His Sinful Secret (21 page)

“When he lost you one day—and I assume now since you admit you knew someone was tailing you that you purposely foiled his surveillance—he followed her instead to see if maybe your schedules included a mutual destination. Do you know when she goes to meet her friend Lady Melanie, it is a ruse?”

Michael hoped his expression didn’t show consternation, but every muscle in his body had tensed. “A ruse in what way?”

“She goes in, briefly greets her friend, and departs in a hired carriage out the back. Her return involves the reverse ploy.”

That admittedly gave him pause. “It isn’t possible. My valet accompanies her.”

“I am telling you only what my man’s notations of her activities indicated.”

Julianne, deceptive? It didn’t follow what he knew of his young wife. Michael sat there, hoping he didn’t look as disconcerted as he felt.

Why would she do such a thing? He didn’t ask about her schedule, nor dictate her activities, so the subversion was even more disturbing because it wasn’t necessary.

Or, the cold logic of his profession pointed out, he just didn’t see
why
it would be necessary.

Yet. There always was a reason.

Michael steadied himself, aware of Lawrence’s scrutiny. “You and I both know all people have secrets. Since we are discussing Julianne, I am certain hers is innocent enough. But thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“I found it rather interesting.” His visitor hesitated, then he stated bluntly, “I am very surprised you agreed to Antonia’s plan regarding your wife.”

“Do you honestly believe I could stop her?” Michael asked mildly. “When Antonia is intent upon a course of action, it is much better to manage the flood than try to hastily construct a dam to stem the tidal wave.”

“True enough.” Lawrence sat very still, his heavy-lidded eyes direct. “You understand her better than I gave you credit for, my lord.”

Though they worked together and therefore interacted, they had never discussed man-to-man Michael’s previous relationship with Lady Taylor, or Lawrence’s current one.

Maybe it was time they should.

“I represent to her a tie between now and the past,” Michael said slowly, navigating how to begin this conversation with care. “She will realize it in time. She hasn’t healed yet. If she lets go of me, she has to let go of her hate and acknowledge the war is over.”

“I agree. Do you think she ever will relinquish the battle? After all, you know her well, and I am curious of your opinion.”

By nature, Lawrence wasn’t humble, so asking the question revealed the answer was valuable to him.

“I don’t know.” Michael well remembered that shattered woman sitting amid the debris of what had once been her home. “She has a lot to forget, and this is not her country. For Antonia, that is a great deal of compromise and she is not a woman who compromises easily.”

“I have noticed that.” The other man’s smile was thin. “I have run afoul of her Spanish temper more than once. She is hot-blooded, but she is also one of the most courageous women I have ever known.”

“We agree there, at least.”

“Let me know what you discover about Roget.” Lawrence rose, gave a small, mocking bow, and left.

Michael sat thoughtfully, ordering his priorities. Roget first, of course. He’d been after the infamous spy for years. But Roget worked for the French, and Michael was convinced more and more his rival was English, and apparently within his reach.

He should be elated, ready to move, to strike, to end this deadly game at once.

Instead he found himself pondering why his lovely wife would go through such subterfuge as to pretend to visit a friend. It was a distraction he didn’t need.

But his specialty was solving little mysteries, after all, and he would solve this one.

S
he was getting rather good at evading the vigilant Fitzhugh. This time Julianne went with her mother to tea at the house of a friend, claimed an appointment later at the dressmaker’s, and once dropped off, promptly flagged down a cabbie.

Even her husband’s valet could not insist on accompanying her when Julianne was out with her mother.

That satisfaction was diminished, as always, by the arrival of the hired hack at the familiar address. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish to see Chloe. It was more that she always dreaded the inevitable confrontation with Leah.

As she approached the door, she squared her shoulders. For months she’d been dealing with this woman and she could do it again.

Her knock was answered at once, which told her Leah had been watching for her arrival. No surprise there, as the money was the only reason Julianne was allowed to visit in the first place. “It’s about time,” the other woman said with a husky note of resentment in her voice. “I’ve been waiting.”

“May I come in?” Julianne had the money in her reticule, but she’d already learned to at least hold on to it until she was in Chloe’s presence. Once before she’d paid, only to be told Chloe was out with an “aunt.” Since Leah claimed to be all alone in this world, the aunt was an unlikely story, but it had taught Julianne to make sure she had at least one foot in the door before she handed over what Leah wanted so desperately. Their relationship could be at best described as symbiotic.

“If your ladyship insists.” Leah, attired today in a shabby brown gown with flounces of lace at the bodice, stepped back with deliberate insolence. “As you can see, my butler is on holiday.”

So was her maid, if the untidy appearance of the hallway was any indication, though Julianne didn’t say so. The dust and general aura of neglect were hardly encouraging. Nor was it a fit environment for a child, in her opinion. Her slippers made noise on the gritty floor, and the air was stale and dank. “Where is Chloe?”

“How’s the new marchioness? His lordship givin’ you a good time?”

The crudity might have made Julianne blush at one time, but she was used to Leah’s resentful barbs. “Where is Chloe?”

“In there,” the other woman admitted grudgingly, pointing.

At least after all the months she’d been coming to visit, they finally understood one another. Julianne tentatively went through the door of the parlor and saw the child sitting on the floor, absorbed in a pile of brightly colored painted blocks. Chloe glanced up and didn’t smile, but that was too much to expect. But she looked at Julianne with wistful steadiness, her hazel eyes wide with recognition.

The blocks had been from her last visit. This time Julianne had brought a small paper bag of treats, the confections carefully chosen from one of London’s finest sweet shops. Not that she trusted Leah to not confiscate the gift immediately, so she would wait until she was alone with the child to give them to her. Julianne said briefly, “I can only stay an hour. Who will care for her after I am gone?”

Leah propped a hip against the doorway, and her smile was unpleasant. “Have to get home to dress up for a fancy ball, do we?”

“Please just answer the question.” There was a reason she hadn’t handed over the money yet.

“The old woman next door.” Leah straightened and jerked her head to the left. “Give me my money and take her there when you have to be off. She knows Mrs. Hopkins well enough.”

She.
Like the child didn’t have a name. Julianne knelt, at the same time taking from her reticule the payment and setting it on the floor. She ignored the other woman as she swooped down and grabbed the money.

How much longer can I do this?
Julianne asked herself that question as she looked into Chloe’s eyes. Walking away became more difficult with every visit, and now . . . somehow, as a married woman who could imagine having a child of her own soon, the poignancy of the situation was more acute than ever.

It is like any other lie,
Julianne thought with a mixture of guilt and sadness.
The longer you keep up the pretense, the more difficult it is to tell the truth.
In this case, the lie wasn’t entirely hers, but she wasn’t sure others would see it that way.

“Good afternoon, Chloe,” she said softly, reaching out to gently touch the toddler’s grubby cheek. With disregard for the dirty floor and her muslin skirts, Julianne sat down. “Shall we build a castle like the last time?”

And was rewarded with the smallest nod and a hint of a shy smile.

 

It was difficult to know if he should be flattered or ashamed of himself that the conversation came to an abrupt halt when he walked into the room. Late-afternoon autumn sunshine poured through the mullioned windows of the informal drawing room, giving warmth to the scattered groupings of chairs and small tables, the setting perfect for an afternoon tea
en famille
. In the act of pouring, his mother stopped, a look of surprise crossing her face. His father also was startled, and Julianne set down a plate with a half-eaten éclair, and reached for her napkin to dab at her mouth, her beautiful eyes questioning.

It was true, he supposed, he did not often join his family for meals, and never—not once since his return from Spain—for tea.

He didn’t have time to leisurely sit and sip from a china cup and exchange pleasantries. It was a luxury, and one he couldn’t afford.

As a matter of fact, he wasn’t quite sure why he had decided to join them now, but he had to admit his wife looked charming in a blue day gown with a spill of cream lace at the elbow-length sleeves and her hair twisted up into a simple knot, with loose strands of silky dark brown hair brushing her graceful neck.

“Rutgers informed me you all were in here. I hope I am not too late,” he said pleasantly.

“Of course not,” his mother said, a telltale flutter in her voice that made him experience an extreme twinge of guilt for not doing this before. “Michael, we are
delighted
. I was just telling Julianne we don’t see enough of you. Please sit down and I will pour.”

See enough of him? More likely his mother was apologizing for his usual conspicuous absences to his beautiful bride. He was well aware his parents both wished he would acquire some of Harry’s enthusiasm for running the various family holdings. For that matter, he wished he could summon some interest too, but though he met with bankers and solicitors, went through ledgers, and attended to other financial matters, he found it all dry as dust. And, truthfully, since he still had his other duties, he had very little time for it.

Yet this afternoon he found that he didn’t wish to wait until later to see his wife, and he wasn’t sure whether he found that intriguing or disturbing.

He chose the chair next to Julianne’s, his booted feet brushing her skirts as he stretched out his legs, amused to see his arrival had, for whatever reason, brought a becoming blush to her cheeks. Or perhaps he knew exactly the reason, for he guessed she was remembering his reaction to finding her in his bed and their resulting impetuous lovemaking. “I like you in that shade,” he murmured spontaneously. “Blue suits you.”

Julianne’s color deepened, but she also gazed at him as if he were a complete stranger. “Thank you.”

Maybe he
was
a complete stranger. He’d certainly tried to be. Oh, he knew her exquisite body, but he’d kept his distance from
her
. Michael leaned forward and accepted a cup from his mother with a polite murmur of thanks.

“I understand from Fitzhugh you met with Liverpool yesterday. What did the prime minister have to say?” His father took a scone from the tea trolley, but he merely set it on his plate.

That was rather incongruous—a duke asking a valet about his son’s activities. Maybe Michael’s deliberate avoidance of his family was a mistake. The problem was, he still felt Harry’s presence, and he was sure they all did. It was odd to think that he, who had seen so much death in war and had lost close comrades, was so haunted by a single ghost.

He’d
married
to please his parents, he quickly excused himself.

And that was not quite working out as planned. Michael watched Julianne take a dainty sip from the porcelain cup in her slender fingers. She moved gracefully, entirely feminine, her lush lashes lowered a little over the deep blue of her eyes. The neckline of her gown was hardly revealing, but it did emphasize the perfect curves of her shapely breasts. Later he would undress her and . . .

“Michael?”

All three of them were looking at him expectantly. “Liverpool,” his father prompted, but there might have been a hint of a smile on his mouth.

“The war is over,” he offered neutrally. “But there are lingering details to tidy up.”

The elusive Roget, a detail? That was an understatement of epic proportions.

“I see.” The Duke of Southbrook endured a frown from his wife as he took another scone for himself. “Suitably vague, but true, no doubt. Have I told you yet about Southbrook Manor’s new estate manager? I just hired him last week, but he comes highly recommended. You’ll want to be there when we go over plans for the spring, of course. I was thinking we’d all go to Kent in a few weeks. Will you be free?”

Not if Roget remained at large, but Michael could hardly delve into that topic. “I hope to be,” he murmured, because that was the perfect truth, though he was not personally interested in the planting issues, tenants, and repairs to the enormous country house that had been the seat of the Dukes of Southbrook for centuries.

The conversation then fell to general subjects they could all discuss: the current lists of social events and a few tidbits of gossip. When a footman came in to discreetly remove the tea cart, Michael found himself covertly studying Julianne again.

She looked so artlessly beautiful, in such a simple gown with no jewelry and her hair just caught up in careless curls. “It’s a lovely day. Shall we walk in the garden?” he asked, not sure where the suggestion came from, his mood unfamiliar, because, quite frankly, he’d always thought he did not
have
moods. He was calm, even calculating at times, but he lived his life without the undue influence of ungovernable emotion.