The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  “I will try,” she said at last.

  The answer seemed to satisfy him.

  They entered the house, she feeling more solemn and subdued than a moment ago.

  As they neared the library door, she held back. “Go on to the conservatory. I will be there in a moment. I . . . I wish to tidy myself a bit.”

  The truth was she needed a little time to herself before facing those people again and, more so, to set in her mind that tonight she would tell him her secrets. Tonight she would tell him and risk losing him. Perhaps risk everything.

  “You can trust me,” he murmured, his eyes dark and resolute.

  She smiled, wanting so very much to believe she could trust him to love her in spite of all she’d done.

  Gray gave her a quick kiss and walked back to rejoin the other guests. He suspected they were still at luncheon. The amount of food set up on a side table would more than tide them over until dinner, and he was suddenly ravenous.

  He was crossing the library when Camerville ran up to him. “Here, here, sir. I have been looking for you! Come with me. I have the surprise I promised.”

  There was no choice but to follow Camerville through a throng of people to the conservatory. Gray could only see a glimpse of the surprise gentleman’s back at first. The man was talking to Olivia, who had laughed and colored prettily at something he said.

  “Here is Grayson,” Cammy announced.

  The man turned.

  Lansing.

  How the devil had Lansing connived to be invited to this party? It was bad enough to endure the company of people like Camerville and his wife, how was Gray to pass a week in Lansing’s company as well?

  Lansing looked equally as surprised to see Gray, and equally as displeased, but he quickly altered his expression and advanced on Gray with hand extended.

  “Gray. So good to see you. I’d . . . I’d not expected you in this part of the country. This is excellent.” He spoke as if he were indeed the friend Gray once supposed him to be.

  Gray accepted the handshake with considerably less enthusiasm. “Lansing.”

  Camerville laughed. “A capital surprise, was it not? Neither one of you had a notion!” He clapped his hands and swept his arm over the guests gathered in the room. “Everyone! See what we have here! These two gentlemen served together in the same regiment. Had no idea the other would be coming!”

  Camerville was rewarded by appropriately appreciative comments.

  Olivia’s eyes shone with enjoyment. “How nice for you both!”

  Nice? Gray would have to pretend civility to a man he would cheerfully run through with a sword. He tried to disguise his feelings as others said “wonderful!” and “capital!”

  Camerville jocularly repeated how he had contrived the dual surprise. He broke off. “I say, Gray, here comes your pretty wife.”

  Deuce! Lansing near Maggie? He’d not wish her in the same county with the man.

  Cammy had already rushed over to her. Taking Maggie’s arm, he said, “I have surprised your husband with a friend. Come. Come. Meet the fellow.”

  Maggie had as little choice as had Gray. While Cammy dragged her along with him, Lansing dipped his head to say something to Olivia.

  “Come, come, Lansing,” cried Camerville. “Come meet your friend’s wife!”

  Lansing looked up.

  Gray took a step toward Maggie and caught her first glimpse of Lansing. Her eyes flashed with shock. She turned white, as if she’d seen a ghost.

  This look was one of recognition. She knew him. She knew Lansing.

  Lansing’s charming smile was locked into place, but the recognition was on his face as well.

  A curtain lifted in Gray’s mind. He could suddenly see it. Maggie’s west country had been Gloucestershire, where Lansing’s militia had been posted. Lansing was the connection between Maggie and himself. Lansing. But, why? Why had they played this game with him?

  Olivia had apparently noticed Maggie’s pallor. “Maggie,” she cried. “Are you ill?” She rushed over to her, causing some commotion. Other guests clustered around her. Olivia helped her to a seat and Sir Francis pressed a glass of lemonade to her lips. Another lady fanned her.

  Gray backed away toward the conservatory door, the same door he and Maggie had so happily walked through such a short time before. The scene played out before him like the latest farce, but he found no humor in it. No one heeded him as he opened the door. The last person he saw was Lansing, whose stark expression mirrored Gray’s darkening mood.

  Gray returned to the garden, making his way down the same paths he and Maggie had strolled not a half hour before. He spied the trellis where he’d kissed her, and quickly changed direction.

  Maggie and Lansing. Maggie and Lansing crafted the false marriage papers. Lansing fathered Sean.

  Gray felt like vomiting. This was the secret Maggie had kept from him.

  Lansing was the one.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  Lansing stood back as the object of his quest fussed over the woman who all but fainted at the sight of him. Cursed tart! It was not enough she had nearly killed him three years ago, pushing him in the river like she did, but now she would likely dash his opportunity with Lady Palmely!

  He’d not dared to hope Lord Summerton’s daughter-in-law would be so fair-haired, so delicate, the very vision of a lady. A magnificent decoration for any man’s arm. Now he stood to lose her because some lady’s companion he’d once bedded turned up as Gray’s wife.

  What irony! What a sick joke at his expense. To the devil with her!

  Lady Palmely’s attention was riveted upon this vaporous female. Maggie Delaney, pretty lady’s companion, thinking herself so proper she required marrying. Underneath she was nothing but a Drury Lane doxy like his mother. How the devil had she found her way to Gray?

  The gorgeous Olivia, Lady Palmely of Summerton Hall, glanced about, not at him. “Sir Francis!” she called. “Come help me.”

  The dull-looking fellow was already standing at her side, clucking over Maggie. He gave Maggie his arm and escorted her out of the room. Lady Palmely went with him, asking him what they should do, begging him to tell her Maggie would be all right. She vanished from Lansing’s sight without giving him a backward glance.

  “Where is Grayson?” Camerville sputtered.

  Gray.

  He was the real spoiler. Always had been.

  “Left the room,” someone said. “His wife entered, and he left posthaste.”

  “There is some trouble in that quarter,” another added.

  Soon the whole room was buzzing with talk of the captain and his mysterious wife. The gossip had it that Gray, not Lansing, upset her so much she almost fainted. Fainted, indeed. No one would have even noticed her if Lady Palmely had not made a fuss.

  At least he was not blamed for the dramatics. If he was very clever he might manage to carry out his plan after all.

  He donned a very concerned expression and tapped Camerville on the shoulder. “Would you like me to find Gray and speak to him? Perhaps I can discover what is amiss.”

  Camerville nodded vigorously. “Can’t have this. Ruins the party.”

  “I will do my best to put it to rights,” he reassured the foolish fellow.

  A quarter hour later Lansing located Gray near the lake that made such an elegant view from the house. One of the gardeners had seen him head in this direction and, sure enough, he was pacing moodily at the edge. Foolish Gray. Always did let emotions get the better of him.

  Gray looked up at his approach. “Keep your distance, Lansing, if you know what is good for you.”

  Lansing obediently halted, immediately screwing his face into a picture of concern and distress. “How the devil did she find you, Gray? I cannot believe she has done so. Has she tricked you into marrying her?”

  Gray gratified him by looking surprised at this barrage of questions, and Lansing credited himself for his ability to fool Gray whenever he wished.

  He wen
t on. “Did she tell you of meeting me? I suspect she must not have done so.” Lansing put a trembling hand to his brow as if this whole situation had undone him.

  Gray glared at him. “You came to say something, Lansing. Say it and begone.”

  Oh, he was going to play the wounded one, was he? Well, Lansing never backed down from getting what he wanted. He stepped toward Gray, making himself look puzzled. Gray stepped back.

  Lansing gave a helpless gesture. “I can only tell you what I know of her.” He bowed his head as if trying to sort his own thoughts. “I met her in Gloucestershire. But you might have guessed that. She was a lady’s companion, a very ambitious one.”

  It was always good to use as many facts as possible when one told a lie. It guaranteed a ring of truth to the tale. “She was not content with her lot at all. She . . . she befriended me and, I confess, I did not resist her—it was a dead bore there, Gray—” He gazed out over the distance like he was remembering. “She was keen for bettering herself, and . . . and thought her way to do it was by—” He broke off again and laughed. “Well, with my birth, I was naught but someone to dally with. She dropped me fast enough.”

  Gray looked as if he might strike him. “Why am I involved?”

  “That is what is giving me the devil of a headache,” Lansing said, feigning ignorance. “I cannot fathom it at all.”

  Lansing did not miss Gray’s skeptical look.

  Lansing wrinkled his brow. “She’d seen you with me. Remember? You traveled with me to Gloucestershire.” He tapped his lips with his fingers. “I did not credit it as important at the time, but she once asked me questions about you. We had to talk of something. It could not all be . . . you know.”

  Gray looked furious again. Could it be he had developed a tendre for a nobody lady’s companion? How laughable.

  Lansing gave him an intent look. “Did she come looking for you? Did she seduce you as well? I cannot believe you married her.”

  “I did not marry her,” Gray shot back.

  Oh? Lansing’s brows shot up. The plot was thickening. What the devil did Gray mean?

  Gray continued. “There are papers with my signature upon them saying I did marry her. Can you explain that?”

  Of course he could explain it! He’d wanted to see what would happen if he were an earl’s son, so he had pretended to be Gray. Still, the only way he could get her into bed with him was to marry her. Whose name was he supposed to have used?

  Lansing pretended to look totally bewildered. “Your signature?”

  While Gray glared at him, he posed as a man lost in thought. He started to speak, then shook his head. “No. She could not be so conniving.”

  Gray was hanging on his words, even though his face looked like thunder. Perhaps if he, Lansing, could be the one to save Gray from this treacherous female, he could get back in Gray’s good graces. He could court Gray’s sister-in-law and perhaps even have an ally in winning her hand.

  But the prize was not yet totally within his grasp. He must take care not to misstep.

  He waited for the silence to stretch a decent interval. “I kept a letter you once wrote me. It had your signature upon it. I thought I had merely lost it. Do you suppose she could have taken it?”

  Gray’s brows knit together ever so slightly. He was halfway hooked. But Gray swung away from him.

  Time to back off. Let him stew in it. “I am sorry, Gray. I feel responsible somehow.”

  Gray turned back, that look of thunder still upon him. “What of the child?”

  It was Lansing’s turn to be dumbfounded. “What child?”

  “She gave birth to a son, Lansing.”

  Lansing stiffened. He had no intention of being saddled with the responsibility of her brat. Any child he claimed must be born to an aristocratic mother. Like Lady Palmely.

  Lansing slowly nodded. “It makes some sense now. She was so keen on bedding me, I’ll wager—” He looked up. “Do you know what month the child was born?”

  Gray glared. “I know precisely.”

  Lansing was not surprised Gray did not reveal the month. Gray might not be as clever as Lansing, but he was not a total fool. Lansing quickly calculated two or three months later than he’d actually been with Maggie.

  “Well, I knew her at the beginning of 1814, just a few weeks that January. The militia left the area after that time.” Lansing had really been convalescing from his near-drowning that month, having contracted a convenient case of amnesia, which stretched until the vicar’s nubile daughter began to hatch a marriage plot. “Am I the father, do you think?” he added, just for effect.

  Gray’s expression became more austere. “You will have to ask her.” He marched away.

  When Gray had progressed a sufficient distance, Lansing indulged in a good laugh.

  Maggie assured Olivia she did not need the physician and would do nicely if she could rest upon her bed, that Kitt could remain with her, and Olivia must return to the other guests.

  Olivia felt her forehead, kissed her good-bye, and finally joined Sir Francis who waited for her right outside the bedchamber.

  As soon as the door closed, Maggie sat up. “Kitt, peek out and see if they are gone.”

  Kitt hurried to the door and opened it a crack, then wide enough to poke her head out. “The hall is empty, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She got off the bed. “Would you find Decker? I require his services.”

  Kitt looked puzzled, but she left to do as Maggie asked. Maggie walked over to the window and looked out, wondering where Gray had gone. She could only imagine what he must be thinking. He’d realized she recognized that man.

  She did not even know what name to call him, this man who had returned from the dead, her false husband. Maggie had caught the shocked expression on Gray’s face when she looked upon the man she’d so long thought dead. As she suspected, her false husband was someone Gray had known, though she was no closer to comprehending why the man would so falsely use Gray’s name.

  Maggie swung away from the window and paced the bedchamber, her arms clasped around her chest, as if she were trying to keep herself from shattering into pieces upon the carpet. She needed to find Gray. Nothing else was so important.

  She crossed over to the door and peeked out, wondering what was taking Decker so long. After an agonizing ten minutes, Kitt finally brought him to her.

  The valet hardly stepped into the room before Maggie accosted him. “Decker, do you know where Captain Grayson has gone?”

  Decker’s forehead wrinkled slightly, betraying worry, but he answered in a monotone. “Gone into the garden, I was told.”

  For once she was grateful of servants’ gossip.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed her bonnet and placed it upon her head. “If you should see the captain before I return, please let him know I wish to speak to him.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and hurried out.

  She had no idea where Lady and Lord Camerville were, nor the other guests, but she hoped she did not encounter any of them. Especially him. She dashed down a hallway that looked like it would be used by the servants, and finally found a door leading to the outside. It took her a few moments to get her bearings and to find her way to the garden, where she retraced the path she and Gray had taken such a short time ago. She wound up underneath the trellis where he had kissed her.

  She persisted until she was persuaded she had covered every inch of the garden without success. She’d decided to head toward the stables next to see if any of the grooms had seen Gray ride out. Hurrying down a path leading out of the formal gardens to the park, she collided with . . . him, the man she had once called husband.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. She tried to pull away, but he held on tight.

  “The very person I wished to see.” His countenance was anything but welcoming. “Let us find a private place where we may talk.” He gave her a sarcastic smile. “Not the lake. I do not trust you around water.”

  He pointed to a decorative C
hinese temple peeking through a shade of trees. Gripping her arm, he nearly dragged her to it.

  The temple was dark and cool and smelled damp. There was a bench, but she had no intention of sitting with him. He released her but blocked any escape.

  Putting his hands on his hips, he looked as angry as he had that day she pushed him into the river. “What the devil are you doing here? How did you attach yourself to Gray?” He bared his teeth. “I cannot believe this. I swear, if you have ruined things for me—”

  “Ruined things for you!” Maggie cried. “I thought you were dead!”

  “You tried hard enough to kill me,” he huffed.

  “An accident and you know it.” Her eyes burned with rage. “You tricked me! And abandoned me! What did you think? You would leave me at that house thinking myself secretly married? The poor pitiable lady’s companion, pining away for her absent husband?”

  He laughed. “Yes! You have got it, Maggie. Clever girl. That is exactly what I expected. But the fault is all yours. You insisted upon marriage. I merely obliged you. You were happy enough after that sham ceremony I paid for!”

  “You deceived me from the first, telling me you were Captain John Grayson. I do not even know your name.”

  He pursed his lips, like a petulant child. “Do you not realize it was a game, Maggie? A lark! That is all it was. You were so ready to believe my lies, were you not? To believe a man like me would want a lady’s companion.”

  She swung her arm back and slapped him full on his cheek, the loud smack echoing off the temple’s walls. He lifted his hand to hit her back, but stopped himself in time.

  “You little bitch,” he muttered, cradling his cheek. “If you have left a mark—”

  “Stand aside.” She tried to get past him.

  He grabbed her again and shook her. “Now you listen to me! I will not have you ruin my plans!”

  “Your plans?” she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp. “What of my plans? What was I supposed to do with no money, no husband, and a baby on the way?”