Read A Necessary Deception Online
Authors: Georgie Lee
A Necessary Deception (2 page)
“I’ll marry you and we’ll make this charade of yours real,” Charles announced. His father had taught him to meet his obligations and he had, joining the Army to support his mother and sister after his father had died in debt and the creditors had seized the family bakery. John and Mary were his responsibility and he’d see to them too. “Together, we’ll find a way to deal with the remaining debt.”
“No.” Mary lifted her chin like a defiant enemy soldier, the loose strands of her hair falling back to caress her neck. He wanted to tuck them behind the delicate curve of her ear, and then crush her to him until her stoic stance softened into the languid embrace he used to cherish. “
I’ve solved my problems on my own before, I’ll do it again.
”
He drummed his fingers on his crossed arms, the warmth of her chin still vivid against his fingertips. He admired her determination and spirit but not when she turned them against him.
“I’m willing to take them on to help you and John.” He pushed away from the table to stand over her. The faint scent of rosewater and the bready tang of hops surrounded her, bringing back all the nights he’d come here to buy ale he hadn’t drunk simply to speak to her. Every male patron had admired her, but she’d favored him as she’d swept through the tables, matching his teasing word for word when she’d set down the tankards in front of him, the curve of her white arms as alluring as her hips beneath her dress. It hadn’t only been lust which had drawn them together, but a joining of similar souls. During their single night together, when they’d lain satiated and languid in each other’s arms, she’d listened to him describe the struggle to take care of his mother and sister, and how hard it’d been to be away when his mother had died. He’d told her his worries of being killed and leaving his sister to fend for herself in a difficult world. Mary’s life back then had been secure, but still she’d understood his worries, not placating him with shallow reassurance, but comforting and heartening him. If he hadn’t been called back to Spain so suddenly, he would have proposed. If he hadn’t been so enraptured by her, he wouldn’t have been careless during their night together and added to the problems which had turned her from a lively young woman to one overwhelmed with woe. “I realize things haven’t been easy for you, but you can trust me as you did before.”
If any of what they’d shared three years ago still lingered in her heart, she hid it well, revealing little as she answered him. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You’re being as foolish as your mother.”
Mary turned from the barrel in the taproom to frown at her aunt. “How can you say such a thing?”
“It’s true. Like her, you’re not considering the consequences of your decisions.”
“Such as when I bedded Charles?” Unlike her mother, Aunt Emily had never condemned Mary for her mistake. It stung to have her do it now
.
Aunt Emily tugged at the gold locket with the miniature of her deceased husband. “I don’t blame you for what you did. Captain Beven gave you a chance to be young and impetuous after years of working here with your folks. It was a mistake to allow your mother to talk you into pushing him away. Don’t do it again. Accept his proposal and his help.”
“And give Charles legal control of everything including the Marquis and John?”
Aunt Emily laid a steadying hand on Mary’s arm. “Don’t think about what you’ll give him but what you’ll gain. You’ll have the love and support of a husband and John will have a father who’ll teach him to be a man.”
Mary stared at her aunt’s thin fingers clasped tight on her sleeve. Aunt Emily was right, a son needed his father but she wasn’t sure she needed a husband, or love. The word had never passed between Mary and Charles, not even in the darkness when he’d touched her as if she’d been everything to him. She’d fed on the memory during the difficult days when she’d worried about losing the pub
or in the middle of the long nights when she’d soothed a fussy John, but hurrying Charles to the altar in the hopes he might solve her problems was as bad as her mother’s
rush to wed Paul. “
Mother thought Paul would take care of her and look how that ended."
“She was foolish to trust him, and you can learn from her mistakes, but don’t let them rule you. Captain Beven is no Paul.”
“What if you’re wrong? Paul was kind, and tricked us all until after the wedding, then it was too late. Captain Beven could do the same.” Her worries overruled the urging of her heart to accept him. “We spent so little time together before he left. I hardly know him.”
“Come with me.” Aunt Emily tugged Mary to the slightly ajar door behind the bar. “Look there.”
Mary peered into the near empty common room where Charles sat with John. She whirled on her aunt. “You left John with a stranger?”
“I left him with his father.” Aunt Emily gently turned her back to the scene.
Charles blew dust off a small horse he’d whittled from one of the tinder sticks and handed it to the boy. John squealed with joy and Charles ruffled his son’s unruly hair. His genuine delight in John touched Mary’s heart as deeply as his flattery used to when he’d first come here three years ago, standing out among the dully dressed farmers and laborers in his red uniform. While her father had filled tankards, Mary had served them, taking every opportunity to pass by Charles’s table and revel in his charming smiles and witty remarks. Many men had tried to woo her between pints of beer, but none had entranced her like Charles had then, and now. His uniform might be faded but the lightness of spirit which had drawn her to him, the sense of duty, honor and strength which marked every word and movement still existed. It showed in the deftness of his fingers on the knife as he laid it aside, and in the strength and width of his shoulder as he sat straight on the bench.
“If Captain Beven treats his son, who he hadn’t met until this morning, with such care, and while his mother isn’t looking, imagine how well he’ll treat you,” her aunt whispered.
Mary tightened her grip on the rough wood of the door jamb. She craved tenderness after the rough handling of the last three years, and wanted to believe once more in the happiness of marriage as she had when her father had been alive. But it wasn’t possible. She was no longer a naive young woman but one who’d been betrayed by both her mother and Paul. She wasn’t sure she could trust or love anyone again, not even Charles.
Charles sat back, smiling as his son fingered the wooden horse.
My son
. Charles tapped the knotty wood table in amazement. His father had made him a similar toy when he was a boy and he’d cherished it. His sister, who was married now and in Kent with a house of her own, kept it for him. He’d always thought he’d one day make toys like it for his own child. He hadn’t expected it to be today.
He curled his fingers beneath his hand, determined to have a place in the boy and Mary’s life. He’d missed too much time with them already and he wasn’t about to lose more by letting her misguided independence stop him.
“Mama says you were fighting in Spain,” John said, drawing Charles’ attention back to his son.
“I was.” Charles began to tell him something of his experience when the pub door opened and a man sauntered in with the cold autumn breeze. He wore a dirty hat pushed down over his eyes and took in the place with a covetous gleam that set Charles on edge. Then he turned his attention to Charles who didn’t flinch from his hard scrutiny. Beside him, John shrunk back on the bench, the horse clasped tight to his chest.
“Who’s that?” Charles asked as the stout man bore down on them. The fear in the boy’s round eyes made Charles furious.
“Mr. Pratt,” John’s small voice trembled. “Mama gives him money but he always yells and says she owes him more.”
“Not today he won’t.” Charles rose and placed himself between John and the man built like a bale of hay and just as ugly. “What’s your business here?”
Mr. Pratt studied him with two squinty eyes above a whiskered and greasy face. “So it’s true, you’re back from the dead. Good, you can pay me what her stepfather didn’t or I’ll summon the bailiff and take it. I’d like to own a pub.”
Charles planted his fists on his hips. “How much is owed?”
Mr. Pratt rubbed his chin as if deciding how much he could squeeze out of him. “One hundred pounds.”
“That’s not what she told me,” Charles bluffed. Mary hadn’t told him the amount, but he’d defended more than one young and gullible officer from men like these who extended small loans then inflated the amount without proof. They used force to get what they wanted, which as in this case, wasn't always money.
Mr. Pratt’s squinty eyes opened wide and Charles knew he had him but the man remained determined. “Here’s all the proof I need.”
Mr. Pratt swung his walking stick at Charles who caught the man’s beefy arm and twisted it until the stick clattered to the floor. He punched him in the gut, doubling him over. Then he grabbed him by the scruff with one hand and scooped up the walking stick with the other. He dragged the wheezing oaf to the door, kicked it open and tossed Mr. Pratt into the street. “Don’t come back until you have proof of the terms of the loan and how much is really owed.”
He broke the walking stick over his knee and chucked it in the mud beside him, not flinching at the hate the ugly lout spat at him. Charles stepped back into the pub, stopping just as the door swung shut behind him to discover Mary watching from beside the bar. She held John close, her arms crossed protectively over the boy who beamed at having seen a ghost defeated. His mother’s wide eyes revealed her astonishment.
“Thank you,” she mouthed before retreating with their son into the back room.
Charles didn’t want her thanks. He wanted her faith in him and their future life together. It was clear Mary needed him. He knew from experience this wouldn’t be the last of Mr. Pratt. Even if the man thought twice about using force to intimidate anyone here into providing payment, he wasn’t going to simply forget the debt. He’d be back and in search of his money and Charles would have to find a way to pay him.
"Your news is certainly more interesting than mine." Major Aaron Wilson raised a tankard to Charles. His friend from Spain had arrived with details of their new posting in London, preventing Charles from speaking with Mary about Mr. Pratt.
Charles stood behind the bar serving the few patrons free enough in the middle of the day to waste coin on beer. He hadn't waited to be asked but had set to work where Mr. Ogden had said he was needed. The activity cleared his mind, allowing him to plot and plan even if nothing had come of it yet.
“A major's commission is available," Aaron announced. "With it, you can stay in London, but Lord Beckwith needs the money for it right away. Many are clamoring for the rank and he can’t put them off for long.”
"Selling my captain’s commission will raise most of it but I'll still be two hundred pounds short.”
Down the bar, a slim man hunched over a tankard listened with too much interest. A hard look from Charles warned him to mind his own business.
“Without it, you’ll either be ordered back to Spain or forced to sell out?” Aaron reminded.
Charles tapped the bar. Selling out would mean earning the money for Mary and ending his career. He’d need his rank if Mary continued to refuse him.
"Any chance Mrs. Beven will lend you the difference?” Aaron hazarded over the rim of his tankard.
The slim man tossed a coin on the counter and left.
"Not likely. The pub hasn't a pound to spare.” He picked up the thruppence and flipped it in the air before catching it in his fist. “I could try my luck at the gaming tables. I've won money before to buy my way up the ranks, I could do it again."
Aaron set down his ale. "Or you could lose what little you have.”
Charles rubbed the stamped face of the thruppence between his thumb and forefinger. Aaron was right. Gambling for his future was risky. It might have worked for him in the past but there was no guarantee he’d win what he needed now. However, with few other prospects open to him, it was almost the only option which remained. “Then let’s hope my luck holds."
He turned to toss the money in the till when his eyes caught Mary’s. She watched him, like the thin man had, from the far end of the bar. He wasn’t sure how much she’d heard but he sensed it was enough. Suspicion darkened her flashing eyes as she hustled away, her cloak flaring out behind her as she fled.
“Excuse me.” Charles left his friend to follow her into the semi-dark hallway near the back door. He caught her by the arm, stopping her from darting into the alley behind the pub. “Mary, wait.”
She whirled to face him, as stunned as he was by the softness of her flesh against his fingertips. For a moment they stood there, linked by his sure grip and the potent memory of a stolen first kiss in this hallway three years ago. He shifted closer and her red lips parted, tempting him now as they had back then. He lowered his head, eager to taste again the woman who’d so enthralled him. She raised her face to his, drawing up to meet him, her breasts light against his chest through the fabric of her dress, surrendering to him and the bond they’d once shared.
Then all of a sudden she jerked her arm out of his hand. “Let go of me.”
The urgency of the present smashed all recollection of the past, and he stepped back, bumping into the plaster wall behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me how much you owed Mr. Pratt?”
"Because I almost have enough to pay him, and then the Marquis will be out of danger."
"But you don't have it all and you won't anytime soon, will you?"
The nervous dart of her gaze told him he was right. She was about to lose the pub and everything she'd fought for. "You don't have it either, so what can you do?"
“Find another way to provide for John and our futures.”
“By gambling?” She snatched a reticule off a peg beside the door, along with an old sword hanging beside it. She gripped the weathered sheath tight as she faced him. “Paul tried to solve his problems with the cards and all it ever did was make them and ours even worse. I won’t risk mine or my son’s future on the whims of a gambler.”
She made for the door but he stepped between her and it. “He’s my son too, and I have a say in his future as much as you do.”
Fear flitted across her face before she narrowed her eyes at him in challenge. “Don’t think you can take him from me.”
“I never said I would.” He eased his shoulders, not wanting to frighten her or set them at odds. Somehow he must convince her to trust him and work with him for John’s sake. “I also want what’s best for him, and you.”
The heat in her eyes cooled but it didn’t fade completely. “The pub is what’s best for him. Now, get out of my way, I have an errand to run.”
He didn’t move, hesitant to let her go. He could guess where she was going and knew it wouldn’t accomplish what she hoped. Still, he must allow her to try. Then, when she failed, she might at last admit she needed his help. He shifted to the side, leaving the way to the door clear. She swept past him and into the bright street beyond, the cloak snapping at her heels.
