Carnal Deceptions (7 page)

“My sweet, innocent Hortensia…” His black brows lowered. “It seems I misjudged you. You are no different than the very expensive females I just dismissed.”

She felt heat flood her face. Why did he have to say
my
? The word meant nothing to him, certainly. But to her it had a possessive, heart-clutching sound. The fanciful notion of belonging to him had hidden in her heart from the moment she’d met him and had recently swelled to unmanageable proportions. And now it was clear her bold admissions had lost her all of Lord Marcliffe’s regard.

She took a few steadying breaths before returning to the parlor. Lady Stadwell, seemingly unaware that any time had elapsed, took up her conversation where she’d left off. Tess registered the name Sloan, but, still reeling from Lord Marcliffe’s fury, she only half-listened to the now-familiar refrain of betrayal and death. She peered at her image in the mirror. At this moment, she felt all the ugliness was inside her. Through the fog of despair, she heard Lady Stadwell speak her name.

“Pardon?”

“You needn’t fret so about your appearance. Even Marcliffe seems quite fond of you as you are.”

Impossible
, Tess thought, as she studied her reflection. She furrowed her beetle brows. Lord Marcliffe, fond of her in this trollish incarnation? Absurd. Clearly, the woman was more foxed than she appeared.

Tess peeled Lady Stadwell’s fingers from the tumbler of cognac. “Lady Stadwell, I think you’ve been dreaming. Perhaps a warm dinner and early bedtime will help.”

Lord Marcliffe did not come to the dining room for the evening meal. Perhaps he’d followed one of the women home. Or perhaps he couldn’t stomach a meal with the pathetic Miss Calloway.

By the time the dishes were cleared it was apparent that her dinner companion needed sleep. The food had not negated the effects of the cognac. Bearing most of Lady Stadwell’s weight, Tess navigated the stairs. With some effort, she managed the bedchamber door. Dressing Lady Stadwell in nightclothes proved an even more difficult task.

Once in bed, Lady Stadwell nestled her head contentedly in the mountain of soft pillows. “My eyes are too tired. Could you read to me?” Lady Stadwell handed Tess a book from the bed stand.

Not surprisingly, Lady Stadwell drifted off to sleep after one chapter. Tess had read the romantic novel as if she’d been reading a monotonous sermon. She set the book aside. The stress of the day had faded from Lady Stadwell’s face. Tess wished she could find that same peace. But even her nights were restless.

The icy water weighing down her skirts and her father’s lifeless stare still haunted her dreams.

*

Tallon could not remember the last time he had ridden so hard. Spurring his horse into a frenzy, he jumped every obstacle they came to in the stark moonlit night. His horse was sleek with sweat, as was he. Yet the air was so cold, his breath was visible.

Frustrated, he slowed the horse to a trot. Even with the insane ride he’d taken, he could not shake Hortensia from his thoughts. He had no idea when or how his possessive feelings for her had begun, but the thought of her with Sloan enraged him.

What was it about this strange and plain little creature that had him in such a lather? His lithe, blonde mistress waited to service his every need, yet he hadn’t paid a visit to her since meeting Hortensia. This morning while poring over paperwork his mind had wandered. He’d dreamed of kneeling between Hortensia’s thighs and tasting every intimate inch of her. When she flashed that rare but intriguing smile, it took him hours to stop thinking about her lips. And now what was really driving him mad was her obvious obsession with Sloan.

After stabling his horse, Tallon stopped at the water pump. He stuck his head under the icy water, but it did nothing to chill his emotions. He would find out her motives. And he would find out tonight, or he would never sleep.

The door to his aunt’s room was ajar. He glanced in and watched in silence as Hortensia, with loving care, tucked another blanket around his aunt. She cupped her hand around the flickering flame of her candle. The dim light illuminated the sadness in her face. She slipped out of the room and softly shut the door behind her. She obviously did not notice him standing in the dark hallway. A little cry escaped her when she stepped on his toes.

He gripped her arms, jostling the candlestick she held. Hot wax dripped onto his shirtsleeve. “Who’s Sloan to you?”

She stared up at him. Rivulets of water fell from his drenched hair, soaking his linen shirt and her dress, as well. “Do not dare look at me with those lost kitten eyes. I will know why you seek to prostitute yourself to Sloan.”

“I hate you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. Her trembling caused the candle flame to waver.

He could not believe what a profound effect her declaration had on him. He swallowed hard. “Fine, we’ve established how you feel about me, but it does not explain your fascination with that bastard.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving a strange, milky trail as they went. “Fascination? I abhor the man. He took everything from me. He is the reason I have turned myself into this servile creature who must cower at the very voice of her master.”

“I have yet to see you cower,” he said with a grin as he wiped a tear away with his thumb.

“Perhaps, that is a bit of an exaggeration,” she said, and without any warning she smiled.

“A bit,” he agreed. “Can I assume your father invested in Sloan’s land scheme as did Lord Stadwell? Was Beadle the intermediary?”

“Yes and yes. But Beadle did help me after my father died. He saw to it that he was buried—” She clamped her lips together.

With the heel of her free hand she pushed hard at his chest. When she didn’t manage to budge him, she shoved with more force. He gripped the sides of her waist and lowered his face. Her sweet breath whispered across his mouth.

“Enough.” He gazed at where his fingers held her. Intrigued, he used both hands to circle her waist. “That’s the tiniest waist I’ve ever had my hands around. Why do you wear these oversized frocks?”

“Because I am modest, Lord Marcliffe.”

“How amusing. A modest whore.” Still perplexed, he peered down again at his hands bracketing her waist. He rubbed his thumbs in the hollow of her belly. “You are like a mirage. There is something there, and then it is gone. When I think of you I can’t quite picture you in my mind.” He closed his eyes. “No, I cannot describe you. Why is that, do you think?” He opened his eyes. “And there you are, sweetly familiar.”

His head dipped nearer, his lips nearly grazing her mouth. She clutched at his shirt, clearly not realizing the effect she was having on him. Her innocence startled him. She was completely unaware of how badly he wanted to kiss her. The obstacle of the candle infuriated him and he blew it out. The darkness enveloped them.

“I’m desperate to be a part of your plan. I should be allowed the satisfaction of seeing Sloan pay.”

He released his hold on her. “I cannot allow it. I will handle everything.” He left Hortensia and her pouty but incredibly appealing mouth alone in the dark.

Tess set up the cribbage board and pegs. She hoped a game of cards would offer a diversion. Dinner had been uncomfortably long and Tess had barely managed to eat a forkful. Lord Marcliffe had sat at the end of the table in sullen silence. Tess was certain she was the source of his grim mood.

A sharp rapping at the door sent the mastiffs skidding across the parlor floor. Their barking soon became grating.

“Excuse me,” Tess said to Lady Stadwell as she pushed away from the card table.

Irritated, she went to see if someone was getting the door.

Cyrus stood in the open doorway, blocking her view of the visitor. When he stepped aside, Tess was more than shocked to see Beadle enter. It was the first time he’d deigned to call since dropping her on Lady Stadwell’s doorstep. Cyrus took Beadle’s hat and coat and tossed them over the umbrella stand. Beadle’s expression soured at the big man’s rudeness.

Cyrus motioned with his head. “Lord Marcliffe is waiting for you in the library.”

There was only a flicker of acknowledgement as Beadle glanced at Tess before his expression went blank. “Miss Calloway, I do hope you are finding your employment satisfactory.”

Not waiting for a response, he walked officiously in the direction of the library. Beadle was persisting with the ruse using the fake name he’d supplied her. Tess supposed he wanted to continue an amiable business relationship with Lady Stadwell. She would not take kindly to having been tricked into sheltering an orphan whose father had died ignominiously.

What business could Lord Marcliffe have with Beadle? What if the meeting had something to do with Lord Marcliffe’s pointed questioning of her last week? Perhaps she was being too cynical. It was entirely possible that Beadle had solved her financial

dilemma. All she could do now was go back to the game and wait. She would know soon enough why he had come.

Lady Stadwell had already dealt the cards and she’d poured each of them a generous serving of sherry. Her cheeks had a rosy flush, and Tess suspected that this was not her first drink. Tess wondered if she’d consumed as much sherry before Sloan. “A glass of spirits always makes the game a tad more amusing.” She took a sip. “I find if I have enough, I am pleased whether I win or lose.”

They refilled their glasses at the start of each round. Cribbage was never one of Tess’s favorite games, but sherry certainly made the time pass quickly.

*

A heavy hand nudged Tess awake. She lifted her head off the table to peer up at Cyrus. He smiled and plucked off the playing card plastered to her forehead. The fire in the hearth was now a pile of glowing coals. The big man leaned over a dozing Lady Stadwell and scooped her easily into his arms. Tess got to her feet and followed behind. At the landing, she grabbed a handful of Cyrus’s coat and let him guide her up the stairs.

Even with her mind bleary from drink, she instantly recalled Beadle’s visit. Surely he’d gone by now. The nerve of the man to not have spoken with her. “Did Mr. Beadle leave a message for me?” she asked Cyrus.

“Mr. Beadle is still with Lord Marcliffe.”

She miscalculated a step and her toe smacked the edge of the stair. Had she had not been gripping the coat of the very solid giant in front of her, she would have fallen. If the meeting was taking this long, then certainly she could not be the topic of their conversation.

Tess tucked Lady Stadwell in as best she could then tottered off to her room. After struggling into her nightclothes, she tore off her unbearably itchy wig and shoved her hair under the sleeping cap.

She had started to drift off to sleep again when the dogs began another tiresome round of barking. Fighting dizziness, she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and gripped the bedpost. Her head throbbed.
Blasted sherry
. She would pay for her indulgence in the morning. Trying not to jostle her head, she treaded ever so gently into the hallway. She gripped the banister for support as she peered over the railing.

“What is the commotion?” she called down to Lord Marcliffe who stood at the base of the staircase with Beadle. She narrowed her eyes. The light from the wall sconces was entering her already pounding brain.

She was instructed by both men, speaking in near unison, to put something on and come downstairs. It was silly, really. The nightgown that Lady Stadwell had been nice enough to provide her was as revealing as a sack.

She staggered back to her room and pulled the ancient black dress over the thick flannel shift, feeling like she had two possessive husbands awaiting her. With luck, Beadle had brought her good news. Perhaps her days in this dreadful disguise were coming to an end. She took a quick glance in the small looking glass that she usually avoided. Her eyebrows were still in place and, except for the small spot where the card had adhered to her forehead, her skin was still powdered. But it had caked in spots, and she smoothed it to give herself a more natural appearance.

The alcohol made her unsteady. She carefully planted both feet on each step before proceeding to the next.

“You are as drunk as a piper, Miss Calloway,” Lord Marcliffe said.

She ignored him and turned her attention to the other man. “Mr. Beadle.” She said his name in a breathy, anticipatory whisper. He was, after all, the man who held her future.

Lord Marcliffe muttered a curse under his breath. She ignored that, too. “Can I come out of exile? Have you managed to sell the townhouse?”

“Rumor is, your hero bid it in a game of Faro. And lost,” Lord Marcliffe said between gritted teeth.

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her. “Mr. Beadle, please tell me that isn’t true,” she pleaded.

Beadle shrugged. “I only wanted to see you better situated.”

“If you hadn’t been such a damn fool and wagered the resources, you could have easily cleared her father’s debts and kept her safe from Fleet. Admit it, you whoreson, you scared her into hiding and then absconded with the scant remainder of her inheritance.”

Tess wobbled unsteadily on the step above the landing. And here she’d thought her life had sunk to the bottom. Apparently she had farther to fall. Beadle shot Lord Marcliffe a vicious look and moved forward, taking her hands in his. “Do not worry, my dear

Hortensia, you will come home with me. I will take care of you.” He moved closer, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I cannot promise marriage, of course, as I’d hoped.”

Life with Beadle. Wouldn’t that be a splendid end to an already wretched situation? “Mr. Beadle, I don’t understand how my father ever came to trust you. Your craving for gambling obviously trumps your honor.”

“Damn it, Beadle,” Lord Marcliffe said, and hauled him away by the scruff of his neck.

Beadle’s sudden release of her hands unbalanced her. She keeled forward. How Lord Marcliffe managed it, she had no idea, but he insinuated himself between them, and she toppled neatly into his arms. Her face pressed against his chest. There was something so warm and comforting about being in his embrace that the tears came in a torrent, soaking his lapels.