Dear Impostor Read Online Free PDF Page B

to her fiancé's tales.
              He was spinning some outrageous
yarn about a game of cards in a gambling hell on some island in the West Indies–was that where he had acquired his darkened skin? Someone had tried to cheat
him, and he had stripped the other man bare to the waist in front of a laughing
crowd of gamesters to expose the extra cards the card sharp had tucked up his
sleeves.
              "And when I ripped off his
shirt, a whole court full of face cards tumbled out–queens and kings and knaves
of all suits–and here was that rascal Antonio, trying to look as if he had no
idea why his best linen shirt was lined with playing cards."
              The table roared with laughter;
the spurious marquis had made the tale a funny one. Even Psyche had to quench a
smile.
              But then one of her cousins,
Mervyn, who was tall and thin but had a penchant for scholarship like Psyche's
father, cleared his throat. "Um, I visited Barbados when I went to the Americas last year," he said hesitantly. "I, uh, don't recall a club like the one
you describe."
              A silence descended upon the
table, and Psyche felt the knots in her stomach tighten into one heavy iron
mass. This was it; the idiot had embroidered one too many fairy tales, and now
the secrets would begin to unravel. They were done for!
              The actor glanced at the young man
who had had the nerve to question his story, something like respect in his deep
blue eyes. Then he picked up his glass of ruby-hued wine and took a thoughtful
sip. "It was in a somewhat unsavory part of town, Cousin; perhaps you did
not dip into such depraved pursuits?"
              But Mervyn, though his thin face
looked a little pale beneath his spectacles, held his ground. "No, I saw
all the island, I think."
              Some of her relatives were
regarding the Marquis with obvious speculation; Psyche could see all the
progress of the evening slipping away, like sand beneath a receding tide. Oh,
what would she do?
              Incredibly, her hired fiancé
smiled. "It was located just off the main thoroughfare in Bridgetown, behind a small inn, and it was run by a–uh–female of dubious reputation and
multitudinous charms. Her name was Nan; she had flaming red hair, and she wore
peasant blouses and skirts of gauze so light that they sometimes revealed more
of her delights than one might see at most society balls."
              Mervyn blinked, and then a slow
rush of scarlet colored his face, all the way down his throat past the slightly
rumpled folds of his neckcloth. "Um, yes," he said, studiously
avoiding the eyes of any of his female relatives. "I, um, I do seem to
remember the–the lady."
              The atmosphere at the table
suddenly lightened; several of the men chuckled, while the ladies either looked
disapproving or hid their smiles behind their hands. Mervyn's brother taunted
him, "And you said it was such an educational voyage, Brother!"
              Mervyn blushed even deeper, if
that were possible. "But it was."
              More of the family laughed, though
Mervyn's mother frowned in obvious censor.
              Percy's nostrils flared with ire
as he leaned close to speak to Psyche. His breath reeked of garlic and wine. "If
that is the type of man you desire, Psyche, I am vastly disappointed. That you
wish to give yourself, your future, and your fortune to such an infamous rake
as this man surely is...well! It seems I don't know you at all." Puffed up
in self-righteousness, Percy chewed his roasted lamb with bovine grace.
              Psyche felt herself relax slowly,
her muscles–which had been corded with tension–now easing, her breath–which she
had been holding almost unconsciously–slipped out slowly in a soft sigh. But
when she spoke, her tone was sharp.
              "I wonder, Cousin, if you are
more concerned for my future or