The Perfect Impostor (6 page)

His expression of bald surprise told her that she’d got it completely wrong.

“I rejoice in your ability to approach the subject in such a calm fashion,” he said. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that we are bound to be subjected to intrusive questions and ought to decide how to answer them.”

“What would you suggest?”

“Have I not already played my part in protecting your reputation?” His nonchalant attitude gave way to a savage tone. A mask of distaste twisted his handsome features, causing Katrina to wonder more keenly than ever precisely what had passed between him and Julia. Whatever it was, she suspected that Lord Kincade was not the one at fault. “It is now for you to decide how best I can be of further service to you.”

Damn, he wasn’t giving her any help here. “I really don’t see what business it is of anyone’s except ours.”

“Even so there will be speculation about the two of us being here. Without your husband in attendance,” he added mildly. “I wasn’t expected and people will naturally conclude that that was a deliberate ploy.”

“I don’t see why they should.”

He frowned. “Had my name been on the guest list, would Dupont have allowed you to come unattended?”

He eyed her significantly and she heartily wished he wouldn’t. At close quarters it was impossible to deny his attractiveness. Dark hair spilled in disorderly waves across his collar and over his brow. Vertical lines creased that brow as he stared at her through intense, disconcertingly intelligent eyes. His strong jaw was set in a stubborn line, and she knew he wouldn’t let her escape until she gave him a proper answer. Her heart beat painfully as the silence lengthened, drawing her inexorably under his thrall in spite of her determination to remain detached from his charm.

Damn it, this wouldn’t do! Katrina took a stab in the dark and went with her instincts.

“Oh, I see. Yes, put like that, I suppose tongues will wag. But since you have no occasion to think well of me, I suggest we say as little to one another as politeness dictates. That way, there will be nothing for them to talk about and they’ll soon lose interest.”

“But that’s precisely my point. No one else is aware of my true opinion of you, and they’re bound to be suspicious.”

Katrina gasped. He had just confirmed her suspicions, and it pained her to know that he held her in contempt. Or rather, he thought of Julia that way. “Well, I—”

“Ah, there you are, Lady Dupont.” Charles Chester materialised. He bestowed a suspicious glare upon Lord Kincade and took up a protective position beside Katrina. “I’ve been waiting in the expectation of fetching you something to drink. Champagne, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” Katrina had never been more pleased for an interruption in her entire life. “I don’t much care for champagne.”

Lord Kincade glanced curiously at her, causing her to wonder if Julia had a liking for that particular drink. Too late she realised she ought to have asked Celia. But it didn’t really matter since Katrina couldn’t afford to indulge. If she allowed herself to become intoxicated, even to the smallest degree, she would never be able to continue with this farce. “Perhaps some peach ratafia.”

“By all means.” Mr. Chester proffered his arm. “May I escort you?”

Katrina almost tripped over her feet in order to oblige him. “Pray excuse me,” she said to Lord Kincade, aware of his eyes burning into her back and the thoughtful expression on his face as she walked away.

All the guests had now arrived and they were over twenty at dinner. She had no further opportunity to converse with Leo Kincade, who was swamped by young ladies wherever he moved. Fortuitously he was seated at the opposite end of the table to her. She in her turn was in great demand, but, wrong-footed by the episode with Kincade, found it difficult to keep up the pretence of the carefree society flirt.

She felt Lord Kincade’s eyes frequently drifting in her direction and studiously avoided meeting them. Truthfully pleading a headache, she escaped before the after-dinner music was performed, grateful for the reprieve.

Only four more days to endure, she told herself as she retired for the night.

* * *

On the morrow the gentlemen were taken up for much of the day with a fishing expedition and Katrina saw nothing of Leo Kincade. The ladies went into Tunbridge Wells to drink the water and purchase souvenirs. She made good on her earlier resolve and purchased a pretty trinket box for Julia and one each for her apprentices.

Things weren’t really so bad, or so she tried to convince herself as she dressed for dinner in a daring one-shouldered gown of cream Persian silk, too fine to allow for a corset. It was a variation on a toga theme and required her hair to cascade over the shoulder that was left bare, held back by a diamond clip. She looked and felt truly decadent but simply didn’t care. Julia would have worn this gown, she told herself repeatedly as she entered the drawing room to a stunned silence. Not only would she have enjoyed wearing it, but she would have carried it off with the flair her loving creation deserved.

Swamped by gentlemen keen to compliment her, it took her a moment to realise that a carriage had arrived at the front door. She turned along with everyone else to see who had arrived. A strident voice and heavy footsteps were the only early warning signals she received. But the voice wasn’t familiar to her so she was unable to account for why it made her knees quake.

Until the owner of the voice entered the drawing room and she found herself staring directly into the face of Julia’s husband, the Marquess of Lanarkshire.

* * *

Amos was ready to commit murder. It had taken him two days, and the last of his dwindling resources, to track down the carriage that had carried Katrina out of London. Enquiries at every posting inn along the route had failed to throw up any information about the owner of the carriage or its destination. Grooms, usually the most loquacious creatures on God’s earth, either didn’t know or weren’t prepared to say, no matter how rich the inducement. No lone female answering Katrina’s description had, if they were to be believed, been seen by them.

Amos thumped his fist against the stable wall. Damn Katrina to hell and back! He slumped in the taproom at the last inn he’d tried, out of temper and funds. What to do now? Return to London, he supposed, and wait for her to reappear at her shop. But how long would he have to wait? He had no money, and London folk were mean-spirited when it came to offering tick to strangers. His whore at the Dog and Duck would be all over him like a rash, and the thought of her, to say nothing of the magical properties of her tongue, occasioned a brief resurgence of his good temper. Until he recalled his impecunious state. When she discovered that he was unable to pay her she wouldn’t want to know him.

A party of swells drifted through the room, knocking into his table, spilling some of his precious ale and not bothering to apologise. Amos growled at their retreating backs. As always with their sort, it was as though he didn’t exist. He listened morosely to their conversation as they hustled the landlord, anxious for immediate service. Only as he understood the nature of their discourse did he take proper interest. Apparently a Lady Marshall of Tunbridge Wells was having
the
house party of the season and two of these bucks were on their way to attend it. The others expressed envy when they learned who was to be in attendance.

“The Marchioness of Lanarkshire is the guest of honour,” said one, winking at his fellows. “And her husband’s engaged with the prince in Brighton. She’s bound to be feeling neglected so that alone makes the trip worthwhile.”

“I read in the news sheet this morning that the ladies of the party went into Tunbridge Wells yesterday and are keen to test the medicinal properties of the springs,” said another, grinning. “Can’t let them undertake that sort of thing unescorted. Wouldn’t do at all.”

Amos was suddenly in a tearing hurry to try the waters also. If the ladies were wandering about in public, perhaps he might glean some information from the marchioness as to Katrina’s antics. The two of them were up to something. Besides, there was a cove in Tunbridge who owed him money and a tart who’d taken a fancy to him, generous when it came to sharing her bed for nothing more than that she liked doing it with him.

Amos couldn’t say exactly why he felt it was right to go with all expediency to Tunbridge Wells. But something told him it was where he needed to be, and he’d long since learned to trust his instincts.

This was one surprise too many. Katrina’s head swam, and she seriously thought that for the first time in her entire life she might actually swoon. A strong arm snaked its way round her waist and supported her until the worst of the spasm passed.

“So overcome to see your beloved that your legs are about to give way, Lady Dupont?”

She blinked up at Leo Kincade. “Thank you, Lord Kincade, but I’m quite in command of myself.”

He regarded her with studied nonchalance. “Apparently so.”

“It was just such a shock. I had no idea Dupont planned to join me.”

“Let us hope that no one advised him of my presence here.” He was goading her, his innocent expression at variance with his taunting tone.

“I should think you’re the last thing on his mind.” She paused. “As you are on mine.” But the insult had no discernible effect.

“I’m devastated.”

He released his hold on her, curled his lip in what could have been intended as a smile or a snarl, and drifted away. Aware that she was now the centre of attention, Katrina somehow plastered a smile on her face and braced herself to face Julia’s husband.

She glanced towards Lord Dupont as he greeted Lord and Lady Marshall. He was dressed in an impeccably cut coat and satin knee breeches in the very latest style. But even the efforts of the best tailoring his money could procure did little to disguise his wide girth, which would have been better concealed under looser, less fashionable attire. The good living responsible for his thickened body was also evident in his red face, which indicated a fondness for liquor that doubtless endeared him to the Prince Regent. Katrina had been married to an imbiber and easily recognised the signs. She started redesigning his wardrobe in her head, trying to decide what she would do to improve his appearance given a blank sheet. It distracted her momentarily from her predicament.

Dupont was tall, had obviously once been handsome, and he still possessed great presence. That much was evident from the manner in which he entered the room as though he owned it, and all its occupants automatically deferred to him. He dispensed charm and easy banter as he traversed the room, and Katrina could see how readily the ladies warmed to him.

She understood now what had persuaded Julia to enter into the union. Her original suspicions were obviously not valid. They had now been married for a year and Julia showed no sign of providing the marquess with an heir. This man was not quite Leo Kincade’s equal in terms of physical appearance but, if it had come down to a choice between the two of them, the marquess’s great wealth and elevated social status would have made Julia’s decision a simple one. She had as much as admitted it in Basing Lane and so Katrina didn’t feel badly about the direction her thoughts had taken.

Leo Kincade stood to one side of the room, watching events develop with every appearance of indifference. But somehow she understood that his casual expression disguised a keen interest in the proceedings. He turned towards her, as though sensing her eyes upon him. For a protracted moment she held his gaze, perversely taking comfort from his presence when she had no reason to expect aid from such a quarter. Then she forced herself to return her attention to her latest, far more pressing problem in the form of Arthur Dupont.

As well as great charm, Dupont possessed considerable intellect, if even half of what Julia had told her was to be believed. His eyes missed little and clearly observed the glance that she and Leo had just shared. Seasoned courtier that he was, he showed no reaction.

Recriminations would doubtless be voiced later—if matters progressed that far. He was bound to realise almost at once that she wasn’t his wife. Would he denounce her in front of all these grand people, or would he string her along until he could question her in private? She was too frightened to think coherently, but one aspect of this miserable business lodged itself firmly in her brain, causing her entire body to quake. Unless he spoke up immediately, then she
would
be expected to receive him alone. Since she was posing as his wife, presumably he would take shameful advantage of all that implied before sending her packing.

Before she could make good on her half-formed resolve to take to her heels and run, he approached her. His eyes widened at the sight of her Grecian gown.

“Evening, m’dear.” He kissed her hand, causing none of the mayhem to her senses that Lord Kincade’s identical gesture had managed the previous evening. His eyes lingered with unmistakable lust upon her half-clothed body, his lips slapping together in anticipation. “Seems I chose the right night to stop by.”

“I was not expecting you, my lord,” she managed to utter, dropping a curtsey.

“I did warn you I’d try to get away.”

The devil he did! Julia must have forgotten to mention that small detail.

“How long will you be able to stay with us?” Lady Marshall asked the question Katrina was longing to voice.

“Just the one night, unfortunately. I’m away on business for His Royal Highness. Still, one night will be enough for what I have in mind.” His eyes drank in the sight of Katrina, frightening her too much to take exception to his suggestive comment. Some of the gentlemen didn’t feel quite so constrained and chuckled along with the marquess.

“Will you not remain for our charity ball?”

“No time, unfortunately. Kincade, is that you lurking there?” The marquess’s cheerful demeanour gave way to a wary frown. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Rather the same thing as you, I should have thought,” Kincade drawled.

“I sincerely hope not.” Lord Dupont drilled Leo with a look.

Dupont’s compelling gaze then reverted to Katrina, the intensity of his expression causing her breath to catch in her throat and her knees to tremble more violently than ever. A blush crept up her cheeks and she was obliged to clasp her hands to disguise the fact that they too were shaking.

Everyone was watching them, waiting to see how Leo would respond to Dupont’s possessive challenge. The situation cried out for a frivolous and amusing comment to defuse the tension. Julia always came up with exactly the right thing but Katrina’s mind was a complete blank.

She waited for inspiration to strike but nothing came to her, other than the fact that Dupont was a force of nature to be reckoned with. He exuded power and would not be easy to fool. Except that it appeared she had fooled him. Nothing in his demeanour suggested suspicion, presenting her with a new set of difficulties. What was she supposed to do tonight when he expected to share her bed, as he most assuredly would?

He was now conversing with Lady Ainsworth but his eyes kept darting towards her, as though he could hardly wait to get her alone. Katrina despaired. There was little she wouldn’t do to help her friend but taking her place in the marital bed was simply asking too much. And yet what other choice did she have?

Katrina vigorously fanned her face. Was she the only person to realise how warm it was in this room? She was conscious of Leo Kincade, elegantly at his ease, a mocking smile playing about his lips as he assessed her, almost as though he could read her thoughts. Kincade was one of the most magnificent specimens of male beauty she had ever encountered. Her eyes were drawn to him as he lounged against a wall, observing. Lying in wait. What a ridiculous thought to entertain at such a moment! Katrina made a huge effort to bring her mind back to the present.

“A glass for my lord,” she said, flicking her fingers at a hovering footman, wondering what had come over her. She, a steward’s daughter, had never presumed to flick her fingers at a fellow servant in her entire life. Not even her apprentices when they were slow to produce a garment a lady was waiting for. Desperation must be to blame. That and the fact that Julia wouldn’t think twice about snapping her fingers to gain attention. Even so, Katrina would apologise to the footman if a suitable opportunity arose.

“What’s this gnat’s piss?” Dupont downed a glass of champagne in one swallow. “Can’t wait, ah?” he asked in an intimate tone for her ears only. He winked at her and then spoke in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Forgotten what your husband drinks in the drawing room, have you, m’dear? Let’s hope you haven’t forgotten about all his other preferences.” This statement produced a few sniggers from the gentlemen and smiles from the ladies. “Whiskey!” he bellowed to the footman.

Conversations resumed. Dupont took Katrina’s elbow and guided her to the side of the room, frowning at her.

“Is something amiss?” she asked him lightly.

“You look different. Taller. Your hair seems darker.” He scratched his head. “Everything about you is altered.”

“I have a new modiste and the fashion is for higher slippers.” She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t ask to see them. “Have we been apart for so long, sir, that you’ve forgotten what your own wife looks like?” She attempted to flutter her lashes, unsure whether she achieved her objective or merely came across as an anxious butterfly trapped in a net. A rather apt description of her current situation. “Do you not approve of my new look?”

He pinched her cheek so hard that she almost cried aloud. “Just so long as you ain’t all decked out like this for someone else’s benefit.” His eyes drifted towards Kincade before returning to rest possessively on her profile. “I won’t have you embarrassing me, Julia.”

“Actually I was rather hoping to make you proud of me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Even though you’d forgotten I was attending?”

Dinner was announced, saving Katrina from forming any sort of response. Glad that husbands and wives weren’t seated together at dinner, she found herself at the opposite end of the table to Julia’s spouse, too nervous to eat a thing. She pushed the food around her plate, conscious of Leo Kincade opposite her, his attention constantly claimed by the young ladies on either side of him. Convention forbade conversation across the table but could do little to prevent his lordship from frequently glancing in her direction. Whether he did this out of pity or a sense of gleeful revenge for whatever misdeeds Julia had committed against him, she couldn’t say. She was wrestling with more pressing concerns. In a few short hours the man seated on Lady Marshall’s left, drinking constantly and keeping the table entertained with risqué tales from the Prince’s court, would expect to share her bed.

And she didn’t have the faintest notion how to avoid that fate without bringing Julia’s marriage down, leaving her penniless and disgraced.

* * *

As soon as Lady Marshall led the ladies from the dining room, Leo made an excuse to leave also and went to his chamber in search of Boscombe.

“I hear the marquess has arrived,” Boscombe said without preamble.

“And his lady doesn’t seem overjoyed to see him.”

“Can’t say as I blame her.”

“The man’s an oaf!”

“Like that, is it?” Boscombe nodded. “I see.”

“Like what?”

“You still feel something for the chit.”

“Not a thing.”

Boscombe grinned. “If you say so.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you think she’s upset to see him because it’s foiled her plans to steal the tiara?”

“No, he’s only staying the one night, so if she’s our thief then it won’t change anything.”

“I thought you didn’t suspect her.”

Leo paused, struggling to articulate his thoughts. “I didn’t, not at first.”

“But you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, it’s more a case that she’s changed and I can’t make her out.”

“In what way?”

“I can’t exactly say.” Leo flopped into a chair, frowning as he thought it through. “Her behaviour towards me is odd, to say the least.”

“Hardly surprising, given that you two were once—”

“She seemed almost embarrassed when we first met, and the Julia I once knew
never
let anything embarrass her. She just flirts her way out of any situation, expecting the men to forgive her transgressions, which they almost always do. But she’s not like that now.”

“Perhaps marriage has changed her.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll wager good money she doesn’t love her husband.” Leo scowled. “In fact I’d go so far as to say she was terrified by his appearance. She certainly hadn’t been expecting it, which is strange because he reminded her he’d said he would try and look in.”

“I get the impression from things her maid let slip that he likes to surprise her. He has a habit of popping up wherever she is and not only for the obvious reason. He checks up on her.”

“Which makes her reaction tonight all the more peculiar.” Leo stood up. “I must return to the dining table before I’m missed but there’s something not quite right about all this. Her eyes,” he mused thoughtfully.

“What about ’em?”

“They’re a different colour. They were always a light brown but now they appear to be almost silver.”

“Candlelight,” Boscombe said promptly. “It can play tricks.”

“That doesn’t account for her hair being darker than it used to be.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean much. Women are always putting powder and stuff on their hair.”

Leo thought about those sleek waves cascading so provocatively over the little witch’s shoulder tonight and shook his head. “It didn’t look as though it was powdered.”

“When I saw her in the garden earlier, her bonnet was covering most of her hair and she had a parasol up all the time, so I can’t say if anything’s changed about her.” Boscombe flashed a grin. “I certainly didn’t look meaningfully into her eyes.”

“A parasol when there was precious little sun. Why would she do that?”

“How would I know?” Boscombe seemed bored with the subject. “Women are funny about their complexions too.”

“What did she say to you?”

Boscombe frowned. “Now you come to mention it, she didn’t seem to know who I was. I put it down to her being such an important lady nowadays, too grand to speak to servants.”

“And yet she once knew you well.”

“True enough. Still, women.” Boscombe shrugged. “They get some fancy notions in their heads sometimes. All that power’s probably changed her.”

“It’s almost as though she’s changed into someone else.”