The Husband Trap (30 page)

A shadow of pain washed across his face. He turned as though she’d stabbed him, his eyes cast down. After a long moment, he drew in a deep breath, turned back. “It doesn’t matter. Have the child, then come to me.”

Come to him?

That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to tell her good-bye. Oh, dear Lord, what was she going to do now?

She shook her head vehemently. “No, I’ve told you, it’s impossible.” Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeak. “It’s over.”

“No. I won’t let it be over. I love you.”

“Well, I don’t love you.” That was one statement she could make with utter sincerity.

“That’s not what you said in your letter, when you begged me to wait. When you wrote that your heart would be mine forever and on into eternity.”

She barely kept from rolling her eyes. Her twin could be so melodramatic sometimes. “I—I’m sorry, but my feelings have changed. I don’t want you, not anymore.”

He reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders. “I don’t believe you.”

She jumped beneath his touch. “Let me go.”

He scowled, pushed her backward, closer to a pool of light shining from a nearby brazier. Then he stared, really stared, peering into her eyes as if he was trying to read her thoughts.

“Who in the bloody hell are you?” he demanded.

Her body jolted again. “Jeannette Brantford Winter, Duchess of Raeburn.”

“You may be the Duchess of Raeburn, but you aren’t Jeannette Brantford, not the one I knew at least.”

“How dare you. Let me go.”

“Not before I prove I’m right.” Without warning, he spun her around, tugged down the sleeve of her gown to expose her bare shoulder and a portion of her back. “It’s not there.”

“What’s not there?”

“Your birthmark. You remember, the one shaped like a little cat? We used to laugh about it because it seemed so perfectly suited to your nature. It isn’t there.” He traced a pair of fingers over the spot even as she tried to wriggle free of his touch. “It isn’t there because you aren’t Jeannette. My God, you’re her twin, aren’t you?”

She pulled away, yanked her gown back into place. Over Markham’s shoulder, she glimpsed Kit rushing to her rescue. She met his eyes, gave a small warning shake of her head. He stopped, hovered, his frustration palpable. At her direction, he eased back into the leafy shadows of a nearby bush.

“I knew there was something odd about you,” Markham said, “but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The two of you switched. Her idea, of course.”

Knowing there was no use dissembling, she gave a tight nod.

“Does Raeburn know?” He barked out a laugh. “Of course he doesn’t, otherwise he would have booted you out on your lying derriere weeks ago. Incredible.” He walked a few steps one way, then back. “Where is she? Where is Jeannette?”

“In Italy with our great-aunt.”

He snapped his fingers. “Of course. She’s pretending to be you. The strain must be killing her. I shall journey southward and see what I can do to ease her dreadful burden.” He paused, eyes narrowing like a wolf’s. “She didn’t know about this, did she? This effort tonight to cast me aside?”

“She knew nothing about it.” She twisted her fingers together. “What will you do about Adrian? Will you tell him?”

He raised a brow. “I ought to. It would serve you right for lying. But I fear it might spoil my fun on the Continent. Besides, if Raeburn is a big enough dupe not to realize the truth, then he deserves you. Rather funny that, having an imposter for a wife.” He leaned in. “Are you really pregnant?”

Her cheeks heated at his query. “No.”

He laughed again. “If you want to keep him, do yourself a favor and get that way. Once there’s a child involved, he won’t divorce you. Although he may hire a wet nurse and ship you off to one of his less hospitable estates to live out the rest of your days in lonely solitude.” He patted her cheek. “Don’t worry. I promise he won’t hear it from me.”

He turned, strode away.

Only when he’d left did she realize she was trembling.

Kit came to her, enfolded her in a consoling brotherly embrace. Glad of his support, she hugged him back.

“At least he’s gone,” he told her. “At least he’s out of your life.”

“It’s having him in Jeannette’s life that worries me. I pray it doesn’t all turn to disaster.”

Midnight had come and gone when Adrian strode into the Lymondham conservatory.

There had been a carriage accident on the way, his progress hampered while horses and drivers were sorted out and sent on their way. Once he’d arrived at the ball, he found himself waylaid by no fewer than a dozen people, all wishing to say hello and express their pleasure at his return to the city.

Quiet abounded as he walked through the greenery-laden room, a distant murmur of voices slowly intruding into the silence. His wife and her lover or someone else? He followed the sound, weaving his way amongst the exotic plants that were his host’s pleasure and pride. He would confront them, but first he wanted to see the evidence. Positioning himself on the opposite side of a large, flowering bush, he peered through at the couple.

His heart took its second jarring kick of the evening.

There they were, Jeannette and Kit wrapped in each other’s arms. For a moment, he didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Then the words in the note stabbed into his mind, the cryptic signature at the bottom.
K.
That’s how her lover had penned his name.
K
for Kit?

Sickness came upon him like a sweat. He turned away, fearing he might actually vomit, breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

His brother and his wife? Impossible.

Yet he’d seen them together, holding each other. He’d seen them together another time as well, secretive and suspicious now that he considered, that day in the folly at Winterlea. He remembered too the way she’d insisted Kit accompany them to London. And he’d read the note tonight, the most damning evidence of all.

My God, what was he to do? Any other man he would have called out, met on the field of honor and done his level best to kill. But Kit was his brother. He couldn’t call out his brother, couldn’t murder his own flesh and blood.

Were they in love? His senses screamed at the thought.

Jeannette and Kit were of an age, less than two years apart. He’d witnessed their closeness, had been pleased to see their familial bond, little suspecting all the while that it might be something else.

What of her vows to him? Her words of love? Her pledges of fidelity?

Lies, all of it lies.

How far had it gone between them? Were they sleeping together? While he’d been away, had Kit taken his place in their bed? Had he been the one to bring a flush of color to her skin, sighs of pleasure to her lips, ecstasy cresting inside her body?

A red haze of rage swam before his eyes, his hands trembling. He clenched them and fought for control. Lord in heaven, what was he to do? How was he to bear this?

He had to leave. Now. He had to be alone.

The idea of exchanging pleasantries and banal talk for the remainder of the evening was an anathema that could not be endured.

Footsteps quiet so Kit and Jeannette would not hear, he retraced his steps. Making his excuses to his puzzled hostess, he fled out into the cold night.

Violet rapped on the connecting door to Adrian’s bedchamber. When she heard no reply, she turned the knob and went inside. The room stood empty, bathed in a mellow wash of firelight. A small branch of candles set on a side table earlier in the evening had long since sputtered out.

She added another log to the fire, watched the flames give a greedy, orange-red lick before she took a seat in a nearby armchair. On her knees she balanced the black-velvet jeweler’s box she’d been stunned to discover on her dressing table. Her breath had literally left her lungs the instant she’d glimpsed the extravagant necklace.

Opening the lid, she traced reverent fingertips over the pretty stones that sparkled even in the low light. No one had ever given her such an exquisite present. And for no particular reason either. It wasn’t her birthday and Christmas was still more than a full month away.

She desperately wanted to thank him. She’d never seen something so extraordinarily beautiful in her life.

Adrian was back in Town. In addition to the jewelry, one of the footmen had confirmed his arrival when she and Kit returned home tonight. If rumor was to be believed, he’d put in a brief appearance at the Lymondhams’ ball, though neither she nor Kit had caught so much as a glimpse of him. Odd that he would return from Winterlea only to immediately absent himself again.

The mantel clock chimed half-past three in the morning. Where could he be? She hoped nothing untoward had befallen him. Ignoring a small twinge of unease, she settled more deeply into the armchair to wait.

She startled awake, a soft gray predawn light scratching at the windows, the hushed murmuring of housemaids as they passed in the hallway to begin their day’s work. She sat up, stretched, stiff from having fallen asleep in the chair.

Nearly seven o’clock. Her eyes flew to the bed, its coverlet undisturbed, as precisely made as it had been for all the days he’d been gone.

Adrian hadn’t come home last night.

Alarmed, she hurried out into the hallway without considering her attire—robe and slippers, her long, sleep-mussed hair streaming down her back. He should be home by now, she fretted. Something terrible must have happened. An accident, an illness. Even now, he might be lying in pain, or worse.

She raced along the corridor. Betty was the first servant she found, the girl down on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

The maid looked up, clearly startled. “Your Grace, whatever’s amiss?”

“Betty, thank heavens. Have you seen the duke this morning?”

“No, ma’am, I haven’t but—”

She didn’t listen any further, just hurried on.

She dashed down the main staircase, oblivious to the stares of the servants she passed. Entering the main hall, she rushed toward March.

The majordomo turned, his blue eyes widening. “Your Grace, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she panted, pausing a moment to catch her breath. “His Grace. He didn’t come home last night and I’m dreadfully worried that something might have happened to him. Have you heard from him? Perhaps we should contact the authorities, his friends, anyone who might have seen him last.”

A footstep sounded in the hallway. “There is no need of that, madam. As you can plainly see, I am fine.”

She whirled at the sound of Adrian’s voice. Setting a hand over her heart, she flew to where he stood in the doorway of the breakfast room, then threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.

His entire body stiffened. Too overcome with relief, she didn’t immediately notice his lack of response.

With firm hands, he set her away.

“Such melodrama,” he said, his voice cold as a frozen lake. “No doubt I am supposed to be moved by your concern. Look at my wife, March, so distraught over me she couldn’t even be bothered to dress.”

She flushed, only then realizing she stood in her nightclothes. She tugged the sides of her robe more tightly around her body. “I was worried. I waited up for you…” she lowered her voice “…in your room. You never came to bed.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this matter where we can be private.” He stepped aside, waited for her to enter the morning room. Dismissing the single servant inside, he closed the door, leaving them alone. He crossed to the breakfast table and resumed his seat in front of his abandoned plate.

She hovered, oddly ill at ease. “Where were you last night?”

“Would you care for one of these sausages?” He motioned toward a silver platter. “They’re quite good.”

“Adrian, please. What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I’m very well, breaking my fast with a hearty meal.” He ate a forkful of scrambled eggs. “You must try some. Perhaps a cup of tea as well.”

“I don’t want eggs or sausages or tea. I want to know where you were last night.”

He shot her a quick, hard glare, then lowered his eyes. He cut a piece of sausage, his knife scraping discordantly against the china. “At my club, since you are so interested.”

“Your club? All night?”

“Yes. Mystery solved. Now, I suggest you go put on some suitable clothing. You have the look of a doxy about you this morn.”

She gasped, her cheeks reddening. “I was concerned about you. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” She hugged her arms around herself, stared down at the carpeting. She blinked back a sudden rush of tears.

Something was dreadfully wrong, she thought. Where was the man she knew? It was as if the real Adrian had gone away and a stranger had returned in his place. His harsh words, the chill in his eyes. For a moment, she’d almost imagined he hated her. A shiver passed along her spine.

“I’ll go now,” she murmured.

He set down his silverware, stared at her.

Why did he feel as if he’d just kicked a puppy? She looked so young, so beautiful. So innocent. If he weren’t privy to the truth, he would have believed her and her distraught concern for his welfare. Would have believed she loved him, if not for the betrayal he’d witnessed last night.

“Why were you waiting for me?” The words escaped him.

“Oh. I…I wanted to thank you, for the necklace. It is so exquisite. The most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me.”

The necklace. He’d forgotten all about the damned thing.

His features hardened as he remembered his naive, foolish delight, his happy anticipation over the present. How she would have laughed had she seen it.

“It is an attractive piece that will look well around your neck,” he commented in a businesslike tone. “The family jewels haven’t been updated for half a century at least. I thought it time they were refreshed.”

She wilted, a small spark of pleasure dying in her eyes. “Oh, I see. I should return to my room now.”

“Yes.” He picked up his fork in dismissal. “My meal grows cold.”

When she’d gone, he set the utensil down again. He pushed his plate away, no longer the least bit hungry.