by Laura Landon
There was a look of surprise on Mary’s face before she said, “I see you found Brand’s secret hiding place. The safe hidden in the wall.”
“Yes. We found it. You can imagine my shock when I discovered your marriage certificate there.”
“Yes. I can imagine. I apologize for that. Brand never intended to deceive you as long as he did.”
“Then why did he? Why did he have to deceive me at all?”
“For our son.”
Claire reeled at the admission. She knew Hunt had a son—the major had already told her—but hearing it said so bluntly stole her breath.
She stepped away from the center of the room. Away from where the major stood ready to reach out to her. Away from where Barnaby stood, ready to comfort her however he could. She didn’t need them. She needed to face this on her own.
She walked to where the tea service had been set up and leaned against the table until she’d composed herself, then turned to face her adversary.
“Please, sit down, Lady . . . Lady Huntingdon,” Claire said. The words caused a lump in her throat.
Lady Huntingdon took the chair Claire indicated, then turned her attention to Sam. “You were with Brandon when he died, weren’t you, Major?”
“Yes.”
Hunt’s widow lowered her tear-filled gaze to her lap. “Did he suffer at the end?” Her soft voice broke. She dabbed at her eyes, then raised her gaze to meet Sam directly.
“No.”
“I’m glad.”
Lady Huntingdon cleared her throat as if composing herself, then turned to where Claire sat on the sofa opposite her.
“I’m sorry it took me so long before I came to see you, but I didn’t know until a few weeks ago that Brandon was . . . gone.”
“How did you find out?” the major asked, moving closer to Claire. He sat on the sofa next to her, his thigh touching her as if he wanted her to know he was there for her. Barnaby sat on her other side.
“When Brand left us that last time, he said he’d be gone at least a month, if not two.” She smiled. “It wasn’t unusual for him to be detained longer once he came to London. But when three months went by and he still didn’t return, I became worried. I sent Parker, Brandon’s servant, to London. He’s the only one who knew Brand’s real identity. As you have probably realized, our relationship was a secret Brand guarded closely.”
Barnaby sat forward in his chair and spoke for the first time. “No one suspected who you really were?”
Lady Huntingdon smiled. “Everyone knew who we were. Lord and Lady Granville. My husband was rumored to have some position with the government, or perhaps it was a position with a solicitor, or perhaps a connection to a large shipping firm, or”—she smiled—“whatever fantasy Brandon invented that kept him away from home for long periods of time. We lived such ordinary lives, no one paid much attention to our comings and goings.”
“You have to excuse my bluntness, Lady . . . Lady . . .” Claire tried to finish, but couldn’t.
“Please, call me Mary. And I will call you Claire if you don’t object. Because that is how Brandon always referred to you.”
Claire squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to accustom herself to this nightmare. “Very well, Mary. You’ll have to excuse my bluntness, but I . . . I . . .”
Mary smiled. “You deserve an explanation.”
The Marchioness of Huntingdon—the real Marchioness of Huntingdon—rose from her chair and separated herself from where Claire and the major and Barnaby sat. With a soft, gentle voice, she began.
“I met Brand when I was nineteen. My parents were actors and we were playing in London. One night Brand and a group of his friends came to one of the performances. He came backstage after the performance and asked me to join him for dinner. I found out later he did it on a dare. Not a very romantic beginning,” she said, glancing at Claire, “but I think we fell in love that night. I know I did.
“It wasn’t long before Brand was talking marriage. I knew from the start a future together was impossible. He was a marquess, heir to a dukedom. I was an actress. I knew his father wouldn’t allow his only son to marry me. But Brand was so optimistic. He wouldn’t listen to anything I said. Then I discovered I was pregnant.”
Mary ran a small gloved hand over the edge of the marble mantel on the fireplace. “I would have been content to be Brand’s mistress, as long as we could be together. You see,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes, “we both realized how impossible it would be to live without each other. For weeks, every time Brand brought up marriage, I refused. I told him I wasn’t interested in his title. That all that mattered was that we were together.
“But Brand wouldn’t consider any arrangement other than marriage. He was so confident that when his father found out I was carrying the next Bridgemont heir, he’d agree to our marriage. But of course those were just the idealistic dreams of youth. When His Grace found out, he became livid. He refused to even consider allowing his son to marry an actress.
“Brandon put up every argument imaginable. He even arranged a surprise meeting between us, sure that when his father met me, he couldn’t help but welcome me as a daughter-in-law. The meeting was a disaster.
“The Duke of Bridgemont publicly rejected me and announced to all in attendance that he would never despoil the Bridgemont name by allowing his son marry a fortune-seeking harlot. That he’d disown Brand first and let the title be passed down to a distant cousin. So Brand and I did the only thing left to assure our son wasn’t born a bastard. We married secretly.”
Mary paced the room. “We were so young then. So naïve. Brand was only twenty-five and I was just nineteen. Brand was convinced that in time his father would change his mind about me. If not, he was content to wait until his father died and he became the next Duke of Bridgemont.
“So, we moved to an estate Brand bought under our new assumed name, and for nearly seventeen years, we’ve kept our marriage a secret.”
Claire clutched her hands in her lap until they ached. “Why did he marry me? What possible reason could he have had, knowing he was committing bigamy?”
“The Bridgemont title. The estates. Everything that went with the name. His father was tired of waiting for Brand to provide him with an heir and threatened to disown him if he didn’t marry you.”
Claire reached out. The major’s hand was suddenly there. Claire held on to him as if he were the lifeline she needed to survive this.
“Somehow, his father found out about us. Not that we were married. He assumed Brand was keeping me as his mistress. Of course, his father didn’t have any qualms about that as long as he married you to provide him with a legal heir.
“I begged him not to go through with it. I told him I didn’t care about the wealth or the estates. That I would be happy with whatever he provided. And I truly believe until the last second, he didn’t intend to go through with his marriage to you. He’d resigned himself to giving it all up. But one thing stopped him. His one weakness. His Achilles heel.”
“Of course,” Claire said, feeling a bitterness she couldn’t fight. “His title was too important to him.”
“No. His son was too important to him. Jonathan Alexander, Brandon’s heir. He couldn’t throw his son’s inheritance away just to spite his father.”
“So, he offered me up as a sacrifice,” Claire choked out. “He married the woman his father demanded he marry . . . a woman he didn’t want, a woman he wasn’t legally free to have, so he could protect his son’s inheritance. Why didn’t he just tell his father he already had an heir?”
“Because he knew the duke wouldn’t allow an actress’s son to inherit the Bridgemont title. It may still turn out that way. The Duke of Bridgemont may still decide to disown Brandon’s son once he finds out about him.”
Mary stood in front of them, her back straight, her head high. “I regret it’s turned out this way. I even considered never revealing my marriage to Brand. But I never really had a choice. I had to do what wa
s best for my son.
“Jonathan is the Marquess of Huntingdon, the Duke of Bridgemont’s legal heir. Every choice Brand made was to ensure his son would one day inherit that title. He would have expected me to follow through in his place.”
Claire rose to her feet and moved to the opposite side of the room. She needed to think. She needed to separate herself from Hunt’s wife. She stood stock-still with her back to the room and her eyes staring out the window, seeing nothing.
As if the major knew how difficult this was for her, he stepped up beside her. “Are you all right?” he whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders.
Claire nodded, then forced herself to stand steady when he released her.
The major turned to where Mary stood. “Did Hunt give you anything when he returned from France? Did he leave anything with you for safekeeping?”
The major’s question fired through Claire with the force of a gunshot. She turned, waiting for Mary’s answer.
“He always brought things with him when he came, gifts for the children, papers to work on while he was visiting.”
“Did he bring any papers with him when he came that last time?”
“Yes. I have them out in the carriage. I packed everything in my trunks in case there was something of importance.”
“Watkins,” Claire said, rushing to the door. “Have Lady Huntingdon’s trunks brought inside and have them taken to the blue guest room. Then, send Tilly down to show Lady Huntingdon upstairs.”
The major’s face turned hard. Claire knew as well as he that there was a good chance the papers Hunt had taken were in one of Mary’s trunks. And the necklace. The necklace that would save Alex’s life.
“You will, of course, stay here,” Claire said to Lady Huntingdon.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Thank you.”
“Tilly,” she said when the servant entered, “show Lady Huntingdon to the blue guest room and unpack her trunks.” She turned back to Mary. “I’ll be up momentarily to see you settled.”
Claire watched Mary follow Tilly from the room, then turned to see what course the major intended to take.
“Linscott,” the major ordered, “take a message to McCormick. Tell him to stand ready. Tell him not to let Roseneau out of his sight.”
Barnaby was already near the door when he stopped. “Do you think she has them?”
“Yes. That’s what he meant with his last words. ‘My marchioness has them.’”
Barnaby paused. “The Russian emissary is scheduled to arrive tomorrow evening. It doesn’t give us much time to discover the traitor’s identity.”
There was a grim expression on the major’s face. “Tell McCormick I’ll send word the minute I know anything.”
Barnaby nodded then left the room, leaving Claire to battle the major by herself.
Chapter 28
Claire’s head ached. She reached up to rub her throbbing temples. She’d known it would come down to this, to the major and her on opposite sides. She only prayed he was more concerned with the papers for the moment. That she would have at least one chance to get the necklace without him stopping her.
Although she knew when she took, it he’d never be able to forgive her.
“Claire?”
Claire wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged tight, praying she could protect herself from the pain that was to come.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded her head, but inside a voice was screaming, No! I’m not all right. She’d probably never be all right again. Because when this whole nightmare was over, she’d be forced to face the fact that her entire life had been a lie. Be forced to announce to the world that she wasn’t the Marchioness of Huntingdon. She wasn’t anyone.
And worse than that, she’d be forced to live with the major’s anger and fury when he realized she’d exchanged the Queen’s Blood for Alex. When he realized her brother’s life had been worth more to her than her own, because he was the only innocent one in all of this. And she could not live with herself if she let him die.
Then, she’d have the rest of her life to live with the memories of Sam’s kisses and the one single night he’d made love to her. Time to come to terms with the fact that the only man she would ever love hated her.
“Claire?”
He’d come up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. His touch was like a brand searing through her. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anyone in her life. Needed him more than she thought it possible to need anyone. Just once more before he left her. Once more before she was left with a heart so shattered she’d never be able to survive. But loving him again would only make it worse. And she wasn’t sure she could survive it.
“I’d like to be left alone,” she said, stepping out of his arms.
“He can’t hurt you any longer, Claire.”
Her breath caught. “No, he can’t. No one will ever again.”
“Claire?”
“Please, don’t call me that.”
“What, Claire?”
“Yes.”
“That’s your name.”
“But I haven’t given you permission to use it.”
The look on his face turned dark. As if she’d struck him. “Why are you doing this?
“Doing what?”
“Closing yourself off from me.”
With a stiffening of her spine, she turned her back to him and moved as far away from him as possible.
“Don’t you realize it’s too late to walk away from me? We’ve shared too much, Claire. We’ve held each other and kissed each other, and given our bodies to each other.”
“Stop!”
Claire brought her fist to her mouth. How could he remind her of that? How could he throw her mistake in her face like that?
“I’m doing everything in my power to forget that last night happened. It was a mistake. I should never have let things go that far but I—”
She stopped before she revealed more than she intended.
“But you what?”
“Nothing.”
“What reasons aren’t you able to admit, Claire? That you couldn’t stop yourself any more than I could? That you knew from the start there was something between us that even Hunt couldn’t destroy?”
“How dare you!”
“Would you like me to tell you what I think?”
“No.”
“I think you made love to me because you wanted me. And because you were desperate to disprove all your insecurities. I think Hunt’s refusal to physically make you his wife made you doubt your ability to be a woman. That for just one night you wanted to be loved.”
Claire stifled a cry.
“What Hunt did to you was unconscionable. He had no right to take you as his bride when he already had a wife. There is no excuse for that, other than he loved his son so much he would do anything—even commit bigamy—to ensure his son’s rightful place in Society. But that doesn’t excuse what he did. Nor does it excuse what you did to me.”
Claire spun her gaze to the hard look on his face. She wanted to demand he explain what he meant, but he didn’t give her a chance. He explained without her prompting.
“You used me to prove to yourself you were capable of loving someone, capable of being a woman. You used me the same as Hunt used you.”
“No!”
“Why, Claire? Why did you choose me to give yourself to? Why me, when you could have had anyone?”
“That’s not why I—”
“Then why, Claire?”
“Because I—”
She clamped her hand over her mouth. She’d almost blurted out the words she could never take back. Almost told him she loved him. But she’d stopped herself just in time. Just before she’d made a fool of herself and was forced to watch the look of shock on his face. Before she had to hear his words of denial.
She lifted her chin and glared at him. “You already know why.”
&nb
sp; “No, I don’t. Tell me.”
He took a step toward her, and Claire sucked in a painful breath. How could she tell him she loved him?
“Tell me, Claire,” he said, taking another step. “Tell me why you gave yourself to me.” He took another step, then another, until he stood so close she could feel the heat from his body. “Tell me,” he said, clasping his hands over her shoulders and pulling her close.
“You know!” she cried out, knowing he intended to kiss her. Certain she’d die if he did. Even more certain she’d die if he didn’t.
But when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers, she didn’t care about anything except having his body pressed close to her and his lips against hers.
She wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and held him close. His lips moved over hers until she ached with a yearning only he could assuage. She didn’t think of the rightness of kissing him. Or the pain she would feel when he realized that she’d used the necklace to bargain for Alex’s life. When he looked at her with disgust instead of adoration. She only knew that this would be the last time she’d have him near her once he realized what she’d done. This would be the last time she’d know what love truly felt like. She took what he offered with greater urgency.
He deepened his kisses—taking from her, demanding from her, then opening his mouth to begin his assault. His tongue skimmed her warm flesh in search of a treasure. She rushed forward to meet him, to take from him all he could give.
Their mating was magic. Wave after wave of molten heat soared through her chest and down her belly, igniting the beginning of something greater than she’d ever felt before. There was a desperation in his touch, and his tongue battled hers with a vibrancy that stole her strength.
Claire clung to him, rubbing her hands across his shoulders and touching as much of him as she could.
Then she forced herself to stop. Stop before it was too late and there was no turning back.
She turned away from him and stepped out of his arms. She was unable to stand on her own and braced herself against the corner of a table that sat by the door.
“What, Claire?”
Claire gasped for air, praying when the day was over he would understand that she’d had no choice.
