Matilda waltzed into the room with a smile. “Tea, m’lady, before Pembrooke and I are off to the village?”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t require anything.” And with a yawn Billie settled more comfortably in the wicker chaise.
“Rest then, m’lady, you have the manor to yourself. No one will disturb you.”
“The vicar had gone for the day?” Billie asked, knowing John had informed her he would not return until early evening, but wanting to confirm the same with Matilda.
“He’ll be back for supper.”
“I’ll just nap until you all return,” Billie said with a tired voice.
Matilda grabbed a moss green wool throw from a nearby chair and placed it over Billie, tucking it around her. “Pleasant dreams, m’lady.” And out the door Matilda went.
Billie waited until she heard the couple’s voices fade out of the house and then waited several minutes more before she tore the blanket off her and hurried to the receiving parlor in the front of the manor. She peeked out the window to see the couple walking out through the gate.
Satisfied she was safe; she hurried to the kitchen, prepared a lantern and pressed the lever to open the secret passage. She cursed the fact that John had taken the young lad’s garments away from her and had refused to return them. She had no choice but to descend to the caves in her dress.
At least she had managed to hide boots in the pantry and she slipped the sturdy pair on before picking up the lantern and making her way down the stone steps to the caves.
Now familiar with the terrain she hurried along until she reached the room where she had spoken with Oran. The crates and barrels still occupied the space and she set the lantern on a crate.
“Oran,” she called. “Oran, I need to speak with you.”
“Good heavens, child, what are you doing down here?”
Billie turned to find him standing behind her. “I need to speak with you.”
“But you’ve been ill,” he chided. “You should never have come down here.”
“That isn’t important now,” she urged and sat on one of the barrels, patting a crate top beside her for him to join her.
Oran obliged. “Does your husband know you’re here?”
Billie shook her head, feeling guilty. “I didn’t lie to John, I just didn’t tell him that I was coming down here.”
“He’s going to have a fit,” Oran warned.
“John never has a fit, he only lectures.”
“Trust me, he’ll have a fit.”
Billie shrugged. “I can’t worry about that now, I need to know if you know anything about a woman in St. Clair who was connected with the wreckers and Derry Jones.”
Oran stood, obviously agitated. “Don’t ask me this, Billie, just follow the trail you’re on. You will find your answers, but be careful.”
“Why won’t you help me?”
“I can’t,” he said regrettably. “You’ll understand soon enough. Now you must go. These damp caves are no good for your health, especially dressed as you are.”
“John took the lad’s garments I had used,” she complained.
“And rightfully so.”
Billie stood. “Then if you don’t wish me to come down here will you come upstairs to visit with me?”
Oran walked over to her. “I promise I will venture upstairs soon to speak with you.”
She smiled and kissed his cold cheek. “Good, I’m glad.”
“Now go,” he urged, pointing her in a different direction.
“This isn’t the way back,” she said.
“Trust me, Billie, and take this path. It is a bit out of the way and you will need to return in this direction, but you will find answers at the end, and remember one thing . . .”
She waited for him to finish before approaching the passageway.
“Love makes us do foolish and heroic things.”
She looked at him oddly and he waved as he vanished in a puff of mist. She shook her head, not understanding in the least what he meant, and held the lantern high as she entered the dark passageway.
She walked some distance, the passage twisting and at times narrow, thinking that perhaps Oran had sent her on a wild goose chase when she suddenly came upon a wooden door, thick and scarred with age. She opened it slowly, the metal latch and joints rusted. She bore no fear, only anticipation, realizing Oran would never place her in danger.
Surprise showed on her face when she entered a well-lighted room filled with lanterns and outfitted with chairs, pegs of clothing, a vanity table and bench and containers filled with a variety of makeup most often worn by stage actors. She had become familiar with the paraphernalia from an acting troupe that had passed through Nantucket and who she had befriended.
Curious, she searched through the creams, fake hair, fake moles, cotton that enlarged an actor’s mouth or nose and padding that added bulk to a body, changing the shape. A tall bottle contained dye that altered hair color until washed out.
Who did this belong to? Who was not who they seemed?
Billie searched the clothing on the pegs. She looked them over slowly, testing the material between her fingers and spreading the clothes out to take a better look. Realization hit like a mighty blow to her abdomen. The clothes were a blend of her husband’s and Max’s.
She spun around, dizziness stilling her for a moment and then she raced over to the vanity table, rummaging through the container until she located the fake moles. She held one up and placed it to her chin, staring at herself in the vanity mirror.
Her eyes widened in disbelief, she tightened her jaw, she tossed the mole to the floor and muttered, “A stage actress for a mistress.”
She spun around again and grabbed the padding on the chair, wrapping the band around her stomach and casting a suspicious eye in the mirror. “Stomach padding.”
She grumbled like an angry animal and threw the padding back on the chair. She rummaged through the room until she pieced two entire sets of clothing together and there in front of her on each chair sat John and Maximillian. Her husband and . . .
Her husband?
She groaned a furious growl. Max and John were one. Max was masquerading as the vicar and as a ghost. She had her suspicions, but Max being her husband? She his wife? That was a hard fact to comprehend. He had tricked her. Why?
Could he love her? John often told her how much he loved her, made a point of it almost every day. Was it Max who was proclaiming his love for her? Did he use John’s sentimental nature as a ruse for an emotion he had difficulty voicing?
She stamped her foot hard like a petulant child angry with her parent. “Bloody hell,” she cried. “How could he do this to me?”
Where did the consequences of his deceit leave them? What did all this mean? She shook her head slowly, rubbing her forehead.
She looked once again at the two outfits, clearly visualizing her husband and Max blending as one. She grinned, not at all pleasantly. She intended to get answers and she intended for Maximillian to pay for his deceit.
Billie hastily arranged the room as it had been when she had entered. Curious as to where the door on the far wall led, she walked over and quietly opened the latch. Peeking around the heavy door she was surprised to see lanterns hanging on pegs that were jammed at spaced intervals in the stone wall. She climbed the narrow, twisting stairway slowly and cautiously. Another wooden door greeted her at the top of the stairs and she eased it open only a crack.
Familiar voices floated toward her and she instantly but softly shut the door. Her hands shook and her temper raged. She was in the vicarage. She had heard her husband’s calming voice and that of the housekeeper Laurel Smithers.
She retraced her steps and made her way back to the room below. She cast a hurried and frustrated glance around the place and then moved quickly to the door that led her back to the caves.
It was with determined strides that she returned to the manor, and it was with angry steps that she climbed the stairs to change her soile
d dress, the hem damp and dirty from the earth floor in the caves.
Max had caused her a great deal of torment and frustration and now she had learned that she was his wife.
His wife!
She still could not believe his duplicity. He had actually warned her against marrying himself and yet he himself had proposed to her. And then he attempted to seduce her, his own wife.
She threw her hands up in absolute fury and futility. The more she considered the strange dilemma, the angrier she became and the more determined she was to make him suffer.
She finally smiled. She now knew of his dual identity, but he was unaware of her newfound knowledge. This could prove very interesting. Very interesting.
While Billie slipped out of her dress, her mind focused on a plan, a plan that surely wouldn’t fail and would surely bring her satisfaction.
o0o
Billie sat to her husband’s right at supper that evening. She wore a congenial smile and dark blue dress that dipped so dangerously low that every time she leaned forward to converse with him her breasts looked as if they would spill from their inadequate restraints.
John patted his perspiring brow with his handkerchief more than once during the meal and more than once ran his finger beneath the collar of his linen shirt.
“Are you warm, dear?” Billie asked with overly sweet concern. “The weather has altered considerably and summer isn’t far off. Why, soon we won’t need a fire at night.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” he said and downed his entire glass of wine.
A fake smile remained glued on Billie’s face, her jaw beginning to ache. But her discomfort was a small price to pay for watching her husband squirm uncomfortably in his seat.
“Do you like my dress?” she asked, leaning over the table so her breasts practically rested on the table’s edge.
She almost laughed when he pushed his glasses far up on the brim of his nose. She realized that they had purposely rested on the tip of his nose so that he could see properly since there wasn’t a thing wrong with his eyesight. Now that he didn’t wish to view her revealing neckline, he blurred his vision with the glasses.
“It’s very nice,” he said and made a point of breaking his boiled potatoes into small pieces with his fork.
She lowered her voice to a suggestive whisper. “I thought we might spend some time alone together tonight.”
He almost choked on the potato he had swallowed.
Billie didn’t waste a minute. She rushed out of her seat and pounded him heavily on the back while making certain she stuck her protruding breasts as close to his face as possible.
His cough worsened.
Pembrooke came rushing in and when he saw what was amiss his eyes widened in shock. Billie, seeing his highly agitated distress, understood immediately that Pembrooke was all too aware of John’s true identity.
“Get him some water,” Billie ordered sternly.
Pembrooke looked from his lord to his lady, uncertain what action to take.
“Water, now, Pembrooke!” She almost barked the command, causing the flustered man to rush out of the room.
“Easy now,” she said much more soothingly to her husband and rubbed his back slowly. “You’ll be fine.”
Pembrooke looked as if he flew into the room. The water in the pitcher spilled over the edges as he rushed to the table. “Sir, an urgent message was just delivered for you. You’re needed in the village.”
John was about to stand, but Billie’s firm hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving.
“I didn’t hear anyone at the front door,” she said, looking directly at Pembrooke.
“He came around back, m’lady.”
“Who?” she asked, innocently.
She caught Pembrooke off guard and he stumbled over his own words until he finally said, “A boy from the village.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” she asked, her hand still planted firmly on her husband’s shoulder. A shoulder she realized that was well padded, making him appear hunched over.
“I’d better go,” John announced sternly.
“Yes, of course, you’re needed, do go,” she agreed, stepping away from him and wondering just how long it would take for Maximillian to make his appearance.
He dropped his napkin to his plate and stood.
“I’ll wait up for you, dear.” Her smile was blatantly sexual.
“I may be late.” He rushed toward the door.
“I’m not sleepy. I’ll wait,” she said and sent him a wave.
He waved back and without a word hurried out the door. Billie was ready and anxious for Max to appear. Her plan had worked perfectly so far. She had no doubt the rest would succeed.
She finished the wine in her glass, summoned Pembrooke and ordered brandy to be brought up to her bedchamber and climbed the steps with a confident smile.
o0o
Billie wore a white silk night rail with a bodice of fine lace that allowed her puckered nipples to faintly peek through. The lace ran down the arms of the billowing sleeves and around the hem with a lace insert running up between her legs. It was a daring and tantalizing piece that she had discovered amongst her mother’s clothing. It was much too beautiful to discard, so she had kept it and was about to put it to good use.
She lounged against a mound of white pillows on the bed in a decidedly sensual pose, showing enough bare calf and spread of legs to allow the lace insert to hint at her treasure beneath.
Her hair was a riot of unkempt waves rushing around her head, making her all the more sexually appealing, and that was the first thought that popped into Maximillian’s head when he stepped out of the secret passageway beside the closet near the corner of the room, the shadows concealing him as he stared at his wife.
He wanted her.
She had aroused him to a most uncomfortable state at the supper table and now seeing her spread so invitingly, he wanted her even more, so much so that he swelled with a raging intensity that he hadn’t experienced since he was a young boy in his first throes of ecstasy.
But Billie thought she belonged to the vicar. His plan had succeeded in its duplicity, though with dire results. He competed with himself for his wife’s affection.
This evening, however, would belong to Maximillian. His hunger for his wife was ravenous and he had every intention of quenching his insatiable desire.
He stepped out of the shadows.
Billie appeared startled, bolting up in her bed, her hand flying to inadequately cover her breasts, but she kept her legs temptingly spread.
“Whatever are you doing here?” She hid her satisfied smile behind a concerned frown.
“I thought I’d visit since your husband was called away again.” He walked closer to the bed, halting at the bottom to stare at the lace that teased beguilingly between her legs.
“I am waiting for his return,” she said, leading him exactly where she wanted him to go.
“He’ll not hurry, as is his way.” His hand itched to run up her leg beneath the silk and lace to her sweet heat.
Billie sighed dramatically. “I don’t know what to do, Max.”
He looked at her strangely, coming up alongside the bed to sit down beside her. “About what?”
“My husband,” she said with another heavy sigh and squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment as if fighting back tears.
He attempted to ignore her hard nipples almost poking through the white lace bodice. “What troubles you about him?”
He hoped he kept the husky desire out of his voice though he wondered if that was possible, his mouth was so ready for the taste of her.
She shook her head, raking her fingers through her hair while her heavy sigh jutted her breasts forward. She snatched her smile back before it broke free, tucking it behind a frown. She was satisfied that from his round-eyed expression and dropped jaw she had succeeded in arousing him.
And then, of course, there was the mighty bulge in his pants that attested to her success.
>
She finally continued. “He just doesn’t seem interested in consummating our marriage. I don’t know what to do.”
“Give him time,” he urged, his hand finding its way over her ankle to caress it soothingly.
She kept focused on her plan, trying with great difficulty not to admit how much she enjoyed his touch. How much she had missed it.
“Our marriage vows are not valid until we consummate the marriage. I feel unwed. I feel he doesn’t want me.” With a tearful cry she added, “I feel he doesn’t love me.”
Max instantly sprang to John’s defense. “Nonsense, the man loves you so much it’s ridiculous.”
“He does?” she asked anxiously, realizing now that he spoke for himself as well as John and wanting desperately to hear him speak his love for her.
“The man is absolutely besotted. He worries senselessly about your safety, crumbles to your every whim, except for the lad’s clothing,” Max smiled. “It did my heart good to see him take a firm stand. And the way he watches you?” Max shrugged and shook his head.
“How does he watch me, Max?” Her heart swelled with love for this arrogant, caring, sneaky man who was her husband.
His voice softened. His hand stroked up her leg. “He watches you with the eyes of a man deeply in love. There is no one but you for him. His love knows no limits. He would do anything for you. He would even die for you.”
Billie felt her breath catch. “You think he loves me that much?”
“I know he does.”
She leaned closer to him. “Then why deny us the intimacy of marriage?”
He moved nearer to her, his hand skirting the inner regions of her thigh. “His inexperience probably makes him nervous, unsure of his ability to perform as a proper husband.”
“It matters not to me.”
His hand stilled as it slipped between her thighs. “You don’t mind his fumbling?”
“He’ll learn,” she argued.
“Some men never do. They are inept lovers all their lives.”
“But you—”
“You cannot compare me to him. His life has been cloistered, whereas mine has been free.”
“You defend him.”
“I feel sorry for him. A passionate wife and an inexperienced husband. He must feel inadequate.”
Donna Fletcher Page 24