Or would it be as feared? Even after a night together, she might be as much an enigma as she was now? There was something disquieting in those deep-green eyes and that placid smile. It was like a beautiful mask that could come off at midnight and reveal something totally unexpected.
The thought of bedding her had him as nervous as a bridegroom. If the stories were true, he had been that once already. On that night, his body would have performed as he commanded it to. If he was too weak to walk unaided, how was he to manage with a woman in his bed? Would she measure him against previous experience?
Perhaps she had fears as well. She looked rather like a virgin sacrifice in the undecorated white gown with her hair, a touchable river of gold, flowing down her back in a loose braid. In the firelight, she seemed younger than he’d thought, no more than two and twenty.
It made him feel strangely guilty to have suspected her of anything. She looked too innocent to be harbouring some dark secret. There was nothing in her demeanour that said she looked forward to a physical reunion with him. Now that they were alone again, the shyness he had seen at dinner was all the more noticeable.
Then, suspicion returned. If she was truly his wife, should she not be more excited to find him awake and alive, and to renew the physical relationship between them? Perhaps he had married her and discovered the ardour he felt was not returned. She had called him good, and kind, before. But she had not spoken of desire, or hung about his neck showering him with relieved kisses. The smile she gave him now was pleasant, but cool.
The one he returned to her was tight and unwillingly given. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, not bothering to hide his doubts.
‘I thought, now that you were awake...’
Did she think that she would climb into bed with him and make everything better? That they would rut busily for a time, for no other reason than to prove that his lack of past did not affect either of them? Were men really so easily manipulated as that?
She walked past him and sat on the opposite edge of his bed, perched like a perfectly formed wooden doll on the very edge of a shelf. If he touched her, she would fall on to her back with that same distant look in her eyes, spread her legs and let him do as he wished with her.
The thought made him feel strangely sick. A little awkwardness after all this time would not be unusual. If the couple were in love, it might be laughed away after a whispered conversation on the need for patience and the assurance that nothing mattered more than their time together.
But he could not imagine having such a talk with her. When he looked at Justine, he felt nothing but a vague, unsettling desire. He wanted to see what lay under that prim gown she was wearing as much as he’d wanted to see under the cap and touch her hair. Most of all, he wanted to come inside her, feeling the past return in a rush, turning the past day into nothing more than a horrible dream.
But what did she want? She was gazing at him with a look of placid acceptance that was not encouraging. Perhaps proper women did not take pleasure in the marital bed. If they did not, then what real joy could there be to lie with her? He envied Adam and Penny, so obviously two sides of the same coin. Perhaps that was not what was meant to be for him. Adam had said he and this woman were alike. If she was cold and apathetic, what did that make him?
He had gone too long, staring at her without answer. So she started again. ‘While you were ill, I never slept far from your room. I have a cot, in the dressing room. In case you cried out in your sleep, I wanted to be nearby.’
‘That will no longer be necessary,’ he said. It was probably meant to be a comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone, to puzzle out what had happened to him.
She bit her lip. ‘I wish to remain close, should you need me. But as my husband, it is up to you to decide where you wish me to be.’ She glanced significantly at the bed beside her. It was the only moment of spirit in her too-perfect subservience.
It made him want to bed her even less. He remained blank for a moment more. Then he gave a laugh of mock surprise. ‘I am sorry to inform you of this, my dear, but it does not matter to me in the least where you wish to sleep tonight. I am far too tired to manage anything so strenuous as a loving reunion.’
As he had feared, she looked more relieved than disappointed by his refusal. She stood up mechanically and turned first towards the hall, then towards the door that led to a connecting bedroom. ‘Then I will return to my room and leave you to your rest. If you need anything in the night...’
‘I shall ring for a servant,’ he said firmly. ‘You do not need to trouble yourself any further, or sleep at the foot of my bed like a hound. If I need you specifically, I shall walk across the room and knock upon your door.’
A certain type of woman might have snapped at his rudeness, or burst into a torrent of foolish tears. This one gave him an impassive nod and answered as a servant would, ‘Very good, my lord.’
A nagging voice at the back of his head demanded that he stop being foolish. Even if they were not two halves of one heart, it gave him no reason to treat her like a footman. ‘I will see you in the morning,’ he said, trying to use a kinder tone. ‘In the breakfast room.’
‘Of course.’ And once he saw her there, would she eat when he told her, drink when he told her and in all other ways behave like an automaton? If so, it did not matter what Adam thought. Justine was the exact opposite of the wife he would have wanted. There was no spirit in her at all, no challenge. There was nothing in her to learn, no exciting discoveries to make. The woman leaving his room was perfectly beautiful, totally obedient and dull.
Then he was rewarded with a fleeting memory of the past. He had been watching Adam at the christening, who was full of pride over his son and his duchess. The boy had been crying and his mother near to panic at her inability to maintain order. But Adam could not have looked happier. The room had seemed almost too full of life. For the first time in his life, Will had found something to envy. He had wanted a wife. And he had, indeed, resolved to marry within the year.
The fact that he could not remember bringing it about was a moot point. The thought had been in his mind when he left the house. He was going south. There were any number of fashionable women who would welcome his offer, now that he had decided to make it. He would choose one of them, after...
After what? There had been something else he’d meant to do. Only afterwards had he intended to marry. He must have achieved his goal, whatever it was. He had carried out the second part of his plan and found a wife.
Now, he would have to make the best of his choice. He leaned over to blow out the candle settling back into a bed that was familiar, but strangely empty.
Chapter Four
In the weeks she’d spent at Bellston Manor, Justine had come up with a dozen excuses for her early morning walks. She enjoyed regular exercise. She had a love of the outdoors. She wished to become familiar with the area that would be her home, after the unlikely recovery of William Felkirk. She had caught Penny and the duke discussing her regular exercise with approval. They had been nodding sagely to each other about the need for poor Justine to escape the sickroom, even for a short period of time.
It pained her that they were so willing to accept what was nothing more than another lie. There was only one reason that truly mattered. In a regular series of lonely rambles, it was easy to disguise the few times she did not walk alone.
* * *
It took nearly ten minutes to cross the manicured park around the great house. Beyond that, the path wound into the trees and she was hidden from view. Most mornings, the concealment gave her the chance to let down her guard and be truly herself. That brief time amongst the oaks was all hers and it was a novelty. How many years had it been since she had called her life her own, even for a moment?
But this was not most mornings. Today, the privacy meant nothing more than a chan
ge of façades. She was barely concealed before she heard the step behind her. Even though she had been expecting it, she started at the sudden appearance of John Montague.
That he invariably startled her was a source of annoyance. He made no effort to blend with the wood or the countryside. He wore the same immaculately tailored black coats and snowy white breeches he favoured in town. The patterned silk of his waistcoats stood out like a tropical bird lost amongst the trees. His heavy cologne was devoid of woodsy notes. His body and face were sharp and angular, his complexion florid to match his wiry red hair.
The only subtlety he possessed was his ability to move without a sound. Whether walking through the leaves, or over the hard marble of the jewellery shop they ran in Bath, she never heard the click of a heel or the shuffle of a foot to mark his approach. Like a cat, he was suddenly there, at one’s side, and then he would be gone. After each meeting she spent hours, starting at nothing and glancing nervously over her shoulder, convinced that he might be nearby, listening, watching, waiting to pounce.
As usual, he laughed at her fear as though it gave him pleasure. Then he pulled her forward, into his arms to remind her that it was not William Felkirk to whom she belonged. She permitted his kiss, as she always did, remaining placid. If one could not summon a response other than revulsion, it was best to show no emotion at all. When she could stand no more of it, she pulled away, pretending that it was the urgent need to share information that made her resist his advances.
He cocked his head to the side as though trying to decide whether it was worth punishing her for her impudence. Then he spoke. ‘I saw the light in your window. You have news?’
‘Felkirk is awake.’
Montague gave a sharp intake of breath and she hurried to add, ‘But he remembers nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ He smiled at this miraculous turn of events.
‘Not a thing from the last six months,’ she assured him. ‘He does not remember his investigations. He does not remember you.’ Nor me, she added to herself. ‘Most importantly, he does not remember the injury. I told him it was a riding accident.’
‘Did he believe you?’ Montague said, with no real optimism.
‘I do not know.’
‘What will happen if circumstances change?’
‘It will be a disaster,’ she said. ‘I must be gone before then.’ Her plan to escape Montague was an utter failure, if she must run back to him now. But better to return to the devil she knew than to experience what might happen should Lord Felkirk remember the truth.
‘What of the diamonds?’ Montague asked. ‘You have been in the house for weeks. Am I to believe you found nothing?’
‘Not a thing,’ she admitted.
‘Did you examine the Duchess’s jewel case?’
Justine sighed. ‘Have I not told you so already? I feigned feminine curiosity and she showed me all. There are no stones in any of the pieces that match the ones my father was carrying.’
‘They must be hidden elsewhere.’ Montague insisted. ‘When he came to Bath, Felkirk was sure he’d found the hiding place.’
‘Then the information is locked in his brain along with the reason for his condition.’ Justine resisted the urge to tug upon his arm, to lead him further from the house. He seemed to think even the most innocent contact between them gave him permission to take further liberties. ‘You must get me away from here,’ she said.
Montague grunted in disgust. ‘But we will not have the diamonds. Without them, we have gained nothing from this little game you suggested. You might just as well have let me finish him, while we were still in Bath.’
‘Suppose he had told someone of his plans?’ She took the risk of stroking his arm to distract him. ‘Isn’t it better to know that there is no trail leading back to you?’
‘You discovered that almost immediately,’ he retorted. ‘If there were no diamonds to find, then you should have done as I suggested and smothered him while he slept.’
‘You know I could not,’ she said, as calmly as possible. To hear him speak so casually of cold-blooded murder made her tremble. Even knowing that her life might be at stake, she could not bring herself to do such a thing.
‘I fail to see what stops you,’ Montague replied. ‘His family was responsible for the death of your father, who was my closest friend.’ He beat his breast once to emphasise the connection. ‘He was murdered on their property, delivering stones for a necklace that the duchess did not give two figs for. They did not keep their land safe for travellers. They did not offer a guard to escort him to the house. And once the crime had occurred they made no effort to catch the killer. Even worse, they may have been complicit. If Felkirk is right and the stones are still on the property, what are we to believe?’
‘I doubt that is the case,’ she said. It made no sense. What reason would a duke have to rob a jewel merchant, when they could easily afford to pay for the stones?
‘Perhaps not,’ Montague allowed. ‘But some justice is owed, after all this time.’
‘True,’ she said, cautiously. ‘But it was very dangerous to take that justice into your own hands by attacking the brother of the duke.’ Had her father known there was this strain of madness in his partner, when he’d made him guardian to a pair of helpless orphans? It did not matter, for there was little she could do about it until Margot was of age. ‘Since he survived the attack and cannot remember what occurred, you will be safe from prosecution.’
‘All well and good,’ he said. ‘But when you suggested this ruse, you promised you would find the diamonds Felkirk was searching for and bring them to me.’
It had surprised her that he would believe such a thing. If she had uncovered the stones her father had lost, her plan had been to sell them and escape with her sister to a place where neither Montague nor Felkirk could find her. ‘As I’ve told you before, I can find no evidence of them. The plan is a failure. You must help me quit this house, before it is too late and Lord Felkirk remembers who I am.’ Then she sighed and offered herself as an incentive. ‘We might take a room at an inn on the road back to Bath.’
‘Do you miss me?’ he asked, with a smile that made her shiver. ‘How flattering. Do not worry. You will return to my bed soon enough, and it will be just as it was before Felkirk sought us out. But I think, for a time, you had best remain where you are. His memory might return. Perhaps you can coax forth the information we need and we will still succeed.’
‘It will require me to convince him that I am his wife,’ she said. ‘You know what he will expect from me.’ She held her breath, praying that Montague’s possessiveness would finally do her some good.
He grabbed her by the arm and she thought he meant to punish her for even suggesting such a thing. But then he kissed her, forcing his tongue into her open mouth, thrusting hard, as though the idea of her laying with another excited him. Or perhaps he meant to frighten her into submission.
That would have been pointless. She had learned, at times like this, to feel nothing at all. She had but to wait and it would be over, soon enough.
Eventually, he pulled away and whispered, ‘You must use your talents on him, my dear. I swear you are woman enough to give speech to a dead man. How hard will it be for you to turn Felkirk inside out and extract what you need from him?’
‘But suppose I cannot?’ she said. ‘Suppose he remembers seeing me with you. In Bath, I am sure he guessed I was your mistress. I could see it in his eyes. Do not make me do this, for it is sure to fail.’
‘You had best see that it does not,’ he said. ‘For your own sake and your sister’s.’
‘Do not mention Margot again,’ she said, yanking her arm free from his grasp as the fear he wanted to see flooded back into her.
‘I will speak of her, or to her, whenever I wish.’ He knew her weakness and exploited it, relishing her reaction. ‘Unt
il she is of age, Margot is still my ward.’ Then he took her hand back, more gently this time, running his fingers along the skin in a way he must think would excite her. ‘Without you, my life is so very lonely, Justine. Perhaps I should bring Margot home from school. She could take your place, working in the shop. She could keep me company, until you return.’ He raised her hand to his lips, running the tip of his tongue along the knuckles. ‘I swear, she is very nearly as lovely as you.’
Her mind went blank again, blocking out the feeling of his lips touching her skin. ‘It will not be necessary to summon Margot,’ she said, in a calm, agreeable voice. ‘I will do exactly as you say. I will discover what it is that Felkirk found. Then, I will return to you and things will be just as they were.’
‘See that you do,’ he said, looking up into her eyes. ‘You are to do whatever is necessary to gain the knowledge we want. I will have those stones, Justine. And then I will have you back.’
Whatever was necessary. She would lie to William Felkirk and lie with him as well. Perhaps there would still be a way to find the diamonds and get away. But until then, she would lose a little bit of herself, just as she did each time with Montague. How much was left to lose, when one already felt empty? ‘Of course,’ she agreed, listening to the sound of her own voice as if it came from a great distance. She thought of Margot and the need for her to stay safe at school, and innocent, for just one more year. ‘I will do whatever is necessary.’
Then she let Montague kiss her again, making her mind a blank as the kiss grew more passionate. But now he was pulling her away from the path, deeper into the woods so that they could be alone. There was no time for it.
The Truth About Lady Felkirk Page 4