The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (6 page)

“You don’t want to
send any friend of your brothers to such a place, I assure you.” He
took his hat and gloves from Foster.

Tally was just as
certain that she
did
want to send him there… wherever!

He must have sensed her
ambivalence. “Why don’t you write to your brothers and ask them
about their friend?” he suggested.

“I… They’re in
Italy so it will take some time.” She’d been about to agree with
him, since it was obvious he wasn’t going to help her by taking the
man away to be healed somewhere else, then she realized, “But how
can I explain who he is to them, when I have no idea?”

“Quite the dilemma,”
the physician said. He picked up his bag and moved to the door that
Foster was now holding open. “Give it a few days. Leave things
settle for now. That shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? Just
don’t give him any information about himself. Let him recall things
on his own.”

He’d ignored
everything she’d just told him. She knew absolutely nothing about
the intruder upstairs to tell him!

Foster was waiting for
her in the hallway. “So what did the physician say about our
captive?”

“Sh…” Tally
hushed him. He insisted on calling their intruder a “captive” and
she knew that once he had an idea in his head, it was hard to
persuade him otherwise. “Nothing helpful, I’m afraid.” She
spoke in low tones. “What are we going to do? He doesn’t remember
a thing and Dr. Graham says it will take lots of rest and time and …”
her lip trembled. “H…he…”

“There, there,
Missy,” The old man offered comfort in the only way he knew. He
patted her back a little awkwardly.

But she knew he was
anxious to hear the rest of what he’d overheard earlier.

“He…?” Foster
prompted. She paused and he growled impatiently, “Just spit it
out.”

She hated it when he
was annoyed with her, especially when she was already feeling guilty.
“It’s possible he might never get his memory back. And it’s all
my fault!” she wailed.

“Naturally. ‘Cuz ye
were the one climbing the wall into someone else’s window, weren’t
you?” He never passed up an opportunity to wield sarcasm, though he
usually reserved it for others.

“No, but I needn’t
have shot him.” She blamed herself for having reacted too slowly.
“If only I had run for help!”
Or slammed the window shut and locked it, why hadn’t she
thought of that?

“Really? And where
might you have done that? Out in the street perhaps? And whose
reputation would be lying in tatters today had ye done that?”

“I know, I know…”
she grumbled. “Still…”

“What you need to do
is find yerself a companion.”

“You know I can’t
afford to do that.”

“If I get hold of
those brothers of yours, I’m going to hang them up on the highest
tree by their toes! Stealing from their younger sister! Who ever
heard of gentlemen doing such a thing?”

At her wry look, he
muttered, “Any gentleman worth his salt, anyway. Them two ain’t
never been worth much.”

She’d have liked to
defend the twins against his harsh criticism but, in truth, she felt
the same way. Ever since she’d discovered they’d convinced her
attorney to put her inheritance and savings in their charge. She’d
immediately changed attorneys and was in the process of fighting to
get back control of her money, but the twins had left her well-laid
plans in shambles and now, with Monsieur’s disappearance, she had
only enough funds to keep going for perhaps another month. After
that, she’d be forced to go home to Evesham.

“Well, you see… the
doctor believed we were a couple. He must have thought that because I
was Mrs. Leighton, then Mr. Gordon had to be Mr. Leighton.”

Foster grumbled his
disapproval.

“When I told him we
weren’t married, that I don’t even know the man, he–”

“You told him yon
Gordon climbed in the window?” His eyes almost bulged out of his
face.

“No, of course not,”
she answered. “I told him the man had just arrived and claimed he
was a friend of my brothers and wanted to know if they were in Town.”

Her staunchest
supporter exhaled noisily. His obvious relief echoed her own that
she’d been able to come up with that story on the spur of the
moment. From now on, they had better work out their stories ahead of
time.

“He said I must not
tell... Mr. Gordon that we’re not married. The shock could harm him
so that he might never recover his memory.”

“That’s
outrageous!” Foster protested. “You can’t be pretending to be
wed to that man. He might have been climbing in to kill ye! Who cares
if he never remembers a blasted thing?”

“Yes, I know. But
isn’t there an expression that says it’s wise to keep your
enemies close?” she asked. “It occurred to me that, ‘keeping
him close’ will allow us to observe his actions. Don’t you
agree?”

“Agree? Hell no, I
don’t agree!” He made no secret of his disapproval. “And what
about yer reputation, Missy?”

“Monsieur already
told the attorneys renting us this house that I am a married lady. It
won’t hurt, for now, to pretend the intruder is my husband. That
will give him time to recover his memory,” she explained. “And we
can’t very well throw him out in the street.”

“And why in
dam…darnation not?” He expostulated.

“Shhh… We don’t
want him to hear you.” And before he could tell her he didn’t
give a fig, she swept forward and started down the stairs, giving him
no time to voice his arguments. “Besides, what can it hurt?”

“You’re making a
big mistake, Missy. Mark my words, this is going to come back to
haunt you,” he said, struggling a little for breath, but utterly
certain of his opinion. “You’d do better to throw him out while
ye can.”

She slowed down to
allow him to keep pace. “I’m not happy about it,” she
explained. “I’d rather he recovered his memory immediately and
crawled back to where he came from, but there isn’t much we can do
about it at the moment.” She didn’t mention her fascination with
their unwelcome visitor, her need to capture him in oils before he
disappeared. Foster didn’t need to know that.

“I still think you
need a companion,” he grumbled “but p’raps right now wouldn’t
be a good idea, ‘cuz if our captive attacks you and I have to kill
him, we don’t want a witness. Even if that cousin of yours does
arrive, might be you shouldn’t let her move in whilst that man is
here. You don’t know if she’s the type to go blathering about it
to everyone.” He paused. “And I’d hate to have to kill her
too!”

“Fo– ster!” She
had a hard time keeping a straight face. He was terrible!

“Just a little joke,
Missy.” He nudged her shoulder. “As you darn well know.”

“Cousin Minerva’s
ship should be arriving any day now and she’s counting on this
position.” He was right, though. What was she going to do if
Minerva’s ship arrived tomorrow?

“You’ve a soft
heart, Missy, that’s what you’ve got. It’s gonna get ye in
trouble one of these days,” he cautioned. “’Sides, she sure is
taking her time about getting here.”

“Not that it can
possibly be her fault. She’s not the one at the helm.”
Exasperated, she added, “You don’t need to worry. That man is in
no condition to ravish any one.”

“Humph!”

“Speaking of which, I
had better go prepare something for him to eat later. The sooner he
is better, the sooner he can leave.”

“We need a cook
almost more than a companion!” he complained, before shuffling off
to the kitchen.

Following along behind
him, she shook her head affectionately. He always had to have the
last word.

* * *

Reed was exhausted by
the doctor’s visit, he watched his wife lean down to tuck in the
covers around him.

“A thousand pardons,
madam, but I can’t seem to remember your name?” How lowering to
have to ask his own wife her name.

She looked about to
refuse to answer, then, thought better of it. “Talia.”

Talia
.
A little unusual. Italian. Ah… he remembered! He paused, hoping
more thoughts would present themselves to his injured brain. But
nothing came. He repeated her name in his mind.

Again, no bells of
recognition chimed. It awakened no memories, good or bad. He rubbed
his hand over his eyes. At least, she didn’t seem too upset at his
not knowing it.

“Are we in London for
the Season?”

She paused uncertainly.
“As to that, sir, I regret I cannot tell you.”

Stunned, he exclaimed,
“Why the devil not?”

“I’m sorry, but Dr.
Graham cautioned me not to provide you with information about
yourself.”

“But surely it will
help me start remembering who I am.” He sounded like a grouchy
child pleading with his mother for a treat, but he needed someone to
tell him more about who he was!

“You heard him.
Without realizing it, you might substitute my memories for yours and
never recover your own.” She straightened the covers again, though
they’d seemed fine to him.

“What if I never
remember anything?”

“I’m afraid I have
no good answer to that.” She spread her hands palm up indicating
she didn’t know what else to say, but he read sympathy in her eyes.
She backed up, darting him a quick look that told him she was afraid
he might reach for her… which had, in fact, occurred to him.

He sighed with
frustration. She knew her man, he thought wryly.

“Luckily, at the
moment, you have no fever.”

Fever? Why would a bump
on the head give him a fever?

She walked toward the
door. “Perhaps you’d like something to eat?”

He shook his head. His
stomach already felt queasy enough, without adding food to the mix.

“You truly recall
nothing?” She blurted out the question. No doubt she was having
trouble believing it. He sympathized, because he himself was having a
hard enough time believing it and he was the one with the blank
slate.

“Literally nothing.”
He closed his eyes. This losing one’s mind was a wearying business.
His eyes felt heavy and he wanted nothing more than to turn over and–

“You should get some
sleep.”

His eyes snapped open.
She was leaving him!

She didn’t look at
him, “Perhaps, by the time you awake, your memory will have
returned.” The door closed quietly behind her.

He had the strangest
sense she was not wishing for that nearly as much as he was.

* * *

“Looks inhabited.”
Jace Mallory clipped in a quiet voice. He glanced at the nursemaid
and two children making their way along the sidewalk on the other
side of the peaceful, house-lined street. The little boy was trying
to run ahead and the woman was holding his hand tighter than he
wanted, trying to force him to keep pace with them.

“Quiet, though.”
Max Blythe was peering at the townhouse that was their target, being
a little more obvious than he should. Jace’s warning elbow in the
side had Max grinning but he quickly turned his head forward. His
dandyish appearance might give the illusion he was nothing but a
dandy, but Jace knew there were few men he’d trust more to stand
beside him in battle.

Max’s carefully
groomed exterior and insouciant air hid a well-trained soldier who
was lethal with a knife. Beware the man who mistook him for easy
prey.

“Problem is we don’t
know if he’s in there. That has to be our first priority.” Jace
was uneasy. It was unlike Reed to give no sign of life. Particularly
when they were on the threshold of culminating the most important,
not to say the most dangerous and final piece of a long and difficult
investigation they’d been working on for almost two years now.

Reed should have
arrived back from Egypt well before this. Then, the night before
last, when some of the Spares met up at Sylvester’s — their usual
tippling spot — Kit pulled Jace aside and told him about the role
several of the Brotherhood had played in getting Reed safely to
London. Kit had been dismayed to hear that Jace and Max hadn’t
heard from Reed yet. Said he had been in such a rush to get those
documents back, it was damn odd they’d had no word from him.

And now, another day
had passed and still no news of him.

“Since we dare not
knock on either front or back doors, lest we be seen by the Vanisher
or his Horde, what do we plan to do?” Max asked. He cast another
furtive look at Reed’s house. “Seems odd that we haven’t seen a
single servant about the place.”

“We’ll have to
watch the house and bide our time to see how best to approach this.”

“My thoughts
exactly,” Max said. “But there’s no cover on this street.”

Jace glanced around.
“Let’s hope we can find a room or house to lease with a view of
his home. Until then, we can station ourselves near that large tree
over there.” He nodded in the direction of a huge plane tree
surrounded by a clump of shrubs, diagonally across and down the
street, just inside the entrance to the park.

“Not the best street
for us to go undetected, is it?” Max scrutinized the area.

Jace agreed. Inwardly,
he cursed Reed’s choice of neighborhood. This was a quiet, back
street. Quieter still because the Season hadn’t begun yet, and they
were going to stick out like sore thumbs, if he was unable to find a
place to rent. There was little activity on this street. Probably why
Reed had chosen it. Perfect place for him to paint in London.

“Right. But what we
want is for Reed to know we’re here. It’s the Vanisher and gang
we’re hoping won’t find us or him. The good thing is that, if
they do, they will be just as noticeable.” Jace looked around for
signs of any one watching them. “I’ll begin looking for a house
to rent.” He looked toward the end of the street where a wooden
cart hawking hot gingerbread was located near the entrance to the
park. The area was so tranquil, the vendor was napping on his little
wooden stool, not even watching for potential customers. “At least
we’ll be able to find something to eat.”