The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (7 page)

“Want me to take the
first watch?” Max’s offer held a trace of reluctance and Jace
recalled Max had arranged an assignation with a widow he was hoping
to convince to become his mistress. They’d been in Egypt much
longer than expected and his previous one had given up on him and
found a new patron.

“No, that’s fine.
I’ll take first watch.” He increased his pace now that they had a
plan. “If you hang around for another hour, I’ll just go home and
pick up a few things.”

“Going to bring along
the Bear?” Max asked in amusement.

Jace raised a sardonic
eyebrow. So he was attached to the big mongrel. Why Max should find
it so funny, Jace didn’t know. Probably because he didn’t seem
the kind of man who’d be devoted to his pet. “No. Too
conspicuous.”

Max burst out laughing.
“Can’t imagine why you’d think that!”

Jace grinned back. “But
I have to make sure he’s taken care of while I’m here. Also, I
want to bring something to eat and drink.”

“You think we’re
going to be here awhile?”

Jace continued walking
past Reed’s house, his hands in his pockets, looking like he was
merely out for a stroll. “We’ll give him a day or two, but if he
hasn’t delivered those documents by then, we have to find a way to
get into that house. We can’t just sit around waiting for the
Vanisher to find him first!”

* * *

Was he ever going to
wake up again? Standing in front of her easel in the studio, Tally
dipped her brush into the paint on her palette and placed a dot of
cerulean at the inner corner of the eye.
What
if she had given him too much laudanum and killed him?

She hated to pester
Foster to verify that their uninvited guest was still breathing, but
it didn’t seem normal that he’d sleep so soundly all day long.
And she didn’t dare go see him again. She’d already been several
times and Foster was not pleased about it. He was certain the man had
been breaking in to kill her and didn’t want her giving him a
second chance!

Not content with
shooting the man, she might now have finished him off with the
laudanum!

On the other hand, if
he awoke and had his memory back, he should be thankful she hadn’t
let Foster throw him in the coal cellar or out in the street.

What was she going to
do if he never recovered his memory? She hadn’t a clue how to go
about finding out who he was. Surely, when he didn’t come home,
someone would be looking for him?

Hearing St.
Marylebone’s bells chiming for evensong, she put down her brush.
Her hands ached from holding her palette and brush for too long. Her
light was fading and she was having trouble concentrating on her
painting. She moved to her work table and spent some time cleaning
her brushes and then draped a cover over the canvas and made her way
downstairs.

Her stomach growled,
reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much since breakfast. Her
cramped hands were the price she was paying for spending the entire
day up in the studio. She knew it wasn’t smart, but once started,
she became so engrossed she couldn’t stop until she had more than
just an outline. And it had been the only way to distract herself
from fretting over their uninvited guest!

“It’s about time.
You’ve had nothing to eat all day.”

She gave a startled cry
and almost missed a stair. “Do you think frightening me to death is
going to resolve our problems?”

“Hmmm… never
thought of that,” Foster mused in his mordant fashion. “Mebbe
I’ll save that for another time.”

“Oh you…” She
rubbed her sore hands as they walked toward the kitchen. “Something
smells good.”

“Even a rotten turnip
would smell good when yer stomach is as empty as yours must be.”

She stuck her tongue
out at him, then went to see what was in the pot on the stove. “Ugh!”
She grimaced at him and he shrugged his shoulders. She was heartily
sick of broth. Bread, broth and cheese. These were their main staples
since arriving in London, a fortnight ago.

Nevertheless, she ate
them without dwelling too much on what she was eating. Her childhood
had prepared her for this. “Anything new?” she said.

“If you’re asking
if our captive has awakened again, the answer is no.”

“I think we should
try to wake him.” She finished her bread. “Surely he has slept
long enough?” She swallowed. “What if…?”

“Ye didn’t give him
too much. He’s just sleeping to fix his brain, like the doctor
said.”

Foster always seemed to
know what was worrying her.

“That was one hell of
a knock he got on his head,” he added, “But if it will make you
feel any better, I’ll go up and see if I can rouse him. Then, mebbe
a bit of broth might do the man some good.”

* * *

Tally pushed the
half-opened door with her shoulder and held the tray of broth, bread
and tea in her hands. She had her head down and eyes on the soup to
ensure no spills. Just as well, or she might have dropped the tray at
the sight of the empty bed. By the time she noticed, she again had
both hands on the tray.

Her head spun around
the room looking for the intruder. Although she didn’t want to
treat the man like a prisoner, the way that Foster did, she wasn’t
about to lose sight of the fact that he’d entered their home
unannounced and uninvited.

Once again, she looked
behind the door. There he was. He must lead a dangerous life to think
of hiding behind the door whenever he heard a sound.

Of course, he led a
perilous existence! If climbing through a window into someone else’s
home wasn’t precarious, she didn’t know what was.

“What are you doing
there? You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” she scolded. “But if
you do get up, at least, sit in the armchair.” No need to make him
think of her as his nanny by insisting he remain in bed. “I’ve
brought you some chicken broth to build up your strength. You must be
hungry.”

“Hmm… I didn’t
think I was, but the smell is making my stomach growl.”

Her heart skipped a few
beats. He looked rumpled and drowsy, yet no less of a threat to her
senses. How did he do that? She was certain she looked a veritable
frump when she awoke.

“Good. Shall I set it
up here on this little table or would you like to have it in bed?”
As she asked, she put the tray down on a side table and shook her
hands to get the circulation running.

“I’d like to say at
the table, but the truth is I’m feeling a little dizzy and was
holding onto the wall to stay upright.”

“Here, let me help
you.” She went to him. He slung his arm over her shoulders and she
put her arm around his waist, leaning in to lend him some support. He
was a lot taller than she was, so it was a bit awkward. They limped
across the room to the bed, where she expected him to sit once she
moved away. Instead, he turned her to face him. “Hello, wife.” He
leaned down as if it were the most natural thing in the world and
planted a kiss on her lips.

Shocked, she stood
motionless, not even thinking of backing up. His lips were soft and
gentle on hers. She’d always wondered what being kissed would feel
like. Now she knew.

Liked it!

Felt like saying,
‘More. Please.’

She recalled her
sisters discussing the merits of one man’s kiss over another’s.
What had they said? One gentleman’s kiss was too tight-lipped.
Another’s too sloppy.

Reed’s kiss hadn’t
been either. The warm, soft texture of his lips was pleasing. Very
pleasing.

Were most men’s
kisses very pleasing? Did one have to sample to know?

Deciding to get value
for her shock, she lifted her hand to curve around his neck and drew
him closer. This time she initiated the kiss. But she didn’t have
to do more than place her lips against his, before he wrapped his
arms around her and gave himself up to kissing her in earnest.

Help!
She was getting a little more than she had bargained for.
Don’t
be alarmed
, she told herself. He’s ill, so he can’t
really overpower you if you push him hard or call for Foster.

Then they’d hang
Foster for shooting a man!

She eased back and
pressed lightly against his chest. Hmmm… she longed to smooth her
hands across that wide expanse. His chest was far better than those
of any of the foppish models her sculptor brothers paid to sit for
them.

She leaned in a little
closer. He slid his lips away from hers and followed a sensitive
chord down the side of her neck before stopping. He set his forehead
against hers and his multi-hued eyes gazed into hers. He crossed his
to indicate he was dazzled by their kiss.

She surprised herself
by laughing aloud. She didn’t often do that. Not often enough. It
felt good and she found she quite liked a man who was able to laugh
at himself.

“Come on.” She
pushed him gently to sit down on the bed. He looked worn out. “I’ll
feed you. You look ready to fall asleep.”

“Don’t know what’s
wrong with me. Why am I so sleepy?”

She sat down on the bed
beside him and fed him a few spoonfuls. She coaxed him to eat a small
chunk of bread. He was struggling to stay awake. Finally, he just let
himself drop backwards onto the mattress. She put the bowl and spoon
down and stood to lift the covers over him.

“My mind doesn’t
remember you, Brown Eyes,” he murmured, half-asleep, “but my
heart pounds every time you’re near.” He slanted a lazy
half-smile. “Clearly, it recognizes its mate.”

Her heart was doing a
fair bit of thumping of its own as she shut the door to his room and
walked slowly to the stairs. What was his heart going to do when it
discovered that not only were they not mates, they’d never even met
before! And, worse, she was the one who had shot him!

* * *

The man standing
upstairs in Antoine Moreau’s studio was startled by the loud knock
at the front door. His nerves jangled.

Who could that be?
Antoine!
Non, impossible!
Don’t be ridiculous! Of course it can’t be! He moved quietly to
the window. Guilt did strange things to a man. Even had him jumping
to impossible conclusions.

He was thankful that,
earlier, he’d opened the shutter and window a crack to let out the
stale air, redolent with the strong odor of oil paints and
turpentine. Now, he was able to peer down and see the very young
servant boy who knocked a second and third time before running back
to the awaiting hackney.

He tried to catch a
glimpse of who was talking to the boy, but the carriage curtains were
too well drawn. Then he heard a distinctly female voice complain,
“Why didn’t he leave a note telling us when he was going to
return?”

Who was this woman and
what did she want with Antoine? She must be the one he’d been told
was coming by, almost daily, looking for the painter. He’d risked
coming here today to see who was being such a persistent fly in the
ointment but she wasn’t showing herself.

He heard resignation in
her voice. “Another wasted trip. Come on then, Joseph, we’ll try
again another day.” He watched the young boy hop, with great
agility, onto the back of the carriage and then the hackney moved
off.

“
La
maudite!
” he cursed her aloud. He’d hoped keeping the
studio closed would discourage any one from paying a call. Damn her
insistence! What was so urgent? He’d even given his men orders to
scare her off. If they’d done their jobs properly, she should have
been too frightened to come back here.

He was puzzled. Antoine
was not into women. And if she had been a lady scheduled for a
sitting, surely he’d have seen it in Antoine’s agenda. Whoever
she was, she had to cease pestering him with her continued visits to
the studio. This was the kind of neighborhood where the artisans all
knew each other and each others’ business. Lisette Girouard next
door was inquisitive by nature, but now she was even more so because
Antoine usually asked her and Francois to watch his home.

Footsteps stomped up
the stairs. His men entered the room. The short, dumpy one went over
to lift several large frames, while his giant of a partner stopped to
say, “We waited ‘til she were gone. Didn’t want her to see us.”

“You promised me she
wouldn’t bother us anymore,” the man complained to the larger of
the two thugs. Although it wasn’t saying much, the behemoth to whom
he’d addressed his complaint was the smarter of the two.

“Yeh. She’s been
lucky so far,” the giant grumbled.

“For now, there’s
an easy solution.” He was going to have to do what he’d wanted to
avoid. “I’ll place a note on the door explaining that Moreau will
be gone for several weeks. That should keep her away for long
enough.”

Up until now, he hadn’t
left a note because he didn’t want Lisette, the nosy neighbor, to
read it. He’d hoped it would prove unnecessary. Antoine had no
meetings scheduled in his appointment book and rarely received
callers at his studio. But now, because of that unknown lady, he’d
have to risk it so that she got the point. He’d rather not have to
resort to stronger tactics.

* * *

‘…
my
heart pounds every time you’re near. It recognizes its mate.’
Reed’s startling words were still in the forefront of her mind as
Tally stood, not really focusing on the large canvas in front of her.
The only scene she saw was the one that kept recurring in her dreams.
The one where she’d remained motionless, silently staring at him
after he’d uttered those words. She’d been shocked at the image
they conjured and, even more stunned at how much she wished they were
true!

She didn’t want to
feel like that. She had important plans and he didn’t fit into
them. No man did! And what if he really did want to kill her once his
memory returned?

Shaking off such
disturbing thoughts, she brought her attention back to the studio and
her painting. The sun was now high in the sky. Going to Moreau’s
this morning had made her miss the early morning light and, since her
return, she’d accomplished little.