Deception

  Bantam Books by Amanda Quick

  Ask your bookseller for the

  books you have missed

  AFFAIR

  DANGEROUS

  DECEPTION

  DESIRE

  DON’T LOOK BACK

  I THEE WED

  LATE FOR THE WEDDING

  MISCHIEF

  MISTRESS

  MYSTIQUE

  RAVISHED

  RECKLESS

  RENDEZVOUS

  SCANDAL

  SEDUCTION

  SLIGHTLY SHADY

  SURRENDER

  WICKED WIDOW

  WITH THIS RING

  For Rebecca Cabaza:

  An editor who understands the romance.

  It’s a joy to work with you.

  Prologue

  “Tell her to beware the Guardian.” Artemis Wingfield leaned across the tavern table. His faded blue eyes were intent beneath his bushy gray brows. “Have you got that, Chillhurst? She is to beware the Guardian”

  Jared Ryder, Viscount Chillhurst, braced his elbows on the table, placed his fingertips together, and regarded his companion with his one-eyed gaze. Wingfield had grown comfortable with him during the past two days, he thought, so comfortable that he no longer stared at the black velvet patch that covered Jared’s sightless eye.

  It was obvious that Wingfield had accepted Jared for what he purported to be—another adventurous Englishman like himself bent on travel now that the war with Napoleon had finally ended.

  The two men had wound up spending the past two nights at the same inn in this grimy little French port awaiting the ships that would take them to their respective destinations.

  Perspiration dripped down Wingfield’s brow and into his whiskers. It was a warm evening in late spring and the smoke-filled tavern was crowded. Jared privately considered that Wingfield was suffering unnecessarily from the heat. The older man’s chin-high collar, elegantly knotted cravat, snug-fitting waistcoat, and well-tailored jacket were definitely contributing to his obvious discomfort.

  The fashionable attire was not well suited to the balmy night or to the environs of a port tavern. Wingfield, however, was the sort of Englishman who valued appearances far above personal comfort. Jared suspected that his new acquaintance dressed for dinner every night during his travels even if the meal happened to be served in a tent.

  “I comprehend your words, sir.” Jared tapped his fingertips together. “But I don’t take your meaning. Who, or what, is this Guardian?”

  Wingfield’s whiskers twitched. “Lot of nonsense, to be perfectly frank. Just part of an old legend surrounding a diary that I’m shipping back to my niece in England. The old count who sold the volume to me told me about the warning.”

  “I see,” Jared said politely. “Beware the Guardian, eh? Interesting.”

  “As I said, merely the remnants of an old legend connected to the diary. Nevertheless, a rather odd incident occurred last night and one cannot be too careful.”

  “Odd incident?”

  Wingfield narrowed his eyes. “I believe my room here at the inn was searched while I was dining.”

  Jared frowned. “You said nothing about it at breakfast this morning.”

  “Wasn’t certain. Nothing taken, you see. But all day long I’ve had the most peculiar sensation that I’m being watched.”

  “Unpleasant.”

  “Indeed. And no doubt entirely unrelated to the diary. Still I’ve become a bit concerned. Wouldn’t want to put her in any danger.”

  Jared unsteepled his hands and took a swallow of his weak ale. “What is this diary you say you are sending to your niece?”

  “It’s a lady’s journal actually,” Wingfield explained. “Belonged to a woman named Claire Lightbourne. That’s all I know about it. The entries are completely unintelligible for the most part.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It appears to be written in a hodgepodge of Greek and Latin and English. Rather like a private code. My niece believes that the Lightbourne diary holds clues to a fabulous treasure.” Wingfield snorted.

  “You do not believe the tale?”

  “Not bloody likely, if you ask me. But Olympia will have fun attempting to decipher the diary. She enjoys that sort of thing.”

  “She sounds like a rather unusual female.”

  Wingfield chuckled. “She is that. Not her fault, I suppose. She was raised by a rather eccentric aunt and the aunt’s companion. I was never well acquainted with that side of the family but word had it that both the aunt and her friend undertook to educate Olympia themselves. Filled her head with a lot of strange notions.”

  “What sort of notions?”

  “Olympia don’t give a fig for propriety, thanks to her schooling. Don’t mistake me, she’s a fine young woman. Her reputation is spotless. But she ain’t interested in the sort of things young females are supposed to be interested in, if you see what I mean.”

  “Such as?”

  “Fashion, for one thing. Got no interest in clothes. And that aunt of hers never taught her the useful things a lady needs to know such as how to dance or flirt or make herself agreeable to a potential suitor.” Wingfield shook his head. “Very odd upbringing, if you ask me. The chief reason she’s never found herself a husband, I suspect.”

  “What does interest your niece?” Jared was growing genuinely curious in spite of himself.

  “Anything that has to do with the customs and legends of foreign lands fascinates the chit. Very active in the Society for Travel and Exploration, you know, even though she’s never been out of Dorset in her life.”

  Jared looked at him. “If she does not travel, herself, how is she able to be active in the society?”

  “She tracks down old books and journals and letters that deal with travel and exploration. She studies what she finds and writes up her conclusions. Published several papers in the quarterly journal of the society during the last three years.”

  “She did?” Jared was becoming more intrigued by the moment.

  “Yes, indeed.” A fleeting expression of pride flickered in Wingfield’s gaze. “Very popular pieces because they incorporate all sorts of instructive information on the customs and habits of foreigners.”

  “How did she discover the Lightbourne diary?” Jared asked carefully.

  Wingfield shrugged. “Through a series of letters that she turned up in her research. Took her nearly a year, but she finally located the diary in a small town here on the French coast. It was originally part of a much larger library that was destroyed during the war.”

  “You came here specifically to purchase the diary for your niece?”

  “It was on my way,” Wingfield said. “I’m en route to Italy. The diary apparently passed through a number of hands during the past few years. The old man who sold it to me was hard-pressed. He needed money and was more than happy to sell off some of his books. I picked up a number of other volumes for Olympia in the bargain.”

  “Where is the diary at the moment?”

  “Oh, it’s safe enough.” Wingfield looked smug. “I packed it yesterday and saw it safely stowed in the hold of the Sea Flame along with the rest of the goods I’m sending to Olympia.”

  “You’re not concerned about the goods while they’re on board the ship?”

  “Good lord, no. The Sea Flame is one of the Flamecrest ships. Excellent reputation. Reliable crews and experienced, trustworthy captains. Fully insured. No, no, my goods are in safe hands while they’re at sea.”

  “But you’re not so certain of the safety of English roads, is that it?”

  Wingfield grimaced. “I feel much better about that part of the matter now that I know you’ll be accompanying the goods to Upper Tudway in Dorset.”

  “I appreciate your confidence.”

  “Yes, sir, my niece is going to be as happy as a lark when she sees that diary.”

  Jared privately concluded that Olympia Wingfield was, indeed, a very odd creature. Not that he didn’t know a thing or two about odd creatures, he reminded himself. He had, after all, been raised in a family of outrageous, flamboyant eccentrics.

  Wingfield leaned back in the booth and surveyed the tavern. His gaze fell on a scarred, heavily built man who was sitting at the next table. The man wore a knife and a brutish expression that did not bode well for anyone who might want to share the table with him. He was typical of many of the tavern’s patrons.

  “Rough looking lot, ain’t they?” Wingfield asked uneasily.

  “Half of the men you see in here tonight are little better than pirates,” Jared said. “Soldiers who had nowhere else to go when Napoleon was finally defeated. Sailors waiting for a ship. Men looking for a willing wench or a fight. The usual riffraff that hangs about in port towns.”

  “And the other half?”

  Jared smiled briefly. “They probably are pirates.”

  “Not surprised. You said you’ve done a great deal of traveling, sir. You must have been in a number of places like this in your time. Expect you’ve learned to handle yourself.”

  “As you can see, I’ve managed to survive thus far.”

  Wingfield glanced meaningfully at the black velvet patch that covered Jared’s ruined eye. “Not completely unscathed, I notice.”

  “No, not completely unscathed.” Jared’s mouth curved humorlessly.

  He was well aware that people generally did not find his appearance reassuring. It was not merely the eye patch that made them wary. Even under the best of circumstances, when his hair had been properly trimmed and he was dressed in more
fashionable clothes, members of his own family had frequently remarked that he looked like a pirate.

  Their chief regret was that he did not act like a pirate.

  When all was said and done, Jared knew, he was a man of business, not the flamboyant, exciting, hot-blooded son his father had hoped would carry on the family traditions.

  Wingfield had been cautious of him at first. Jared knew it was his quiet manner and his educated speech, not his looks, that had convinced the older man to accept him as a fellow gentleman.

  “How did you happen to lose the eye, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “It’s a long story,” Jared said. “And a somewhat painful one. I’d rather not go into it at the moment.”

  “Of course, of course.” Wingfield flushed a dull red. “Sorry for the impertinence.”

  “Do not concern yourself. I’m accustomed to having people stare.”

  “Yes, well, I must say I’ll feel less concerned once the Sea Flame sails in the morning. Knowing that you’re going to be on board and will be escorting my goods on to Upper Tudway is a great comfort. I thank you again for undertaking the task.”

  “As I’m on my way back to Dorset myself, I’m happy to be of assistance.”

  “I don’t mind telling you, it’ll save me a bit of blunt,” Wingfield confided. “Won’t have to hire the usual firm in Weymouth to handle the goods and see that they’re sent on to Olympia. Just as well I won’t have to pay for the service this time. Very expensive.”

  “Importing goods is never cheap.”

  “No, and unfortunately Olympia hasn’t been able to get as much money as I had hoped for on the last two shipments. Thought we’d both come out a bit further ahead by now than we have.”

  “The market for imported items can be unpredictable,” Jared said. “Is your niece an astute woman when it comes to matters of business?”

  “Lord, no.” Wingfield chuckled fondly. “Olympia has no head for business. Smart as a whip but she’s got no interest at all in financial matters. Takes after my side of the family, I’m afraid. Longs to travel as I do, but of course that’s impossible.”

  “A woman alone would have great difficulty traveling in most parts of the world,” Jared conceded.

  “That fact wouldn’t have stopped my niece. I told you, she ain’t your typical English miss. She’s five-and-twenty now and she’s got a mind of her own. No telling what she might have done if she’d had a decent income and if she hadn’t gotten saddled with those three hellion nephews of hers.”

  “She’s raising her nephews?”

  Wingfield’s whiskers twitched. “Calls ’em her nephews and they call her Aunt Olympia, but the truth is, the relationship is a bit more distant. The boys are the sons of a cousin and his wife who were killed in a carriage accident a couple of years ago.”

  “How did the children end up in the care of your niece?”

  “You know how such things go, sir. After the death of their parents, the boys got passed around from one relative to another and finally landed on Olympia’s doorstep six months ago. She took ’em in.”

  “Quite a handful for a young woman on her own.”

  “Especially one who’s always got her mind on her investigations of other lands and old legends.” Wingfield scowled thoughtfully. “Those boys are growing up wild. They’ve chewed three tutors that I know of into little pieces. Fine youngsters, but full of mischief. Whole household always seems to be in an uproar.”

  “I see.” Jared had been raised in a household that was forever in an uproar. He had not cared for the experience. He preferred a calm, orderly existence.

  “I try to help Olympia out, of course. Do what I can when I’m in England.”

  But you do not stay in England long enough to take those three young boys in hand, do you? Jared thought. “What else are you shipping to your niece in addition to the Lightbourne diary?”

  Wingfield swallowed the last of his ale. “Cloth, spices, and a few trinkets. And books, of course.”

  “And she’ll see to it that they’re sold in London?”

  “All except the books. They’re for her library. But the rest goes to London. She uses some of the money to run her own household and saves the remainder to help finance my travels. The system has worked rather well for both of us, although, as I said, I thought we’d do a bit better out of it than we have.”

  “It’s difficult to do well in one’s business affairs if one does not pay close attention to one’s accounts,” Jared observed dryly.

  He thought about the problems he had been noting in his own business accounts during the past six months. He was going to have to press harder on his inquiries in that direction. There was no longer any doubt but that several thousand pounds had been embezzled from the extensive Flamecrest financial empire. Jared did not care for the notion that he had been deceived. He did not relish playing the fool.

  One thing at a time, he reminded himself. At the moment he must deal with the matter of the diary.

  “Quite right about the need to pay attention to one’s accounts, sir, but the fact is, neither Olympia nor myself can be bothered with those sorts of dull details. Still, we get by.” Wingfield peered closely at Jared. “I say, you’re certain you don’t mind undertaking this favor for me?”

  “Not at all.” Jared looked out through the window at the night-shrouded harbor. He could see the dark bulk of the Sea Flame where it rested at anchor, awaiting the morning tide.

  “Appreciate it, sir. I say, great luck running into a gentleman such as yourself here in this part of France. Extremely fortunate for me you’re bound for England on board the Sea Flame.”

  Jared smiled slightly. “Yes, quite fortunate.” He wondered what Wingfield would say were he to learn that Jared controlled not only the Sea Flame but the entire Flamecrest fleet.

  “Yes, well, I feel much better knowing you’ll see that the shipment and the diary get safely to my niece. Now I can get on with the next leg of my journey.”

  “You are bound for Italy, I believe you said?”

  “And then on to India.” Wingfield’s eyes filled with the anticipation of the inveterate traveler. “Always wanted to see India, you know.”

  “I wish you a good journey,” Jared said.

  “Same to you, sir. And, again, my thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” Jared pulled his gold watch out of his pocket and consulted the time. “Now you must excuse me.” He slipped the watch back into his pocket and got to his feet.

  Wingfield looked up at him. “Turning in for the night, eh?”

  “Not yet. I believe I’ll take a walk along the quay to clear my head before I go upstairs to bed.”

  “Watch your back,” Wingfield advised in a low tone. “Don’t much care for the looks of this bunch in here. No telling what sort of villains are outside at this hour.”

  “Do not concern yourself on my behalf, sir.” Jared inclined his head in a polite farewell. He turned and walked toward the door.

  One or two of the men who sat hunched over their mugs eyed his expensive boots with a speculative glance. Then their eyes slid upward to the knife strapped to his leg and higher still to the black patch over his eye.

  No one rose to follow Jared outside.

  The breeze off the sea stirred Jared’s long, untrimmed hair as he stepped out into the night. Unlike Wingfield, he was dressed for the warm climate. He wore no neckcloth. He detested neckcloths and cravats. The collar of his finely woven cotton shirt was open and the sleeves were rolled up on his forearms.

  Jared started along the stone quay, his mind on the business at hand, his senses attuned to the night. A man who had lost one eye had good reason to take care of the other.

  A lantern bobbed at the far end of the quay. As Jared drew closer he watched two men step out of the shadows. Both were big, nearly as tall as Jared, and almost as wide across the shoulders. Their rough-hewn faces were framed by silvered whiskers and manes of white hair. They walked with bold, swaggering strides even though each was past sixty. Two aging buccaneers, Jared thought, not without affection.

  The first of the two men hailed Jared with a smile that gleamed in the shadows. The color of the older man’s eyes was washed out by the moonlight, but Jared was quite familiar with the unusual shade of gray. He saw the same color in the mirror every morning when he shaved.

  “Good evening, sir,” Jared said politely to his father. Then he nodded to the other man. “Uncle Thaddeus. A fine night, is it not?”