For You (2 page)

She at least had to find an alternate place to live first. For herself and Payne’s mother, Mellicent. Cousin Engledown would have them out of their home, living on the street. She was lucky he hadn’t taken his seat in the House of Lords yet, or he’d likely have kicked her out long since.

She smoothed her hair, reassuring herself the scar by her ear was well covered. She smoothed the line of her dress. Suitable for receiving, though the time and location was anything but.

A tremor shook her hands before she could still them. She considered waking Mellicent or one of the servants to see to the proprieties.

No. She would face him on her own. No reason to share any unpleasantness with others.

Enough. Anger coursed through her. Had the man not taken enough from her? Did he plan on kicking her onto the streets in the middle of the night so no one could bear witness to such a heinous act?

She slammed open the door.

And stopped dead.

Which made perfect sense considering a dead man lay strewn across her husband’s bed.

“Payne?” she whispered.

No answer. She inched closer, remaining out of arms reach. In the six years she’d been married, she’d never come so close to him in this room. On the rare occasions when he wished to pursue his marital rights, he had always invaded her bedroom. Her preferences had never been among her husband’s priorities.

She’d been thankful he preferred to visit his many mistresses.

But would he desert her for months, allowing her to believe him dead?

She studied the body before her. Only the slightest rise and fall of his chest showed he lived. “Payne.” She raised her voice to be heard.

He groaned, turning his head in her direction.

She sucked in a breath. It was him, but…different. Somehow. She couldn’t quite place the reason. Perhaps it was simply that she had never seen him in repose.

He looked…peaceful. Almost sweet.

She wasn’t fooled. Of all people, she knew better.

****

Drew bolted upright.

And immediately regretted the movement as it set off a series of hammers pounding in his skull. “Aahhh…damn.” He dropped back into the soft cushions beneath him.

A feminine gasp brought his eyes open. He didn’t see the source of the noise at first, distracted by the room in which he found himself. None of the lamps were lit, so the room lay in shadow. Light flickered at the corner of his vision, like the power threatening to go out in a storm.

He’d never been in a room with such furniture. Antique everything. The walls had some type of treatment or wallpaper that looked like actual blue silk. He lay in a giant four-poster bed with fancy curtains ready to be drawn in to cocoon him in a cubby for his rest. Fanciest hotel he’d ever been in.

Why was he in a hotel?

What happened?
The last thing he remembered was pushing Chuck…

Why had he pushed him? His thoughts were hazy. He couldn’t focus.

Hadn’t he been doing something?

Yes. Searching for a sound. He swiveled his head to scan the rest of the room and finally came to rest on the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She looked ready for a formal party. Her black gown puddled at her feet, the modest top showed just enough of the swell of her breasts to make him yearn to see more. The sleeves were puffy at the shoulders but fit tight to her arms all the way past her wrists.

She stood stock still, staring at him. Her eyes wide with…

Alarm? Shit. Fear fairly vibrated off her. He sat, keeping his movements slow so he didn’t startle her or set off the percussion section in his head. “Is this a hotel, or…a hospital maybe?” With her dressed like that? Hardly. But where else could he be?

She threw her shoulders back and glared. Like she was mad now. At him. What the hell?

“Where have you been, Payne? We all thought you dead these many weeks. I can assure you we have not found this latest exploit the least bit amusing. Explain yourself.”

Pain? He was in a lot of pain. The pounding in his head made it difficult to follow her speech, but he caught a few words. “Dead? Am I dead?” That could explain it. Yes. That actually made perfect sense. The image of Chuck’s horrified expression flashed through his brain. He’d pushed his friend to safety but hadn’t managed to get himself out of the way of that bus.

He flopped back, flinging his arm over his eyes. The bus. He’d been hit.

Was this heaven?

He risked a peek, admired the way the candlelight cast a sweet glow over her flushed cheeks, how her lips glistened when she wet them with a nervous flick of her tongue. She could definitely pass for an angel.

But would an angel be so angry? She looked ready to grab the nearest weapon to bash over his head.

“Where have you been? Answer me, Payne. I am your wife. You owe me that much.”

She seemed to know him. Wait—Wife?

“I don’t even know you.” She certainly seemed to know him. The word
wife
swam around his head, in and out of focus. “We can’t be married.”

“Are you injured?” Her voice lost some of the frosty undertones, replaced with…concern?

“Yes. I was hit by a bus.”

“A bus?” She repeated the word like she’d never heard it before. She approached the edge of the bed. Timidly, like she was prepared to jump back if he made any sudden moves.

He stared at her. She was even more beautiful up close where the light of the candle she carried glinted off the golden brown curls of her hair and showed him more of her face. He looked away before he could make a fool of himself or scare her with his gawking.

“Shall I send for a doctor?”

“No.” He hated doctors. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.” When the waves of agony in his head died down to a dull roar, he slowly raised himself to a sitting position. “See.”

“Yes, I can see clearly. You are the picture of health, my lord.”

He choked back a laugh at the sarcasm lacing her tone. Sassy. He liked it. Being called “my lord” was kind of nice, too.

She had retreated across the room by the time he felt ready to stand. Thankfully, the bed post provided a sturdy handhold to balance against. The last thing he wanted was to collapse at her feet.

“Can we turn on a light or something? I can barely see.”

“Of course, my lord.” Instead of heading to the door where the light switch would be, she made her way around the room, slowly lighting candles in sconces along the wall and what looked like an old fashioned oil lantern on a desk.

Romantic. Yet, he suspected romance wasn’t on the top of her mind. Too bad.

“Do you truly not remember me?”

“We’ve never met. Believe me, I’d remember you.”

She frowned. Though her dress was perfect, she smoothed her hands down her front as if straightening imaginary wrinkles out of the delicate fabric.

“Who exactly do you think I am?” Her husband for one. Damned if a part of him didn’t wish she was right.

“You are Andrew Engledown…”

Okay. How did she know his name?

“…Earl of Payne, Viscount Engledown. Son of Mellicent Engledown, the Dowager Lady Payne. Your father, George Engledown was the fifth Earl of Payne…”

Whoa. He might share a name with her husband, but the rest of that shit? No way.

“…He died shortly after arranging the details of our marriage with my father, Lord Bamforth, also deceased. I am your wife, Julia.”

“Julia.” Her name rolled around on his tongue as if it belonged there. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Julia.”

She inclined her head. A regal gesture. “If you will excuse me. I shall return momentarily.” She swept out of the room.

This had to be the strangest dream he’d ever had. Meanwhile, his body was likely tucked into some starched white sheets at London Central Hospital over on Whitechapel Road. Poor Chuck was probably traumatized at his close call.

Brenda would be at his side, crying over his prone form, secretly glad it was him and not Chuck lying there. She’d be racked with guilt since she’d been the one to insist they join her for lunch at that precise time.

Drew watched the door where Julia had disappeared. Was she coming back? Had she mourned the loss of her husband? She didn’t seem all that thrilled at his supposed return. Then again, he couldn’t blame her. She’d seemed to think her husband had been playing a trick of some sort on her. He’d be pissed too.

What the hell kind of man was this Lord Payne?

Chapter Two

“Mellicent. Mellicent,” Julia whispered. She opened the drapes surrounding her mother-in-law’s bed.

Mellicent shifted in her bedding, but didn’t wake.

Julia shook her shoulder gently. She didn’t want to alarm her, but she would want to know what was going on.

Payne had returned! She didn’t know what to think. Their marriage had been far from happy, but…

Mellicent groaned. “What is it?” She rubbed her eyes and then blinked at Julia. “Julia, dear. Whatever is the matter? You’re white as a ghost.” She grabbed hold of Julia’s hand and squeezed.

“I’m perfectly fine, Mellicent.” How exactly do you tell a woman her son has returned from the dead—but didn’t know who he was? Would he recognize his mother though he hadn’t known his wife? “Please, come with me. The matter is rather urgent.”

Mellicent struggled out of bed. Her nightcap slouched off one side of her head. After setting it straight, she shrugged into a robe and slippers.

The townhouse wasn’t large, so it took but a moment to lead her mother-in-law down the corridor. Mellicent raised an eyebrow. “Payne’s room? Has that scoundrel, Vincent, absconded with more of my son’s possessions?”

Julia stopped her before Mellicent could push open the door.

“It’s not Vincent.” She took a deep breath. “Payne has returned. He did not die as we thought.”

“Oh my word.” Mellicent’s hand clutched the fabric at her breast. “But where has he been all this time?”

“I don’t know. But, Mellicent, you must prepare yourself. He did not know me. He appears to have no memory of who he is. His gaze lit upon his room as though he knew not where he was.”

“Nonsense. He will recognize his own mother.” Mellicent brushed Julia aside and pushed into Payne’s room.

Julia followed but a step behind. She stole herself against seeing the blank look in her husband’s eye. Worse yet, were he to recognize Mellicent. ’Twould but prove how little his wife had been a factor in his life.

Payne stood at his desk. He played with the wick on the lamp. Up and the flame burned higher, brighter. Down so it nearly extinguished.

Damn his handsome face. He was sinfully attractive. He could be charming as well. She must remember. He’d fooled her once with his dashing figure and sweet demeanor. The farce had ended at precisely the moment he had his hands upon her fortune.

She couldn’t forget that now. He may appear different—the hard edge honed by years of drinking, gaming, and whoring—gone. The lines upon his brow smoothed, without the crease of perpetual dissipation.

Yet he was still the same man. His true nature would surely show itself before long. How much more difficult would that moment be if she allowed herself to believe she might press upon this newly returned man the value of the life they could have had together had he but wanted her in the same manner she had once wanted him?

Mellicent rushed right up, stopping but a foot before him. Her hands trembled where she clutched her robe.

He gazed directly into her face, a question in his expression. Julia saw not a hint of recognition. It was as if a stranger stood before him.

Mellicent staggered back. Julia rushed forward, but Payne was faster. He swept Mellicent up and placed her gently on the edge of his bed. “Are you all right?”

“You are not my son.”

Julia gasped. “Mellicent. What are you saying?”

At the same time, Payne said, “No. I’m not.”

Silent tears slid down Mellicent’s cheeks. Payne wrapped an awkward arm around her shaking shoulders until, with a final sniff, Mellicent straightened and he stepped back. A determined expression came over Mellicent’s face. “Yet you look so much like him, those less familiar could easily be fooled.”

The glint in her mother-in-law’s eyes made Julia uneasy. Some idea had taken root in her mind. Julia worried whether or not she would approve. Likely not. “Mellicent, what is going on?”

“I do not know, my dear. Yet it is clear to me that this is not my son.”

Julia’s knees threatened to buckle. She locked her legs, stiffened her spine. She would not collapse. She hadn’t fainted when her husband was declared dead. She would not now. “If that is true…Who are you?”

“My name is Andrew—Drew—Engledown. I’m a financial planner at Beecham and Barwick. I should be dead. If this isn’t heaven—or hell—then where am I? And how did I get here?”

“You claim you are not my husband and yet you share the same name?” This must be a game of some sort. But why would Mellicent play along? She had no reason to pretend this man was not her son.

He shrugged. “Yeah. That’s weird. I can’t explain it.”

She snorted. An unladylike sound, but she couldn’t help herself. “Convenient.”

“That’s enough, Julia.” Mellicent sent her a hard look.

Julia refrained from responding. Barely. She had a great deal of respect for her mother-in-law, but keeping silent was difficult.