The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife

by J. Jade Jordan

  Oh my lord! What was he doing?

  More to the point, what was she going to do?

  But it seemed that her sham husband knew exactly what to do, taking the matter entirely out of her control. He captured her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, to kiss the tip of each digit before sliding one of them into his mouth to swirl his tongue around it.

  A delicious quiver of delight scurried up her spine.

  His eyes never left hers while he skimmed his long, graceful fingers up her arm.

  Another wild shiver shook her, though she kept her eyes glued downward. Self-conscious was a tame word to describe the extent of her discomfort. She felt like a child plunked onto a strange uncle’s lap.

  He drew her closer. One of those elegant hands slid up under her hair to curl around the nape of her neck and his mouth moved slowly to meet her lips with a touch as soft as a baby’s first kiss.

  “We mustn’t,” she protested weakly.

  “Why not?” He grinned crookedly. “We’re married.”

  Heavens! What had she gotten herself into? “But… you’ve been … you have no memory of that, of me.”

  “So… we’ll make new memories.” He tried to lure her closer with his charm.

  The temptation to give in to his blandishments was almost irresistible.

  She’d been starved of attention since her Aunt died and was enticed by what he offered. She craved someone’s touch and affection. And given her choice of career — this might be her only chance to experience how a man and woman were together. She wanted to know what the mystery was all about. Wanted to feel what a woman felt with a man.

  “What kind of memories?” she was shocked to hear herself ask.

  The heat in his look made her tremble, partly in alarm and partly in anticipation.

  “Like these.” He gently tugged her nearer and placed another light kiss on her lips.

  The fear and excitement pounding through her almost deafened her to everything around her. She was shaking from her chignon to the tip of her toes.

  He must have sensed her anxiety because he simply tucked her against his side and ran a calming hand up and down her back to comfort her. His other hand ruffled her hair gently and he murmured tender words in her ear.

  She breathed in his delicious scent. He always smelled so good. There was no fancy cologne, just his personal musk, but it sent tingles sparkling through her. His arm around her felt good, her head against his chest, divine.

  If only she could enjoy it!

  She didn’t know what he was going to do or how she should respond. Her whole body felt like it was on fire with anticipation. Breathe in, she told herself. Breathe out. But calm composure continued to elude. It took a few moments to realize that the rapid thumping against her ear was his heart.

  He was agitated, just like she was!

  Reed was having trouble believing he’d managed to lure his resistant wife this far. Finally!

  She was like a scared rabbit twitching away from loud sounds. So he soothed her with his hands, like he would a frightened child.

  Child? How did he know that? Did he have children? Surely not! They’d have come into his room to see him. He’d have heard them running about in the house. Although, it was possible it or they might have been left in the country. His hand kept a steady, smooth stroke over her thick curls.

  There was so much he didn’t know about her… Hell, about himself. About his life. About everything!

  Caught up, once again, in his turbulent thoughts, he didn’t push for more. His head was suddenly aching and he didn’t have the energy to do more than continue to pet her like a kitten. He hoped she didn’t hold this against him. When he was back to himself again, he knew he’d be able to make her purr.

  Tally wasn’t aware of closing her eyes. A soft sigh of pleasure slipped out. She had no idea where this was going, but she wasn’t ready to stop it quite yet.

  He leaned down and his lips met hers in another featherlike kiss. He nibbled his way teasingly across her face to tug on her earlobe with his teeth.

  A bone-shaking tremor shuddered through her entire body. She’d not known such attentions could make your toes curl. She leaned closer, seeking his touch, but it remained illusive for the places that ached most to be stroked.

  His lips grazed along her neck and paused to lap gently behind her ears. His hands drifted from her head down to coast along her arms. One, at her back, held her against him, while the other circled her breast.

  She gulped in air noisily, and the trembling now took over her entire body.

  “I’m guessing we’re newly married,” he said, “and I must not have been around much or at all?” His questioning tone was dry and more than a little skeptical.

  But she was too caught up in the new sensations controlling her body, to hear him properly. It was only when he pushed her back and held her at arm’s length that he got her attention.

  What was that he’d said? Something about newlyweds...?

  Oh my goodness, she must have given herself away with her total ignorance of such things. A married woman would, no doubt, have reacted very differently.

  She wanted to run away and hide, but that would give the charade away completely. She had to stay calm and bluff her way through. He had no idea who she was or that they weren’t married.

  Heavens, he didn’t even have any idea of who he was!

  “You did, in fact, leave immediately after the ceremony,” she found herself foolishly admitting, drawn into lying to him. She should simply have remained mute, like the doctor advised. But he wasn’t the one who was here facing Reed and his persistent questions! “...on important business that you didn’t see fit to explain to me.” She was overwhelmed by guilt to be misleading him so. But what else was she to do?

  “Ah...” he sounded relieved. “So that is the source of the tension I sense between us.” He turned a warm, cajoling smile on her. “Now that I’m back, I’ll have to rectify the error of my ways. I will be positively lavish with my attentions to make up for my boorish behavior.” He slid his hand up her leg and left it there, obviously hoping she’d invite him to go higher.

  Shocked, she twitched her leg away like a startled fawn.

  He blew a frustrated breath out. “Maybe now is not the best time...” Hugging her close for a moment more, he pressed an almost reverent kiss on her forehead, before releasing her. “I think I’m ready for bed again.”

  Keen disappointment caught her unawares. Reluctantly, she slid off his lap and helped him to stand and move to the bed. Once under the covers, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, looking drawn.

  “I’ve tired you out.” Not knowing what else to say and feeling cheated somehow, she smoothed his covers and tucked them in around his shoulders.

  His hand shot out and he grabbed her hand and said urgently, “You will come back today?”

  The fiery blush that shot to her face probably revealed she’d had no intention of returning that day, but confronted with an outright demand, she felt unable to refuse. “Yes, I’ll come back to share the evening meal with you.” ...and pray your memory hasn’t had time to recover yet, she added silently to herself.

  Chapter Six

  In his best footman’s manner, Max Blythe offered a formal, “Good morning. I have an important message for Viscount Selwich.”

  “What of it?” the aged retainer asked Max gruffly.

  Nonplussed by the butler’s could-care-less attitude, Max reiterated, “It is important that I deliver this message personally into the hands of the Viscount.”

  Not much of a butler, he thought. The elderly servant was stooped and bent, and rumpled, as if he’d just been disturbed from a nap. He’d have thought Reed would be more discriminating about his servants.

  “If you were thinking you’ll find him here, ye’re wrong. Ain’t no Viscount here.” The butler’s tone was decidedly belligerent.

  “But this is his home.”

  “Don�
��t know nothing about that.” The servant gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. “The mistress… and her husband… have rented this here house for the Season. Don’t rightly know who the owner is.”

  “I see,” Max said, though he didn’t really. Reed had told them his home had been bought by proxy, under a fictitious name, to avoid his father’s eagle-eyed pursuit of information about his eldest son and heir. But Max didn’t know that name or what the new servants called their master.

  Something seemed off about this whole affair. It might be safer not to ask for “Gordon,” in case all was not as it should be here.

  He paused. What should he do next? The old tartar talked mostly of his mistress and mentioned the master as more of an afterthought. “And the name of your master is?”

  “It ain’t Viscount what’s-his-name, so I don’t see how that can be any concern of yours.”

  The wizened creature was becoming more bellicose with each question, so Max decided to beat a retreat. “Thank you for your help,” he responded derisively.

  Not even his footman’s disguise had extracted information here. Disgusted at his lack of success in making that tetchy servant talk, he gave up and walked off in the direction of the park. What kind of ploy was Gordon operating?

  They’d known, even before the three of them left Egypt — each carrying their part of crucial evidence against Traubridge — that someone on the inside, probably working in the Chief’s office, must be providing The Vanisher with information. The bastard had managed to avoid their nets too often to be coincidence. As a result, they’d agreed there would be no communication among the three of them or even with the boss, until they were all safely back in London. Only then were they to make arrangements to deliver all the documents that would convict that monster.

  They’d assumed no one knew about Reed’s role in their investigation. He’d worked in disguise and in an informal capacity. They had even avoided being seen together while in Egypt. That was why he was the one who carried the most incriminating documents.

  But he was late getting back. When they’d finally received word that he’d just set foot on British soil--in Cornwall, of all places--they’d been relieved. Now, though, he’d failed to contact them as planned. Yet he was living in his own house. They’d seen him in the window. But... Hell! The other occupants didn’t appear to know who he was. He kicked at a pebble on the street. And where was the master … the one married to the butler’s mistress? The one who, according to that cantankerous old man, was renting the house?

  Jace had leased the house across the street and down one door. With their telescope, they’d only seen three inhabitants — the stooped butler, the beautiful young woman and, just yesterday for the first time, Reed. With a bandaged head!

  What had happened to him? He could stand and didn’t appear to be mortally wounded. Was he being kept prisoner in his own home? The female seemed to be the one doing most of the caring for him.

  His mistress? Or his warden? Max increased his pace. Jace was not going to like this!

  Max hadn’t heard the door close, so when he reached the corner onto the next street, he cast a look back over his shoulder and almost guffawed aloud. The tetchy old fellow was out on the porch, arms akimbo, glaring at Max in a threatening manner. What did he think he was going to do? Engage in fisticuffs? Beat Max to a pulp so he wouldn’t return! Chuckling to himself, he turned the corner, then right again into the little lane that backed the townhouse.

  * * *

  Tally was alarmed when Foster, blunderbuss over his arm, almost ran her over, hobbling as fast as he could from the front door to the stairway.

  “I don’t trust that scoundrel,” he grumbled.

  “What scoundrel?” What had Reed done to provoke Foster this time?

  “That footman — leastways, he were dressed like one — that just came to the door asking for some fancy Viscount.”

  “Viscount?”

  “That’s what he said. I told him there was no lofty-tofty Viscount here, but it was clear he didn’t believe me.” He hesitated, “I don’t suppose yon Gordon could be a Viscount, eh?”

  She let the shocking idea sink into her mind.

  Foster cackled loudly at his own joke, then bent over in paroxysms of coughing. “The only way any Viscount would be living with us was if he did what yon Gordon did and climbed the wall into the house! As if any Viscount would climb the wall into a young lady’s bedroom!” he wheezed.

  She agreed it was not very likely. “For a moment, I thought you were serious. You scared a year off my life!”

  He resumed his course. “I’m going to take a look from the window in your room, Missy. He didn’t act like no footman I’ve ever seen. I watched him all the way down the street. Just before he turned the corner, he gave me a bold-as-brass grin.” Foster rasped in a breath, briefly interrupting his tirade. “I think he’s going around to the back lane.”

  “I’ll go. You stay here, in case he tries to come in the back door.” She knew she’d get there much faster. She rushed up the stairs, into her bedroom and straight across to the window to look out. She was appalled to see a grubby-looking man out there rifling through their dustbin.

  She’d never considered that poor people might wander into the neighborhood to rummage for food. Mind you, the scruffy-looking individual didn’t look much like he was starving. He had strong, wide shoulders and was quite tall, though he insisted on hunching over almost in two. He was about to turn his face upwards and she hoped to get a glimpse of his face, when a loud whistle deflected his attention.

  A jaunty-looking man in livery was coming down the lane.

  Foster’s footman!

  She watched him nearing the house where the shabby man was still bent over the bin. The man in livery called something to him in low tones, too low for her to hear. When he got closer, he began talking with much gesticulation. The tramp was quite his opposite and responded in a laconic manner. Suddenly, the footman looked up. When he spotted her at the window, he hesitated, obviously wondering what he should do next. He must have concluded it was too late for further subterfuge, because he gave her a flippant salute and flashed a bold wink at her.

  The derelict hissed, “You fool!” and immediately began to shamble rapidly, head well down, back along the lane in the direction of the park.

  Following him, the footman continued talking without pause. Maybe he was explaining his failure to get information at the door or maybe he was describing her. She didn’t like either conjecture.

  Suddenly, she heard Joseph running up the stairs, with Foster lumbering up behind him. Instead of coming to her room, they went first to Reed’s room. They probably wanted to follow the oddly matched pair’s progress through his window at the front of the house. Soon, though, they were rushing across the hall to her room.

  “I’ll kill you, ye bas– er... barbarian!”

  She whirled around from the window to see who her butler was shouting at. He had his blunderbuss aimed directly at Reed’s head. His drowsy head. He was struggling to sit up, looking as if he’d fallen asleep on her bed.

  How in heavens had she missed seeing him sooner? More to the point, what was he doing there? Her breath caught in her throat, her heart soared. Had he wanted to continue what they’d started last night?

  She glanced sideways, noted the suspicious glare Foster was giving him and her heart came thudding back down to earth. Or might he have been waiting to communicate with those two men outside, possibly his associates?

  Joseph cast an uneasy glance at Foster who was still holding his gun ready, yet he seemed unaware — as only a child could sometimes be — of the undercurrents crackling in the room. He tugged at her skirt to claim her attention. “Miss Leighton, ma’am.”

  She lifted her finger bidding him to wait a moment and went over to push the blunderbuss so it aimed down toward the floor. “What are you thinking?” she muttered.

  “What’s he doing in your room?” he muttered back. “On
your bed?”

  Tittering nervously, she said, “He is my husband.” She gave him a pointed look, telling him without words that, with this display, he was causing her problems she’d have trouble explaining afterwards.

  He harrumphed and, still grumbling, retreated to the window to keep watch outside.

  She turned back to Reed, who looked ready to demand an explanation. “Why don’t you let Foster help you back to your room, while I find out what Joseph has to say and then I’ll come explain what’s going on.”

  “Good. It’s about time somebody explained something to me!” He glared at the old soldier. “I don’t need your help. I can get there by myself!”

  Foster glowered back and stayed by the window.

  She waited until she was certain Reed was in his room, then she signaled to the boy to come away from the door. “Now, Joseph, what did you want to tell me? And speak as quietly as you can, so we won’t disturb Mr. Leighton.”

  “I was outside, Ma’am, and when a beggar man began to look in the dustbin, I got scared, so I hid around the corner of the house. Then that footman came and the two of them started to talk — them talked…”

  At her admonishing smile, he corrected himself. “They talked like gentlemen...?” She nodded. “Didn’t talk like no... any poor man I know.”

  “Did you hear what they said?” She tried to sound unconcerned, not wanting to alarm the boy by sounding desperate to know exactly what they had said.

  “Yes, ma’am. The footman said he thought the fool had just gotten married. The beggar shouted ‘What?’ He was angry. He said ‘that devil’s got his pri… his prior–’”

  “Priorities?” She winced at the child’s repetition of the man’s salty language.

  “That’s it! ‘His priorities are wrong. He should be tending to business first…’ The footman said something I couldn’t hear and then the beggar said, ‘It’s too serious, too dangerous to delay.’ The boy’s eyes were half fearful, half wide with excitement. He was too young to understand how serious it was and, to him, this was far more interesting than cleaning out the dustbin!