The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (33 page)

T
he final guests had arrived less than an hour ago and André was weary of the openly curious looks directed his way. Still reeling from the shock of seeing Clarendon alive and relatively well at dinner the night before, he sought refuge in what he hoped would be a secluded area of the garden. He hadn’t any idea how the marquis had managed to escape what he’d been confident was a certain death. He could only be grateful Clarendon hadn’t seen who had swung the plank. And when the marquis had explained his injury to his dinner companions by describing how he had been pushed into a support beam by a skittish stallion he had wanted scream that it was all a lie.
    “May I sit with you, monsieur?” A tall, thin, middle-aged man who had been introduced to him earlier as Sir William indicated the spot next to him on the ornate iron bench.
    He forced a pleasant smile. “Of course.”
    Sir William lowered himself onto the bench said in a gruff, clipped tone, “I’ve seen it before.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Amnesia.” Sir William tugged on his unfashionably long, gray mustache. “I’m a military man and I’ve seen it all, including amnesia. It’s not as uncommon as you would think. Lots of head wounds, you know. When we were on the peninsula there was one chap who got skewered in the side of the head with a bayonet. Had no memory of anything that happened more than five minutes ago. He was to be sent home. Not because of his memory, mind you. Hell, if we did that, half the army would claim amnesia. He lost an arm along with his memory. Can’t do much on the field without an arm. Never made it home, though. Got up off his cot, wandered onto the field and bam! A bullet right through the throat.” He chuckled. “Poor bastard.”
    The man’s manners were abominable. As Sir William rambled on André entertained thoughts of running the man through with a sword. Had one materialized in his hand he wasn’t certain he could have resisted the temptation. And the giggling young ladies who strolled by two by two with the hope of attracting his attention would have met no better fate.
    André’s mask of pleasant civility was still firmly in place but the strain was beginning to wear on him. He had six days at most to get rid of the marquis. A late night visit to the still room had provided an alternative remedy, but there was no guarantee that it would work. His wandering thoughts were brought back to the present when someone called his name.
    “Monsieur André. Sir William.” Both men rose to their feet at the sound of a female voice. The lady’s face was partially hidden behind a jeweled, ivory fan but the seductive voice and pale blond hair left no doubt as to who she was. As Lady Sheraton lowered the fan her rouged lips curved into a beguiling smile. With practiced ease, she snapped the fan shut. Sex practically oozed from every pore. She curtsied and purred, “Good afternoon gentleman.” She batted her lashes at Sir William. “Sir William would you think it terribly rude of me if I stole Monsieur André for a few moments?”
    “Not at all, my lady. In fact I was about to head back to the house and see if I can’t get a game of whist going. You two enjoy yourselves.” He sketched a small bow and walked away.
    A bitter taste rose in André’s mouth. Of all the guests he had met he found her the most objectionable. Her sexuality was too overt and her remarks to Lady Clarendon had been little more than thinly veiled cuts.
    “Perhaps a stroll in the garden?” she suggested.
    He had little desire to stroll about the garden with this strumpet on his arm, but it seemed he had no choice.
    “It would be my pleasure, madam.” He held out his arm. “Would you care to see the rose garden?”
    “That sounds lovely.” She placed her hand on his arm and whispered into his ear, “I’m so pleased you chose not to ride off with Clarendon and the others this morning. We barely had an opportunity to get to know one another at lunch so I wanted you to myself for a while.”
    He smiled a disingenuous smile. “I’ve ridden the estate numerous times so there’s nothing new for me to see. I expect your company will prove to be much more interesting.” They set off at a leisurely pace down the graveled pathway. “Fenton Abbey has magnificent gardens,” he continued. “Lady Clarendon and I often take strolls along here in the afternoon.”
    “How nice that you spend time with her.” She sighed. “That poor, dear girl. Running such a large household must be a strain at her young age. And to have to share a home with her husband’s bastards. Well, I simply don’t know how she stands it.”
    
The brats were his bastards?
For some reason the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. “Indeed,” he murmured. “I had not realized they were his.”
    “I haven’t seen them but I heard they are both the spitting image of Clarendon.”
    He saw no resemblance at all between them but if she were correct, then so much the better. There would be no reason to keep them around once the marquis was gone.
    “Oh, he’s evidently attempting to pass them off as his wards. Orphans whose father was a dear friend I believe the story is, but with Clarendon…” Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “Let’s just say that he is a man of lusty appetite and likely has a passel of them stashed away somewhere.”
    “An untenable situation,” he agreed. “I am very fond of Lady Clarendon and I hate to see her in such uncomfortable circumstances.”
    She tapped on his arm with her fan. “Heavens. Let’s do change the subject before we both grow maudlin.”
    He wanted to push for more information but sensed Lady Sheraton could not be moved. “Very well, my lady. What would you care to talk about?”
    She stopped suddenly and turned to him. “Forgive my candid speech but I sometimes say things when I should not.” She paused. “And the truth is, I find you quite fascinating.”He frowned. “I assure you, I am not.”
    “Let me be the judge of that.” She took his arm again and they resumed their pace. “In some ways it seems delightfully liberating to be able to forget one’s past. Do you know what I would do if I woke up in a strange place with no ties to the past?”
    “I have no idea, madam,” he murmured.
    She lowered her voice. “I would become a courtesan. Well rewarded and free to grace whose bed I chose.” Her lips curled as she gave him a sideways glance. “Have I shocked you?”
    “No.”
    “Have I surprised you?”
    “Not at all, madam.”
    Tilting her head coquettishly she said, “Tell me monsieur. Was that a comment on my sensual nature or an insult?”
    “Take it as you wish.”
    His comment had little effect. She gazed at him and offered a slow, seductive smile.
    “And may I take you as well?”
    “Where would you take me, madam?”
    “To heaven.” Her lashes fluttered. “I realize it’s shameless of me to put that into
    words, but I have some talent. I would be a very good courtesan.”
    “I have no doubt.”
    When he said nothing else she sighed. “You’re not only fascinating, monsieur, you’re
    frustrating. So what will you do with yourself once our little house party ends and everyone goes home?”
    “I’m to leave next week for London. Clarendon has discovered where I stayed in London before I came to Devon. He has offered me the use of one of his homes while I make inquiries. I believe he said it was on Green Street.”
    A plucked and painted eyebrow lifted. “Green Street? Really?”
    “You seem surprised.”
    “It’s only that I thought it occupied.”
    André remained silent. He didn’t care one way or another as he didn’t intend to reach London.
    “Do you gamble, monsieur?”
    “I don’t know. I feel no inclination to do so.”
    “My husband adores the tables. The risk is what excites him. It certainly isn’t winning as he does precious little of that.” She paused. “Do you think you might be a risk taker, monsieur?”
    “If the reward was great enough. And you, my lady? Do you find pleasure in taking risks?”
    “I do.”
    “What is your game?”
    “Lust. And the risk of being caught.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “A delectable combination, don’t you think? If you wish to share in my game I’ll leave my chamber door unlocked tonight. It's unlikely my husband will see our chambers before dawn.”
    He came to a halt. “You surprise me, madam. What is the risk in that? There’s little likelihood of being caught. Why not here and now?”
    Her eyes widened slightly and her lips curled. “Why not?”
    “Come with me.” He grasped her arm and pulled her along the pathway until they reached a grassy area with a weeping willow whose branches nearly touched the ground. “Tell me something,” he murmured as he took hold of both her hands and backed her up against the slender trunk.
    “Yes?” she asked breathlessly.
    “What is there about me that attracts you?” he said softly. “Would rutting with me would be like deflowering a virgin? As my memory is gone, you would be the first to show me the joys of the flesh. Or is it the lack of my identity? The mystery of fornicating with a stranger, someone who drifts into your life and then disappears after a few days. I could be anyone, madam, a thief, a rapist, a murderer, someone who could slit that beautiful creamy white throat of yours without a scrap of remorse. Or…” His voice grew harsh. “Am I simply the only adult male here who hasn’t experienced the abundant joys that lay between your legs?”
    “How dare you say that?” She tried to wrench her hands away. “Let me go.”
    He held them firmly. “No. I’m curious. Answer me, madam.”
    Her eyes blazed. “You fool. There isn’t another man here who wouldn’t take advantage of what I’ve just offered you. I believe you must be impotent. Or perhaps you prefer men.”
    “Impotence is not my problem and I have no affinity for men. It’s you I don’t care for. Our stroll is at an end. I trust you are able to find your way back.” He released her hands, narrowly avoided the slap she aimed at him and left.

Cecelia glanced at the grandfather clock tucked in a niche of the second floor corridor. It was a few minutes after two in the afternoon. Not near as late as she had been afraid of. Most of the guests who hadn’t left with Rand were either resting or strolling about the grounds so she had at least an hour and a half to herself before afternoon tea. Making certain her guests were settled, happy and fed had proved to be exhausting and all she could think about was putting her feet up and closing her eyes. She was about to round the corner when she heard voices coming from the gallery. One belonged to Lady Sheraton and she thought the other was Lady Trenton. Instead of making her presence known, Cecelia stopped to listen.
    Lady Sheraton’s low husky tones carried amazingly well. “I have the most delicious gossip, Sophia. It seems the marquis isn’t averse to sharing his mistresses, now that he’s left London. Monsieur André will be moving to the Green Street address next week.” She paused. “And good riddance I should say.”
    Cecelia stopped herself from crying out.
Mistress? He had promised
…
    “Are you certain?” Lady Trenton sounded incredulous. “I know Clarendon’s a rake but that would be so blatant. And why good riddance?”
    “Monsieur André and I took a stroll in the garden just this morning and he took great delight in telling me about it. He was quite crude and had I not escaped when I did, I believe he would have ravished me. I shall take care to avoid him at all costs and I would advise you to do the same.”
    “How very odd. He seemed so quiet and polite and I thought he seemed terribly besotted with Lady Clarendon. Have you seen how he looks at her? Clarendon can’t be happy about that. Maybe that’s why he’s packing Monsieur André off to London. Well, in any event, the marquis should be a bit more circumspect in these matters. Considering his brother-in-law is also his best friend, this isn’t wise of him. Stratton will likely take his head off if this gets out.” She paused a moment. “Do you know, I thought I heard that Lamont woman had moved out.”
    “I didn’t say it was the Lamont woman.”
    “He’s brought someone else in? Oh my. Why would Monsieur André tell you this? It’s unseemly.”
    “I just told you, Sophia. He is unseemly. He’s French! They have no restraint when it comes to the baser instincts. I daresay he will mount anything that holds still.”
    “Evelyn!”
    “My only intent is to warn you. I thought it best that you know.”
    “Well, I’m surprised at Clarendon,” Lady Trenton said. "One would think he had better sense.”
    “I can’t say that I’m surprised. He inherited his title through a fluke. He’s a tradesman and quality ton can’t come from trade.”
    “Well, I suppose the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree. You know what his father was like. But as dreadful as that is, it seems rather ungracious of us to discuss our host’s philandering ways while we enjoy his hospitality.”
    “Don’t be silly. His hospitality doesn’t change the facts.”
    Cecelia wanted to yank on Lady Sheraton’s lacquered curls until they came out by the handful. Instead, she took in a deep breath and stepped around the corner. “Your facts are wrong. The Green Street property is vacant. And Monsieur André has behaved himself with perfect decorum during the time he has resided with us. I can’t imagine that what you’ve said could be true.”
    Lady Trenton gasped and looked mortified.
    Lady Sheraton merely looked amused. She smiled. “Of course, dear. I spoke out of turn. I am sorry.” She couldn’t have appeared more insincere.
    “I do beg your apology, my lady,” Lady Trenton sputtered. “It was unforgivable of me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    Cecelia was trembling inside, but her voice was remarkably steady. She lifted her chin a notch. “May I assume you won’t spread this bit of nonsense among our guests?”
    “I won’t say a thing,” Lady Trenton promised.
    Lady Sheraton continued to smile.
    Cecelia pinned her with an unwavering stare. “And you, Lady Sheraton? Do I have your word as well?”
    Lady Sheraton sighed heavily. “I’m afraid you have several hard lessons to learn. Men stray. And gossip is the way of the ton. With a husband like Clarendon you may as well become used to it. And as far as Monsieur André is concerned, I’m sure you believe he’s a perfect gentleman, but…”
    Cecelia’s hands curled into tight fists. “I asked you a question and I would appreciate it if you would answer it.”
    “You’re very young, my dear.”
    Cecelia decided she's had enough. “I suppose to someone of your years I might seem so, but I’m old enough to understand what is required of me and that doesn’t include tolerating malicious gossip in my home about a guest or my husband. Now, if you will excuse me I have other guests to attend to.” She dismissed them with a graceful nod of the head and continued down the corridor. On the surface she held on to her dignity, but inside she was churning with embarrassment and confusion. And fury. It was likely all lies. Rand had promised her he would remain faithful, so why was she having doubts? She had to get to the truth of the matter before she burst, but he wouldn’t be back for hours and she wasn’t certain she could wait that long. Suddenly, the floor seemed to move beneath her. Her ears buzzed, her vision narrowed. She tried to reach the wall but her knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor.
    “My lady.” The accented voice seemed very far away.
    She opened her eyes. Monsieur André was kneeling beside her, looking anxious and pale. “Are you alright, monsieur?” she asked weakly.
    “Am I alright? You fainted, my lady. Are you alright?”
    She moved her limbs experimentally. She was shaken, but not hurt. “I think so.” Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she struggled to get up.
    He slid his arm behind her. “Allow me to help you. You must not move too quickly.”
    “Thank you, monsieur,” she said as he slowly helped her to her feet. He appeared very solicitous and nothing at all like the man Lady Sheraton had described. The woman had to have been lying. “You have come to my rescue once again.”
    “Would you like me to ring for someone?”
    The corridor was deserted and she wanted to keep it that way. She forced a bleak smile. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
    “Then may I assist you to your chamber?”
    She was still shaken and the idea of climbing the steps to their chambers was daunting. “My husband’s office is just down the corridor. I can rest in there.”
    With one arm around her waist he escorted her the short distance to Rand’s office but when he tried to open the door it was locked.
    She sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to go upstairs, after all.”
    “Perhaps not. May I have one of your hairpins?”
    She tugged one out and handed it to him. He manipulated it in the lock and seconds later the door swung open.
    “Good heavens! Where ever did you learn that?”
    He smiled sheepishly. “I haven’t any idea.”
    Once inside, Cecelia opened the drapes partway then sunk into one of the leather chairs.
    André hovered nearby. “May I get something for you? Tea perhaps? Or some type of restorative?”
    “Thank you, but no. I think a bit of rest should do the trick.”
    “Are you certain you don’t want me to call for someone?”
    “I’d really rather not make a fuss. I’m just…” She stopped before the word pregnant escaped her lips. “I’m just overtired.”
    He indicated the chair across from her. “May I sit with you?”
    She nodded. “Of course. But I’m perfectly fine on my own if you have something else you would like to do.”
    His brows lowered slightly as he gazed at her. “Nothing could be more important than seeing to your well-being and I hesitate to leave you just yet.”
    “You’re very kind. I know you must be anxious to reach London, but I’m pleased you stayed this extra week.” Hoping to gain some information without being obvious she stopped to consider her next words. “My female guests seemed pleased as well. I heard you took Lady Sheraton for a stroll in the garden.”
    The look of disgust on his face was gratifying. “I don’t wish to speak ill of your guests, but if she approaches me again I shall turn in the opposite direction and flee.”
    Her lips twitched in humor. “And here I thought there wasn’t a man alive who was immune to her charms.”
    “I am very much immune.” He paused. “But you, my lady, I will never be immune to your charms.”
    She could never tell when he was teasing. “You’re incorrigible, monsieur, but I shall miss your complements.” She looked away a moment before saying, “I know Clarendon offered you the use of a house. Where will you be staying?”
    “A residence on Green Street.”
    Her brows lowered as she pretended to think. “I didn’t realize it was vacant.”
    He shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Lord Clarendon did not say and I was so stunned by his decision that I did not think to ask questions. In truth, I believe he is anxious for me to leave.”
    She started to protest but they both knew Rand didn’t care for him. To cover her embarrassment she rose and went to the window. She gazed out without seeing. “My husband lost a dear friend recently and has not been quite himself. I’m sorry if he has made you uncomfortable.”
    “There’s no need for you to apologize for him.”
    She pulled the drapes fully open and light suffused the study. A crystal decanter of brandy on a small chest beneath the window caught the sunlight and cast a kaleidoscope of color and shapes against the polished floor. “I’ve been remiss.” She lifted the crystal stopper. “May I pour you some brandy?”
    “No.” There was an edge to his voice that made her turn around. His face was composed but his knuckles had whitened where he gripped the arm of the chair. “Sit down, madam. It is too soon for you to be up.”
    Rankled by the order, she squared her shoulders and gave him her back.