Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (5 page)

"Oh, Pax, I declare I'm worn out after such a rackety ride." Cecily's sugary voice was slightly high-pitched with a breathless quality that made Leslie wonder if the woman had some lung disease. "It's just deplorable the state the roads are in. I venture to say my delicate skin will be black and blue by morning."

Leslie's brows lowered over stormy eyes as Pax introduced her to the ladies, explaining that the Cleavons had come for a visit. After curtly welcoming Pax home, Leslie hurried off to the stables to vent her annoyance in Manji's sympathetic ears. Since that time, Leslie avoided the Cleavons when she could, filling her time with excursions in the woods and rides around the estates.

She didn't understand why the sound of Cecily's voice reminded her of the time the stable cat had been caught in the rambling rose bush. The simpering blonde’s every statement made the hairs on Leslie's neck vibrate with irritation. Jacko suggested that she use the opportunity to study how Cecily went on in society. But two minutes in the woman's company and Leslie wanted to scream. Cecily hung on Pax's sleeve, chattered inanities and spent an inordinate amount of time bending over so that Pax had full benefit of her opulent charms. When Pax wasn't around, Cecily questioned the servants trying to find out his likes and dislikes. She was forever asking about the other properties Pax owned. There was something calculating about the woman. While Cecily's talk was all warm honey and sweetness, her eyes were constantly roaming as though she were coldly adding up Pax's assets. Why didn't he throw the Cleavons out? Leslie just couldn't believe that he was in love with Cecily.

"Not Pax!" Leslie groaned at the thought. Then she shuddered as the thought was extended. "Would Pax marry a nasty bit of goods like her?"

Leslie sat up straight in the corner of the sofa, her eyes unfocused on the window. She had never really considered the fact that Pax would one day marry. Somehow Leslie had thought her life would continue as it had for the last five years. But she suddenly realized that Pax had to marry, to have heirs. If not this year, then surely the next year. It was inevitable, as immutable as the tides. The sixth Duke of Ruhaven would have to marry to ensure there was a seventh Duke.

"But what will happen to me?" Leslie wailed in a tiny voice filled with hurt and confusion.

Once Pax married there would be a new mistress of Windhaven, and Leslie might no longer be welcome in the home she loved. The Duchess would surely not want Pax's ward living there. Leslie could just envision Cecily moving in with mountains of luggage and a brigade of prune-faced servants scurrying about. Everything would change then. And Cecily didn't like her, using every opportunity to push Leslie into the background. The sly cat would take great pleasure in packing Leslie's trunks for an immediate departure.

"Anyone but Cecily!" She rolled her eyes heavenward hoping for a miracle.

Surely her guardian could find someone better than Cecily to marry. She wanted Pax to marry, didn't she? Of course she did, Leslie affirmed stoutly. Then why did the very thought of it send a stab of pain into her chest. From the moment she had first seen her guardian, his happiness became the wellspring of her life. She excelled in her studies because she knew it would please him. She learned to fish and hunt, knowing he would enjoy her company. She worried and fretted when he was fighting the French and tried to entertain him with her accounts of the estate in her letters. Leslie loved Pax and wanted him to be happy.

It was just that she had never thought about his marrying. But now that she had, Leslie would have to make sure that he married someone other than that "Miss Sly Boots". After all, it was not as if Pax were head over heels. At least she didn't think so.

Jumping up, Leslie rummaged under some cushions in the corner, pulling out her box of books. Some of these were treasured storybooks but just lately she had stumbled on a trunk full of "ladies books" as she called them. There had been novels, recipe books and some home-remedy medical journals. But the most treasured item was a tiny, pink satin volume called, Lydia Plunketell's “Treatise On Friendship, Companionship and Love For The Gentlewoman.” Leslie had been thrilled to finally discover what love was all about.

Returning to the sofa, she reverently opened the book to the appropriate chapter: "Love - wherein the gentlewoman ascertains if the object of her devotion is worthy of consideration." Skimming quickly to the section entitled "Signs," Leslie read slowly trying to remember Pax's behavior around Cecily. After reading carefully for fifteen minutes, she closed the book and sank back against the faded damask cushions.

Pax did not seem to be pale of aspect. In fact, his color was quite healthy. He did not sigh continuously when not in Cecily's presence. However, it did appear to Leslie that Pax tended to sigh a great deal when the blonde was chattering at him. He had not been inundating the woman with little poems and presents. And he most certainly was not breathing heavily when Cecily was in the vicinity. Thanks to the extensive information in the book, Leslie felt she was well on the way to being an authority on love. It was obvious from her study of the signs that Pax was not dying for love of Cecily.

Limp with relief, Leslie hugged the treasured volume to her flattened bosom until an alarming thought intruded, sending her shooting upright on the sofa. Pax was not in love with her
yet
. But with Cecily staying at Windhaven, the conniving chit would have ample time to engage his interest, and Pax might, out of sheer propinquity, think he was in love. What a disaster! If only there was some other woman around who could pique his interest before he fell under the spell of Cecily's wiles. That would be perfect. Leslie was sure that if Pax fell in love with someone suitable, she herself would not mind his marrying.

The costume party would be a famously romantic setting for Pax to discover someone more charming than Cecily. Mentally Leslie scanned the probable guest list of those in the county who would be attending. Surely among that lot there would be some young lady who would be right for Pax. But wrack her brain though she did, Leslie could think of no likely candidate for the part of the "charmer." And she was sure that Cecily would use every opportunity at the ball to fix Pax's attention on her.

"Bloody 'ell!" Leslie swore. "If only I could be there. I'd find someone to interest him. I know I would!"

Dolefully she replaced the book in the box. Then on stockinged feet, Leslie shuffled over to the costume trunk. She struggled with the hasp, finally managing to raise the lid, and threw it back to reveal the blaze of colorful garments within. Pulling out a pile of clothes, she dumped them on the floor, and reached in to lovingly take out the Crusader's costume. Leslie held the white tunic against her chest, touching the scarlet cross emblazoned on the front. She hurried across the floor to the cheval glass propped against the wall. Vigorously, she rubbed the dusty mirror with her sleeve and stared at the wonderful costume.

"Rat's eyes!" She sadly folded the tunic to put it away. As she laid it on top of the chain mail shirt, Leslie considered going to the party despite her guardian's refusal. If she was clever enough, he need never know. After all she had her pick of a trunk full of wonderful costumes.

Reaching down to the pile of material on the floor, she picked up a Roman toga. She shook it out, and held it up, parading across to the mirror. Not very exciting, Leslie thought as she looked at the pale linen shift. Folding it carefully, she put it in the trunk and reached for the next garment. Leslie smiled in delight at the yards of material in the red satin-tiered skirt. A gypsy! She rummaged until she found the mass of frilly petticoats and a beautiful wide collared peasant blouse. Laughingly, Leslie tripped across to the mirror, draping herself in the blouse and holding the skirt and petticoats around her waist. She twirled and curtsied to her reflection, enjoying the flash of color as the skirt swayed to her movement.

"How delightful, your Grace. Of course I'd love another pastry, although of course I must watch my figure after all this food. Leslie twirled again, simpering into the mirror at a hidden partner. "Not another dance, milord. Oh I say, you're just too kind, your highness. What a charming evening."

Abruptly Leslie stood still, her eyes widening and sparkling as she stared at the vision in the mirror. Charming! A gypsy charmer. What a lark!

Dropping the clothes, she tore off her jacket and put the blouse on over her own shirt. The petticoats were next, then the beautiful red skirt. They were a dash big, but all in all they were not a bad fit. Since Leslie couldn't think of anyone else who might interest Pax, she would have to do it herself. She would go to the costume ball dressed as a gypsy. Once Pax saw her, he was bound to be intrigued, and then he would forget Cecily entirely. It was the perfect solution.

"It won't work," Leslie said to her reflection. "Pax will recognize me the moment I open my mouth. And besides, I can't dance."

She slumped to the floor in defeat. It had seemed the most perfect of solutions. But Leslie knew that in spite of all her acting in the last five years, she wouldn't be able to carry off the role of a woman. It was funny really that she couldn't even play the part her body was intended for. Perhaps she might get away with it, if Pax only saw her for a minute or two, in a darkly lit room. Even at that, she would not be able to speak except in a whisper for fear of his recognizing her voice. She could always use an accent, but the setting for the play was a real problem. Leslie stared glumly at the gypsy in the mirror, still reluctant to give up her plan.

"The gazebo," she whispered.

The idea came to her in a flash of clarity. The little wooden building stood, surrounded by lush shrubberies, on the edge of the lake far from the main house. Since spring had not officially arrived, the gazebo's normally open sides were still shuttered. The room was sparsely furnished, but best of all there was a velvet covered wicker chaise lounge that would make a perfect prop for her magic play. She had read enough of those ladies novels to imagine exactly how it would be. Standing up she closed her eyes and pictured the scene in her mind. Her body moved in duplicate to her inventive thoughts.

The tiny summerhouse would be lit by a single candle, and, far off in the distance, the orchestra music would sound a gentle accompaniment to the actors on the stage. She would be lying on the chaise as Pax entered. Deep in the throes of her drama, Leslie sprawled across the sofa, in an awkward, yet hopefully, seductive pose.

Pax would stand in the doorway, enthralled by the mysterious enchantress before him. His manly chest would heave with the power of his emotion. His breath would catch in his throat, and he would stagger as though sustaining a mortal blow. Then slowly he would cross the room, hurling himself on the floor at her feet.

"My beloved," Pax would say, voice hoarse with undying love. "I have searched the seven seas for a woman like you. I pledge my heart to you for all eternity."

"Non! Non! Oh ze sorrow of eet all." Leslie would raise her arm, covering her eyes with the back of her hand. "Ah mon amor, if only ve had known each other some other time, some other place."

"But, treasure of my life, I have you here now!" Pax would clasp his hands in supplication.

Then like a queen rising from her throne, Leslie would stand, staring down into Pax's agonized face. In the throbbing quiet of the little room, she would reach out her hand to lightly touch his wind-blown hair. Her voice would be pitying but firm. "Zis meeting will have to suffice for a lifetime of pleasure," she improvised.

His hand shaking with suppressed emotion, Pax would grasp the hem of her skirt and touch it reverently to his forehead, his lips and his heart. Then before his dazzled eyes, Leslie would run through the door, escaping into the night. Pax would stumble to his feet, swearing he would never rest until he had claimed the gypsy for his bride.

Leslie hugged herself with delight, thoroughly satisfied with the scenario she had created. "That ought to fix Cecily for good and all."

Now all she had to do was contrive to make it all work. Her accent wasn't quite right. It was a hodge-podge of French and German. But if she spoke only a few words, she ought to get along quite nicely. For the rest, it would take some organization, but she had three days in which to arrange everything.

Slowly she reviewed the plan. The costume was perfect. All she needed was a mask. Rummaging once more in the trunk, Leslie found a black satin sash which could be fashioned with holes and serve to cover the majority of her face. She posed with the scarf wound around her head, then leaned forward glowering at her hair. Gypsies always had black hair, she thought in disgust as she stared accusingly at her chestnut curls. Leslie pulled at her queue, then grinned as she thought back to her early years in India. Once Manji had taken her to a native bazaar and to make her less noticeable, he had dyed her hair with a mixture of water and boot blacking. It wasn't permanent and she could wash it out after her masquerade.

Somehow she had to get Pax to the gazebo. Leslie finally settled on a vague sort of note asking him to meet her at midnight. If the note was intriguing enough, she was sure that Pax would come.

There remained her main obstacle to success. Jacko.

If the old man got wind of the plan, he would forbid it. She shuddered imagining his horror at the whole idea. Leslie had to convince him that she was resigned to the fact she could not attend the party and was content to go to bed early. Grimly, she acknowledged that fooling Jacko would be the hardest part of her plan.

She carefully removed the costume, spreading it out across the worn sofa so that some of the wrinkles would fall out. Leslie pulled the Holland cover over it. The night of the party she would carry the clothes down to the boatshed by the lake. She could change her clothes there with little fear of being seen. The gazebo, main stage for the drama, was just around the other side of the lake.

Satisfied she had anticipated any problems, Leslie erased the delighted grin from her face, determined to portray a sulking young man for the benefit of all. Inwardly her heart swelled with excitement, and her eyes sparkled with mischief as Leslie dressed once more in her own clothes.