Carnal Deceptions (8 page)

When she pulled her face away, she noticed that she’d left the pale dusting that hid her lashes on the brushed velvet of his lapels. She swiped ineffectively at his coat and gasped. The powder was not the only thing she’d left behind. One brow stuck to him like a caterpillar. She plucked it off, but he took it from her and looked quizzically at it. She snatched it from his fingers only to have him grab it back.

“Enough,” he said after they’d transferred the thing back and forth a few times. “What the devil?” He stared at her face and without any warning ripped off the other brow.

“Ouch.” She rubbed her stinging forehead. “My eyebrows are rather stingy looking, poorly shaped. I thought to enhance them.”

He ran his thumb over the length of one of them. “They look exactly as they should to me. Suddenly, you have lashes, too. You no longer look like a white rabbit.”

“Take off the cap,” he commanded in a voice that no doubt had sent his military subordinates running to do his bidding.

When she didn’t immediately comply, he yanked the cap from her head. Her golden-red hair slinked down past her waist like a silken shawl.

“Christ almighty.”

He set her onto her unsteady feet. Tess sat down hard on the bottom step. “Beadle, you must have something to do with this charade.”

Beadle’s ashen face crumpled. Before he could stammer an answer, Lord Marcliffe helped him roughly to the door. “Our business is at an end.” He tossed the man unceremoniously into the night.

Lord Marcliffe turned and stalked toward her. “Who the hell are you?” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the tone was chilling.

Tess glanced up at him, but his face was out of focus. She looked down at her ludicrous layers of clothing and sobbed. “Truth is, I have no idea who I am at this point. I would stay and figure it out for you, but I fear that if I do not return to my bedroom immediately, I will fall face first onto the hard floor.”

She rose then zigzagged up the stairs toward her room. Blinded by tears, she yanked off her dress and flannel shift and sprawled atop the bed. Her life was unraveling disastrously.

Tess prayed Lord Marcliffe would allow her one more night under this roof.

*

Lord Marcliffe rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, still trying to rid himself of the feel of that bizarre furry thing she’d had plastered to her brow. She’d exposed perfectly shaped brows of a dark golden hue, brows he wanted to trace with his finger.

He did not bother announcing himself. The woman owed him an explanation, and, by God, he would have it. A pile of clothes stopped the progress of the door. He yanked at them, finding himself with a handful of her funereal garb and a nightgown. On the dresser, the wig lay like a dead thing. She was buried deep beneath the covers, oblivious to his presence. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, each lock a separate shimmering copper coil. He wondered if it felt as silken as it looked.

He sat with force on the end of the bed, pulling the bedclothes down, exposing the tops of her naked breasts. It failed to rouse her. Obviously, the amount of anguish she’d felt over the loss of her small fortune had been no match for the drink she’d imbibed. He brought the candle toward her face. Her eyelids twitched, but they did not lift. Her face was mottled and tear-stained. With a small mewl, she shifted in bed, exposing two perfect rose-colored nipples. Desire slammed through him, making his heart hammer in his chest. He wanted her now. This instant. He groaned as her nipples puckered in the cool evening air. With effort, he fought the need to clamp his mouth over those erect nipples and suck hard. His fingers itched to stroke her soft cunt and have her purr in his ear. He hungered

to taste all of her, to have her spread her legs wide for him, to thrust his stiffened cock deep inside her.

“Wake up,” he thundered, desperate at the need she inspired in him.

She jolted upward and almost instantly cradled her head like a hollowed eggshell. “Have you no mercy?” She moaned. “On second thought, the only merciful thing you could do for me right now is kill me, or at least remove my throbbing head.”

“Do not tempt me, woman. It would be all too easy to snap your pretty little neck in two right now.”

She seemed suddenly aware of her nakedness and tugged hard at the bedclothes, but he refused to budge.

She hugged a pillow to her breasts and scowled at him. Her narrowed eyes glittered like pale green gems in the candlelight. “Would you please put that out?”

“I should set the room ablaze with candles just to punish you for being such a deceitful wench.”

“I am not deceitful.”

“Right. Then I suppose the peculiar costume you’ve been wearing was merely the latest fashion?”

She swayed, nearly smacking her head against the headboard. “I was trying to fade away. I did not want people to take notice of me.” Her voice was soft and sad. “Please leave me be.”

“You’ll be explaining this all to my aunt in the morning. I expect to see you downstairs at daybreak.”

“You needn’t worry, my lord. If you leave right now, I promise I shall be packed and out before the sun shows. I will not need to disturb your aunt at all.”

“And no doubt you’ll be flat on your back in Beadle’s bed in a twinkling.”

She hurled a pillow at him, which he managed to deflect. He leaned over her, his knuckles imbedding in the soft mattress on either side of her legs. He could smell the wine on her breath. He dipped his head and licked her lips. She gave a small cry of protest, which he ignored and swept his tongue over her mouth once again, revealing perfect, blush-colored lips. The powder tasted chalky on his tongue. She’d been masking her entire face in cosmetics. “You will be downstairs explaining your lies to my aunt tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”

A visible shudder ran through her body. Her powderless lashes, heart-stoppingly luxuriant and dark now, fluttered. “Fine. You are right, of course.” Her lips pouted delectably. “I do owe her an explanation for my dishonesty.”

“Glad you see it my way.” “But it wasn’t all a ruse.”

“Pray tell, Hortensia, which part was truth?” “The part where I said I hated you.”

“Now
that
I believe.” He left the room, slamming the door so hard behind him, it nearly fell off its hinges.

Beadle had managed to rescue only two dresses from the collectors. The elegant wardrobe her father had had made for her first and only London season had been confiscated.

Because her spirits were low, Tess decided the blue dress would be the most appropriate. It was years old and barely reached her ankles. She’d grown in other places, too. She was unable to fasten the top two buttons. Her breasts were nearly spilling out of the bodice.

Dread crept up her spine. What would she do without money, or friends, or family for that matter? And debtor’s prison seemed as much a threat as it always had. But she would not sink to putting on that cowardly disguise again. If the authorities wanted to pursue her, they could.

Mr. Rowland Beadle was as good as dead in her mind. She would probably have to take up employment in the bowels of some workhouse if she didn’t want to starve. She chastised herself for not staying to explain her actions to Lady Stadwell, but her nerves were raw with fear and she felt a letter would have to suffice. Mostly, she could not bring herself to face Lord Marcliffe. He obviously despised her, and she could not blame him.

She stepped onto the stoop. The air was chill and smelled of rain. The weather matched the grimness of her mood. Tess pulled her cape tight around her shoulders.

She hadn’t gone two steps on the drive when he rode up alongside her.

He glared down at her. In one quick motion, he dismounted and had her lone valise in his hands. The fine linen of his shirt clung to his sweating torso. A cheroot clamped in his teeth, he spoke out of the side of his mouth as he rifled through her bag. “So, Hortensia, what have you decided to
borrow
from my aunt’s house?”

This was unbearable. Now he thought her a liar
and
a thief. “I would much prefer to starve to death than steal something from your aunt, or you, for that matter.”

From her bag, he plucked out the only item she owned that held value to her. He weighed the smooth stone in the palm of his hand.

“Damn you. Put that back,” she cried.

He exhaled. His eyes narrowed through the screen of smoke. He was inspecting her as he had last night, as if she were a stranger to him. Someone startling and new. “Amazing. You tell another truth.” He dropped the stone back into her valise and thrust the bag at her without securing the clasp. “So you’ve taken nothing to see you through hard times, which leads me to believe you will be taking Beadle up on his offer.”

“Perhaps, but he shan’t be the last. There are far wealthier prospects in town.”

His gaze raked over her. “Yes, I do believe you could make a fortune spreading those legs.”

She slapped him hard across the face.

He stepped closer to her and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted her mouth to his and, for a spine-tingling moment, she thought he would kiss her. “I might even make you an offer myself.”

His rude words snapped her abruptly out of her state of delirium. “You could not pay me enough to lie in your bed.”

Abruptly, he dropped his hand from her face. “Have it your way. But before you hurry off to your glorious future, I will take you to speak with my aunt.”

Refusing to meet his eyes, her gaze drifted away, alighting on the scarred ridge visible through the shirt made sheer with sweat. Her pulse raced. His battle marks reinforced his dangerous qualities.

He rubbed his shoulder. “You needn’t frown so. I’m quite aware of how ugly the thing is.”

“I am merely surprised that a man such as you brought so many souvenirs home from the war.”

“A man such as me?”

“Black-hearted, ruthless. I thought people with that type of character could waltz through battles with nary a scratch.”

“I much preferred your other incarnation. Not near so sharp of tongue. You’d best tame your mouth before you see my aunt.”

“There is really no need for all that. I’ve left her a letter detailing all my defects.”

Surprisingly, he took a step back as though in retreat. But then, he bent over and with one quick movement hauled her up over his shoulder. She felt like a sack of grain. Her hair nearly grazed the marble floor as they passed through the entrance hall.

The blood rushed to her head and she badly wanted to pummel the back of his thighs. “I thought I hated you before. But now I truly loathe you. You are a churlish, insensitive beast.”

“Coming from you, I consider that a compliment,” he answered dryly.

He plunked her down outside the breakfast room doors. “You won’t be going anywhere for awhile.” With a rough pull, he tugged the ribbon of her cape loose and, before she could protest, he had the garment in his hands.

“Damn,” he muttered. His gaze fixed on her breasts.

Tugging hard on the panels of her bodice, she attempted to fasten one of the top buttons. The action did not please him. Taking hold of her shoulders, he swiveled her around. With one big hand cupping her backside, he propelled her into the room. He followed so closely she expected to feel the scrape of his boot toe on the back of her heel.

Lady Stadwell looked up from her tea, her eyes widening. “Finally. She’s perfect.

You’ve done it. There will be no resisting this one.”

Confused, Tess twisted her head around to look at Lord Marcliffe. His eyes were unreadable, his lips dipped sulkily.

“Perfect for what, Aunt?” he asked in an exasperated tone “Sloan.”

*

Tess’s heart fluttered with hope and some trepidation. She slid into the chair next to Lady Stadwell. “Do you really think so?”

“Aunt, do you not recognize her at all? This is Hortensia. She’s shed her cocoon.”

Lady Stadwell lifted her quizzing glass and after a long moment said, “Hortensia, is that truly you?”

“I owe you an apology. I was not completely truthful with you. You see, Sloan has had a devastating effect on my life, as well. I am as eager to trap him as you are. Mr. Beadle convinced me that my coloring—”

Lady Stadwell picked up a strand of her hair. “Yes, your coloring is quite extraordinary.”

“Mr. Beadle believed I would be too visible, too easy to find. He was to wrangle with my father’s creditors while I took respectable employment. Now, I have nothing left to me but my need for revenge.”

Lord Marcliffe cocked his brow in a most disconcerting manner. “Bravo,” he said, punctuating his sarcastic remark with a languid clap of his hands. “A performance worthy of an award.”

Tess mustered the fiercest look she could and directed it at him. And all she got for her effort was a broad-shouldered shrug.

Completely annoyed with him, she turned her attention back to Lady Stadwell. “My father got involved in Sloan’s scheme. He invested far more than he could afford.” Tess fiddled with the utensils atop the tea service tray.

Lady Stadwell stilled Tess’s fidgeting by placing a hand over hers. “Poor dear.”

Tess muffled a sob with her fist. She glanced up quickly to find that Lady Stadwell’s eyes were also glossed with tears. Despite the skepticism radiating from Lord Marcliffe, Tess felt the sudden need to confide in Lady Stadwell. She removed the stone from her valise and placed it on the table. “I waded into the river three times to empty my father’s pockets of rocks before I was able to drag him ashore.” Tracing the black vein that ran through the pale gray stone, she allowed the tears to run unheeded down her cheeks. “My father mortgaged his farm to give me a future. He sacrificed everything for me.” There was no need to disclose her real name. They did not need to know that her father was a viscount.

Lord Marcliffe thrust a handkerchief at her, and she shoved his offer away.

Lady Stadwell patted Tess’s arm. The sympathetic gesture was belied by the enthusiastic sparkle in her eye. “Don’t you see, Nephew? She is the answer to our prayers. This clever girl is what our plan has been lacking.”

“She is too green. She will never hold Sloan’s interest. He likes them well-rehearsed in the art of lovemaking.”