Candice Hern (25 page)

"I saw the whole thing," Sir George said, puffed up with his own consequence at being able to provide a firsthand account. "It was quite late and — if you will pardon me, ladies, for saying so — we had all had rather too much to drink. Sherwood makes a smashing good rum punch. None of us, I fear, was feeling particularly steady on his feet. We were calling it a night when Sherwood tripped over something — never did see what — and went sprawling onto the floor in a heap. Cracked his head open on the hearth and knocked himself clean out. Broke his leg in the bargain."

"Dear God," Marianne said. How could this be possible? He could not have broken his leg
before
he came to her bed. And yet she was quite sure he'd come
after
the card game was over. It made no sense. "What time did this happen, Sir George?"

"It was deuced late, begging your pardon, ma'am. For the country, anyway. Height of the evening in town, of course. I think it was about two in the morning. I had to rouse the butler from his bed and have him send for a doctor."

Marianne had given up waiting for Julian and gone to bed at one o'clock. She had no idea what time he'd come to her room. Could he have gone back downstairs to the cardroom after he'd left her?

None of this made any sense. A tiny knot of anxiety began to coil and twist in her stomach.

"After the doctor set his leg and stitched his head," Sir George continued, "several of us helped carry poor old Sherwood to his bed — no easy task with the doctor shouting at you every other minute to be careful with the splint on his leg."

"I heard all the noise," Miss Stillman said, obviously still agog with excitement, "and looked into the corridor. I saw the gentlemen carrying Lord Julian. It was quite frightening, I promise you. His head was bandaged and his shirt was covered in blood. It was horrid. I thought he was dead."

"Jane!" her mother said. "What a dreadful thing to say."

The girl gave a petulant shrug. "Well, that
is
what I thought. It was quite a terrifying sight. All that blood." She gave an exaggerated shudder.

"Well, he ain't dead," Sir George said, "nor even close to it. Just a broken leg and a knock on the head. Unpleasant, to be sure, but he will recover soon enough."

Marianne had gone quite still. She heard what was said and felt badly for Lord Julian, but her mind spun with disturbing questions, questions that were creating a serious pain in her stomach.

"Marianne," Wilhelmina said, "are you quite well? You've gone pale as a ghost and haven't touched your breakfast. Lord Julian's accident has upset you, I daresay."

"It is Jane's fault," Mrs. Stillman said, "with all her talk of blood and death. You wretched girl. See how you've upset Mrs. Nesbitt?"

"Tell me one thing, Sir George," Marianne said, making an effort to keep her voice steady. "Was Lord Julian with you in the cardroom the entire time up until his accident?"

"Yes, of course. Excellent host, Sherwood. Makes a devilish good punch."

But he could not possibly have made love to her.

Then who the devil was in my bed last night?

Panic sent a rush of bile into Marianne's mouth and set her body in motion without conscious thought. She jumped up from her chair and fled the room.

Marianne closed the door behind her and collapsed against the wall. She clamped a hand over her mouth and took several deep breaths, hoping she would not be sick in the hallway.

Last night, she had made passionate love with a stranger. She had been naked with a stranger. A stranger had used his mouth to pleasure the most private part of her body. She had given more of herself to a perfect stranger than she'd ever given to the husband she loved.

Her whole body began to tremble — with shame, anxiety, guilt, and anger.

The door to the breakfast room opened and Wilhelmina came out. She took one look at Marianne and gasped.

"Dear God, whatever is wrong?"

Marianne was shaking too hard to respond. Even her teeth chattered.

"My poor girl," Wilhelmina said, and took Marianne in her arms. "You are trembling like a leaf."

Marianne allowed herself to be enveloped in her friend's warmth. Wilhelmina gently rubbed her back and arms.

"Lord Julian's accident has been a great shock to you," she said. "But you mustn't worry. His life is not in danger. He will be fine. Poor child. Are you very much in love with him?"

"N-no," she managed. Wilhelmina's ministrations were having a calming effect. "No, that's n-not it."

"Then you are devastated that he will not become your lover at this house party. I know it must be disappointing, but there will be other opportunities. With him, after he recovers, or with another man. You must not take it so strongly to heart, my girl. You will find your lover."

Marianne lifted her head from Wilhelmina's shoulder and stepped out of her embrace. The trembling had subsided somewhat, though her stomach was still clenched tight and nausea lurked just below the surface.

She looked into her friend's wise and compassionate eyes. "That's just it, you see. I
did
have a lover in my bed last night."

Wilhelmina's mouth dropped open for a moment in shock. She composed herself quickly and said, "Indeed? Who was he?"

"I don’t know!" Marianne's voice rose to a plaintive wail. "Dear God, Wilhelmina, I don't know."

"Good morning, ladies."

Penelope came tripping down the stairs with Grace in tow. The look on her face hinted that she'd had another happy evening in Eustace Tolliver's arms. The look on Grace's face hinted that she'd heard more about that evening than she cared to know.

"Is it not a glorious morning?" Penelope said, then caught sight of Marianne's face. Her smile faded. "Oh, dear." She reached out and touched Marianne's hand. "Are you quite all right? You look pale as death. Has something happened?"

Wilhelmina took Marianne by the arm and signaled that the other two women should follow. She steered them to a little alcove beneath the stairs, partially hidden by a gigantic Grecian urn on a pedestal.

"What has happened?" Grace asked, a look of deep concern on her face. "And what can we do to help?"

"Lord Julian has had an accident," Wilhelmina said. "Last night he apparently fell and broke his leg."

"Yes, I know, poor man," Grace said. "A commotion in the corridor woke me, and I looked out in time to see him being carried into his bedchamber. He looked quite ghastly, I must say. I can understand why you are distressed, Marianne."

"I, too, could see that Marianne was upset," Wilhelmina said, "and I thought it was because she would not now be able to take him into her bed, as expected. But she has quite shocked me. Tell them what you just told me, my girl."

All three women turned expectant faces to Marianne. She was loath to tell them, but they were her friends and she needed advice. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I did have a lover in my bed last night."

Penelope broke into a wide smile. "You sly little vixen! Then you must tell all. Who was he?"

Marianne looked from one to the other and a great wave of shame washed over her. She pressed a hand against her lips and muttered, "I have no idea."

Grace blanched and Penelope's mouth gaped wide as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Wilhelmina frowned. "I think you had better tell us what happened."

Marianne wrung her hands together. How could she tell them? How could she admit to what had happened? How could she bear for anyone to know how wantonly she'd behaved with a perfect stranger? The bile rose to her throat again and she had to take several steadying breaths to insure she did not become ill.

"Marianne?" Grace placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Were you ... ravished?"

Marianne shook her head. "No. But I am s-so ashamed." She covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

Wilhelmina put her arms around Marianne again and let her cry, softly crooning, "It's all right" over and over in her ear. After a few minutes, Marianne lifted her head and looked into the duchess's kind eyes, sending her a silent message of thanks. Wilhelmina nodded and stepped back, out of the embrace.

"I'm all right now," Marianne said softly. "I'm all right."

"Please, tell us what happened," Penelope said, her voice gentle and kind. "You know you can trust us. We are here to help you, if only to provide three sets of shoulders to cry upon. The unwritten creed of the Merry Widows is that we support one another no matter what."

Marianne looked at the friendship and kindness on all three faces. Thank God she had such friends to talk to. Thank God for the Merry Widows. She swallowed, and began her sordid tale.

"Lord Julian had said he would come to my room after the gentlemen were finished playing cards. I waited and waited, but he never came, and so I finally crawled into bed and went to sleep. You have seen my bed, with its high canopy and thick curtains."

"Yes, we have," Penelope said with a smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "We all know you were given the best room in the house."

"I only mention it because it is somewhat responsible for what happened."

Penelope's eyebrows lifted in puzzlement. "Your bed is responsible?"

"Let her finish," Grace said.

"The room grows chilly at night," Marianne continued, "and I have found that pulling the heavy bed-curtains closed keeps me warm. It also completely blocks out any light. It is dark as a cave in that bed."

"Oh, dear," Wilhelmina said, and the ghost of a smile crossed her face.

"I was sound asleep when I felt an arm around my waist and lips against my neck. I thought I was dreaming, then realized it was really happening. I thought Julian had finally finished with cards and come to me. But I know now that it could not have been Julian. Someone else crept into my bed and I have no idea who it was because it was too dark to see him."

"Dear heaven," Grace said, her eyes wide with shock.

"And he made love to you?" Penelope asked.

Marianne lowered her eyes in shame. "Yes, he did."

"Oh, my God," Grace said. "A strange man came into your room and forced himself on you? But that is monstrous!"

"He did not force himself on me. Remember, I assumed it was Julian. I allowed him to make love to me. I
wanted
him to make love to me. I had no idea it was not Julian until a few minutes ago when I learned about his accident."

"How extraordinary," Penelope said. "And you have no idea who it might have been? You did not recognize his voice?"

"He spoke in whispers. It was impossible to detect a specific voice. And I wasn't trying to do so, in any case. I naturally assumed it was Julian's whispered voice."

"And there was nothing distinctive about the rest of him?" Penelope asked. "Something about his body that might help identify him?"

"Since I have never seen any of the gentlemen guests without their clothes on," Marianne said in a sarcastic tone, "it is difficult to say who it might have been. But I am convinced it must have been a deliberate ruse. Someone who knew I expected Julian, and decided to take his place."

"Did he actually pretend to be Lord Julian?" Wilhelmina asked. "Did he ever say his name?"

"No. Oh, wait. When I first came awake, he did say, 'It's me.' I naturally assumed he meant 'It's Julian.' Who else could it have been?"

"Perhaps he assumed you knew who he was," Wilhelmina said. "'It's me' sounds as if he believed you were expecting him, or would at least know who he was."

"But the only man I expected was Julian. And given the marked favor he has shown me here at Ossing, I would guess that almost everyone knew I was expecting him. How could I assume it was anyone else?"

"Well, it has to be one of the guests," Penelope said, "which narrows the field somewhat. Unless it was one of the footmen."

"Dear God in heaven," Grace said. "A footman? Are none of us safe in our beds here?"

"It is unlikely to have been a footman," Wilhelmina said. "Don't work yourself into a lather, Grace. I doubt there is a ravisher on the loose at Ossing. Only one man who specifically sought out Marianne." She lifted an eyebrow. "Or did he? I wonder if it was someone who mistook the room for some other lady's? A lady who was expecting him. Could he have thought
you
were someone else?"

"No," Marianne said. "He called me by name several times. He knew who
I
was. I just don't know who
he
was."

"But you must have some idea who it could have been, my girl. You must."

"I wish I did," Marianne said, her voice rising in exasperation. "Someone gave me the most fantastic sexual experience I've ever known, and I have no idea who he was."

* * *

Adam stood still as a stork on the stairs above them. He should not be eavesdropping, of course, but he could not help himself.

The most fantastic sexual experience I've ever known.

That made him smile. And he was curious to hear what else she had to say about his performance. Adam was nothing if not confident of his skills in the bedroom, but it was reassuring to have that confidence confirmed.

"So, this stranger was a skillful lover," the duchess said.

"More than skillful," Marianne said. "I hate to give such credit to a man who would do something so vile as to use trickery to get himself into my bed, but he really was the most splendid lover."

Adam could not wipe the smile off his face. He was pumped up with pride that she would heap such praise on him. Or on her secret lover. She wasn't singing Adam's praises, since she had no idea he'd been the one in her bed.

Now that he considered it, the fact that she was speaking of the matter at all was somewhat unsettling. For some reason, he'd always assumed women did not have such frank discussions with one another. Interesting. Shocking, even.

In fact, the very idea that women spoke as openly with one another about sex as men did was enough to strike terror into the heart of any rational man.

"It was not Lord Rochdale," Mrs. Marlowe said. "He was otherwise occupied. I saw him in Lady Drake's bedchamber."