Baron: The Deception Part 17

"You think I forced her into it because I wanted to have you to myself?" He rose, gave his hand to her, and pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him, impossible not to because, quite simply, he was there, and it gave her immense pleasure just to look at him. She swallowed, tried to take a step back, but he was holding her hands in his. "It's quite true that I wanted you here alone, very close to me, but to be honest, it was her idea. If I'd had it first, I would doubtless have used it ruthlessly to get to you."

He ran his large hands lightly up her arms, until his fingers circled her throat. His thumbs pushed up her chin. "I believe I must kiss you now or go quite mad," he said, leaned down, and very gently touched his mouth to hers. Her breath whooshed out in a soft sigh.

She wanted to pull away from him, truly she did, but she didn't have the strength to deny him or herself. She leaned into him, and felt him quicken. He pulled her tightly against him, bringing her to her toes so that she fit perfectly against him. She felt him against her belly, knew what it meant, this man's desire, and felt herself pus.h.i.+ng more against him because the intense pleasure it gave her nearly knocked her off her feet. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue lightly touching hers, not ravaging her. Careful, oh, yes, he was being careful not to frighten her.

Frighten her? Now, that was surely nonsense. There was no fear in her, not a bit. She wanted him naked, she wanted him flat on his back, and her on top of him. She wanted to kiss him until he was panting with the pleasure of it. She desperately wanted to touch him, caress him, know all of him, touch him and kiss him all the way to his big feet. But more than anything she wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him all of it, and- She managed to heave herself away from him. It was the hardest thing she'd ever done. He let her go. He was panting, his eyes so dark and filled with shadows that she couldn't bear to look at him because, she imagined, that was the way she was looking back at him. Filled with hunger, near desperation. She turned away, looking into the fireplace.

What to say to him? What to do? "I can't imagine any lady avoiding you, your grace."

He said easily, "I have a given name, you know. I would say that any lady who responds to me as you do deserves to call me by it. You may call me St. John if Richard displeases you. My father called me St. John when he wanted to hide me, which was very rare indeed.

"When you're not avoiding me, Evangeline, you try to distract me. You've an agile tongue. But as you just saw, it can't make me keep my distance. I want you. I want you more than I did even yesterday, even this morning. We must do something about this."

She closed her eyes against his words. He wanted her. Well, she wanted him, and that was a vast understatement. She more than wanted him, she-no, she couldn't think that. She had to be logical about this. The duke was a highly s.e.xual man, had probably enjoyed dozens of women, so naturally he would want her, a reasonably comely woman. She said, "It is you who have the agile tongue."

"It pleases me that you think so, particularly if you mean when my tongue is in your mouth."

She saw him naked, coming out of the sea. She was mad. She was beginning to understand l.u.s.t very well. It was a highly frustrating commodity. She wanted to scream. "Don't you have an engagement?" she said, trying to keep her voice cool and disinterested, a social voice that held no meaning. "Surely there must be a mistress or two hanging about in the wings waiting for you to come to them." "Perhaps," he said, and thought of Morgana. He was paying the rent on her lovely apartment through the end of the quarter. "It doesn't matter." He raised his hands and gently closed them about her throat, his fingers lightly caressing her pulse. She didn't move, just stared straight into the fire, but the heat she felt was from him, standing close behind her. His voice was a warm whisper against the back of her head. "What's wrong, Evangeline? Are you afraid of me for some reason? Afraid that I will seduce you and leave you?" His strong fingers continued to caress her throat. Slowly he turned her to face him. "Are you afraid of me?" "No," she said. "I'm afraid for you." A black brow shot upward. "What does that mean?" She shook her head. "Won't you tell me what you meant?" She shook her head again, remaining mute. She felt his mouth, feather-light, touch her lips, and instantly she wanted him, although she wasn't quite certain about everything that was involved. She did know that he would come inside her body, an odd thing, surely, but it had to be wonderful because he was. She wanted to pull him tightly against her this very instant; she wanted no s.p.a.ce at all between them. She wanted his heart to pound against hers. She wanted him to do anything he wanted to do, and she knew that anything he wanted to do surely would make her feel wonderful. He was so close now, and hard, and his scent, she loved his scent, the heat of his body, the gentleness of those long fingers. She closed her eyes, letting his mouth make her dizzy.

"Your saintly departed husband was an absolute clod," he said into her mouth.

She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly. "No, Andre was a wonderful man, I've told you that."

"I'm teaching you how to kiss me, Evangeline. If I didn't know better, I'd think I was the first man to touch you, to kiss you." "Andre," she said. "He was my husband." He kissed her again, this time his tongue going more deeply into her mouth, startling her, and she gasped, just a bit, just a light in-drawn breath, but he pulled back and looked down at her. "You are a mystery, Evangeline."

He didn't begin to realize what she was. Her mouth was open to tell him, despite-oh no, Edgerton would have Edmund killed. No, she couldn't bear that.

"Your grace, forgive the intrusion, but your tailor is here."

It was Grayson, standing outside in the corridor, speaking through the closed door.

The duke touched his forehead to hers, drew a slow breath, and dropped his hands. He didn't raise his head as he called out, "Thank you, Grayson. Tell the fellow I'll be with him shortly."

He straightened finally. He raised his hands and lightly patted her hair here and there, then tugged her gown, straightening it. "There, now, no one would guess that you were quite ready to fall to the carpet and let me have my way with you." He turned, saying over his shoulder, "We must decide what to do, Evangeline. I hope that your dear departed Andre still isn't holding your heart and your affections."

He gave her no chance to answer him. He was gone, closing the nursery door behind him.

Chapter 29.

Marianne Clothilde said to her son, "Edmund wanted examples of irony, dearest. 'Irony', I repeated after him, one of my eyebrows at half-mast. Do you know I couldn't think of a single example to give him? He said he needed irony for his story, for you."

"This entire situation is a fine example of irony," the duke said, wondering where the devil his life was headed.

"Perhaps this is an interesting thing for you to say. I suppose you realize that Edmund is going very well with Evangeline. She loves him dearly, and he appears to adore her. Yes, it is a fine arrangement. It's very odd, though, dearest," she added after taking a sip of her tea, "but she outright refused to attend Sanderson's masquerade ball this evening, because she claimed she didn't own an appropriate costume. When I offered to procure her a mask and domino, she refused to hear of it. Naturally, it wasn't my intention to make her feel like a poor relation. Her pride in this instance is misplaced. Will you speak to her? She's so quiet, scarcely ever leaves the house, and she's lost flesh. I don't know what's wrong, my dear, but you must fix it. I know she'd enjoy a ball, anyone would. You'll see to it, won't you? Even Grayson has ruminated about it, and that is unusual. He's fond of her as well."

The duke frowned at the glowing embers in the fireplace. She'd kept her distance since he'd very nearly taken her in his son's nursery the day before. He wondered what would have happened if Grayson hadn't arrived announcing his tailor. He knew very well what would have happened, and nearly groaned with the thought of coming into her.

She wanted him very much. It seemed he had only to touch her, and she very nearly hurled herself at him. He loved it and knew very well at the same time that he shouldn't touch her, ever. But it seemed he simply couldn't keep his hands to himself when he was alone with her. He'd told her they had to resolve this, and he'd meant it. He just wasn't sure what to do, since he simply didn't understand her. He said more to the softly hissing fire than to anyone else, "I'm nearly ready to be shown the door into Bedlam." "No," Marianne Clothilde said very quietly. "I've never seen you in this condition before, dearest, but it's quite obvious, at least to your mother who loves you and knows you really quite well."

He shot her a hara.s.sed look. "Spare me your motherly advice or your d.a.m.ned motherly observations."

"Very well. I shall simply sit back and watch you flounder, a very new experience for you."

"I've experienced everything a man possibly can," the duke said and kicked one of the glowing embers with the toe of his boot.

"Actually, you truly have as of now, but you don't know it as yet, you just think you do." "Very well, you will have your way, you will think your motherly thoughts, you will make no sense at all. I will speak to Evangeline. I want her to go to that d.a.m.ned ball. I will tell her she is to come with us. I will tell her to accept a domino and a mask from you. She won't refuse."

Marianne Clothilde looked down at her white hands, the long, slender fingers, just like her son's. "You know, you might consider using just a bit of guile, just a hint of deception, instead of this rather forceful approach that seems to come so naturally to you when it involves Evangeline."

The duke frowned at her ferociously. "She will do what I tell her to do. If she doesn't, then I'll-"

"As I was saying, perhaps in this particular instance your lord-of-the-manor att.i.tude wouldn't work to your best advantage."

He banged his fist down on the mantel and promptly winced at the pain he'd brought himself. "You might consider a bit of guile yourself, Madame. Talk about holding the reins too tightly, you threaten to choke me. Your own subtlety is less than stunning." Marianne Clothilde said, her voice filled with laughter that made the duke want to fling one of her prized chairs out the bow windows, namely, the one she was currently sitting on, "Yes, dearest, I won't say anything more. Never would I want you to consider me an interfering mama."

"Ha," the duke said. "I'll send Edmund to you, since he presently is doubtless with her, and I'll need to handle this without my son present." With that announcement he strode out of the drawing room.

As the duke expected, he found Evangeline with Edmund in the nursery. They were both seated cross-legged in front of the fireplace, their heads together, poring over drawings of Paris. "And that, Edmund," she was saying, "is the Bastille. When the French people had no more food to eat, when they saw there was no hope at all, they stormed the Bastille, this giant, grim prison, and they tore it down, stone by stone. And that is what started the French revolution in 1789."

Edmund was looking very thoughtful. Evangeline said, "Do you think that perhaps calls for a special story?"

"Yes," Edmund said. "Perhaps there could be a little girl locked up in this Bastille because she refused to eat her dinner horribly made for her by her stepmother, and a little boy comes to rescue her."

The duke cleared his throat. "And who would this little boy be, Edmund?" "Me, Papa, me."

"I thought as much. I trust you would then have her eating only excellent meals."

"Yes. I'd ask Mrs. Dent to make her food. Then she wouldn't have to go back to the Bastille. She is a very sweet little girl, and I don't want any harm to come to her."

The duke wanted to grab up his son and squeeze him until he squeaked. It sometimes astonished him that this splendid child had come from his loins. He was a lucky man to be blessed with such a child. He felt a sudden tightening in his throat. He could clearly hear his father telling him that there was no better a son than he was. He closed his eyes a moment. He cleared his throat again. "Excuse me, Evangeline, but Edmund's grandmama is expecting him downstairs. Instead of a bad stepmother making him vile biscuits, I believe Cook's made him lemon tarts, his favorite."

"Really sour lemon tarts, Papa, that make your mouth all curled up?" "Those are the ones," the duke said. "May I, Eve?"

"Since you've contrived to look like a starving child, I have no choice but to send you on your way. Perhaps this evening you can tell me more about the little girl the boy rescues from the Bastille."

"I will think about that," Edmund said, gave her a kiss as natural as could be, and ran out of the nursery.

She smiled up at the duke. "It's late. I let the time get away from me. Thank you for rescuing him."

"Actually, I'm quite pleased and relieved that you didn't bound after him."

"I'm not particularly fond of lemon tarts." "No, you would have bounded with him to avoid being alone with his papa."

That chin of hers went up. "I told you I wasn't afraid of you."

"No, you're afraid of yourself, and you're afraid for me, which makes no sense at all, and you're afraid of what you want to do when I'm close to you."

That was more than true enough, she thought, and said, a bucketful of scorn in her voice, "Your conceit is showing, your grace."

"Don't look so wary. I'm keeping my distance. I'm going to be strong about this. It would be the height of foolishness for me to touch you as I did yesterday. This time we just might end up naked in front of the fire. Any of a good dozen people could walk in on us." Her eyes dilated. She looked both wary and excited. It was an aphrodisiac, the way she was looking at him, heady and nearly impossible to resist. He took two steps back from her. Then he saw the dark smudges beneath her eyes. She had lost flesh, as his mother had said. She looked thin, tightly drawn. His worry for her made his voice unnaturally harsh. "I've come to settle things, Evangeline."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, but she did and she had no idea what she would say. Did he want her to become his mistress? After all, she'd been married before and- "How long have you been Edmund's governess?"

Her head snapped back on her neck, she was so surprised. "Ah, give me a moment, your grace." She blinked down at her fingernails. She had to remember that he was a man of vast charm and equally vast experience. He wanted her, but it didn't mean much more than that to him. She sighed, then forced a smile. That's not what I am. I'm much more a nanny than governess. That makes me sound very well educated. Perhaps I'm more a companion to Edmund, one who knows a bit about this and that, but little else. In short, a nanny, simply a nanny."

"You're making me angry, Evangeline. You will stop belittling yourself. Now, I see that you will continue to quibble. In any case, according to my calculations, you've been responsible for Edmund nearly two months now. You haven't yet been paid for your services."

Her services? "I don't understand, your grace. Not only have you given me all of Marissa's gowns, you've also treated me like an honored guest. It's far more than I deserve."

He ignored her. "I wish to recompense you for all your labors." He pulled a note from his waistcoat pocket. "I hope you will consider fifty pounds a fair amount for your services to date."

Evangeline rose slowly to her feet, so stunned by what he'd said to think of a single word to say back to him. Pay her for her services? She said, her voice raw and deep, "How could you offer to pay me as you would one of your servants? d.a.m.n you, I don't want any of your money."

His fingers were itching to close around her white throat, and so for the next few moments he made a project of shaking out the ruffles over his wrists. She was flushed scarlet to her hairline. Why? It made no sense to him. "Of course you aren't one of my d.a.m.ned servants." He looked at her white throat, then lower to her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and said coolly, "The fifty pounds, as I have told you, is for your services to date, for your instruction and companions.h.i.+p to my son. You will accept it, graciously, if possible, in the spirit in which it's offered."

She gazed at him bleakly, beyond anger at him. He didn't even realize what he was doing to her. She said, "I don't want your money." She rose slowly to her feet, the mantel at her back. "Why are you doing this? To make me come to understand what it is that you want of me? Dammit, is that what you pay your b.l.o.o.d.y mistresses?"

She surely sent his boat right over the waterfall with that insult. That's what she thought of him? He was just a womanizer, all he wanted was her body? Yes, he wanted her, particularly her white throat between his hands. "Hardly, Madame. I pay my mistresses for their beauty, charm, and skill. In my company you have shown only the first of my three requirements, and perhaps just a dollop of the second. Let me make myself even clearer, Madame, for I can see that you're itching to yell at me for some further supposed slight. You will take the fifty pounds, or I swear to you, Evangeline, I will bare your bottom and thrash you." She took a step toward him, waving her fist at him. "So I have beauty and just a bit of charm, do I? I notice you don't require a brain in your mistresses. Isn't that just like a man. Your mistresses swoon and coo over you, and you're pleased well enough, is that right?"

He watched her, fascinated. "Perhaps," he said. "There's something else, though. You forgot any mention of skill. That comes after the swooning and the cooing. Even with your marriage to the divine departed Andre, you didn't seem to glean a great deal of anything from that experience. Andre was a dolt, Madame, and you were obviously just too stupid to realize it. In short, I'm dealing with a blockhead."

She was looking around wildly for anything to throw at him. The book of engravings. She bent down, grabbed up the book, and hurled it at him. He caught it handily. "This belonged to my grandmother. I would ask that you take care with my belongings."

"I'm not one of your servants. You aren't my lord and master. You can't give me orders. I'm sorry about your grandmother's book. I shan't do that again."

"I can try to give you orders, not that it appears to gain me much at all."

"You make me feel like I'm banging my head against the wall. Listen to me, your grace. You will take your insults and your precious money, and go to the devil."

He was on her in an instant, hauling her up to an inch from his face. "Now you will shut your d.a.m.ned mouth and listen to me, Madame. You're behaving like a rag-mannered witch. You must always think the worst of anything I have to say to you. If I sometimes speak to you in an overbearing way, it's doubtless because you've dug in your heels and refuse to heed me, and thus you deserve it. If this is a question of pride, then your intelligence is very much in question."

She realized he hadn't meant any insult. He believed her too proud. He simply didn't understand. She surprised him to his toes by burrowing her face into his shoulder, saying, her voice all m.u.f.fled in the wool, "I'm sorry. Say what you will say and I won't try to hit you again."

He was caressing her back, holding her close, kissing her hair. "I want you to have your own money, don't you see that? I don't want you to feel you can't do something that would be pleasant because your pockets are empty. It's nothing more than that. I just want you to be happy." He felt her shoulder muscles, taut and knotted beneath his hands. He said quietly between kisses, "There's something else that bothers you, isn't there? It's just not that you feel wary of me, of yourself. What's wrong? Let me help you. I would, you know." He waited, knowing he was right, waiting for her to speak to him. Then, after several moments, he knew she wouldn't say anything to him. It hurt, surprising how it hurt so badly. "It concerns your being afraid for me, isn't it? What does that mean?" She said, "There's nothing that troubles me, your grace. I once told you that I didn't like London. It seems that I'm not getting along too well here. That's all, nothing more."

"You may leave London whenever it pleases you to do so. You have but to tell me the date you wish to return to Chesleigh."

She was a fool, a thousand times a fool, and she knew he saw the utter dismay on her face. She'd had no further instructions from John Edgerton, nothing to tell her when she could leave. She had to see him, she had to know. She shook her head and said in a voice that sounded like it was fading into nothingness, "Yes, I'll tell you, your grace."

"I wish you would trust me," he said. She remained silent. "Very well, perhaps soon you will change your mind. Now, I would like you to attend the Sandersons' masquerade ball with me this evening."

"But I don't have-" She started shaking her head; there was even a smile on her face. "I see now. The blessed fifty pounds. Your mother. My pride." She sighed. "You tried nicely to trick me, your grace. Actually, if I hadn't wanted to strangle you, your deception would have worked marvelously well. Now I have money of my own. I want no more from you. Do you agree to that?"

"You forced me to go to great lengths. I believe I should like to see you in a crimson domino and a matching crimson mask. What do you think?"

"Crimson will look wicked. I should like it very much."

"So shall I."

Chapter 30.

"A masquerade ball, unfortunately, gives license to certain behavior that isn't always pleasing or circ.u.mspect. In short, it makes both men and women forget that they have a well-bred bone in their bodies and behave as if it were their last night on earth. Now, what you will do is remain close to either me or my mother."

The carriage rocked gently back and forth on the cobbled streets. The moon shone brightly overhead, sending enough light into the carriage windows for its three occupants to see each other quite clearly enough.

Marianne Clothilde wished there was no moon. She was very close to laughter at her son's unprecedented sermon. She merely turned her head more to the side and waited for Evangeline's answer, which was quick to come.

"I believe, your grace, that any such harangue from you on how I should conduct myself stretches credulity. I'm not a young girl. I'm young, that's true, but I've been married. I know what to do and what not to do. I'm a grown woman, widow of the saintly departed Andre. I have a brain and breeding, breeding down into my bones. Now, leave me alone. Apply all that sanctimonious advice to yourself."

A snicker escaped Marianne Clothilde. Neither of them noticed, thank heaven.

"My conduct isn't at issue here," the duke said, his ire rising predictably. "You've never been to London. This is my jungle. I am the king here. I understand all the rules, I know all the other animals' killing habits and eating habits. You don't understand anything at all. You will do as I bid you. I don't want any of our friends to remark upon you with disfavor. You will behave as is becoming, and that means that you will stick close as a tick to me. You won't leave my side. I will protect you, I will see that you don't do anything stupid. I will prevent you from being placed in any situation that you wouldn't understand. Such a situation might include an overeager young man, or an older man, or any age a man might attain, a possibly drunken man of any age at all, who would want to fondle you or even try to do more."

"I should slap this overeager young man or man of any age, your grace, if he tried such a thing. Or would that embarra.s.s you? Have you ever been an overeager young man, your grace?"

"No. I was born with finesse and grace. I was born with breeding already knit into my bones. I've never fondled a woman who didn't want me to fondle her." He looked at her, and she drew back, flus.h.i.+ng, caught in her own tangle.

"All right," she said, and turned her head to look out the window. "I will act a shy virgin."

"You will perhaps try," he said, then closed his own mouth. A shy virgin. Good G.o.d, that sounded close to horrifying.

He thought he heard a noise from his mother and said, "Are you all right?"

Marianne Clothilde cleared her throat and said, "Naturally, dearest, I'm very happy that we are nearly to Sanderson House. This has been quite one of the longest rides of my life. In truth, Evangeline, my son has experience in all manner of things. He surely meant his advice to be helpful to you, not draw your fire."

"If you mean by that, your grace, that the duke is experienced in every wickedness known in this jungle of London, then I can see your point. Oh, dear, forgive me. I shouldn't have said that. It's just that he makes me want to throw him out the carriage window."

"I wouldn't fit," the duke said. "You wouldn't either, given your, er, well, you wouldn't."

"I know. His father made me want to hurl him about as well. Such a lovely man he was." She sighed and closed her eyes.

"This is the longest ride of my life," the duke said. The remainder of the trip was horse-hoof clopping and no conversation. When the carriage finally turned onto the long gravel drive that led to Sanderson House, Marianne Clothilde said brightly, "Here we all are. Ready to enjoy ourselves. You children will enjoy yourselves won't you, and not argue any more? Now that you've relieved yourselves of all your mutual bile. You won't seek to replenish it?"