Marriage of Lies

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “Yes,” Wakefield said flatly. “I’d spare you that, if I can.”

  Sharla closed her eyes for a moment, her heart beating with sick little jerks.

  Rhys nodded. “I will return to the office and pretend that all is as it should be. Thank you, Wakefield. Send word to my offices on Middle Temple Lane, when there’s a change?”

  “Of course,” Wakefield said.

  Rhys turned and left. Sharla picked up her hoop and moved toward the door.

  “Sharla, no. I need you to stay and help me.”

  She turned back, stunned. “Me?”

  Wakefield nodded. “Can you remain steady at the sight of blood?”

  “More than most men I know,” Sharla said.

  Wakefield’s smile was instant and quickly gone. “Then you must stay with me, for reasons I won’t explain just now. I will need help to strip him. Will the sight of bare flesh bother you?”

  Sharla looked at Ben’s blood-stained face. “If what I’m doing will help, I will bear anything.”

  “Good girl,” Wakefield said. “Roll up your pretty sleeves if you can. This will be messy.”

  With Wakefield directing her, Sharla helped him remove Ben’s clothes so they could see the extent of the damage, as Ben could not tell them. She had wondered what Ben looked like beneath his trousers. The sight of him now, lying helplessly on the sheet, did not seem quite real.

  She realized what Dane was doing. The swelling received rags soaked in ice water. The rags were constantly refreshed. The cuts were washed and bandages put over them. Swollen joints—including Ben’s left knee, which was twice the size of the other—Dane wrapped bandages about tightly.

  “He may end up with a permanent limp, later,” Dane breathed, as he worked. “It seems someone kicked the side of his knee. There’s a deep bruise right here beside the kneecap.” Then, after a moment, he added; “They were vicious, whoever they were.”

  “Is it very bad?” Sharla whispered.

  Dane glanced at her. “I’ve seen worse.”

  The work went on. Dane rolled Ben onto his stomach and examined his back, which was bloody and raw. “Dragged along cobbles,” he said softly.

  Sharla shuddered.

  “Ask Mayerick for Cook’s pot of lard. We’ll put that on the burns,” Dane told her.

  She tugged the bell-pull and waited at the door to pass on Dane’s request.

  “I’ll need your sewing box, Sharla,” Dane added, probing at something on Ben’s back.

  She shuddered and hurried to her bedroom to collect her sewing box and returned. “Shall I thread a needle?” she asked Dane, trying to keep her voice steady, as he bent over Ben’s back.

  “Yes, please. Your stoutest needle and strongest thread.”

  Ignoring what Dane intended to do with the needle and thread, she bit off a yard of silk embroidery floss and threaded it.

  She made herself watch Dane stitch the deep cut just under Ben’s right shoulder blade, despite her fluttering heart and uneasy stomach. She did not yet know why this had happened to Ben, although she could not rid herself of the notion that it was in some way her fault.

  Finally, it was all done. Every wound was tended. Tired, her back aching, Sharla helped Dane remove the bloody sheet from beneath Ben, then roll him out of the way and place a clean one beneath him.

  Dane directed her to go to his room and take a pair of underdrawers from the chest under the window.

  Her cheeks burning, Sharla followed his instructions. She brought back the undergarment and wordlessly help him put them on Ben.

  “A night shirt would irritate the wound on his back,” Dane explained. “This will do for now.”

  Sharla could not meet Dane’s eyes. Of everything she had done this day, handling his intimate garments and putting them on Ben was the first time she had felt any awkwardness.

  Dane glanced at her. “I believe I now understand what your family meant when they told me about your courage. I’ve asked a lot of you today. Thank you.”

  Sharla swallowed. “I should thank you. You did not have to do any of this. I could have called a doctor.”

  “And had all of London know what happened to Ben inside a day. No. Your family does not deserve that type of gossip.” Dane dropped the covers over Ben and straightened his shirt sleeves. “It will be noon and lunchtime in six minutes. I will stay here and watch him for a while. You go and eat.”

  “I should be the one to stay. It will look strange if you do not eat lunch at the table as usual,” Sharla told him.

  Dane considered her. “Courageous and clever, too. Very well.” He moved toward the door. As he passed, he placed his hand on her shoulder.

  It was a comradely gesture. Sharla understood that. Yet her heart squeezed in surprise and an odd pleasure. She had earned his approval.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ben didn’t want to wake. It was pleasant and pain-free, right where he was. Yet he could sense himself drawing to the surface of sleep. He would soon wake.

  He had woken before. Not for long. There were impressions of darkness and warmth. A cool hand on his forehead. Whispers. The trickle of water in his mouth, bringing relief to his parched throat.

  For a long while, though, nothing at all.

  As he drew closer to the surface, he heard small sounds. Leaves rustling, muffled. On the other side of a window, then.

  Another soft rustle. One he recognized. The page of a book turned. This sound was near.

  The tick of a clock, steady and deep.

  And there was a smell…he reached for it. Sampled it.

  Rosewater.

  Sharla.

  He opened his eyes, then realized he had been able to open them. He was looking up at a ceiling that was not his own. The clock and the unfamiliar chatter of leaves outside a window had already warned him he was not in his rooms, the last place he remembered.

  He turned his head toward the window. Sharla sat in a black lacquered chair, her boots on the seat and her knees against her chest, the yards of green muslin gown tucked around them. A heavy volume rested on the flat arm of the chair. Her gaze was down and her fingers tangled with a loose lock of her hair, twining and twisting it.

  “Sharla.” His voice was weak, too.

  She looked up, her eyes widening. Then they glittered and tears spilled as she stared at him.

  “Ah, don’t cry,” Ben whispered, appalled. “Please. I don’t know what to do with myself when you cry.”

  “You make it sound as though I cry all the time,” she whispered back.

  “Around me, you do. Mostly because of me,” he added.

  “Including this time. Oh, Ben…” She sat on the edge of the bed next to him and wiped her cheeks. “You scared us!”

  “Us?” Uneasiness touched his middle.

  “Your father, Ben. He’s the one who found you. And, well…” She pressed her lips together.

  “What is it you’re not saying?” Ben demanded, trying to sit. His entire body throbbed, warning him to not attempt it again. He fell back against the pillow. “Oh, my sweet Jesus…”

  Sharla pressed her hand to his shoulder, which was bare, he realized in a disjointed way. She was touching his bare shoulder.

  “Where the hell am I?” he ground out. “What happened? I had the cab drop me at my rooms…”

  “That was four days ago, Ben.”

  He stared at her. “Four days?”

  “You were in a bad way.” She pressed her lips together.

  “What is it you keep stepping around?” Ben asked.

  “Your father didn’t want to scare your mother by bringing you home,” Sharla said. “He didn’t want her to know what had happened to you at all—not until you were well enough to speak to her and reassure her yourself, at least. So he brought you here.”

  Ben rolled his head to look at the big, Georgian style window. “This is Wakefield’s house?”

  Sharla nodded.

  He groped beneath the light eiderdown. There were
bandages around his arms and legs and his belly. His back ached. His knee ached more. Everything hurt. “You had a doctor tend me?”

  Sharla shook her head.

  “You?” Ben breathed.

  “Dane did. I only helped.”

  “Your husband?” His voice rose.

  Sharla twirled the little lock of hair in quick, tight circles. “He seemed to know what he was doing.”

  Ben stopped trying to sit up, with a gusty exhalation. “Four days and the world has turned upside down,” he muttered. “The Duke of Wakefield transmogrified into a doctor.”

  “He was good at it,” Sharla admitted. She moved along the edge of the bed until her hip was level with his shoulder. Her fingers slid through his hair and her touch was like a balm, spreading relief. “Thank God he was. I thought I’d lost you, Ben.” Her eyes filled with tears once more.

  She leaned and kissed him. The scent of rosewater washed over him. Her soft lips briefly touched his. Too briefly.

  Then she got to her feet. “I will send word to your father. Rhys will want to know you’re awake. You must stay in bed for a while, Ben. There is no rush. You can stay for as long as you want.”

  A tension he hadn’t been aware of departed. “I’d feel better hearing it from Wakefield, Sharla. I’ve been a monstrous imposition already, by the sound of it.”

  “Dane did say it. He said you would be too sore to move much or far, for some days and we mustn’t rush you.”

  Dane. Before this day, he had always been Wakefield when Sharla spoke of him.

  A different type of tension budded in Ben’s chest.

  “I must tell Dane you’re awake, too,” Sharla added. “Don’t fall asleep until he sees you. I’m sure he will want to speak to you.”

  She walked from the room, her hem trailing gracefully.

  Ben resisted the need to call her back and keep her right there with him. It seemed she did not need his type of protection, though.

  She had Wakefield.

  * * * * *

  Sharla tapped on Dane’s library door and opened the door just enough to insert herself a step into the room.

  Dane looked up from the papers in front of him and lowered the pen.

  “Ben just woke,” Sharla told him. “I thought you might like to know.”

  She shut the door once more and climbed back up to the first floor. This time, she continued past the guest room where she had spent many hours the last few days. Instead, she went into her bedroom and over to her Coromandel jewelry box. It was a big box, that sat upon its own small round table. She had a smaller box for travelling. This one had many drawers and compartments. It was lined in dark purple velvet, which was why she had chosen it.

  There was a deep drawer at the bottom of the box. She opened it and pushed aside the lace handkerchief and withdrew the small bottle of Laudanum.

  The wax seal on the cork had not yet been broken. Vivian had been understanding when Sharla asked her for another bottle. There had been a hint of pleasure in her smile, too. She had provided the new bottle immediately, taking it from a cupboard in her boarding room.

  Sharla held the bottle up to the window, looking at the contents. The liquid was pale yellow.

  After all, why shouldn’t she indulge? Vivian said it was harmless and the last few days had been trying beyond measure. Sitting watching Ben’s still body while trying to guess what had happened to him and how she was complicit had taxed her nerves. There were still no answers. She was tired, for she had not slept for longer than an hour or two and usually sitting upright in the chair beside Ben’s bed.

  When he had woken just now, she had felt such a deep relief. Her love for him soared, rich and strong. Along with it had returned the crushing fog of guilt.

  Sharla shook the bottle. Why was she hesitating? Simply remove the cork and sip. She should water it down. Only, Vivian had said it would do no harm to be taken as it was, in small doses.

  She wanted to feel better and the Laudanum would ensure that.

  The knock on the door preceded the door opening by less than a heartbeat. Dane stepped in, his hand on the handle. “Sharla, I—”

  He had seen the bottle. Sharla had not had time to hide it in her pocket or the jewelry box. He’d entered too quickly.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “Nothing. A nostrum for headaches, that is all.” She held the bottle by her side, where the folds of her skirt hid it.

  Dane shut the door gently. He seemed to be thinking hard. The furrow between his thick black brows was deep. He moved across the carpet in slow steps, coming closer. “Did Vivian give you this nostrum?” he asked.

  “Why, yes,” Sharla said, surprised.

  Dane held out his hand. “Show me.”

  Sharla hesitated.

  “If it is a mere nostrum, then there is no harm in showing me.”

  Reluctantly, she put the bottle in his hand. He turned it to read the label. “Laudanum,” he said, his voice flat.

  “It is harmless,” Sharla said, not sure why she was attempting to justify possessing the thing.

  “Is it?” he asked. “How do you know? Is that what Vivian told you?”

  Sharla bit her lip. “Yes.”

  His smile lacked all warmth. “Do you know what Laudanum is, Sharla?”

  Feeling foolish, she shook her head.

  “It comes from the same plant from which opium is extracted.” He weighed the bottle in his hand. “I have seen good friends die from either too much opium or too little of it. It destroyed their lives before they died.”

  “Only, this is not opium,” Sharla said, her heart sinking.

  “I know doctors freely prescribe it. It is a miracle cure, according to them and everyone who uses it. Only, have you noticed, Sharla, that everyone who swears by its efficacy have never tried to stop using it?”

  Sharla swallowed. “I know of no one else who uses it. Only Vivian.”

  “You may be surprised by who does. People you consider friends, who hide their bottles away, ashamed because they cannot go a day without their tinctures.” He glanced at the jewelry box and the open drawer.

  Sharla’s cheeks heated.

  He hefted the bottle again. “The seal on this bottle is unbroken. Is this the first bottle Vivian gave to you?”

  Sharla answered honestly. “I threw the first one out after one use. Although…” She cleared her throat. “I found myself constantly thinking about how nice it would be to take more.”

  Dane nodded. There was no judgement in his face, or condemnation. Just a sad knowledge. “Exactly.”

  Sharla dropped her gaze to the floor. She felt far beyond foolish now.

  “I regret introducing you to Vivian,” Dane said. “That association will end, now. She has not been a friend, pressing this upon you. Can you see that, Sharla?”

  Sharla nodded.

  “I did not come here to expose your little secret, although I am glad I did. I wanted to speak to you in the privacy of your room, where we can be uninterrupted, before I speak to Benjamin.”

  Sharla’s throat prickled with the same heat as her face. From one awkward discussion to the most uncomfortable subject possible. She wished she might sit, yet she kept no chair in her room and sitting upon the bed in Dane’s presence would be inappropriate.

  She chewed her lip.

  Dane did not seem to notice her increased agitation. “You know Ben well,” he said. “I believe you are closer to him than anyone in the world clearly understands.”

  It was as bad as she had expected. Sharla twined her fingers, wishing she was anywhere but in this room right now. There was no escape, though. She lifted her chin. “Ben watched over me, as I grew up.”

  “While you challenged him at every turn. Yes, I saw that in Cornwall. It is because of that closeness that I stand here now. Ben is stubborn, Sharla. He will not tell me an uncomfortable truth unless I confront him with a lever of my own. If he believes I know part of the truth already, it will be easier to
bring him to reveal all of it.”

  Sharla frowned.

  “We must find out who beat him, and why,” Dane added, as if it was an obvious fact.

  “Why must we do that?” she asked. “I mean, I want to know what happened. Of course I do, only that is just a single measure of my concern. You make it sound urgent that we learn the truth.”

  “It is urgent,” Dane replied. “Or it might be. Until we know what happened, I cannot determine if it might happen again.”

  Sharla stared at him, horrified. “You mean…if Ben goes out in public once more, they might…repeat the offense?” She brought her hand to her throat, as it tightened.

  “Which is why we must know what happened in the first place. Tell me what you know about Ben’s secrets, Sharla.”

  “His…secrets?” She tripped over the word, for Ben’s secrets were tied up with her own and some of those secrets could never be revealed.

  “Solicitors and barristers are not regularly beaten and left for dead, Sharla. Ben has no enemies among his friends and family. This beating came about because of something he keeps hidden from everyone who loves him.”

  Sharla flinched, guilt biting her. “He boxes,” she said quickly. “Or he used to. In Whitechapel, at a public bar…well, behind the bar.”

  “Fighting,” Dane stared right through her, his mind working. “That is most likely the source. The people who organize those fights have criminal tendencies—or they would not be involved in near-criminal activities in the first place. They would not hesitate to dole out physical punishment to keep others in their place. Only, why Ben?” He was speaking to himself.

  It was amazing to her that Dane knew anything of that world. In the last few days, though, he had surprised her more than once with his unexpected wisdom. He was older than her by many years. She suspected he was in his mid-thirties. Clearly, he had led a full life before meeting her. The surprise was that a Duke of the realm would be familiar with the seamier side of London. Even with years more experience than her, surely someone of Dane’s rank would have only been exposed to the gentle life. Hunting was the most violent activity a Duke could aspire to.

  Dane’s gaze shifted back to her face. “Thank you,” he said. “That should be enough to make Ben talk.” He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.