His Perfect Game (22 page)

“Joshua, please excuse me. Lady Merrick is requesting my presence.”

“Of course. Leave it. I’ll finish up here.”

Following close behind Sandra, Abigail hurried through the servants’ entrance. She hoped not to encounter anyone on their way. Rushing through the house would only raise suspicions again. After her talk with Mrs. Coushings, the accusations died down, but she knew the slightest provocation would revive them.

When they reached the base of the stairs, Abigail pulled Sandra to a stop.

“Why don’t you go see if Lord Merrick has called for me? While I begin getting ready, you can attempt to have Mrs. Coushings delay my husband a little,” Abigail suggested.

“Of course. I’ll come help you as quickly as I can.”

Feeling some relief, Abigail rushed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. Closing the door, she took a few steps into the room before drawing up short. Lord Merrick stood before her. Her heart sped, and her stomach dropped.

He faced her with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t immediately speak. Her eyes drank in the sight of him. Although she had not wanted him to come, she couldn’t contain the pleasure she received from seeing him. However, the lack of a similar emotion on his face dulled her joy. His expression told her she didn’t belong here.

“May I help you?” His tone held confusion and amusement.

Startled, she remembered her predicament. He didn’t know who she was. Keeping her gaze lowered, she hoped he would not recognize her voice through her Scottish accent.

“No, my lord.”

“You must be the new maid my wife hired, Abigail, is it not?” At her nod, he continued. “Do you know where Lady Merrick is? Mrs. Coushings believed her to be here, but I know
you
are better informed.”

Panic welled up inside of her. Why had he come here? She had not expected to see or be interrogated by him. Swallowing, she determined not to mess this conversation up as she had the one with Lord Jonathan.

“She can be found in the garden.”

“Does she spend a lot of time there? In the ‘garden’?”

Abigail hesitated at his anger. His tone proclaimed he didn’t believe her, but his fury went deeper than she would expect. Lord Jonathan must have told him something. But what?

“No. She has been ill lately, and rarely leaves the room.”

“Then it’s quite interesting that today she should decide to spend her illness out of doors, don’t you agree?”

Abigail glanced up to see his intense eyes watching her. She wondered what he thought about the real her. Considering he had not lashed out at her, his opinion on women with red hair wasn’t the same as her father’s. Shaking off her wandering mind, she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I find it encouraging that she felt better today,” she rebutted, lifting her face defiantly.

He tilted his head and took a step toward her. His eyes scared her. She knew he wanted to ferret out all her secrets. What she didn’t know was if his interest was in her personally or in gaining information about his wife.

“If your lady is in the garden, what are you doing in her bedchamber?” He took another step closer.

Her breathing increased. Glancing off to the right, she saw her shawl draped over a chair. “She requested I retrieve her wrapper.”

He followed the direction of her gaze, then walked the few paces to the chair and gathered the silk in his fingers before she could protest. “Perhaps I should take it to her instead.”

“No . . . I mean, that isn’t necessary, my lord. I’m sure you are tired from your journey. Allow me to take it to her then I’ll have her wait for you once you have rested.”

“Very well.” His face remained unreadable, but she heard his suspicion.

He held the material out to her as if issuing a challenge. Refusing to cower, she approached him. Then with a trembling hand, she reached out and took a hold of the shawl. When he didn’t immediately release the wrapper, her eyes shot to his. The cold steel of his gaze made her shiver.

He stood so close she could feel the heat from his body but was immediately cooled from his icy stare. This wasn’t the man she remembered from London. Something had changed him these past weeks.

Too long he stood there, eyes unwavering, to the point she almost relinquished her grasp on the garment. Suddenly and without warning, he dropped the shawl, turned from her, and headed in the direction of the door to his bedchamber. She remained unmoving watching him, completely confused. His ability to conceal his emotions so well infuriated her. Why had he left so abruptly? Had he discovered her secret? If so, why didn’t he confront her about it?

“See that Lady Merrick is in the drawing room in half an hour,” he called out over his shoulder before closing the adjoining door.

As nausea rolled around in her stomach, she stumbled forward to fall into the chair. Lord Merrick’s parting remark proved his ignorance of her deception. She sighed. The idea of keeping up this charade with him so close by made her head hurt. She needed to pull herself together and decide how to handle the situation.

A light knock on the door snapped her out of her inactive state. Sandra would be able to help. Opening the door, she pulled her maid inside quickly, then shut and locked the door. Unfortunately, the door connected to her husband’s bedchamber didn’t have a similar lock.

“Are you all right?” Sandra questioned. “Mrs. Coushings said Lord Merrick went to visit you here. Has he arrived yet?” The words rushed from her mouth, no doubt due to nerves.

“He was in here when I arrived, but he already returned to his bedchamber.”

“Oh no. Does he know? What happened?”

“He doesn’t know, but he expects to see me, as Lady Merrick, in the drawing room in half an hour.”

Sandra’s eyes widened, then she sprang into action. As she grabbed clothing, Abigail began to undress herself. Since living in the country, she’d never taken the extra care with her appearance, but instinct told her she would need to now.

“What are you going to do? Keeping your secret will be impossible with him here.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but what choice do I have? If ‘Abigail’ suddenly disappears, too many questions would arise, especially with the recent thefts.”

“Why does that matter? They would never discover you if they went searching.”

Abigail rubbed her temples, resisting the urge to cry. “But then I would be unable to return. After all these years, I have finally found a way to live my life as myself. I can’t give that up.”

Sandra sighed as she pushed Abigail down into the chair in front of the dressing table. She began applying the black powder while she made clicking sounds with her mouth, indicating she was thinking.

“I would argue, but I see your point. I can’t imagine how difficult life is for you to be forced to hide yourself from everyone.”

“It’s never been easy, but it was necessary,” Abigail explained using the English accent she’d perfected for her father. She would have to be careful not to slip back into her Scottish brogue that now came naturally to her.

“I know what to do,” Sandra exclaimed. “I can say Abigail went to stay with her ailing mother. We will not have to say how long you will be gone considering you don’t know when she’ll be better.”

The plan sounded reasonable, but the idea of being stuck in her “Lady Merrick” persona for an undetermined amount of time made her throat tighten. She knew Sandra was right, but she wasn’t ready to give this up.

“Why don’t we attempt to hide me first? If Lord Merrick gets suspicious, or we run into too many problems, we can spread the story. I could begin dropping hints about my mother now.”

“It might be easier to just tell everyone immediately without taking any chances.”

“Perhaps, but I’m willing to take the gamble.”

She’d succeeded against her husband while gambling before, and she had every intention of doing so again. If he discovered her deception, he’d punish her, but it was no different than what she was accustomed to.

After Sandra secured the final pins in her hair, Abigail pushed her shoulders back and exited her bedchamber. She would meet with her husband and answer any questions he had regarding Lord Jonathan’s reservations. Then she would escape to Sandra’s quarters to once again be Abigail.

She would fight to keep the life she’d built for herself.

Greyson sat still in the drawing room wondering where the hell his wife was. He wanted to pace or yell or tear the place apart looking for her, but he kept a hold on his emotions. The wait was painful. He needed to see her now.

An hour ago when he arrived, he’d marched up to her bedchamber hoping Jonathan’s claims were false. He wanted to see her keeping to her chambers nursing an illness. Upon finding the chamber empty, his fury mounted.

In a fit of rage, he wanted to destroy the room, but he cooled at the sudden appearance of his fire angel. He recognized her immediately but didn’t understand how she got there, or rather, why she’d tended to him in London. He’d wanted to ask her but had bitten his tongue as she hadn’t seemed happy to see him.

As their conversation progressed, Greyson could see her nerves and realized her words were lies. Studying her further had brought him a greater familiarity than memories of his fire angel. He knew her. His suspicions further began to take hold until he could no longer stand it. He needed to see his wife to confirm what his mind invented.

As if conjured by his desperation, Lady Merrick entered the drawing room, the picture of ease in her gold gown. Not a crease or wrinkle appeared anywhere. Even her dull hair was styled meticulously. She’d dressed recently.

His fists clenched. Was he wrong? Had she been in another man’s bed? He didn’t want to think of the possibility. She belonged to him.

“I’m sorry I’m late, my lord,” she said in a strange, overly accented British voice.

“Please sit.” He waited until she sat before selecting the chair next to her. “I hear you have been suffering from an illness.”

Irritation flashed through her eyes, but she smiled regardless. “Yes, but I’m feeling fine at the moment.”

“You should have notified me, then I would have been able to tend to you when you required it.”

“There was no need. My illness comes and goes, so I can’t say for sure how I’ll feel from day to day.”

“Well, you certainly appear fit at the moment. Your skin has obtained quite a bit more color than I remember from London.”

Her hand rose to her cheek, but she quickly dropped it and shrugged. “When I’m feeling up to it, I spend my time in the garden.”

Greyson silently applauded her quick thinking. If she’d been able to control her emotions, he never would have interpreted her words to be anything other than truth. However, she gave herself away. He was left with two possible explanations. And one test remained.

“Take off your glasses,” he demanded.

“Why, my lord?” Confusion rang in her voice.

“I simply wish to see how your new skin tone matches your eyes.”

Without waiting for her to comply, he pulled her glasses from her face. Peering into her mossy green eyes, he saw exactly what he’d expected to find. The same eyes he’d gazed into less than an hour ago. Lady Merrick, his wife, was Abigail, the maid, and his fire angel.

Now that he knew her secret, he understood how Jonathan had made his outlandish conclusion. The only remaining questions were why his wife would hide her beautiful hair from the world, and more importantly, why she would choose to live as a maid.

Thinking over his friend’s observations, he could not rule out the possibility of a lover, but that could have come after her decision to begin the charade. He needed more information, and he intended to gather it before confronting her with her duplicity.

“Very nice,” he said, handing her glasses back to her.

“Thank you, my lord.” Red snaked up her neck and colored her cheeks.

“Besides your illness, have you been enjoying Merrick?”

“Yes. It’s peaceful here. Although I miss my mother terribly, country life is preferable to London.”

Her voice broke with the mention of her mother. It hurt him to hear her in such pain. Since he had no proof of her unfaithfulness, he saw no harm in inviting her parents, perhaps even her brother, for a visit. He made a note to himself to write to them later and invite them to Merrick in a few weeks.

“I’m glad to hear it. Would you excuse me? I have a few duties I must attend to.”

“Certainly.” She rose and made her way to the door, a pleased smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he called out before she disappeared. He hoped she didn’t believe she could escape him so easily.

Once she left he, too, exited the room and headed for his study. As he passed by Matthews, he called for his butler to join him. In his study, he settled into a chair and indicated Matthews do the same.

The butler had been working at Merrick for as long as Greyson could remember. The man proved to be trustworthy and loyal and would part with any information necessary to appease his master.

“I hope everything has been running smoothly in my absence.”

“A manor this size isn’t without its share of problems, my lord,” Matthews answered cryptically. “But I will not burden you with the matters I intend to correct myself.”

Normally Greyson would have demanded to hear details, but he felt too anxious to learn of his wife’s movements over the past weeks.

“I’ll leave it to you to address those matters, but if you need my assistance, I’m available.” Greyson leaned back, adopting a mask of obligatory concern. “On another note, I wonder if you can tell me how my wife has been fairing during her time here. Mrs. Coushings indicated she has been unwell.”

“Yes, my lord. Upon her arrival, she appeared fine, but soon after, she began taking to her rooms.”

“How much time does she spend outside her chambers?”

“Most mornings she comes down to breakfast and the same with dinner in the evenings. Luncheon is typically served in her room by Sandra or Abigail. Other than that, I can’t say I have seen her much.”

That explained how she was able to continue this charade for so long. Sandra had helped her. Staring into Matthew’s face, he realized the butler had no idea Lady Merrick and Abigail were the same woman. Greyson had no intention of informing him otherwise, until it benefited him to do so, at least.