The Deception (Baron 3)

“Which one would that be?”

“I could return to Chesleigh whenever I wished to.”

“Yes,” he said.

“I want to return to Chesleigh tomorrow.” He was silent overlong. Finally he said, “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” “I want to go back to Chesleigh.” “Why?” he said, his voice very low, very gentle. “Tell me why you want to leave.”

He blinked in surprise when she said suddenly, “Now that Napoleon is back in power, what will happen?”

He shook his head. “Napoleon is a man who must rule, not just one city or one country. He must have everything. He will never stop, never. There will be war, nothing else will stop him. Didn’t you know? Wellington is now with the Prince of Orange in Brussels. Perhaps a month from now? Two months? It will be bloody, but you know, I’m not a doomsayer like many of our countrymen. The fact is that Napoleon decimated his army on his ill-advised invasion of Russia some two years ago. He has inexperienced boys now swelling his ranks. Wellington will win, he must.” “I know he will as well. Thank you,” she said, not looking at him. “I will leave in the morning, Edmund with me, if that pleases you. There is no need for you to escort us back to Chesleigh.”

“Don’t be a twit. You’re under my protection. Naturally, I’ll take you and my son back to Chesleigh.”

She looked as though she’d argue, then shook her head. “Thank you,” she said again, turned on her heel, and went into her bedchamber. She closed the door quietly behind her.

He stood there, staring at that damned door. She was on the other side. All he had to do was open that door and go to her. He knew if he did, he would make love to her, probably make love with her until they were both unconscious. His hand was on the doorknob. Then he drew it back.

He would see her in the morning. He planned to see her every day for the rest of their lives. But first, he knew, he had to find out what was holding her back from him. What was wrong? He shrugged. He would find out everything he wanted to know about her. The problem was probably something niggling and insignificant, and he would fix it. Even if it was something more than insignificant, he would fix it. Wasn’t his son always telling him that he was the strongest papa in the world, and the smartest?

He was whistling at he walked to his bedchamber.

“You don’t have to return with us, your grace. Surely there are so many more interesting things for you to do here.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “No, not this time. I’ve decided you need my guilding hand, Evangeline. I’ve decided that whenever I let you out of my sight, you flounder, nearly get yourself seduced, and then when I come to save you, you don’t want to let me go.”

She hadn’t slept well, had dreamed of Edgerton slipping into Edmund’s bedchamber, a length of rope in his hands, or a stiletto, or just his hands, his fingers, that could squeeze the life out of a child. She wanted only to leave London.

“I won’t rise to your bait,” she said. He let her be. She didn’t look at all well.

Marianne Clothilde said as she held Edmund against her side, “My son will take care of you two, Evangeline. Leave everything to him. You look tired, my dear. Just beg Edmund to let you sleep. Perhaps he’ll be good enough to allow it.”

“If she promises to make the weather warm again, Grandmama, then I’ll let her nap with me.”

“You are a sainted child,” Marianne Clothilde said, kissing her grandson. “I imagine Evangeline will be able to deal with something as easy as England’s weather.”

“That’s what I thought,” Edmund said. Marianne Clothilde kissed him again. “Thank you for your kindness, your grace,” Evangeline said. “I hope I will see you again.”

“Oh, you shall. I fancy you and I will be seeing quite a lot of each other in the future. Now, dearest, may I speak to you for a few moments?”

When Evangeline had taken Edmund from the drawing room, Marianne Clothilde said, “I wish you luck. There is something wrong here. Leaving with no warning, it makes no sense. I haven’t a clue to what it may be. Do you?”

“Not as yet. If there is something bothering her, I shall wring it out of her.”

“I’m glad that Edmund is so very fond of her. I don’t suppose you’d ever use your son as a lever, would you?”

Her handsome, very confident, sometimes arrogant son raised an eyebrow and said, “Damnation, Mother, do you think I will have to stoop to such a level as that?”

“It’s possible. Evangeline is a strong-willed young woman.”

He started to say that she would do what he told her to when he realized that if he said those words, his fond mother would likely laugh at him. Actually, he’d probably laugh at himself. “I’d even use Bunyon if it would gain me,” he said. Marianne Clothilde said as she turned to look up at the portrait of the late duke, “It’s a shame that she was just a child when your father wanted you to marry. I fancy that things would have turned quite differently had she been Marissa’s age.”

“Father liked to tell me that if I always looked to the future and didn’t whine about the past, only corrected my past mistakes, then all would work out and I would be a better man.” The duke swept up his mother in his arms and hugged her tightly. “I miss Father as do you. Do you know that he was right? Do you know I fancy that a widower and a widow are well matched?”

“I believe,” Marianne Clothilde said, “that you and your father are two of the best men who have ever graced the earth. I loved him with all my heart. I don’t expect Evangeline to feel any less about you.”

Chapter 32

The duke’s face was perfectly straight, his voice perfectly even as he said, “… And then Bunyon swore to my father that the bully did indeed fall off the bridge. He also swore that I’d been standing at least ten feet away, that I couldn’t have been responsible. To which my father said, ‘I already know that my son’s a devil, Bunyon. That he’s also a magician comes as no surprise.’”