Betrayal

‘Is this what you use to shave?’ she asked, holding the soap out to Deverell.

Dev’s attention came back to the present. ‘Yes,’ he said, the bergamot bringing back memories.

He had first worn the scent the night he met Sam. She had seemed like a goddess on the stage, all aflame with the passion of her role. Losing her to his oldest brother, Jonathan, Marquis of Langston, had been the hardest thing in his life. Until now.

He sighed and forced his thoughts back to the present. A good cleaning would make him feel better.

‘Help me sit up higher, Pippen, and then bring a tray with hot water and towels.’

Pippen gazed at him, doing nothing. ‘I’ll help you sit straighter, but you cannot shave yourself.’

This boy to whom he owed his life had a very definite way about him. Any minute now he would spread his feet and plant his fists on his hips, a stance he took when he was determined to have his way.

‘I can shave myself very well, thank you,’ Dev said in his chilliest tone. ‘You cannot do it.’ He gave the youth a once-over that made the boy blush. ‘You have probably never wielded a razor in your life. And you aren’t about to start on me.’

The lad drew himself up and assumed the pose. ‘What if you slit your own throat? You are still weak and shaving is a very precise art.’

Dev felt his lips twitch. ‘Are you a valet when you’re not healing? If so, tell me and I will let you clean me up.’

Dull red spread over Pippen’s unfashionably tanned skin. The boy was in the sun too much. ‘No, but I have done the service for…for Earl LeClaire. Upon occasion.’

Much as he was inclined to argue, Dev found that his small store of energy was fast depleting. ‘Show me how you sharpen the razor.’

With methodical motions, Pippen stropped the razor over the sharpening strap. He had a grace of wrist that Dev could not remember seeing in any man other than his middle brother’s valet. But then Alastair was a Corinthian and well thought of in the ton, so his man was the best to be had.

When the razor glistened in the bright sunshine pouring through the single window, Pippen gave him a ‘what now?’ look. Dev sighed.

‘Proceed as you would with Earl LeClaire and if you falter, I will stop you immediately…if I am not mortally injured.’

The words were as autocratic as he could bring himself to be with the boy. Pippen looked too vulnerable for his own good, and when his chin trembled like a child caught with his hand in the toffee, it made Dev wonder how the lad had got to Brussels on his own, let alone how he had been so successful as a healer for Wellington’s victorious army.

Then there were the boy’s soft looks. Dev very nearly shook his head in wonder before catching himself. Pippen had taken off the hot towels, which had been wrapped around Dev’s face to soften his beard, and lathered his cheeks, jaw and upper neck. Now he was applying the razor to Dev’s skin with a look of complete concentration.

Yes, his saviour looked almost like a madonna. The boy’s hair was pitch black and too long for fashion, with curls that sprang in all directions. Some lady of Quality would want Pippen for ulterior motives. But some man of questionable virtue would want the youth for even more nefarious schemes.

Pippen’s long, slim fingers firmly guided the razor up Dev’s neck in one smooth motion. A slight line drew Pippen’s ebony brows together and accentuated the pure green of his eyes. They were the colour of the emeralds Dev’s mother had set aside as a wedding gift for his bride. The jewels would suit Pippen.

The thought was a leveller.

Dev closed his eyes. What was he thinking? He had never been a lover of boys. His last love had been Samantha, who was decidedly female and several years his senior. Since losing her, he had flirted with every eligible girl in Brussels and shared less acceptable activities with the ineligible ones.

No, these wayward thoughts were due to exhaustion and the fact that Pippen was too feminine and delicate. A state no man should enjoy being. He would do his saviour a favour by telling him to toughen up and get to Gentleman Jackson’s for some bouts with the great man. Perhaps, when he was recovered, he would take Pippen there and introduce him. He might even stand as a mentor to the youth during the Season and get the lad some town bronze. He owed Pippen much.

Bit by bit, Pippa slid the razor over Dev’s bergamot-scented skin. Some patches were difficult because of the length of his beard. She had shaved him with a borrowed razor early in his illness when he had been too weak to know what she was doing and then a couple weeks later before he regained consciousness. Now she was unbearably aware of him and did as little grooming of him as possible.

The exotic smell of bergamot seemed lodged in her senses and locked in the tiny space of the room they shared. It was an unusual scent. Her brother used sandalwood or, when he tired of that, lemon. Even as she toweled away the remains of the soap, Pippa knew that every time she came into contact with bergamot she would remember these moments and Deverell St Simon.

To divert herself from this dangerous track, she said, ‘There was a missive for you at the inn. I forgot until just now.’

She dug into the pocket of her jacket and withdrew the cream-coloured sheet of paper that had been folded into a screw and handed it to Dev. He took it eagerly and read it while she put away his shaving gear.

‘What day is it?’

‘The twenty-ninth of July. Why?’

‘My mother is here in Brussels. Her note says she expected to arrive the first week of the month.’ His voice was full of joy and lightness. Genuine pleasure eased the lines around his mouth that were threatening to become permanent. ‘She gives her direction and orders me to come to her when I get her letter.’ He smiled. ‘That is just like her, assuming that, no matter what the carnage of Waterloo, I would survive.’

‘She is an optimist.’ Pippa wished she had the Duchess’s unfailing faith. In a way she did. Everyone thought her brother dead, but she would not believe it. That was very like the Duchess’s determination that her son would live through hell.

‘Very much so. Do you have paper and ink? I need to send her news.’

‘Madame will have something, although not as grand as that your mother used.’

‘Mother won’t mind. She is not a snob.’

Pippa fetched the writing materials and tried not to watch Dev as he jotted down the note. Such joy lit his features that seeing it made her glad. He had come to mean so much to her. It was disturbing.

When he was done, she took it herself. ‘I will go straight away and deliver this.’

‘Thank you. Stay for a message,’ Dev ordered, grinning like a boy about to take his first pony ride. ‘And don’t be surprised if my mother sees you herself and then instantly orders her coach brought around. She is very impulsive.’

Pippa nodded. Her grandfather and brother often accused her of jumping before she looked. There was the time a labourer’s small daughter had dropped her puppy into the trout stream. Pippa had plunged into the icy water without a thought for her own safety. The mountain snows had melted, and the stream had been nearly a river. The current had caught Pippa’s skirts and dragged her hundreds of feet until she had managed to grab an overhanging tree branch. Later she had caught an inflammation of the lungs, but she had saved the puppy. That more than compensated for a week in bed with the sniffles and a fever.

If Dev’s mother was equally rash, she could deal very well with her ladyship.

Dev was not far off the mark, Pippa found out thirty minutes later. The butler had barely shown her into the salon when a petite, vivacious woman burst through the door.

‘Where is Deverell? Is he all right? Why did he not come with you?’

Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, was strikingly beautiful. Shorter than Pippa, she was willowy thin. Her thick black hair was cropped fashionably short in front. The glossy waves shone blue in the late afternoon sun that poured through the large double windows. Her irises were the clear grey of polished silver and ringed by ebony lashes that were so abundant as to make her eyelids appear heavy. Her full, red lips were parted in a welcoming smile as she came to Pippa and grasped her hands.

Taking a step back and studying Pippa, the Duchess said, ‘Why, you are nothing more than a child. What is Dev doing to rob the cradle for his minions?’

Pippa squelched her first impulse to curtsy and instead did the best bow she was capable of with the Duchess still grasping her fingers. ‘Your Grace, I am all of four and twenty.’ The Duchess gave her a quizzical look and Pippa realized her mistake. ‘That is, I am a late bloomer. My entire family matures slowly. That is—’

‘I understand perfectly,’ the Duchess said, releasing Pippa’s now clammy hands. ‘You don’t want anyone to know how young you really are.’ She patted Pippa’s arm. ‘I will keep your secret, child. Now tell me where my son is and how he is doing.’

Before Pippa could speak, the door opened again. ‘Excuse me, your Grace,’ the butler intoned, ‘but I thought you and your guest might like refreshment.’

‘Goodness, yes, Michaels.’ The Duchess gave Pippa a rueful smile. ‘My staff endeavour to keep me from making too many faux pas.’

Pippa grinned. Yes, she could like this woman whose concern for her child superseded all else. In as few words as possible, Pippa brought the Duchess up to date. The last word was barely out of her mouth when the Duchess jumped up and rang the bell.

When the butler once more entered the room, Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, said, ‘Have the carriage brought round immediately, Michaels, and prepare two rooms. I am bringing Lord Deverell back, and his young friend here—’ she waved a graceful, manicured hand at Pippa ‘—will be staying with us indefinitely.’

Pippa nearly choked on the tea the Duchess had poured and liberally laced with cream and sugar. ‘Your Grace, I cannot impose on you. I have my own room and am quite happy.’

‘Stuff! I dare say you will be much more comfortable with us, child. Brussels is a wonderful city, but after the battle and with all the riff-raff, you will be safer here.’ She turned a stern look on Pippa’s rebellious face. ‘Don’t argue with me, young man. You did not say so, but I believe you are responsible for Deverell being alive today. You will come to us.’

Pippa carefully set her cup down. ‘Your Grace, I am perfectly happy and safe where I am.’

‘Not another word.’ The Duchess stamped her foot. ‘I swear, you are as difficult as my own boys. Now, come along.’

Without a backward glance, the Duchess exited the room. Her muslin skirts swirled around her fashionably clad feet, and the perfectly coiffed back of her head led the way. Pippa followed.

She would go with Deverell’s mother to fetch him, but she would not move here. ‘Twould be too easy for her deception to be discovered in a household like this. Servants were everywhere and they saw everything. No, she would not be coming to stay with Deverell and his mother.

Several hours later, chagrin filled Pippa as she explored her new room in the Duchess of Rundell’s town house. How Deverell’s mother had got her here she still did not know. It must be from raising three boys that, if the Duchess were correct, had been hellions before growing into wonderful adults and husbands and fathers. According to their mother, they were everything that was admirable, with a few perfectly understandable flaws.

Pippa shook her head.

A discreet knock on the door caught Pippa’s attention. She opened it to find a footman. He bowed and said, ‘Pardon me, Master Pippen, but Lord Deverell requests your presence.’

Instant fear that the move had been too much for her patient sent Pippa flying to her bag of herbs. She should have never left him. She should have made him wait another day before relocating. She should have stayed by his side instead of coming to see her room. The admonishments twirled in her brain as she hurried after the servant.

Deverell’s room was down the hall and to the left. In all, it was not very far. Pippa was winded by anxiety when she entered the chamber and came to a standstill.

Dev lay propped up on copious pillows, laughing at something his mother was saying. There was no sign of pain or discomfort that she could discern from this distance.

‘Ah, Pippen,’ he said, waving her forward. ‘My mother thinks I am suffering, and I am trying to convince her it isn’t so. You tell her.’

Pippa moved to the bed and looked from the Duchess’s worried countenance to Dev. On closer examination, he had the tiny line between his brows that always intensified when he was hurting. And his eyes looked strained around the corners. But he wanted her to assure his mother that he was fine. She looked back at the Duchess.

Many aristocratic parents left the care and raising of their children to servants. Often that meant the ties between them and their children were not great. She had been lucky in having her grandfather. He had taken care of her and her twin after her father’s death in a coaching accident. Grandfather had given them over to nannies and tutors, but he had also spent time teaching them about the estate and their place in the world. He had played children’s games with them, and he had read to them. Church on Sunday had been a weekly activity he had insisted they share as a family. It seemed that Dev had had similar care from his mother.

Consequently, Pippa knew she could not lie to his mother. Not even for him.

Pippa chose her words carefully. ‘Your Grace, Deverell has been grievously wounded. He’s mending now, but ‘twas nip and tuck about his leg.’ She glanced at her patient to see him frowning fiercely at her. She decided to ignore him. ‘We were able to save it, mainly because Deverell is strong and stubborn. He didn’t want to lose the limb. That can be a powerful motivator for recovery. He weathered the infection that set in and the leg will heal. Still, he is not fully recovered. Even now he is in pain.’

‘Blast you, Pippen. See if I ever cover for you.’

‘Deverell St Simon,’ the Duchess interposed, ‘how dare you talk so to the young man who saved your life? Now be quiet while Pippen tells me the truth about your injury.’

Pippa took another deep breath and looked from her patient to his parent. ‘He will always be plagued by the leg and may not regain complete movement in it. He would help himself…’ she slanted him a reproving glance before turning her attention back on the Duchess ‘…by taking the draughts I prepare for him instead of leaving them untasted on the nearest table. They would ease the discomfort and promote restful sleep.’

‘Do you have one prepared now?’ the Duchess asked.

Pippa hid her smile behind a cough. She had hoped Dev’s mother would ask that question. ‘I can prepare one quickly, your Grace. A bit of laudanum will help him sleep tonight. He needs rest after being moved.’

Dev glared at her as she prepared the mixture, his pointed regard making her hands shake just a bit.

“Tis for your own good,’ she told him firmly when the preparation was done. She handed him the glass.

‘I know that well enough,’ he growled. ‘But I don’t like the feeling of helplessness the drugs give me. Even though they dull the pain, they remind me that I have a deformity.’

Pippa stared at him. She had known he was headstrong, but until this instant she hadn’t realized why he disliked the medications. He was going to find it hard going when he was healed enough to move around, but not well enough to do as he saw fit.

‘I am sorry for that,’ she murmured, wishing she could do something for him besides give him the painkillers. Noticing that the Duchess had moved away from them, she added, ‘I am sorry that I had to spoil your plan to shield your mother. Your sentiments toward her are very admirable, but she deserves to know. This way, when you don’t bounce out of bed in the next couple days, she won’t be surprised and worried.’

Dev grunted. ‘You’re right, Pippen, but all of us have got in the habit of protecting her from the harsh things of life—if we can.’

His words brought a rush of warmth to Pippa’s heart. Would she have been so protective of her mother, had her mother not died birthing her? The question brought back all the old guilt over being the death of her mother and the determination to atone for that deed. Even though no one had ever blamed her for her mother’s death, Pippa had occasionally blamed herself. She knew death in childbed was common and that her mother’s demise was not her fault, but still her mother’s death was the reason Pippa had first wanted to learn midwifery and later medicine. She wanted to help others and hopefully prevent parents from dying and leaving behind their children.

She shook her head to clear it of the old memory. A long time had passed since she had last had these thoughts. They were probably brought on by watching Dev with his mother. That the two loved each other was obvious. That she was getting maudlin was even more obvious. She needed to go to her own room and do exactly what she was telling Dev to do—rest.

Resisting the urge to smooth the hair back from his forehead, Pippa stepped away from the bed and packed her herbal bag. ‘He should be fine now.’

‘Thank you, Pippen,’ the Duchess of Rundell said, coming over and taking Pippa’s hands. ‘I will never be able to thank you enough.’

Pippa felt awkward and embarrassed. She didn’t want anyone’s gratitude. She just wanted…She glanced at Dev and saw his roguish grin. She just wanted things she had never wanted before, things she couldn’t have. Not now.

‘You don’t need to thank me.’ Pippa gently pulled her fingers from the Duchess’s grasp. ‘I am glad I could help Dev.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will excuse me, I am very tired.’

‘Of course, child,’ the Duchess said. ‘Sleep as late as you need.’

‘Sweet dreams,’ Dev added, his hazel eyes twinkling with devilry.

And what type of dreams did he expect her to have? Pippa thought sourly as she made her way back to her room. As far as Dev was concerned, she was a young man who couldn’t even grow a beard. She knew from living with her twin that not being able to grow facial hair was tantamount to being a baby.

Pippa closed her door behind herself and looked around the room she had been given. It was masculine in its simplicity. A large oak four-poster bed took up the centre while a matching armoire hogged one entire wall. A Turkey rug covered most of the wood floor, and blue drapes that echoed one of the rug’s colours hung from the high ceiling to puddle fashionably.

What would Dev do if he knew she was a girl, and her room at home was done in peaches and soft greens? He would be scandalized. If she was unmasked, she would be beyond redemption. Dev’s liking would turn into loathing. It was a thought she could not bear to contemplate for long.

Deverell St Simon’s admiration and friendship meant too much. To lose them would be unbearable.

Chapter Four

Pippa shifted the very fashionable hat she had just bought to cover her too short hair. Then, with a determined tread, she pushed open the bank’s door and entered the cool interior. The sprig muslin morning gown that would have been better for a good ironing left her arms and much of her neck bare to gooseflesh.

She had packed the gown, reticule and kid slippers in her portmanteau for just this occasion, and had had a devilish time of it keeping the women’s clothes hidden. The Duchess of Rundell had assigned a maid to put her clothes up, and Pippa had had to shoo the girl out any number of times, telling her she had already unpacked.

Her letter of introduction that would allow her to draw funds on her father’s account was in her reticule. Nearly all the money she had brought with her from England was spent and tomorrow Dev was taking her to meet Wellington. From there she would continue her search for her brother, and that would require more blunt.

The use of blunt, a cant word Philip had taught her, brought a smile to her lips. She would find her brother. She would.

‘Pardon—’ a French-accented woman’s voice intruded on Pippa’s vow ‘—but have we met before?’

Wariness tightened the muscles between Pippa’s shoulders as she turned to face the speaker. The Marchioness of Witherspoon stood not less than two feet away, studying Pippa like a naturalist studies a bug pinned to a specimen tray. The Frenchwoman must have noticed the similarity between Pippa and Pippen from the hospital.

A shiver skated down Pippa’s spine as she forced a smile. ‘I don’t believe so. I would have surely remembered if we had.’ She made a slight curtsy and tried to edge around the woman. The sooner she was away, the sooner the Marchioness would forget the memory.

‘Non, non,’ the Marchioness said, her small white hand shooting out and coming to rest on Pippa’s arm. ‘Do not run, chérie. I mean you no harm, only…’ Her head cocked to one side and her blue eyes studied Pippa. ‘I could swear I have seen you before. In Brussels, perhaps?’

Pippa shook her head. ‘No, milady. We have never met.’ She moved her arm so that the woman’s hand fell away. It was like having a chain opened. ‘Excuse me, but I have an appointment.’ That was not the truth, but she hoped to soon have an appointment.

Before the Marchioness could detain her further, Pippa spurted forward. The last thing she needed was for someone to penetrate her disguise.

Even as her palms turned clammy at the possible ruin, an image of Dev as she had left him formed in her mind. Her step slowed and her gaze saw nothing in the bank. For the first time since she’d met him, Dev had been dressed to go out, his tall, lean form shown to advantage by buff-coloured buckskins that fit his legs to perfection and a bottle-green coat of superfine that showed his broad shoulders to advantage. Smudge-free Hessians had hidden the scars on his right leg—not that they mattered to her. She sighed.

Would he find her attractive dressed as a woman? She berated herself immediately.

Whether Dev would be interested in her was not an issue. Deverell St Simon was not her reason for being here. Nor would he want to be, considering how she was flaunting the conventions of their society. Best to put all thought of him from her mind.

Suiting action to thought, Pippa presented her letter of introduction to a clerk. While she waited, she watched the people around her. To her surprise, the Marchioness was still on the premises. She seemed to be depositing a large sum of money which was causing a stir with the young man taking it.

Briefly, Pippa wondered why the woman would be depositing money when the normal course of action for an Englishman or woman while in a foreign country was to draw on their British bank. Before she could dwell long on the problem, she was approached by another clerk and escorted to a large desk where the bank manager smiled benignly at her.

The Marchioness’s actions quickly slipped her mind as she concentrated on her transaction.

Her task done, Pippa retraced her footsteps to the small closet in the hospital where she had stashed her boy’s clothing. It was a matter of minutes before Pippen emerged, carrying a wicker basket, the letter of introduction safe in the breast pocket of the jacket. Her first instinct was to dump the basket and revealing clothes in the nearest heap of trash.

It had been safe to bring the dress with her and keep it in her portmanteau until she had moved into the Duchess of Rundell’s town house, where servants were constantly cleaning and straightening her belongings. The dress would have to go. The letter of introduction was much easier to hide and irreplaceable. She could always buy another dress.

On her way out of the hospital, she saw a woman kneeling by one of the patients. From the threadbare look of the woman’s dress it was obvious she didn’t have much money. Yet love shone from her eyes as she gazed at the man whose head lay in the pillow of her lap. Tears tracked down the woman’s cheeks even as happiness made her face glow.