The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife

by J. Jade Jordan

  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.

  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.”

  Chapter Five

  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 disbelie
ving 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.

  “You’ve remembered something?” She didn’t like the sound of that. Had he recalled why he was breaking into her room? If he knew
that, then perhaps his memory wasn’t lost at all.

  “I have no idea why I just said that, but something inside is telling me it’s important that I recover my memory as quickly as possible.”

  Tally saw he was hoping she could tell him why. She shrugged helplessly.

  Was his subconscious telling him he’d failed on his mission to hurt her and he still had to accomplish it? She was no longer certain she wanted to help him get his memory back.

  Doubt and distrust were in his eyes when he looked at her. If he thought she was going to prompt him to his task, he was sadly mistaken. She stood up, appeasing her conscience with the knowledge that she was only following the doctor’s orders. Besides! He was the criminal who scared the wits out of her by climbing through her window! Why should she be feeling bad about him?

  He was clearly mulling something over. She was suddenly eager to leave, not anxious to hear what he was thinking. She’d waited too long, though. He seemed unable to hold back the question he was burning to ask her.

  “How long have we been married?”

  She stiffened. She’d been dreading questions about their married status. They were inevitable, she knew, but hoped that, knowing the doctor’s orders wouldn’t allow her to respond, he’d refrain from asking.

  “You know I can’t answer that.” She busied herself by picking up his tray and placing it on the chest of drawers near the door.

  When she turned around he was standing by the bed, holding on to the headboard. He looked unsteady, though pleased with himself for making it to his feet on his own.

  “Oh but, you mustn’t.” She hurried to help him, worried he was going to fall over and hit his head again.

  “I can’t stand being in bed a minute longer,” he complained.

  “In that case, you can sit over here.” She shifted to support him with her shoulder and help him to move sideways. He allowed her to help him into the armchair near the bed, but just when she was about to move away, he captured her hand and drew her over and down to sit sideways on his lap.