Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (12 page)

Will shook his head. “I’m not going to speak of this with you,” he said wearily. “I ask you to trust my judgment.”

“I do trust your judgment, but because you trust her blindly doesn’t mean I must. I’ll continue to be wary with
Miss Donovan, since to be any other way would be a form of deceit.”

Will blew out a breath. At least his first mate was being honest. “I can live with that,” he said. “But I’ll not have you slandering her to me or to anyone else.”

“I’ve no intention of slandering her.”

“Good.” Turning from the window, Will asked, “Then may I ask for your help in getting to the bottom of this?”

Briggs had practically been born on the sea—his father had occupied a high rank in the East India Company, and his brothers had all held various positions in the Navy and on merchant ships. Despite being estranged from his brothers, he had connections throughout the London maritime community.

“Of course you can, Captain.”

“I’d like you to remain in London,” Will said. “I’d like you to find out whatever you can about Caversham. I’ll talk to Meg and see if she’ll tell me his Christian name, although we must consider the possibility that he might be using an alias.”

Briggs nodded. “Yes, that’s possible.”

“I’ll have Dunn make up the guest room for you.”

“Thanks.”

They rose, and Briggs went upstairs to begin writing letters for his information-gathering mission, while Will left the house on foot and headed toward his office.

It was a fine spring day, and though Will’s office wasn’t close to his home in Cavendish Square, it made for a good long walk. Today he used it to take the time to sort out the ways his life had so suddenly, so thoroughly changed in the past month.

She’d come back.

She was alive.

Those words still went through his mind with healthy doses of awe, disbelief, and amazement. When he looked at her, there she was. When she stood beside Serena and they gazed at him with those twin pairs of gray eyes, he wondered how he could have mistaken Serena for her for even a second.

Yes, they were very much alike, but he could pick out Meg every time. Something about her made his blood sing. Serena had never done that to him.

When Serena had first arrived in London, engaged to him, pretending to be her sister, his first reaction had been one of panic. Meg didn’t make him feel the same way she had years ago. Had something altered the chemistry between them? Had time and distance eroded the love they’d shared?

Of course, that hadn’t been the case. She’d been Serena, pretending to be Meg and failing at it, an ultimately obvious scheme to those who knew the sisters well.

And now Meg was back, in the flesh. The
real
Meg. Time and distance had certainly altered what she and Will had once shared, but the question was, in what way?

His blood still sang whenever he was in her presence. And he still wanted her. His body hadn’t forgotten what she felt like beneath him.

And yet, time had passed. They’d both changed.

She kept secrets from him.

And he kept secrets from her, he thought miserably.

He walked the rest of the way to his office with pain tightening his chest.

Chapter Eight

A
t dusk, after a long morning of work followed by an afternoon meeting with Briggs, Will arrived at Stratford’s house. The butler announced him into the drawing room, a space that had once been sparse and austere, but Serena had done much to improve it. Although still elegant with cream silk furnishings, a carved and tiered ceiling, and Greek-inspired columns framing the windows, it was comfortable, too, with an assortment of chairs and sofas in sets near the window and the fireplace. Adjacent to the chairs and sofas were plenty of small tables upon which one could set his brandy glass or his newspaper.

Meg was sitting alone in one of the small armchairs near the fire. She laid her embroidery in the basket at her feet and rose to greet him, smoothing down her skirt. She wore another new dress Serena had purchased for her, but it was of a simpler design than what one would expect of a countess’s sister. It was just a shade away from white, a color that brought out the slight pink tinge in her complexion
and those freckles he loved so much, and contained no decoration except for the ruffle at the bottom and matching lace trimming the bodice. The lace drew the eye to the creamy skin of her chest and made his fingers itch to stroke along that skin, to feel its warmth, its vivacity. Even after all this time, a part of him still couldn’t believe she was real.

The dress was simple enough to make most women appear plain, but not Meg. It made her look lovely. Elegant, and beautiful.

She greeted him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he clenched his fists at his sides, resisting the sudden urge to shake her.

He was trying to be patient. Hell, just this morning Briggs had told Will he was the most patient man he knew. But God, how he wanted that beautiful smile to reach her eyes. He wanted to be the one to bring it to her. He wanted her to smile at him like she used to.

Instead of shaking her, he returned the smile, wondering if his own expression appeared as manufactured as hers. “Where is everyone?”

“Serena, Jessica, and Lady Fenwicke are upstairs changing into their ball gowns. Olivia and Phoebe have returned to Olivia’s house to ready themselves for tonight’s festivities. Lord Stratford is in his office working. I just put Jake to bed.” Her smile faltered. “I do hope he doesn’t wake.”

“Has he been having difficulty sleeping?”

“He has nightmares.” She didn’t meet his eyes, instead looking at a point on the wall somewhere beyond his shoulder. “I’ve got a maid keeping an eye on him. If he wakes, she’ll come get me.”

He took a step closer to her. “What about you, Meg? Have you been having nightmares?”

She turned away from him and lowered herself into the chair she’d been seated in when he’d arrived, clasping her hands in her lap. “Sometimes. When I can sleep.”

He’d seen the gray shadows beneath her eyes when he’d first entered the room.

“I’m trying to help Jake forget, but it’s not working. How can it, when I cannot forget, either?”

“You’ve only been away from his father for less than a month. It will take some time.” He settled into the ivory-silk-upholstered chair beside hers.

Looking down, she nodded, then her gaze rose to meet his. “Do you think that there’s something a natural mother can give a child that no substitute ever can?”

Having heard details here and there about Jake’s mother, Will had thought for some time that Meg had probably given Jake much more in terms of mothering than his true mother ever had.

“No,” he said firmly. “Consider the children who are taken in by families that can care for them better than their natural families. Those children usually fare much better than they would with their real parents.”

“But maybe a part of them—a tiny part—would always know that they’re not with their true flesh and blood. And that part would always be empty.”

“Is that how you’ve felt?” he asked. “For the past eight years, have you felt like a part of you has been empty because you were not with your family?”

“Yes.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “But I’m not sure if that’s just me, just because I had a twin and we were so
close once, or if it’s that way with younger children who don’t know the difference as acutely.”

“I believe that adoptive parents have the ability to make children just as happy and fulfilled as natural parents do.”

She sighed. “Then why can’t I seem to make Jake happy?”

“He loves you, Meg.” That was patently obvious.

“And yet, he’s not a happy child,” she said. “My sisters and I suffered through hardships when we were children. Yet we were always happy. We always smiled and laughed, but Jake never does.”

“Maybe he needs a friend,” Will said. “Someone his own age to play with. To laugh with.”

“He’s never had a friend before,” Meg murmured.

He looked away, his fingertips running restlessly over the ridges of the carved armrest. For a long moment, he gazed into the low flames of the fire, knowing what he had to do. Knowing he couldn’t be a coward forever.

In a low voice, he said, “I know you don’t like leaving this house, but do you think you and Jake would like to come to my house tomorrow? It will be good for both of you to get out, even if just to another house, and I’ll take precautions to make sure neither of you are seen.”

She didn’t answer him for a long time. She turned her head to look between the columns. The drapes were open, but a filmy gauze curtain had been left over the window. The constant flow of traffic and pedestrians looked like dark shadows moving behind a screen.

“I haven’t left this house once since I arrived.” Her head swung toward him, and then she was looking at him,
her eyes shining silver. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “I think I’ll go mad if I stay inside one more day.”

“You cannot remain trapped here forever, Meg. That would be exchanging one prison for another.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Nothing would be worse than him finding us.”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said, perhaps for the hundredth time.

One of the many changes that had affected her in the past eight years: she had become stubborn. He couldn’t blame her for it, but it hadn’t been one of her traits when she was younger. Serena had always been famous for her stubbornness; Meg was known for her easygoing nature.

“It doesn’t matter.” She shrugged. “We decided this morning—I’m to leave in one week’s time.”

Everything in him went still. “Where will you be going?” She hesitated, and anger flared in him, hot and fast. “You’re not going to tell me?”

Her cheeks turned a bright pink. “I am. I mean, of course I am, Will. It’s just—”

Rising from the chair, he blew out a breath through clenched teeth. He turned away from her and stalked toward the window.

So she was going to leave London. Without any input from him. And she clearly didn’t want to tell him where she intended to go.

But who was he to have proprietary feelings over her? Good God. Leaning against a column, he closed his eyes. He couldn’t keep up with his own feelings about this woman. Everything she said or did seemed to pull a new emotion from his chest. He sighed, forcefully reining himself back into control. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

But his voice emerged strained, even angry. Briggs had been right—Will
was
known for his composure, for his lack of emotion. In the past year his stone-faced existence had become a source of rumor and speculation. But this woman—everything about her—rattled him.

She didn’t respond to his apology. He couldn’t really blame her.

“Will you tell me where you’re going?” His voice was soft and controlled.

She didn’t hesitate this time. The words tumbled out of her, as if she spoke quickly, she’d somehow prove that she trusted him. “My brother-in-law, Sebastian Harper, has a house in Lancashire. Lord Stratford and Serena have suggested I go there.”

“I’ve been there.” For God’s sake, Stratford believed she would be safe
there
? Only a few months ago, Jessica and her friend, Lady Fenwicke, had been kidnapped from that very house. “Will Stratford accompany you to Lancashire?”

“No. He and Serena must stay in London along with all my sisters, lest rumors start about their disappearance from the balls and parties they’re expected to attend this Season.”

Will pushed off from the column and stood very still, watching her. He intended to have words with Stratford the next time he was alone with the man. “Who will protect you, then?”

Her gaze settled on him, and her back straightened. “He’s choosing several trusted servants to accompany me to Lancashire. Jake and I will be safe—at least for now.”

That was the moment her sisters and Lady Fenwicke chose to pour into the drawing room.

Will walked forward to greet the ladies. Jessica looked lovely in a gown of deep red—her favorite color—with outrageously puffed, but fashionable, sleeves. Serena was dressed a touch more austerely, in a blue-trimmed seal gray, and he exchanged a real smile with her—defying all odds, they had become good friends after calling off their engagement.

Beatrice, Lady Fenwicke, was a widow, a voluptuous, pretty young woman, but there was a sadness in her demeanor that Will understood quite well—her husband, who’d died only a few months ago, had been a brutal man, and she hadn’t yet recovered from his abuse. She was dressed in black silk, and her excitement was more muted than that of the other two ladies.

Serena grinned at Meg. “Beatrice and I were wagering as to how many dance invitations Jessica will receive tonight. Care to place your wager?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Meg said, her tone kind but not containing the exuberance her sisters’ held.

Jessica put her hands on her hips and turned her nose up in the air. “I shall only dance with handsome men. If they’re ugly, they don’t count, because I will refuse them.”

Lady Fenwicke gave one of her rare smiles. “Does that mean we shall have to revise our wagers, Jessica? Not how many gentlemen will ask you to dance, but how many
handsome
gentlemen will ask you to dance? Isn’t that a rather subjective choice, though? Who will decide whether the gentlemen are handsome enough to count?”

“I will, of course,” Jessica said.

Serena made a scoffing noise. “They will all be handsome. After your antics last Season, I doubt any of the ugly ones will have the gumption to ask you.”

“Really, Serena, I wasn’t
that
awful.”

“Apparently, though, you’re planning to be awful to the gentlemen who don’t meet your approval this year,” Serena said, but there was a smile on her face rather than disapproval.

“Well, I need to be selective, you know. I’m nineteen. Certainly not getting younger. I’ll be on the shelf in the blink of the eye.” Jessica snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Meg and Serena groaned, then looked at each other, surprised by their simultaneous identical responses, and laughed softly. Or, rather, Serena laughed, and Meg gave the ghost of a smile. Serena narrowed her eyes at her youngest sister. “Watch yourself, Jessica. You’re among old biddies here.”