The Husband Trap (35 page)

Adrian pulled on his gloves. “See to it your term goes well. No infractions.”

“Don’t worry. Being sent down once was lesson enough for me.”

Adrian nodded, then he was gone, striding down the corridor.

Kit could only hope his brother was headed toward his salvation and not his doom.

Two days later Violet entered Adrian’s study at Winterlea.

“You wished to see me, your Grace?” She smoothed a nervous palm over the skirt of her Clarence blue poplin day dress and hovered in the doorway.

He didn’t look up from the letter he was writing, quill moving rapidly over the page.

She stiffened, wondering for the hundredth time why he had summoned her here.

Adrian had arrived home yesterday afternoon, yet this was the first she had seen of him. He’d made no effort to greet her upon his arrival and he’d failed to put in an appearance at dinner last night. The extra plate she’d had set for him had gone unused.

Finally, he laid down his pen. “Have a seat, madam.” With barely a glance, he gestured her toward a chair. It was set in the center of the room, facing his desk.

She hesitated, then walked forward, feeling like a schoolgirl called before the headmaster. She sat, hands folded in her lap. “What’s this about, Adrian?”

He looked at her, his eyes polar. “A few questions have come to light that I need to ask you, nothing more.”

She did her best to relax, racking her brain as she tried to think what those questions might be. Perhaps some matter concerning the estate, or a bill that required explanation. She had purchased several new gowns during their time in London. Perhaps he disapproved of the cost.

“I found this missive.” He extended a narrow sheet of well-creased paper. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to its contents?”

She had to lean forward in order to grasp it. “What is it?”

“You tell me.”

“My pardon, but I’ll need to put on my spectacles.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek, an odd gleam sliding into his eyes. “By all means.”

Fighting the sudden need to tremble, she reached into her pocket, slipped on her eyeglasses. She opened the letter.

An electric tingle ran down her spine. The note was written in Latin. It was one of the translations she’d prepared for Kit. She had no difficulty recognizing her own handwriting. Where had he come by this? She took a deep breath, forced herself not to panic.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea what this says.” She nudged the note onto the edge of his desk. “It’s written in some foreign language.”

“Latin.” His voice sliced like steel.

“Really? Is that what it is? Darrin used to struggle at it when we were children. I remember how he complained.”

“You don’t recognize the note, then?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “No, I don’t believe so. Should I?”

“You gave it to my brother. I saw you do so over the Christmas holiday.”

Dear Lord.
“I don’t recall,” she lied. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Seems these days there are a great many notes of which you fail to recall the origin, madam.” He stood, walked around his desk. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck with this one.” He held out a single sheet of paper, crisp, folded precisely in half. “Read it.”

Blood beat at her temples, her throat so constricted she could barely swallow. Her fingers shook as she accepted the note. He moved away.

The office door closed. For an instant, she thought he’d left the room. But her relief was short-lived, sensing him as he waited somewhere behind her. She repressed the urge to peek around.

Knowing she had no choice, she opened the letter.

Five words, written in slashing black ink, leapt off the page.

I know who you are.

She blinked, trying to fully comprehend. Air whooshed out of her lungs as if she’d been hurled to the ground.

Suddenly, he was there, his lips against her ear. “Hello, Violet,” he said, his voice silky as the devil’s.

She jumped, then tried to rise from her seat. He held her in place, his fingers biting bruisingly into the flesh of her arms.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” he demanded.

She flinched, tears springing to her eyes.

“Don’t bother turning on the waterworks, madam. Your tears will have no effect on me.”

He released her, circled around. “Well, have you nothing to say now that we both know who you really are?”

Her lips opened, but no sound came out.

“I talked to Kit, if you’re wondering. And yes, he finally divulged the truth of your little ruse, so there’s no point in trying to convince me I’m mistaken about you.” He leaned down, thrust his face close to hers. “Speak. You didn’t have any trouble chattering incessantly when you were pretending to be Jeannette.”

She sniffed, her whole world shattering around her. “Adrian, I’m s-sorry.”

“Sorry you’ve been caught, you mean.”

“Yes. No. Oh, please, you don’t understand.” She reached out a beseeching hand but he pulled away from her. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think. You and that harridan sister of yours conspired together to deceive me. No, don’t tell me. She decided she didn’t want to go through with the wedding on the morning of the ceremony and talked you into taking her place. I see by your expression I’m right. Was it the impending scandal or the money that made you do it? Or did you secretly long to be a duchess and couldn’t pass up the golden opportunity that fell suddenly into your lap? All you had to do, after all, was prostitute yourself by pretending to be another woman.”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, gripping the carved wooden arms of her chair for strength. “I did it because I loved you, and have done from the moment I first saw you,” she said, her voice low and tremulous. “It was wrong, I know that, but I hoped I could make you happy. For a time, I think I did.”

“You satisfied my lust, madam. What man wouldn’t have been happy with that?” he drawled in a sardonic tone.

She knew he’d said it to hurt her, and he’d succeeded. She closed her eyes, fought to steady her tumultuous emotions. Then she looked at him again, pleading. “I realize you’re angry, and you have every right to be. You’ve been deceived in the most basic of ways. I’m not the woman you thought I was. I’m not the woman you chose. But I am your wife and I can be still if you’ll only let me.”

“Are you my wife?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“We completed a ceremony together but you took vows using a false name. The banns read were for your sister and me, not for you.”

“I signed my real name on the register.”

He raised a brow. “How daring and unexpectedly forthright of you. But I doubt it will make any difference legally. Truly, I don’t know which one of you I’m married to.
If
I’m married to either of you at all. My guess, my dear, is that you and I have been living in sin all these months. Which makes you little better than a kept woman in the eyes of the law and Society.”

She felt the blood drain out of her cheeks.

“Are you pregnant?”

“What?” she asked, dazed, her thoughts reeling.

“I asked if you are pregnant. I want to know if I can expect my firstborn child to be a bastard. Assuming it would be
my
child.”

She gasped. “I’ve never been unfaithful to you, I told you that. The note you found was meant for Jeannette, not for me. She…she was seeing someone else before the wedding.”

“So I have been informed. My little brother is a wealth of information.”

“I swear you are the only man I’ve ever been intimate with.”

“In that, at least, I believe you.” He leaned a hip against his desk. “So? Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Pregnant. Are you with child?”

A flush heated her cheeks. She wished she were. She wanted his child, knew instinctively it might be enough to hold him. But she couldn’t lie to him anymore, and in this there would be no concealing the truth.

“No.” The single word rasped from her throat like a small death.

“That’s a relief. At least we won’t have to worry about ruining the life of some poor innocent child.”

“Do—” She swallowed convulsively, then cleared her throat. “What do you intend to do about me?”

His eyes grew somber, reflective. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Let me stay, then.” She moved without conscious thought, rising up out of her chair to fling herself against him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her face to his shoulder. “I beg of you not to send me away. I know you may never be able to forgive me, but I love you. In that, I’ve never lied. If you let me stay, I promise I’ll be whatever you want, whomever you want. I can go on pretending to be her, if you can’t stand the thought of me. No one will ever have to know.”

He gripped her shoulders, pulled her back far enough to gaze into her eyes. “But
I
will know. And so would you. You’re right about us being happy, for a while we were. But it was just an illusion, a part of your deception. The woman I believed was my wife doesn’t exist. She’s a fiction, a deceit. You’re not the sweet girl who once stood weeping over a litter of drowned kittens, so shy she could barely say my name. And you’re not your twin, I see that all too clearly now. You’re really nothing like her. You’re…well, I don’t know who you are. But you’ve lied to me, used me, made a fool of me in ways I don’t think I can ever forgive.”

He pried her away, set her aside as if her touch disgusted him. A bleakness stole through her like a hollow wind, leaving her numb inside.

He retreated behind his desk. “I must consult my solicitor concerning the legal status of our union. I hesitate to call it a marriage, since I doubt that’s what it is. Should I be in error on this point, suitable arrangements will be made. Otherwise…well, we shall see. It may prove necessary to consult your parents. I assume they are unaware of this matter?”

Slowly, as if viewing it all through a fog, she nodded.

“Very well, then. You may go.”

And that was that. Interview over. Her life as she’d known it, done. All that remained now was waiting to receive her punishment, her sentence.

She stood motionless for a long, long time, adrift inside her despair.

Agnes appeared suddenly at her elbow. Had someone rung for her? She heard Adrian speak, something about her being unwell. She kept her eyes lowered. She couldn’t bear to look at him, not now, not anymore. March spoke, hovering around her in grave concern, then she was led from the room, led upstairs.

Her maid dressed her in a warm nightgown, tucked her into bed. The drapes were drawn against the bright afternoon sun. Horatio gave a single bark. Since her troubles with Adrian had begun, the dog had become a fixture in her rooms. Trailing after her during the day, sleeping with her at night.

He padded over to the bed, tunneled his cold, wet nose beneath her limp palm and whimpered in concern.

She curled toward him. Then she began to cry.

She spent the entire day in bed, hoping if she slept long enough, she would wake to find it had all been a horrible dream.

She rose the following morning, moving on bare feet to one of her bedroom windows to gaze out over the lawn. What she saw made the nightmare real. The traveling coach waited on the drive below.

Adrian was returning to London.

She clutched the curtains, her nails digging into the material as she watched him step into the vehicle. A muffled thud reverberated as the door was shut, the footman springing up onto his perch. Then Josephs snapped the whip and set the horses in motion.

A wash of pain squeezed inside her chest as the coach disappeared from sight.

Agnes bustled in a short time later, bearing Violet’s usual morning tray. Putting on a cheerful show, the maid worked and talked. She laid out a lovely rose-colored day dress, matching slippers and a woolen shawl meant to keep away the drafts.

Violet choked down a few bites of toast, drank enough tea to keep it from sticking in her throat. Listless, she let Agnes help her bathe and dress for the day.

With Horatio trotting at her side, she wandered through the house, aware with each step that she no longer belonged, no longer had a right to call herself mistress here. If what Adrian suspected was true, she’d never even been his wife, duchess only by virtue of her ruse. Even now she could barely comprehend the fact that all of it, even their marriage, had been a lie.

She strolled into the portrait gallery, studied the faces of Adrian’s ancestors. As she walked the long passageway, she noted the changing fashions and hairstyles, the similarity of a feature here and there.

Lawrence’s magnificent portrait of Adrian hung in a central location. The painting had been completed not long after Adrian’s ascension to the dukedom. Reed slender, only nineteen years old, he had not yet grown to his full maturity. How innocent he looked, she thought. How serious too as he posed out-of-doors, standing beside a favorite horse, Winterlea’s tree-lined lake in the distance. He’d been weighed down by responsibilities even then, forced to accept duties that might have felled a lesser man.

A new portrait was to have been commissioned in the spring, along with a companion painting of her as his duchess. There would be no new paintings now, and the next time she saw him would likely be her last.

How many days, she wondered, before he returned to deliver the verdict? Before he banished her from his life forever? Agony tightened in her breast at the thought.

She’d shamed him, she admitted now, besmirched his heritage, his family, his name. The fact that she’d never intended to do so made little difference. Worse, she’d made an utter fool of him, and of herself. She’d demeaned herself, begging him to keep her, hoping against hope he might love her enough to forgive. But she should have known better. Theirs had always been a one-sided affection. She’d known the risks, now she must pay the price.

Waiting here like a dutiful wife would no doubt be the expected thing under the circumstances. But suddenly she didn’t feel very dutiful. The idea of being returned to her parents like a naughty child who’d been caught in the act made her shudder.