The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  “This is the most unusual experience of my life. Here is a woman I wish to marry. I know she wants me. I fancy that she cares for me. I’m not a blind man. You also care mightily for my son. I believe there is some sort of problem that is apart from the two of us. If you would but tell me, I’ll do my best to fix it.” Then his dark eyes widened. “No,” he said, “oh, no. Your husband, the sainted André. He isn’t still alive, is he?”

  She was shaking her head even as she realized he’d given her a perfect reason. He held up his hand as he saw her mouth open. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t even try. Why won’t you marry me, Evangeline?”

  “I won’t deny that I want you,” she said. “But I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want you for a husband. And I simply don’t understand why you, a man who told me he didn’t even believe in love, should want to tie himself to one woman? Why?”

  “Ask me again in three or four decades, and then we can discuss my obvious weakness for you.”

  She was drowning and he was offering her life, only she couldn’t take it. One day he would discover what she was. On that day he would revile her. He would curse her. She was his enemy; he just didn’t yet realize it.

  “You’ve mistaken my feelings. I don’t love you.” He didn’t believe her. She’d been silent for too long. He’d told her he wasn’t a blind man. He’d seen the myriad expressions on her face, one leaving, another shadowing her eyes, and he’d seen more anguish than he could begin to understand. He wanted to shake her, yell at her, but something held him back. He said quite mildly, “Then what are your feelings for me that I have so misunderstood?”

  She raised her eyes to his face, knowing that she must hurt him, and herself. She remembered Lady Jane Bellerman’s insults, so childish, really, but she had no choice but to try them. She hated herself even as she said, her voice cold, “You don’t have to offer me marriage, your grace. You asked me what my feelings for you are. I find you a very desirable man, as I suspect most women do. I would like to bed you, not wed you.” She forced herself to shrug her shoulders indifferently. “As Lady Jane said, Englishmen don’t wed ladies who have already known another man. You may admit it to me, your grace, it’s my body you want, not interminable years in my company. Believe me, I’m honored that you would push for marriage just to get me in your bed. You may stop your marriage talk now. I’ll come to your bed, willingly.”

  It was odd. He’d known her for less then two months, but he knew she was lying. Actually, she didn’t lie all that well. What to do? To buy himself time, he said only, “I don’t understand you, Evangeline.”

  She gave what he assumed was her rendition of a Gallic shrug, not a very good one. “If I were entirely English—one of you—and a virgin, no doubt I should view such an offer with far different eyes. But I’ve been married. I don’t wish to do that again. Perhaps you were right that André was a clod with lovemaking. I know that you’re not. I know that you’d be perfect about all of it.”

  What would he say? What would he do? Would she shortly see contempt for her in his eyes?

  “So,” he said, and there was simple amusement in his dark eyes. “So, now you appear to have found a use for me. At least now you admit that the dearly departed Saint André wasn’t a magnificent, godlike specimen.” He paused, and his voice lowered. “Did he abuse you? Did the bastard hit you?”

  “No, of course not. Listen, I simply prefer my widowed life. I enjoy doing what I wish.” No, that couldn’t be right. “While it’s true that I haven’t much money, I do enjoy Edmund, I enjoy living at Chesleigh.” Good God, she was digging a hole that would shortly land her in faraway China.

  “And what you wish,” he said slowly, “is that I become your lover and not your husband?” “I enjoy kissing you.”

  “Ah, that’s nice to hear.” What was going on here? He walked to her slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. She didn’t back away from him. This was getting more interesting. He closed his hands about her shoulders and pulled her slowly against him. She tried to free herself, but he tightened his hold and brought her closer. Her breasts touched his chest, and he knew he was hard as a stone. Then he felt all of her and wanted to howl with the overwhelming lust and tenderness and urgency that were flooding over him. Would she always have this effect on him? He imagined so. He smiled at her as he forced her face upward. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice warm and light against her forehead. Then he lowered his head, slowly and deliberately, and kissed her. “You’re mine. Now and forever, you’re only mine.”

  “No,” she said, and knew she wanted him so much she would shatter if she couldn’t kiss him now, this very instant. “Oh, yes. No more playacting, Evangeline.” “Please,” she said, and he kissed her once, again, not forcing her mouth to open, but she did open her mouth, eagerly. His hands were in her hair, pulling out all the pins, freeing her hair, stroking his fingers through it, then down her back, cupping her buttocks in his big hands. Then his hands were back in her hair, tangling it around his fingers, and he didn’t stop kissing her. He said into her mouth, his voice not at all steady, “Do you remember when I told you your hair is exquisite?”

  “Yes,” she said, just the sound of her voice nearly bringing him to his knees. His hands were on her hips again, lifting her against him, pressing her tighter and tighter. He wanted more than anything to have her naked, pressed this tightly against him. She felt his lips against her temples, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat. He drew back, his hands still cupping her hips, and looked down into her face.

  “What are you feeling, Evangeline?”

  She didn’t think it an odd question, for she had no experience with men. She opened her eyes, and for a long moment she found herself unable to say anything.

  “I would give my life for you,” she said.

  He stared at her, even as he felt a surge of lust so powerful that he nearly pulled her to the carpet beneath their feet. No, no, he thought. Not yet. He got a grip on himself. “Will you always surprise me with the unexpected? Would you tell me why a woman who merely has a wish for a lover would feel so strongly about her lover’s well-being?”

  He heard her breath catch, felt her go rigid in his arms, felt that resistance in her, and said, “I love you, Evangeline. It’s far beyond lust, if lust it ever truly was. I imagine that I will love you until I cock up my toes and pass to the hereafter. My father found his mate in my mother. I have found my mate in you. Come, are the words so very hard for you to say?”

  She pressed her face inward against his shoulder and shook her head.

  He kissed her temple, her cheek, smoothed a fingertip over her eyebrows, kissed the hollow of her throat. Then he closed his hands over her breasts. She was trembling, her breasts heaving. She arched her back, pushing her breasts against his palms. “Do you want me, Evangeline?”

  “Yes. Yes.” She threw herself against him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head down so she could kiss him. He laughed. “I see that you do. Will you come with me now? Will you make love with me?”

  She should stop this, now. But she couldn’t bear the thought that soon she would have to leave him, that she would probably have to sneak away during a dark night very soon. She would live and die without ever knowing passion with him. Surely it wasn’t so wrong to show him she loved him, to give herself to him just this one night? Tomorrow night, when she met the man who was coming from Houchard, she would tell him that she was of no more use, and she would ready herself to leave. Perhaps she would go to London with him, never see the duke again after tomorrow night. She didn’t want to deny him herself. And her body was all she could share with him. No, she thought, tell the truth. She didn’t want to deny herself. She had to know him, she had to have this one night with him. She said, “Yes, I want to make love with you.”

  Chapter 33

  “After you, Evangeline.”

  She surprised them both by hesitating, her eyes wide and wary upon his face. He smiled at he
r, gently shoved her inside his bedchamber, and closed the door.

  Her lips were dry. Suddenly she was very afraid. She was a fool. She would shame herself. She would disgust him. She backed away from him. “I don’t think this is a good idea, your grace.”

  “That’s a fact,” he said, and he laughed. “But it doesn’t matter now, it’s far too late.” He pulled her into his arms. “Open your mouth to me, Evangeline. You know it will heighten your pleasure.”

  She started to speak, but his mouth closed over hers, and he pressed himself hard against her belly. The knowledge that he would enter her, just as his tongue was possessing her mouth, frightened her and excited her so much she was shaking. She kissed him, so excited that she was clumsy in her awakened passion. She clutched him, wanting more but having no idea what to do.

  “What do you feel now?” His breath was hot in her mouth, and his tongue touched her bottom lip.

  “Wild, but I don’t know what it’s all about. I don’t know, just that I feel like there’s so much for you to give me and so much for me to give you. Help me.”

  The image of her faceless husband rose in his mind. How could any man have cheated himself of her passion? It was a good thing that the saintly André had made his way out of this world; else the duke would have been eager to assist him out.

  He took over. He pulled her hard against him and unfastened all the tiny buttons that marched up her back. They parted easily under his practiced fingers, and her gown slipped free from her shoulders. It fell softly to the carpet, billowing at her feet.

  Soon she’d be naked. “I don’t know about this,” she said. “You must believe me, for I mean it. Oh, dear, what are you doing?” He untied her single petticoat and watched it fall atop her gown. He was on his knees in front of her, his hands on her leg. “I’m pulling down your stockings. Nothing alarming.” What had that damned departed André done to her?

  “I won’t marry you, I won’t.” She was panting, her words tripping over each other. “You’ll see, once you’ve had me, you won’t want me anymore. I promise you.”

  He appeared to consider her words quite dispassionately for a moment, though he had difficulty suppressing a grin. So insistent she was even now. Well, they would both know soon what was to be. He pulled down her other stocking, then removed her slippers. She was wearing only a shift that came mid-thigh. He rose, looked down at her a moment, then gently eased away the lace straps and watched the soft muslin fall away from her full breasts to her belly. He tugged it again, and it fell from her hips, floating to the floor. She was naked, finally utterly naked, and she was his. He looked at her belly, wanting desperately to touch her deeply, to caress her with his fingers and his mouth, but something stopped him. He saw panic in her eyes.

  She tried to cover herself. He gently pulled her arms away and stepped close. “Close your arms around me. Yes, that’s it. I like that.”

  His hands were on her bare back, stroking up and down. When he cupped her hips in his hands, she realized that the feelings that were building deep in her belly were something she’d never before even considered could exist. It was remarkable. Then his fingers pushed slightly inward, and she felt his warm fingers touching her woman’s flesh, flesh only she herself had ever seen or touched. She started to shake her head, started to pull away, then realized that the last thing she wanted was to pull away from him, pull away from his fingers. She raised her face. “Please. Give me more.” He felt poleaxed. “Oh, yes. But there’s no need to rush. Feel what you’ve done to me. Put your hand over my heart, because I’m not about to let your beautiful bottom out of my hands.”

  “Your heart’s beating very fast,” she said. “As is yours.” His fingers went inward again, and one of them was eased inside her. “Oh, goodness,” she whispered. “I never imagined, oh, goodness.”

  She was very small and very tight around his finger. He kissed her, his eyes closed against the power of it, against a need that would surely consume him if he didn’t have her very soon. He felt her become moist as his fingers touched her, lightly stroked her. She was loosening, opening to him, wanting him. It was heady, it was almost too much. He had to pull away from her or spill his seed, and that wouldn’t be at all good for either of them.

  She blinked at him, pressing close, wanting him to touch her again, feel her, come inside her with his fingers. He touched his forehead to hers, his breathing so heavy he wondered what would happen if she was to suddenly touch him. “What do you want me to do?” “Stop squirming against me.” “Was I doing that? Yes, I suppose that I am. I don’t know what to do. Please.”

  “Even if the sainted departed André was a pig, surely you know what to do to please a man. I’m just a man, Evangeline. Nothing at all different about me.” He kissed her lightly, still fighting for control.

  “Well, if you’re certain that you’re no different, then of course I understand.” But he’d heard the discordant note in her voice and she saw that he had. She pulled his head down to hers and began kissing him with urgency and passion and not a single whit of skill.

  He thought, quite simply, that it would be all over for him. He jerked away from her, panting so hard, he wondered if he’d survive it. “No,” he said. “This is worse. Now I can see you instead of feel you against me. All right, enough of this or I’ll go quite mad.” But he couldn’t help himself. He was on her, kissing her until they were both trembling. His hands were frantic on her hips, caressing her until she threw back her head and keened with the power of it. Then, to his immense pleasure, she was pulling and jerking at his clothes. She was trying to kiss him and at the same time unbutton his waistcoat. Then she realized she couldn’t manage it. She howled a curse. He laughed, but it wasn’t the least bit funny, not when he knew he was hovering on the edge of sanity. He shoved her away and pulled off his clothes more quickly than he’d ever done in his life. He swept her up into his arms and nearly ran to the huge bed set high on its dais. He dropped her in the middle of the bed, managed to light a half dozen candles on the branch beside his bed, and stood, staring down at her.

  “I’ve never seen a woman I’ve wanted more than I want you,” he said, and the truth of his words filled him to his very soul. Then he stood over her. “Evangeline, what’s the matter? Why are you staring at me, your mouth open?”

  “You’re naked,” she said, never looking away from his groin. “You’re very naked.” She licked her lips, nearly sending his body into spasms. “Like you were coming out of the sea, but not really just like that.” He stood there, pulsing with life and urgency. “Now you’re so different from me I know this won’t work. It won’t. I take it all back. I don’t want a lover. I want to go to my own bed and pull my nightgown over my head.”

  “Oh, Lord,” he said, and began to laugh. He started to say something about the departed André’s male endowments, but he wanted to get between her legs, right now.

  “I’m not about to hurt you. I would hurt myself before I’d ever hurt you. Come now, love. No, don’t close your eyes. A man wants his lover to look at him, perhaps even admire him.” He leaned over and lightly laid his palm on her belly. He said nothing more, did nothing more, just stood there, his palm warm and large, just lying on her stomach. Then, very slowly, his fingers moved downward, and soon she was holding her breath, looking at his face, her eyes open very wide, knowing he was studying her, looking at her, looking at his fingers that were touching her. She opened her mouth, heaved upward against his fingers, and yelled. He lifted his fingers from her warm flesh, and she sucked in her breath. She looked utterly disappointed. Her breasts were heaving, and he didn’t know what to do first. He wanted everything at once.

  “What you did,” she whispered, her eyes on his face, “what you did. That is something I never imagined. Is that normally done? Would you do it again?”

  “Damnation,” he said, and came down beside her. He leaned his head to her breast and took her in his mouth. She was filled with passion, but oddly, she didn’t seem to kno
w what to do to heighten her pleasure, how to guide him to please her more. He suckled her breasts, and again he let his hand skim over her ribs to her belly. She was squirming against him, her breath coming in short gasps, and her fingers were squeezing his shoulders. “Please,” she said, and he said against her breast, “All right.” His fingers were over her, then one eased up inside her. She cried out even as her hips jerked upward.

  “Easy,” he said into her mouth. He would give her pleasure first. She was very close. “I want you to look at me now, Evangeline.”

  Her head was twisting back and forth on the pillow.

  “Look at me now.”

  She did. He looked at her when he found her with his fingers, when his fingers slicked over her soft woman’s flesh, and in but a moment of time, her eyes turned wild and vague, and she was breathing so hard she was nearly choking. And she never looked away from him.

  “Now come to me,” he said, and kissed her as his fingers caressed her and loved her until he felt a tightening in her, a tensing of her legs, felt the wonderful tremors that started deep inside her. He raised his head and watched her release wash over her and through her.

  She wondered if she was dying; then she didn’t care, just let herself be thrown from one height to another. She was crying and tossing, then shouting when her body seemed to lock in an arc of pleasure so intense it felled her. She went limp then, feeling small pulsing waves of pleasure feeding through her, and wondering when she could do this again. She looked up into his face, dark and harshly beautiful. She smiled up at him and said, her voice low and scratchy, “Thank you. I never imagined that anything could be quite so wonderful.” She closed her eyes a moment at the delicious warmth that was stealing through her, softening her, easing her mind, and she knew that she wanted more than anything to belong to him. But that couldn’t happen. No, all she could have was this one night with him. She felt tears trail down her cheeks; a sob burst out of her mouth. She reared up, burying her face against his chest.