The Deception (Baron 3)

“I won’t tell anyone anything. Except for the duke. I tell his grace everything. He’s my proud boy, my beautiful boy.”

“He is much more than that. He is utterly without inhibition. He is outrageous. He’s also very amusing.” She dashed her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t expect him to be anything like the way he is.”

Mrs. Needle cocked her head, her eyes intent on Evangeline’s face. “His grace has tempered his wild ways, moderated his appetites. He’s become a good man. He awaits the mate of his heart to become happy as his father was.” “You speak of love as though it was fate.” “For some it is.”

“I don’t believe there is a single special person on this earth made just for the duke, made just for me. The chances are too great of that female or that male ever coming anywhere near the duke or me.”

“Aye, ye’d think that. It only makes sense. The world is a grand place, more people than one can imagine.” The old woman smiled at her and nodded. Her eyelids drooped. Evangeline just stood there, staring at the old woman, who looked to be on the verge of falling asleep under her nose.

“I will leave you, Mrs. Needle. Don’t get up. Thank you for the tea.”

“Think about what I’ve told ye. Come back.”

“I’ll come back.”

“I’d like to hear tales of this husband ye said ye had. Nay, don’t tell me tales now.” Mrs. Needle’s eyes were very open now, sharp, filled with knowledge. “Ye know, little lassie, loyalties are sometimes dreadful burdens. They tear and rend us, even blind us if we let them.”

“That’s true, but it hasn’t anything to do with me. Good-bye, Mrs. Needle.”

As she let herself out of the North Tower room, she heard the old woman’s soft snoring. Was she so very obvious that one could just look at her and tell that all was not well? No, surely not. The old woman was a witch, although Evangeline had never before believed in witches.

Dorrie arranged Evangeline’s hair in two thick braids, plaiting them together atop her head. She pulled free loose tendrils around her face, several falling down her neck. It was an attractive style on her. She looked at herself in the long mirror, aware that Dorrie was standing behind her, awaiting her reaction. She smiled at her image. The yellow silk gown, highwaisted and cut low over her breasts, fell in soft folds to the floor. Dorrie had removed the adorning flounce, indeed made the gown over, and it now fit her as if it had been made for her.

Both of them knew it was a success. And she needed a success. Mrs. Raleigh had told her just an hour before that the duke was entertaining, and he desired her presence. Evidently, he’d already sent word to Dorrie since the beautiful gown had been ready and waiting for her.

She drew up short as Bassick moved to open the door to the vast salon. The sound of a girl’s sparkling laugh reached her ears nearly at the same moment as she saw the elegant young lady, laughing still, her white hand on the duke’s black sleeve. She saw a much older lady, a huge diamond tiara balancing precariously on her iron gray hair, rouge spotting her cheeks red, seated near the fireplace, a gentleman standing on each side of her.

“Madame de la Valette,” Bassick said in his deep voice.

Everyone in the room turned toward her. What the devil had she gotten herself into now? Who were these people? All she’d wanted was to be left alone so she could betray the duke and keep her father safe. She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them wide, smiled, and walked into the drawing room.

The young lady, whose hand was still resting possessively on the duke’s arm, looked up and smiled at her. She was a blonde, so fair her hair looked nearly silver in the candlelight. Her eyes were a pale blue, laughing eyes, and Evangeline imagined that a smile was her constant companion.

“Do come in, Madame,” the duke said easily, walking toward her. His dark eyes started on her hair, and she saw him nod in approval. She wanted to tell him that she’d even pinched her cheeks to bring color to her face, something she’d never done before in her life, and didn’t understand why she’d done it now. He should look at her face, yes, and nod in approval. No, he was looking intently at her breasts, she knew it, and he knew that she knew it. He gave her a wicked grin as he took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and lightly kissed her wrist. “You look beautiful, but of course, you know it.”

“Stop looking at my bosom. I have other parts that are just as nice.”

“I’m not at all certain that you meant to say that. What parts are just as nice? Are these parts that would enchant me further south? Or perhaps these parts are tucked behind your ears? Later, you will tell me all about these parts. Perhaps I will concur with you, perhaps not. As for your breasts, it gives me great pleasure. Actually, they give me great pleasure. I wish my grammar to be correct, particularly in a situation as important as this one.

“Ah, Dorrie did a fine job on this gown. Now, before you forbid me to do other equally innocent things, let me introduce you to my great aunt, Lady Eudora Pemberly, and her goddaughter, Miss Felicia Storleigh. The gentleman with the wild-tossed hair who looks like he’s just come in from a high wind, although his aim is to look dashing and romantic, is Lord Pettigrew, Drew Halsey by name. And this is Sir John Edgerton, a dapper gentleman who fancies himself as great an arbitrator of fashion as the departed Brummel. Both gentlemen just arrived from London not above an hour ago. Ladies, gentleman, my cousin, Madame Evangeline de la Valette, recently arrived from Paris.”

Evangeline nodded politely to everyone, but it was diffic

ult. She couldn’t believe he was here. It was too soon, much too soon. Her heart began to pound, loud slow deep strokes. She felt faintly ill. She stared, frozen in place, at John Edgerton.

Chapter 13

He looked just the same. Perhaps there was a dash more of gray threaded in the light brown hair at his temples. Naturally, it hadn’t been all that long since she’d seen him last. His face was lean, an aesthete’s face, her father had once said, the face of a man with too much on his mind and not enough time. And now he was here.

Because she was.

She’d hoped she would have more time. She felt fear flood her, and for a moment she could think of nothing to say. No, she wished she had a gun. She’d shoot the bastard. The damnable, traitorous bastard.

She’d known he would contact her, oh yes, she’d known, but there’d been no time to prepare herself. She’d been a fool. She’d spent just a few hours with the duke, and she’d forgotten for minutes at a time why she was really here. Now everything was real again, far too real, and she hated it and she hated herself.

“You don’t need to introduce me to Evangeline,” John Edgerton said in his easy, deep voice, stepping toward her. “I have known Madame de la Valette since she was a little girl with stubby braids, dirt on her nose, and scuffed boots.”

He bowed deeply, took her stiff hand in his, and lightly kissed her palm. His lips were dry and cold. But his eyes, when he looked at her, were strangely soft and warm, as if none of this were real, as if he’d been only a man who’d liked the girl, remembered her fondly, as would a kind uncle, nothing more. He said, “It’s a pleasure to see old friends, don’t you agree, Evangeline? I hope you are well. May I say that you are looking beautiful? You’re the image of your dear father, except you have your mother’s eyes.”