The Perfect Impostor (11 page)

But the completion of the second was compromised by an inconvenient tuft of grass, and Katrina finished up on her backside, helpless with laughter.

It was either that or turn tail and run.

* * *

Leo fired a few arrows at the target and placed them in a neat circle in the centre of the bull’s-eye, much to the chagrin of the younger men who’d been attempting to demonstrate their prowess without nearly as much success. He was pounced upon by the female element of the party who, egged on by their ambitious mothers, begged for personal tuition from such a fine exponent of the sport.

Leo didn’t allow them to detain him for long, all the time keeping Julia’s double in his sights. She exchanged a few words with the older ladies, made a fuss of Lady Marshall’s awful dogs and then slipped away. At first he thought she might be following his advice and heading for the walled garden but the direction she had gone in wouldn’t take her there. She was walking with purpose, discouraging anyone from intercepting her, as though she had an urgent appointment to keep. Leo, curious to know what she was up to, extricated himself from the shooting contest and followed after her at a safe distance.

He was still unable to decide what had caused him to kiss her. Who in the name of Hades was she? What dangerous game did Julia think she was playing, sending someone here to take her place, when she could never hope to get away with it?

Except that she
was
getting away with it. No one here had expressed the slightest suspicion about her. Even her husband had apparently been deceived. And the woman, whoever she was, had been willing to go to his bed rather than be found out. Julia must be paying her a prince’s ransom to maintain the deception. Leo’s lip curled in disgust. How could he be drawn to someone with such a mercenary character?

He’d get over that soon enough, once he’d bedded her. And bed her he would, if she wished him to keep her secret. She clearly wasn’t too particular, not if she was willing to entertain Dupont without any qualms. But all that could wait until a more suitable juncture. First Leo needed to discover her identity. He was convinced now that Julia was behind the jewel thefts, and the presence of an impostor here at Lady Marshall’s must have something to do with that conspiracy.

Leo grimaced as he skirted the side of the building. In the distance, Julia’s impostor looked over her shoulder briefly and then disappeared beyond the walled garden. Following her, he came across a secluded meadow he hadn’t known existed, hidden from general view by a stand of trees on one side, the orchard and the walled garden.

Leo stationed himself behind a stout oak and waited to see what would transpire. He wasn’t expecting to be interrupted and almost cried aloud when a hand fell on his shoulder.

“God’s teeth, Boscombe!” He let out his breath in an angry hiss, unfisted his right hand and let it fall to his side. “What are you doing skulking about here?”

“Keeping an eye on the maid, like you asked me to.”

“All right, but what’s she doing?”

Boscombe chuckled. “See for yourself.”

Leo pushed some lower branches aside to see the woman impersonating Julia speaking to her maid in an undertone. She had tossed aside her bonnet and her hair, definitely darker than Julia’s pale blond, was tumbling across her shoulders where it had escaped its pins. “What the?”

“Looks as though Celia’s giving her mistress dancing lessons.”

Leo watched in stupefaction as the impostor tripped, collapsing in an undignified heap on the soft grass, convulsed with laughter. Celia tutted, her eyes darting around, presumably worried that her mistress would be overheard. She adjured Julia to control herself. The only effect that had was to make her laugh harder still. Leo sensed that the uncontrollable laughter was an outlet for her pent-up emotions and it was some time before she brought it under control.

Celia waited, tapping her foot with barely concealed impatience as Julia wiped tears away from her face with the back of her gloved hand and struggled to her feet. Her skirts fell into place, robbing Leo of the enticing spectacle of her legs. She brushed down the back of her gown and made what was clearly a herculean effort to concentrate.

“Are you all right?” he heard Celia enquire with a marked lack of deference.

“Perfectly, thank you. Shall we try again?”

Leo and Boscombe watched for a while longer. The woman tripped twice more but managed to remain on her feet on both occasions. Her technique was improving but, unless someone of exceptional skill partnered her at the auction tomorrow, she didn’t have a hope of passing herself off as an expert in the dance. He wondered at her desperation in even attempting it. What could possibly be so important that she would take the risk rather than make an excuse and leave?

“Strange,” Leo muttered beneath his breath. “What else has Celia being doing today?”

“Dallying with one of Dupont’s coachmen. James, his name is. Behind the stables, they were. Thought they were alone and right friendly they were too.”

“Were they indeed.”

“Makes you wonder, don’t it?”

“It’s certainly an interesting development. Keep this James character in your sights too.”

“Milord.”

“Come, Boscombe, we’ve seen enough.” Leo grinned as Julia moved the wrong foot and mangled Celia’s toe. He neither liked nor trusted the maid and felt it was no more than she deserved.

The two men moved back towards the terrace and entered the house through a side door. Leo was deep in thought about the woman impersonating Julia, mentally cataloguing the telltale signs that set her apart from the original. She looked very much like the marchioness, in that she enjoyed similar features and colouring and carried herself with the same innate sense of elegance. Leo had heard her speak with authority upon subjects as diverse as Greek mythology and politics, of all things. She was well educated and liked to keep herself informed. She was trained in the ways of society but not used to mixing within its ranks. Where Julia would put herself forward and never miss an opportunity to shine, her impostor tended to hold back and defer to others.

Leo entered his chamber through the door Boscombe held open for him. The woman he’d seen this morning knew a very great deal about fashion but that was not so very unusual. Every lady of his acquaintance found the subject endlessly enthralling. But, unless he mistook the matter, the impersonator’s knowledge was more deeply entrenched. She knew something about design, and about the best way to cut fabric. He’d heard several of the ladies seeking her opinion in respect of colour combinations and accessories but thought little of it at the time. They instinctively understood what had only become apparent to Leo that morning when she made an absent comment about Miss Ainsworth’s attire. This tantalizing creature looked upon other women’s wardrobes with a professional eye.

What did that say about her? Something important that had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since he’d first entertained suspicions about her. And it had to do with fashion.

He was barely aware of Boscombe bustling about the room, attending to his duties whilst Leo ruminated upon the woman who fascinated him. Boscombe knew well enough not to interrupt him when he was thinking. And what he was thinking about now was the nature of the kiss they’d shared in the Japanese garden. The woman he’d kissed had never been in that garden before. Leo would stake his life on that fact. And yet Julia Dupont had willingly allowed him to virtually seduce her in it not six months before she became engaged to Dupont.

Ah, that kiss! This lady’s lips were as sweet as summer wine, her response as natural and innocent as a virgin’s. The impostor’s kiss dispelled any lingering doubts he might otherwise have entertained about her being Julia Dupont. And yet…and yet, she had willingly given herself to Dupont. Or had she? Anger propelled Leo’s mind away from his tangled reflections. It shouldn’t matter to him what the hussy was prepared to do to help Julia.

It didn’t.

“I was right all along, Boscombe,” he drawled languidly. “That woman isn’t Julia Dupont.”

“Well she wouldn’t be, would she,” Boscombe said with irrefutable logic. “Not if she don’t even know how to waltz.”

“Not just that. There are a dozen other signs.” Leo was conscious of a muscle leaping in his jaw as he battled to quell his disappointment. His anger. Whatever the hell it was causing him such restless malcontent.

“And if you don’t know her well enough to be able to tell, who would?”

“But that’s just the point. If I hadn’t turned up unexpectedly no one would be any the wiser, which is presumably why Julia got this other woman to exchange places with her.”

“But Dupont didn’t suspect?”

Leo suppressed a grimace. “Apparently not.”

“Who is she then? Any ideas?”

“No, but there’s something I ought to remember. Something about Coulton Court.”

“Where Lady Julia grew up?”

“There was something I recall hearing, years ago. Something about some other girl…” Leo broke off and slapped his thigh. “Damn it, why can’t I remember?” He sighed. “Never mind. I know someone who will.”

Leo moved to his desk, reached for paper and quill and penned a note to his brother. “Ride back to town, Boscombe, deliver this to the duke and return with his reply at first light.”

“What about tonight?”

“I’m well able to dress myself.”

“You think His Grace will know who the trollop is then?”

“No, but I suspect his wife will. She was a close neighbour of Julia’s before her marriage.”

“Why do you think Lady Dupont sent an impostor in her place then?”

“I assume there’s an innocent reason, like an affair, if you can call such a thing
innocent.
Since Dupont wasn’t expected, I suppose Julia thought the deception would work.”

“Surely the impostor wouldn’t be prepared to give herself to Dupont? Even if she pleaded a headache, presumably he’d notice it wasn’t his own wife in his bed, even if he was in his cups.”

“Exactly.” Leo threw his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So the stakes must be a lot higher than a mere affair.”

“You think Lady Dupont is our thief?”

“It looks that way, and what’s more, that maid of hers must be involved. Dupont’s coachmen might have been deceived but Celia has to be in on it.” Leo paused to assimilate his thoughts. “Look at the impatient way she handled the impostor during the dancing lesson. Any lady’s maid could confidently expect to be dismissed for such familiar behaviour.”

“But, if Lady Dupont is the thief, surely she needs to be here.”

“Exactly. There’s something not right about all this but until I get a response to that note, I’m damned if I know what it is.”

“Right, I’ll be on my way then.” Boscombe paused with his hand on the door handle. “Anything you wish me to report to His Grace?”

“No, I’ve explained everything in that note. Just get back as soon as you can tomorrow. Nothing will happen here until after the duchess arrives with her tiara. In the meantime, I shall keep a weather eye on the impostor.”

Boscombe chuckled. “I dare say you can be trusted not to muck that up.”

Celia was a hard taskmaster. As soon as luncheon was over she all but ordered Katrina to return to her chamber so they could continue with their lesson.

“We won’t be able to string many steps together in such a confined space,” she told Katrina, moving aside the furniture in the sitting room, “but at least we’ll be able to work on the rise-and-fall action. And we can attempt some of the turns we were unable to tackle in that field.”

Katrina sighed. “Very well.”

She was tired, a tense headache pounding at her skull. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep until all her problems went away. Oh, and if she could forget all about Leo Kincade’s somnolent smile, his coercive charm and blistering gaze, that would make her feel more in control too. His incendiary kiss still scorched her lips, constantly dragging her mind back to the episode in the garden when she had more urgent matters to consider.

Like what to do about tomorrow’s ball. Now that she’d attempted a few waltz steps, she still had grave reservations about attending, more convinced than ever that she would never pass muster. Celia took every opportunity to remind her that she owed it to Julia to master the infuriating dance. But the way things were going, even the tenacious Celia would soon see that it was hopeless. Being so clumsy wasn’t such a bad thing, Katrina decided, since that unfortunate circumstance would enable her to slip away in the morning with a clear conscience.

“Come along, ma’am.” Celia tutted when Katrina moved the wrong foot yet again, almost bringing them both to the ground. “You’re not concentrating.”

“Enough!” Something inside Katrina snapped. “We’ve been at it for more than an hour and I’m exhausted. I must go down to the terrace and take tea with the other ladies. It will seem strange if I don’t appear. And,” she added, waving a hand to prevent Celia from interrupting her, “after that I intend to have a bath and a long rest.”

Celia pursed her lips but had the good sense not to pursue the matter. “Very well, ma’am,” she said peevishly. “But we ought to make an early start on your next lesson tomorrow. You have so much still to learn. With all the preparations for the ball, no one is likely to miss you and we’ll be able to make some headway.”

“We’ll see.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Celia shot her a sharp look. “Surely you are not still intending to give up? You almost have it.”

“Your anxiety for your mistress does you credit,” Katrina said firmly, rather enjoying exerting herself. She’d had enough of being bullied, cajoled, cross-questioned. And kissed. “But surely you can see how hopeless it is.”

“Nonsense, milady, we can easily—”

“Now then, I think the blue-striped Indian muslin for this afternoon.” Katrina’s tone made it clear that the discussion was over. “And tonight, for the ridotto, the cream rep-sarcenet might best keep the chill out.”

“The gown that looks as though it’s made from milky velvet, trimmed with gold braid?”

Celia knew very well what rep-sarcenet was—she would be a sorry excuse for a lady’s maid if she didn’t—but was being deliberately obtuse because Katrina had stood up for herself. She was too tired to care about her maid’s fit of pique and merely nodded, endeavouring to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that she was being manipulated by an expert hand. Well, two experts actually. Celia was acting on Julia’s specific orders, and whatever Julia was up to, it was apparently essential for its success that Katrina remain here posing as her friend for the duration of the party.

She had assumed that Julia was involved in an extramarital affair. She was no longer quite so sure. There was just something about the whole business that set warning bells jangling inside her head. She needed to be on her guard. But against what precisely? It was little wonder that she had a headache.

A short time later Katrina joined the ladies, all of whom expressed their excitement at the prospect of the forthcoming ball.

“I do believe Lord Kincade has taken a shine to my Isabel,” Lady Ainsworth confided in an aside to Katrina, loud enough for the entire company to hear.

“Really?” Katrina’s surprise wasn’t feigned. When Isabel Ainsworth had crossed their path earlier, clad in her unflattering gown, Leo had barely spared her a glance.

“Oh yes, this morning he spent a deal of time explaining to her exactly how to draw a bow. None of the other young ladies commanded nearly so much of his attention.”

“Perhaps because they were better shots,” muttered Emily Nugent sulkily.

“Lord Kincade insisted upon remaining beside Isabel until she hit the target,” Lady Ainsworth trumpeted, sounding as though she was desperately trying to convince herself. “And tomorrow I dare say he’ll spend half the evening dancing with her. What a shame she’s too young to waltz.”

“We’re in the country here,” Katrina said, “and the rules are not so strenuously enforced. After all, it’s hardly Almack’s.”

“Ah, that’s true. Thank you, Lady Dupont. I shall make Isabel aware that should Lord Kincade request her hand for a waltz then she has my leave to accept.”

Katrina turned away to hide her smile. Fending off Isabel Ainsworth would ensure that Leo Kincade’s attention wasn’t focused on her. If she attended, that is, which was still far from certain.

“It’s all a lot of rot,” Lady Ainsworth said to her in an undertone.

“I beg your pardon.”

“About Kincade and my Isabel, of course. I merely said it to annoy Mrs. Nugent. She has expectations in that quarter with regard to her mousy daughter. She doesn’t stand a chance but I do so enjoy causing trouble.”

Katrina smiled, rather enjoying her irreverent company. “Yes, so I apprehend.”

“It will be quite a crush,” Lady Marshall said, beaming at Katrina as she fed sweetmeats to her pug dogs. “I didn’t expect everyone we invited to come but it appears they’ve heard about the auction and your volunteering to waltz with the highest bidder, dear Lady Dupont. Everyone is most anxious to see how much the gentlemen will be prepared to pay for the privilege.”

Katrina’s heart sank. She had no idea that the novel auction prize had garnered quite so much interest. Indeed she failed to understand how anyone outside of the house party could be aware of it. But it seemed they were, and given that the auction was in such a good cause how, in all conscience, could she walk away now?

“Disappointingly little, I dare say,” Katrina said flippantly. “When it comes to opening their purse strings, even for worthy causes such as this one, gentlemen are apt to display parsimonious tendencies.”

“You’ve sold yourself before then, have you?” Mrs. Nugent asked.

“No, Mrs. Nugent,” Katrina responded with the sweetest of smiles. “But should the occasion arise, no doubt you will be able to advise me on the matter, what with your husband’s success in the business world.” She silently congratulated herself on such a Julia-like setdown.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” Mrs. Nugent’s hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“The jealous little witch!” Lady Ainsworth hardly bothered to lower her voice as she addressed Katrina. “Such airs!”

“Why is she so unpleasant to me?” Katrina had been anxious to ingratiate herself with everyone at the party but Mrs. Nugent took constant jibes at her. Alienating the most senior lady present hardly seemed the best way to achieve her ambitions.

Lady Ainsworth merely smiled. “I told you, she has set her sights on Kincade for her daughter.”

“Yes, but what’s that to me?”

“My dear, don’t pretend you don’t know, for I shall refuse to believe you.”

“No, really, I—”

“Did your husband tell you that he’s agreed to match the amount the winning gentleman pays to dance with you?” Lady Marshall asked Katrina.

“No, ma’am, he must have forgotten to mention it.”

But it certainly explained how word had spread. Katrina felt the colour drain from her face as the impossibility of her situation struck home. Dupont would not have hesitated to relate the story at Court. It was just the sort of announcement he would enjoy making, amusing the prince and showing himself in a philanthropic light.

By making the event public knowledge, he had turned her into a
cause célèbre,
trapping her in an impossible situation. She was now the principal attraction at a ball that would doubtless be talked about for years to come. Walking out would cause more problems for Julia than brazening the thing through. Oh lord, what a mess! Perhaps she could somehow contrive to break an ankle. She couldn’t see any other way out. If she left unexpectedly, what with all the interest her presence had created, word would reach the marquess before she’d travelled five miles.

“Perhaps he intended it as a surprise. Allowing you to dance a waltz with the highest bidder when he’s not even here to protect your interests shows great generosity of spirit. And then to match that bid in aid of our brave soldiers…well, it’s not something you hear about every day. It’s bound to create a stir.” Lady Marshall reached across and patted Katrina’s hand, almost tipping one of her dogs off her lap in the process. “You’ll be the making of my ball, m’dear.”

But not for the reasons you suppose, dear Lady Marshall.

“I wonder how much you will raise.”

Katrina didn’t need to turn her head to know who’d whispered the words softly enough so that only she could hear them. His breath agitated the sensitive spot beneath her left ear, sending waves of awareness ricocheting down her spine.

“Disappointingly little, I dare say,” she snapped, pretending not to understand the deliberate
double entendre,
even though Julia would have played up to it. “I really don’t see why so much fuss is being made over a silly dance.”

“You disappoint me, Julia,” he purred. “That’s not like you at all. Where’s your patriotic spirit? It’s all for a good cause and, even if it were not, it will give you an opportunity to take centre stage.” The caustic, taunting Lord Kincade was back and Katrina didn’t know whether to feel relieved or regretful. “Parsons is running a book, you know. He’s taking bets on who will stump up the most for the privilege of holding you in his arms.”

“If you expect me to ask who’s in the lead then I fear you’re bound for disappointment, my lord.” She twirled her parasol over her shoulder, blocking his sardonic expression from view and almost taking his eye out with one of the spokes. “It matters little to me who’s foolish enough to part with his blunt. I just want the whole thing over with.”

“I think you must be sickening for something.” He looked suitably concerned. “That’s not at all the response I expected. Either you’re unwell or marriage has quelled your adventurous spirit.”

Katrina stood up. Her head was pounding again and she could take no more. Bobbing a brief curtsey in Lady Marshall’s direction she headed towards the house. But Leo Kincade clearly hadn’t finished amusing himself at her expense and easily kept pace with her.

“Lord Erith is odds-on to win,” he said amiably. “Rumour has it that he didn’t intend to be here until he heard about the auction. Being your husband’s archrival at Court, I suppose he couldn’t resist this opportunity to annoy him.”

Katrina didn’t have a notion who he was talking about. Presumably she was supposed to dislike this Lord Erith and so made do with pulling a face.

“Of course, the old blighter is the most dreadful letch and also has terrible gout, so don’t expect him to lead. You’d be much better advised to concentrate your efforts on avoiding his wandering hands. To the best of my knowledge they aren’t suffering from any affliction that will prevent him from taking atrocious liberties.”

Katrina stopped walking and turned to glare at him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely.”

She shot him a look that could freeze stone but it bounced harmlessly off his disgustingly self-assured expression. “I’m glad someone is.”

“If the idea of exhibiting yourself is so distasteful you could always contrive to turn an ankle,” he suggested, a mocking smile playing about his lips. “Although I own that would be a pity. I recall that you have a very delicate, shapely ankle. It would be a shame to damage it simply to avoid Lord Erith’s clutches.”

Damn his eyes, how had he known she’d been considering just such a course of action? He appeared to be intimately acquainted with Julia’s ankles. What other parts of her body were familiar territory?

“So you think me a coward,” she said, attempting to replicate the teasing tone she was sure Julia would have employed in such a situation. “Add that to all the other reasons you have to hold me in low esteem and there will be little left to admire.”

“Oh, I dare say I shall think of something.”

A cool hand reached up and gently traced the line of her cheek, scorching her skin with a featherlight touch. One finger ran along the edge of her lips, forcing its way between them in an overtly suggestive manner. It was all she could do to prevent herself from drawing that long, capable finger into her mouth and sucking the life out of it. Much as, God help her, she would like him to suck her most intimate places until she melted into submission.

A fire burned in his eyes, almost as though he was waging a war with himself and coming out on the losing side. She endeavoured to turn her head away but something stronger than her own will kept her eyes focused on the frustrated passion that fuelled his expression. His eyes turned as black as obsidian as he continued to hold her gaze, and it felt like a lifetime suspended in a moment before he dropped his hand from her face.

“You are many things, Julia,” he said softly, “but I have never once doubted your courage.”

His eyes were still fixed on her face, the reluctant admiration in his expression reminding her of the way he’d regarded her immediately before he kissed her. His look was a tender caress that caused something unfamiliar to stir deep within her core and tug at her heart. The vision of them locked together in a passionate embrace drugged her mind but she ruthlessly tamped down the emotion it engendered. It addled her brain, kicked aside all vestiges of common sense and made her seriously consider confiding in him. If anyone could help her out of this farrago it would be him.