by Karen Ranney
Martha was in the parlor, but she sat there unmoving as if turned to marble, a sculpture of a woman in repose. He saw her blink, breathe, look down at her hands folded in her lap, but moments after her grandmother made the announcement, she still hadn’t spoken.
His bride-to-be accepted the well-wishes of his staff and Reese with the sort of noblesse oblige that might’ve amused him under any other circumstance.
He was finding nothing about this situation remotely humorous.
He wanted out of the room, away from his guests, his friend, and his staff. He wanted to be alone where he could occupy his mind on something other than himself and this idiotic situation.
At least he’d had the sense to bed an heiress. Sedgebrook would be saved, but at what cost?
The price was too damn high.
Chapter 21
“Well played, Josephine. How did you manage to convince Jordan to offer for you?”
Josephine held herself still, determined not to let Reese know he’d surprised her. He leaned against the brick gate to the garden, his arms folded, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
“I came to the garden for a little solitude,” she said. “Not to be insulted.”
“Solitude? I would think you’d still be holding court, accepting congratulations from the staff.”
She frowned at him.
Holding court? Hardly. Jordan had left the parlor in indecent haste without a word to her. Martha had stared at her intently until it was uncomfortable. And the staff? Mrs. Browning had been distant, her well-wishes bland and lacking in enthusiasm. Nor had Frederick looked eager to accept her as his mistress.
If they didn’t change their attitude, she would be replacing them shortly.
“I’m not insulting you,” he said. “I admire your nerve. How did you do it? I watched you. You didn’t go to Jordan’s room. How did you convince him that you had?”
“Does it matter?” she asked.
He studied her for a moment, so intently that she grew uncomfortable.
When he put out his arm and would have wound it around her waist, she pulled away.
“What did you do?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He took the elixir last night. I know that much. I also know that it makes him forget whole chunks of time. How did you convince him that he seduced you?”
“That’s between Jordan and me.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Especially since you were in my bed.”
He continued to look at her as if she was a bug he was studying.
“Does it matter? Why are you so interested? I’ll make him a good wife.”
“I frankly doubt that,” he said. “I think you’ll be one more millstone around his neck.”
“A wealthy millstone.”
His laughter was irritating.
“You really do know your own worth, don’t you? You’ve sold yourself to be a duchess, and I don’t doubt you’ll wring every penny from the bargain. If I let the marriage happen, that is.”
He tried to put his arm around her again and once more she stepped away.
“What do you mean?” she asked, disliking that trembling feeling in her stomach.
“What do you think would happen if I told him you were in my bed last night?”
As a threat it was effective.
“You aren’t going to say anything,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because you would have already. You needn’t worry. I’ll be a solicitous wife.”
“I doubt Jordan wants anyone solicitous. Perhaps someone with the milk of human kindness running through her veins. I have a feeling yours has curdled.”
“You didn’t think so last night,” she said. “Are you jealous?”
She gave him one of her best smiles, the one she reserved for men who’d done something worthy of her praise.
He didn’t seem affected, if his grin was an indication.
“Not in the least. I have a feeling that, should I visit Sedgebrook after the nuptials, the bride might well occupy my bed. Just to ensure she doesn’t suffer from boredom.”
This time her smile was genuine.
“Perhaps something like that could be arranged,” she said.
His grin vanished and his eyes went flat.
“Or I could tell Jordan where you were last night.”
She heard a bargain in his threat. She was good at negotiations, especially if she had no other choice. In Reese she recognized a person who saw a situation for what it was worth and took advantage of it. They were not unlike in that trait.
The question was: What would she have to give up to keep him quiet?
“What do you want?”
“You’re leaving tomorrow,” he said. “Come to my bed tonight.”
She blinked at him, her smile fading away.
“Are you insane? What if Jordan finds out?”
His smile was back, an almost paternal, patronizing expression that irritated her.
“He won’t if you’re careful.”
His smile slipped a little, but his eyes hadn’t changed. They were still hard and a bit more calculating than she liked.
Perhaps she should have allowed him to embrace her after all.
“Do it, Josephine. Or I’ll go to Jordan.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said. “He’s your friend.”
“That’s exactly why I should,” he said.
Once again, she didn’t like either his tone or his look.
“Are you so desperate for female company you need to bargain for it, Reese?”
“Let’s just say you amuse me. One last night isn’t too much to pay for a lifetime of silence, is it?”
“But will it be a lifetime of silence?” she asked, her fingers trailing up his jacket front.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he asked, “What shall I give you as a wedding gift? A silver vanity set? Or an urn, perhaps?”
“A tea set,” she said. “So when I’m entertaining my friends, I’ll think of you.”
He smiled again. He was almost as adept at his expressions as she was.
Reaching out, he pulled her to him and this time she allowed him to wrap his arms around her.
“Be careful, Josephine. I’m not one of the boys you play with. I’m a little more poisonous.”
She’d already figured that out. Drawing back, she smiled up at him.
“Then you’d better let me go so that no one sees us. If you want one last night with me.”
She wouldn’t look at him as she turned and walked away, but she knew he was watching her. Well aware, too, that she was playing a dangerous game. She could easily be caught going to Reese’s room.
The lure of the forbidden had always been exciting, however.
Martha didn’t go to the boathouse after the meeting. She didn’t want to be around Jordan. How could she possibly put into words her confusion or her feeling of . . . the only word was betrayal.
How foolish. He owed her nothing, not even constancy. She was the one who had appeared in his bedroom. She could have left at any time. He didn’t restrain her. He didn’t try to cajole her. If anything, she was the one who’d taken advantage of the situation. Not him.
She’d known something had been wrong. As she told Josephine, she thought he was under the effects of alcohol.
Even so, why hadn’t he remembered her? How had he gone from bedding her to offering for Josephine?
She spent the afternoon in her room, sitting by the window and staring out at the lake, trying to understand the past twenty-four hours. Finally, she bathed her face and tried to do something with her hair. A moment later she gave up, deciding her appearance wasn’t going to change.
She’d never be as pretty as Josephine.
She tapped on Gran’s door and when Amy answered, slipped inside the room.
Amy took one look at her face and said, “I’ll go and get tea, shall I?”
Martha n
odded, grateful for Amy’s tact.
Gran was sitting in the chair beside the window. She was still dressed as she’d been this morning, her bearing familiar. She’d always been a strong woman, but this past year had been a test of her strength.
Her father had been Gran’s only child. Their relationship had been more than mother and son. It had been evident to anyone looking at them that they respected and genuinely liked each other.
His death had hit Gran hard, but she’d rallied to help all of them, issuing dictates carrying them through the first difficult days.
“Matthew would want you to remember him with a smile, Martha. Not your disheartened look.”
“Matthew would say you’re working too hard, Martha. I insist you come and rest in the parlor with me. We’ll read one of the newest novels together.”
Gran had made those terrible months bearable.
Now she was hoping the older woman would do the same with this situation.
“What is it, Martha?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap, and faced her grandmother.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Josephine has never spent any time with the duke. How did this marriage come about?”
Gran looked down at Hero, the cat having found his way to the room once more. Again, he’d found a spot of sunlight and was sprawled on the carpet, revealing his furry white belly.
After a space of a few minutes, she almost asked the question again, something that would have just irritated her grandmother. Whenever she’d been impatient for an answer, Gran said something like, “I’m not feeble, child. I haven’t forgotten what you asked.”
She remained silent, summoning her patience even though it was hard. Gran might not answer her at all. Instead, she could say something like, “Is it any of your concern?” Or: “Curiosity is a good thing, child, but there must be limits to it.”
Finally, Gran looked at her and sighed.
“It’s a conundrum, isn’t it? Josephine is happy, that’s for certain. The duke?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe he’s as pleased. However, you reap what you sow and His Grace is learning that difficult lesson.”
Her stomach tightened and she forced herself to say the words in a disinterested tone.
“What did he do?”
Gran looked at Hero again before shaking her head. “Let’s just say it was something they did together. More than that I’m not comfortable saying, Martha. You are, after all, a single woman and a virtuous one.”
Martha wished her grandmother hadn’t used those exact words.
She gripped her hands together. What would compel her grandmother to tell her what had happened? She’d have to choose her words carefully. She knew Gran. Nothing could sway her once she’d made up her mind. If Martha pushed too hard, it was conceivable that her grandmother would simply refuse to speak about it and the topic would be forbidden in the future.
“Please, Gran,” she said. “Could you explain?”
To her surprise, Gran’s face softened in compassion.
“You like him, don’t you?”
Was that the right word? It didn’t feel complete.
“I’ve come to respect him,” she said. Part of the truth, but not the whole of it.
“Your father thought the two of you would suit,” Gran said.
Surprise kept her silent.
“If anyone is to blame for what happened, it’s probably me,” the older woman continued.
“What do you mean?”
Gran sighed again, stretched out one hand toward Hero and wiggled her fingers at the cat. He disregarded her summons with some disdain, seeking out the dwindling square of sunlight.
“I thought, if we remained here for a time, you and he would form some kind of attachment.”
“You feigned illness,” Martha said.
Gran smiled lightly. “I didn’t feign fatigue. I’ve found the last few days relaxing.”
She wasn’t the least surprised about Gran’s confession, but her father’s thoughts had been a revelation.
“What did Josephine do?”
The idea that occurred to her was so wrong that she was willing to irritate her grandmother in order to verify it.
“Did she go to the duke’s room?” she asked.
Her grandmother’s look was a combination of discomfort and annoyance.
“How did you know? Did Josephine tell you?” Gran shook her head again. “I would have thought she’d have more sense than to brag about her foolishness.”
Josephine’s treachery sat like acid in her stomach. She shouldn’t have been surprised that her sister had manipulated the situation to her advantage, but she was. Josephine had put herself in Martha’s place, leaving Jordan with no other option.
“And the duke offered for her,” she said. “Because it was the honorable thing to do.”
Martha was so certain she was right that her grandmother’s reluctant nod was anticlimactic.
He hadn’t known it was her in his bed. He hadn’t known. Which was worse? Realizing what Josephine had done? Or that Jordan had been too sotted to know which sister had been in his bed?
“We’ll be leaving in the morning?” she asked, sliding from the bed. Dear God, she couldn’t wait to get home, to leave this place, to put Sedgebrook and the Duke of Roth behind her.
Her grandmother nodded again.
The sharp look Gran gave her was a warning. She forced a smile to her lips.
“It will be good to get home,” she said, moving to the door.
“Is something wrong, Martha?” Gran asked.
She shook her head. “I’m feeling a little nauseous,” she said, which wasn’t a falsehood. “In the meantime, I’ll take dinner in my room. Perhaps a good night’s sleep is all I need.”
“I do hope you’re not sickening with something,” Gran said, her look troubled.
“Nothing that going home won’t cure.”
Once again, she smiled, the effort more difficult than Gran would ever understand.
Chapter 22
Martha didn’t go down to dinner and thankfully no one came to the door urging her to be sociable. She heard laughter from far away and wanted to hate the person who was so filled with joy.
Above all, she didn’t want to see Josephine.
When Sedgebrook settled down for the night she left her room, intent on the Duchess’s Garden.
Moonlight spilled over the brick wall, casting shadows over the rosebushes, making them appear like shrouded, hulking figures. If she had been more imaginative, perhaps she might have felt a little unease. But nothing could be more disturbing than the tenor of her thoughts.
She didn’t follow the path to the boathouse. She wouldn’t go there again. In the morning they’d leave for home. Once at Griffin House, she’d devote herself to experiments on the prototype she’d created on her own.
She would never correspond with the Duke of Roth. In fact, she would destroy every one of his letters to her father, the selfsame letters she’d read repeatedly until she’d memorized his words, knew his handwriting by sight.
Everything she knew about Jordan Hamilton would have to be expunged from her mind. Every single emotion she felt would have to be washed clean. He would be her brother-in-law, a relative by marriage. She could never feel for him what she felt last night and even memories of those hours would have to be erased.
“Can you not sleep, Martha?”
She held herself still, wishing in that instant he would think her a shadow as well.
Go on past, make your way to the boathouse, ignore me. Above all, leave me alone.
“No,” she said, her voice faint. “I can’t. I might ask the same question of you.”
He didn’t answer her, merely moved out of the shadows. He was leaning more heavily on his walking stick and she wanted to ask if his leg was paining him.
She didn’t, knowing he probably wouldn’t answer such a question. He didn’t refer to his injury easily and he
certainly didn’t solicit sympathy. It was as if he wanted everyone to treat him as though he’d never had an injury.
Didn’t he realize she didn’t see him as infirm? With his determined refusal to solicit sympathy, he was even more attractive.
How could he marry a woman who’d called him lame?
“The stars look close tonight,” he said, tilting his head back to examine the night sky.
He was right. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen and the moon was like a bright white orb she could almost pluck by merely reaching out her hand.
The silence in the garden was absolute except for the sound of the lake just beyond, the water lapping at the shore. Not a bird spoke from its nightly roost. Not an insect chirped. No sound came from Sedgebrook, settled down for the night. Even the wind had calmed here in the secluded garden.
It would serve him right if she burst into tears. She almost wanted to leave him as confused and disoriented as she felt.
“You’re leaving in the morning,” he said.
“Yes.”
“They’ve found my ship, but you won’t have a chance to examine the vessel.”
“No,” she said.
“Perhaps it’s a good thing. It’s covered in mud. It’ll take me some time to clean it out.”
“Will you put a tether on it from now on? So you don’t lose it?”
“I think I shall,” he said. “It’s a good idea.”
How polite they were being.
She walked to one of the backless benches and sat, moving aside the skirts of her lavender dress in case he chose to sit. He did, joining her a moment later.
He held the walking stick with his right hand as he stared out at the shadowed rosebushes. The air was thick with scent and almost heavy.
Words hung unsaid between them. How could you not remember me? How?
She couldn’t say that to him.
“Is your leg paining you? Is that why you’re not asleep?”
“Yes,” he said, “but it’s something I’ll endure.”
“How were you injured?”
She would not have asked the question normally. Perhaps it was because they were alone in a moonlit garden. Or because in the past two days they’d become friends, of a sort.
