The Improper Wife

by Diane Perkins

  He gave a snort. “Oh, yes. Your bastard. Gray informed me.”

  “You spoke to Gray?” She filled with sudden dread.

  He released her. His eyes glittered dangerously and he gave a sardonic smile. “I told him how it was. How you were keen to marry into a wealthy family. How you threw yourself at me until you realized I was not highborn. How you kept asking questions about my friend John Grayson, the earl’s son.” He laughed with triumph. “I even told him that you stole a letter with his signature so you could forge his name. He thinks you set him up!”

  Maggie felt a stab of pain so acute she had to wrap her arms around her waist. She could not breathe.

  She lifted her head to glare at the man who so easily snatched happiness from her grasp. Once she had thought those features handsome. Once she’d thought she loved him. Now he made bile rise in her throat, and she could only regard him with raw hatred. For the first time she wished he had drowned in the river.

  To her surprise a hint of wariness creased his brow. “What does he know?”

  She straightened and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and said nothing.

  “What does he know?” repeated her false husband, taking a menacing step toward her.

  She stepped back and held up her hand to halt him. “If you touch me once again, I shall scream.” Her voice sounded as dead as she felt inside.

  He started toward her again. “No one will hear you.”

  She lifted a brow. “Can you be so sure? Perhaps there is a gardener nearby. Or one of the guests decided to take a stroll. Do you wish to risk it?”

  He halted.

  “Now,” she said calmly, “I will leave.” With her head erect, she strode past him. As soon as she knew he could not see her, she broke into a run.

  Gray managed to stay away from the main house until the sun dropped so low in the sky that the dinner hour was certain to be at hand. His first impulse had been to drag Maggie and Olivia to the carriage for a breakneck ride back to Summerton, but he’d quickly seen the folly of such a flight. Not only would it have cut short Olivia’s enjoyment of the house party, the gossip it would have generated would effectively prevent her receiving any future invitations. Gray would be damned if he let Lansing’s arrival damage Olivia’s emergence into the world. Besides, such a hasty retreat would not provide him with the answers he needed.

  Gray had borrowed a mount from Camerville’s stable and wandered the estate all the afternoon, hardly an effective way to get answers, but necessary to wrest some control over his raging emotions.

  Gray did not believe Lansing’s story that Maggie had been the treacherous architect of all the havoc in Gray’s life. He knew Lansing too well to believe him such an innocent bystander. He also could not credit Maggie with a deliberate conspiracy with Lansing. Lansing would have led her into it. If Lansing had no qualms about bedding young virgins, he would be entirely capable of seducing Maggie, of lying to her, of using her to slake his own desires.

  When Gray’s thoughts veered in this direction, the image of Lansing tangled in linens with Maggie, touching her, making love to her, made Gray’s vision turn red. Lansing had been the man who introduced Maggie to the pleasures of lovemaking, of that Gray was certain. Lansing, the man Gray despised more than any other, excepting himself for ever thinking Lansing a friend, for ever allowing himself to be led into dishonoring himself with Rosa. Thinking of Maggie with Lansing filled Gray with a crazed jealousy that flowed through every vein in his body.

  Until he could get these emotions under control, he had little chance of discovering why any connection between Maggie and Lansing resulted in Maggie’s appearing on Gray’s doorstep with the tale of being married to a man with his name, or of her having papers with his signature forged. Lansing’s tale about Maggie had succeeded in resurrecting Gray’s doubts about her. No matter how she’d been duped by Lansing, she still appeared to have deliberately set a trap for Gray. Why? All hope of a future with her rested on the answer.

  Gray entered the house and made his way to the bedchamber he would be required to share with Maggie this entire week. Only a few hours before, he’d been eager to return to this room with her. Now too much stood between them.

  He walked in. Maggie was seated at the dressing table, her maid arranging her hair. She turned to him. Their eyes caught, but Gray looked away.

  Decker stood off to the side. Gray went over to him. “My dinner clothes, Decker?”

  There was a deadly tension in the room, like invisible smoke choking all the breathable air. Even the valet and maid spoke as little as possible. Gray spoke not at all to Maggie, nor she to him. This evening he did not dismiss the servants so he could be alone with her, so he could touch her. This evening he merely completed his change of clothes.

  When done, he spoke coldly to her. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, yes,” she answered nervously as her maid straightened the skirt of her dress.

  She wore blue again, this time the color of a spring sky. A white sheer overdress covered the blue, making it shimmer. Olivia’s sapphires still adorned her neck and ears. With such an appearance she could easily dazzle any man’s eye. He had no trouble believing Lansing had wanted her.

  Gray knew his coldness was unfair. He could feel her upset as keenly as his own. He ought to have some pity for her, but he was incapable of excusing her this time. Nothing would do for him except to frankly address what stood between them, no matter what he feared he might hear from her. Now, however, was not the time.

  Gray did not speak to her as they walked down to the parlor. Once there, he left Maggie and joined some of the gentlemen who were chatting in the corner. Lansing, he noticed, stood talking to Olivia. Gray’s eyes narrowed. He must warn his sister-in-law about Lansing. At the moment, though, he could rest easy. Sir Francis stood stalwartly at her side.

  Maggie remained where he’d left her, in the center of the room looking lost. She finally walked to a chair and sat. Gray saw some of the guests glancing toward her with curiosity. Let them. He would withstand any gossip by pretending nothing was amiss. If Maggie were wise, she would do the same.

  Lansing, Gray noticed, paid her no attention at all.

  Dinner passed well enough, although Maggie was seated on the other side of the table well within his view. He could not see Lansing, but endured the sound of the man’s laughter as best he could. He also endured Lansing’s presence after dinner, a more difficult matter. Camerville wanted them to entertain the other gentlemen with tales from the Peninsula. They managed to do so, without Gray ever speaking to Lansing directly.

  The gentlemen finally joined the ladies, and Lady Camerville again insisted upon champagne. Gray watched Maggie, seated at the same settee as the night before, refuse a glass. He turned away, having no wish to recall how the drink had previously affected her.

  Olivia walked up to him, Sir Francis momentarily detained in conversation. “Gray, Maggie is sitting all alone over there.”

  He avoided looking. “I am sure she will not want for company.” Camerville would certainly seek her out. Let her deal with the octopus herself.

  Olivia stared at him worriedly. “What is wrong, Gray? What happened?”

  “It is none of your affair, Olivia,” he said in a fierce whisper.

  “But . . .” She bit her lip, but abandoned the topic.

  She was about to walk away when he stopped her. “Olivia, Lansing appears to pay you much attention.”

  She smiled brightly. “Your friend? Yes, he is charming!”

  “No, he is not charming,” he said. “You would do well to steer clear of him.”

  She tossed him an offended look. “Perhaps who I spend time with is none of your affair.” She stalked off.

  All he needed was Olivia playing the coquette with Lansing. Before she knew it, the man would have her in his bed. Gray knew him too well. Sir Francis had better act with dispatch.

  Lady Camerville swished over to him and took his arm. He’d ignored her
lures the previous night when he’d had no thought but of being alone with Maggie. Tonight, knowing Maggie could see him, he would pretend at a little flirtation.

  But he did not miss the exact moment Lord Camerville made his move. Gray felt himself involuntarily compelled toward Maggie when the man placed his hand upon her knee. Luckily, Sir Francis spared him the need to exert himself, coming quickly to Maggie’s side and escorting her to where Olivia sat. Sir Francis kept watch on both the ladies the rest of the evening. Gray knew this, because his eyes could not help but seek out Maggie. Lansing made no effort to approach Olivia as long as Maggie was at her side.

  Card tables were set up, and Lady Camerville begged Gray be her partner in a round of whist. Sir Francis joined with Olivia and found another gentleman to sit across from Maggie. The rest of the night was tolerable, although again Gray managed to be seated where he could not help but see Maggie. If that were not enough, Lansing’s smooth voice grated in the background.

  Eventually the room began to thin. As Olivia and Sir Francis rose from their seats, Gray walked over to Maggie and silently escorted her back to the bedchamber.

  Gray turned to Decker, who was prepared to assist him in readying for bed. “I will not require your services tonight,” he said as casually as he could.

  Maggie swung around to view Gray with surprise.

  Decker’s brows shot up but the young man immediately composed himself. “Very good, sir.” He bowed and left the room.

  Maggie gave Gray one more glance before she went into the dressing room with her maid.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  Maggie’s heart thundered with impatience. Could Kitt not move any faster? How long did it take to undo buttons, even the tiny ones that ran up the back of her dress? Maggie could barely keep her foot from tapping, but she forced herself to remain still while Kitt removed her gown, corset, and shift and helped her don her nightdress. Finally they went back into the bedchamber.

  Besides the glowing embers of the fireplace, only the branch of candles on the dressing table remained lit. Barely visible in the room’s shadows stood Gray, a mere silhouette against the window.

  Maggie’s heart beat like a drum’s wild tattoo as she quickly sat so Kitt could remove the pins from her hair. This night Gray made no move to dismiss the maid and comb out her tresses himself. He remained by the window, watching each stroke of the brush.

  In the mirror, Maggie caught Kitt’s worried countenance. When the maid finished putting Maggie’s hair in one thick plait, she gave Maggie’s hand a quick squeeze and left the room.

  Maggie stood and faced Gray, still standing in near darkness like some sinister stranger who suddenly has all the future wrapped in his fingers. He stared back at her for so long Maggie fancied she could hear the thundering of her pulse in her ears.

  She took a deep breath. “You asked me to tell my secrets, Gray. Would you hear them now?”

  He was more apparition than man when he answered, “Yes.”

  She wanted to beg him to come into the light, to sit with her where he would be close enough that she could see the expression on his face, and grasp his hand, holding fast lest he disappear in the mist like a phantom made only of air.

  She remained where she was, straightening her spine, imagining she was a soldier bracing for battle. “I heard that gentleman referred to as Lansing this evening. Is that his name?”

  He paused before answering. “Leonard Lansing.”

  “I did not know it before.” She took another breath. “You do not know my true name. It is Margaret Delaney . . .”

  She began by telling him of her parents, of her brother, of their deaths in the Severn River. She told of growing up in the boarding school, sent there by her aristocratic uncle who’d long before severed ties with her mother, an uncle who washed his hands of her as soon as she was old enough for employment. She described her life as a lady’s companion, the loneliness of it, the tedium. She told of meeting a man who gave his name as John Grayson, the man she now knew was called Lansing.

  Maggie tried to keep emotion from her voice, to speak clearly, to relate the events as accurately as she could. Gray did not interrupt her. He asked no questions, made no comment. He remained, as still as a statue, in the darkness.

  She continued, describing her foolish belief in this John Grayson’s courtship and in the secret marriage she’d thought real. She told of how, after a few weeks, he failed to show up at their meeting place, of her panic at discovering she was with child, and of that final altercation when they struggled at the riverbank and he fell in. She described seeing his body whisked away by the current, disappearing under the water.

  “—I believed I had killed him.” Her voice cracked, and she paused to swallow. “I could think only to hide myself, for fear of being arrested and hanged. There was a baby inside me, my parents’ grandchild. I could only think of the child.”

  The window’s curtains fluttered in the breeze, but Gray did not move.

  She went on, telling of losing her employment and taking her meager savings to London, where nobody knew her. She could find no work there. Her money had run out but then she’d read of Captain John Grayson in the newspaper. It was like winning a reprieve. He was alive and must take responsibility for her and for his child. She had found his address. But it had been Gray who opened his door to her, who saw her baby safely born.

  “I was a murderer again, you see,” she explained. “When Lord and Lady Caufield believed me to be your wife, I did not disabuse them, nor tell your father or Olivia or anyone else. I did it to keep Sean safe. I did it for Sean. Only for Sean.”

  Oh, she lied. She shook her head and peered across the darkness to him, determined not to hold anything back. “Not only for Sean. I wanted to stay at Summerton. I had a home and a family again, and I did not want to lose those things. I did not want to be alone.”

  She waited for a question, a comment, a sign he had even heard her, but she knew her story was unbelievable. No woman would be so gullible. No luck strong enough to bring her to his door.

  He said nothing.

  She waited longer, her distress rising, engulfing her. She felt like he had slipped away from her as surely as the water had swept away her parents and her brother.

  “I thank you for your candor,” he finally said, but he sounded as disbelieving as she feared. He crossed the room heading toward the bedchamber’s door.

  She stepped in his path, grabbing his arms. “Do not leave, Gray. I have told you what you long wanted to know. Do not leave without a word.”

  She could finally see his face, but it looked like a storm about to unleash thunder and lightning. He pulled out of her grasp, taking a step back from her. “You have told me everything?”

  She avoided the fire in his eyes. “No,” she admitted. She’d left out her biggest secret.

  Even though sure it would sound like a lie, she would say it. “There is one more thing.” Her throat tightened with emotion, making her voice come out no more than a rasp. “I love you, Gray.”

  He flinched as if she’d struck him. His fingers curled into fists and she felt the thunder erupt in his silence. Finally, with seeming great effort he said, “Did you not say those words to Lansing?”

  She’d lost all hope that he would enfold her in his arms and ensure her everything would be all right. A gust of wind came through the window, making the candle flames dance until they sputtered out, leaving little columns of smoke rising in the air. The only light remaining came from the fireplace, so dim it felt as if Gray were disappearing again.

  “He was not Lansing to me,” she finally responded. “What words I spoke were to an illusion. Nothing was real with him.” She paused. “Not like with you.”

  Her energy was spent and she could not even understand how she remained on her feet.

  His voice came back to her sounding as if from a great distance. “I cannot remain here tonight.”

  When he again walked toward the door she did not stop hi
m. He put his hand on the knob and hesitated. Over his shoulder, he said, “I need time, Maggie.”

  As Maggie’s spirits plummeted into a pool on the floor, he walked out of the room.

  Gray hurried down the hallway and down the stairs, glad the hour was late enough that the house was quiet. He had no wish to speak to anyone. He entered the parlor, looking for a place to be alone. A loud snore startled him and he swung around to find Lord Camerville’s large bulk half on, half off the settee. Gray hurried out.

  He went to the library next. Finding it deserted, he finally collapsed in a wingback chair by a waning fire in the fireplace. He stared into the embers, watching until their glow faded and finally winked out in one funereal gasp. The room grew cold, and still he sat.

  He wanted to believe Maggie’s story. He wanted to run up the stairs to tell her so, to tell her he loved her, too. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to make her his proper wife.

  But he could not.

  Lansing had sown seeds of doubt, and try as he might, Gray could not erase them. He did not believe Lansing, by any means, but Maggie’s story about the elaborate ruse of a wedding was equally as difficult to countenance. It was easier to believe someone crafted phony marriage papers than to believe any man, even Lansing, would go to such an elaborate and cruel length to get a woman in bed. Why would Lansing have done such a thing?

  Even Maggie’s profession of love for him, which pierced the very depths of Gray’s soul, was not enough to dispel the biggest mystery, the one neither story addressed. Why the devil was he embroiled in it? Why use his name?

  The first evidence of dawn peeked through the glass doors of the conservatory at the far end of the library. Gray stretched his legs, which had become stiff from the chill of the room and the long hours in the chair. He rose. He would have to return to the bedchamber, to be there when Decker arrived to dress him. He could not be seen wandering the house still in his evening clothes. He would have to bear the pain of seeing Maggie sleeping upon the bed, wanting to hold her, wishing to tell her all was at rights.