The Lady In Question (21 page)

“One moment, sir.” She pulled up short and planted her hand on his chest to stop his forward progress. “Are you trying to say that you are in love with me?”

He thought for a moment. “I believe I might well be.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Of course I’m not sure.” His brow furrowed in annoyance. “How in the name of all that’s holy can I possibly be sure? I’ve never felt this way before. But if I am not in love…” He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his lips and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. His gaze met hers. “Then I must truly be mad.”

She ignored the urge to fall into his arms and snatched her hand away. “That is a distinct possibility and something of a problem, I should think.”

“For you.” A wicked gleam flashed in his eye.

“Not at all, I…” her gaze locked with his and her resistance eased. “Very well, then, yes, for me. For us both.”

“It is nice to see we agree on something.” He chuckled. “We shall suit well together, Miss Effington.

“A charming declaration, but you don’t know me well enough to know whether we shall suit or not.”

As much as a part of her wanted to throw caution to the winds and leap headfirst into this man’s life, up to and including marriage, she was not about to make another mistake. One she might well pay for with the rest of her life.

“Oh, but I do know you. I know the kindness of your nature and the clever way you have with words. I know you are thoughtful and generous and intelligent. I know the pleasure of hearing you laugh and admire the determined note that sounds in your voice. I know the…”

She stared and his voice faltered.

He shrugged, his smile apologetic. “Or perhaps I don’t know at all. Perhaps I just imagine that I know.”

“I am most impressed, my lord, and flattered, and…” Delia shook her head. She was not about to commit herself to marriage, but she dearly wanted to have him in her life. And who knew what might happen in the future? She’d never known a man who might be in love with her. Or mad. But regardless of whether he was truly in love or truly insane, she’d never known a man who made her feel as he did. Of course, she could do nothing whatsoever until she told him the truth.

“My lord.” She met his gaze firmly. “I have another confession to make.”

“Oh?” He smiled in a teasing manner. “I understood you did not make them lightly or well.”

“I don’t, but I am getting better at it. Practice, no doubt,” she muttered. She drew a breath and squared her shoulders. “I should tell you—”

“Cassandra?” A familiar voice sounded behind her.

Delia’s heart plummeted. She cast St. Stephens an apologetic look and turned slowly. “Good evening, Mother.”

William and Georgina Effington, Lord and Lady William, stood beside the palms. Delia’s mother wore a look of distinct annoyance. Her father bore the long-suffering smile that typically accompanied his formal attire.

“I did not expect to see you here, my dear,” Mother said, her considering gaze moving from Delia to St. Stephens and back. “Needless to say, when someone who had been wandering in the gardens claimed to have seen you through the windows in what might be a most compromising position, I said it couldn’t possibly be you, as you weren’t even here.” She studied her daughter thoughtfully. “You can imagine my surprise to discover I was wrong.”

“Indeed I can,” Delia said weakly.

“Nonetheless, I —” Mother sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes widened. “Good Lord. Phil —”

“Lady William,” St. Stephens said smoothly, stepping forward. “I can assure you nothing untoward happened here this evening. Your daughter and I have been having a most pleasant conversation and I suspect anyone who claims to have seen otherwise has, in truth, seen nothing more than an image distorted by the glass.”

Delia released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held.

“Very good,” Father murmured. “We’ll stick with that then.”

St. Stephens turned toward her father. “Sir, I am not sure if you remember me, but we met last week at Effington Hall.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly, then he nodded. “Of course. St. Stephens, isn’t it? My brother speaks quite highly of you.”

“I am honored, sir. I had planned on calling on you at a later date, but this seems as good a time as any.” St. Stephens cast Delia a quick smile. “I should like your permission to call on Miss Effington.”

“Miss
Effington? You mean Cassandra?” Her father’s gaze shot to her and she smiled uneasily. For as long as she could remember, he could immediately tell one of his daughters from the other. He claimed it was something in their eyes. He choked back what might have been a cough but was more likely a laugh.

“Sir?” St. Stephens said. “Are you all right?”

“I haven’t been all right in years.” He eyed his daughter pointedly. “Not since I had children. Daughters in particular. Damned difficult creatures. Age a man before his time.”

“Thank you, Father,” Delia murmured.

“I shall remember that, sir,” St. Stephens said. “Now, about this particular daughter —”

“I have nothing to say about this particular daughter at the moment.” Her father fixed her with a steady stare. “I believe she has a great deal to say before I do.”

“Or rather a great deal to explain.” Her mother glared at her.

“And I understand there are cigars in the library, which is where I would much rather be right now. So if you will excuse me…” Her father took her hands and leaned close, his voice low and for her alone.

“You do realize there will be hell to pay for this, and you are well aware of precisely what that hell is. Is he worth the trouble?”

“Honestly, Father, I don’t know, but I should very much like to find out.”

“Be careful, my dear.” His gaze searched hers. “But then I’d wager you will be. You have learned hard lessons and I suspect you have learned them well.”

She sighed. “I do hope so, Father.”

He smiled and stepped back. “On further thought, as excellent as Lord Puget’s cigars are, I fear I shall have to pass. We have another engagement this evening and should be on our way. Georgina?”

Her mother pinned Delia with a pointed look. “I assume you will be accompanying us?”

“Nonsense,” her father said quickly. “She probably has a carriage waiting and can certainly return home the same way she arrived.”

“Thank you, Father.” Relief washed through her.

“Very well,” her mother said with a sigh of resignation. “As it is getting late, we will discuss this tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course.” Delia forced a pleasant smile, and why not smile now? Tomorrow would hold nothing to smile about. “I shall quite look forward to it.”

Her mother leaned closer and kissed Delia’s cheek. “I wouldn’t.”

Her parents murmured their farewells, then headed toward the entry.

“Are your parents always that enigmatic?” St. Stephens asked.

“Usually they are quite direct, as I should be. However, my mother was right. It is far later than I realized and I must be off.”

“But what of your confession? Surely you’re not going to leave me hanging? You could not possibly tease me that way?”

“Oh, but I quite enjoy teasing you, my lord.” Her manner was offhand in spite of the turmoil in her stomach.

It would have been a much simpler matter to tell him she was not actually
Miss
anything but rather
Lady
Wilmont before her parents arrived. And that was certainly her intention. But now that he had asked permission to call on her, confession would be most awkward. The man might well be horribly embarrassed, even humiliated. It was entirely possible he would not want to see her again after learning the truth. Oh, not because she was a widow with a touch of scandal in her past, but because she had lied to him. He was, from all she could determine, a man with a very definite sense of honor. The least she could do was make certain he was spared any further embarrassment in public. She thought for a moment. “My…my sister is having a few guests for dinner tomorrow night and I should quite like it if you could attend.”

“On one condition.”

“You too?” She sighed. Did everyone in the world have conditions for her? “Very well.”

“I shall attend only if you promise to confess all, although I can’t imagine any sins you may have committed that require more than a causal mention. Your last confession was simply that of a faulty memory, and in truth” — he smiled boyishly — “that was my doing. Unless, of course” — his gaze bored into hers — “you wish to confess that you have no feelings for me whatsoever.”

“And if indeed that is my confession?”

“You shall quite break my heart, Miss Effington.” He sighed in an overly dramatic manner. “And you shall leave me no recourse.”

“Oh?”

He shook his head in feigned remorse. “I shall be forced to mount a campaign that will make any of Wellington’s pale in comparison.”

She laughed. “I should like to see that.”

“Oh, if necessary, Miss Effington, you shall.” He leaned closer, his dark eyes simmering. Her breath caught. “You see, Effingtons are not the only ones who refuse to lose.”

Chapter 12

If one was fortunate enough to have the resources of a department of the British government behind him and intelligent enough to have the foresight to leave a carriage and driver far enough away to avoid the jam of vehicles in front of the Puget mansion, one could easily manage to return home well before anyone else. Particularly necessary if one also needed a few extra moments to change from a young viscount to an elderly butler.

Tony glanced in the gilded mirror near the front entry and nodded with satisfaction. Not a hair on Gordon’s head was out of place. He caught the eye of Mac stationed by the front door. The man gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Tony resisted the urge to grin. No, he resisted the urge to laugh out loud.

The evening with Delia had gone far better than he’d dreamed. She certainly hadn’t recognized him, and it had been rather wonderful to be with her as himself. And that nonsense with her parents — he choked back a laugh. Well, she deserved it. Pretending to be her sister and defying all the conventions of society by going out in public. Oh, certainly she had done the same thing at Effington Hall, but if one looked at it through particularly narrowed eyes, one could say that was hardly public. It was her family’s home, after all.

Mac opened the door and Delia swept into the entry.

“Good evening” — he paused for a heartbeat — “my lady.”

“Good evening, Gordon.” She nodded briskly. “Is my sister in the parlor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” She started toward the parlor. He reached the door a step ahead of her and pulled it open. She stepped over the threshold and stopped in midstride. “You know who I am?”

“Of course, Lady Wilmont.”

She glared up at him suspiciously. “How?”

“The look in your eye, ma’am,” he said in his best unruffled butler manner. “It is unmistakable.”

“Charming,” she muttered, and turned back into the room. He closed the door behind her, leaving it discreetly cracked open just enough to hear as much of the conversation as possible, then took up his position beside it.

“Well?” Miss Effington’s voice sounded from the library. “Was it —”

“Some of it was quite wonderful, but the evening did not turn out precisely as I had planned.” Delia sighed. “I encountered an unexpected problem.”

He could well imagine the look on her sister’s face.

“What kind of problem? You haven’t ruined me entirely, have you?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly.” Delia paused, obviously gathering her courage. “Do sit down, Cassie, I have a great deal to tell you.” Delia lowered her voice and, as much as Tony strained, he could not make out her words. He anticipated a shriek from her sister at any minute. He certainly expected Miss Effington to be overset by the unexpected
problems
her sister had encountered, although certainly she was as much to blame as Delia herself. This should well be a lesson for them both about deception and impersonations.

He brushed aside the hypocritical nature of his criticism. After all, he was engaged in a far more extensive deception with an impersonation that had invaded Delia’s own household, her privacy, even her confidence. He knew full well she would see her sins as much less significant than his own, although he could certainly argue that, while her masquerade was for distinctly personal reasons, his was for a higher purpose, primarily her own safety. Indeed, one could even say his ruse was undertaken for the very security of his country. Why, looking at it that way, it was his patriotic duty to lie to her. Regardless, she would never forgive him.

A leaden weight settled in the pit of his stomach. She would, in all likelihood, despise him. And in truth, who could blame her? He had deceived her, lied to her, from the very moment he stepped into her house. He used said deception to work his way into her confidence, even her affections. And tonight, he simply compounded his sins.

A peal of laughter sounded from the parlor. Tony and Mac traded glances. Tony had no idea if the laughter was a good sign or very, very bad.

Tony hadn’t intended to tell Delia he might well love her; he hadn’t really yet admitted it to himself. And he certainly hadn’t planned to bring up the possibility of marriage. The very thought of marriage, of permanence and commitment and confinement, brought a cold chill to his soul, although marriage, permanence, commitment and even confinement did not sound quite as bad with Delia. Indeed, it really had a rather intriguing appeal. Still, he wasn’t at all sure why he had mentioned marriage, although it had certainly been on his mind of late. The easy and obvious answer was that he had simply been caught up in the moment. Playing out that bit about insisting on meeting her parents, asking her father for permission to call on her, all in the name of presenting himself as an honorable man. He cringed at the thought. He did indeed have a well defined sense of honor, but Delia would most definitely not see it that way. He would be lucky if she allowed him to live after all of this. Tony had been in dangerous situations before now, but none as potentially lethal as the game he was caught up in with Delia.
Welcome to the game.