Scandalous Deception

Edmond readily returned the smile. Goodson was a genuine treasure, always efficient, well-organized and in ruthless control of the vast staff. His true talent, however, was his ability to maintain the sense of calm peace that so pleased Stefan.

There was never, ever anything to disturb the serenity of Meadowland. No sounds of squabbling servants, no upheavals from unwanted guests who were firmly, but diplomatically, turned from the door, no awkward unpleasantness during the rare social events that were held at the grand house.

He was, all in all, the perfect butler.

“Thank you, Goodson,” Edmond said. “I am shockingly pleased to be here.”

“It is always good to come home,” Goodson replied, able to hide the least hint of reproach at Edmond’s lengthy absence.

The staff would never fully resign themselves to Edmond’s preference for living in Russia. To them he was an Englishman, regardless of his mother’s blood, and a duke’s son. His place was at Meadowland, not some strange, foreign land.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Is the Duke at home?”

“He is in his study. Do you wish me to announce you?”

Of course Stefan was in his study. If his diligent brother was not overseeing the work in the fields he was always in his study.

“No, despite my advancing years, I believe I can still remember my way.”

Goodson gave a dignified nod. “I will have Mrs. Slater bring you a tray there.”

Edmond’s mouth watered at the mere thought. He had eaten the food of the most famous chefs in the world, but none could compare to Mrs. Slater’s simple English fare.

“Will you ask her to include her famous seed cakes? I haven’t had a decent one in years.”

“There is no need to ask,” Goodson assured him dryly. “The woman will be so delighted to have you returned to Meadowland, she will not be satisfied until she manages to produce every dish you have claimed to prefer since you were in shortcoats.”

“At this moment I believe I could eat them all.” Edmond turned toward the steps only to sharply turn back toward the hovering servant. “Goodson.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“My brother happened to mention in one of his letters that Mr. Howard Summerville was visiting his mother.”

“I believe he and his family did stay several weeks with Mrs. Summerville, sir.”

There was nothing to be detected in the bland tones, but Edmond did not doubt the servant knew the precise day Howard arrived in Surrey as well as the exact moment of his departure. It would, after all, be the valet’s unpleasant duty to ensure the sponger did not manage to slip past his guard and trouble the Duke with his tedious pleas for money.

“How many weeks?”

“He arrived six days before Christmas and did not leave until the twelfth of September.”

“Rather odd for a gentleman devoted to the delights of town to leave London for such a protracted length of time, was it not, Goodson?”

“Very odd, unless one believes in village gossip.”

“And what village gossip would that be?”

“That Mr. Summerville was forced to close his town house and retrench.” The disdain deepened. “It was said that the gentleman could not so much as step out his door without being surrounded by bill collectors.”

“It seems my cousin has managed to become an even greater dolt than I had anticipated.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Once I speak with my brother I would like to have a word with his valet.”

The flicker of surprise was so brief it might have been nonexistent. “I will have James awaiting you in the library.”

“Actually I would prefer the privacy of my personal sitting room, always presuming it has not been converted into a nursery or filled to the ceiling with Stefan’s farming manuals.”

“Your rooms are just as you left them,” the servant assured him in grave tones. “His Grace insists that they always be prepared for your return.”

Edmond smiled wryly. It was predictable of his brother. And oddly comforting. There was something to be said for always knowing there was a place waiting for you.

“Have James meet me in my sitting room in an hour.”

“As you wish.”

Knowing that Goodson would not only have James waiting for him, but would do so with the sort of discretion that would avoid any unnecessary chatter below-stairs, Edmond turned and continued his way to the second floor.

Deliberately avoiding the Picture Gallery, Edmond chose the lesser-used Minstrel’s Gallery to make his way toward the private rooms of the vast house. A faint smile touched his lips as he realized that the pale blue damask wall panels were precisely the same as they had been when he was a child, as well as the blue and ivory silk curtains that framed the high, arched windows that ran the length of the gallery.

His amusement only deepened as he silently pushed open the door to the large study that was nearly overrun with books, ledgers and farming manuals stacked on every available surface. Only the heavy oak desk was relatively clear of debris, with one ledger book spread open. Stefan was seated behind the desk in a leather chair, quill in his hand.

“Do you know, Stefan, it is nothing short of remarkable how nothing ever changes at Meadowland, including you,” he murmured softly. “I believe you were sitting at that precise desk, tallying the same quarterly reports in that same old blue coat the day that I left.”

Lifting his dark head, Stefan stared at him in shock for a long beat.

“Edmond?”

“For my sins.”

With a choked sound between a laugh and sob, Stefan was on his feet and hurrying to clasp Edmond in a bear hug.

“Dear God, it’s good to see you.”

Edmond readily returned the embrace. His feelings for Stefan had never been complicated. His brother was the one person in the entire world he truly loved.

“And you, Stefan.”

Pulling back, Stefan allowed a rueful smile to touch the face that was an exact replica of Edmond’s.

Oh, the discerning eye might pick up the fact that Stefan’s olive skin was a shade or two darker from the hours he spent overseeing the tenants, and that the vivid blue eyes held an expression of sweet trust that would never be seen in Edmond’s. But the thick raven hair curled in exactly the same manner, the chiseled features held the same Slavic beauty; even their tall, lean bodies were exactly matched.

The two had spent their childhood taking great delight in switching places and confusing others who could never tell them apart.

Everyone, that is, but their parents and their young neighbor Brianna Quinn. The tiny minx with a wild mane of autumn-hued curls could never be deceived.

“I will have you know this coat is not above three or four seasons old,” Stefan assured him as he smoothed his hands over the blue coat.

Edmond gave a soft laugh. “I would lay ten quid your valet would tell me differently.”

Stefan wrinkled his nose, his gaze skimming over Edmond’s closely tailored mulberry jacket and silver waistcoat.

“Well, I never was as dapper as you.”

“Thank God,” Edmond said with utter sincerity. “Unlike your feckless brother, you have far more important matters to fill your days than the cut of your coat or gloss of your boots. Not the least of which is allowing me to live in magnificent comfort.”

“I would hardly consider being the guardian angel of his Imperial Highness as being feckless,” Stefan countered. “Far from it, in fact.”

“Guardian angel?” Edmond gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh at the ridiculous words. “You are far off the mark, dear Stefan. I am a wicked sinner, a rake, and a self-indulgent adventurer who has only avoided the hangman’s noose due to the fortune of possessing a Duke for a brother.”

The vivid blue eyes narrowed. “You might be able to fool others, Edmond, but never me.”

“Because you are always determined to believe the best in everyone, even your worthless brother.” Edmond lowered himself into a wing chair near the desk, quite ready to be done with the conversation. “Presumably Mrs. Slater is busily preparing a banquet, but in truth I am in more need of a shot of that Irish whiskey you keep hidden in your drawer.”

“Of course.” With a knowing smile Stefan moved to the desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Splashing a healthy measure of the amber spirit into each, he handed one to Edmond and took his own seat behind the desk. “Cheers.”

Tossing the spirit down his throat, Edmond savored the delicious burn.

“Ah…perfect.” Placing the empty glass on a nearby table, Edmond settled back in his seat and took a deep breath. He smiled at his brother. “This room smells of England.”

“And what does England smell of?”

“Polished wood, aging leather, damp air. It never changes.”

Stefan polished off his drink and set his glass aside. “Perhaps not, but I find such familiarity comforting. I am not like you, Edmond, always seeking some new adventure. I prefer a more dull and tedious existence.”

“There is something to be said for familiarity. I am glad you haven’t changed Meadowland. I like knowing that when I return, it will be just as I remembered.” He studied his brother, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Of course, once you take a wife you will no doubt be badgered into constant renovations. We might love this rambling old place with its smoking chimneys, leaking casements and sadly dated furnishings, but I doubt a woman of good breeding would be happy to live among such shabbiness.”

As always Stefan refused to rise to the bait. “No doubt that is the reason I still have yet to take a wife,” he murmured with a placid indifference to his bachelor state. Of course he could be. Everyone knew there wasn’t a maiden in all of England, or the rest of the world for that matter, who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to become the next Duchess of Huntley. “I cannot bear the thought of altering my treasured home.”

“More likely you are just foolish enough to be waiting for love to strike your heart, and when it does I predict that it will be to some entirely unsuitable miss who will lead you about by your nose.”

Stefan arched a dark brow. “Actually I’ve always assumed that you would be the one to tumble neck deep in love with some spirited lady who will lead you a merry dance. It would be only fair, for all the havoc you have caused among the fairer sex.”

There was no need for Edmond to fake his shudder. He possessed a natural desire for a beautiful woman, but never for more than a passing affair.

He would readily share his body and his wealth, but never anything more.

“Mon dieu, not even I deserve such a hideous fate,” he muttered.

Stefan chuckled, but he didn’t appear nearly as convinced as he should have been. “Now, tell me all the news from Russia. You know I hear nothing here in the country.”

Edmond leaned forward, his smile fading. “Actually, Stefan, I am far more interested in what has been happening at Meadowland.”

IT WAS CLOSE TO TWO HOURS later when Edmond entered his private sitting room. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and sapphire, it possessed a simple elegance. The furniture was fashioned in the solid English style with a satin settee, a mahogany chased ormolu and brass bureau, and a few trellised-backed chairs that smelled of beeswax. On the walls were several Flemish masterpieces that had been collected by a distant ancestor; the floor was covered by a magnificent oriental carpet.

It was the logs laid in the fireplace and fresh flowers arranged on the marble mantle, however, that made his lips twitch with amusement.

Clearly Goodson had not lied. The room looked as if he had never left.

Shifting his attention, he regarded the short, rotund form of his brother’s valet who was standing near the arched windows that offered a stunning view of the nearby lake. The servant was neatly attired in a black and gold uniform, his pudgy face settled in lines of stoic patience.

“James, thank you for coming.”

“My lord. It is good to have you home.” The valet, who had been with Stefan for over ten years, offered a deep brow. Straightening, he dared to allow a hint of disapproval to touch his pale eyes. “His Grace pines for your company when you are gone.”

“Well, I am here now.”

“So, you are, sir.” James covertly glanced over Edmond’s elegant attire. “I would be happy to lend you assistance in your chambers whenever my duties with your brother…”

“No, my manservant should be arriving with my luggage before nightfall,” he interrupted. “What I need from you is information.”

James frowned in confusion. “Information?”

“I want to know every incident, no matter how trivial, that has put my brother in danger over the past year.”

“Oh…thank God.” Without warning, the servant was moving forward and falling to his knees directly before the startled Edmond. “I have tried to convince his Grace that he is in danger, but he refuses to believe that anyone would want to harm him.”

“I assumed as much, which is why I have returned. Unlike Stefan, I am not naive enough to brush aside such obvious attempts at murder. And I can assure you that I will not rest until I discover who is behind these attacks.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE TERRACE HOUSE ON CURZON Street was a narrow affair with a wrought-iron railing and unremarkable facade. The interior had once been fashionable, with a cheerful front parlor and long, formal dining room. These days, however, it could claim nothing more than a vulgar collection of Egyptian-inspired furnishings complete with a sarcophagus and mummy that had caused more than one visitor to faint in horror.

Precisely the sort of overblown opulence that marked the owner as one of those encroaching mushrooms with more money than good breeding.

The house did, however, possess a tidy garden in the back that had the added advantage of a small grotto where it was possible to hide from prying eyes.

Standing near the narrow window of the grotto that overlooked the back gate, a young woman pressed a hand to her stomach, which was tied in painful knots.

Standing in the shadows, with her vibrant curls yanked into a stern knot at the nape of her neck and her small, delicate body encased in a heavy black gown more suitable for the depths of winter than the pleasant October day, she should have looked a dowd. That had certainly been her intention when she had left her chambers that morning.

Unfortunately, nothing could manage to dim the finely molded features that were dominated by a pair of slanted, thickly lashed green eyes and a wide, lush mouth. And certainly nothing could dim the vibrant beauty of her auburn hair that held hints of red, gold and a shimmering bronze.

Her nose was dainty and her eyebrows an elegant sweep of color that emphasized the ivory perfection of her skin. Even her cheekbones were carved with exquisite care.

To men, she appeared to capture the very essence and allure of the first Eve, a woman who could tempt a man to barter his very soul to own her.

But in this moment, she would give her sizable dowry to be invisible to men.

At least to one man in particular.

The familiar squeak of the back gate brought a swift end to her dark thoughts, and leaning forward, she gave a low whistle to capture the maid’s notice.

“Janet,” she called softly. The plump female, attired in a gray servant’s gown and white cap covering her dark curls, cast a glance about the seemingly empty garden. “I am in the grotto.”

With hurried steps, the maid entered the grotto and pressed a hand to her ample bosom.

“Lord, Miss, ye bout scared the wits outta me.”

“Mr. Wade has returned from his club early, I could not risk having him overhear us,” Brianna Quinn whispered.

Janet grimaced, her pretty features hardening with distaste. It was an expression most women displayed when speaking of Mr. Thomas Wade.

“Aye, he is always sneaking about, watching you like a hungry cat watching a mouse.”

A shiver inched down Brianna’s spine before she was sternly lifting her chin and sucking in a deep breath. No, she could not give in to her looming panic. The only means of saving herself was to keep her wits clear and focused on escape.

“He will discover that I am no mouse,” she said, fiercely. “I do not care what it takes, I will be rid of my vile stepfather before the week is out.”

“As to that—” Janet ducked her head in apology as she reached her hand into the pocket of her apron and removed the vellum envelope that Brianna had given her earlier that morning.

Brianna frowned in disbelief. She had devoted the past week to sending letter after letter to Stefan’s town house. She had been certain when she learned the reclusive Duke was in town that he would be her savior.

But, as day after day passed with no word from her childhood friend, she had at last sent her maid to confront him directly. It had to be that her letters had gone astray or Stefan had not yet had the opportunity to read them. She could not believe he would be deliberately avoiding her pleas for assistance.

“You were unable to speak with the Duke?” she demanded.

Janet made a rude noise. “Not only wasn’t I allowed to speak with the Duke, but I couldn’t so much as leave yer note for him.”

“Why ever not?”

“There was a great, hulking servant what answered the door. Eyed me like a piece of rubbish that had been dropped on his stoop and told me to be on me way without so much as a good day.” Janet gave a disgusted shake of her head. Despite the fact she was the same age as Brianna, two and twenty, she possessed a will of iron and was rarely routed by even the most fearsome opponent. Brianna had seen her beat a drunken sailor to near death with her umbrella for no more an insult than a pinch on her backside. “Sodding man wouldn’t even accept the letter ye had written for His Grace. Said as his master was in town for business reasons and wasn’t accepting visitors. Then he shut the door right in me face. Bastard.”

Brianna was frankly bewildered. She knew all of the Huntley staff, since most of them had been with the ducal family since well before Brianna’s father had died. Certainly she could not recall such an intimidating man.

“Describe this servant.”

Janet gave a lift of her shoulder. “As I said, he was big and burly with a hard face and thick golden hair. I suppose he be handsome enough if ye like ’em big as an ox.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Oh, and he had a funny accent. He was no Englishman, that much I can tell ye.”

“How peculiar.” With short, determined steps, Brianna paced the confined space of the grotto, her nerves stretched to the point of screaming. “That does not sound at all like Goodson.”

“Who?”

“The Duke’s long-time butler,” Brianna said absently. “In fact, to my knowledge the Dukes have never employed foreigners. Their staff has been with them for years.”

“Looks more like a criminal than a servant, if ye ask me.”

“I do not understand, Janet.” The swish of her black crape dress over the sarsnet slip echoed through the musty air as Brianna continued her pacing, her fingers absently toying with the fichu she had tucked into the modest line of her bodice. “Stefan would never turn away a request from me, not unless he has changed dramatically in the past few years. My father named him as one of my guardians, for God’s sake.”

“What will ye do? If ye can’t speak with the Duke…”

Brianna came to a sharp halt, her hands clenched into fists. “Oh, I will speak with him. Even if I have to storm the gates of his town house myself.”

“Ye can’t do that, Miss. Not without causing a fearful scandal.”

“You think I would not rather endure scandal than be hauled off to a secluded hunting lodge with my stepfather?” Brianna hissed, her entire body revolting at the mere thought of what would happen once Thomas had her isolated and helpless at the lodge.

“Still…ach.” Janet caught her breath. “I jest remembered something.”

“What?”

“While I was attempting to get into the house, a boy arrived with a package for his Grace.”

“And?”

“The package was a domino and mask that the master had ordered to be made.”

Understanding slowly bloomed in Brianna’s mind, her fading hope returning in a fierce wave.

“So he plans to attend a masquerade.”

“And soon. The servant snapped at the boy for his tardiness, saying that it had best meet with the master’s approval as it was too late to have it altered.”

“Then it must be tonight.” Picking up her heavy skirts, Brianna headed for the door of the grotto. “I need to speak with Mrs. Grant. She always knows what social events are occurring about town.”

IT WAS NEAR ELEVEN O’CLOCK that evening before the house was at last quiet enough for Brianna to slip from the back door and make her way through the dark streets until she stood in front of the pretentious town house where the Courtesan Masquerade Ball was to be held.

It didn’t look the sort of place where gentlemen of the highest society mixed with courtesans, harlots and ladies of easy virtue. Not with its handsome brickwork and Iconic columns that framed the main entrance with a muted elegance.

Mrs. Grant, however, had been quite firm in announcing that the only masquerade ball on this night was Lord Blackwell’s annual event.

Brianna gave a small shake of her head as she noted the long line of carriages stretching down the block and masked gentlemen walking through the front door. Obviously, any disapproval of tonight’s festivities was exclusively held by female members of society.

“I do not like this, miss,” Janet hissed at her side. “I think I should stay with ye in case there’s trouble.”

Brianna tugged the domino closer about her body as she battled off the urge to shiver. When she had found the black velvet cloak lined with silver and the matching black feathered mask in her mother’s old truck in the attic, she had felt as if fate was urging her to take the daring risk. There was even a matching ball gown in a pale pink satin with black and silver ribbons dotted along the hem and threaded through the scooped bodice. It was precisely the sort of frivolous concoction that would be expected at a masquerade.

Now, however, her palms were sweating and her knees shaking as she contemplated the thought of entering the strange town house filled with randy gentlemen and willing whores. What if she were recognized? Or worse, what if she was accosted before she could locate Stefan, even assuming he was in there?

It took more courage than she knew she possessed to reach out and squeeze Janet’s cold hand.

“Nonsense, I need you at home to make sure that Thomas does not realize I am not in my chambers.”

“This is no place for a lady. Only harlots would be seen at such a ball.”

“But, I will not be seen,” Brianna said, her voice considerably more steady than her nerves. “Besides, I have heard any number of rumors that there are ladies of fashion who attend such events. Incognito, of course.”

Janet sucked in a sharp breath. Servants tended to have a rigid view of how a noble should behave. Far more rigid than the nobles themselves.

“Not proper young ladies.”

“I can no longer afford to be proper, Janet.” Her voice was bitter. “If I am unable to convince Stefan to take me in as his ward, then I shall be forced to flee and make my own way in the world. In that event, I doubt that a risqué ball will be my greatest concern.”

Janet chewed her bottom lip, knowing she could not argue the stark truth of Brianna’s words. They had three short days before she was to be hauled off to the wilds of Norfolk. Once there, no one would be able to halt her stepfather from forcing her to his bed.

“Jest promise ye’ll take care,” Janet demanded with a resigned sigh. “The gents are bound to be drunk and in the mood for trouble.”

“I will take the greatest care, I assure you.” Brianna squeezed her maid’s fingers in warning. “But, Janet, I am depending on you. No one can know that I am not in my bed sleeping.”