The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (8 page)

She reached for her
paintbrush, held it poised above the canvas, ready to start. Seconds
stretched into minutes. Sighing, she lowered her hand. She set down
the brush and went to sit on the padded window-seat, and picked up
her sketch book and pencil. She needed the peace that being in the
studio and drawing always provided. Lord knows, she had plenty of
contradictory emotions to soothe this morning.

Thoughts of his
possessive kiss had kept her awake most of the night. She still felt
his warm hands gently but firmly framing her face as he softly
caressed her lips with his.

Stop it! This was no
way to calm her nerves. Just the memory of it had her in a dither.

Memory, yes. What a
laugh! She had too much of it and Reed had too little.

One thing was clear —
he was a mystery she had to solve to regain some peace of mind.

Her hand was moving
across the page without much attention paid to it. Drawing usually
quieted her nerves, but this morning it was not working. Suddenly
focusing on her sketch, she grimaced but wasn’t really surprised to
see yet another drawing of Reed’s face, this one with laughing eyes
tempting her with a sultry invitation to sin.

“Are ye planning on
eating anytime soon, Missy?”

Dropping her sketch
book, she jumped to her feet, hand to her chest. “Must you startle
me so? Luckily I wasn’t painting or gobs of it would be splattered
all over the wall.” She moved to the easel, almost knocking it over
in her haste. She steadied it with both hands, before hastily draping
a cover over it.

Not that Foster ever
entered the studio to view her work. In fact, he almost never came
this close, if he could help it. The smell of turpentine bothered
him. Even so, this latest painting was... um... special. She didn’t
want to chance any body glimpsing it.

So why had he’d
climbed all the way up the three flights now? She rolled her
shoulders to relax them. He was worried about her. He always sensed
when she was upset.

“Why didn’t you get
Joseph to come up?” she admonished him lightly. “We hired him to
do the running.”

“Needed to stretch me
legs,” he grunted. He’d never admit to being in pain, but his
occasional crankiness and the frequent winces he thought she didn’t
notice, gave it away. “So are ye ready to eat or not?”

She paused, “I’m
finished for now, so I might as well eat with Mr. Gordon in his
room.”

“D’ye think that’s
wise?” Foster remained resolutely in the doorway.

“It may not be wise,
Foster,” she responded dryly, “but the man believes he’s my
husband and we don’t want him to know otherwise at the moment. It
seems my only course.”

“Humph.” He turned
to go back downstairs.

“I’ll come down to
get the tray,” she called to his departing back. “Joseph is not
steady with a tray yet.”

As he left the studio,
Foster muttered loud enough for her to hear, “Just see
you
don’t start believing he’s your husband, Missy. Then we’ll all
be in real hot water.”

Reed heard her swift
footsteps and the brisk swish of her gown approaching. He’d been
waking on and off, waiting for those sounds, since the sun had come
up. This was his … well, he wasn’t quite sure how many days he’d
awakened to no memory. His head felt as light as a cloud and as foggy
as one too. Maybe it was only his second morning of remembering
nothing. Already, even hampered by this heavy drowsiness constantly
blanketing him, he was chafing at the physician’s dictates.

“And how are we this
morning?” His wife sailed into the room like a tiny, graceful
skiff, a breakfast tray in her hands.

“
We
aren’t too pleased to be left waiting for your company or my
breakfast,” he retorted and was gratified to see his little beauty
flush.

He was thankful,
though, that his newborn memory hadn’t played him false. His wife
was indeed exquisite. Despite their kisses, it had been too dark in
the room last night to see her properly, but today, he was well
pleased with what he saw.

“I see you are able
to sit up. Good.” Placing the tray on the small table that had been
set up for his use, she turned to look at him, a bland smile on her
face.

“Ah, you’re going
to ignore my bad temper.” He nodded. “Smart woman.” He was in
an odd mood and shouldn’t be taking it out on Talia, his beloved
spouse, about whom he remembered… strictly nothing!

Curses! That was what
having a suspicious nature led to, not believing any–

Wait! He’d just
recalled he was a suspicious man! Relief flowed through him. Maybe it
wouldn’t be too long. Maybe by the end of the day, he’d know who
he was and what the devil had happened to put him in this helpless
position.

There! Another thing
he’d recalled — he didn’t like being vulnerable. Perhaps he
should start keeping a list of his memories, so he wouldn’t forget
them all over again.

Still, one thing he did
know, being bad-tempered was not the way to charm a woman. “Come,
sit, my Talia. Tell me what you do with your days.” He saw her
hesitation and quickly added, “Surely the good doctor won’t
quibble with that. If you were a stranger, I’d still want to know
what you found interesting to do with your day.”

She was no doubt
finding the strain of not telling him things about himself and his
life difficult to maintain. That was probably why she stayed away. He
sensed she was an open, truthful kind of person, which must make
remaining mute about him doubly difficult.

“I vow to be on my
best behavior. I shan’t pry or ask questions you can’t answer.”
He pasted an innocent look on his face. “I promise.”

She lifted a
disbelieving eyebrow… but he knew she was holding back a smile.

“I know, I know. It
will be difficult... maybe even impossible... but I’ll give it a
good try.” Reed decided that while he was busy recovering his
memory, he’d work on pleasing his wife. The more he got to know
her, the better chance he had of recalling why he’d married her,
and that might help him remember who he was and what his former life
was like. He might even coax some vital information out of his lovely
spouse.

At the moment, that
tempting, pint-sized female was doing her best not to stare at him.

He understood the
feeling. The minute she entered a room, his eyes found it just about
impossible to look elsewhere.

She had a distinctive
beauty. It came mostly from her large brown eyes. Shy and doe-like,
they looked almost surprised to find themselves laughing. When they
did, it felt like the sun was shining in his room, on this gray,
misty day.

That was her special
gift, he decided. That and her serene presence and quiet dignity
steadied him as he stumbled about in the darkness of his mind. Her
kindness and caring kindled a warm feeling in him. Whoever he was, he
sensed he hadn’t known much of these commodities in recent times.
Perhaps that was why he’d married her. Or maybe she was being
especially caring on account of his memory loss.

If that was the case,
he might not mind being without his recollections.

No, no, that wouldn’t
do. He had this strong sense there was an important reason he had to
know who he was and fast. His hand came up to rub the back of his
neck.

A noise at the door had
her fine, dark eyes turning to smile at the old curmudgeon, Foster,
who entered with a second, lighter tray on which sat a pot of hot
tea. He was quickly followed by a young boy, no more than eight or
nine, bearing a tray of rattling cups and saucers. Reed swallowed a
smile. It took three of them to serve one meal! Where, he wondered
absently, were the maids?

The sudden growling of
his stomach told him that, after eating almost nothing for however
many days, he was ready for his breakfast. Seeing how full the trays
were, though, he exclaimed, “Surely you can’t expect me to eat
all that!”

Talia chuckled lightly.
“I’m going to share your meal with you this morning, if you want
my company.”

There was that warmth
welling inside him again, as she gave him one of her rare smiles.

“Definitely!” He
returned her smile and was surprised to see a rosy tint seep into her
cheeks. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since he’d been
with a young lady who blushed so innocently.

Well, naturally not,
you fool. If he couldn’t recall anything at all, he certainly
wouldn’t be able to remember that.

Her air of calm
assurance had misled him into thinking her older. Odd that his wife
still colored at his smile. She must surely have been on the
receiving end of many.

Tally wished she didn’t
blush so easily. He’d think her a ninny. Bad enough she had to
constantly be on her guard not to inadvertently say the wrong thing,
without acting like a silly miss with mash for brains.

“I’m not accustomed
to spending so much time inactive.” He stopped, an arrested look on
his face. “I just remembered something!” He sat up straighter.
“Have you some writing paper and a pencil handy?”

At her startled look,
he gave a rueful smile, “No, I haven’t remembered someone I need
to write to. I’ve been thinking I should keep track of the memories
that come back to me… in case I forget them again just as quickly.”

“It seems we are of
similar minds. I brought some with me.” She held up several sheets
of paper and, smiling shyly, she handed them over with a pencil. “I
thought we might try to… um… find some of your memories and I
will write them down.”

“I can do that.” He
reached for the paper and pencil, but lost his balance and slid
sideways.

Tally rushed forward
and put her arm around his shoulders to steady him.

She was surprised to
realize he was shaking. Concerned, she bent to see his demeanor. He
looked sheepish and was laughing quietly at his inability to sit
properly by himself. She held her breath, riveted by the twinkle
sparkling in his expressive eyes.

“Pretty bad when a
fellow can’t even sit up straight by himself.” At her continued
silence, he said, “Don’t worry. I’m feeling a bit light-headed.
To tell the truth, I’ve been dizzy ever since regaining
consciousness.”

Now she was the
embarrassed one. That darn laudanum was the reason for his addled
state, she knew. She wished she could reduce the dose she was giving
him but the doctor said their uninvited guest needed plenty of rest
to recover his memory.

Handing him the paper
and pencil, she acknowledged it was also essential to their nightly
changing of the bandages covering his gunshot wound. She wasn’t
ready for him to discover that she’d shot him yet.

Foster had placed his
tray on the table alongside hers and was removing the empty crockery
tray that Joseph had brought. As they left the room together, she
heard him tell the boy that he’d done a good job.

“It’s rather plain
fare, I’m afraid,” she said of the bowl of porridge, accompanied
by bread and cheese. “Our cook is ill.” A little white lie
shouldn’t condemn her to Hades.

“Coffee or tea?”
she asked.

“Coffee.”

“That was quick.
Another memory?”

“What? Why, yes…I
guess.” His lips quirked up at the ends in a pleased smile.

The laughter lines on
his face told her he must smile and laugh a lot. She envied him that.
She’d always taken life far too seriously.

He pulled the sheaf of
paper close and wrote on it.

His solid forearms
fascinated her. She loved the visible strength in them. He’d be the
ideal model for sculpting an ancient Greek strong man. Gracious! She
was awash with random, silly ideas this morning. She’d never felt
such exhilaration in a man’s presence. She seemed on the verge of
discovering something new and the anticipation rising in her
bedeviled her common sense.

There was an awkward
silence. She felt tongue-tied, not knowing what to say to him. She
was relieved when he said, “Why don’t you tell me something about
yourself. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

She paused wondering
what she could tell him. “Maybe I can tell you about my Great Aunt
Ida. She was a wonderful woman.”

“Did I know her?”
he asked eagerly.

She paused. “No, no,
you never met her. She died many years ago now, but I miss her every
day.”

Reed watched his wife
talking about this lady who clearly held an important place in her
heart. He drank in the affection he heard in her voice, ate up her
fond smiles. If she lavished such loving attention on him, he’d be
a happy man.

Not
without your memory, you wouldn’t be.
Grimacing at his
one-track mind, he knew he’d never be content if his recollections,
good and bad, didn’t resurface. He felt unmanned, like an
incomplete person.

He was thankful that at
least he was in good hands. What must it be like to lose one’s
memory among strangers? He shuddered at the thought. He lifted his
hand to brush the hair back from his face. Damn but he was tired.

Tally stopped talking.
She’d lost her audience. Her listener’s mind had evidently
wandered off on a side trip.

If only it were
possible to talk freely! Having to constantly guard her tongue made
for uncomfortable conversation. She had to watch her every word, her
every thought.

“Shall I stop?”

“Pardon?” He was
lost for a few more seconds and then looked sheepish. “Please
accept my humble apologies. My mind seems incapable of concentrating
on anything for very long before, like a homing pigeon, it harkens
back to my lost memory.” His hand scrubbed at his forehead. “My
attention is scattered.”

“I understand. You
knocked your head very hard. It’s going to take some time to
recover.”

“I don’t have
time!” he expostulated, greatly agitated.