by Emma Wildes
right there. Your sentiment is in the proper alignment, at least. Does he suspect this romance?”
“He” being Sir Benedict. Robert thought about Loretta Newman’s comment and Damien’s
interference. That black look he’d received the night he’d strolled with her on the terrace, also,
was hardly subtle. “Others have guessed, and Sir Benedict is an observant man. I would guess he
does. Though I am not even sure I suspect a romance.”
“Forgive me,” John said gravely, but there was a hint of laughter in his voice, “but I think you do.
And I, for one, have been waiting for this moment for quite some time.”
Chapter Seventeen
Deception can take many forms. On occasion, concealing
the truth is a prudent course of action. But it
can also be a death knell to a tentative bond of trust.
If you are deceiving your lover, tread carefully.
From the chapter titled: “What He Needs to Know”
Lea waved a hand. “We’ll ring if we need anything else, Mrs. Judson.”
“Very well, madam. Your Grace.” The elderly woman inclined her head formally and left the
room.
“Normally,” her sister informed Brianna with a laugh, “she bustles around and orders everyone
about like she is the mistress of this household. Not that I mind, for she is beautifully efficient
and the children adore her. Only when you come to call does she suddenly recall I am the sister
of a duchess.”
Brianna managed an absent smile. “How lucky you are to have her. Tell me, how are the
children?”
It was a question that always sparked a litany of descriptions of their various exploits, but
Brianna adored her nieces and nephew, so usually she was both entertained and eager to hear—
but this particular morning, she had to admit she was distracted.
“. . . found it under the bed, of all places . . . Bri, are you even listening?”
“Of course,” she said automatically, but under the power of Lea’s skeptical gaze, she added with
a sigh, “maybe not as closely as I should. Forgive me.”
They sat in her sister’s “formal” parlor, but, warmly decorated with chintz-covered chairs and
embroidered pillows, the room could only be described as cozy. Hung on the walls were several
watercolors her sister had painted recently. Lea set aside her teacup. “Is something wrong? You
said the house party at Rolthven was a success. From the comments in the newspaper, everyone
seems to agree. I wish Henry and I could have been there.”
“It was fine. I do believe the guests enjoyed themselves. Even Colton seemed to relax.” Brianna
moodily contemplated the bottom of her cup. “At least that was the impression I received. Now
he’s acting quite different.”
It was true. Ever since their return, he’d been more preoccupied than ever. In retrospect, revealing
her true feelings had been a mistake. She should never have told him she loved him. With those
simple words, everything had changed, though she could have sworn that at the time, he’d been
moved. Certainly the passionate kiss they’d shared afterwards had been long and hard, and his
lovemaking both tender and urgent, but maybe she’d misinterpreted physical desire as an
emotional response.
“Define different.” Lea frowned in concern. “I can tell this is deeply bothering you.”
“It’s hard to describe. He’s . . . distant.”
“More than usual?”
That brought a wry smile. Yes, the formal façade Colton presented to the world did give the
impression of ducal privilege, not easygoing warmth, but she knew firsthand he was capable of
both. “Yes. Definitely more than usual. It could be he is just busier than ever after those days in
the country I imposed on him, but he hasn’t . . .”
She stopped, not certain how to proceed. Unexpected tears welled in her eyes, and she looked
away, at the rain-streaked window.
“Hasn’t?”
The sob locked in her throat made her choke out the words. “Come to my bed.”
“I . . . see.” Lea looked nonplussed. “I take it that is not at all the usual way of things.”
“Not at all.” Brianna blinked several times, cursed inwardly at her reaction, which was probably
over nothing, and steadied herself. “If Henry were acting this way, what would you do?”
“Ask him flat out, of course. But my Henry is not your duke, darling. I doubt Rolthven is very
used to people questioning his actions, even his wife.” Lea rubbed a finger along the arm of her
chair, her face thoughtful. “This might mean nothing except you are being too sensitive. Men do
have their moods, and marriages experience seasons, just like in nature.”
“Or,” Brianna pointed out, voicing one of her worst fears, “he could have a mistress. I’ve done
everything I can to prevent it, but—”
When she ended on a small sob, Lea gazed at her with open curiosity. “Done what?”
“Never mind.” Brianna rose and set aside her own cup, the rattle of china loud. She was never
like this, never so weepy, so unreasonably emotional. Lady Rothburg’s advice had been working
—she could have sworn it. “I should probably finish my errands.”
The return to his routine should have been just what he needed, yet Colton found he had to
consciously loosen the set of his jaw as the carriage rattled along the wet street. Orderly his life
suddenly was not.
He and Brianna had been back from the country for a week now, and though the birthday
celebration was considered a resounding success by all, including him, things in his marriage had
taken a definite downward spiral since the erotic evening of his birthday.
His beautiful wife was hiding something from him. In retrospect, he’d had a sense of it for some
time.
She wouldn’t, he assured himself, sinking lower in a moody sprawl on the seat of the moving
vehicle. Brianna wasn’t deceitful, or at least he didn’t think so. Quite the contrary, she was warm,
intelligent, engaging, and very, very beautiful.
The latter detail caused him some concern.
He was hardly the only male to notice. She garnered attention wherever she went, and though
she’d never been remotely flirtatious with another man in his presence, there was something
inherently sensual about his young wife that was hard to miss.
It was a damnable thing to realize that when a man married a woman as attractive as Brianna, he
might be doomed to endure the very repugnant emotion of acute jealousy. Colton hadn’t
considered it in that light until recently, simply because it hadn’t occurred to him he might have
reason to worry.
The carriage rocked to a halt. He alighted, noting the neighborhood was neither fashionable nor
run-down, but full of respectable houses and businesses. The small sign of the establishment he
sought was both discreet and neatly painted. It gave no indication of the nature of the service it
offered, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
He entered Hudson and Sons and immediately a young man behind a desk sprang to his feet and
bowed. “Your Grace. My father is expecting you. Right this way.”
“Thank you,” he said grimly.
Moments later he sat in a cluttered office across from a dark-haired man with flinty eyes and a
small goatee. Colton cleared his throat, wondering if any human being could possibly be
more
miserable than him at that moment, but Mr. Hudson forestalled him by saying with surprising
empathy, “Your note was fairly to the point, Your Grace. No need to go over it all again. You
wish to engage us to follow your wife, correct?”
“I don’t wish to engage you for anything, but yes, essentially you are right.”
“You can be assured we are very competent in these matters and your confidence will never be
compromised.”
“It had better not be.” Colton rarely used his rank to intimidate, but this was important to him.
“Madame de la Duchesse is never to know. If there is an issue, I will deal with it privately.”
“I understand.” Hudson inclined his head. “Please realize we are experienced in these sorts of
things.”
“I’m not experienced in them at all,” Colton said, abstractly glancing over at where a detailed
map of London hung on the wall. “I abhor hiring you, to be frank.”
“Very few people wish to walk through our door, Your Grace.”
“I would guess that to be true. How often will I get reports?”
“As often as you wish. I suggest once a week unless we see something out of the ordinary. Very
often, if an affair is being conducted, we discover it quickly.”
“I do not think for a moment my wife is actually having an affair.”
Hudson lifted his brows as if to say, “Then why are you here?”
His dignity be damned. Colton said quietly, “I pray she isn’t. My secretary will send you a bank
draft for your fees.”
“I need a description and some details about her daily routine. How does she spend her time?”
“I am not sure of the Duchess’s exact schedule. The usual things a lady might do, I suspect.” It
was true. He didn’t keep track of his wife’s movements throughout the day; quite the opposite.
Since the livelihood of not just his family but a great many other people depended on him doing
it well, Colton put most of his attention into his work. Brianna was often out shopping or visiting
friends, and she also conducted charity work at several orphanages, for which he gave her extra
funds. Her day was her own, and the only time they had together was in the evenings. Even then,
he spent the night at his club often enough. It was a perfectly normal arrangement for a couple of
their station.
No wonder so many men and women found the opportunity to have casual liaisons.
“I see. It would be helpful, but isn’t a necessity. My man will quickly ascertain Her Grace’s
habits.” Hudson scribbled on a piece of paper, his face professionally bland.
“I am not even certain she has habits.” Colton defended his wife, even though technically
speaking he was her accuser. “Not of the sort you refer to. There has just been a moment here or
there when I have been surprised by some of her actions, that is all.”
“Surprised? In what way?”
Yes, surprised. He needed to face the irrefutable facts. Methodical by nature, he’d even sat down
and penned a list of reasons why he had begun to feel concerned.
It all started with that fiendishly provocative gown she’d worn to the opera. That, he noted, was
the beginning of her change in her behavior. She’d grown in confidence in the bedroom at an
astonishing pace, doing things he couldn’t imagine any proper young lady would think up on her
own. Hell, she’d lashed him to the bed and brought him to completion with her hand, and then
straddled him and rode his hips as if she knew exactly what to do.
He’d certainly never made love to her in that position before. Or suggested she use her mouth on
his cock, either. The suggestive undergarments, also, seemed out of character for a formerly
innocent young woman with a sheltered upbringing, and he was damned if it wasn’t torture to be
out with her in public, knowing she wore those sheer, tantalizing bits of cloth under her gowns.
The first few months of their marriage she’d been exactly as he expected. Shy in bed, uncertain,
almost always a little embarrassed the next day.
Something had changed since that time. He needed to face it. His wife now made love like a
courtesan, and she certainly hadn’t been instructed by him.
Men noticed her, wanted her. She was beautiful and possessed a certain vitality that did not go
unremarked.
Was this why she refused to tell him she was pregnant? She had yet to even mention the
possibility.
Perhaps the child wasn’t his.
Dear God, how the thought tore him apart. It had nothing to do with his family lineage, his
bloody money, or the damned title. The idea of her in another man’s arms. . . . He couldn’t take
it. Could she so sweetly claim to love him and yet be betraying him at the same time?
No, he didn’t really believe it, but at the same time, he had to know.
Yet he was hardly going to tell all that to Mr. Hudson, of Hudson and Sons Inquiries, not just for
the sake of his own pride, but because he would never willingly embarrass Brianna. “It’s
private,” he said briefly, his gaze steady.
If Mr. Hudson felt Colton was hindering his own cause, he was too diplomatic to say so. “Quite.
A physical description would be helpful, though, since your household is no doubt large and there
are many coming and going.”
The physical description was easy, for he knew every single inch of her delectable form from the
top of her shining head to her toes.
“Does this help?” He handed over a small miniature, painted recently. Just by relinquishing the
locket case he felt a sense of loss.
“Very much. My compliments. The Duchess is lovely. Tell me, is there anyone you are
suspicious of specifically, Your Grace?” Hudson fingered the miniature portrait of Brianna with
thoughtful contemplation. “A friend, colleague, relative? Very rarely is it a stranger who betrays
you.”
For a moment Colton was so sick at heart he contemplated getting up and abandoning the quest.
Then he shook it off. If his wife was blameless, all would be well. If she wasn’t . . . well, then he
wasn’t sure what he would do except be shattered. Into one thousand fragments.
“No.” He stood, ending the painful interview—and he had never been so grateful to depart an
appointment in his life.
Soon he would know, he thought morosely as he clambered back into the carriage.
He just hoped the revelation wouldn’t send him straight to hell.
“You refuse to tell me?” Brianna looked at her brother-in-law in open accusation. She’d finally
cornered him in the hallway that ran through the suite of family apartments in the huge family
mansion in Mayfair, and it had taken some doing. She knew now why he was so invaluable to
Lord Wellington. Damien was crafty. It was almost as if he had sensed she wanted to talk to him
and cleverly avoided her.
“My dear Brianna, I would refuse you nothing.” He smiled in that enigmatic way he had, and if
she hadn’t had him trapped and literally unable to exit his rooms without pushing her aside, she
had a feeling he would have walked away on that unsatisfying note.
“Damien,” she said with careful intonation, “I like you very much, but I might be moved to
violence if you don’t tell me what is going on in this house. Robert was so short and distracted
the other night at dinner I thought he would choke on his food if
he was required to participate in
polite conversation. Colton, also, is acting strange. I am the only family female who lives here
and I have the oddest feeling something is going on that all you men are deliberately keeping
from me.”
Then it happened again. There was almost no warning except for the tightening in her stomach.
The rush of nausea was so acute, she gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, afraid she
might be sick over her brother-in-law’s boots and disgrace herself completely. To her chagrin, he
whipped out his handkerchief and handed it over, saying urgently, “Here, use this and let me run
for the basin.”
Moments later she found herself half reclining on the sofa in his sitting room, and Damien
offering a cool, wet cloth for her forehead. The only redeeming part of the whole embarrassing
incident was she hadn’t actually lost her breakfast. When she could talk once more, she
whispered, “My apologies. It happened so fast.”
Crouched next to her, Damien smiled. “Not surprising, or so I hear. Though I am no physician,
one cannot be in the army and not gain some experience in these matters. Where there are
soldiers, there are camp followers and therefore the inevitable results. My felicitations.”
She stared at him in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about?”
His brow furrowed. He said nothing for a moment and then asked gently, “How often does this
occur?”
Too often lately, though she rarely actually vomited. Just now and again she felt queasy, and
she’d been avoiding rich sauces and heavy desserts for the past few weeks. “Now and again,” she
told him, sitting up and swallowing hard. “It passes. Please do not worry Colton by telling him. I
am sure I am fine.”
“I think you are perfectly fine,” Damien agreed and smiled. “But you might want to think about a
few things. If Colton is acting strangely, maybe he has already discerned the cause of your
ailment.”
“The cause?” Brianna wished violently for a cup of tepid tea, which always seemed to help, and
tried to swallow the dry feeling in her mouth.
“Well, you are a married lady.”
She blinked, not sure how to respond. Of course she was married.