The Improper Wife (15 page)

She stared at him, light-headed. “
Your
signature?”

He backed her against the wall like the previous night and put one hand near her throat. “Do not play the innocent with me.”

She slid away from his grasp, her heart racing in alarm. “Keep your hands off me!” she cried. “I do not know why it was your signature on the papers. It was none of my doing.”

“I do not believe you,” he growled.

She faced him again. “I know nothing of your signature on those papers. Or of money you say you gave me. I have no money. I have no position, no family, no friends. I have nothing of my own, but one thing I do know. There is a life that is totally innocent of any of these machinations of which you accuse me. My son’s. It is he who will bear the consequences of whatever you do to me.”

He flinched almost imperceptibly. “You should have thought of your son before this.”

“I did,” she cried, glaring at him. “He is the only reason I—” She stopped herself, feeling it was useless to repeat that Sean’s welfare had motivated her to engage in this terrible deception. She put her head in her hands.

When she lifted her head again, she stared directly into his face. “Never mind me or my son. If nothing else there is your family to consider—”

His eyes continued to bore into her.

“They will certainly suffer, will they not?” she went on. “What will it be like for them if you send me away?”

“Perhaps my family can weather the scandal.” He tried not to sound ineffectual.

Her brow wrinkled. “The scandal?”

She had been thinking of how much they had come to depend upon her, how hard she tried to make their lives easier and happier, her way of paying for a place to pretend to belong.

“I never considered the scandal,” she whispered, almost forgetting his presence. “Foolish of me, is it not? Perhaps I did not wish to think of it.”

He advanced on her, anger still evident on his face. “What is your solution to this coil, Maggie?”

For the first time, his voice softened on her name, almost as if he were not speaking a curse. Even that tiny scrap of sympathy nearly undid her. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away.

He returned to the chair, fingering the glass in front of him. “If I expose you as a fraud, you have but to produce those damned papers. Because I know I did not marry you, I am convinced I could eventually prove it, but not before it would become the latest
cause célèbre
and my family’s good name would have been raked through the mud.”

The earl would not be touched by such a thing, but Olivia, who considered Maggie her friend? Would such exposure send Olivia back to the gloom from which she so recently emerged? Maggie would never forgive herself.

He downed the contents of his glass in one swallow. “Where does that leave us?” he went on. “Do you continue to play my wife?”

Maggie felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I do not know what to do.”

She stood there, by the window, feeling the breeze cool her back, feeling her own hopelessness but also his. It gave her a strange sense of connection with him.

He stared at her, and even though she could not see him with the clarity of daylight, she felt the intensity of his gaze. It grabbed her and held her as intimately as he’d held her the previous night, when his kiss aroused such passions inside her. She was aware of each breath he took, of his finger rubbing the edge of his glass, of each beat of his heart.

If she crossed the room to him, would he kiss her again? Would he place his hands upon her body and stroke her until she felt she might go mad with wanting him? If she led him to the bed, would he undress her, lie atop her, drive into her? Would he give her, for one brief moment, that blissful forgetfulness?

With his eyes still upon her, she took one step toward him.

His gaze slipped to the floor, and she stopped.

“I think you had better leave now, Maggie,” he said, in an entirely different tone, one low and deep and desolate.

In the silence she heard only the swish of her skirt as she turned and hurried out the door.

The next morning Gray rose early, having twisted the bed linens into knots with his tossing and turning. His all-too-brief interview with Maggie had yielded no solutions, but right before he’d sent her away, he’d been on the verge of more ungentlemanly behavior.

She had been so beautiful, standing in front of the window, with the breeze stirring her skirt and stray locks of her hair. She’d looked vulnerable, as if the breeze would carry her away. He had the strange impulse to fold her in his arms and make love to her. Not seduce her. Make love to her.

He made himself sit up.

She was a temptress unlike any he’d ever seen. Worthy of a Greek myth. No wonder she’d made a conquest of his father and Olivia. She had the power to charm and to make a man forget everything but wanting her.

He yawned and stretched his muscles and looked around him. Bountiful sunshine poured through the same window that had, the night before, cast a moonlit halo around her. Such a day was too good to be wasted. If only he could avoid a possible encounter with his father at breakfast. Or an encounter with Maggie. He had no desire to see anyone, not even the new valet.

No sooner had his feet hit the floor, however, than Decker appeared looking eager to assume his morning duties.

“Riding clothes, Decker,” Gray said with a sigh.

Decker would help him on with his clothes, then Gray would escape for a while, like he’d done countless times as a child, like he’d tried to do the previous day. He’d mount his horse and ride wherever his fancy directed him. Maybe if he escaped for a while, he would be able to decide what to do about Maggie.

Decker proceeded with amazing efficiency for his second day at being a valet. Gray was clean-shaven and fully attired in less time than it would have taken him on his own. He was soon striding across the park in the directions of the stable.

He heard someone running after him.

“Uncle! Uncle! Wait!” Rodney, still fastening his jacket, ran to catch up with him.

Gray stopped and waited for the boy to approach.

It was like watching his brother. He could almost hear Vincent’s voice calling, instead of Rodney’s. He saw the same eager face, the same wind-tossed brown hair. Gray’s eyes moistened.

Vincent. The person he’d loved most in the world.

“Are . . . are you . . . riding?” Rodney slid to a halt, nearly careening into him. The boy was out of breath, but obviously dressed for horseback.

It looked like there would be no solitary escape this day.

“Thought I might.”

He could have told his nephew he had business to transact, places to go where a boy could not come with him, but Rodney looked up at him with such an earnest and hopeful expression. So very much like Vincent.

Gray gave a melancholy smile. “Would you care to ride with me?”

“Would I!” The boy’s face lit up like one of Congreve’s rockets.

Gray could not help but laugh. “Perhaps you’d like to see some of the places your father and I used to explore when we were boys.”

“Would I!” Rodney repeated.

Gray put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and together they headed toward the stables.

The thicket near the pond was now literally abuzz with activity as Maggie walked from its shade back into the sunshine. Ted Murray, the estate manager, was at her side.

“A swarm of bees in June . . . Is worth a silver spoon,” the estate manager recited, a grin on his face.

“And why is that, Mr. Murray?”

“They take better to the hive, and bring more honey and make more beeswax. Soon you will have money enough to buy yourself a pretty silver spoon.”

She smiled at him.

They could still hear one of the workers banging on a tin tray to keep the bees from escaping the tree branch where they’d settled, an undulating, buzzing, black mass. Three men remained in the thicket to cut away leaves from the branch so they could trap the swarm and carry it to the estate’s hives.

Maggie glanced back to all the activity. “I do not believe I have ever seen such a swarm.”

“It is good luck,” Ted admitted.

From not too far away two figures left the stables, looking very companionable. Maggie’s heart skittered. Gray and Rodney.

Early that morning one of the grooms had delivered the message that Rodney accompanied Gray on a morning ride. Now it was nearly midday and they were just returning? They could have gone all the way to Faversham and back. Not many gentlemen would choose to spend so much time in the company of a nine-year-old boy. She tucked that thought away with the ones having to do with him holding Sean on the horse and being so kind to the Adamses.

“Is that Captain Grayson?” Mr. Murray asked. “I’ve not seen him since his return. This is fine indeed.”

Before she was forced to agree that it was indeed fine Gray had returned, Mr. Murray strode quickly toward him.

Maggie watched Gray break into a smile and extend his hand to the manager, clasping the man’s arm fondly with his other hand. She could not hear all that was said, but the breeze brought her some of the words.

“By God it is good to see you,” she heard Gray say.

Rodney ran up to her. “Mr. Murray said there is a swarm of bees!”

Glad to have the boy to distract her, she pointed. “In the trees over there. Hear the banging?”

Rodney nodded.

“That is to keep the bees from fleeing.” As she wished she might do.

His nine-year-old eyes filled with excitement. “May I go watch them, Aunt Maggie? I should like to see the bees.”

It was the sort of request Olivia would have refused, terrified her precious son might be stung, but Maggie could never forget how forlorn the child had been when she first arrived at Summerton. Anything that kindled his enthusiasm for life was permissible in her way of thinking.

“Go, but mind what the men say, and do not get too close.”

Already on the run, he turned his head and called back, “I will be careful.”

Grayson and Mr. Murray walked up to her. The warmth and good tidings with which Gray greeted the estate manager were not her due.

He merely nodded to her. “Do you involve yourself in the beekeeping, Maggie?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Only watching the others work,” she replied, determined to sound cheerful.

Mr. Murray spoke up. “Mrs. Grayson and I were going over the books, sir, when young William came running with news of the bees.”

Gray’s eyebrows rose. “The books, you say?”

Murray nodded. “The estate accounts.”

Gray gave Maggie a very suspicious glance.

“She is a great help to me,” Mr. Murray assured him. “Checks my tallying.”

“I do not recall my father ever allowing anyone but himself and your father to see the books,” Gray said.

Maggie did not miss the suspicion in his voice. “It is mere addition and subtraction.” She nearly gritted her teeth. “Nothing to signify.”

Mr. Murray glanced uneasily from Maggie to Gray. Poor man! What could he know of what really stood between them. “The earl—your father—he . . . he . . . relies upon Mrs. Grayson to help.” He rubbed his chin. “Mayhaps you should give the books a look, too, Captain.”

Gray gave a dry laugh. “I am the last person my father would trust.”

“But—”

Maggie interrupted him. “I am sure the earl would welcome your help now.”

Gray glared at her. “
You
are sure.” His tone was contemptuous. “I thank you for that, Maggie.”

A shout came from the thicket. One of the workers stepped into the clearing and called for Mr. Murray.

“I beg your leave.” He bowed his head slightly.

Gray gave a wry smile. “So formal, Ted? Of course. Be off. Perhaps later we may catch up on old times.”

Mr. Murray grinned. “I’ll lift a tankard or two for your safe return.”

Gray again extended his hand for Murray to shake, and with a tip of his hat to Maggie, the man was off.

Gray turned to her with a stormy expression. “You seem to have your fingers in many pies, Maggie.”

She felt her temper strained. “And you, sir, reveal too much in front of your father’s employees. It served to make Mr. Murray uncomfortable.” She marched off toward the house, not looking back to see if he followed.

She detoured through the formal gardens to give herself a little time to calm down.

If he gave her one snatch of opportunity, she might explain to him how things were at Summerton, why it was she had “fingers in every pie.” But he was too ready to believe all evil rested in her.

She heard a feminine giggle.

Through the thick flora she glimpsed Miss Miles sitting quite close to Mr. Hendrick on the wrought-iron bench. They saw her and jumped apart. Mr. Hendrick stood.

Sean came flying down the path, his small legs pumping hard. “Mama! Mama!” he cried, flinging his chubby arms around her legs.

“We . . . we were giving him some sun and exercise,” Miss Miles stammered, her cheeks tinged with pink. Hendrick extended his hand to the governess to help her stand.

The sweet gesture made Maggie smile. If these two thought their romance a secret they were sadly out of tune. “It is a lovely day. Too good to be missed,” she agreed.

Hendrick gave her a thankful look. “Have you seen any sign of Lord Palmely? I confess, I did not think him to be gone so long.”

“He has returned, but is now with Mr. Murray,” Maggie replied. “There is a swarm of bees, you see, and he was keen to see them gathered for a hive.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “A lesson in apiary. That may be the only lesson we contrive for him this day. I am certain he does not complain.”

Sean suddenly freed her legs, nearly causing her a loss of balance. “Papa!” he cried.

Gray hesitated when he saw the little boy advancing on him.

“Sean, stop!” Maggie called to no effect, wincing at Sean calling Gray “Papa.” How she wished Sean had never learned the word.

To her surprise, Gray leaned down to welcome Sean’s leap into his arms. He swung the boy onto his shoulders and Sean giggled, grabbing on to Gray’s hair as to the reins of a horse.