by Anne Herries
Slowly, the tears began to trickle down her cheeks. For a while she left them unchecked, but then she dashed them away. She would not let Lady Catherine’s spite hurt her because she believed it arose from jealousy. The night they’d all met on the balcony at the duchess’s ball, Jane had seen something in the other woman’s eyes. Lady Catherine had tried to make Paul notice her that night but he hadn’t; his eyes had been only for Jane, and that would have aroused the other woman’s ire. She was used to attention and to getting what she wanted—but was that enough to make her come to Jane with a vicious rumour?
That was all it could be—just a rumour. Paul loved her, Jane, and he would never do anything to hurt her...and yet he had told her that he was not yet free to wed her...
Might it be that he needed to free himself of a wife he no longer cared for? No, no, that was dishonourable and cruel and Jane could not love a man who would treat a woman who loved him thus.
Getting to her feet, Jane went slowly from the room. The housekeeper called to her as she began her ascent of the stairs but she did not answer. She needed a little time alone in the privacy of her bedroom.
* * *
‘Thank God I caught you before you left,’ Major Harding said. Paul was dressed for visiting and on the point of leaving to keep his promise to Jane. He’d had little time for anything these past few days, but intended to spend the afternoon with her, even if it meant he left some work undone.
‘Something wrong?’ Paul asked with a lift of his brows. ‘I was just on my way to visit Lady March. You could walk with me if you chose.’
‘I think you need to hear this,’ his friend said, ‘and in private—it’s being whispered of all over town. A scurrilous lie, I am sure, but you should hear it, if only to be prepared...’
Paul sat down and invited the major to sit, but he continued to stand, looking uncomfortable.
‘They say you have a wife...and she a royal bastard of mixed blood...in India. Apparently she had a child soon after you left and named you as the father. She claims to have married you in secret...’
‘That is a lie,’ Paul said but felt as if a jug of cold water had been thrown over him. ‘Annamarie is not my wife—and I have never lain with her. The invitation was there but never taken up.’
‘I have no doubt you speak the truth, but you know what the gossips will make of such a tale as this...’ Jack Harding hesitated. ‘Unfortunately, it is not the worst of what they are saying...’
‘Go on,’ Paul said grimly. ‘Get it out, man.’
‘They are linking Lady March’s name with yours and whispering that she has been too free, visiting your house without a proper chaperon and allowing you access to hers... They begin to hint that she is your mistress...’
‘Damn their wicked tongues to hell!’ Paul said furiously and jumped to his feet. ‘I care little for what they say of my having a wife in India. It is not true and I can prove it—though if Annamarie had a child it would be harder to prove I was not the father...’ He struck one fist into the other. ‘I should like to strangle whoever started the rumours...’
‘Lady Moira told me what people were saying. She pretended not to believe it, but there was something about her manner...’
‘I thought her a friend, but when I told her that I no longer needed her services for Melia she was angry—but I cannot think she made up the tale. How would she know of Annamarie? No, someone who knew me in India has done this...’
‘We knew you had an enemy. He has tried to kill or injure you three times now. Once on the way home from Newmarket, in Ireland—and again in the country, when your saddle was tampered with...’
‘Fortunately, you suspected something and discovered it before we went riding that day...’ Paul was thoughtful. ‘Yes, we knew I had an enemy who wanted me dead—but this is different. It is spiteful and meant to hurt another as much as I...’
‘Yes, I detect a woman’s hand in this,’ his friend said. ‘Which lady have you so mortally offended?’
‘I have no idea,’ Paul said. ‘I knew Lady Moira was not pleased to be told she was not needed as Melia’s chaperon—but there is no one else...’ He paused, his gaze narrowed and thoughtful.
‘You have thought of someone?’
‘Lady Catherine...’ Paul said. ‘I thought it of no importance, but she did make the attempt to engage my interest on more than one occasion. I greeted her politely but could not give her the attentions she craved.’
‘Lady Catherine is a flirt and proud, too spoiled for her own good. Yet how would she know of this girl in India?’
‘I do not see how she could—unless...’ Paul stared at him. ‘I saw her the other evening at the theatre with Hershaw.... He followed me from India by the next ship, I think...’
‘Then I think we have our answer.’ Jack smiled grimly. ‘Adam is in Ireland and could not have tampered with your saddle—and he certainly has not been seen in town with Lady Catherine.’
‘Yes, I begin to think I wronged Adam even to consider that he meant me harm,’ Paul said. ‘It was something Melia said to me... I thought he had told her lies and that made me believe he might have had a hand in the bungled shooting...’
‘Your ward? She has no cause to hate you or spread malicious rumours?’
‘No sensible cause, though she thinks I did not give her a large enough dowry—or she did, but now she is to marry someone else and has forgot she ever wanted Hargreaves...’
‘Then I think we should concentrate our efforts on Hershaw,’ Jack said and Paul nodded.
‘He is the most likely to be behind this latest attempt to bring me harm. Three attempts to kill me have failed, and now he thinks to ruin me by casting filth on my reputation. I shall find a way of letting it be known that I am not married and the child is not mine.’
‘I doubt you will be believed, as far as the parentage of the child is concerned,’ Jack warned him. ‘The men will not blame you for that—but the women may not wish to welcome you as warmly as they did.’
‘It is Lady March I think of,’ Paul said. ‘If it were not for the whispers concerning her, I should ignore them and let them do their worst.’
‘Yes, it is her reputation that I care for too,’ Jack said grimly. ‘I shall do my best to scotch the rumours, believe me.’
‘Thank you, my friend. I care not for the wagging tongues of spiteful women—but I would not have Jane hurt for all the world and, as for the other business, I think we must lay a trap for my enemy...’
* * *
Jane washed her face and changed into a walking gown of dark green, which she wore with a velvet bonnet tied with ribbons to match her gown. A silk shawl was draped over her shoulders. She had refused luncheon, telling her housekeeper that she had a headache and asking to be left alone, but now she needed to go out in the fresh air. Sarah would accompany her if she wished it, but Jane needed to be alone.
Sitting on her bed had not served. She was in too much agitation to settle or sleep, and now her head really had started to ache. One thing she was certain of: she could not receive Paul that afternoon if he called—so she must make her escape and give herself time to think before she spoke with him again.
He would no doubt wonder why she had gone out rather than receiving him as she had expected to do, but Jane did not feel like asking the questions that raced through her mind. Paul had spoken of love and trust and she wanted to trust him, but it was difficult to forget the gleam in Lady Catherine’s eyes. Clearly, she had enjoyed passing on the shameful gossip—for if Paul had deserted his Indian wife when she was carrying his child, he had behaved badly.
Yet would he have spoken to her of marriage if the stories were true? Jane could not believe it, but her treacherous mind would not let it go. She loved him and she ought to trust him, because with love came trust—and if it did not could it be true
love?
Leaving the house, Jane told her footman that she would be back in time for tea. She did not want her family to worry if they discovered her room empty, but she wanted neither company nor sympathy and she was afraid that her emotions would show too easily. She felt as if her heart would break because she was tortured by her doubts.
What had Paul meant when he said he was not free to marry her yet? He wanted her, loved her, but he had asked her to keep their understanding secret—what honourable man would do that?
The thoughts kept going round and round in her head and she could find no answers to her questions. She wanted to believe that his reasons were honest and that he was not the man Lady Catherine had implied. Her motive was easy to read, Jane thought. She’d wanted Paul for herself. Although promised to a man much older and with a respected title, she would have jilted him, had the opportunity arisen for her to marry a man as wealthy as Paul. He might not have the marquis’s title but he had youth and strength and his fortune was vast, so it was said... Yes, Jane could think of reasons why both Lady Moira and Lady Catherine might want to spread poisonous lies...but why had Paul wanted to keep their engagement a secret?
If it were not for that, Jane would have dismissed the whole story as nonsense, for she could not believe Paul would seek to keep such a scandal from Society. It was almost certain to leak out if there was any truth in it. Only a fool would believe they could keep such a secret and Paul was not a fool. Indeed, she found him intelligent, amusing and honest...and she was the fool to let Lady Catherine distress her.
Jane found that she was heading for the park. It was a pleasant afternoon and she felt that a good brisk walk would help to clear her head, both of the headache and her doubts. All she knew of Paul was telling her that she should trust him and yet it was hard not to let the doubts creep in... If only she could be certain that he truly cared for her...
If she was sure that Paul loved her Jane would care little for the gossip. Some of the more spiteful ladies might watch her to see if she quickened with child but her friends would dismiss the tales of her being Paul’s mistress as nonsense. Yes, perhaps she had been a little careless, calling at his house with just Melia—but the girl was his ward, and Jane had been married previously. She was not a vulnerable young girl. Surely only those with nasty minds would make anything of such meetings. There had been nothing clandestine in them, for Paul’s servants had been in the house and Viscount Hargreaves and Melia...
Entering the park, Jane saw an acquaintance and nodded to her, but the woman looked through her. She sighed because the dowager Lady Benbow was a stickler and just the sort who would cut Jane if she believed the rumours. Oh, well, there was nothing to be done. She would simply have to ride out the storm and hope at the end she would still be accepted into the homes of her friends.
It was very hot. Jane felt beads of sweat on her brow and more trickled down her back. She headed for the trees because it would be cooler there and she was not yet ready to walk home. In her haste to leave the house she’d forgotten her reticule and had no money with her, so that meant she must walk all the way home again. Had she thought, she might have taken a cab when she was ready to return...though she could ask the cab to wait and ask her footman to pay for her. Yes, perhaps she would do that when she was ready, but for the moment she would simply walk in the shade.
She had been strolling, lost in thought, for almost half an hour when she heard a sound behind her. Turning, she gazed into the face of a man she knew and a shiver ran down her spine as she saw the look in his eyes. It was a look of malice and intent to harm.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, looking about her as she took a step back. ‘Have you been following me?’
‘Yes, of course, for weeks, but I never expected you to make it so easy for me. Lady Catherine must have done her work better than she knew...’
‘That was you?’ Jane gasped and moved back. ‘Why did you send her—what did you hope to gain?’
‘Exactly what I have,’ he replied and grinned. ‘You alone and vulnerable. There is nothing like sowing doubt in a woman’s mind to make her do something foolish—but I thought you would be harder to deceive...’
‘Get out of my way,’ Jane cried defiantly. ‘It was all lies. I know Paul doesn’t have a wife...’ But her words ended abruptly as a cloth was placed over her nose and mouth from behind and she felt herself losing her senses. She was falling...falling, though she did not know it, into the arms of the man who had followed her.
* * *
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ the viscount’s footman said when he admitted Paul to the parlour. ‘I believe Lady March went out earlier. If you would care to wait I shall make enquiries as to whether she has returned. Perhaps some refreshment while you wait?’
‘Nothing, I thank you. I thought Lady March was expecting me. Did she say when she was to return?’
‘I will enquire for you, sir.’
Paul stood looking out at the rear gardens, frowning because he had expected Jane to be here. Surely she knew he meant to call and spend some time with her before he left town? Why would she have gone out when she knew she would have company—unless Lady Catherine had been here before him? No, that would not make her leave the house. Jane must know it was a wicked lie—surely she did?
He turned as someone came into the room and he recognised a footman he’d seen before on his visits to the house.
‘Lady March went out two hours ago, my lord. She said that she would be back in time for tea...’
‘Ah, I see...’ Paul looked at his watch. Perhaps Jane had an errand and did not expect him until then. ‘I shall leave and return later...’
He was frowning as he walked from the house. He would call into his club and make the situation clear to one or two trusted friends who could be relied upon to refute the scurrilous lies that were circulating. Just as he reached it, however, he saw someone coming out and looked at him in surprise.
‘Adam, you here?’ he said. ‘I thought you settled in Ireland?’
‘Yes, I am, but there was a small matter of business that my lawyers wanted me to settle. I intend to return this evening. Our horses are being well cared for, Paul. There is nothing to concern yourself with...’
‘I was just surprised to see you,’ Paul said and placed a hand on his arm. ‘You were in the club—did you hear a rumour concerning me?’
‘If you mean that nonsense concerning Annamarie, I told the man who uttered it that I would knock it down his lying throat if he said such a thing again. I know you did not marry her—nor is the child yours...’
‘Then she has a child?’ Paul wrinkled his brow. ‘I can scarce believe it.’
‘If there is a child I have heard nothing of it—though there could be one,’ Adam said. His expression changed to one of anguish. ‘I cannot tell you here; it is too public. I never intended anyone to know, but now I must tell you. Where can we go to talk in private?’
‘Come home with me, Adam, and I will listen to your story.’
‘I should have told you sooner, but she begged me not to...’
‘Come, my friend, walk with me and we shall speak in private...’
‘I fear you will think the less of me once you know the truth.’
‘We are friends,’ Paul said. ‘You saved my life on board ship when I lay ill of a fever—and I might have died that night as we returned from Newmarket. I believe you are not my enemy, though there were moments when I wondered.’
‘And I gave you cause,’ Adam said. ‘I was bitter and resentful when I learned the true extent of my father’s debts—but there were other reasons, as you will soon learn...’
* * *
‘I wish you had told me this sooner,’ Paul said when Adam had finished his story. ‘I always sensed that you cared for Annamarie—but you told me she would not look at you...’
‘For a long time that was true,’ Adam said and grimaced. ‘She wanted you, but one night after she learned that you had booked your ship for England, she came to me and...’ He faltered, his voice caught with emotion. ‘She declared that it was always I that she had loved and she gave herself to me. Yet afterwards she cried bitter tears and I knew that it was you she truly loved.’
‘I could never love her, though I felt sympathy for her, caught between two worlds and never belonging to either.’
‘When she learned that I had become the viscount she begged me to wed her and told me that she was with child—my child...though I wasn’t sure whether she lied...’ Adam hesitated. ‘She believed that I would be rich and would send for her to come to me here...and I promised she would be received in society as my wife...’
‘So when you learned you had nothing you resented what I had...’ Paul looked at him hard. ‘Knowing that Annamarie was your wife, why did you let my ward think you cared for her?’
Adam had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I suppose I wanted to punish you a little for having everything that I wanted and I knew that you were concerned for her...’
‘Not the action of a gentleman,’ Paul said severely. ‘You might have broken her heart.’
‘I doubt she has one to break,’ Adam said. ‘She is a flighty little madam, Paul—yet I should not have let her think I cared. There is only one woman I have ever loved—but when she learns that I have only a small house in Ireland and a share in your racing stables...’
‘If she loves you, it will be enough for her, Adam.’
‘No. Annamarie loved you. I was second best and she took me only because she’d given herself to me in a fit of pique and feared the consequences. She will not want me when I tell her I have nothing to give her...’
Paul turned from him and took a few paces about the room, his thoughts working furiously. ‘There is a way you might appease her,’ he said. ‘It is not what she hoped for or what you might wish...but it is a way for you to do what is right, Adam.’
