She looked to Morley, who wore an expression of one in a dentist’s lobby awaiting a particularly unpleasant procedure.
The question was what? Did he not want the woman who owned his heart to meet the woman who now lay claim to his name?
The very thought was like a punch to the ribs, taking the wind from her lungs as well as her sails.
She didn’t know which would have been crueler, for him to tell her or not… she might have been tempted to like the Countess had she not known her husband had once desired her.
That he’d wished to share a home and children with her.
Had they kissed, she wondered.
Prudence had kissed a few men in her two seasons out, enough to know that kissing Morley was an experience that eclipsed all else.
“Carlton, allow me to purloin your wife whilst you and Dorian conduct your affairs. I’m dying to know her.”
Carlton? Even Pru, herself, wasn’t on such intimate terms with him. Moreover, every time she tried to pin the name upon him in her mind, it refused to stick.
“Lady Morley?” Farah Blackwell didn’t wait for her husband’s reply. “Let’s retire to your preferred rooms.”
“O-of course. This way, Lady Northwalk.” She gestured toward the stairs to her second-floor parlor.
“You’ll call me Farah, of course, all my friends do.”
They weren’t friends, but Prudence nodded as she turned to lead the Countess away. She moved as if quicksand sucked at her feet, a sense of doom washing over her as she climbed the staircase. This woman in her wake, would she be cruel or kind once they were alone?
Farah Blackwell knew who she was, and the circumstances of her marriage.
Did that mean her husband truly trusted these people? Or that their secret was already out and they were trying to control the damage?
Either way, brittle though she felt, she was determined to face this woman with dignity and aplomb befitting the Queen of England, let alone a knight’s bride.
Farah couldn’t have astonished her more the moment the parlor door had shut behind them. She turned and swept her up into a desperate, but gentle embrace and held her there.
“Oh, you poor dear, what a nightmare you’ve been through. When Dorian told me the extent of the situation, I haven’t been able to sleep but for worrying over you.” She pulled back for a moment just to look at her. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion of a stranger, but I just had to see for myself if you are all right. Knowing Carlton, he’s bungled the entire thing, stashed you here, and thrown himself into his work.”
Pru swallowed a lump of alternating emotions. Gratitude and jealously. “You certainly know my husband well.”
A wry smile brought dimples to the woman’s cheeks as Farah pulled her over by the rain-streaked window. “I see you are aware of our former attachment,” she said, her grey eyes soft with understanding. “Then you must know how short and dispassionate it was. And how very long ago. I mean, my lands, I was still in my twenties.” She waved it all away. “Ancient history all but forgotten.”
Pru wasn’t certain what to say. She was tormented by the memories of her husband’s very physical all-consuming passion. Was Farah being kind again? Or dishonest?
Or had they truly not suited?
“It’s nothing, my lady, should I ring for some tea?”
“I’d rather you sit. I’m not certain how long we’ll be staying, and I have a rather lot to say.”
Carefully, Pru perched across from her on the emerald settee and gestured for her to go on.
Farah’s manner was soft and somber as she leaned forward to say, “I worked as a clerk at Scotland Yard for a handful of years. I have known every sort of criminal, and my share of murderers, and I am convinced you are not one.”
Pru let out a shaky breath. “How can you be so convinced?”
“Well it makes no sense, does it? A woman in your condition doing away with the one man who can provide her the protection of his name on her wedding day. Found with the dagger in her hands and no story of defense?” Farah tutted and shook her head. “Furthermore, I’ve lived with a man whose life was ruined when he was wrongfully accused. There’s a very singular helpless fury in that. I sense it torments you, as well.”
“I wish you’d convince my—” Prudence caught herself in time. “Well, everyone else.”
Farah gave a short chuckle “They’re men, darling. Adorable idiots to the last. I’m sorry to say but your methodical husband will take incontrovertible proof to convince him, but it seems to me that he’s intent upon finding it.”
Was he?
“Listen.” Farah gathered up her hands. “I know you’ll feel isolated in the coming months, and that I cannot abide. I want you to call upon me for support in regard to all things. Be it men, marriage, motherhood… or Morley. I worked for the man for years, I am aware of his faults and flaws as well as his heroic qualities, of which there are many. I’ve birthed two lovely, healthy children of my own and I’ve been through—well, not what you are—but enough that I feel I can be sympathetic to your plight.”
Pru didn’t know what to say, or even how to feel. It was all too wonderful. Too wonderful to be true?
“How…incredibly kind of you.”
“Also, I hope you don’t find me too forward, but I’ve secured you an appointment with my doctor who specializes in the care of expecting mothers. He’s the absolute best in his field, and he works closely with a local midwife, where they both tend to you and rely on each other’s expertise. I’d never trust my feminine health to anyone else. All of my nearest and dearest friends are patients.”
A little glow bloomed in the cockles of Pru’s heart. Here she’d been so ill. So afraid. So incredibly alone, and had all the time in the world to go mad with questions and anxieties over the impending arrival of a child.
She gave the hands around hers a responding squeeze. “Farah,” she tested the name. “I thank you. Truly. Anytime you would like to be so forward, I heartily encourage you.”
“Splendid!” the Countess beamed. “Next week you’re to come with me to the Duchess of Trenwyth’s to meet with our Ladies’ Aid Society. Let’s see, Lorelai, Countess Southbourne will be there. Millie LeCour.”
“The actress?” Pru marveled.
“Yes! She and her beau, Christopher Argent, live next to Trenwyth where Imogen, I mean, Her Grace, resides. Oh, Samantha and Mena are coming in from Scotland. You’ll have to excuse Samantha, as she’s American.” Farah said this as if it explained everything. “The Countess of Cursing, we call her, but once you get to know her you will be as in love with her as we all are. Mena is a delight. Never will you find a warmer Marchioness. In fact, she’ll likely adopt you as she can’t have children and will certainly angle to be godmother to Morley’s child, as she is to all of ours. Devotion is her exper—”
Pru pulled her hands away. So many names, so many titles. It was all so much. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend. I…I’m supposed to be in hiding, for lack of a better term. Besides, surely you agree I don’t belong in this society. I’ve no title nor prescience to bring. I’m the second-born daughter to a Baron, is all. I’m merely Chief Inspector Morley’s wife.”
For the first time, Farah’s mouth compressed with displeasure as her eyes gleamed. “My dear, no one is just Morley’s wife. He’s had a hand in everyone’s fate in that room. He’s saved more than lives, he’s saved souls. I mean, there isn’t time to regale you here, but I feel that you should come so we can all tell you the sort of husband you’re blessed with. Morley is and has always been a remarkable man. We’ve all speculated and even schemed to get him a wife. I’m unutterably glad he’s found you.”
Grief threatened to bubble over in her chest in the form of a sob. “If you know of our situation, then you know this is not a love match.”
Farah suddenly became very serious. “May I call you Prudence?”
“Pru, please.”
“Pru… you’v
e done what I was certain no woman in the world could do.”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve distracted Carlton Morley from his unimpeachable principles. I think, in time, you’ll come to know what a Sisyphean feat that was.”
Pru shook her head, unable to understand.
Farah seemed to debate something internally, then said, “Morley and I had a working relationship for longer than five years, and a flirtatious companionship. It took him those five years to drum up the nerve to kiss me. You felled him in five minutes! You, my dear, are the temptation he needs. You will force some happiness upon him, I think, and it’s the only way, as he will fight you tooth and nail. But he is the best of men, he deserves every happiness.”
Prudence didn’t allow herself to close her eyes, because every time she did, she saw her husband’s lips on Farah Blackwell’s.
And she desperately wanted to like the woman.
“Why didn’t you marry him?” The question surprised Pru more than it did Farah, it seemed. “I mean, when he asked you. What made you refuse?”
Farah gave a nonchalant shrug, her expression rather wistful. “My heart always belonged to Dorian. It’s as simple as that. He never had a chance. I never once regretted my decision, but I won’t hide from you the fact that I will always be fond of Carlton. That I respect and admire him. Everyone does. Even my husband, who was once on the wrong side of the law. For all Carlton postures, he’s an exceedingly fair and understanding man. He’s not without his own past, you know.”
That intrigued her. “What past?”
Serious conversation preceded boots as the men climbed the stairs, announcing their inevitable invasion of the parlor.
“I will leave that for him to tell you,” Farah said mysteriously.
This time it was Prudence who reached out and clung to Farah’s hand as if it were a lifeline. “I don’t know that he will…I don’t know him at all. I’m so lost. Please, if you have any information. Any insight…I…”
Farah regarded her indecisively. “I promised I will, and I shall impart to you everything I can. Come to us next week. You’ll learn all that we know, I vow—”
It was Blackwell who barged in first. “What ho, wife? We’ve the unfortunate need to leave now to meet my brothers’ train. I’ve brought the second carriage to contain either Ravencroft’s shoulders or Gavin’s ego. I’ll allow them to fight over it.”
Pru gawked at the man. If Blackwell thought Ravencroft large, the man must be a giant.
He bowed to Pru. “It was an unmitigated pleasure to meet you, Lady Morley. Please call upon us for the smallest thing.”
“Thank you.”
Farah gave her another impulsive hug before releasing her with a blustery noise. “The smallest thing. I really mean it.”
They saw themselves out, and took a whirlwind with them.
Prudence watched her husband peer at the empty doorframe as though contemplating the emptiness he found there.
Did he also note the easy way Blackwell put his possessive hand on his wife’s waist? How he walked in deference to her. His every muscle seeming attuned to her movements, her protection, her needs.
Did it make him envious? Or melancholy, like her.
Eventually, he flicked a glance at her as if surprised to still find her there.
“It was very kind of the Countess to come,” she ventured. “She was…very solicitous. Gave me the name of a good doctor.”
He gave the illusion of a nod. “Farah is a good woman,” he said carefully.
As opposed to herself?
Pru stared at him, doing her best not to appreciate how the cut of his vest hugged his narrow waist, flattering the width of his chest and shoulders, the breadth of his back.
A back she’d once clung to in spasms of bliss.
Her fingers curled at the memory.
He was right there. So close to her. She could reach out to him and touch the body that’d once rode her like an untamed stallion, wild and rhythmic and powerful.
His lips had tasted the most secret parts of her. His eyes had burned with lust. His features softened with worship. Tightened with pleasure. Tortured with hunger.
And now?
Nothing. He was so remote. So empty. Bleak.
Where are you? She wanted to shout. To throw things. To rant and rave at him until he bloody cracked the mountain of ice between them. Who are you? What have you done with my lover?
He turned abruptly, as if he’d heard her silent screams. But the question in his eyes quickly flickered out, replaced by that infuriating civility.
“It’s a chilly night,” he said. “I’ve had a bath sent to your room.”
So thoughtful. The ponce. “Thank you,” she gritted out.
He nodded, looked as if he might say something else, and then thought the better of it. “Good evening.”
He left her in her puddle of her own frustrated loneliness, possibly to pine for the woman who’d gotten away.
Chapter Twelve
Morley let himself into the nursery and shut the door, leaning against it for several breaths.
With all he had on his mind, one simple fact existed in the world, crowding out all others.
His wife bathed only paces away. She’d lowered that soft body into the steaming copper tub and slicked soap across creamy, unblemished, aristocratic skin. Her breasts would lift above the water as she washed her luxuriant hair. Her thighs would relax apart, her hands perhaps finding their way between them to…
The bundle he’d clutched in his hand crumpled beneath the clench of his fist, and the product inside provided a much-needed distraction.
He tore the package open with uncharacteristic lack of ceremony, and went to the rocking chair, crouching to place the intricately carved train engine next to the doll.
He fantasized about the train given locomotion by a chubby little hand. A boy, perhaps. But maybe a girl. He and Caroline had spent hours playing trains with some charity toys they’d found at the church once.
So long as he capitulated to Caroline’s demand that the conductors fell in love with the women they’d rescued from the marauding bandits, then she was a fair hand at the battle, itself. Just as bloodthirsty as any outlaw.
He touched the gold of the doll’s hair and took a moment to keenly miss the girl with whom he’d shared a womb. She’d be an aunt now, probably a mother, too. They’d each be forty in a year, or so he thought. No one had ever told them their precise birthday, but he’d pieced it together as well as he could.
Caroline.
How different the landscape of so many lives would be if she’d lived.
Morley might have still been a rifleman in the army, but it was unlikely he would ever have considered the beat at The London Metropolitan Police.
So many others would have carved a different story in the book of fate if not for the choices he’d made.
Perhaps their lives were arguably better for the path Caroline’s death put him on, but what he never expressed to his friends was that, in his darkest moments, he’d have taken it all away from them just to have her back. To give her the chance at life. To leave him any kind of family.
So he wouldn’t have spent the past twenty odd years so acutely alone.
Perhaps, he’d often reasoned, if she’d been there, he’d not be so bloody broken.
He’d become the man he pretended to be. A better man.
Today, this moment, was the first time he shrank from that thought.
If it had all gone differently, he might have married young. He might have even sired children.
But not this child.
Not whomever quickened within the womb of his lovely wife.
His hand went to his heart to contain an extra little thump at the thought.
Children were born every day. Thousands upon thousands of them. It was no great happening or miracle. But he couldn’t shake the feeling his entire life had led up to this. This child.
If Caroline had lived
, this child might never have come to be.
And, for the first time, while he still mourned her loss, he couldn’t bring himself to wish as he had before.
Beset by a complicated amalgamation of regret and love, shame and anticipation, he pushed himself to his feet and set about tidying up the disorderly packing material in the nursery.
It seemed impossible that his wife’s scent lingered even here, but he tasted it in the air. Berries. Sweetest in the late summer. She’d forever remind him of breakfast. His favorite meal until he’d feasted upon her—
Slamming a crate shut, he realized he couldn’t be only a wall away from where she bathed without going mad. He retreated to his study, intent upon getting some work done.
By God. She was in here too. The walls might as well have been smeared with marmalade. She permeated every corner of his thoughts, and now there was nowhere in his house to escape her.
Slumping into his office chair he dropped his head onto his palm and rubbed at a blooming headache. God he was tired again. He’d not slept for longer than three hours for… well, he couldn’t remember how long.
And it didn’t seem that would change in the near future.
Blackwell and he had conceived of a plan to concentrate their investigative efforts on the Wapping docks. His interrogation of the crooked officer the other night had been the first link in a supply line of narcotics, and other smuggled goods, that was more twisted and dangerous than the web of the most venomous spider. Morley, or rather the Knight of Shadows, had been spinning his own webs, beating answers out of countless men. Throwing them to what police he’d known still operated aboveboard.
Or, in some of the cases where he’d been forced to defend himself… throwing their corpses into the river.
All fingers pointed to the Commissioner, Baron Clarence Goode.
His bloody father-in-law.
However, the shipments had dried up entirely. Abruptly, in fact. And because of this, crime wars brewed in the gambling dens and rookeries of the underworld, and Morley couldn’t be certain the city was ready for what was about to hit it.
Or how many casualties the impact would leave behind.
With This Kiss: A First-In Series Romance Collection Page 55
