Deception (45 page)

AMANDA QUICK
, a pseudonym for Jayne Ann Krentz, is a best-selling, award-winning author of contemporary and historical romances. There are nearly twenty-five million copies of her books in print, including
Seduction, Surrender, Scandal, Rendezvous, Ravished, Reckless, Dangerous, Deception, Desire, Mistress, Mystique, Mischief, Affair
, and
With This Ring
. She makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, Frank.

Visit her website at
www.amandaquick.com
.

Look for Amanda Quick’s
historical romance

With This Ring

available now in paperback
from Bantam Books

A writer of shocking “horrid novels,” Beatrice Poole is no stranger to gothic terrors. Yet she declares it’s all poppycock when Leo Drake, the enigmatic Earl of Monkcrest and England’s foremost expert on arcane matters, warns her about the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite. Nothing can stop her from investigating the disappearance of the Rings from her uncle’s home, and her uncle’s death. Beatrice is clearly on a collision course with danger, and Leo insists on being her protector. All the while, a whisper of evil swirls through London and a sinister villain plots to test the power of the Rings, with Leo and Beatrice as the victims
.

“I believe chat you may be the only person in all of England who can assist me, sir,” Beatrice said. “Your extensive study of old legends is unequaled. If there is anyone who can supply me with the facts concerning the Forbidden Rings, it is yourself.”

“So you have come all this way to interview me.” He shook his head. “I do not know if I should be flattered or appalled. You certainly did not need to trouble yourself with a difficult journey, madam. You could have written to me.”

“The matter is an urgent one, my lord. And to be perfectly truthful, your reputation is such that I feared you might not see fit to reply to a letter in, shall we say, a timely manner.”

He smiled slightly. “In other words, you have heard that I am inclined to ignore inquiries that do not greatly interest me.”

“Or which you deem to be unscholarly or based on idle curiosity.”

He shrugged. “I do not deny it. I regularly receive letters from people who apparently waste a great deal of their time reading novels.”

“You do not approve of novels, my lord?” Beatrice’s voice was curiously neutral in tone.

“I do not disapprove of all novels, merely the horrid ones. You know the ones I mean. The sort that feature supernatural horror and strange mysteries.”

“Oh, yes. The horrid ones.”

“All that nonsense with specters and glimmering lights in the distance is bad enough. But how the authors can see fit to insert romance into the narrative in addition is beyond me.”

“You are familiar with such novels, then, sir?”

“I read one,” he admitted. “I never form an opinion without first doing a bit of research.”

“Which horrid novel did you read?”

“One of Mrs. York’s, I believe. I was told that she is among the more popular authors.” He grimaced. “Perhaps I should say authoresses, since most of the horrid novels
seem
to be written by women.”

“Indeed.” Beatrice gave him an enigmatic smile. “Many feel that women writers are more adept at depicting imaginative landscapes and scenes that involve the darker passions.”

“I would certainly not argue with that.”

“Do you disapprove of women who write, my lord?”

“Not at all.” He was startled by the question. “I have read many books that have been authored by ladies. It is only the horrid novels which I do not enjoy.”

“And in particular, Mrs. York’s horrid novels.”

“Quite right. What an overwrought imagination that woman possesses. All that wandering about through decayed castles, stumbling into ghosts and skeletons and the like. It is too much.” He shook his head. “I could not believe that she actually had her heroine marry the mysterious master of the haunted castle.”

“That sort of hero is something of a trademark for Mrs. York, I believe,” Beatrice said smoothly. “It is one of the things that makes her stories unique.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“In most horrid novels the mysterious lord of the haunted abbey or castle turns out to be the villain,” Beatrice explained patiently. “But in Mrs. York’s books, he generally proves to be the hero.”

Leo stared at her. “The one in the novel I read lived in a subterranean crypt, for God’s sake.”

“The Curse.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Beatrice cleared her throat discreetly. “I believe the title of that particular horrid novel is
The Curse
. At the end of the story the hero moves upstairs into the sunlit rooms of the great house. The curse had been lifted, you see.”

“You have read the novel?”

“Of course.” Beatrice smiled coolly. “Many people in town read Mrs. York’s books. Do you know, I would have thought that a gentleman who has made a career out of researching genuine legends would have no great objection
to reading a novel that takes an ancient legend as its theme.”

“Bloody hell. Mrs. York invented the legend she used in her novel.”

“Yes, well, it was a novel, sir, not a scholarly article for the Society of Antiquarians.”

“Just because I study arcane lore, Mrs. Poole, it does not follow that I relish outlandish tales of the supernatural.”

Beatrice glanced at the greathound Elf, who was sprawled in front of the fire. “Perhaps your intolerance for horrid novels stems from the fact that you have been the subject of some rather unfortunate legends yourself, my lord.”

He followed her gaze to Elf. “You have a point, Mrs. Poole. When one finds oneself featured in a few tales of supernatural mystery, one tends to take a negative view of them.”

Beatrice turned back to him and leaned forward intently. “Sir, I want to assure you that my interest in the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite is not in the least frivolous.”

“Indeed?” He was fascinated by the way the firelight turned her hair to dark gold. He had a sudden vision of how it would look falling loose around her shoulders. He shook off the image with an effort of will. “May I ask how you came to learn of the Rings and why you are so determined to discover them?”

“I am in the process of making inquiries into a private matter that appears to touch upon the legend.”

“That is a bit vague, Mrs. Poole.”

“I doubt that you would wish to hear all of the particulars.”

“You are wrong. I must insist on hearing all of the
details before I decide how much time to waste on the subject.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but one could mistake that statement for a veiled form of blackmail.”

He pretended to give that some thought. “I suppose my demand to hear the full story could be viewed in that way.”

“Are you telling me that you will not help me unless I confide certain matters that are very personal in nature and involve only my family?” Beatrice raised her brows. “I cannot believe that you would be so rude, sir.”

“Believe it. I certainly do not intend to gratify what may be only idle curiosity.”

Beatrice rose and walked to the nearest window. She clasped her hands behind her back and gave every appearance of gazing thoughtfully out into the night. But Leo knew she was watching his reflection in the glass. He could almost feel her debating her course of action. He waited with interest to see what she would do next.

“I was warned that you might be difficult.” She sounded wryly resigned.

“Obviously the warning did not dampen your enthusiasm for a journey to the wilds of Devon.”

“No, it did not.” She studied him in the dark glass. “I am not easily discouraged, my lord.”

“And I am not easily cajoled.”

“Very well, since you insist, I shall be blunt. I believe that my uncle may have been murdered because of the Forbidden Rings.”

Whatever it was he had expected to hear, this was not it. A chill stole through him. He fought it with logic. “If you have concocted a tale of murder in order to convince me to help you find the Rings, Mrs. Poole, I must warn
you that I do not deal politely with those who seek to deceive me.”

“You asked for the truth, sir. I am attempting to give it to you.”

He did not take his eyes off her. “Perhaps you had better tell me the rest of the story.”

“Yes.” Beatrice turned away from the window and began to pace. “Three weeks ago Uncle Reggie collapsed and died in somewhat awkward circumstances.”

“Death is always awkward.” Leo inclined his head. “My condolences, Mrs. Poole.”

“Thank you.”

“Who was Uncle Reggie?”

“Lord Glassonby.” She paused, a wistful expression on her face. “He was a somewhat distant relation on my father’s side. The rest of the family considered him quite eccentric, but I was very fond of him. He was kind and enthusiastic and, after he came into a small, unexpected inheritance last year, quite generous.”

“I see. Why do you say that the circumstances of his death were awkward?”

She resumed her pacing, hands clasped once more behind her back. “Uncle Reggie was not at home when he died.”

This was getting more interesting by the minute. “Where was he?”

Beatrice delicately cleared her throat. “In an establishment that I understand is frequented by gentlemen who have rather unusual tastes.”

“You may as well spell it out, Mrs. Poole. I am certainly not going to let you get away with that meager explanation.”

She sighed. “Uncle Reggie died in a brothel.”

Leo was amused by the color that tinted her cheeks.
Perhaps she was not quite so much the woman of the world after all. “A brothel.”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

She stopped long enough to glare at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Which brothel? There are any number of them in London.”

“Oh.” She concentrated very intently on the pattern in the Oriental carpet beneath her feet. “I believe the establishment is known as the—” She broke off on a small cough. “The House of the Rod.”

“I have heard of it.”

Beatrice raised her head very swiftly and gave him a quelling glance. “I would not boast of that if I were you, sir. It does you no credit.”

“I assure you, I have never been a client of the House of the Rod. My own tastes in such matters do not run in that direction.”

“I see,” Beatrice muttered.

“It is, I believe, a brothel that caters to men whose sensual appetites are sharpened by sundry forms of discipline.”

“My lord, please.” Beatrice sounded as if she were on the verge of strangling. “I assure you, it is not necessary to go into great detail.”

Leo smiled to himself. “Carry on with your story, Mrs. Poole.”

“Very well.” She whirled around to stalk toward the far end of the library. “In the days following Uncle Reggie’s death, we discovered to our great shock that sometime during the last weeks of his life he had gone through a great sum of money. Indeed, his estate was on the very brink of bankruptcy.”

“You had counted on inheriting a fortune?” Leo asked.

“No, it is vastly more complicated than that.”

“I am prepared to listen.”

“I told you that Uncle Reggie could be very generous.” Beatrice turned and started back in the opposite direction. “A few months before he died, he announced his intention to finance a Season for my cousin, Arabella. Her family has very little money.” She broke off. “Actually, no one in my family has a great deal of money.”

“Except Uncle Reggie?”

“He was the exception, and the inheritance he came into last year could be called only modest at best. Nevertheless, it amounted to considerably more than any of my other relatives could claim.”

“I see.”

“In any event, Arabella is quite lovely and perfectly charming.”

“And her parents have hopes of marrying her off to a wealthy young gentleman of the ton?”

“Well, yes, to be frank.” She scowled at him. “It is not exactly an unusual sort of hope, my lord. It is the fondest dream of many families who are somewhat short of funds.”

“Indeed.”

“Uncle Reggie graciously offered to pay for the costs of a Season and to provide a small but respectable dowry for Arabella. Her family arranged for her and Aunt Winifred—”

“Aunt Winifred?”

“Lady Ruston,” Beatrice explained. “Aunt Winifred has been widowed for several years, but at one time she moved in the lower circles of the ton. She is the only one in the family who has any claim to social connections.”

“So Arabella’s parents asked Lady Ruston to take your cousin into Society this Season.”

“Precisely.” Beatrice gave him an approving glance. “My aunt and my cousin are staying with me. I have a small town house in London. In truth, everything was going rather well. Arabella managed to catch the attention of Lord Hazelthorpe’s heir. Aunt Winifred was in expectation of an offer.”

“Until Uncle Reggie collapsed in a brothel and you discovered that there was no money to pay for the remainder of the Season or to fund Arabella’s dowry.”

“That sums it up rather neatly. Thus far we have managed to conceal the true facts of Uncle Reggie’s estate from the gossips.”

“I believe I am beginning to perceive the outline of the problem,” Leo said quietly.

“Obviously we cannot hide the situation indefinitely. Eventually my uncle’s creditors will come knocking at our door. When they do, everyone will discover that Arabella no longer has an inheritance.”

“And you can all wave farewell to Hazelthorpe’s heir,” Leo concluded.

Beatrice grimaced. “Aunt Winifred is beside herself with worry. Thus far we have managed to keep up appearances, but our time is running out.”

“Disaster looms,” Leo murmured darkly.

Beatrice stopped pacing. “It is not amusing, sir. My aunt may view the alliance in financial terms, but I fear that Arabella has lost her heart to the young man. She will be devastated if his parents force him to withdraw his attentions.”

Leo exhaled slowly. “Forgive me if I do not seem overly concerned about your cousin’s heart, Mrs. Poole. In my experience, the passions of the young are not necessarily
strong foundations on which to build the house of marriage.”

To his surprise, she inclined her head. “You are quite right. I am in complete agreement. As mature adults who have been out in the world for a number of years, we naturally have a more informed perspective on the romantical sensibilities than does a young lady of nineteen.”

They were in full accord on the subject, but for some reason Beatrice’s ready willingness to dismiss the power of passion irritated Leo.

“Naturally,” he muttered.

“Nevertheless, from a practical point of view, one cannot deny that an alliance between Arabella and Hazelthorpe’s heir would be an excellent match. And he really is a rather nice young man.”

“I will take your word for it,” Leo said. “Did your uncle lose his money at the gaming tables?”

“No. Uncle Reggie was considered an eccentric, but he was definitely no gamester.” Beatrice went to stand behind a chair. She gripped the back with both hands and gazed at Leo down the length of the room. “Shortly before he died, Uncle Reggie made a single very expensive purchase. There is a record of it among his personal papers.”

Leo watched her closely. “And that one purchase destroyed his finances?”

“From what I have been able to determine, yes.”

“If you are about to tell me that your uncle purchased the Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite, save your breath. I would not believe you.”

“That is precisely what I am telling you, sir.”

She was deadly serious. Leo studied every nuance of her expression. Her clear, direct gaze did not waver. He thought about the rumors he had heard.

“What led you to believe that your uncle acquired the Rings?”

“Some notes that he left. The only reason I have them is because Uncle Reggie kept a detailed appointment book. He also kept a journal, but it is missing.”