Danger Wears White (23 page)

Her mother. Her real mother, the unknown Maria Rubiero. Her father, not the man she barely knew but one she didn’t know at all. A man who was
still alive.

Tony took her home. Not to her home, but to the London house he shared with his family. Nick traveled in the carriage with them, although he’d initially demurred and said he would walk. To give the newlyweds privacy, no doubt.

Imogen smiled and made polite conversation, her endurance close to breaking point. But the last thing she wanted was any of Tony’s exalted family to believe she was a provincial and didn’t mind her manners. Anything but that. Her mouth turned up in self-derision, she stared out of the window to a London thronged with people, all going about their business. How many more weddings happened in London today? Even in Lent? How many people had been hanged, suffered a bereavement, undergone an event that changed their lives completely? Or ended them?

Living in a city of this size emphasized the fact that nobody lived his life completely alone. Many people existed here who were better off or worse off or in the same case. That should make her feel better, that she wasn’t alone. But it didn’t.

Tony lived in a house very much like the one she had left, but in Cavendish Square. Perhaps a little larger than the one Julius leased, but the same shallow steps leading to the front door under a similar portico of Doric columns and the same shiny black paint and gleaming brass doorknocker. The door opened before they reached it, revealing a set of servants, all bowing to receive her. She wouldn’t be the mistress here, something she was glad of. That was Tony’s mother, Lady Beaumont, for although her husband didn’t have a title, she retained the style of her first marriage. She had already retired, leaving the newlyweds to do the same. A tactful retreat.

A maid showed Imogen to a room where her own maid waited. Digby helped Imogen to undress and ready herself for bed almost in silence, and once she’d wrapped a robe around her, she left.

The door opened and her husband entered, also in undress. He sported a magnificent robe and for the first time that day her smile was unforced. “I ordered some supper served,” he said. “Come.”

She rose and followed him. The last thing she wanted was food. At least she thought so until she smelled the delicacies set before them. Shocked into impulsive behavior she spun around to face him. “How did you know?”

“That you liked lamb cutlets and green peas? I asked.”

“Who?”

He smiled. “Your mother.”

Her mother had noticed? She’d never have guessed.

Tony held back her chair for her and she sat, but he didn’t touch her more than he needed to. He took his seat opposite her and without asking placed a generous helping of food on her plate. It was good, plain food, the kind she preferred, the sauces kept to a minimum. “I know my tastes aren’t sophisticated, but this is what I like.”

“That’s something we share, then. I learned early to eat what there was. I’ve caught food myself and cooked it over an open fire. Rabbit, trout, whatever I could find. And it always tasted magnificent, because I was hungry and the meal was fresh. No sauces there.” At least his polite cordiality had changed to friendliness.

They laughed together, and something inside her unwound, leaving her even hungrier. She hadn’t eaten properly all day, and she’d been up early so she could make the journey from Richmond in time. He sounded more like the man she’d met in Lancashire, minus the gunshot wound, of course. Had the wound settled? How did it look now?

“How is your shoulder?” She forked up a mouthful of fragrant peas.

“Much better. A little stiff, but that will pass.” He proved it by flexing his arm. “See?”

She did. The reminder of the muscles that lay under the smooth silk of his robe made her mouth go dry. She still wanted him, a reaction she didn’t seem to be able to control.

She took a healthy gulp of the white wine in her glass, relishing the cool slide down her throat. He smiled, as if he knew what she was reacting to. “I’m glad it’s healing. I was worried, especially during the fever.”

“The first or the second?”

He was trying to make light of it, but she couldn’t do it. She’d nursed him through the first, agonized through the second. “You nearly died. Twice. And the second time I wasn’t there.”

His gaze met hers, his blue eyes wide. “I didn’t want you there.”

She tried to conceal her pang of hurt. If he’d wanted her like she’d foolishly thought, he’d have desired her presence.

He moved his hand, but drew back before he touched her. “The first time was a chill. I thought I’d contracted the second. Jail fever, smallpox, it’s hard to tell in the early stages.”

“I know.” The pain struck her with immeasurable force when she heard that from his lips. “So why would I not be there? I wanted to come, but Julius wouldn’t let me. He said you didn’t want me.”

“Not quite true.” His smile turned wry and he put down his fork, laying it precisely at right angles to his plate. “I didn’t want to put you into danger. No more. It stopped at that point, and while I lay there I swore that if I recovered, I would do everything I could to shield you.”

She should be happy. She had a protector. But one thing concerned her. “I want the choice, Tony. I want to know what’s going on. Everyone is doing things, and it concerns me, but nobody will tell me.” Tears threatened to fall, her throat swelling with them. She picked up her glass again and swallowed it away.

He lifted his hand, then dropped it, taking hold of his table knife in a death grip. “From now on they will. You know what I do.”

“I want to know everything. I want to know it all.” Now she sounded childish.” Glancing down, she realized she’d almost finished her meal. “I’m sorry. But if a matter concerns me, I don’t want to be shielded from it. I want to know.”

“I take it we’re not talking about the fever anymore?”

“Yes.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “My mother avoided me all day. I want to know why. She has never been demonstrative, but today she was positively frozen. She knows something, and she doesn’t want me to ask her. I want to go and ask her.”

“Not without me.”

She glanced back up at him, in control of her emotions once more. “She’s my mother.”

“I want to know too. It’s part of my life now.”

That seemed reasonable. “Very well. Tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow. The day after.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Have you finished, or do you want more?”

The food had fortified her, and renewed strength pulsated through her limbs. The events of the day had not yet resonated completely. If they ever would. She followed suit before he could help her up like an invalid and turned around, heading for the room she had been given.

He followed her in and closed the door, leaning against it. “Will this suit?”

The bed was canopied in dark blue silk, the chairs and the daybed in the same fabric. White muslin draped her dressing table, which contained a collection of crystal bottles and silver-backed brushes. The windows bore elaborate drapery, currently closed against the night and prying eyes. Oriental carpets softened the polished parquet floor.

It was luxurious in the extreme. Standing by the daybed, she gave a choked laugh. “Will it suit? You mean, will this slum suffice?”

“Some might think of it as such. Eventually I’d like us to have our own establishment in London, but we need to wait until Julius returns to town.”

“Yes, with the paper that both makes me a bastard and the child of a king.”

“A pretender,” he corrected her gently.

“Yes.” Not that she cared at the moment, except a bastard of a ruling monarch would probably have fewer problems. “I think the king can rest easy in his bed tonight.”

“You’ll be comfortable here?”

“Perfectly.”

He kicked away from the door. “I’ll bid you goodnight. You must be tired, and we have to take care of the child, don’t we?” His face was expressionless as he turned his back to her.

Frozen, she stood still, rooted to the ground. Their wedding night and he wanted to leave her alone? “Can’t you even hold me?”

His shoulders slumped as he lowered his head. Leaning forward, he butted his forehead against the paneled door. The
thump
echoed around the room. Imogen winced as if it was her pain. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When they came, her words were low, barely audible. “Because I can’t. Because I daren’t touch you.” He turned around and his face was no longer devoid of expression. His eyes were wide, his mouth hard. Bleakness threw his features into sharp relief. “If I touch you I will never stop.”

“You touched me at dinner, and when you put the ring on my finger.” She held up her hand. “This finger.”

All his attention went to the ring. He took a step forward, as if pulled by an invisible chord, jerkily, reluctantly. “You know what I mean. That was social, impersonal.”

It hurt to hear that he’d found the act of marriage impersonal. “Why did you do it?”

“Because I’m responsible, at least in part, and I never walk away from my responsibilities.”

At least he didn’t suspect her of infidelity. Some men would, just to find an excuse. “I don’t doubt your honor. I could have coped. I could have gone away for a month or two, had the child and adopted it later as my ward. I could have visited a physician. For a small fee they—”

“No!” His next step forward gave her a small victory. “They can cause untold damage.”

“I don’t know that I am pregnant. I’m only two weeks late. I have no other symptoms. Are you sure you didn’t marry me for other reasons?”

His mouth twisted, half smile, half sneer. “I never wanted to marry anyone. Not until I met you. That was all I wanted. But now—things are different, aren’t they?”

“Why are they different?” She wanted to hear him say it. “Because of who I am? Who I truly am?”

“I’m less a husband, more a protector. I will keep you from harm to the best of my ability, but you’re valuable to certain people. I’ve taken you out of the path of our enemies.”

“In what way?” She wanted it spelled out. Hear it now and then do her best to cauterize the pain. Clean it out, like she’d cleaned his festering wound.

“Lord William Dankworth. Maybe even his older brother, Lord Alconbury. They would have married you and then used you.”

There, he’d said it. He’d married her to take her out of the political game. Not because he wanted her or felt anything for her. She hadn’t believed she could hurt any more, but with every part of her body aching, she discovered her potential for infinite pain.

He spread his hands, his dressing gown loosening, the tie slipping undone. Beneath he had on shirt and breeches, but that was all. His head was bare, revealing the dark hair she had once caressed. Her mouth dried, her body’s response to him instinctive. “They would have abducted you. They’ve tried it with others before.”

“So I’m on my own in this marriage?”

Vigorously he shook his head. “I am here. With you.”

“It feels as if I’m on my own.”

He took a step back, and part of her heart died. But she would not plead, wouldn’t beg.

“I won’t ever leave you to face this on your own. Whatever happens, I’m here now.”

“That’s good to know.” She folded her arms under her breasts and watched as his attention went to them when they plumped up. So he wasn’t immune to her. “But I want you, Tony.” This was the nearest she’d ever get to telling him. Any more and she’d break. “I can’t manage this alone. I want more than you by my side. I want you in my bed.”

He swallowed, the motion moving his Adam’s apple. “I wanted to give you some time to think. You’ve learned so much about yourself recently. And you think I married you for this?” He laughed harshly. “I would have married you if I’d been a humble soldier and you were a housekeeper. That was what I wanted. Not this—this mess.” He waved his hand, indicating the luxury, the wealth that surrounded her in stifling abundance. “I don’t know what to do, how to deal with this.”

Slowly, she absorbed what he’d just said. Did he mean it? He’d given her no idea. “You wanted to marry me when you thought I was a housekeeper?”

Blinking, he nodded. “I decided after our second night together. Our first, really. I’d ask you and tell you who I was. I had no idea you were Imogen. Nothing else need have affected us.”

“You’re dreaming.” He had his head in the clouds. “Even in my part of Lancashire people would have shunned us. I would have been neither housekeeper nor a member of society. I wanted you, too, but I didn’t think I’d have you.”

“And here we are.”

Now she took a step forward in her turn. “Here we are.” His confession made her bold, and she closed the distance between them in two short steps and then did what she longed to do. She touched him, put her hands on his chest. His muscles flexed under her palms, and his heart pounded. “Why should we not try for what we want?”

His hands came up and he covered hers. Warmth engulfed her.

“Are you sure?”

“I want you so much I can hardly breathe for it.”

With a groan, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers. She was lost. So well-remembered and so missed!

Sliding her hands around his body, she held as much of him as she could, dragging him against her aching breasts. The muscled wall of his chest warmed and soothed them like nothing else could. His remembered heat welcomed her home.

He broke the kiss to gaze down at her face. Cupping her chin, he stared into her eyes. “You mean this? I won’t go away, not again. I can’t make this effort twice.”

Her kind, honorable husband saw everything in terms of right and wrong. He’d transgressed by taking her before she knew the truth about herself. She understood that, and he’d only married her for the possibility of a child, before it was too late to say they’d conceived the child out of wedlock.

But what she saw in his eyes now, she dared believe that at least part of his purpose was for her. That he wanted her for himself. “Is it for me or for you that you do this?”