Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (6 page)

Later that night as Lucy climbed into bed, she knew she would be too anxious to sleep, but she slipped into dreams as soon as her head touched the pillow, her last thought centered on the handsome American captain, wondering if he was still at the ball.

D
erek’s pace was brisk as he strode along the walk to Lord Chelton’s town house. Conveyances of every type, from an elaborately emblazoned barouche carriage drawn by four matched greys to a two-wheeled gig attached to something resembling a horse, jammed the street. He should have realized there would be a flurry of activity the day after a prominent ball as people renewed old friendships or struck up new ones with those they’d met the night before, but he hadn’t given it any thought until now. Still, it seemed an inordinate number of carriages and horses for one narrow lane in a sedate neighborhood.

Excitement coursed through him though he’d had but a few hours’ sleep. Finally he was doing something about his father’s murder. Finally he was carrying out his scheme to bring the criminals to justice. Finally he was taking action.

And everything was working out exactly as planned.

So far his masquerade was a success. He’d been accepted as Captain Derek Wainright, and all the carefully planted rumors were accepted along with him. It was quite likely he’d already met some of the smugglers, though he hadn’t met Summerfield. It probably didn’t matter if the leader of the gang had been at the ball—
if
Summerfield was indeed the leader—for gossip of Derek’s planned expedition to the West Indies was sure to spread. By circumventing direct questions about the details, he led everyone to believe he was hiding something, exactly what he’d intended.

His appointment with Stephen, who planned to take him around to the various gentlemen’s clubs, wasn’t for another two hours, leaving him plenty of time to call on Lady Louisa to apologize for his behavior at the ball. He must charm her if he expected to go from cad to trusted acquaintance in her eyes, and that was imperative if he hoped to gather information from her about her uncle and father. Soothing her would take more than charm. She was probably still angry about that kiss.

The memory of her sweet passion instantly aroused him, and he groaned. This would never do. He needed to concentrate on his plan, on his scheme to ferret out the smugglers, and not on Lady Louisa. She was an innocent, after all, and not someone he would ever involve himself with. He was merely doing what he must in order to achieve his goal of discovering the smugglers. That was the only reason he was visiting her. He would collect information, he would infiltrate the gang, and he would bring his father’s murderers to justice.

He smiled to himself, feeling absurdly pleased. As he had told Stephen many times, good planning was the mainstay of every successful venture.

L
ucy stared in disbelief as the drawing room door opened and another caller was led in by Evans.

“His Grace, the Duke of Richmont,” announced the butler in a solemn voice before backing out of the room.

A giggle rose in Lucy’s throat, and she realized she was on the verge of hysteria. The room overflowed with men of all ages and sizes, all of whom had come to call.

She took in the sight of the duke’s puce satin waistcoat, stretched so tightly over his portly belly that the buttons were threatening to pop, and the giggle welled again. Turning in desperation to catch her aunt’s attention, she located Eleanor on the other side of the room, collecting cards and guiding departing callers to the double doors that opened onto the garden, from where they could take a path back to the street.

“Captain Derek Wainright,” said Evans.

Lucy’s gaze flew back to the doorway, and she caught her breath. The man was more handsome by daylight, if that was possible, and the mere sight of him started her heart beating in such a manner she could scarcely breathe.

His biscuit-colored trousers hugged the sleek muscles of his thighs, and the crisp white shirt and cravat against his tan displayed the dark features of his face and hair to perfection. A chocolate brown waistcoat and jacket completed the attire that made him look every inch the aristocratic English gentleman, but she knew of no Englishman with those devilish good looks or a body that might have been sculpted by the most talented of artists.

As he made his way toward her, she began to panic. What would she say to him? Why couldn’t she think straight? What in the world had made her think she could manipulate this man? Now only a few feet away, he smiled at her, a lazy look through smoky gray eyes. A tantalizing mixture of scents brought back memories of his kiss, of his strong arms holding her close. Her heart began to lurch.

“The Earl of Harlech,” the butler called out.

Lucy froze, forgetting all else. With great trepidation she dragged her gaze to the door, at once recognizing the man her uncle would shackle her to, though she had not seen him in two years. The earl’s icy glare raked the room before resting on her. Fury suffused his face.

Her heart was in her throat. What was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to be in Town. At any moment he would shout out their betrothal and ruin all her plans.

“They seem to be coming in faster than your aunt can lead them out. Shall I shout
fire?”

The drawl of the American’s voice was oddly reassuring, and for one brief moment Lucy felt she wasn’t alone in her dilemma. She compared the amused expression on the privateer’s darkly handsome face with the thunderous expression on the flushed face of Lord Harlech and was inspired.

“I feel ill. I-I-I may swoon,” she said, swaying in the captain’s direction. His smile disappeared as his jaw tightened with concern, and his powerful arms swept her up before her body had barely begun its descent.

T
here was an immediate uproar amongst the gentlemen who pressed closer to where the object of their desires lay lifeless in the arms of what many called a pirate.

“Out of my way,” Derek barked out, forcing his way toward the drawing room door with a seemingly lifeless Lady Louisa in his arms.

He searched the crowd for Lady Callister and found her across the room, unable to push through the sea of men. “Let Lady Callister through!” he commanded in his captain’s voice with a scowling nod in the lady’s direction. The gentlemen shrank back, parting like two ships facing off for a skirmish, and Lady Callister rushed to her niece’s side.

“She needs air,” Derek said in an urgent voice. “Where can I take her?”

“This way.” Lady Callister hurried into the hall and toward the staircase. “Evans,” she said to the butler who stood awaiting instructions, “please see the gentlemen out. Bridget, thank goodness!” she exclaimed with relief as a red-haired buxom young maid came traipsing down the stairs. “Run and fetch the salts!”

The maid stopped short and stared, dumbstruck at the sight of Derek holding Lady Louisa in his arms. Her eyes were as round as cannonballs as she boldly assessed his face and the breadth of his shoulders. Her appreciative gaze continued downward and then came to an abrupt halt, resting on Lady Louisa’s still form. “Oh, my!” she said, her eyes widening again.

At that moment the butler reappeared beside Lady Callister, his voice lowered so that the departing gentlemen, who directed outraged looks at Derek as they passed, could not overhear.

“Excuse me, my lady,” he said, “but Lord Harlech is somewhat agitated. He refuses to leave without speaking to you. He’s becoming rather loud and is threatening to make a scene.
And
he is helping himself to Lord Chelton’s brandy,” the servant added with a pained look.

A bemused Lady Callister looked first at Derek and then at the maid, hesitating. A loud thump followed by the sound of breaking glass and a man’s foul curse came from the drawing room, and her decision was quickly reached. “Bridget, escort the captain upstairs and send for the salts. I’ll join you momentarily.”

“Bridget!” Derek’s voice startled the maid, who was still staring at him, into movement. She began to run up the stairs, turning every few seconds to look behind her, slack-jawed, as though she couldn’t quite believe what she saw.

Derek’s lips curled in resigned amusement. “If you’ll point out the room, I’ll put Lady Louisa down. But you must get the smelling salts immediately,” he added, knowing the errand would send the maid away for at least a moment or two, and that was all the time he needed to say what was on his mind.

“Oh, yes, sir! Thataway, sir!” Bridget waved toward a door that stood ajar at the end of the hall without ever taking her eyes off Derek. “I’ll fetch the salts!” she said, finally springing into action.

L
ucy wanted to open her eyes more than anything. This would be the closest she’d get to the captain until that night, not far off, when she’d be in his bed. The room would be dark then; she might not have the chance to see his face up close as she’d be able to now.

She cracked open an eye when he shoved the bedchamber door with an elbow, his movement crushing her breasts against him, and for a fleeting moment the mental image of her naked breasts pressed against his equally naked chest made her giddy with excitement. A strange sensation throbbed deep in the pit of her belly, and she braced herself for the physical onslaught she would experience when he slid her slowly down his body as he had at the ball. A thrill raced through her as she anticipated what might come next, and she decided to let him kiss her again. Yes! That’s what she would do. Why not start her seduction of him this very moment and pave the way for what would later be her ruination?

“You can open your eyes now,” the captain said as he roughly set her down.

Lucy’s eyes flew open to find him studying her with shrewd amusement. She blinked hard and steadied herself, fighting for composure.

“The next time you play a role, try doing a little research first.” He continued to regard her with a mocking gaze. “When a lady faints, her eyes close at the same time, not after she has been safely caught and picked up. What was it, an afterthought? The perfect way to clear the room?”

“Well, it did seem so at the time,” Lucy retorted as she quickly reached up with both hands to smooth her disheveled hair. “Now I am not so sure. The wrong prince evidently came to my rescue. If I had known I’d be carried out by the likes of you, I would have thought again. Imagine confronting a lady about her pretend-fainting.” She straightened her bodice and brushed her skirts, swishing them over the floor and across his boots. “You have no manners at all.”

The American slid his gaze over her body and then looked back up to meet her indignant stare, his expression smug. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have spent last evening flirting with every man at the ball. Then maybe there wouldn’t be such a crush of men in your drawing room—or backed up in carriages halfway across London. Besides, I think you knew exactly who would catch you, my
lady.
And I was merely trying to educate you. You obviously don’t know the first thing about swooning. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an unconvincing swoon in my life, and believe me, I’ve seen a few.”

“Oh!” Lucy said, stamping her foot at his critical words. “I’m quite certain you have. The women with the misfortune to run into you are probably swooning all over the place, the poor dears. But pray, do not worry, sir. I shall take your advice the next time I pretend to swoon around you!” She glared at him, as angry for his rakish good looks as for anything he’d said.

At that moment her aunt bustled into the room. “Lucy! Thank goodness you’re all right! Bridget informs me there are no smelling salts to be found in this house. You should be lying down,” Eleanor chided. She placed her palm on Lucy’s forehead. “You are warm.”

Lucy scoffed. “If I am warm, it’s not because I am ill. It’s because this
gentleman
had the audacity to accuse me of pretending to swoon!”

Eleanor looked from Lucy to the captain and back again, her eyes lit with interest. “And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Pretend to swoon?”

“Well . . . yes,” Lucy admitted grudgingly, “but only because the situation had become quite intolerable. It makes no difference if I pretended or not. He was rude to say so.”

“Hmmm,” was all her aunt said before turning to the privateer. “Captain Wainright, I thank you for your assistance here today, but I must insist that my niece rest now.”

“Then I shall take my leave, m’lady,” he said, “for I wouldn’t wish to keep Lady Louisa from her rest. I came only to apologize for what I’ve been told was rude behavior when I approached her at the ball. I do apologize for that, and for anything I may have done today to cause discomfort.”

He bowed and directed a last pointed look at Lucy before turning and exiting the room.

“Thank goodness,” Lucy said, sinking onto the bed the moment he was gone. “What a nightmare! I’m glad it’s over.”

Eleanor gave her an odd look. “If I had been carried away by such a man, I would not call the experience a nightmare. Why, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such an attractive man, except perhaps for your father. The captain even reminds me of him, in more ways than one.”

“Papa?” Lucy was incredulous. “How can you even suggest such a thing? Two men could not be more different. Papa was nothing like this man. This man is a rake, a scoundrel.”

Eleanor smiled. “Yes, I think those exact words were used to describe your father at the time he met your mother. Now, what are you up to?”

Guilt brought on a fresh blush, and Lucy sprang up from the bed to move to the window in an effort to hide her flaming face.

Eleanor moved around to face Lucy again. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I can see that you do.”

Lucy’s hands flew to her cheeks and she pressed cool palms against the hot skin, trying to soak up the heat. It was so unfair that they must always give her away. “I’m simply flustered over all this commotion. I’ve done nothing, truly, Aunt,” she said with her most innocent expression.

“Hmmm. I’ve just had a startling conversation with Lord Harlech. Imagine my surprise to learn you have accepted his offer of marriage and are, in fact, betrothed.”

“That’s not true!”

“Is it not?”

Lucy’s gaze skated away from her aunt as she wondered how much she should reveal. Eleanor wouldn’t want her to marry Lord Harlech, but she would never agree to Lucy’s plan.