Double Deceit (26 page)

Biting his lip to remain quiet, Tony sifted the words. He had never met anyone whose luck was consistently out, so it was more likely that Sir Winton had already mastered the art of sharping cards. Even if prudence prevented him from cheating others, Linden had been an unsuspecting victim.

He knew other men who needed to prove themselves superior. They jumped at any challenge, never considering the consequences. Some complained loudly and bitterly when they lost – and fought frequent duels when their complaints included charges of cheating. Others crawled away to lick their wounds in private, feeling ill-used. But none learned anything from the experience. So why had he never detected such a fault in his father?

“When I reached London, I tried to avoid him,” Linden continued. “But he had a knack for finding me when I was in my cups, then talking me into just one game. But my luck was always out with him.”

He leaned forward to dangle his hands between his legs, turning toward the fire so he could only see Tony by looking over his shoulder. “My skill had improved with time and study, so I played often with others, amassing a fortune to protect me from Winton. But even skill does not guarantee success. The culmination of my folly occurred two years after you were born. Winton was not in London, so I feared nothing. I was well into the second bottle when Lady Luck deserted me. Hand after hand fell to my opponent. By evening’s end, he held vowels for nearly everything I owned. In desperation, I offered one last wager – Linden Park against that mound of vowels, the winner to be decided on a single cut of the cards.”

“My God.”

He glanced back. “Insanity. I agree. I turned up a four and was calculating how long it would take to stagger home and put an end to my life—”

Another gasp escaped his throat.

“—when he drew a three. I’d escaped by the narrowest of margins. Even drunk, I swore I would never wager again. By morning, I’d renewed that vow. I left London immediately and never returned, fearful that a taunt would draw me into another game. And I swore that somehow I would keep you from making the same mistake. Yet in the end, I broke both vows. Sir Winton found me, enticing me into a game of dice. And I drove you into the very trouble I had hoped to avoid.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Don’t be kind, Tony. I know you would never have pursued the course you’ve taken without my constant nagging.”

“True. Tossing my reputation away in response to your pressure was stupid – though even that first year, my behavior was never as sordid as gossip suggested. And it has been many years since it matched at all.”

Linden again glanced over his shoulder, then sighed. “Then I have more to repent than I thought, for my continued laments over your excesses must have contributed to public perception.”

“Undoubtedly.” This was one point that he would not concede. He had done nothing for at least eight years that would support that reputation, yet it continued to grow.

“Our last meeting was the first time I suspected I might have been wrong,” he said wearily. “You reminded me that you have never overspent your allowance. It was not a point I had considered, but I cannot think of a single friend whose children can make that claim. How can you support yourself? You receive no more from the estate than I did forty years ago, but surely prices have risen. If you won significant amounts at the table, rumor would have reported it.”

“Actually, I have done little gaming of any kind since leaving school,” he admitted. “And even in school, I usually won as much as I lost – not that you would have heard; one large loss is noteworthy while ten minor wins pass unnoticed.”

“And I suppose you will claim that those very sordid house parties you attend are merely a way to reduce expenses?” This time his voice contained a hint of his usual displeasure.

“Gossip.” Tony shook his head. “Once one acquires a lurid reputation, people will believe any tale. While I am sure that such parties exist – though not as many as rumor would have us believe – I have never attended one. But that has become the accepted explanation for any absence from town. I’m sure most of society believes I am engaged in yet another orgy right now.”

“Then where do you go?”

He paced the room, though he had decided even before arriving home that he would have to reveal everything. “I realized long ago that nothing would overturn the reputation my temper had created. Yet it barred me from pursuing any of my interests. I could have become yet another useless fribble content to prance about London until the title fell into my hands, but society bores me, and I have never aspired to leisure. So my only choice was to become someone else. Because he cannot risk meeting anyone who knows Tony Linden, Mr. Torwell is a recluse. Yet his excavations have drawn considerable interest in antiquarian circles.”

“You dig up remains?” demanded Linden.

“Roman sites in remote areas, for most of each summer. I’ve been fascinated by the past since finding a Roman denarius in the stream twenty years ago. Torwell is now considered an authority on the period.” He spotted several copies of
The Edinburgh Review
on a shelf. Opening a six-months-old volume, he dropped it in his father’s lap.

“Regional Differences in Roman Mosaic Design, a comparative study of themes and ornamentation found in decorative flooring from Lincolnshire and Gloucestershire,” Linden read, each word sounding more incredulous than the last. “You wrote this?”

He nodded.

“Yet you’ve never shown the least interest in that site Frosham is so proud of.”

“Who do you think discovered it?”

“B-but that was fourteen years ago.”

“I didn’t consider how that coin might have washed into the stream until several years after finding it. Its condition was too good to have tumbled for long, so I poked about upstream, finally stumbling across Frosham’s villa. I had to return to school, so I could not do the actual excavation, but I had dug out enough to know what he had.”

“I’ve never known you at all, have I?”

“That is as much my fault as yours, Father. I was too stubborn to admit that your antagonism grew from concern, and even after I realized that my rebellion was childish – and was hurting me far more than you – I made no attempt to reveal the truth. But we can discuss that later. Now we need to consider the future. I tried to regain the estate by offering for Miss Vale, but I handled it very badly.” He explained his sojourn at Vale House, though deleting any mention of her villa. “She will never forgive me, so the estate is truly lost.”

“I know.”

“Torwell received grants from several patrons, so I’ve been able to invest most of my allowance in recent years. The income is not quite large enough to support me, but my secretary is arranging purchase of a small estate in Somerset. Once people recover from the shock of learning that Torwell is the notorious Tony Linden, I may receive funding for new excavations. In the meantime, the estate income will do. You are welcome to join me.”

“I am delighted that you will have a roof over your head, Tony, and more relieved than I can say that you have prospered despite me,” he said, then shook his head. “But living together would never work. The habits of a lifetime will not change overnight. And it seems we are more alike than I’d ever thought. I, too, need to remain occupied, or I will become even more annoying.”

“Have you anything in mind?” The refusal was a relief, though not in the way he would have expected even an hour ago. They were both revising a lifetime of beliefs, but their new rapport was too fragile to tolerate strain.

“Possibly. I will know more soon. In the meantime, I’ve accepted an invitation to visit an old friend. We will leave as soon as the estate transfer is concluded. Will you be staying?”

“Only until morning. I must meet with the bankers and pray they will allow me to explain why Tony Linden expects a loan.”

“Why not Torwell?”

“I am done with deceit and done with skulking about the shadows. For good or ill, I will play myself from now on. Let me know your new direction. I will be in London for at least a month.”

Excusing himself, he went in search of his mother.

Three days of soul-searching had led to this decision. Living dual identities had influenced every aspect of his life, always negatively. The fiasco with Miss Vale was merely the latest example. He had to plan every move, every word, even his gestures, to keep the two lives separate and to prevent misunderstandings. Linden was flamboyant and frequently irreverent, inserting suggestive innuendo into even innocuous conversation. Torwell was staid, methodical, and emotionless about everything but the Romans. Neither character was natural.

Now it was over. Though it was too late for happiness, at least he could achieve a modicum of comfort.

* * * *

Sarah sighed. A third reading of Jon’s letter confirmed that she had missed nothing.

He had written it shortly after leaving, providing the first explanation she’d received for the events of three mornings past. All he’d managed in that last mad scramble was a murmur to Murch to
tell Sarah I’ll be in touch
. She hadn’t even known he was gone until Murch found her beating on Alex’s door.

Alex had remained in her room until early this morning, but even after emerging, she refused to reveal what had happened or why. In fact, she ignored any reference to the gentlemen’s visit, aside from offering belated congratulations on her betrothal.

When she’d pressed for answers, Alex had ordered her to be quiet or leave Vale House.

So she had welcomed Jon’s letter.

Unfortunately, he knew little more than she did. Apparently Alex had discovered the deception on her own and attacked Tony. He’d retaliated. The ensuing argument ended with Alex throwing both men out of the house – or with Tony fleeing. It wasn’t clear which.

Alex’s temper had often led to trouble, and her stubbornness usually made that trouble worse. If her curt refusal to speak was any indication, she was already regretting her reaction. And it sounded as if Tony was just as unhappy. But Jon described Tony as the stubborn sort, which didn’t sound very promising.

She sighed.

The least thought proved that Alex and Tony were perfectly suited, not that either would admit it at the moment. So it was up to her and Jon to bring them together. The first step was to make sure that each understood the reasons behind the other’s charade. And perhaps Murch would know more about that disastrous argument. Only after learning the facts could she plan a way around Alex’s stubborn pride.

Her own future looked rosier. Smiling, she slipped the letter into her writing box, hardly believing that Jon really loved her. They would be married in two months.

In the meantime, she would tell him everything she knew about Alex, and hope he would respond with similar information about Tony.

She sharpened a pen.

Chapter Fifteen

Alex scraped another layer of soil from above the temple, keeping her back firmly turned to the villa.

A week had passed since she had emerged from her room, but this was the first day she had come to the site. Though her enthusiasm for excavating was gone, he would not have the satisfaction of destroying her interest in antiquity. She had already put off resuming her work far too long. She was lucky that no one had stumbled across the mosaic.

The weather had helped. Cold rain had moved in the day after he left, keeping most people indoors and adding to the protection already provided by the haunted wood. But it wasn’t enough.

So security was her first concern. In spite of his faults, she could not ignore his warnings. How he chose to use his own knowledge was out of her hands, but at least she could hide the mosaic from others.

Rain had washed a thin coat of mud over the tiles. She’d spent the morning filling the trench and tamping it solid. Then she’d dragged dead grass, leaves, and debris across the area until it was indistinguishable from the rest of the clearing. But despite frequent reminders that she was protecting the treasure from vandals, her heart knew that her real purpose was to erase the scene of that torrid kiss.

No wonder it had melted her bones. Tony Linden was a rake of the first water. He probably had more experience than all the men in the village combined. And their encounter had meant no more to him than any of his others.

Cursing, she hacked at a mat of grass and roots that had transformed into his treacherous face.

“Damn you!”

Squeezing her eyes closed helped no more than keeping her back to the villa or burying the mosaic. Awake or asleep, all else faded, overlaid by images of the wretch – wading along the stream, oblivious to his ruined boots; scrambling up the cliff, his shoulder brushing hers as he pointed out hints of Roman foundations; heaving stones aside, muscles rippling under a thin cambric shirt; debating where to lay out exploration trenches…

The mat disintegrated under her assault.

She had won as many debates as he had, some leading to success, others to frustration. But neither of them had expected to find that mosaic. Her hand shook, rekindling every image of that celebration…

Stop this, Alex!

Pain crashed back. And desolation.

He could hardly have reached the village before the first regret set in. Despite her charges, she knew he really was Torwell. He could not have discovered her interest before arriving, for no one knew outside the household. The staff would never have revealed it to a stranger, not even one as beguiling as him. And no man could have learned enough about Torwell and Roman remains to fool her. Not in the time he’d had available. He’d turned up on her doorstep only a few days after his father had lost Linden Park.

In retrospect, it was obvious how he’d managed to live two separate lives. Torwell was reclusive. His response to her dilemma over Mitchell’s suggestion spoke from experience. His assistant presented his papers to the Antiquarian Society, so he’d probably never met the men who held his scholarship in esteem. And he worked in remote areas from necessity, hiding his notoriety beneath a facade of shyness.