The Improper Wife (35 page)

He said nothing.

She waited longer, her distress rising, engulfing her. She felt like he had slipped away from her as surely as the water had swept away her parents and her brother.

“I thank you for your candor,” he finally said, but he sounded as disbelieving as she feared. He crossed the room heading toward the bedchamber’s door.

She stepped in his path, grabbing his arms. “Do not leave, Gray. I have told you what you long wanted to know. Do not leave without a word.”

She could finally see his face, but it looked like a storm about to unleash thunder and lightning. He pulled out of her grasp, taking a step back from her. “You have told me everything?”

She avoided the fire in his eyes. “No,” she admitted. She’d left out her biggest secret.

Even though sure it would sound like a lie, she would say it. “There is one more thing.” Her throat tightened with emotion, making her voice come out no more than a rasp. “I love you, Gray.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. His fingers curled into fists and she felt the thunder erupt in his silence. Finally, with seeming great effort he said, “Did you not say those words to Lansing?”

She’d lost all hope that he would enfold her in his arms and ensure her everything would be all right. A gust of wind came through the window, making the candle flames dance until they sputtered out, leaving little columns of smoke rising in the air. The only light remaining came from the fireplace, so dim it felt as if Gray were disappearing again.

“He was not Lansing to me,” she finally responded. “What words I spoke were to an illusion. Nothing was real with him.” She paused. “Not like with you.”

Her energy was spent and she could not even understand how she remained on her feet.

His voice came back to her sounding as if from a great distance. “I cannot remain here tonight.”

When he again walked toward the door she did not stop him. He put his hand on the knob and hesitated. Over his shoulder, he said, “I need time, Maggie.”

As Maggie’s spirits plummeted into a pool on the floor, he walked out of the room.

Gray hurried down the hallway and down the stairs, glad the hour was late enough that the house was quiet. He had no wish to speak to anyone. He entered the parlor, looking for a place to be alone. A loud snore startled him and he swung around to find Lord Camerville’s large bulk half on, half off the settee. Gray hurried out.

He went to the library next. Finding it deserted, he finally collapsed in a wingback chair by a waning fire in the fireplace. He stared into the embers, watching until their glow faded and finally winked out in one funereal gasp. The room grew cold, and still he sat.

He wanted to believe Maggie’s story. He wanted to run up the stairs to tell her so, to tell her he loved her, too. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to make her his proper wife.

But he could not.

Lansing had sown seeds of doubt, and try as he might, Gray could not erase them. He did not believe Lansing, by any means, but Maggie’s story about the elaborate ruse of a wedding was equally as difficult to countenance. It was easier to believe someone crafted phony marriage papers than to believe any man, even Lansing, would go to such an elaborate and cruel length to get a woman in bed. Why would Lansing have done such a thing?

Even Maggie’s profession of love for him, which pierced the very depths of Gray’s soul, was not enough to dispel the biggest mystery, the one neither story addressed. Why the devil was
he
embroiled in it? Why use his name?

The first evidence of dawn peeked through the glass doors of the conservatory at the far end of the library. Gray stretched his legs, which had become stiff from the chill of the room and the long hours in the chair. He rose. He would have to return to the bedchamber, to be there when Decker arrived to dress him. He could not be seen wandering the house still in his evening clothes. He would have to bear the pain of seeing Maggie sleeping upon the bed, wanting to hold her, wishing to tell her all was at rights.

It was the uncertainty that stopped him. The uncertainty that would always be there with him, nagging at him, if he continued this ruse, if he made her his wife. He would rather give her up, send her away, settle her and Sean in some house of their own far away from him, rather than never know the true nature of her relationship with Lansing.

The truth lay with Lansing. Somehow before this week was out, Gray would wrench it out of him.

The next morning, Lansing lurked in the hallway near Lady Palmely’s bedchamber. Most of the men, including Gray and that Sir Francis fellow, had gone out riding that morning, but he had begged off. This was his chance to get her alone, to begin his courtship. By the end of this week, he had every intention of making her so in love with him that she would agree to marry him.

If only he could rid himself of Gray and Maggie. He rubbed his cheek. Maggie’s slap had left a faint mark, but nothing to be commented upon. When he was married to Lady Palmely, he had no doubt he could make sure Maggie and Gray were not welcome at Summerton Hall. If Gray had once been estranged from his father, Lansing had no doubt he could facilitate another estrangement. What a justice it would be to usurp Gray’s place with his father!

Lansing heard a door open, but not Lady Palmely’s door. Two of the other ladies walked by him. He smiled charmingly, showered compliments upon their appearance, and made a near-bawdy remark to make them giggle. Finally they were gone. Lady Palmely was his object, only she. Olivia, Lady Palmely.

He had best not encounter Maggie. She was an annoyance and an impediment. Still, it rankled that Gray had her in his bed. Lansing disliked Gray winning anything that rightfully belonged to him, even if he no longer wanted it.

Lansing turned and spied the ethereal Lady Palmely, the goddess of his hopes and dreams, walking gracefully toward him.

“Good morning, Lady Palmely,” he said with just enough smile to entice, but not enough to frighten her off.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Lansing,” she said brightly. She raised her chin as if greeting him were some act of defiance.

No matter. He liked the alliteration of his name on her tongue. One advantage of his military rank, lower than Gray’s rank, was it saved him from being a mere
mister.

He leaned toward her, just a little, and gave her a bashful expression. “I know it is forward of me to say so, but you look quite beautiful this morning.”

She colored prettily, giving that chin lift again. “Why, thank you.”

He sobered, as if he were placing his heart upon his sleeve. “Could I beg you to take a turn in the garden with me?”

“I should like it above all things,” she replied with resolve.

He made sure his eyes shone with pleasure. “Not more than I.”

He offered her his arm and led her to the garden. It would be ideal to take her to that Chinese temple where he’d taken Maggie. It was nice and private, but too far for this first excursion. Later, for certain.

As they walked, he dug deep into his ammunition of charm. He told his most entertaining stories. Gave his most sincere compliments. She laughed in all the right places, smiled when he willed it.

They came to a trellis festooned with flowers. He told her she looked like a flower herself in her white morning dress. She blushed. This was splendid. She was beginning to admire him.

He gave a sigh and looked poetically into her eyes. “Tell me, my lady, before my hopes are dashed to cinders, is there any way I might beg permission to pay my addresses?”

The smile on her face vanished, and her eyes grew very, very large.

A blunder. Damnation! He took a step backward and made his voice as soft and as soothing as he could. “I beg pardon, my lady. I became quite carried away. I wish you no distress.”

“I would like to return to the house,” she said in a small voice.

He bowed. “I serve to please you.”

They covered half the distance before she broke the silence. “They said you are a friend of Gray’s. Are you?”

“It gives me great honor to consider myself his friend,” he replied, wondering why the question was asked. Had Gray gotten to her?

“I see,” she said.

What
the devil did she see? Hell and damnation. Gray must have poisoned her mind to him. It was the only explanation. Gray caused this change in her attitude, and she would surely, like everyone else, listen to the son of an earl over the son of a doxy.

Maggie spent more excruciatingly idle hours in Lady Camerville’s sitting room, with nothing more to do than think of Gray. She was determined to make him talk to her. He was the one keeping his thoughts inside this time.

He’d returned to the bedchamber early that morning. Maggie sat up when he entered the room, but he said nothing to her. He would not even look in her direction. Instead, he dressed himself in her dressing room. When Decker arrived, he said a brief word to him and they both walked out. Maggie had sat up in bed and hurled a candlestick at the closed door behind them.

Now she flipped through Lady Camerville’s latest
Lady’s Monthly Museum
without reading the words or seeing the plates, plotting when she might get Gray alone. Olivia wandered the room, stopping to look out the window near Maggie’s chair.

“I wonder when the gentlemen will return,” she asked absently.

So did Maggie. She planned to be in the bedchamber when Gray came to change his clothes, to ask him to say out loud what his feelings were. Never was she more convinced that total honesty was the only hope for them to salvage the promise their one night of lovemaking had given them.

Olivia paced some more and wound up back at the window.

One of the ladies said, “I will wager Lady Palmely pines for that dashing Lieutenant Lansing. We all saw how he could not take his eyes off you last evening, Olivia.”

“Never fear, dear. He’ll return soon enough,” another added. The other ladies giggled.

Olivia spun around. “I do not pine for him, I assure you. Besides, he did not go riding.”

Maggie looked up, surprised Olivia should know anything of Lansing’s doings.

“Yes, we saw him this morning, did we not, Juliana?” one of the other ladies commented. Her friend agreed that they had.

Olivia gave Maggie a very guilty look before turning back to the window, raising more questions in Maggie’s mind. She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she’d not noticed much about how Olivia had been faring.

Maggie rose from her seat and walked over to stand beside Olivia at the window. “You are restless.” Maggie spoke quietly so the other ladies would not hear. “What has happened, Olivia?”

“Nothing.” Olivia’s retort was a bit too sharp.

Maggie opened her mouth to ask about Lansing, but Lady Camerville interrupted. “We will have no luncheon today, ladies.” It was already past noon, and they had only left the breakfast room an hour ago. “We shall be quite rustic and dine early down by the lake. My dear Cammy and I have devised all sorts of entertainments! Archery and boating. Music and swordplay.”

It sounded the sort of entertainment that would afford Gray more chance to avoid her, Maggie thought. She became even more determined to catch him after he returned from riding.

Maggie tried to speak with Olivia again while the ladies waited in idleness for the men to return, but Olivia made certain to attach herself to one group of ladies or another. Eventually word came that the gentlemen had returned. Olivia excused herself and nearly ran out. Maggie had only to rise from her chair and cross the room to catch up with her, but when she reached the hall, Olivia was nowhere to be seen. She hurried to Olivia’s room and knocked upon the door. There was no answer. She turned to leave.

Lansing blocked her way. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“Who?” She stalled.

“Lady Palmely.” His eyes looked dangerous.

“What do you want of her?” Maggie demanded.

He seized her by the arm and pulled her into a nearby alcove. “It is none of your concern. But I’ll not have you or Gray speaking ill of me.”

“I have nothing but ill to say of you, sir,” she shot back.

He bent down into her face. “If you stand in my way with Lady Palmely, I will rid myself of you. You and Gray. Do you comprehend my meaning?”

For a moment she could not breathe, but she glared defiantly and tried to pull away. “Your threats mean nothing to me.”

He squeezed her arm tighter, but the sounds of some other guests approaching made him let go. With a parting sneer, he marched away.

Maggie put a hand to her chest to calm her pounding heart. She ran to her bedchamber in search of Gray, only to find Decker brushing off his riding coat.

“I have missed him!” she cried.

He knew whom she meant. “He spoke of playing billiards.”

She did not know where the billiards room was, but she hurried out again, ready to barge into it, if necessary. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she realized she could not simply walk in on the men, not without explanations she did not wish to make. She decided to find Olivia before Lansing found her.

She started with the rooms where the guests congregated. The parlor. The library. The conservatory. Olivia was in none of them, and neither was Lansing. She asked one of the gentlemen in the conservatory if he had seen Olivia.

The man gave a vague wave of his hand. “I believe I saw Lady Palmely walking in the garden.”

Maggie knew Olivia would not stroll through the garden by herself. A sick feeling settled in Maggie’s stomach and she hurried outside without bothering to fetch her bonnet or shawl. Fearing Lansing would have taken Olivia to the garden’s Chinese temple, Maggie ran down the path toward it. As she neared the temple’s entrance, she heard the murmur of voices and Olivia’s laugh.

She boldly stepped up to the entrance. “Olivia!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a man and a woman jump apart. Olivia and . . . Sir Francis!

“Oh!” Maggie exclaimed, giddy with relief. “I beg your pardon.” She turned to go.

“No, Maggie. Wait.” Olivia caught her by the arm and led her back to where Sir Francis stood, his neckcloth rumpled and his grin stretched ear to ear.