by Gayle Callen
Lady Rosa gasped, one hand clutching Emily’s arm, the other reaching for her husband’s support. Matthew watched in astonishment as the professor gave it. But he couldn’t focus on his parents, not when this situation needed careful cunning to match Emily’s.
And then the answer came to him, so shocking and yet appropriate that he wanted to laugh. There was only one way to discover Emily’s secrets without having her interrogated by a constable. And though it was only a temporary halt to the inevitable scandal when this story hit the newspapers, he gave in to his impulses, so long denied.
“Some parts of my memory are vague, and I thought they would be minor, but”—he gave Emily a chagrined smile—“I don’t remember being married.”
There was a strained moment of silence where his parents gaped at him. Matthew watched Emily, eager for her response in the battle he’d just initiated.
And then her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to collapse.
Chapter 2
Matthew scooped Emily up before she hit the floor, enjoying the soft curves of her limp body as he gathered her against his chest.
“Oh dear!” Lady Rosa cried, putting her palm gently on Emily’s forehead. “The shock must have been too much for her. She has grieved for you so, especially after your six wonderful months together in India.”
Reggie gave a sudden cough, then cut if off.
“She was ill when she first arrived last year,” Lady Rosa continued, “just after we’d heard of your death. Poor thing. She herself hadn’t even heard the news, for she was on an earlier ship.”
Lady Rosa gave him a worried smile, but returned her concern to his “wife.” So Emily had not just claimed theirs was a rushed marriage, but said they’d spent time together. That was incredibly risky. So what had she been doing—and trying to hide—while they were supposed to be together in India?
“She only came to you after you heard the news?” he asked. Emily had obviously targeted him because she discovered that he was conveniently dead. Why would she need the protection of a man’s name?
“It doesn’t matter, son,” Professor Leland said in a husky voice. “Good Lord, your health is more important than anything else. You’ve lost parts of your memory. Shall we send for the physician immediately?”
The twinge of guilt was too easily ignored. “The army took care of all that, Father. And nothing can be done except hope that time will heal my memories. I am not in any pain or discomfort.”
The professor seemed to force himself to relax, his gaze falling on Emily, still unconscious in Matthew’s arms. “Is she not heavy, son? You could place her on the chaise. I’m certain she’ll revive quickly.”
Matthew wondered if she’d portrayed herself as fragile, coming to them supposedly ill. He wanted to question her, but not in front of his parents.
He gave his father a tired smile. “Though I can’t remember our marriage, I imagine I don’t mind holding her.”
Lady Rosa rolled her eyes even as she blushed, while the professor chuckled.
Matthew looked down at Emily’s still face, adjusting her so that her head rested on his shoulder where he could see her. Her sweet-smelling breath fell softly on his neck; her closed eyelids looked bluish with fragility.
“This must be a shock for you as well, son,” Professor Leland said quietly. “Memories are all we have of the past, and to lose them, especially one so important…” His voice trailed off for a moment, then strengthened. “But this is minor, something that will ease with time. The most important thing is that you’re home with us, that you’re alive. We can all make new memories together.”
“Oh, your sisters will be so thrilled!” Lady Rosa cried, clapping her hands with delight. “They had already retired to their rooms. We can send for them and celebrate!”
But Matthew was too eager to begin the dance of wits with Emily. “Mother, would you mind if I take…Emily up to our suite? Peace and quiet will help ease her shock. And I do find myself exhausted. I only spent a brief night in London, then came directly here.”
“Of course, of course,” the professor said. “We’ll tell the girls when they awaken in the morning, so they won’t shock you with their hysteria.”
“Shall I have a tray sent to you for dinner?” Lady Rosa asked.
“No, we stopped for a meal several hours ago. I’ll just be glad to sleep.”
His parents turned and came up short when they encountered Reggie, who clicked his heels together and bowed to them.
Matthew shook his head with suppressed amusement. “With all the excitement, I forgot the introductions. Professor Leland and Lady Rosa, allow me to present my friend, Lieutenant Reginald Lawton. We traveled together from India.”
While his father nodded politely, Lady Rosa took her worried gaze from Emily and gave Reggie a frank look of interest. “I will be so happy to talk with you, Lieutenant. Were you with Matthew during his marriage to Emily?”
Matthew didn’t worry about Reggie’s response.
“No, my lady,” the other man said promptly. “I guess I’ll get to know her right along with Matthew.”
Matthew used a wince to hide his amusement. “Hamilton will find you a room, Reggie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As his parents accompanied him through the corridors, Matthew found himself nodding and smiling at the various servants who’d come to gape at him in astonishment. Some he didn’t recognize, but of the ones he did, many were wiping their teary eyes with handkerchiefs. He was strangely moved.
Yet what impressed him was how many looked at his “wife” with true concern. Apparently, Emily had made herself at home in his household, and turned even the servants into her admirers.
He wondered if she was faking a swoon to delay his inevitable questions until they were alone. That would be a good tactic. Her angelic demeanor and delicate body made it easy to forget what she’d done. He had been celibate since last year, so he could be excused for his inability to look away from the woman in his arms.
Lady Rosa opened the door to his suite.
The chit had been living in his rooms, of course, he thought with amusement. To his surprise, she’d changed nothing of the masculine decor of dark wood, nor added feminine frills.
He placed the woman gently on his bed. At last, his parents left them alone, after lighting lamps to combat the growing gloom of the evening. A servant had already lit the coal in the hearth to chase away the coolness of the autumn night. He was glad of that, for after the heat of India, England seemed far too cold. Absently, he rubbed his scarred arm where the skin had pulled tight over his elbow as he’d carried her. Not exactly painful but…uncomfortable, and a constant reminder of his mistake in battle.
Matthew stood beside the four-poster bed, staring down at Emily—or whatever her name really was—for several long minutes. She didn’t stir. Long brown lashes lay on her porcelain cheeks; pink lips were parted softly with her breathing. Though he leaned close, still she remained unmoving. If she was pretending unconsciousness, she was doing a masterful job of it.
He searched the wardrobe in the dressing room and found serviceable clothing, nothing indecently expensive or flamboyant, several gowns a variety of black or gray. But of course she would have just emerged from mourning only months ago, he thought, smiling, wondering if she was the sort to miss lovely gowns.
Back in his bedroom, he went to the dressing table, which had once housed his razor, shaving brush, and cup, but now held a woman’s matching comb, brush, and hand mirror set, as well as glass bottles of perfume. He went through the chest of drawers, but found no hidden jewelry, nothing that incriminated her in any way. He was relieved.
But in the desk, several papers were gathered in a leather folio. He stared in surprise at a marriage license with his own signature on it. Had his injury made him forget something so monumental? But no, he could remember everything he’d done, every moment of his time in India. He peered more closely at the document, and realized that although
the signature would pass cursory inspection, someone had carefully copied his own to forge it, to provide a way into a celebrated family.
Not someone: Emily Grey. Unless that was a false name she’d written on the license.
But even her name struck a chord within him. Had he met her before? Was that why she’d chosen his family?
The town listed on the license was Southampton, where his ship had departed England, the wedding date only two days before he’d left the country. She knew much about him and his movements before he’d deployed. But she’d been clever enough to pass them off as a love-at-first-sight couple. What—or who—had induced her into this mad scheme? His parents said she hadn’t come to them until last year, just after they discovered his supposed death. Obviously she had chosen him from the list of the deceased.
He put the license back where he’d found it. He would have to exercise the ultimate patience, even as he played the befuddled husband. He shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, he knew, but couldn’t seem to help himself.
Husband, he thought again, looking down at her.
Off the top of his head he’d claimed amnesia where she was concerned. But if he were pretending to believe all of her lies, was he supposed to treat her as a wife in truth?
Even share this bed?
Something wicked stirred to life inside him.
Matthew shook his head and looked away, rallying his control. He’d spent his life mastering his every impulse; he would take things slowly as he figured out Emily Grey. How bad could she be if his parents already loved her?
Her eyes blinked several times, then opened, showing him the captivating blue, as well as her confusion.
And then she saw him and gasped.
“Hello, Emily,” he said softly, smiling. “Your husband is home.”
Emily opened her eyes, thinking groggily that she was supposed to be in the drawing room. Instead she was lying on her back, beneath the canopy of a bed—in her husband’s bedroom.
It all came to her suddenly, and her wary gaze found the man who’d brought her here, who now watched her after his pleasant greeting.
The dead man she’d claimed as her husband.
She’d thought she had become a strong woman, but his entrance into the drawing room stunned her so that she’d been speechless, unable to think about what to do. She’d fully expected to find herself tossed from the house.
But he hadn’t denounced her. When he said he’d lost part of his memory, her relief had been so absolute she must have fainted. How appallingly weak of her. Weakness was a liability; only her strength and her wits would see her through this now.
She found herself studying Captain Matthew Leland, trying to remember the man she’d known for only a few hours not quite two years ago, the man whose death she’d used for her own convenience.
But he wasn’t dead. He was very much alive, and alone with her in the bedroom they were supposed to share as husband and wife.
But he wasn’t her husband.
She wouldn’t panic. This rare illness of his had given her the chance to continue playing the role of his wife. She was strong now, and had learned she was capable of doing terrible things in order to survive. And she would survive this.
“Matthew?” His name came out in a feigned whisper of disbelief.
Casually, he leaned against the bedpost, arms folded across his chest, and a small smile turned up his lips.
He was a handsome man, as she’d thought from the first moment she saw him on a boat in the stormy English Channel. He had dark, auburn hair that glistened by lamplight. His amused eyes were hazel, but the more she looked at him, not just one color, but changeable. When she first met him, she’d thought his eyes intense, as if he would focus only on her whenever they spoke together. With a classically square jaw and thin lips, he was the picture of what a handsome man should look like. He was still broad with muscle, perhaps even more so since serving as a soldier in India. His coat almost seemed too tight across his shoulders, as if he hadn’t had time to purchase a new one since he’d been back.
Well, of course he hadn’t. He’d rushed straight from the ship to tell his parents that he was alive—only to find a wife he didn’t remember.
What would his wife do?
Without a second thought, she flung herself from the bed and into his arms. He didn’t even stagger, so strong was he. She thought he hesitated, but at last his arms came around her and she was enveloped by warmth—but not security. She would never delude herself. She’d grown up thinking that marriage meant security, but had found it herself, without needing an actual husband. She’d learned never to rely on anyone else.
At last she leaned back to look up at him, smiling with happiness, forcing tears to glisten in her eyes. “Matthew!” She repeated his name with gladness and joy.
He was smiling down at her, which gave her some ease, but he studied her face closely. Should she kiss him, distract him from thinking too deeply? She was fully prepared to do what was necessary, but…something stopped her.
“They called you Emily,” he said slowly, as if testing out her name on his tongue, his voice a deep rumble of masculinity.
She grinned as her hands stroked down his shoulders. “I was Emily Grey, but you made me a Leland.” She let her smile fade. “But now I don’t know what to do. I want to show my happiness for your safe return, and cry at the same time. Do you truly remember nothing?”
He shook his head. “A fine homecoming for a wife who hadn’t allowed herself to hope I would return.”
His hands slid down her back slowly, coming to rest on her waist. She’d wanted to distract him, but strangely, just his touch was distracting her. And she knew she could not risk such a mental failing.
“How could I hope?” she asked, fingering his lapels. “They said you were dead. I was ill when your mother told me. Even now I remember how lost I felt. But to you, I am just a newly introduced stranger.” As a tear fell from her lashes, she was grateful for such a mask behind which to hide. Though she was playing with fire, she reached to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and roughness of stubble.
Suddenly, his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her even more intimately against him. His gaze was centered on her mouth.
He thought she was his wife. He could claim his marital rights.
She found she couldn’t breathe, her breasts rising and falling against the hard wall of his chest. Though he was not an exceptionally tall man like his cousin the duke, he still leaned over her, powerful and intimidating. If he ever remembered everything—
He bent even closer, his mouth just above hers. She felt his breath, knew an intense ache that she couldn’t identify. To her surprise, at the last second he turned his head and pressed his warm lips to her cheek. He let her go so quickly that she stumbled back against the bed.
He caught her arm, his smile charmingly distressed. “I need…time to get to know you again, almost as if we are starting over. I know that isn’t fair to you—”
“Of course it’s fair,” she said, almost too hastily. She was supposed to be distraught and sad—but she could also be an understanding wife. She took a deep breath, then patted his hand where it still gripped her upper arm. “This is all a shock to me, too.”
He nodded.
“We have not seen each other in over a year,” she continued, feeling calmer, stronger. “I find myself wondering how you’ve changed, wondering what you’ve seen and done while in the army.”
He let her go and stepped back. “My parents said you’d spent six months with me in India.”
“Until you thought I would be in too much danger if I stayed with you. Do you remember any of that?”
He slowly shook his head.
“By the time I returned to England to meet your family, it was only to hear that they’d already had word that you were—dead.” She looked away, inspired to fumble for the handkerchief on her bedside table. She blew her nose.
When she looked back
at him, he was walking toward the desk.
“I found our marriage license,” he said.
Her breath halted in her lungs as she waited for him to continue.
“It’s dated only two days before I left for India. I remember some of the preparations in London, the train journey to Southampton, but not how long I spent there.”
“Two weeks. It is where we met. I am from a nearby village, where my father was a country squire.”
“Was?” He sat on the edge of the desk, watching her.
Was he deliberately keeping his distance? What a shock he must be feeling, faced with a woman he thought intimately connected to him. But she could not let herself feel sorry for him, or feel sorry about what she was doing.
“My father and brothers perished in a boating accident on the Channel,” she said.
Even now the memories of the wind rising up, the waves crashing over the bow, haunted her, distracted her. In her nightmares she could still see her oldest brother swept over the side, vanishing from sight. She did not have to fake these emotions; they pierced her stomach with such sorrow that she’d been unable to come up with a lie for Matthew’s family.
“I was sailing with my father and brothers when the boat tore apart in the storm. As I clung to the wreckage, I thought for certain I would die. Then I heard the sound of the ship’s bell and saw the schooner emerging from the mist. Yours was the first face I saw as you leaned out over the water above me, like an archangel come for me. I thought you were—fearless, so brave.” She looked away, swallowing. “You only smiled at me with encouragement, though I clung to your hand so tightly I could have dragged you under with me.”
She risked a glance at him, but he still watched her with intent.
Calmly, he asked, “You had no other family?”
“No one close. My mother died when I was a child. I thought my brothers would care for me no matter what.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“And there was no man in your life before me?”
