Dangerous Deceptions by Sarah Zettel Read Free Book Online Page B

angry, it will not go well for anyone.”
    I pulled back, startled. But Aunt Pierpont had already turned away to follow husband and daughter.
    Norris closed the door behind them all. I stared at the ruins of my dinner and pressed my hand against my stays, suddenly very afraid.
    Why would my uncle insist on this marriage? What was it all for? If Uncle did not think I was any good to him when I had the ear of the Princess of Wales, what on earth did he think he would gain if I was married to the second son of a baron from some obscure county in the southeast?
    If only . . . I drew up short and had to clap my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. For I had been about to think,
If only there were some way I could find out.
    “You seem to be forgetting, Peggy Fitzroy,” I murmured. “You not only know people in high places, you have royal permission to spy on them all.”

SIX
I N WHICH O UR H EROINE BOLDLY ATTEMPTS, JUST ONCE, TO BEGIN A NORMAL SORT OF DAY.
    That night, Robert Ballantyne returned. It was only in my dreams, of course. At least, I prayed that it was only a dream.
    As ever, I heard his approach long before I saw him. The hard heels of his boots clacked against the floorboards, circling my bed and circling it again. When my eyes finally pried themselves open, he stood at the bed’s foot, washed in the cold corpse light that always accompanied him. Old blood spread over his shirt and waistcoat, and his head lolled against his shoulder at an unnatural angle that he seemed unable to rectify. In life, Robert had been a handsome young man. Now his shade’s lean face was a mottled gray, and his hollow, colorless eyes were sad and staring. His sword dripped black blood as he leveled the blade at me.
    I could not move. I could not make a sound. He spoke, but I could not hear. I screamed silently, crying for help, unable to move, unable to even look away.
    I woke to unbroken darkness and a throat burning from the force of my screams. It took a long moment for the thunderous beating of my heart to slow. It took a longer moment to understand that I was pressed back on the bolsters. Apparently, in my sleep I’d tried to climb the headboard to escape. I eased myself down, but gingerly, as if I thought the ghost might suddenly return to visit my waking self. May Heaven help me, but that was closer to the truth than I would have wished.
    Gradually, I became aware of the night noises of the palace—the creaking of wood, the faint sound of the wind beyond the walls, a patter of entirely earthly footsteps. There were no boot heels, no corpse lights. I laid myself down, as stiff and uneasy as an old dame with rheumatism, and for a long time blinked uselessly at the dark, fighting to stifle my sobs. When my groping hand finally brushed Flossie’s ruffled skirts, I curled around my doll like a child and squeezed my eyes shut in a desperate attempt not to see my nightmare return.
     
    No matter how late my nights might be, all mornings were early ones when I was in waiting. Libby was under strict instruction to pull the curtains back, or—in the case of my windowless rooms at St. James’s—light the candles, at six of the clock. This was to be done rain or shine, desperate pleading and bribery attempts notwithstanding.
    That Friday morning was no different. Once Libby had driven me from my bed, a breakfast in the form of chocolate and a roll was consumed, usually at my writing desk. An increased correspondence was but one of the many changes that had taken hold in my life since becoming a maid of honor. Uncle Pierpont might have forbidden me to write Olivia, but I had other friends whose families were not nearly so fastidious, to say nothing of the new acquaintances I had made since my arrival. These were in addition to the letters from my patron, Mr. Tinderflint.
    Mr. Tinderflint was not that gentleman’s given name. That was Hugh Thurlow Flintcross Gainsford, Earl Tierney. The Earls Tierney were among the oldest peers in