Carnal Deceptions (5 page)

When Lord Marcliffe retrieved his coat Tess noticed for the first time that his white shirt was stained with blood. It had clearly been more than a scratch he’d suffered on the road.

“Christ, Marcliffe, what happened to your shoulder?” Cyrus asked. “Tree branch came out of nowhere.”

“Learn to duck.” Cyrus seemed pleased with his retort. “Your lordship,” he added quickly.

“This witty gentleman, Miss Calloway, served as my sergeant. I don’t think I’d ever step on a battlefield without this titan beside me. Cyrus, this is Miss Calloway, my aunt’s new companion.”

To Lady Stadwell’s other visitors she was a nonentity. She had faded into the wallpaper just as Beadle had hoped. But Lord Marcliffe was different. He treated her as if she existed, even introducing her to his army mate. A lump formed in her throat. She

hadn’t realized how much she’d missed being spoken to as if she was someone worth speaking to.

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because he offered a heartening smile. “I assure you Cyrus is harmless,” he said, misreading her emotions. He adjusted his cravat. “I am anxious to taste some of your pastries. My aunt says that you put London’s bakers to shame.”

“I’m afraid Lady Stadwell is exaggerating my skills. But I shall try not to disappoint either of you.” She nodded to his friend. “And I will try not to swing kitchen utensils at your visitor.” Tess was thankful that Lord Marcliffe had neglected to supply butter. The house was suddenly becoming crowded with overlarge men, and she could think of nothing more inviting than a long walk alone. “I’m off to the Hathaways’ for butter.” She took a basket from a hook.

“I might join you.” He kneaded his thigh with his knuckles. “I always get stiff after a long ride and a stroll will do me some good.”

“Really, you mustn’t… I mean I would rather… I don’t mind going alone.”

Lord Marcliffe stared at her. “I hardly know what to think of that response. Either you have some secret rendezvous planned or you find my company thoroughly disagreeable.”

“I think it is the latter,” Cyrus interjected.

Lord Marcliffe raised an eyebrow at his friend who shrugged in response.

“Mr. Cyrus, I’m afraid Lord Marcliffe has decided that I am leading a double life.” “I believe nothing of the sort, Miss Calloway.” His tone was serious. “I am, however,

very protective of my aunt.”

“Then you can believe me when I say that I have grown extremely fond of Lady Stadwell and I would never do anything to compromise her trust.”

He considered her for an uncomfortably long moment, hoping, it seemed, to gauge the truth of her words.

Cyrus cleared his throat. “I’ll be heading out to unhook the wagon. Sorry if I caused you any fright, miss.” He stopped just short of smacking his head on the doorway again. With excess caution, he crouched comically low as he exited.

Tess curtsied and slipped by Lord Marcliffe to follow Cyrus out the side door. “Miss Calloway,” he called before she could make a clean escape.

A lock of his silken black hair had fallen across his forehead and her fingers itched to smooth it back. “Thank you for taking such good care of my aunt. She is very fond of you and she has not trusted anyone since—” He stepped closer.

Tess retreated toward the open doorway. He stopped, seeming to understand that she did not want him to come any closer. His gaze was riveted on her mouth.

“I apologize if I cause you unease.”

“’Tis a nervous twitch, my lord.” She caught her trembling bottom lip with her teeth and turned away to head into the gray morning.

The walk brought clarity to Tess’s thoughts. Her fingers stiffening, she shifted the basket to the other hand. She was no longer thinking as charitably about Lady Stadwell’s nephew. The blackguard had known exactly what he was doing when he’d strutted his breath-stealing, naked form across the floor of his bedchamber.
Give the poor, pathetic chit a thrill. She’ll never be this close to an unclothed man again
. A tingle ran up Tess’s spine as she imagined tracing the thin line of black hair that trailed down his abdomen.

She made an effort to concentrate on the recipes she’d be preparing. She thought of butter browning and nearly melted at the idea of touching his golden skin. How would she manage not to make a complete fool of herself with her spinsterish disguise and newfound desire? The answer, she determined, was to make herself scarce whenever he was about.

By late afternoon, the sky outside had darkened with heavy clouds. Tess lit the kitchen lamp and moved on to her next recipe. She stirred plump currants, nutmeg, cinnamon and butter. Lord Marcliffe had filled the pantry well.

She painstakingly decorated the cooled marzipan-iced cakes with almond slivers and candied ginger. Her confidence returned as she marveled at her creations. The crusts on her apple and clove pies were some of the prettiest she’d ever made. She was beginning to feel at ease again. She set the kettle to boil for tea.

Lady Stadwell’s dogs bounded into the kitchen, bringing with them the pungent smells of the barn. “Out!” Tess herded them through the door and nearly fell over the man she was intent on avoiding. The rolled shirtsleeves and the hay clinging to his trousers left no doubt that he had been fixing the damage his stallion had caused.

At the water pump, he scrubbed his hands and face with water. As he bent over, she couldn’t help noticing that his shirt clung to his broad back with sweat. An earl had no business doing labor and, more importantly, no business looking so damned good doing

it. It was all done on purpose, she thought, and then cringed at her own vanity. As if Lord Marcliffe cared at all what impression he made on homely Hortensia.

He straightened and raked wet lines into his hair with his damp fingers. “Miss Calloway, there is a mouthwatering aroma coming from the kitchen. You’ve been busy it seems.”

“I have and I best return to it. There is still much to do.”

Please don’t follow
, she silently wished as she stepped back into the kitchen. As usual, her wishes produced the opposite effect. Lord Marcliffe stomped the caked dirt from his boots before stepping inside. Without being asked, she ladled ale from the barrel into a tankard and set it on the counter beside him.

He saluted her with the tankard. “You’ve anticipated my needs, Miss Calloway.” Tess tried not to focus on the strong muscles of his throat as he swallowed,

quenching his thirst. But one particular trickle of sweat held her attention as it slipped

into the hollow at the base of his throat.

He moved to the large trestle table and began shoveling her handmade cakes into his hungry mouth as if they were grapes off a vine.

Tess could only stare. All her hard work and he could have been eating stale bread for all he could taste in his haste to devour the pastries.

For a moment, he stopped his chewing and glanced at her. The wide-eyed expression he flashed her resembled that of a delinquent caught with his thumb in the pie. There were several crumbs clinging to the dark stubble of his chin. Tess stepped forward and used her thumb to wipe the crumbs away. The roughness of his beard matched his rugged appearance.

“You’ve got something on your face,” she said. They stood so close that Tess could have counted his lashes, except they were far too numerous. Her lips curled. Beadle be damned. Right now, under the faded wig and powdered lashes, she needed the confidence that her smile had always brought her. A dour, grumpy expression was not a necessity for the disguise. She smiled brightly, and he blinked as if momentarily dazzled.

Tess walked back to the other side of the table, leaving him speechless. She was going to prove to herself that she could handle this man, no matter what tricks he had up his sleeve. And that was when a notion popped into her head. Or rather, it seemed, the idea had been planted days ago and had only now sprouted. She would ensnare Sloan

herself.
She
would become the temptress that Lady Stadwell hoped to conjure to bring the villain to justice.

“More ale, my lord?”

“Tea would be better.” Having regained his tongue, the earl surveyed the spread of pastries with an eager eye. “What’s inside these round ones?” Without waiting for a response he picked up a saffron cookie and shoved it into his mouth.

“I hardly imagine that the ingredients matter. At that speed, your tongue does not actually have time to taste them.”

He shrugged. “As long as there’s sugar inside, that’s all I need.”

Tess watched half-annoyed and half-charmed as four hours of hard work disappeared. She surveyed the shrinking rows of finished pastries and laughed. “Perhaps I should have doubled the recipes. I do hope you will leave some for your aunt.”

He arched one of his finely formed brows and shot her a mock glare across the table. Piling a cookie on top of a marzipan cake, he lifted the double-layered treat into the air like he was toasting with a glass of brandy. Lowering the pastries to his mouth, he took a delicate bite and chewed it slowly.

“That is not exactly what I meant by doubling it, but as long as you are enjoying them.” The kettle whistled, and Tess reached for it. By the time she’d poured the hot water, the man had pushed the layered dessert into his mouth.

A mischievous smile erupted behind the barrage of crumbs that tumbled from his mouth.

With a shake of her head, Tess pushed the cup of tea toward him. “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t resist.”

Well at least there might be one thing about her he found hard to resist.

“Miss Calloway, I need you to do me a favor. Please come up with some diversion to take my aunt’s mind off this scheme of hers. Maybe a major needlework project. Something that would occupy her and let her forget these absurd plans of revenge.”

“You think because Lady Stadwell is a woman, something as frivolous as embroidery will peel her mind from the need to bring justice to a swindler? A swindler who has crushed her heart? A swindler who has ruined her financially?” She set the kettle down with a clang atop the stove. “You are not the man I thought you were. How could you have such a ridiculous opinion of your aunt?”

She had not meant to speak so abruptly, but she knew how much Lady Stadwell had suffered and her pain was equal.

Lord Marcliffe stepped closer. “Miss Calloway, I only mean to save my aunt more heartache.”

Fearing she would say something else which might put her position in jeopardy, she reached for one of the sweets and pushed the entire miniature cake into her mouth. Instantly, she breathed in a stray crumb and began coughing and sputtering. Her hand flew over her mouth before she sprayed him with bits of pastry.

He folded her free hand around his tankard, and she took a drink.

“Thank you,” she said as her coughing subsided. She set the vessel down and brushed the crumbs from her bodice. “I daresay that was a ladylike display.”

He laughed. “Remind me to teach you how to shovel a pastry properly without causing harm to yourself.” His gaze was unnerving. “I hope you will reconsider and convince my aunt that she must put an end to this foolish idea.”

Tess returned to her task. “Not only do I think Lady Stadwell’s plan important and clever, but I intend to help her with it if she needs my assistance.” She plopped the filling into the tart shells in a sloppy fashion contradictory to her usual style. Lamplight cast his tall, wavering shadow across her flouring board.

“Perhaps you could be the one to woo Sloan and make him confess all his darkest secrets.”

A tiny whimper escaped her lips. Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed. The man was a stranger, how could his ridiculing words injure her so?

“I apologize, Miss Calloway.” His voice had lowered to a near whisper. “I forget myself. Those words came out completely wrong.”

The sound of pity in his voice made her want to flee the manor for good and all.

“It is only that there is much danger when a man like Sloan is involved. Far more danger than you can imagine. He has led some men to their death.”

“I’m well aware of the dangers.” “And how is that?” he asked.

Tess pressed her hands on the board to keep them from trembling. “I know only what your aunt has told me and I want to help her. Now I would like to finish these tarts before the crusts grow soggy.”

She tensed. What prying questions would he ask next? How would she keep from blurting out her own tale of terror in regards to Sloan?

But the questions didn’t come. Lord Marcliffe collected a handful of cakes. “Extraordinary pastries,” he said before leaving.

*

Tallon braced one hand on either side of the library window and stared out at the grounds. At one time the boxwoods had been so lush and precisely trimmed that from the house they looked like a straight, solid wall of green. Now they were sparse like lattice, barely resembling a hedge. It saddened him to see the gardens he’d spent so much time in as a child fall into such a state of disrepair. His aunt had good reason to be plagued with thoughts of revenge. Tallon tightened his fists as he thought about Sloan. The bloody bastard left a trail of despair and heartbreak wherever he went and he thoroughly deserved to meet up with a bitter end. But using an innocent woman to discover his deceitful schemes was dishonorable.

The solitary black-garbed figure drew Tallon from his thoughts. Hortensia struggled with a small gardening cart across the uneven lawn. Her oversized skirts caught on her heels twice and she had to stop to pull the hem out from under her boot. The cart toppled to one side as she reached the scraggy path of boxwoods. Garden tools and pots of flowers spilled to the ground.

One of the stable cats raced by the fallen cart with a bird in its mouth. From the window he could hear Hortensia call to the animal. At once she snatched up her heavy skirts and ran after the little hunter. Tallon watched in amazement as she flew gracefully across the yard. How was it possible for her to be so clumsy one minute and so agile the next? In the kitchen she could barely fix a cup of tea without shattering the porcelain, yet she had created complex pastries like an artisan. He had to confess that he took some satisfaction in the fact that his nearness disconcerted her. Truth was, she unsettled him, as well. When she’d wiped the cookie crumbs from his face and backed up the bold gesture with a smile, he’d found his usual state of composure compromised. She was so bland in color, hair and style, but when her mouth opened into a smile it was as blinding as if someone had peeled the plain brown wrapping off a gem both rare and brilliant.