtful of you.” She had a mouthful even before he was seated. He smiled down the table at her. “No, you don’t have to say anything, just eat.” He served himself toast, eggs, and kidneys.

  Mrs. Raleigh seemed loath to leave. She said to Evangeline, “His grace said you don’t care for hearty English breakfasts, and as he didn’t want you to fade away, he believed the croissants to be just the thing.” When Mrs. Raleigh said that, Evangeline looked at the duke. He wasn’t looking at her face. “Yes,” he said, taking a bite of eggs, “I wouldn’t want to lose your, er, upper self.”

  Mrs. Raleigh was counting her keys, Evangeline saw, and didn’t hear what he’d said. Evangeline tried to slump down, just a bit.

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Raleigh said, and lightly patted her on the back. “Dorrie did magnificently with the gown. She told me she removed panels from the skirt to add to other places. Now, I will leave you to your breakfast. There is always so much to be done, you know. I can’t spend the time talking to you, even though I should like it immensely.” “She’s remarkable,” Evangeline said. “Yes. She and my mother have been friends for years. She also told me all about girls when I was about twelve. She’s very knowledgeable. Eat, that’s not enough.”

  She laughed. “You’re disgraceful. You were only twelve?”

  “Perhaps twelve and a half. I don’t precisely remember. But Mrs. Raleigh told me what was what, at least in very basic terms, like don’t ever touch anything above a girl’s wrist, don’t ever let a girl whisper in my ear, nervy things like that.”

  “Goodness, why ever not? What’s nervy about whispering in the ear?”

  “Evidently having a female so very close to a male, even a very young one, could lead to uncontrollable urges on the male’s part. The girl’s breath in his ear would shove him right over the edge.” He rose, tossing his napkin down beside his plate. “You will have to excuse me now. I promised Edmund we would ride. We will see you later. Don’t rush, Evangeline. I’ll see you later, at luncheon.”

  He’d left half of his breakfast untouched on his plate. She slowly spread jam on another croissant. She closed her eyes as she bit into it. What had he heard her saying to his ancestor?

  She felt John Edgerton’s cool, dry fingers on her wrist. She shuddered, then realized that she’d crumbled the croissant into a ball. She put it on her plate and wiped her hands on her napkin. She was to meet him tonight at the cove for instructions. At the thought the croissant she’d been chewing turned to paste in her mouth. She swallowed with difficulty. She’d forgotten for just a couple of moments, not long, but remembering nearly brought her to her knees. What to do?

  She waited at the table until she heard the duke and Edmund leave the house. Then she walked quickly up to her bedchamber. Although Houchard had described the private beach and the hidden cave, she hadn’t seen the cave before, which meant that it wasn’t at all obvious. She’d find it now. She had no choice. There was too much at stake to risk being late for her meeting. How would she manage to make her escape from the duke this evening?

  She didn’t know. She’d worry about that later.

  She changed quickly into one of her old gowns and an old pair of walking boots. The morning was very warm indeed. It was very strange to have summer in the midst of winter. By noon it would be quite hot. She breathed in the tangy salt air. A light breeze ruffled her hair. By the time she reached the protected cove and walked carefully down the long zigzagging path, she felt sweat on her forehead and at the small of her back.

  When she reached the beach, she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked to the south. The cliff jutted out nearly into the water, its nearly barren, craggy face shadowed from the morning sun. She made her way quickly toward it through the coarse sand. She found the cave only when she nearly stumbled into it, overhung with scraggly bushes. It was immediately on the water’s edge. Not more than a foot of sand between the cave entrance and the lapping waves. No one who wasn’t looking specifically for the cave would ever see it.

  The entrance was low, and she crouched down. Then it soared upward. Six more steps into the cave and she shivered. It was damp and the air was chill. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw that the cave was long and narrow, extending some twenty-five feet into the cliff. She pulled up short, realizing that the ground was wet beneath her feet. She reached up and ran her fingers along the stone walls, slimy with sea moss, to a level well above her head. At high tide the sea filled the cave. It wouldn’t be a good thing at all to be trapped in here.

  She retraced her steps to the mouth of the cave and stood quietly for a moment, lifting her face upward to the hot sun, breathing in the sharp salt air.

  She stepped out of the cave, looked over the water, and stopped cold. Her breath whooshed out. She saw the duke, waist high in the water, carrying Edmund upon his shoulders, some thirty feet up the beach. She jerked back into the cave. Oh, goodness, what was he doing here? He was supposed to be riding. Yet he was swimming with Edmund. It was certainly warm enough, but she imagined that the sea water was still very cold. Yes, he’d spoken of swimming with his son the day before. But here? Now? With her staring at him?

  What to do? She considered staying tucked away in the cave until the duke and Edmund had left the beach, but she saw that the tide was rising quickly. She didn’t want to get wet. She didn’t want to drown.

  She couldn’t walk south because the cliff jutted out into the water. Very well, north it was. Back from whence she’d come. She walked out of the cave, head up, whistling into the warm breeze. If she just kept whistling, she’d be all right. She didn’t mean to look at him, truly she didn’t. But she did. Evangeline hadn’t ever seen a naked man. He was only twenty yards away. She could see him very clearly, more clearly than she deserved, really. She watched him lift Edmund above his head and toss him forward into the water. She’d never really been all that aware of men, until last night, in the duke’s library, when he’d touched her and kissed her. And now he was here, all naked and unknowing, and she looked at him and nearly swallowed her tongue. She hadn’t imagined that a man could look like him. Surely her father was very beautiful, but he was slight, no muscle to speak of, not like the duke, who was hard and long and hairy, hairy from his thick, wet black hair on his head to the wet black hair on his chest, to the wet black hair on his groin. Goodness, she could see all of him from his knees up. She knew she should look away. She shouldn’t be here, looking her fill at him, wanting desperately to race to him and fling him onto his back on the sand, and flatten herself against him.

  She knew that man had a phallus and that it stuck out from his groin. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t at all frightening or strange. His sex was against him, not sticking out or anything else to alarm her. No, he didn’t look at all frightening, just different. She heard Edmund’s shriek of delight and saw a tangle of arms and legs. When the duke stood again, Edmund was clinging to his back, his arms wrapped
about his neck. She heard him say, “All right, Edmund, that’s quite enough. Ten minutes, no longer, else we’ll turn into blocks of ice.”

  She should leave. He hadn’t seen her. Now, she should leave now. She walked quickly to a thick overhanging bush and stepped beneath it. And she continued to look. She watched the duke, Edmund still shrieking with laughter. Edmund said something, pointing toward a gull, and he laughed. She saw that both of them were shivering. Imagine even ten minutes in that water. She shivered just thinking about it.

  She watched the muscles tighten and expand with his laughter, with his striding in the water, with his holding Edmund on his shoulders. She should leave. She still had time.

  She had no shame.

  Chapter 16

  “Papa,” Edmund shouted. “Look, there’s Eve.” He was waving his arms wildly toward her. “She’s here to watch us swim. I’m glad she came. I didn’t think she believed that I was a good swimmer.” The die was cast. She was trapped. She knew he was looking at her, but he didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate, just kept walking toward shore through the waves, some of them nearly knocking him down.

  There was no hope for it. She ran past the cave to the south, only to draw up short. She’d forgotten that the land lunged out into the water, cutting any escape off in that direction. Slowly she walked back. She heard the duke shout, “I see her, Edmund. Yes, there she is, not more than twenty yards away from us. And just look, I believe she’s now walking this way since she realizes she can’t decamp the other way. Let’s wait for her, Edmund. I’m sure she’s going to tell us how much she’s enjoyed our swimming exhibition. Yes, we’ve provided her quite a show, albeit a short one, since the water was so bloody cold.”

  Evangeline stopped in her tracks. How long had he known she was there, watching him, slavering as she watched him? He now stood ankle-deep in the water, the waves gently lapping around him, and he was changing. He hadn’t looked at all frightening or alien before, but now he was changing, rapidly. He wasn’t moving, just standing there looking at her, and changing and growing and sticking out more and more. If she had been the duke and she was changing like that, surely she would have done something, like run or turn around, but he didn’t. He just stood there, Edmund still on his shoulders, smiling at her, and still changing before her eyes. Oh, goodness.