“Dorset. I believe you provided some historical background and suggestions concerning sightseeing locales to the duchess.”
“Your duchess?” Landsdowne’s eyebrows rose. “Can’t say as I recall such a conversation, though I do tend to prattle on a bit wild at times. Dorset, you say?”
This time it was Adrian’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Dorset. You shared the history of Corfe Castle with her at our wedding reception.”
“It wasn’t me. Never heard of the place. Matter of fact, I’ve only been to Dorset once. The seashore at Brighton’s more to my liking. Must have been some other fellow did the talking.”
“Yes, you must be right,” he murmured, positive he correctly remembered his long-ago conversation with Jeannette. At the time, she’d been very specific, mentioning Downey Landsdowne by name. Telling how he’d cornered her at the reception, bored her into a near coma with his discussion of the area.
“Can’t think I’d discuss history with your wife anyway,” Landsdowne continued. “She’s not one to suffer through such tedious discussion without complaint. More likely find yourself cut off mid-sentence before she’d let one prose on too long upon such matters.” He twitched a finger. “Sounds more like something her sister would do. Now, that one, that twin of hers, she’s a real bluestocking. Thrives on that sort of heavy academic talk, history, literature, even languages.”
A strange buzzing started in Adrian’s head. “Languages?”
“Hmm, from what I hear, she’s fluent in several, including the classics. She can read and write the stuff, both Greek and Latin, as unnatural as that may seem for a female.”
An image of Kit’s note popped into his mind, the inexplicable Latin translation he’d purloined from his brother’s pocket a few weeks ago. A note Jeannette had passed to Kit.
Downey kept chattering.
Adrian heard his words as if from a very great distance.
“Reason I know so much about Lady Violet is from my cousin Harriet,” Landsdowne volunteered. “The old gal and your sister-in-law both belong to the same ladies’ literary society. Attended a number of lectures together. Harriet says Lady Violet is a model of self-education, knows as much as most scholars. Isn’t any wonder she hasn’t found a husband. She may look and sound exactly like your wife, but I’ve never seen two females so markedly different in every other way. You picked the right one of that pair, I’ll say.”
Suddenly an astounding idea took Adrian by the throat.
No. Impossible. It couldn’t be true. Or could it?
“I say, Raeburn, are you all right? You’ve gone pale of a sudden. Has something disagreed with you?”
Disagreed? Yes, one might put it that way.
He lurched out of his seat. “You must excuse me, Landsdowne. I’ve only just remembered an urgent matter of business. I…ah…must bid you farewell.”
“Oh, well, of course, old man. Don’t concern yourself a bit on my behalf. Happy here with my claret.”
Adrian strode out of the room, Downey Landsdowne forgotten the instant he turned his back.
“My coat,” he ordered as he paced the club’s front foyer.
“I’ll call for your carriage, your Grace,” the butler said. A page rushed forward with his garment.
He shrugged into the heavy greatcoat. “Tell my man to go home. I’ve decided to walk.”
“Walk, your Grace? At this hour?”
He paid him no heed, hurrying down the stairs into the frigid night air. His long legs ate up the ground beneath him, his surroundings hazy, his mind in a whirl.
The idea was insane, preposterous. It couldn’t be possible. His wife, Jeannette, could not be another woman. Could not in reality be her sister, Violet. Twins or not, a switch of such magnitude and daring would be beyond even their capabilities. Especially Violet’s, who’d never been able to do more than stammer a few shy words at him at best.
No, he was mistaken.
Yet the more he considered it, the more probable the idea became.
Memories plagued him. Inconsistencies he’d shrugged off at the time, put down to nerves or exhaustion, or sheer moodiness. But now that he considered it, when had Jeannette ever been nervous about anything?
He remembered their wedding day. How she’d trembled, her skin blanched white as milk, her eyes large and startled as a doe caught in the woods, frozen as if too frightened to flee.
And their wedding night. Her maidenly reticence, her innocent touches and untutored kisses. Her virginity. He’d been so ashamed of his behaviour that night, he’d dismissed all the signs, the signals. He’d lulled himself into seeing what he wanted to see instead of what had been there all the time, staring him right in the face. It was as if he’d had on a big pair of rose-coloured glasses.
He stopped in his tracks.
Her glasses.
My God, how could he have been so blind? So stupid? Dear Lord, she really was Violet. Why else would she wear reading glasses? Why would she retreat to her study every afternoon to bury herself in perfect contentment? Why would she pass notes to his scapegrace brother—written in Latin, no less?
Holy Mother of God, he’d married the other sister!
He started walking again, the shock of the revelation sinking in. What an imbecile he was. What a gullible moron. A man who couldn’t tell the difference between two sisters. He supposed the fact that they were so alike physically gave him some excuse. But as Landsdowne had pointed out, the two women were as different as the sun and the moon when it came to personality.
When had they made the switch? Before the wedding, obviously. He realized now Violet had been the one trembling next to him at the altar. But why?
Jeannette, of course. How she must have congratulated herself on her trick, on their trick. Duping him into marrying another woman. Even now Jeannette was in Italy, posing as her twin.
Of course, it all made complete sense. Jeannette’s unhappiness about the cancelled honeymoon to the Continent. Her week of tears and grumblings that she had so nicely recovered from after the wedding ceremony. Even at the time, he’d thought her sudden equanimity rather odd. Only it hadn’t been, not for her, not for Violet. No wonder his wife hadn’t complained.
And all this time she’d played out her lie. All this time she’d let him believe she was another woman. Sharing his life, sharing his home, sharing her body.
Raw fury gushed up inside him, his throat tight and burning. His feet pounded harder, faster against the pavement.
Kit.
Kit must know about her. Why else would he have sprung so readily to her defence? He really must love her. What other reason could he have for concealing the truth of her identity?
Adrian felt sick. A piercing ache lodged near his heart.
He stopped, stared absently at the entrance to his townhouse. For a long moment, he didn’t realize he’d arrived home.
The front door opened. “Your Grace?”
He gazed upward at Smythe, the under butler who’d accompanied him on this journey. In sudden decision, he jogged up the stairs. “Tell Josephs to have the coach ready by first light. We’ll be leaving for Oxfordshire at dawn.”
He wanted answers, and by God, he planned to have them soon.
Chapter Nineteen
“Out with it,” Adrian demanded. “I’ve had enough of your excuses. I want the truth.”
Kit closed the door to his University lodgings, closeting himself and his brother inside. Harold, his roommate, had scurried off only moments after Adrian’s arrival. One look at the duke’s face had been enough to send the younger man running, mumbling some excuse about his urgent need to study in the library. Kit wished he could have fled with him. Letting Adrian inside his rooms in his current humour was rather like inviting in a thunderstorm.
“The truth about what?” Kit asked, careful to keep his tone mild. He ambled across the room, took a seat by the window, as far out of harm’s way as he could manage.
“You know what. My wife.”
> “I thought we weren’t to discuss that topic again.”
“Don’t be flippant. Tell me about her.” Adrian slammed his fist against the wall. The small equine painting that hung over Kit’s bed rattled in its frame.
“Tell me who she is.”
Kit froze in surprise, choosing his next words with care. “She’s your wife. Who do you imagine her to be?”
“Not Jeannette.” Their eyes met, held, jousting like swordsmen. “Tell me if I’m right. I have to know.”
Kit drew in a breath. “She’s not Jeannette.”
Adrian sank down upon the only other chair in the room, collapsing as if suddenly deflated. “How long have you known?”
“A few months. Violet preferred I not say anything.”
Adrian’s jaw clenched at the mention of her name, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “No doubt she did. And would you have kept her counsel indefinitely? Didn’t you think I might wish to know that the woman I’ve been living with all these months is an imposter?”
“She begged me not to tell you. At the time you both seemed happy, so I agreed to leave the decision in her hands. Perhaps it was an error on my part.”
Adrian’s silence hung between them like an ominous cloud.
“She loves you, you know.” Kit leaned forward, gestured with a hand. “If it hadn’t been for that blasted letter, none of this would have—”
“Ah, yes, the letter. I’d like to hear about that. Perhaps now you’ll tell me who authored the damnable thing, since you say it wasn’t you.”
Kit lowered his eyes. “It was Markham.”
“What?”
“Toddy Markham. Seems he and Jeannette were romantically involved prior to your marriage. The note was for her. He didn’t realize it was Violet he was pursuing in London either. At least not until that evening in the Lymondhams’ conservatory.”
Adrian surged to his feet, striding like a caged beast, to and fro, in the small confines of the room. “The bastard. No wonder he could never find the man Jeannette was secretly meeting. He told me, did you know, that he suspected her of seeing someone else. No doubt he was trying to warn me off, hoping I’d cancel the wedding. To think it was him all the time. I ought to wring his lying, no good neck.”
“You’ll have to go to the Continent to do it. Blighter left for Italy when he realized the truth about Jeannette.”
“Hell and damnation, am I the only one who doesn’t know about their switch?”
“ ’Course not. Just Markham and I know, and her sister, of course.”
“Of course.” Adrian continued to pace, fists opening and closing at his sides.
“What do you plan to do now?”
Adrian stopped, faced him. “I haven’t yet decided, but whatever it is, I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”
Kit raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of interfering.” He paused. “Don’t be too hard on her, though. She has a good heart in spite of the mistakes she’s made.”
“Why is it you’re always so ready to leap to her defence? Is it because you have feelings for her?” Adrian swallowed, his words low and choked. “Do you love her?”
“Love Violet?” Lord, Adrian was jealous, Kit realized. And besotted, to boot. “Yes, I do love her.”
Adrian stiffened, his back ramrod straight.
Kit continued. “I love her as a dear friend and as a sister. In only a few months, she’s become closer to me than any of my own sisters. Maybe because of our similar ages. Maybe because she helped me when I needed help. I passed my examinations, by the way, due in large measure to her. I don’t know what it is about her for sure. But I do know this, you’re a fool if you drive her away. She may not be perfect, but she suits you down to the ground. You’ll never find a better woman than her.”
Adrian pulled on his gloves. “See to it your term goes well. No infractions.”
“Don’t worry. Being sent down once was lesson enough for me.”
Adrian nodded, then he was gone, striding down the corridor.
Kit could only hope his brother was headed toward his salvation and not his doom.
∗ ∗ ∗
Two days later Violet entered Adrian’s study at Winterlea.
“You wished to see me, your Grace?” She smoothed a nervous palm over the skirt of her Clarence blue poplin day dress and hovered in the doorway.
He didn’t look up from the letter he was writing, quill moving rapidly over the page.
She stiffened, wondering for the hundredth time why he had summoned her here.
Adrian had arrived home yesterday afternoon, yet this was the first she had seen of him. He’d made no effort to greet her upon his arrival and he’d failed to put in an appearance at dinner last night. The extra plate she’d had set for him had gone unused.
Finally, he laid down his pen. “Have a seat, madam.” With barely a glance, he gestured her toward a chair. It was set in the centre of the room, facing his desk.
She hesitated, then walked forward, feeling like a schoolgirl called before the headmaster. She sat, hands folded in her lap. “What’s this about, Adrian?”
He looked at her, his eyes polar. “A few questions have come to light that I need to ask you, nothing more.”
She did her best to relax, racking her brain as she tried to think what those questions might be. Perhaps some matter concerning the estate, or a bill that required explanation. She had purchased several new gowns during their time in London. Perhaps he disapproved of the cost.
“I found this missive.” He extended a narrow sheet of well-creased paper. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to its contents?”
She had to lean forward in order to grasp it. “What is it?”
“You tell me.”
“My pardon, but I’ll need to put on my spectacles.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek, an odd gleam sliding into his eyes. “By all means.”
Fighting the sudden need to tremble, she reached into her pocket, slipped on her eyeglasses. She opened the letter.
An electric tingle ran down her spine. The note was written in Latin. It was one of the translations she’d prepared for Kit. She had no difficulty recognizing her own handwriting. Where had he come by this? She took a deep breath, forced herself not to panic.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea what this says.” She nudged the note onto the edge of his desk. “It’s written in some foreign language.”
“Latin.” His voice sliced like steel.
“Really? Is that what it is? Darrin used to struggle at it when we were children. I remember how he complained.”
“You don’t recognize the note, then?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “No, I don’t believe so. Should I?”
“You gave it to my brother. I saw you do so over the Christmas holiday.”
Dear Lord. “I don’t recall,” she lied. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Seems these days there are a great many notes of which you fail to recall the origin, madam.” He stood, walked around his desk. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck with this one.” He held out a single sheet of paper, crisp, folded precisely in half. “Read it.”
Blood beat at her temples, her throat so constricted she could barely swallow. Her fingers shook as she accepted the note. He moved away.
The office door closed. For an instant, she thought he’d left the room. But her relief was short-lived, sensing him as he waited somewhere behind her. She repressed the urge to peek around.
Knowing she had no choice, she opened the letter.
Five words, written in slashing black ink, leapt off the page.
I know who you are.
She blinked, trying to fully comprehend. Air whooshed out of her lungs as if she’d been hurled to the ground.
Suddenly, he was there, his lips against her ear. “Hello, Violet,” he said, his voice silky as the devil’s.
She jumped, then tried to rise from her seat. He held her in place, his fingers b
iting bruisingly into the flesh of her arms.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” he demanded.
She flinched, tears springing to her eyes.
“Don’t bother turning on the waterworks, madam. Your tears will have no effect on me.”
He released her, circled around. “Well, have you nothing to say now that we both know who you really are?”
Her lips opened, but no sound came out.
“I talked to Kit, if you’re wondering. And yes, he finally divulged the truth of your little ruse, so there’s no point in trying to convince me I’m mistaken about you.” He leaned down, thrust his face close to hers. “Speak. You didn’t have any trouble chattering incessantly when you were pretending to be Jeannette.”
She sniffed, her whole world shattering around her. “Adrian, I’m s-sorry.”
“Sorry you’ve been caught, you mean.”
“Yes. No. Oh, please, you don’t understand.” She reached out a beseeching hand but he pulled away from her. “It’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think. You and that harridan sister of yours conspired together to deceive me. No, don’t tell me. She decided she didn’t want to go through with the wedding on the morning of the ceremony and talked you into taking her place. I see by your expression I’m right. Was it the impending scandal or the money that made you do it? Or did you secretly long to be a duchess and couldn’t pass up the golden opportunity that fell suddenly into your lap? All you had to do, after all, was prostitute yourself by pretending to be another woman.”
She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, gripping the carved wooden arms of her chair for strength. “I did it because I loved you, and have done from the moment I first saw you,” she said, her voice low and tremulous. “It was wrong, I know that, but I hoped I could make you happy. For a time, I think I did.”
“You satisfied my lust, madam. What man wouldn’t have been happy with that?” he drawled in a sardonic tone.
She knew he’d said it to hurt her, and he’d succeeded. She closed her eyes, fought to steady her tumultuous emotions. Then she looked at him again, pleading. “I realize you’re angry, and you have every right to be. You’ve been deceived in the most basic of ways. I’m not the woman you thought I was. I’m not the woman you chose. But I am your wife and I can be still if you’ll only let me.”
The Husband Trap Page 26