Seductive Deception

Chapter 9

The sky was a dark cerulean blue devoid of any of the remains of summer sunlight. It resembled a painting Allegra's father kept in his study of waves, swirls of azure, aquamarine and Prussian on a backdrop of pewter and white.

How peculiar it was that memories rushed in at such inconvenient moments. Memories of her father and the ocean. When had she visited the ocean last? And while she'd ordinarily find the color soothing, it was anything but at the moment as it shrouded both of them.

Her stomach plummeted at the words as they reverberated in her head again and again— an echo chamber of bittersweet regret. He'd said her name. Her actual name.

Allegra Warren.

Lady Allegra Warren.

He'd referred to her as a lady. The title was void and hollow now, remnants from a past life she'd put to rest and no longer fit, like a pair of ill-fitting shoes.

"She was a friend of mine from childhood," Morgan droned on, "and I made her a promise I'd find her."

Part of Allegra listened while another part drifted off.

She thought it over as they strolled toward the dower house, giving herself ample time to determine how she would navigate this unforeseen hiccup in her plans and what fork in the road she would take: tell him the truth about Allegra's last known residence before she disappeared into the London underground and lead him on a wild goose chase, or lie and lead him on a wild goose chase anyways?

He was simply Morgan. Morgan, who was now, by some outlandish chance of fate, an earl. And they might have lived halfway across the world for how different their lives were intended to be now. And yet, he was simply Morgan. The one and same who'd made promises to find her years ago and stood before her making good on those promises.

As earl, his new life would revolve around expectations: Socializing at dinner parties, carousing at fox hunts and men's clubs, wooing and dancing at balls and festivities.

In contrast, she'd spend her time mending stockings, bartering for tomatoes at Covent, and providing her expertise on etiquette to earn a living.

Their lives couldn't be more different.

She'd embraced the idea of her independence, her freedom from the ton, but seeing Morgan put a spanner in the works.

She took a deep, stabilizing breath, her chest tense and tight.

It wasn't as if she hadn't thought of him over the years. Nothing could be further than the truth. But she'd done her best to keep him at bay where he'd belonged. In the past. Knowing, in her heart, that she may never see him again. And, yet here he was, like a specter of her former life— barging in through the doors and awakening parts of her she'd long put to sleep.

At no time could she divulge the apparent truth. Morgan Clayton could never know Madam Cerise's true identity. He could never know he was two feet from the woman he sought.

A pang of guilt roiled in her belly and rose like a gorge in her throat. She twisted her dress in knots, her hands clammy and uncooperative as they tugged at the fabric, rolling and unrolling.

But she was a professional. And Morgan Alexander Clayton, Earl of Whittington, was not for her. Not anymore. Hell, she didn't even know who he was anymore.

He was just another man she'd help find a suitable wife, assimilate into the peerage, live a happily ever after. End of the story.

She jutted her chin, squared her shoulders. "Last I knew, she was sent to live at a girl's school."