Free Once Upon a Scandal by Julie Lemense

much from her. “Assuming an identity involves more than putting on a new suit of clothes. It is quite easy to lose yourself in the process.”
    Those large, brown eyes watched him speculatively, and he had the prickling sensation that she saw straight through him. That she was looking for the real Lord Marworth, when he’d been lost long ago. “It’s far too late to turn back now, Benjamin.”
    “You are right, of course.” The time had come to focus on the task ahead, not on the guilty spurt of pleasure he’d felt at hearing his name upon her lips.
    • • •
    Sipping slowly at his glass of wine before dinner, Benjamin waited by the fireplace in the hall for Jane. She would come down soon, Banning having sent word she was well enough to do so. He did not want to overtax her, after all. The weeks ahead would be challenging ones, and if he was apprehensive about them, what must she be feeling? It was not as if he’d be here to smooth her way. He needed to return to London to see the last of his preparations put into place.
    Essentially, they’d created a person from whole cloth. The real Lillianne Martine no longer existed. According to Jane, the two had exchanged regular letters when they were young—belabored exercises designed to polish their French and English skills respectively—but Lillianne had died in a smallpox outbreak shortly after her fourteenth birthday. There had thus been no marriage at the age of eighteen to Pasqual Fauchon, an obscure but wealthy nobleman from the north. No Pasqual Fauchon either. He was yet another fabrication.
    However, even a suspicious individual would be hard-pressed to discover the deceptions. If there was one thing Benjamin did well, it was seamlessly weave lies with reality. He’d created a convincing new personal history. Forged identification and travel papers. Established lines of credit all over London. And tomorrow, a woman who was no stranger to reinvention would arrive at Painshill to bring Lillianne back to life.
    In less than a month’s time, the mysterious Madame Fauchon would arrive from Paris. She would bear a remarkable resemblance to Jane, because they’d been blood relatives after all, the daughters of twins. But there would also be differences both significant and subtle. She would take up residence in a suite of rooms at Grillion’s Hotel and present herself to the Bank of England, taking possession of the personal effects bequeathed to her.
    Armed with a new wardrobe from the most exclusive modiste in France—a neat trick, that—Lillianne would insinuate herself into Society. It should be an easy task, given Jane’s notoriety. As a widow from the Continent, Lillianne would not be constrained by the strictures governing a debutante’s behavior. And that was crucial. There was every likelihood she’d find herself in places no lady should be.
    This being a time of war, people would wonder what she knew of the goings on in Paris. What was rumored in its streets. And if anyone else was involved in the missing dispatches, they would be curious indeed about the contents of those Bank of England boxes. While Lillianne mingled in Society, listening for rumor and innuendo, Benjamin would have a firsthand opportunity to study the boxes privately.
    A stirring from above drew his attention. Jane was moving slowly down the stairs, wearing another hastily made up dress, this one a rose-hued evening gown with a modest scooped neckline. It flattered her coloring, but the cut did little to accentuate her figure. Which was a good thing. He didn’t understand how it had happened, this new awareness of her, this … he didn’t even know what to call it. Admiration? It was a distraction he could ill afford. But she was under his protection now, like everyone else who lived here.
    “You look lovely, Jane.” Setting aside his wine glass, he met her at the landing, bowing over her outstretched hand, just as he would at any Society party. But they were essentially