His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  “Like I said, they don’t know you. Also, the problems began since your ‘employment,’ so some of them are trying to make a connection.”

  “What about our quarters? Give them our permission to search the room.”

  “They don’t need permission. Mrs. Coushings conducted the search this morning. That is why she has not approached you directly, but rumors are still being spread.”

  A sick feeling rested in the pit of her stomach. Although she didn’t think living two lives would be easy, she’d never imagined this sort of complication. Surely normal people didn’t get accused of thievery.

  Biting her lip, she thought over her options. If she allowed her maid persona to quit her position, she would be forbidden from ever being herself again. On the other hand, if she confessed, Lord Merrick would be notified. Only one choice remained available.

  “Then tomorrow I’ll present myself, as a maid, to them. I’ll undergo any interrogations necessary in order to clear my name.”

  “But, my lady, if you told them who you really are, they would—”

  “No. That is asking too much.” Abigail squared her shoulders. “In the morning, I’ll face my fate head on and deal with the consequences.”

  Abigail had no idea what the outcome would be. She just hoped she didn’t clear her name only to have the theft bring her husband to Merrick, regardless.

  Chapter 12

  Greyson tossed back his brandy then poured another. The situation with Algers had pushed him too far. Although he’d spent a great deal of money purchasing information, the updates had all come back the same. No one knew where Algers had disappeared to so quickly. Greyson took another long draw. He wanted to forget about Algers and move on, but a nagging sense in the back of his mind would not let him. He would not forgive himself if something happened to Lady Merrick.

  Unlike before, Greyson now fully realized why Richard had given up his share of Ravenhurst. Knowing the club had brought about the threat to his wife gave Greyson a sour taste in his mouth. Why would he continue putting his time and effort in an endeavor that could bring more trouble for him or his wife?

  “A little early to be drinking, is it not?” Jonathan asked from the doorway.

  Greyson inwardly cringed. He’d not expected his friend to be back in London so soon. Since Jonathan had left to spend time with his ailing father, Greyson thought he would be gone for quite a while.

  “How is your father?”

  “Spry enough to kick me out of the house.” Jonathan grabbed an empty glass and filled it. “He claims the doctors are wrong, and he will live to be one hundred.”

  “I suppose that is a good sign.”

  Jonathan shrugged his shoulders as he refilled his glass. “With as hard as that man is, I doubt death wants to take him anyway.”

  Seeing a sadness pass through Jonathan’s eyes, Greyson felt sorry for him. He’d grown up with acceptance from his father, but ridicule from everyone else. Jonathan, on the other hand, was accepted by everyone but his father.

  “Easy with the brandy.” Greyson held his hand over the decanter as Jonathan reached to fill his glass a third time. “I thought you said the hour was too early for drinking.”

  “Too early for you, my friend, not for me.” Jonathan set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. “So is there anything new to report?”

  “Unfortunately not. Algers is gone, and frankly I’m getting tired of the whole situation.” Greyson pressed his fingers to his forehead, wondering if he should tell his friend what he had been thinking.

  “What situation are you referring to?” A pained look crossed Jonathan’s face.

  Greyson worried over his friend’s distress. Did Jonathan know he wanted to sell his share of the club? If so, was the idea of being sole owner of Ravenhurst causing him discomfort? Although Greyson didn’t wish to upset his friend, he could no longer continue like this.

  “Ravenhurst. As much as the club has done for me personally, I hate to leave it, but look at the trouble it caused. Lady Stonemede barely escaped unscathed. Now my wife . . .” Greyson could not continue. Unlike Richard’s wife, danger loomed for Lady Merrick.

  “I suspected your thoughts were leaning this direction for some time now. Although I’ll miss your management, I believe you trained Nathaniel well, so I will not have to detract from my more pleasurable activities.” Jonathan winked. “Besides, you will always hold your membership.”

  Greyson wanted to experience relief from Jonathan’s response, but he still felt his friend’s uneasiness.

  “I have no reason to rush my plans. If you would prefer I continue longer, I would be happy to oblige.”

  “Don’t do so on my account. I haven’t decided how I will proceed. Who knows, I may sell to Barton’s after all.”

  “Then I’ll have my solicitor draw up the papers.”

  “Very good.”

  “Now that this is settled, tell me about your visit to Merrick. Is my wife as blissfully happy as she expected to be?” Greyson could not stop his bitterness from escaping.

  Instead of being a relaxing change of subject, Greyson was surprised to see Jonathan’s discomfort grow. His friend stood and walked across the room without looking at him directly. Greyson’s heart sped up. What had happened? He had not received any news of Lady Merrick suffering from any harm.

  “Yes, I believe she is.” Jonathan’s tone held no emotion.

  “What is it?” Greyson demanded. “What are you not telling me?”

  Jonathan took a deep breath before turning to face him. “She’s cuckolding you.”

  Greyson reeled back. It could not be true. His innocent wife had been clear in her desire to avoid intimacy and had rejected his advances. How could she throw herself into the arms of another man less than two months after being apart from him? The answer to the question burned in his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it.

  “Are you certain?” Greyson chest constricted with inner turmoil.

  “Yes. From what I heard, Lady Merrick is rarely seen by the staff. They believe she is a sickly woman as she only manages to leave her bedchamber once or twice a day.”

  “Perhaps the country weather isn’t agreeable to her delicate constitution.” Greyson felt relieved to latch on to another explanation so quickly. He couldn’t accept Jonathan’s claims.

  “I assumed as much until I sent her maid to fetch her. The girl turned toward the staircase, but I saw her quickly alter her direction. Had I not previously been acquainted with the layout of your house, I would have thought nothing of it.”

  “Did you follow her?” Greyson poured a brandy knowing he would need the help to listen to the rest of the story. Gazing at the amber liquid, his stomach rolled, but he downed it regardless. The burn gave him comfort, unlike anything else in the room.

  “She went out to speak with another maid in the garden. When I questioned her, she explained the girl was an additional maid, hired by your wife. Both of them appeared flustered by my appearance.”

  “Did they collect Lady Merrick or deny you an audience?”

  “I was sent to the drawing room to wait for her. When she arrived, she’d clearly dressed in a hurry. Her gown was askew and several times I noticed her tugging on it. And her hair. I can’t even begin to describe how . . . how unnatural it looked.”

  Greyson stared past Jonathan, seeing his wife in his mind’s eye. He wanted to deny the validity, to rebuke the claims, but he could not. There were too many details, too many facts painting the picture. After all the years of mistreatment he endured, he had never felt so betrayed.

  “When I suggested you check on my wife, I didn’t notify her first. It wasn’t my intention to catch her unaware. I simply didn’t want to give her an opportunity to question my decision.” Greyson heard the hollowness echoing in his voice.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but . . .”

  “I know, and I thank you.” Greyson rubbed his head. “If there is nothing else, I believe I nee
d some time to think.”

  “Of course.” Jonathan nodded, shot him a reluctant glance, then left.

  As Greyson sat, staring unseeingly ahead, the shock from the news faded. His wife had never cared for him, so her decision to turn to another must have been easy. Greyson slammed his hand down on his desk. This wasn’t the way of things. She’d agreed to bear his heirs, and until then, she had no right to share her body with another man.

  Determined to fix this, Greyson shot to his feet. As he exited the study, he noticed the silver salver filled with invitations. For so many years he’d longed to see such an amount addressed to him. However, observing the pile now only increased his anger.

  He grabbed the offending salver and tossed it across the room. Seeing the letters strewn along the floor didn’t ease his anger. Stomping past the mess and up the stairs, he called for Holland. He would have his belongings packed immediately.

  Lady Merrick should beware, for he was coming, and he fully intended to teach her lover a lesson. Then he would lock her in her bedchamber until she forgot about any other man but him.

  “He is here.” The breeze wafted through the garden, bringing Sandra’s soft voice.

  Hearing those three words out of Sandra’s mouth sent Abigail’s heart beating wildly. She had been waiting to hear word from her husband, but she didn’t expect him to come himself to discover what Lord Jonathan missed.

  “When did he arrive?” Abigail whispered so Joshua would not overhear them.

  “No longer than ten minutes. Quick, we have to get you ready to receive him before he notices you missing.”

  Abigail dropped her trowel and rose swiftly. Although panicked, she was grateful Sandra discovered his arrival so soon.

  “Joshua, please excuse me. Lady Merrick is requesting my presence.”

  “Of course. Leave it. I’ll finish up here.”

  Following close behind Sandra, Abigail hurried through the servants’ entrance. She hoped not to encounter anyone on their way. Rushing through the house would only raise suspicions again. After her talk with Mrs. Coushings, the accusations died down, but she knew the slightest provocation would revive them.

  When they reached the base of the stairs, Abigail pulled Sandra to a stop.

  “Why don’t you go see if Lord Merrick has called for me? While I begin getting ready, you can attempt to have Mrs. Coushings delay my husband a little,” Abigail suggested.

  “Of course. I’ll come help you as quickly as I can.”

  Feeling some relief, Abigail rushed up the stairs and into her bedchamber. Closing the door, she took a few steps into the room before drawing up short. Lord Merrick stood before her. Her heart sped, and her stomach dropped.

  He faced her with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t immediately speak. Her eyes drank in the sight of him. Although she had not wanted him to come, she couldn’t contain the pleasure she received from seeing him. However, the lack of a similar emotion on his face dulled her joy. His expression told her she didn’t belong here.

  “May I help you?” His tone held confusion and amusement.

  Startled, she remembered her predicament. He didn’t know who she was. Keeping her gaze lowered, she hoped he would not recognize her voice through her Scottish accent.

  “No, my lord.”

  “You must be the new maid my wife hired, Abigail, is it not?” At her nod, he continued. “Do you know where Lady Merrick is? Mrs. Coushings believed her to be here, but I know you are better informed.”

  Panic welled up inside of her. Why had he come here? She had not expected to see or be interrogated by him. Swallowing, she determined not to mess this conversation up as she had the one with Lord Jonathan.

  “She can be found in the garden.”

  “Does she spend a lot of time there? In the ‘garden’?”

  Abigail hesitated at his anger. His tone proclaimed he didn’t believe her, but his fury went deeper than she would expect. Lord Jonathan must have told him something. But what?

  “No. She has been ill lately, and rarely leaves the room.”

  “Then it’s quite interesting that today she should decide to spend her illness out of doors, don’t you agree?”

  Abigail glanced up to see his intense eyes watching her. She wondered what he thought about the real her. Considering he had not lashed out at her, his opinion on women with red hair wasn’t the same as her father’s. Shaking off her wandering mind, she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I find it encouraging that she felt better today,” she rebutted, lifting her face defiantly.

  He tilted his head and took a step toward her. His eyes scared her. She knew he wanted to ferret out all her secrets. What she didn’t know was if his interest was in her personally or in gaining information about his wife.

  “If your lady is in the garden, what are you doing in her bedchamber?” He took another step closer.

  Her breathing increased. Glancing off to the right, she saw her shawl draped over a chair. “She requested I retrieve her wrapper.”

  He followed the direction of her gaze, then walked the few paces to the chair and gathered the silk in his fingers before she could protest. “Perhaps I should take it to her instead.”

  “No . . . I mean, that isn’t necessary, my lord. I’m sure you are tired from your journey. Allow me to take it to her then I’ll have her wait for you once you have rested.”

  “Very well.” His face remained unreadable, but she heard his suspicion.

  He held the material out to her as if issuing a challenge. Refusing to cower, she approached him. Then with a trembling hand, she reached out and took a hold of the shawl. When he didn’t immediately release the wrapper, her eyes shot to his. The cold steel of his gaze made her shiver.

  He stood so close she could feel the heat from his body but was immediately cooled from his icy stare. This wasn’t the man she remembered from London. Something had changed him these past weeks.

  Too long he stood there, eyes unwavering, to the point she almost relinquished her grasp on the garment. Suddenly and without warning, he dropped the shawl, turned from her, and headed in the direction of the door to his bedchamber. She remained unmoving watching him, completely confused. His ability to conceal his emotions so well infuriated her. Why had he left so abruptly? Had he discovered her secret? If so, why didn’t he confront her about it?

  “See that Lady Merrick is in the drawing room in half an hour,” he called out over his shoulder before closing the adjoining door.

  As nausea rolled around in her stomach, she stumbled forward to fall into the chair. Lord Merrick’s parting remark proved his ignorance of her deception. She sighed. The idea of keeping up this charade with him so close by made her head hurt. She needed to pull herself together and decide how to handle the situation.

  A light knock on the door snapped her out of her inactive state. Sandra would be able to help. Opening the door, she pulled her maid inside quickly, then shut and locked the door. Unfortunately, the door connected to her husband’s bedchamber didn’t have a similar lock.

  “Are you all right?” Sandra questioned. “Mrs. Coushings said Lord Merrick went to visit you here. Has he arrived yet?” The words rushed from her mouth, no doubt due to nerves.

  “He was in here when I arrived, but he already returned to his bedchamber.”

  “Oh no. Does he know? What happened?”

  “He doesn’t know, but he expects to see me, as Lady Merrick, in the drawing room in half an hour.”

  Sandra’s eyes widened, then she sprang into action. As she grabbed clothing, Abigail began to undress herself. Since living in the country, she’d never taken the extra care with her appearance, but instinct told her she would need to now.

  “What are you going to do? Keeping your secret will be impossible with him here.”

  “I know it won’t be easy, but what choice do I have? If ‘Abigail’ suddenly disappears, too many questions would arise, especially with the recent thefts.”

  “Why
does that matter? They would never discover you if they went searching.”

  Abigail rubbed her temples, resisting the urge to cry. “But then I would be unable to return. After all these years, I have finally found a way to live my life as myself. I can’t give that up.”

  Sandra sighed as she pushed Abigail down into the chair in front of the dressing table. She began applying the black powder while she made clicking sounds with her mouth, indicating she was thinking.

  “I would argue, but I see your point. I can’t imagine how difficult life is for you to be forced to hide yourself from everyone.”

  “It’s never been easy, but it was necessary,” Abigail explained using the English accent she’d perfected for her father. She would have to be careful not to slip back into her Scottish brogue that now came naturally to her.

  “I know what to do,” Sandra exclaimed. “I can say Abigail went to stay with her ailing mother. We will not have to say how long you will be gone considering you don’t know when she’ll be better.”

  The plan sounded reasonable, but the idea of being stuck in her “Lady Merrick” persona for an undetermined amount of time made her throat tighten. She knew Sandra was right, but she wasn’t ready to give this up.

  “Why don’t we attempt to hide me first? If Lord Merrick gets suspicious, or we run into too many problems, we can spread the story. I could begin dropping hints about my mother now.”

  “It might be easier to just tell everyone immediately without taking any chances.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m willing to take the gamble.”

  She’d succeeded against her husband while gambling before, and she had every intention of doing so again. If he discovered her deception, he’d punish her, but it was no different than what she was accustomed to.

  After Sandra secured the final pins in her hair, Abigail pushed her shoulders back and exited her bedchamber. She would meet with her husband and answer any questions he had regarding Lord Jonathan’s reservations. Then she would escape to Sandra’s quarters to once again be Abigail.

  She would fight to keep the life she’d built for herself.