Call Down the Moon (31 page)

He quickly wiped his eyes. The last thing in the world he wanted was his mother, let alone Meggie, to think that he had ever considered her anything less than perfectly sane.

“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, standing and turning around to face his mother. The guilt he now carried was nearly enough to crush him, as if it hadn’t been bad enough before. “I cannot—I cannot express to you the strength of my feelings. You have accepted my wife so readily, trusted my judgment when I have given you no reason to do anything but doubt me. I couldn’t at first believe your generosity toward Meggie, but I see now that you really do understand.”

“Hugo, my dear, but how could I not?” she replied gently. “I wonder if you think me such a dried-up old woman that I have forgotten the wonders of love?”

“Mama,” he replied, coloring at her unabashed candor, “I would never think such a thing. To tell you the truth, I—well, I haven’t considered you in that light at all. How could I? You are my mother.”

She laughed. “So I am. Has it not occurred to you that you would not be here at all if I had not at one time felt the same way toward your father as you feel toward your Meggie? Really, Hugo, you cannot be so lacking in imagination.”

“I can honestly say that there is absolutely nothing amiss with my imagination,” he said dryly.

“You were certainly imaginative enough to see beyond the limitations society places upon us and marry a woman for love rather than position and fortune. As for doubting you, I can see for myself the changes your marriage has made in you, never mind all the wonderful testimonials I heard when I was briefly at Lyden. I believe you have finally come into your own, my darling child, and I could not be happier about anything. You have learned your lessons well.”

What could he possibly say to that? Actually, Mama, I’m a far bigger bounder than you ever imagined. He thought not. “Meggie is an excellent teacher,” he said instead and with complete honesty. “I learn something new every day.” That also was entirely true.

“Meggie said much the same thing about you,” his mother replied. “You may not have had similar upbringings, but you do have so many other things in common. I shudder to think how quickly you would have become bored had you married only a pretty face.”

Hugo braced himself, something telling him he was about to receive another shock. “Meggie is far more than a pretty face,” he agreed cautiously, not having any idea what direction his mother might be going in.

“Indeed, yes. If I can approve of nothing else those dreadful nuns at the orphanage did, at least they recognized your wife’s intellect and made good use of it, training her to be a teacher.”

“Mmm, hmm,” he murmured, feeling as if a bucket of cold water had just been dumped over his head.

“Sister Agnes told me Meggie was already fluent in Latin, Greek, and French when she arrived at the sanitarium, and once there she continued to study everything she could. I find that so commendable, but of course you know how strongly I feel about women being properly educated.”

Hugo rubbed the lobe of his ear very, very hard. “Yes, you’ve mentioned it often.”

“For good reason, darling. We females are encouraged to be flaccid of thought, interested only in the mundane occurrences in our daily lives and the equally mundane lives of those around us, but in my opinion nothing compares to the richness of one’s inner life. Some might scoff, but I think you are truly blessed to have married an educated woman, especially given your own interest in the classics.”

Hugo thought he might very well wring Meggie’s neck. An intellectual was she, masquerading all this time as an ignoramus? No wonder she’d so easily trotted out a Greek name for her mare. No wonder she’d belatedly tried to disguise her knowledge, making up some idiotic excuse. He supposed that he was responsible for that subterfuge on top of everything else. When had he ever given her an indication that he expected anything of her but ignorance?

“Mama,” he said, suddenly in desperate need of setting his wife straight on a few vital points, “would you mind terribly if I take my leave of you? I promised Meggie I wouldn’t be long.”

“Darling, do go to your dear wife. In all truth I am rather tired. I have been traveling for what seems like weeks and would be happy to disappear to my rooms and sleep, although I do think I can manage to have dinner with you tonight. Tomorrow I will rise and descend upon London Society, singing Meggie’s praises and yours.” She stood and kissed his cheek. “Your brother will be so pleased to hear the good news—oh! Oh, good
heavens,
what was I thinking? Hugo, darling, you are an uncle! You have a beautiful little nephew, the most adorable infant, born three weeks ago. I think he looks very like his father at that age, although they are so small and red in the beginning that it is always hard to tell exactly.”

Hugo grinned, filled with real happiness for his brother. “Rafe must be over the moon. I will write him immediately with my congratulations—and I will give him the details of my own marriage at the same time.”

. “He would like that,” the duchess said solemnly. “I do believe that next to having his wife safely delivered of a healthy newborn son, nothing could give him more joy than to hear that you are as happily wed as he is.”

Hugo found Meggie in the library, head bent over a catalogue of old manuscripts, so focused that she didn’t even hear him come in.

“Hello, Meggie. What are you reading?” he asked wickedly, watching her jump six inches off the ground.

“N-nothing,” she said, stuffing the catalogue into a drawer of the desk she was standing in front of.

“Nothing?”

“Well, er, Madame DeChaille told me that she thought I ought to educate myself about the latest fashions before our next appointment.” She blushed furiously.

“Meggie, you clever girl. I think I am only beginning to see how you’ve been getting around the truth without ever actually telling me an outright lie.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her hand creeping to her flushed cheek.

“I mean that you have been pulling the wool over my eyes for a good month now, and I would like to know why, my little scholar.
Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi.
Translation, please?”

“The deepest rivers flow with the least sound,” she whispered, her face frozen, her eyes huge and hollow. “Oh,
Hugo.
Do you hate me for deceiving you?”

“Hate you? Meggie, in this moment I love you more than ever, but you do baffle me. Why
—why
did you not simply tell me the truth from the start?”

“I thought you wanted a stupid wife,” she said, her head bowed.

Hugo’s gaze fixed on the exposed nape of her neck that looked absurdly fragile, little wisps of flaxen hair curling about it like dandelion fluff. He wanted to press a kiss just there, but knew that if he did he’d quickly be pressing kisses elsewhere, and they would never complete the conversation. “You thought I wanted a stupid wife,” he repeated. “Why? Did you think me so stupid that I couldn’t bear the thought of intelligent conversation?”

“No! Oh, Hugo, never that. It was just that you didn’t seem to want a smart wife, and since you were so kind as to fall in love with me the way you thought I was and take me away from Woodbridge, I thought I should oblige you as best I could—or at least until I could adjust you to the idea that I was educated.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then the first night at Lyden, Aunt Dorelia told me in no uncertain terms that no man ever wanted an educated wife, and I should keep my silence. She said that men didn’t want to hear women’s opinions, that they didn’t like women to be clever, that all they wanted was a pretty face and a pleasing manner.”

Hugo rubbed his hand back and forth over his mouth. “I see,” he said after a moment. “You believed the silly old bats, naturally, since you’ve never had anyone else to instruct you in what men wish and don’t wish from their wives.”

“You did treat me as if I was simpleminded, Hugo,” Meggie pointed out miserably. “So yes, I believed them.”

Hugo stared up at the ceiling. He didn’t have a leg to stand on and he knew it. “I am entirely at fault,” he said, having no way to explain his original assumption. “Looking back, I can see that I behaved badly in any number of ways, and for that I am sorry. I—well, I never thought that you might have been given any kind of education, and I suppose I acted on that misguided premise.”

“Do you mean you really don’t mind?” Meggie said, her beautiful eyes filling with starlight. Her joy and relief were so clear and strong that Hugo’s breath left his body.

“Meggie—Meggie,” he groaned, closing the distance between them and pulling her tight against his chest. His arms wrapped about her as if he could draw her into his soul. “There is so much I feel a fool for, so much.
Mea maxima culpa,
my darling. It is for you to forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said, tilting her head back and looking up at him, her eyes filling with tears that only made their starlight dance brighter. “Nothing. You have never been anything but loving and good to me. You took me on sheer faith, married me when you knew all I wanted was an escape from my life.” She shuddered in his arms. “You took an enormous risk, Hugo, believing that you loved a stranger, and yet your faith proved true, for I love you more than I can ever say. I will never be able to express my gratitude enough, or my love. The very idea that you are willing to accept this part of me as well brings me to my knees.”

He buried his mouth and his hands in her hair, drinking in her sweet fragrance. His fingers traced the delicate shape of her skull, and his eyes closed. His heart was beating so fast he could scarcely contain it—not from passion, but from fear.

“Meggie,” he murmured, some final barrier in him crumbling. A realization swept through him that if he didn’t tell her the absolute truth and tell it to her now, he would never be redeemed. His life would always be a lie, and their marriage would never be fully realized.

He understood in the deepest part of himself the risk he took, that he might lose everything, that this was his last and the most desperate gamble he had ever made. This gamble was for Meggie, for their life, their future together, and the die he cast could only come up one way. Meggie would have to call it.

He drew in the deepest breath he’d ever taken. “My love, I have not been entirely honest with you. Will you hear me out, try to forgive me for the transgressions I have made?”

Meggie placed her hands on either side of his face. “How could you possibly have transgressed against me?” she asked with a tender smile. “You are the very best of men.”

“But I’m not, my love, I’m not. This is what I need to tell you. I pray that you will somehow find a way to understand.” He gently took her hands in his, intending to sit her down and confess all, whatever the consequences.

He nearly screamed with frustration when a knock came at the door. “Yes, what is it?” he snapped, stepping away from Meggie as the door opened and Loring appeared.

“Lord Waldock to see you, my lord. He says he is here at your urgent request.”

Hugo swore silently. Of all times that Waldock might have appeared, this was the worst possible moment. On the other hand, he couldn’t possibly refuse the man.

“Meggie—may we continue this later? This is the man I have been waiting to see for the last week.”

She nodded, then walked to the door. “We will talk later.” She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “Hugo, whatever is on your mind, please do not be troubled. You really are the best of men, even if you refuse to believe it.”

He tried to smile at her, then turned away, steeling himself to face his past and his future all at once.

F
or the life of her, Meggie could not work out why Hugo thought he required forgiveness. He’d looked so pale, so troubled, his deep blue eyes haunted with remorse.

It was typical of Hugo to take the blame for thinking her dim-witted, as if it was any fault of his. She had been the one to give him that impression, or at least to encourage it once she thought it was what he wanted. It was she who ought to be asking his forgiveness for having misled him in the first place—hadn’t she been the one who had insisted on honesty between them?

She pulled the catalogue out of the desk drawer and replaced it on the shelf, no longer in a mood to pore over it. She’d been reading it only as a distraction.

“It’s been quite a day so far, hasn’t it, Hadrian?” she murmured, looking at the wolf who had made a comfortable bed for himself under the desk.

He lifted his head and gazed at her, his yellow eyes blinking once as if in agreement.

“Imagine Hugo’s mother appearing just like that, and what a wonderful woman she is, so open-minded and such a generous nature. No wonder Hugo turned into such a fine man.”

Hadrian put his head straight back on his paws and closed his eyes.

“Oh, very well,” Meggie said with a smile. “Be like that, but one of these days you will come around to my way of thinking. You’re just jealous.”

Hadrian continued to ignore her.

“Silly wolf. I’m going upstairs to change for dinner. You can stay here and sulk, but I think you might try to be a little more open-minded yourself.”

Bending down, she gave him a scratch behind his ears. He grunted but showed no interest in vacating his position, so she left him where he was and softly closed the door.

She stopped abruptly as she strongly sensed a stranger’s presence in the entrance hall, a presence that emanated murderous fury. That fury was directed straight toward Hugo—Hugo, and less so toward a man named Waldock … Waldock, whom Hugo had been anxiously waiting to see all week.

Meggie couldn’t imagine what reason this person would have to be so dangerously angry, or even what he was doing in the house at all. Loring had not announced anyone else to Hugo, and Loring was the grand master of butlers.

She tried to stanch her apprehension, determined to find out more, for if Hugo was in any sort of trouble she wanted to know about it.

Drawing on all her strength, she summoned up a poise she certainly didn’t feel, then walked into the huge hall where a well-dressed man of about Hugo’s age paced. His handsome face was drawn into an ugly frown.

“Good afternoon,” she said, trying to sound perfectly casual. “I am Lady Hugo Montagu. May I help you in some way?”

He started at the sound of her voice, and his expression instantly smoothed into one of pleasant greeting.

“Lady Hugo—this is a surprise,” he said, walking directly over to her and bowing over her hand. “Allow me to present myself. I am Michael Foxlane, an old friend of your husband’s.”

Meggie had to suppress a shudder. She found it hard to believe this man was any friend of Hugo’s. There was something repulsive about him, something dark and twisted in his heart that his false joviality tried to hide.

“How do you do?” she said, quickly removing her hand from his grasp. “If you have come to see my husband, he is occupied at the moment, but Loring must have already told you.” She knew the polite thing would be to offer him refreshment, but she wasn’t about to give a man who held such hatred toward Hugo a single crumb.

“Actually, I only wait for my companion to finish his business. We are on our way to a pre-dinner engagement, and I grew weary of waiting in the carriage. I thought to greet your husband briefly, not having seen him for some time, but meeting you is an unexpected bonus. Lady Hugo.”

A pretty little bitch, aren’t you? I wonder just what the real story behind this marriage is—God knows, Montagu needed an heiress after I was finished with him. But odd how this one popped out of the woodwork just in time to save his cursed neck from ruin.

Meggie practically gasped as the horrifying words drilled straight into her head, clear as day. She only rarely perceived someone else’s thoughts as fully and lucidly as if she’d formulated them herself, and the few people whose thoughts she had perceived in that way had usually been unbalanced. She couldn’t help but wonder if that wasn’t the case with Michael Foxlane, despite his urbane, self-possessed appearance.

She forced herself to smile, determined to get to the root of this man’s enmity. For once she was truly grateful for her talent. “You said you and my husband were old friends. Have you known him many years, Mr. Foxlane?”

“We were at school together,” he replied, looking her up and down with an insulting smile that made her stomach turn over. “And you, Lady Hugo? How long have you known your husband? I never heard mention of you or your marriage to Montagu until this very day when our mutual friend Lord Waldock returned to town and received your husband’s letter.”

And gave me the shock of my life—I could murder Montagu with my bare hands. Seventy-five thousand pounds straight into the sewer on that damned wager at White’s, and damn Cousin Amelia to hell anyway for swearing Montagu was as good as leg-shackled to her. She’ll pitch the fit of her life when she hears the news, and serves her right, the stupid bitch.

Still, I’ll somehow see that Montagu pays for my loss, and he’ll pay in a way that really hurts—-first with his pride, and later with his reputation. And maybe, just maybe, when he’s suffered as much as possible, I’ll have him finished off for good, the smug bastard.

“I have known my husband for some months,” Meggie said, trying to hide her shock, acutely aware that she needed to tread very, very carefully, that she couldn’t afford to make a single mistake if she was to help Hugo. “I wonder that he has never mentioned you to me, given that you are such old friends.”

Foxlane shrugged nonchalantly. “I am sure there are many things your husband has neglected to tell you. For example, did he think to inform you that he lost not only his estate but his last penny to Arthur Waldock in an evening of gambling only days before your marriage? Waldock has come to collect.”

Silly cow. Of course he didn’t tell you. How does it feel to know your husband married you only for your money? I’ll wager he swore it was all for love, and you believed him, you little fool.

Meggie couldn’t help paling. “Yes, I knew,” she lied, trying desperately to keep her composure in place, a nearly impossible task. Hugo had married her for her
money
? But that was impossible—neither of them had known anything about her inheritance until a week ago.

Yet she knew that Foxlane spoke the truth about Hugo’s losses. The images crowded into her head, just as if she had been there herself that night. Hugo drunk and despondent, Foxlane dealing the cards.

Meggie sucked in her breath. Marked cards. Foxlane had cheated, and he’d had an accomplice, a footman at a place called Boodle’s, where Hugo and Foxlane had been that night…

Her hand crept over her mouth and she stared at Foxlane, horrified. She envisioned it all as if she were looking through his eyes, thinking the thoughts inside his head. He was a monster, a true monster.

“He didn’t tell you a thing, did he?” Foxlane said triumphantly. “I suppose he also didn’t tell you that he is an inveterate gambler whose own brother exiled him to the continent for three years, tired of his debts and the constant scandals.”

Meggie clenched her hands together behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. She forced herself to concentrate, to pull every last detail that she could from Foxlane’s vile mind.

“Yes, he told me all about that, too,” she said, absorbing another painful rush of images. “He returned last year, after making a great deal of money in Paris at the gambling tables, and then he lost it all a month ago to Lord Waldock at Boodle’s. Lord Waldock gave him ninety days to repay the debt in full so that Hugo wouldn’t lose Lyden.”

Meggie felt sick at heart as the truth came pounding home to her. Hugo had lied to her, over and over again, about so many things. She pressed her shaking hands even harder together, thinking that the one thing he hadn’t lied to her about was loving her because he couldn’t have known about her money. At least there was that. At least there was that.

She wouldn’t let Foxlane destroy him, destroy what they had together just because of Hugo’s past mistakes. She had to protect him against this vicious man, would protect him, no matter the cost.

“Ah,” Foxlane said, looking mightily disappointed. “So you do know all about it. I confess to surprise. Most men do not want their wives to know about their past sins, and your husband has so many I am sure even he has lost count.”

“My husband’s past is no concern of mine,” Meggie retorted, raising her chin. “I care only about the man of honor that he is now.” She desperately wanted to believe that was true, but she didn’t know what to think anymore. Her brain was so numbed by Foxlane’s series of devastating revelations that she could hardly think at all.

“A man of
honor
? Oh, my dear Lady Hugo, you have been hoodwinked, haven’t you?” he said with a nasty smile. “My friend must make you very, very happy in bed, but then he always did have quite a reputation with the, ah … ladies.”

Meggie lost her fight for self-control. She wasn’t going to listen to any more vicious slurs about Hugo, even if some of them were true. “Tell me, Mr. Foxlane,” she said coldly, “why are you so eager to tell me all about my husband’s past? Were you hoping to destroy the love and the trust that exists between us? If that is the case, and I can think of no other, you surely have a strange notion of friendship.”

He flushed a dark red, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “So, the sweet little wife has claws, has she? Careful, she-cat. You do not wish to cross me.”

“Don’t I indeed?” Meggie replied, her temper about to erupt. Oh, she’d cross him all right. He’d be sorry he’d ever thought to hurt Hugo.

At that moment the door to the study swung open and Hugo appeared with a tall, pleasant-looking man at his side. Hugo spotted Meggie and Foxlane instantly, and a look of guarded surprise crossed his face.

“Foxlane—I hadn’t realized you were here. I see you have met my wife.”

“A charming woman,” Foxlane drawled. “May I wish you every happiness, Montagu?”

Meggie practically choked. It was everything she could do to keep her mouth from falling open.

“Thank you,” Hugo said, crossing the room, his hand outstretched. “You are kind to wish us well.”

That was it. She couldn’t bear the idea of Hugo being so deceived, of his even touching Foxlane’s treacherous hand. She didn’t stop to think about the consequences, just knew that Hugo had to learn the truth then and there. “No—don’t believe anything he says! He is no friend to you, Hugo. He’s betrayed you horribly!”

Hugo stopped mid-stride, staring at her in astonishment. “Meggie … what is this?” he said slowly.

“He cheated at cards,” she said, realizing she must sound a complete fool, but not caring. Foxlane couldn’t be allowed to get away with his treachery. “It happened the night he took you to Boodle’s.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” Foxlane bellowed, his face turning red. “Montagu, silence your wife before I silence her myself! Is she mad?”

“I suggest you keep your own silence,” Hugo said, shooting Foxlane a look of cold fury. He walked straight over to Meggie and took her by the shoulders. “What in the name of God has gotten into you?” he demanded in a low voice.

“It’s true,” she insisted, not knowing how she was going to make him believe her. She’d only realized belatedly that if she told him the entire truth, she would have to give away the entire truth about herself, too. She’d just have to find another way to force him to listen.

“Meggie—I don’t know what you think you’re doing or why, but you had damned well explain yourself and quickly,” he said, his hands holding her shoulders firmly.

“I’m trying,” she said, looking directly into his eyes, silently pleading with him to hear her. “Mr. Foxlane made a wager for seventy-five thousand pounds in White’s betting book that you would marry Amelia Langford before the end of the Season, and when he found out that you had no intention of doing any such thing, he set out to make sure you lost everything and would be forced to marry her anyway.”

“How could you
possibly
know anything about that?” Hugo demanded, looking as shaken as she felt.

Tears started to Meggie’s eyes, partly from the pain his fingers were inflicting, but more from the sudden terror that he was going to despise her forever no matter what happened. If he didn’t believe her, he’d despise her forever for thinking she’d lied to him, and if he did believe her, he’d despise her even longer than that for her freakish aberration. “I—I overheard it,” she stammered, praying that sounded believable.

“You overheard a piece of gossip, you took it for gospel without ever thinking to ask me if it was true, and then you accuse my friend to his face of the worst sin a gentleman can commit?” he said, anger shaking his voice.

“Hugo, you must believe me. Please. He meant you ill then, and he means you ill now.”

“Montagu, I warn you now—either your wife retracts her insulting accusations or I will call you out,” Foxlane said from behind her, his voice cold as ice.

“Stubble it, Foxlane,” Lord Waldock said, speaking up for the first time. “Let Lady Hugo finish. I am curious to hear what more she has to say, for she would have no reason to make such a drastic accusation unless she believed it to be true. I confess I did wonder why you were so upset this afternoon when you learned from me that Montagu had not only married, but could repay his debt.”

“You were mistaken in my reaction,” Foxlane said smoothly. “I was surprised, no more. Obscure heiresses do not grow on trees, and I could not think where Montagu had found one with so little trouble just when he was most in need.”

Hugo rubbed the comer of his mouth. “That, my friend, is none of your damned business. Is my wife correct about your wager at White’s?”