The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (15 page)

“Suits me. I detest
the place!” Foster assured her. He began heading toward the back of
the house. “They’ve sent someone else to check up on us, they
have. Mark my words, yer Reed Gordon is the one they’re looking
for, not some sham Viscount. They’re probably wondering what’s
happened to him. And I’ll bet he’s one of them that’s after you
too.”

* * *

This time, Reed didn’t
fall asleep immediately, despite being bone weary.

Damn
it to hell! What was wrong with him? It was early afternoon and he’d
been up less than two hours!

Somehow he knew this
fatigue was not normal for him. He pulled the pencil and paper close,
to add that to his growing list of remembered items about himself.
His memory list was growing satisfyingly long, but he was still
feeling testy and frustrated that the continuous thread of his memory
eluded him.

He was anxious to
remember more about his wife. Every time he was on the verge of
recalling something, it slipped away — as though something were
blocking his memories. He leaned back against the pillow. He was
weary and his head was tired of going round and round in circles,
searching desperately for information to unlock his memory.

Some knowledge had been
hovering at the edge of his consciousness all day. It had something
to do with his unnatural lethargy. He reached for the glass of barley
water from the bedside table, took a sip and swished it around in his
parched mouth. He was always so thirsty. To make matters worse, he
disliked the awful metallic taste that lingered in his mouth.

Lingered from what?
He’d just eaten a good meal. Nothing metallic about that. Suddenly,
a word sprang into his mind.
Laudanum
!
That left a metallic aftertaste. And it would explain the terrible
lassitude dragging his spirits down.

Once, as a child, he’d
been given large doses for some illness and… Another memory! A
solid one. What illness had he suffered? He strained his brain to its
furthest extent, but once again nothing came. Still, it was exciting
to have had such a clear memory from his past.

As for the opium, the
more he reflected on it, the more positive he was that he was being
given a sedative. It explained why his thinking processes were so
muddled and why he was so unsteady on his feet. He had a hazy
recollection of the physician prescribing something that first night.

But how was it being
administered?

That
awful late night cup of hot milk! Of course! He should have realized
it before
.

Settling down into the
bed more comfortably now that he understood why he was so confused
and tired all the time, he pondered this new knowledge. He wanted
clarity of mind back. He wanted to stop sleeping all day long. Most
of all, he wanted to be in control of his life again. He was positive
his memory would return, if only he was able to think clearly again.

His eyes got heavy and
sleep gradually blanketed him. He was going to stop taking that drug,
no matter how much pain he had to endure.

Upon awaking, he was
disoriented and didn’t know what time it was, nor even what day.
The room was in darkness, so he knew it was nighttime. He
contemplated getting up to light a candle, but was still too drowsy
to muster the gumption to do it.

He was relieved to hear
his wife’s footsteps approaching his room. She’d light the
candle. Seeing better and, especially, seeing her, might infuse him
with the energy to get up.

Tally entered Reed’s
room to find him just waking. She felt guiltier than ever. He was
still half asleep, yet here she was bringing him his nighttime dose
of laudanum. He’d slept through most of the past few days. She set
the cup down on the small table beside the bed, reached for a candle
and went to light it in the fireplace. “Time for your hot milk.
You’ll like it better tonight. Mrs. P sweetened it with honey.”

“How did you know I
didn’t like it last night?” He sounded quarrelsome.

“Maybe because of the
awful face you made?” She’d never been in favor of taking any
kind of drug with regularity, but how else was she to ensure he was
sound asleep so his wound could be cleaned and the dressing changed
each night without his knowledge?

And the doctor did say
Reed needed complete rest to get his memory back!

The gunshot wound was
healing nicely, thank goodness, and soon they’d be able to stop
wrapping it and perhaps even tell him about it. She shuddered,
wondering what he’d do if he ever found out she was the one who had
shot him.

“Put it there.” He
gestured to the bed table. “I’ll drink it later.”

About to insist he
drink it right away, she thought better of it. Reproaching him, like
a child, for not taking his medicine right away was probably not the
best way to convince a grown man to comply. She left the cup on the
table beside his bed. She’d make sure he’d taken it, later.

The sudden shift in his
mood disconcerted her. A mischievous twinkle gleamed in his eye
causing excitement to quiver in her stomach. Heavens! She didn’t
mind pretending he was her husband while he was tamed by the opium,
but if he was going to become more amorous the more he healed, she
wasn’t sure about continuing this charade. Up to now, the drug had
been keeping him lethargic, but today she’d decreased the amount.
She’d heard it didn’t take long to become addicted to it.

“Won’t you come
over here and tuck me in?” He was sitting up, leaning back against
the headboard now. He held his hand out, inviting her to place hers
in his.

She ignored his
invitation. “Don’t you want to eat? You missed supper.”

“I’m not hungry. My
stomach feels a little off.”

It was probably due to
the laudanum. Should she reduce it still more? She wished she knew
what was best.

“So, will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Tuck me in,” he
repeated.

He was persistent, she
had to give him that. “Surely you don’t need me to do that.”

“Perhaps not, but if
I can’t have my lovely wife where she should be — lying beside me
at night — I’d at least like to spend some time bidding her
goodnight.”

His lips quirked
upwards in such a crooked, rakish smile, her heart took flight in a
flurry of rapid flutters. Did he have to be so appealing? Delightful
though his attentions were, she was far from sure she should trust
him. Or herself!

“You have something
on your cheek.”

“Oh.” Her hand went
to her cheek.

“No, not there. Here,
let me.”

“All right.” She
hesitated a moment longer, then moved nearer so he could reach her
face.

He stretched out to rub
her cheek gently then, cobra-quick, his hand reached down to grasp
hers. Startled, she stepped backwards with alacrity, but he held on
tight. “Did we get along?”

“Pardon me?”
Heavens, what was she to say to that? It wasn’t strictly
information, this was about
feelings
.

“Before I lost my
memory...” he paused, “were we good together? Did we get along or
did we fight?”

“Why would we fight?”
Ask a question to avoid a
question. Quick thinking, Tally!
She felt a bit frantic at
his intimate interrogation.

“Don’t know,
darling, but you seem so skittish, so distant, and I’m wondering
why.” His large hand covered hers on the bed covers.

Lord! She shouldn’t
have come this close to him… again. But she was tired and not
thinking straight. And, to be honest, she enjoyed spending time with
him. “It’s just that... I don’t know what to say to you since
you’ve lost your memory. We’re like strangers.”

What
a laugh!
If only it were the least bit amusing!

He wanted her to act
the loving wife, yet they were total strangers. And she was ashamed
to admit, her greatest worry was that she might enjoy the role too
much. Rather than to a drug, her addiction would be to his smile, his
laughter, his roguish charm.

Goodness! All those
dawn risings, to paint while the light was good, were addling her
brain! Nor had she been sleeping well. Too busy fretting over the lie
she was living.

“Then we should
remedy that.”

Remedy
what?
She’d lost the thread of conversation.

He moved over, still
holding onto her hand, and with his free hand he patted the bed
beside him. “Come, sit. We’ll get to know each other again.”

“But that’s just
it. I’m not supposed to tell you anything, so as not to confuse
your memories. Have you any idea how hard it is to say nothing?”
Well, that was true! She wished she could tell him the truth. That
they didn’t even know each other! That he might have climbed into
her window to kill her!

She tried to resist him
but during his more lucid moments, when the laudanum waned, her
counterfeit husband made her heart hum and her pulse pound.
Untrammeled excitement, like she’d never known, surged through her
when she was with him, and she craved it.

She didn’t understand
why. All she knew was that she was drawn to his side like a magnet to
metal, a honey to a bee. That was the real reason she’d come closer
to him tonight. She didn’t want to stay away. She wanted more of
those kisses he doled out so generously.

“I just need to know
what we were like, so we can have some kind of normal relationship.
Why does it feel like we’re so far apart?”

“Probably because...
No! That’s a question!” She leaned back in his grip. The rascal!
He was making her talk. “You know I can’t answer that. It
wouldn’t be fair.”

Heavens, he was warm.
She didn’t want to move away from him. She wanted to snuggle up,
nearer to his heat.

“How can it be
unfair?” Hand behind her neck, he tugged her right up against him.
His other hand reached to draw her head down to his. “All right,
then, if you can’t answer me, we won’t use words. Let’s make
memories that I
can
remember.”

“Sir!” A shiver
raced up her spine. Tally was shocked yet thrilled by the notion.

“Surely you can call
me by name.” He sounded exasperated. “I may not have my memory,
but I can’t imagine I’d ever insist upon such formality with my
own wife.” Smiling, he shook her gently. “Go on, say it,” he
coaxed, leaning in to nuzzle her nose with his. “Repeat after me.
Reed.”

He was irresistible in
this playful mood. It was a struggle to hold out against his charm,
but she’d never been compliant with her own family and she wasn’t
about to start with this stranger, no matter how attractive he was.
“What makes you think I’m biddable?”

“If you were a truly
loving wife, you’d call me Reed.”

If she were his loving
wife, she would lean into him, slide her arms up around his neck and
bring her lips to his to kiss him. Surprised at how much she ached to
do just that, she pulled back. She had to be careful. He was
beginning to feel less and less like a stranger.

“Very well.
Reed
.”
Giving in seemed safer somehow. “There, I’ve said it. Now, let me
get on with my work.” She jerked away from him and moved to the
window, making a show of ensuring it was closed. When she turned
back, she was startled to see he was sitting up preparing to get out
of bed.

“You really
shouldn’t.” This time she was smart. She stayed where she was so
she wouldn’t end up on his lap again.

“I’m weary of
talking to you from a bed.” He looked sheepish, yet ready to
challenge her if she fought him on this. “My body hurts from lying
there all day.”

Gracious!
She wished she’d thought about that herself. She glanced around for
a solution. “Wait.”

She was relieved to see
that he remained sitting on the bed while she went to fetch the
ladder-back chair that was near the door and set it down beside the
bed. “Here, you can sit on this for awhile.” She had no intention
of ending up in his lap again!

She helped him take the
few steps to sit. His sigh of relief caused her a twinge of remorse.
She probably should have been urging him to get up for short periods
so he wouldn’t lose his strength.

“Now…” His eyes
were full of devilry, though his question was mundane. “What work?”

She must have looked
confused, hovering awkwardly near the bed, because he added, “You
said you had work to do.”

“Oh.” She dared not
tell him about her art. She told no one about that. “Household
duties, of course. Running a household in London requires far more
work than in the country, I am finding.”

“But it’s evening.
Surely you can stop now.” He softened his tone. “Stay. Please. I
like... want your company.”

There was that
captivating aspect of him surfacing again. That attractive, rakish
side that was becoming ever more evident as he got better. Was this
his normal character? If so, if his true self was coming back, she
probably didn’t have much time before he recovered all of his
memory. Would that charm curdle, like soured milk, when he found out
this was all a lie?

“How am I to recover
my memory if I don’t get the chance to be with those who know me
best?”

Another wave of guilt
swept through her. Was she impeding his recovery by allowing him to
think she was his wife? She feared so.

She
had to tell him!
The pulse in her neck throbbed so
intensely she was sure he must see it. Just the idea of revealing her
lies was upsetting.

Not
tonight.
She cringed at her abject cowardice, but that
didn’t stop her from deciding she’d wait until tomorrow to
confess.

“Talk to me. I feel
like I’m living in a vacuum,” he said. “You’re always so
careful not to divulge anything about me and my personal life prior
to...” He gestured to his head. “It makes conversation
difficult.” He plunged an agitated hand into his hair, thrusting
his fingers backwards through the thick thatch, giving it an unruly
and harried look. “Why don’t we just talk about anything
unrelated to me and my memory.”