The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  She considered seizing Sean and running as if the devil pursued them, but much good that would do. She could not hope to outrun a horse, especially one ridden by a cavalry officer. Sean hopped up and down.

  “Papa’s horfe!” He suddenly took off like a shot straight toward the horse.

  Maggie dropped her basket and ran after him, her skirts catching in the long grass. She grabbed him just as the rider reined in.

  “I would not have run him over, you know.” The captain’s tone was unfriendly.

  “Horfe, Mama. Horfe.” Sean struggled so in her arms that it took all her strength to contain him. She could not think about the man who sat so erect on his beautiful black horse.

  “Bring him here.” Grayson urged his mount closer.

  Maggie hesitated, but Sean immediately caught on to what he offered. His little hands reached for Gray.

  “I don’t eat children, Maggie.” Her name rolled off his tongue like sour-tasting berries. “Let him ride with me.”

  Against all her maternal inclinations and any good sense God had given her, she lifted Sean up into Gray’s strong hands. He sat the boy in front of him on the saddle, one arm holding him in place.

  “Mama! Mama!” Sean cried with joy. “Horfe.”

  Grayson nudged the horse into a walk, and Maggie followed them to the path where she’d left her basket. He waited for her while she picked it up.

  “Where are you bound?” His gaze bore down at her.

  She shaded her face with her hand as she looked up at him on the tall horse. “One of the tenants is near her time. Her husband broke his leg, so they are in some difficulty. I am bringing them food.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Caleb Adams and his wife, Mary.”

  “Caleb, you say?” The veriest hint of emotion crept in. “We were boys together. Are they in the old Adams cottage down this lane?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will accompany you. I should like to see Caleb.”

  She nodded. What else could she do but agree?

  He followed a pace or two behind her, which only made her more uneasy. She could not see Sean. Worse, she could feel Gray’s eyes upon her.

  She had expected to encounter him in the house before she left for her outing, had braced herself for his entrance in the breakfast room, had anticipated him pulling her into some room alone and renewing his shocking proposition.

  There was no doubt in her mind that she was as susceptible as ever to a man’s seduction. Why, she could even now still feel the heat of Gray’s kiss, the reawakening of sensations she’d carefully buried . . . after her false husband’s accident.

  During the last two years, she had gone over in her mind every moment that had led to the folly of marrying him. Oh, at the time she had told herself theirs was a grand love match, romantic in its haste and secrecy, but in truth she had wanted the marital bed as much as he had. Now she realized the marital bed was all he had wanted. She had thought herself so virtuous to insist upon a wedding first, but he had utterly fooled her. He had been false from the start, pretending to be a person he was not. Pretending to be Captain John Grayson.

  She glanced back at the real Captain Grayson. His eyes met hers and even from this distance she could feel the wrath in his gaze. She quickly turned away. His anger was more than justified. He had been ill-used indeed, first by her false husband . . . and now by her.

  She ought to have anticipated his return. Sir Francis had long ago explained that Lord Summerton had banished the captain from the estate when he had joined the army. The earl favored the eldest son and had no use for the younger, Sir Francis said. The reason had something to do with Gray’s mother.

  It was no surprise to Maggie the earl had been a difficult father. Even now, after his strokes, he was capable of great cruelty, as he had demonstrated when speaking to his only remaining son the previous day. Perhaps she ought to be grateful the earl had banished Gray. It had given her two years of security for Sean.

  She glanced back again at the man riding behind her. Now he had returned. What would happen to her?

  Gray kept his eyes on the woman walking so determinedly in front of him. The child’s body was warm and soft to hold, but why the devil had he exerted himself for the boy? Why invite himself on her errand? He told himself it was merely to discomfit her. He had not planned to see anyone or in any way involve himself in Summerton life. He was not planning to stay.

  A small thatched cottage came into view. It had been Caleb’s father’s hut, Gray remembered. He urged his horse into a trot, passing Maggie. The small boy playing in the front yard might have been Caleb, if two decades had not passed. The child threw a stick for his mongrel dog to chase, but the dog, pricking up his ears at their approach, ran toward them barking loudly. A man hobbled from behind the house, a crude wooden crutch under his arm. It must be Caleb, no longer the boy he’d played with so long ago, but a grown man waiting for them with a wary stance.

  Gray rode up to him, the mongrel running circles around his horse’s nervous legs.

  “Get the dog, boy!” the man cried.

  “Good day to you, Caleb,” Gray cried.

  Caleb removed his battered straw hat, then broke out in a gap-toothed grin. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is that you, sir?”

  Still holding Sean, Gray dismounted. The child wrapped his chubby arms tightly around Gray’s neck as Gray approached Caleb.

  “You are home?” Caleb exclaimed.

  “I arrived yesterday.” Gray thrust his hand forward to grasp Caleb’s.

  “Down!” commanded Sean, and suddenly Maggie appeared at his elbow. He handed the child to her.

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Grayson.” Caleb nodded to her.

  Gray frowned. Of course the tenants would call her Mrs. Grayson. Everyone thought her his wife.

  “I’ve brought you some food, Caleb,” Maggie said. “I hope you can use it. I fear we’ve had a surplus at the house.”

  Gray glanced at her, grudgingly recognizing the deft way she preserved the dignity of even this lowly tenant.

  “Doggie!” cried Sean, trying to pull from his mother’s grasp to run after the dog.

  “Bob can look after him, ma’am,” Caleb said to Maggie. He turned to Gray with a proud expression on his face. “That is my son, Bob.” He yelled to his son, “Come here and make a bow to Captain Grayson.”

  The boy did as his father told him and took Sean’s hand, leading him off to pet the dog.

  “He’s a fine boy, Caleb,” Gray said. “The image of you at that age.”

  Caleb tied Gray’s horse to a nearby bush. A woman appeared at the doorway of the cottage, wiping her hands on an apron. She was heavy with child, larger than Maggie had been the day of Sean’s birth. In spite of himself he remembered the pain and fear in Maggie’s face when he’d opened his door that day and her look of wonder when the baby suckled at her breast.

  “Gray—I mean, Captain Grayson, sir. Allow me to present my wife. She used to be Mary Collett. The Colletts worked over on the Bettons’ land—”

  Gray stepped forward, giving her a big smile. “No, Mary Collett was a skinny little thing in long braids.”

  Mary blushed and curtsied and seemed hardly to know where to look. “Good day, sir, and . . . and welcome.”

  Maggie came to her side, showing her the basket. “Look, Mary, we have brought you some food.” The two women walked into the house, and Gray heard Maggie asking question after question about Mary’s health.

  Gray remembered accompanying his mother to this cottage and playing with Caleb in the yard while his mother carried a basket inside. It was like time had not passed.

  “Would you like to come in, Captain?” Caleb asked in a sheepish tone. “I’d like to drink to your return.”

  Gray shook himself back to the present. “Thank you, Caleb. Nothing could please me more.”

  He crossed the threshold of Caleb’s cottage, knowing the interior would look as it had when Caleb’s parents had lived
in it and their son had been a mere boy.

  At Caleb’s request, Mary poured both men a tankard of ale. She and Maggie then busied themselves with the contents of the basket. Caleb told Gray of the passing of his parents, the marriages of his sisters, and events in the lives of other Summerton families whom he had not even thought of for almost a decade. While Caleb talked, Gray watched Maggie help Mary stow away the food she had brought, as if they were old friends. It was difficult to reconcile the deceitful woman passing herself off as his wife with this warm, generous one.

  After about a half hour, he and Maggie rose to leave. They found Sean outside with Caleb’s son, still throwing the stick for the dog. Sean clapped his hands when the dog ran after it and brought it back in his mouth.

  Maggie walked over to Sean and reached for his hand. “Come now. Time to go.”

  Sean snatched his hand away. “Noooooo!” He ran from her. The dog danced around her skirts, barking happily, acting as if it were part of the game to keep her from fetching the child.

  “Sean,” Gray shouted over the noise. “You may ride with me.”

  Sean came to an instant halt. He ran happily to where the horse stood nibbling on grass.

  Gray picked him up and prepared to mount. Young Bob had extricated Maggie from the dog’s enthusiasm. She hurried over.

  Gray addressed her with exaggerated politeness. “With your permission, ma’am.”

  She gave him a gratifyingly exasperated look. “You must not inconvenience yourself, Captain.” Her tone was equally as false.

  “It is no inconvenience,” he responded, still in kind. “Perhaps you would wish to ride as well? I can put you in front of me and you can hold the child.” He gave her a wicked grin. “If you mount with me and we squeeze together very tightly, we shall have a jolly ride.”

  Her expression darkened, and he knew she had caught his bawdy reference. No green girl, this false wife of his.

  “I shall walk, thank you,” she said haughtily. She glanced over at Caleb and Mary Adams, waiting in the doorway to say good-bye. “Send word to Summerton Hall if you need anything.”

  As if she were the lady of the manor, Gray thought.

  She did not wait but started off on the path at a very brisk walk, the now-empty basket swinging on her arm. With Sean clinging to his neck, Gray mounted. He urged the horse into motion a little too forcefully and the animal jumped ahead, ready to gallop. Gray had to pull him back. The horse turned a full circle until they were at rights again. Sean laughed.

  Gray rode close to where Caleb and his wife stood. He extended his hand to Caleb once again. “It was very good to see you,” he said. “Good day to you.”

  Maggie had nearly made it to the turn in the path, but he caught up to her easily.

  “Are you sure I cannot convince you to ride?”

  She tossed her answer over her shoulder. “I wish to walk.”

  “Indeed? And do you always get what you want?”

  She stopped and put her hands on her hips. When the horse drew alongside of her, she looked up at Gray, her blue eyes suddenly sharp.

  “I want nothing but a home for my son.” Her voice was low and trembling.

  The little boy in his lap cried, “Ride! Ride!”

  Gray urged the horse back into a slow sedate walk. Maggie could keep up with him if she wished or she could go to the devil, for all he cared. He had taken a different route when he’d ridden out earlier in the day, but he well knew the path back to the house. Soon Sean’s head began to bob with each step of the horse. Finally his little chin hit his chest.

  Gray reached the crest of a hill, and he stopped to arrange his little passenger into a more secure position. He glanced out over the sprawling countryside, with the house and the other estate buildings shining in the sunlight, the grounds green and lush.

  Maggie caught up to him. “It is beautiful,” she said, surveying the scene.

  “I had forgotten,” he replied in a hushed voice.

  They stood in silence as a bird soared and flew circles over the sight as if it too was awed by the beauty of it.

  Maggie turned to him. “Do you want me to take Sean now?”

  She stood between him and the scene below, making her appear as if she were a part of it. He finally made himself answer her. “He’s sleeping.”

  “I know. I can carry him now.”

  But Gray realized he did not mind holding the boy who nestled so trustingly against him. He liked what he’d seen of the lad, so quick and bright and full of spirit.

  “I will not drop him,” Gray said, urging the horse back onto the path.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Chapter EIGHT

  That night Maggie listened at her bedchamber door for Gray’s footsteps in the hall, hoping he was not below stairs consuming as many glasses of brandy as he had the previous night. She had about given up when finally she could hear him walking toward his room. She hurried over to the adjoining door and pressed her ear to the wood.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  That would be Decker, the footman selected to serve Gray. It was a splendid opportunity for the young man to elevate his status in life. Mr. Parker and Wrigley had chosen well, Maggie thought. Decker was industrious and capable of so much more than mere footman duties.

  The voices were inaudible, but she could not mistake which was Gray’s. She had resolved to confront him, to learn what he planned to do about her, to plead again on her son’s behalf.

  “Thank you, Decker. That will be all,” she heard Gray say, after a very short time.

  The fledgling valet replied, “Very good, sir.”

  The door opened and closed as Decker left. Maggie’s heart quickened its pace as she knocked on the connecting door.

  “Come in, Maggie,” came the reply.

  Gray was seated at the small table where a crystal decanter and two glasses sparkled in the lamplight. He had removed his coat and waistcoat and his white shirt seemed to gleam in the darkened room.

  He gestured to the glasses. “See? I expected you.”

  They had kept a distance from each other the whole evening. When made to address each other, they spoke with exaggerated politeness. There were plenty of barbs underneath, though Maggie suspected Olivia and the earl had missed them. Gray scowled at Maggie when she attended his father, but she could not blame him for resenting his father’s attachment to her. Not when his father spoke only uncivil words to him.

  As she walked over to the table, Gray poured from the decanter.

  “Sit.” He gestured to a chair adjacent to his. “Shall I pour you a drink? It is brandy. Not a lady’s drink, but a fine taste to acquire.”

  She hesitated a moment, remembering how the brandy had tasted on his lips, then strode over to the chair. He handed her the glass before she sat, forcing her to take it.

  She was none too pleased to take the drink, but dared not show him. Looking directly into his eyes, she lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. The heat of the brandy warmed her chest as she swallowed. She felt her heart settle to its normal speed. She took another sip, perhaps too quickly, leaving a drop of the liquid on her lip. She licked it off.

  The captain shifted slightly and squeezed the stem of his glass. His eyes seemed as dark as the night.

  “Have you come to fulfill your marital duties?” he asked using the same ironic tone of voice with which he’d addressed her all evening.

  She deliberately took another sip of the brandy before she replied, “Do not be vulgar.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I confess, I do not know if that is a refusal or . . .” He leaned over to her. “Or an invitation.”

  She felt a nervous sound escape her. She fought to recover. “Are you foxed again? Because if you are, I will take my leave. I have no wish to be addressed in such an improper manner.”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “But I thought we agreed you were an improper wife.”

  She leveled him a severe look. “May I expe
ct you to be civil? I desire a sensible conversation, with you behaving as a gentleman ought.”

  She saw his eyes flicker. “I would prefer another sort of intercourse, but it shall be as you wish.”

  Maggie’s cheeks burned. She was losing patience with him. She put the glass to her lips again.

  “Let me see.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Shall we start with why you’ve seen fit to pass yourself off as my wife? Why you came to my door in London? Why you have my name on marriage papers?”

  “You know of the marriage papers?” Her hand flew to her throat. Yes, of course. Lord and Lady Caufield would have told him.

  “Answer my questions, Maggie.” He gave a disgusted laugh. “I do not even know if that is your true name.”

  “It is,” she admitted vaguely, trying to think of how to proceed, what to tell him without revealing too much.

  She rose and wandered over to the window. The moon was bright, nearly full, casting the landscape below in soft hues. Wind rustled the curtain and she touched it to keep it still.

  She turned to face him. “There is not much more I can tell you. I came looking for my husband and I found you instead.” Her voice wavered. “Please believe me. I have good reasons why I cannot tell you more.”

  He stood and advanced toward her. It had been a mistake to leave the table, Maggie realized. There would be no barrier between them. She straightened her spine.

  “Yes, the missing husband.” He came close. “I had charged my cousin to help you find this missing husband, or should I say the missing father of your child? The money I left for you was to pay for that search as well as see to your care. Do you know what Lord Caufield told me when I called upon him a week ago?”

  “How could I know?” she countered bravely.

  He glared at her. “He informed me the papers in your possession were signed with my signature. What game are you playing, ma’am?”

  She felt the air leave her lungs.

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  She stared at him, light-headed. “Your signature?”

  He backed her against the wall like the previous night and put one hand near her throat. “Do not play the innocent with me.”