The Deception (Baron 3)

“What is this?” the duke said, frowning from one to the other. Edgerton was still holding her hand. She looked odd, as if she were afraid to move, which was ridiculous. “You know her, John?”

Evangeline pulled her hand from John Edgerton’s grip, and her voice, when she finally got the words out, was smooth and calm. “Yes, I know him. It’s been a very long time. This is quite a surprise, Sir John. I hadn’t expected to see you, particularly this quickly.” They were nearly the same height. Her eyes met his, but she saw nothing in his eyes or in his expression except pleasure at seeing her. He was a master of lies, as well he should be, since his entire life was a lie and no one had appeared to have ever noticed. Well, what had she expected? To see the word evil written across his forehead?

“I hope all surprises aren’t bad, Evangeline,” Sir John said, only this time his eyes, warm and now caressing, strayed to her chest. The duke saw it. He also saw red. He drew back, surprised at himself. Good God, what was the matter with him? This woman was nothing to him, nothing at all, a relative who wasn’t really all that much of a relative at all. Ah, he was feeling protective since he’d recognized her as a relative, since she was now, after all, under his protection. Yes, that was it. It was in his seigneur’s blood to feel like he wanted to smash John Edgerton, who’d had the gall to stare at her breasts.

Sir John said easily, just a touch of humor in his voice, “Ah, I see your cousin hovering, Evangeline. He obviously believes I’m monopolizing you far too early in the evening. Yes, you must make your curtsy to Lady Pemberly. She’s a dragon, but her fire won’t burn you, just scorch a bit. You and I will speak at greater length after dinner. There is so much you and I have to discuss. So much time has past since we last saw each other, hmm?” He turned to the duke. “I haven’t seen Evangeline for nearly two years. I knew her parents.”

And Edgerton was seeing too much of her, the duke thought, wanting to strangle his friend, but knowing at the same time that it was absurd. He watched Evangeline turn to make her curtsy to his aunt Eudora. He heard her speaking, her voice too soft, indistinct for him to make out the words. What the devil was the matter with her? He looked back at John Edgerton, but he was now speaking to Drew Halsey, gesticulating with those long, thin hands of his.

“So you are Marissa’s first cousin,” Lady Pemberly said, looking her up and down. “There’s no remarkable resemblance. Your hair is a rather muddy blond whereas Marisa had golden hair. Marissa was too short and you’re too tall. There are other differences, naturally.”

“Yes, my lady. I’m a big girl, it’s been remarked upon before.”

“I did the remarking, Aunt Eudora,” the duke said, and she jumped, not expecting him to be so close. “I doubt not that you’ve remarked on too many things, my boy. Now, Madame, your English is more than passable. You speak nearly as well as a native. You are to be congratulated on your tutors. With more lessons, a lot of study, you just might become perfectly fluent.”

“My mother was English. Actually, I was raised in England, my lady. If you don’t mind, I would claim fluency.”

“I think she is scorched enough,” the duke said. “Come, Aunt Eudora, don’t try to run her off when she’s only just arrived. Edmund now believes the sun rises on her. Think of my boy’s happiness, if you please. Edmund now prefers her to either Rohan Carrington or Phillip Mercerault.”

“I had no idea he would shoot the peacock, Rex,” Evangeline said to Lady Pemberly, and the duke laughed, then told his great aunt all about the gift Evangeline had given to his small son. “Edmund also shot the rope tying his boat to the dock. As you can imagine, he didn’t do a great deal of damage.” To Evangeline’s surprise, Lady Pemberly’s painted face was in danger of cracking when she smiled widely, those witch green eyes of hers clearly willing to be amused now. “Well, my girl, if you bring a gun to a child, you must be more English than French. Gentlemen and their guns. One would think they sleep with them beneath their pillows. My father shot more tree stumps than my mother had bouts of the vapors. Yes, you did well. My boy here will teach his boy not to shoot anyone except highwaymen or perhaps the prime minister or the prince regent, both ineffectual boobs who undoubtedly deserve it.

“Now, Felicia, come and say pretty things to Madame. The good Lord knows your papa spent a goodly number of groats so that you’d learn how to be a proper lady. You’ve had more than enough time to practice your seduction skills on the duke. I saw that he wanted to laugh, but he’s fond of you and so he didn’t. It would seem to me that you enjoyed more success with Drew. He, at least, is still smiling. Come along before one of the gentlemen sends you back to the schoolroom or gives you a kiss behind the potted palm, which they would do only to encourage you in your efforts.”

Felicia batted her fair lashes up at Drew Halsey, then toward the duke. “Is it true, your grace? You haven’t fallen in love with me? You’ve just been putting up with me? Oh, goodness, I’ve tried and tried.” Felicia dipped a credible curtsy to Evangeline. “A pleasure, Madame. I hope you will forgive our intrusion, but Godmama insisted that we come to dinner and she insisted that three hours’ warning was certainly more than ample. The duke has a splendid cook, so she knew we wouldn’t starve. And as Lord Pettigrew and Sir John had just arrived to pay us a visit, she volunteered their escort for the evening. His grace, of course, is in an agony of delight at our presence. He’s assured us that he adores surprises.”

Lady Pemberly rolled her eyes. The duke said only, “Just seeing you, Felicia, makes me feel old.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Lord Pettigrew said, but the smile he sent Felicia’s way wasn’t at all that of a disinterested elder.

“Bah,” Felicia said. “Both you and the duke are only twenty-seven, an ancient age for a lady—something I’ve never understood—but for you, gentlemen both, you’re considered barely ripened, barely grown out of your greenness, barely ready to please a lady with your newly matured logic and affection and sincerity. At least that’s what my mama says.”

“Your poor mama could never string that many words together in her life, at least once you were born,” Lady Pemberly said.

“Old,” the duke said again. “Perhaps a cane is the next step in our decline, Drew. Sherry, John? Evangeline? Anyone?”

After the sherry was poured, Lord Pettigrew said in his deep voice, “John, you scoundrel, you gave no hint that you and Madame were already acquainted.”

“As Felicia said, the duke likes surprises,” said Lady Pemberly. “You said you knew her parents, John?”

“Yes, my lady. Her father was an excellent scholar and one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen in my life. Evangeline is the very image of him. I’m sorry, Evangeline. I heard of his death earlier this year.”

Evangeline said nothing, merely nodded toward him. Of course he would know everything to say, know how to keep all of his facts straight.

“When did you last see Evangeline?” the duke asked Edgerton.

“She was all of seventeen years old. And then she married and lost her husband. So much happening in such a short time. Life burdens us, doesn’t it?”

She said absolutely nothing at all. She didn’t want Edmund’s make-believe gun; she wanted one of the duke’s. She wanted it loaded, aimed at John Edgerton’s head.

John said, “I remember it wasn’t the happiest of times. Her mother had died the year before, all the ladies in the neighborhood were after her father, and Evangeline spent most of her time hiding out in the maple forest. I remember that I had to search you out several times when I visited. What did you do there?”

“Nothing much,” Evangeline said, really wanting to say that she’d been avoiding him.

“A maple forest sounds vastly romantic,” Felicia said, took a sip of her sherry, and looked as if she’d like to spit it up.

“Only you would think so,” the duke said.

Felicia said to Evangeline, “As you’ve possibly noticed, the duke enjoys looking at me, but he doesn’t like me to talk. It drives him to the brandy bottle, at least that’s what Godmama tells me.”