The Deception (Baron 3)

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.”