The Deception (Baron 3)

ome after me, a ruthless highwayman, and shoot me right off my horse. Oh, no, you didn’t use all your ammunition on the peacocks, did you, Edmund?”

He gave her a look too wise for his years. “You’re trying to make me forget things, make me think of stories instead of what’s really here now. Papa said—” “What is it your papa said, Edmund?” The duke stood in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He must have just stepped into the room. Hopefully, he’d been there only a moment.

Evangeline started to scramble to her feet, but the duke stayed both of them with a wave of his hand. “No, Evangeline, don’t move. You look very comfortable. Now, Edmund, what did I tell you?” As he spoke, he strode over to them and dropped to his knees.

Edmund rubbed a cannon between his hands. “I’m heating up the gunpowder,” he said at his father’s raised eyebrow, then added, “You said she was unhappy. You said the last thing she needed was for me to plague her, like all those locusts did to the Egyptians. I told Eve that Wellington would grind Napoleon’s bones for good. I wanted to make her smile. She did smile for just a little bit, Papa.”

The duke looked at her over his son’s head. “Did you succeed? Ask her, Edmund.”

Edmund aimed a general’s horse more to the left, then said, “I make you very happy, don’t I, Eve?”

“Happier than a cat who’s just lapped up a bowl of cream. Don’t you remember? Last night you told me more of your story and I laughed and laughed?”

“She did, Papa. I made my story funny, and she liked it very much. So did Grandmama. I thought she would fall over, she laughed so much. She told me I was the best grandson she’d ever had.”

“You’re her only grandson. She was indulging in irony.”

“Irony,” Edmund repeated. “I shall have to work irony into my story. Perhaps you’ll tell me exactly what it means when I’m ready to use it. Do you want to hear the story, Papa?”

“Yes, this evening I’ll tuck you in. You will tell me and make me laugh as well.”

“He is very clever, your grace. Now, Edmund, show your father what strategies you would use to defeat Napoleon.”

She eased away from Edmund’s battleground, as father and son realigned the soldiers’ positions and shifted the artillery about, all to the sound of Edmund’s excited chatter.

“Not a bad shot at all, Edmund. Yes, aim the cannon on the flank more toward the front line. Yes, like this. That’s just excellent. Now, fire.”

“I got you,” Edmund shrieked. “I hit you right in your underbelly.”

“Damn, you did. I’ll have to take care or you’ll wipe out my entire battalion. Where did you hear that word, underbelly?”

“Bunyon calls my tummy my underbelly. He said I had to be careful of my middle parts because they’re softer than any other part of me. Look, Papa, Eve’s laughing.”

“Yes, even her eyes are shining, just a bit. Now, how would you like to take your grandmama to the Pantheon Bazaar today?”

Edmund was nearly speechless with excitement. “I haven’t been there just yet. Oh, yes, Papa, yes.”

“Very well. Bunyon is outside with your coat and gloves. Your grandmama is doubtless awaiting you with ill-concealed joy.”

Edmund grabbed Evangeline about her neck, kissed her cheek, bowed low to his father, then bounded out of the nursery. She heard Bunyon’s voice in the corridor, but couldn’t make out his words. However, Edmund gave another shout. She said to the duke, who looked large and lazy and immensely beautiful sprawled out on the floor, toy soldiers and guns surrounding him, “Does her grace know of the treat you arranged for her?”

“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 pushing 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 sexual 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.”