Dangerous Deceptions Read Free Page B

Sebastian to come closer. I had been adding some most unmaidenly skills to my arsenal over the past months, and my carefully manicured fingers were itching for an excuse to unleash them on this particular visitor.
    I don’t know if he read any of this in my narrowed gaze, but Sebastian did halt his advance while there was still a good two feet of space between us.
    “We need to talk, Peggy,” he said in a low, urgent voice.
    I looked at the young man in front of me, at his anxious face and melting blue eyes, and I forced myself to remember. I remembered the feeling of his hot, hard fingers as he shoved them under my skirts so he could pinch my thighs. I remembered the leer on his face as he raised himself up above where I lay pinned to the ground. I remembered how he laughed at my screams and my pleading. At least, he laughed until I jammed my fan into his throat. I made myself remember that moment as well.
    “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Sandford.”
    Sebastian’s jaw worked itself back and forth. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw genuine worry in his bright, blue eyes. I told myself not to be ridiculous. There was nothing genuine about this man, and there never would be.
    Knowing this as I did, his next words surprised me.
    “This is my fault, and I do know it,” Sebastian said. “I have begun as badly as possible, again. But you will soon understand that we must talk. Send word for me when you are ready, and I will meet you, where and when you please.”
    He bowed, this time perfunctorily, and left me standing there.

THREE
I N WHICH, AGAINST ALL EXPECTATIONS, AT LEAST A FEW PLANS UNFOLD AS HOPED.
    Slowly, I closed the door. My heart knocked hard against my ribs. What on earth could Sebastian be playing at? What did he mean, I would understand that we must talk? We had nothing at all to say to each other.
    I repeated this to myself and the closed door several times. At the same time, I looked at the porcelain jar on the mantel. It must hold a good pound of tea. My brain, which had been made mercenary by both my public and concealed duties, calculated that to be worth at least forty pounds sterling, not counting the value of the jar itself. As bribes went, it was both respectable and well considered.
    “Friend of the family?” inquired Libby from the threshold of my closet. Of course she had stayed in there, where she could listen to every single word without fear of being noticed. I expected no less of her.
    “Am I fit to be seen, Libby?” I asked by way of ignoring her far too personal question.
    My maid narrowed her dark eyes, inspecting me like a horse at market. “You’ll do for tonight.”
    “Good. Get down to the Color Court and keep watch for my uncle and his family.” With that, I snatched up the small purse from my desk and hurried out my apartment door as quickly as my constricting garments would allow.
     
    Had we all still been in residence at Hampton Court Palace, I would have had space enough to host my dinner party in my own apartments. We might even have been warm. But as soon as autumn arrived, the royal family had transplanted themselves to the heart of London and settled beneath the turrets of St. James’s Palace. I was told this ungainly brick warren had originally been built by Henry VIII. That gentleman considered it to be a fitting home for his beloved, at the time, Anne Boleyn. If that was true, he thought her fitting home was a cramped, smoky, drafty, bewildering maze of dark corridors and dim, low-ceilinged rooms. The small salon that I had been allotted for my dinner was ten minutes’ walk, in fully rigged mantua and high heels, from my apartment, and that was without any wrong turnings.
    Even a small court is a good-size village, and I was but one in a stream of richly dressed persons all hurrying to reach their designated places for the evening. I barely noticed who I passed. This neglect would cause me to be accused of snubbery later, but I could not tear my mind