The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (14 page)

Tally wasn’t
interested in that kind of man. She wanted a strong, independent man,
who was the backbone of his family.

What
was she thinking?
She didn’t want
any
man. She wanted to devote her life to her art.

The men she knew were
far too selfish and expected women to give up their dreams in order
to help them achieve theirs. Reed’s appearance changed none of
that. Yes, he was charming and paid her attention... now, while he
was ill and needing her help, but once he was back to himself again,
she had no doubt he’d put himself and his wants first again.

“His family still has
hopes that he will recover one day, so they are trying to keep his
illness quiet. That is why Foster and I agreed to care for him. They
worried a nurse would be unable to contain him in their home and news
of his illness would spread.”

“For how long are
they gone? Do you expect them back soon?” he asked hopefully.

“Heavens, no!” she
said laughing uneasily. She wished she knew when Reed would be
leaving too. “They’ve only just left and will be gone for several
weeks at least.”

He looked dismayed.

“It’s unfortunate,
Spence, but we had no idea you were coming to Town.” She felt no
compunction about putting the blame on him for arriving on her
doorstep without warning. His arrival, and expectation she would keep
him company, was terribly inconvenient and she had no intention of
pandering to him. Had she known he’d follow her to London, she
would have taken greater measures to conceal her whereabouts.

“This is highly
irregular.” Spencer’s disapproval was obvious.

“I don’t know what
you expect me to do, Spence? I didn’t ask for this problem, nor can
I do anything to hasten his family’s return,” an angry edge
frayed Tally’s pleasant manner. She was beginning to resent
Spence’s attitude. Even were she not tangled up in this fake
marital mess, she wouldn’t be spending time with him. If only she
could tell him she’d come to London to paint, not to socialize. But
along with everyone else, other than Foster and Monsieur, he was
unaware of her talent. Nor would he take it seriously, she thought,
even if he did know.

“When I arrived in
Town, I didn’t let anybody know, not even my own family. With Mr.
Leighton about — I don’t want any visitors.” She emphasized the
“any”. “My plan was to see the sights during my spare moments.
Instead, I have been caring day and night for Mr. Leighton. And if
you make my presence in London known, even to my own family —
should you meet them — I’ll never forgive you! I can’t afford
to be deluged with callers. It would be well nigh impossible to hide
my wandering visitor.”

“Good Lord, no, of
course not!” Spence was clearly aghast at the idea of Reed greeting
visitors and claiming to be her husband. “I still don’t
understand why you–” Seeing her eyebrow lift ominously, he
hastened to say, “My lips will remain sealed, you may rest
assured.”

“Promise me you will
say nothing, Spence,” she insisted he repeat his vow.

“I promise. I will
say nothing about the lunatic in your home.”

She didn’t like his
demeaning tone, but she wasn’t about to quibble now that she had
gotten what she wanted. She breathed a sigh of relief. Once her
friend gave his word, he kept it.

“Thank you, Spence. I
knew I could count on you.” He wouldn’t be eager to have it known
that the woman he hoped — with dogged determination — to marry,
was living with a lunatic. And he certainly wouldn’t want anybody
to visit and meet the madman!

Tally had no intention
of ever giving in to Spence’s pleading, but right now she was not
averse to using his arrogant certainty that ultimately she’d be
his, to ensure his silence. The consequences were too dire, if not.

“Where does your
uncle live? I’ll let you know when I am able to go about again.”
She hoped that would keep him from returning for a visit.

“Good idea. He lives
in Carys House on Dover Street, which is off of St. James Square in
Mayfair.”

Spence seemed eager to
be on his way. She had to hide a smile. He didn’t like
confrontation. He was definitely not keen on having a man, bigger and
stronger than he was, claiming him in matrimony!

Now that he was anxious
to avoid Reed, he admitted he’d written a quick note to advise his
relatives of his arrival and had been invited to stay with them.

She glanced both ways
along the street. “Look, there’s a hackney coming now, Spence.
Hail it!”

As usual, he did her
bidding, and within moments was on his way to his uncle’s place.

She hoped she’d be
free of trouble from that quarter for several days at least. She
hurried back to the house, glad there were so few people in residence
to see her. While she was unknown to most, her father’s quite
famous portrait of his wife and three daughters was still hanging in
the Royal Academy. She’d grown considerably since then, but might
still be recognizable.

She walked back inside
and there were Spence’s hat and gloves on the bench in the front
hall!

Oh for goodness sake!
Now he was sure to return to collect them, probably tomorrow. If she
hadn’t been so quick to bundle him out, he might have remembered to
take them. But she’d had to get him out of the house before Reed
recovered enough to insist on an explanation. He was becoming more
inquisitive with each hour he was improving.

She’d get Joseph to
bring them over to Spence’s uncle’s place. Thank goodness she’d
thought to ask him for the address.

She went into the
drawing room to see if the tea tray had been collected and was
startled by a loud knock at the door.

Spence! Back to collect
his hat and gloves! He must have asked the driver to turn around.
Good! Now he’d have no excuse to return so soon.

She paused, uncertain
whether to flaunt proper etiquette and answer the summons herself.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, Joseph had gone home by
now and Foster was probably helping Mrs. P find her bearings in the
kitchen and hadn’t even heard the knock. She’d better answer. It
was undoubtedly Spence anyway....

Another impatient knock
sounded.

She threw open the
door. “I know. You forgot...” Her words halted abruptly. A
stranger stood there, a startled look on his face. Small and slender,
a gentleman of indeterminate age, he was what some called a…
fribble. Effete and dressed in the latest fashion.

She was appalled by the
clash of horrendously garish colors he sported. She was unashamedly
gaping.

That he was the one who
had knocked so powerfully on the door surprised her. He looked like a
strong wind might blow him away.

He seemed equally taken
aback at the door opening so abruptly.

“Good afternoon. May
I help you?” she asked as if her answering the door was nothing out
of the ordinary.

“You are the lady of
the house, madam?” His tone said he was astonished to be greeted by
someone other than a butler.

“Yes, I am.” She
looked down her nose at him, in the best imitation of her Grandma
Lawton she could muster. If he thought his haughty air was going to
intimidate her, he could think again. Why shouldn’t she answer the
door if she felt like it? She repeated in a testier tone, “May I
help you?”

“May I speak with the
owner of the house?”

“I’m afraid that is
impossible, sir. The owner does not live here.”

“Where does he live
then?”

“As to that, I have
no idea. My husband and I rented the house for the Season. I don’t
even know the name of the owner, though I believe he is living
abroad.” Monsieur had told her that.

She was thankful Reed
had gone back upstairs. Spencer was enough upheaval for one day,
without her temporary husband hearing someone making inquiries about
an unknown landlord.

The stranger’s eyes
kept darting from her into the house behind her. She didn’t like
his sly look. He may be dressed to the nines but, to her, he appeared
oily and untrustworthy.

She shifted weight
impatiently, from one foot to the other. Why didn’t he thank her
and leave? She didn’t know the person to whom he wished to speak.
Instead, he was peering at her in a peculiar fashion that set her
nerves on edge. He seemed not quite normal.

“If that is all, sir,
I will bid you good day and wish you luck in finding the person you
are seeking. I advise you to try the attorneys who lease this house,
Hornings & Crosbie.”

He didn’t respond,
just kept staring at her with an odd half-smile on his face, as
though he were contemplating pushing his way into the house.
Uncomfortable, and deciding she’d accorded him enough of her time,
Tally gave him a perfunctory smile and began closing the door.

He finally took the
hint, mumbled a high-pitched good-by and left.

Shutting the door with
a firm thump, she leaned back against it and heaved a sigh of relief.
Her legs felt weak and she was shaking.

Reed stood by the
bedroom window. Although unsteady on his feet, he couldn’t rest
knowing that Allerton was down there with Talia. He heard the front
door open and curiosity brought him to the window.

His wife, having an
animated conversation with Allerton, was leaving the house. They were
going in the direction of the park. He watched and waited. It took
only minutes. She wore a preoccupied frown as she walked back to the
house.

He didn’t like her
being outside alone. She should have taken her companion, even for so
short a walk, especially with a young man. Odd, he’d never met or
seen her companion... Surely she wouldn’t be so careless as to come
to London without one!

He’d have to talk to
her about that later, right now he had other things to think about.
He’d sensed undercurrents earlier, when she rushed him and Foster
upstairs. She hadn’t wanted her friend and him to have the chance
to talk together. Why not? Was she hiding something from him?

He moved back to the
bed and was about to lie down when he heard a vehicle stop and then a
knock at their front door. The damned man must have come back!

The front door opened
almost immediately.

Who–?

Had his wife answered
the door? Reed closed his eyes in disbelief. Foster and Mrs. P were
in the kitchen. He’d heard them go down just moments ago. And
Joseph had left over an hour ago.

It had to be Talia. She
was still unfamiliar with London manners, it appeared, where no lady
dreamed of answering her own door.

Ah… another memory!
Not a very personal one, unfortunately. Nonetheless, he should write
it down. Rising, he picked up pencil and paper, and went to the
window, making sure to stay in the shadows behind the curtains.

The vehicle waiting by
the curb was too fancy to be a rented one. So, it wasn’t Allerton.

Today was their day for
visitors, it seemed.

He’d begun to jot
down his latest memory, when the front door opened again and closed.
He peered through a small gap between the curtain and the wall,
curious to see what kind of person owned the gaudy chaise waiting in
front of the house. The caller hadn’t stayed very long.

A short, spare man
strutted to the awaiting vehicle.

A vague sense of
familiarity winnowed through Reed’s brain. Did he know this foppish
man
?

When the man reached
the sidewalk, he turned to look up at the second-floor windows, as if
he knew he was being watched.

Reed froze in his
hiding place behind the curtains. That face. He’d seen it before.
Of that, he was certain. But was the man friend or foe?

Listen
to yourself, to the melodrama going on in your head!
Just
because his lack of memory was making him feel vulnerable, that
didn’t mean he was in any danger.

This affliction was
making him imagine all kinds of sinister plots, each more creative
than the next. Here he was, hiding behind the curtains, playing cloak
and dagger. Who did he think he was? A spy or something?

* * *

“Who was that?”

“Oh Foster, there you
are.” Startled yet again by his appearance, Tally’s pounding
heart wished he wore noisier shoes so she could hear him come up
behind her. He was surprisingly quiet for someone who shuffled along.
“An odd little man, a gentleman, dressed in high fashion — if one
appreciates blinding, jarring colors. I never asked his name, just
referred him to Hornings & Crosbie.” She shuddered. “He made
my flesh crawl.”

“What did he want?”
Her reaction to the caller aroused Foster’s wary nature. He reached
for the door handle.

“To speak to the
owner of the house.”

“Did he ask for that
Viscount person?” Suspicion colored his words. “I wish I had
caught the name when that footman inquired about him.”

“It’s not
important,” she consoled him. Foster was sensitive about his loss
of hearing. “He never mentioned a name, just asked for the owner.”
Another frisson shook her. “He had this eerie, not-quite-normal
look. I told him we had no idea who the owner was, but he kept
peering behind me as if he thought I was lying and expected the man
to appear at any moment.” She rubbed her arms briskly with her
hands to disperse the chill the caller had provoked. “Never mind,
Foster. It’s too late now. His carriage is long gone.”

“Humph.” He set his
jaw at a pugnacious angle. “You mustn’t answer the door any more,
Missy. We’re in London now. You don’t know who might be there or
what they might do.”

“I agree.” She
certainly wasn’t going to argue with him after that unnerving
encounter. That man had left her feeling vulnerable in her own home.
“I must say, my first two weeks in London have not been pleasant...
vehicles almost running me over, rocks being thrown at us, a man
climbing in my bedroom window and ending up with amnesia. And now,
strange gentlemen at the door! I don’t think I want to remain in
Town for long.”