The knock at the door made him growl in frustration.
Kerrigan entered, the expression on the guard’s face setting off alarm bells.
“What is it?” Adam demanded.
“A message just arrived for you, sir.” Kerrigan ran a hand over his shaved head; he had the look of a messenger who’s afraid he’s about to get shot. “It’s from Thompson.”
A message from his groom? Adam frowned. “What does he want?”
“Apparently, Mrs. Garrity…er…ordered him to take her to…”
“Spit it out, man,” Adam said impatiently.
“Mrs. Wilde’s Club,” Kerrigan blurted. “She somehow found out about your, er, visits there. She cornered Thompson, insisting that he take her to the club. He wouldn’t have done it, but then she threatened to get a hackney by herself. To go to every bawdy house in the city until she found the right one…”
The room began to spin, overtaken by a vortex of images.
Mrs. Wilde’s Club, a smiling blonde…
Whips, orgies, another blonde dead in a pool of blood.
The banks, the banks, the banks.
Anthony De Villier.
He jolted as the past slammed into him.
As everything came back in a single, blinding burst.
“Er, sir? Are you all right?”
He turned to Kerrigan, once again the man he’d known for years. His loyal retainer.
“I remember,” he said hoarsely. “Everything.”
Kerrigan’s good eye lit with relief. “Bloody hell, sir, that’s the most welcome news—”
“Let’s go.” Adam was already on his feet, striding to the door. “I have to get to my wife.”
31
Gabby arrived at Mrs. Wilde’s Club just before dusk.
The place was situated on a private lane in Covent Garden, and its Italianate façade looked innocuous enough from the outside. Pulling the hood of her cape more securely around her face, Gabby took a breath and headed for the front door. It was locked; apparently the club wasn’t yet open. Picking up voices from the side of the building, she followed them, arriving at another entrance around back, one cordoned off by a velvet rope.
The burly guard posted by the door looked her up and down, his brows lifting.
“Certain you’re at the right place, dove?”
“I wish to see your mistress,” Gabby said crisply. “You may tell her Adam Garrity sent me.”
The flash of recognition on the guard’s face when she said her husband’s name drove a blade into Gabby’s heart.
“Wait here. I’ll check with Mrs. Wilde,” he said.
He returned a short time later, unhooking the rope and ushering Gabby inside. Her pulse raced as he led her up two flights of stairs, passing flocks of women whose scantily clad bodies and painted faces left no doubt as to the roles they played at the club. As he took her down a hallway lined with rooms, she couldn’t help but look inside the open doors.
Merciful heavens.
In one chamber, she glimpsed a cross with manacles hanging from the horizontal ends. A whore wearing a leather corset paced in front of the cross. She selected a birch from an umbrella stand, testing its pliability before giving it a testing slash through the air.
In another room, Gabby saw a massive bed, so huge that it could occupy at least a dozen people. On the ceiling above was an equally large gilt-framed looking glass. Her cheeks blazed as she imagined the lascivious view that it would provide to the occupants below.
By the time the guard took her into a suite at the end of the hall, Gabby’s respiration had been reduced to quick, shallow pants, her palms sweaty and trembling. Left alone to await the mysterious Mrs. Wilde, she took in the opulent surroundings, recognition slamming into her.
Good Lord, this place was decorated like…a sultan’s seraglio.
It was as if her secret imagination had been brought to life with stunning, lush eroticism. The trompe l’oeil murals on the walls depicted white columns and intricate arabesque latticework, sheer waving curtains giving glimpses of the surrounding azure sea. The visual effect of the painting was startlingly real: for an instant, Gabby was transported to a luxurious chamber of the Near East, the breeze blowing through the balcony, her nose filled with the scent of incense and the ocean.
In the antechamber where she stood, there was a round table and chairs, as well as a low red sofa, all of it in an Oriental style. The room was connected to a much larger space by an arched entryway that framed the main piece of furniture on the other side: a round mattress covered in peacock-blue silk. Jewel-toned pillows with gold tassels were scattered over it, inviting a queen to stretch out in sensual abandonment as she awaited her sultan’s pleasure…
Gabby’s heart spasmed, her fantasy snuffed out by the reality of where she was and why. Her husband wasn’t a sultan. He was a traitorous, black-hearted infidel.
The door opened, and Gabby steeled herself as a blonde woman entered. The newcomer was probably in her early forties, tall and statuesque, her thin black robe clinging to her curves and nipped-in waist. With a sinking feeling, Gabby registered the woman’s beauty, the exotic appeal of the amber eyes outlined with kohl and the lushness of that painted mouth.
“I’m Mrs. Wilde.” The blonde’s husky tone had a hard edge to it as she looked Gabby up and down. “You didn’t say who you were when you used Adam Garrity’s name to gain entry.”
Gabby straightened her shoulders, pushing off the hood of her cloak. “I am his wife.”
She saw the shock in the other’s feline eyes. “You’re Gabriella…I did not realize…”
Hearing the woman say her name was a slap to the face. Humiliation burned through Gabby. Adam had told his mistress about his wife? What else had they talked about, done together…?
“You are Jessabelle, I presume?” Gabby said tightly.
A spasm crossed Mrs. Wilde’s features. “I am not.” She exhaled, running a hand through her loose gold locks. “Would you care to sit down? I can have tea brought in.”
“I do not want tea. I want answers,” Gabby said fiercely. “How long have you and Adam been lovers? How many Friday visits has he had?”
“I am not, and have never been, your husband’s lover, ma’am.”
The blonde’s quiet statement had the ring of truth.
Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on Gabby’s part.
“Then who was he visiting here at your club? Is Jessabelle one of your whores?” Gabby removed the note from her cloak, slapping it onto the table. “She sent my husband this note.”
“I sent that note,” Mrs. Wilde said.
“You just said that you’re not Jessabelle.”
“I’m not. My name is Jeannette.”
“Then who is Jessabelle?”
“She was my sister, and she’s dead.”
Taken aback, Gabby stared at the other. Mrs. Wilde—Jeannette Wilde, apparently—returned the look with a steady one of her own.
“What is Jessabelle’s connection to my husband?” Gabby finally asked.
“That is not my story to tell.” The bawd’s tone was firm but not unkind. “I cannot imagine how confusing this is for you, Mrs. Garrity, but I think you must have a conversation with your husband. Indeed, I have been urging him for years to unburden himself to you.”
“Why…why would you do that?” Gabby whispered painfully. “What right do you have to discuss my marriage with my husband?”
“No right, save that of a friend who has known him for a very long…”
The opening door cut off Mrs. Wilde. A handsome, ginger-haired man entered, his gaze shifting alertly between Gabby and the bawd.
“Is everything all right, love?” The man directed the question to Mrs. Wilde. “Ronald mentioned a friend of Adam’s was here.”
Gabby frowned in confusion. This man knew her husband as well?
“Everything is fine. This is not Adam’s friend; she’s his wife,” Mrs. Wilde told him.
“Oh
.” The man did a credible job of hiding his shock and bowed courteously to Gabby. “Beg pardon. I did not think Adam mentioned us at home.”
“He didn’t,” Gabby said.
“Ah. Pardon my manners, I’m Thomas Pender. Jeannette’s husband.”
“You’re married?” Gabby blurted to Mrs. Wilde…or Mrs. Pender, rather?
“We’ll be celebrating six years next month.” The blonde regarded her husband fondly. “Adam introduced us.”
“Garrity and I had done some business together,” Pender explained. “That is, he lent me money, and I was one of the few smart coves who paid him back on schedule. We became friendly. He knew I was a widower and introduced me to Jeannette. She’d always been too busy with her club to bother with a husband. But Adam played matchmaker. I think he knew marriage would add to our happiness, the way it added to his.”
“Not that Adam would ever admit it in so many words. When it comes to emotions, you know what a clam the man can be.” Mrs. Wilde’s look of understanding deepened Gabby’s bewilderment. “But I’ve known him for far too many years, so he could not hide his contentment from me. The happiness and peace you brought him was plain to see. He’s been a changed man ever since he married you.”
“I don’t understand.” With roiling frustration, Gabby said, “If Adam isn’t having an affair, then why didn’t he tell me about the two of you? Why did he keep your existence a secret from me? And what does Jessabelle have to do with all of this?”
Mrs. Wilde and Pender exchanged looks.
“As much as I’d like to oblige you,” the bawd said regretfully, “it’s not my place to answer those questions—”
Adam’s voice cut through the room. “No, that responsibility is mine.”
As Adam accepted the greetings from his old friends, he kept his gaze on Gabriella. He saw the way her lips trembled, the pain and confusion in her expressive eyes, and he hated himself for it. Cursed himself for letting things get to this point. For letting down his guard and allowing her to get hurt…for not protecting her as he ought to have done, regardless of the blasted amnesia.
The throbbing on the side of his head vied for his attention. It was as if the sudden return of his memory had retriggered the wound. Although the tissue was healed, the muscles remembered the pain, gripping onto it.
He fought to concentrate, to get himself under control. He felt as if there were two disparate halves of him warring with one another, the past and present colliding with jarring dissonance. He was who he’d always been, and he was his new self: neither was prepared to deal with the present situation. A situation that his old self would never have let come to pass and which his new self found more than a little appalling.
You lost control, and you hurt her, his old self said.
Why did you keep so many secrets from her? his new self asked in disgust.
Regardless, there was one thing he knew with his entire being: he had to minimize the damage. To protect Gabriella from further pain. Christ, that look of shattered betrayal upon her face…it destroyed him. He’d rather take a knife to the chest than cause her hurt.
“Are you certain you’re well?” Jeannette’s voice reminded him of her and Pender’s presence. His old friends were watching him with concerned expressions.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I would like privacy to speak with my wife.”
“Of course, old boy,” Pender said. “Good to see you back.”
As Pender ushered Jeannette to the door, she touched Adam’s arm as she passed.
“Be gentle with her,” she murmured.
Annoyed that she felt he needed that advice, he gave a brusque nod.
Then the two were gone, leaving him alone with his wife. They stood on opposite sides of the table. The tension in the room was thicker than the fog on the Thames.
Gabby’s head tilted. “You remembered them,” she said acutely.
“I remember everything,” he said. “It came back to me. All of it, today.”
He saw relief ripple across her sweet face, the wifely devotion she could not hide despite her anger, and he was filled with profound gratitude. Despite her justified doubt and suspicion of him, she cared about him still. He could work with that.
“Then you will have the grace to explain what is going on.” Her voice quavered with the force of her emotions, yet she held her head high. “Why didn’t you tell me about Mrs. Wilde and your Friday visits?”
Even as he calculated his response, he registered that he wasn’t the only one who’d changed in these past weeks. Gabriella’s new confidence and composure were remarkable. Now that his memory was back, he could fully appreciate the difference between past and present. He saw with pride his wife’s revealed strength, the fire she’d kept hidden from him and herself.
You can trust her to handle the filth of your past, a voice inside him said. Tell her the truth.
As much of it as she needs to know, another voice cautioned.
He pulled a chair out from the table. “Perhaps you’d like to sit for this.”
“I’d like you to tell me the dashed truth,” she shot back.
He gripped the back of the chair. “I didn’t tell you about Jeannette because she’s part of a past that I’m not proud of. It happened a long time ago, before I met you and, as such, has nothing to do with you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Were the two of you ever lovers?”
“Christ, no. I have never thought of her in that way,” he said with emphasis. “She is a friend, nothing more. We have…a shared history that bonds us but not in a sexual way. I have never been unfaithful to you, Gabriella. From the moment I met you, I’ve never wanted any other woman in my bed.”
It was the absolute truth. He saw the yearning in her eyes, how much she wanted to believe him. Yet distrust shadowed those pure blue depths, and it felt like a blow to his gut, one that he deserved.
She lifted her chin. “Then who is Jessabelle?”
Although he knew he would have to address the issue, he still reeled from hearing his wife say the name aloud. For so long, he’d fought to keep these two worlds apart, and now they were crashing into one another like planets gone off course. The damage couldn’t be prevented; the best strategy was to minimize it by giving his wife the necessary facts.
“She was my wife,” he said.
He heard Gabriella’s sharp intake of breath, saw her stiffen with shock.
“You were m-married?” she stammered.
He gave a terse nod. “For a brief time, long before I met you. I was a young man, in my early twenties. I’d known Jessabelle—and her older sister Jeannette—since I was a boy. All three of us were rescued from the streets by the same man, Oswald Garrity. When Garrity found out that I had no family, he gave me his surname and protection. I chose the name ‘Adam’ to symbolize my fresh start.”
Taking in Gabriella’s wide-eyed expression, he decided there was no need to delve into his history before Garrity. His mind wasn’t fully clear, and his emotions were a tangled mess. He thought of De Villier, of meeting the man face-to-face just several days ago, and panic clawed at his gut.
Had De Villier guessed who he was?
Up until then, he’d taken care to avoid direct contact with the bastard; he hadn’t wanted to trip the snare. He had the trap laid out precisely in his head: he would reveal himself to De Villier at the moment of the other’s destruction. Only then would De Villier know why he’d been ruined and by whom.
From the age of nine onward, revenge had anchored Adam. It had motivated him, given him the will to survive and become who he was today. Remembering his purpose was like finding a port in the storm.
His confusion, the agonizing conflict within himself dissipated as he sought and found his harbor. The voice that won out was calm, collected. As the familiar feeling of control flowed through him, he felt the tension ease in his temples.
Everything will be all right. You’ll figure out what to do abo
ut De Villier. But first you must win Gabriella back, convince her that she belongs to you, by any means necessary.
She was his wife, and he loved her—he saw that now. Accepted it as one accepts that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. If anything, he regretted that he’d not realized it sooner. He’d let his history with Jessabelle spook him, make him afraid to recognize what was in his heart. What had been there for years.
But he wouldn’t run from love any longer.
Over the last weeks, things had changed in his marriage, yes…and he would use that to his advantage. Arousal stirred as he considered ways to stake his new claim. Now that he knew the passion that burned inside Gabriella, he would use it to bind her to him. Instead of his prior stupid plan of swaddling his marriage in routine, propriety, and restraint, he would use desire and the strength of their bond to protect her.
She would obey him when it mattered; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Wouldn’t let the darkness of his world touch or harm a single hair on her head. This time, he wouldn’t let love end in pain and bitter regret.
With that in mind, he continued his story.
“Garrity led a gang of children. He was not a bad sort: he provided a roof over our heads, food for our bellies, and in return we helped him with various tasks. Scavenging and petty thievery, mostly. He did not abuse us, and he taught us the necessary skills to survive.
“Even as a boy, I was infatuated with Jessabelle,” he went on. “She was two years younger than me, a pretty blonde angel who could charm a bird from a tree. It was a useful skill when it came to swindling. She never learned to pickpocket for all she had to do was spin some Cheltenham Tragedy about why she needed money, and strangers would shower her with coins.”
Gabriella’s throat worked. “When did the two of you…?”
“I was twenty when I proposed to her. She accepted, but Garrity was against our union. In his eyes, we were his children and therefore brother and sister, although there were no blood ties between us. In the end, he kicked us out.” Adam recalled his mentor’s expulsion with bittersweet acceptance. “Jeannette left with us because she’d always been a protective older sister to Jessabelle. The three of us started over. Jessabelle and I got married, and I found work as a guard for a moneylender named Helmsley. He saw my potential, and I moved up the ranks quickly. My star was beginning to rise at the same time that my marriage began to sour.”
Regarding the Duke Page 25