The Husband Trap (34 page)

They all knew, of course. How could they not when he and Jeannette barely spoke, no longer shared a bed, lived as husband and wife in name only.

His brandy arrived. He thanked the servant, then took a hearty swallow. The alcohol left a pleasant numbness in its wake.

Damn her, he thought. And damn him for still caring.

A man entered the room. He glanced up and had the unfortunate luck of catching Mortimer Landsdowne’s owl-eyed notice as the other man surveyed the room. Downey Landsdowne—so named because of his soft, plump physique—made straight for him.

Blister it, he thought, there’d be no getting away now. He didn’t even have a newspaper to hide behind.

“Raeburn, didn’t know you were in Town. Deuced time of year to be visiting our capital city.” Downey made himself comfortable in the chair next to Adrian’s, ordered a libation when the waiter approached.

“Business takes no notice of the seasons,” Adrian dissembled.

“Quite true, quite true. Nor family. Came up about m’wife’s youngest brother. Got himself in a bit of a fix at the card tables, wouldn’t you know. It’s all been put to rights now, though. I’m taking him back home with me tomorrow.” Downey swallowed a hearty sip of the claret that had been placed at his elbow, as if in dire need of fortification. “Did that lovely wife of yours join you?”

“No. She remains in Derbyshire. As you said, this isn’t the best time of year for travel.”

“Well, you must be anxious to return home. You still being newlyweds and all, eh? How was the honeymoon, by the by? Where was it you went again?”

“Dorset. I believe you provided some historical background and suggestions concerning sightseeing locales to the duchess.”

“Your duchess?” Landsdowne’s eyebrows rose. “Can’t say as I recall such a conversation, though I do tend to prattle on a bit wild at times. Dorset, you say?”

This time it was Adrian’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Yes, Dorset. You shared the history of Corfe Castle with her at our wedding reception.”

“It wasn’t me. Never heard of the place. Matter of fact, I’ve only been to Dorset once. The seashore at Brighton’s more to my liking. Must have been some other fellow did the talking.”

“Yes, you must be right,” he murmured, positive he correctly remembered his long-ago conversation with Jeannette. At the time, she’d been very specific, mentioning Downey Landsdowne by name. Telling how he’d cornered her at the reception, bored her into a near coma with his discussion of the area.

“Can’t think I’d discuss history with your wife anyway,” Landsdowne continued. “She’s not one to suffer through such tedious discussion without complaint. More likely find yourself cut off mid-sentence before she’d let one prose on too long upon such matters.” He twitched a finger. “Sounds more like something her sister would do. Now, that one, that twin of hers, she’s a real bluestocking. Thrives on that sort of heavy academic talk, history, literature, even languages.”

A strange buzzing started in Adrian’s head. “Languages?”

“Hmm, from what I hear, she’s fluent in several, including the classics. She can read and write the stuff, both Greek and Latin, as unnatural as that may seem for a female.”

An image of Kit’s note popped into his mind, the inexplicable Latin translation he’d purloined from his brother’s pocket a few weeks ago. A note Jeannette had passed to Kit.

Downey kept chattering.

Adrian heard his words as if from a very great distance.

“Reason I know so much about Lady Violet is from my cousin Harriet,” Landsdowne volunteered. “The old gal and your sister-in-law both belong to the same ladies’ literary society. Attended a number of lectures together. Harriet says Lady Violet is a model of self-education, knows as much as most scholars. Isn’t any wonder she hasn’t found a husband. She may look and sound exactly like your wife, but I’ve never seen two females so markedly different in every other way. You picked the right one of that pair, I’ll say.”

Suddenly an astounding idea took Adrian by the throat.

No. Impossible. It couldn’t be true. Or could it?

“I say, Raeburn, are you all right? You’ve gone pale of a sudden. Has something disagreed with you?”

Disagreed? Yes, one might put it that way.

He lurched out of his seat. “You must excuse me, Landsdowne. I’ve only just remembered an urgent matter of business. I…ah…must bid you farewell.”

“Oh, well, of course, old man. Don’t concern yourself a bit on my behalf. Happy here with my claret.”

Adrian strode out of the room, Downey Landsdowne forgotten the instant he turned his back.

“My coat,” he ordered as he paced the club’s front foyer.

“I’ll call for your carriage, your Grace,” the butler said. A page rushed forward with his garment.

He shrugged into the heavy greatcoat. “Tell my man to go home. I’ve decided to walk.”

“Walk, your Grace? At this hour?”

He paid him no heed, hurrying down the stairs into the frigid night air. His long legs ate up the ground beneath him, his surroundings hazy, his mind in a whirl.

The idea was insane, preposterous. It couldn’t be possible. His wife, Jeannette, could not be another woman. Could not in reality be her sister, Violet. Twins or not, a switch of such magnitude and daring would be beyond even their capabilities. Especially Violet’s, who’d never been able to do more than stammer a few shy words at him at best.

No, he was mistaken.

Yet the more he considered it, the more probable the idea became.

Memories plagued him. Inconsistencies he’d shrugged off at the time, put down to nerves or exhaustion, or sheer moodiness. But now that he considered it, when had Jeannette ever been nervous about anything?

He remembered their wedding day. How she’d trembled, her skin blanched white as milk, her eyes large and startled as a doe caught in the woods, frozen as if too frightened to flee.

And their wedding night. Her maidenly reticence, her innocent touches and untutored kisses.
Her virginity.
He’d been so ashamed of his behavior that night, he’d dismissed all the signs, the signals. He’d lulled himself into seeing what he wanted to see instead of what had been there all the time, staring him right in the face. It was as if he’d had on a big pair of rose-colored glasses.

He stopped in his tracks.

Her glasses.

My God, how could he have been so blind? So stupid? Dear Lord, she really
was
Violet. Why else would she wear reading glasses? Why would she retreat to her study every afternoon to bury herself in perfect contentment? Why would she pass notes to his scapegrace brother—written in Latin, no less?

Holy Mother of God, he’d married the other sister!

He started walking again, the shock of the revelation sinking in. What an imbecile he was. What a gullible moron. A man who couldn’t tell the difference between two sisters. He supposed the fact that they were so alike physically gave him some excuse. But as Landsdowne had pointed out, the two women were as different as the sun and the moon when it came to personality.

When had they made the switch? Before the wedding, obviously. He realized now Violet had been the one trembling next to him at the altar. But why?

Jeannette, of course. How she must have congratulated herself on her trick, on their trick. Duping him into marrying another woman. Even now Jeannette was in Italy, posing as her twin.

Of course, it all made complete sense. Jeannette’s unhappiness about the canceled honeymoon to the Continent. Her week of tears and grumblings that she had so nicely recovered from after the wedding ceremony. Even at the time, he’d thought her sudden equanimity rather odd. Only it hadn’t been, not for her, not for Violet. No wonder
his wife
hadn’t complained.

And all this time she’d played out her lie. All this time she’d let him believe she was another woman. Sharing his life, sharing his home, sharing her body.

Raw fury gushed up inside him, his throat tight and burning. His feet pounded harder, faster against the pavement.

Kit.

Kit must know about her. Why else would he have sprung so readily to her defense? He really must love her. What other reason could he have for concealing the truth of her identity?

Adrian felt sick. A piercing ache lodged near his heart.

He stopped, stared absently at the entrance to his townhouse. For a long moment, he didn’t realize he’d arrived home.

The front door opened. “Your Grace?”

He gazed upward at Smythe, the underbutler who’d accompanied him on this journey. In sudden decision, he jogged up the stairs. “Tell Josephs to have the coach ready by first light. We’ll be leaving for Oxfordshire at dawn.”

He wanted answers, and by God, he planned to have them soon.

Chapter Nineteen

“Out with it,” Adrian demanded. “I’ve had enough of your excuses. I want the truth.”

Kit closed the door to his University lodgings, closeting himself and his brother inside. Harold, his roommate, had scurried off only moments after Adrian’s arrival. One look at the duke’s face had been enough to send the younger man running, mumbling some excuse about his urgent need to study in the library. Kit wished he could have fled with him. Letting Adrian inside his rooms in his current humor was rather like inviting in a thunderstorm.

“The truth about what?” Kit asked, careful to keep his tone mild. He ambled across the room, took a seat by the window, as far out of harm’s way as he could manage.

“You know what. My wife.”

“I thought we weren’t to discuss that topic again.”

“Don’t be flippant. Tell me about her.” Adrian slammed his fist against the wall. The small equine painting that hung over Kit’s bed rattled in its frame.

“Tell me who she is.”

Kit froze in surprise, choosing his next words with care. “She’s your wife. Who do you imagine her to be?”

“
Not
Jeannette.” Their eyes met, held, jousting like swordsmen. “Tell me if I’m right. I have to know.”

Kit drew in a breath. “She’s not Jeannette.”

Adrian sank down upon the only other chair in the room, collapsing as if suddenly deflated. “How long have you known?”

“A few months. Violet preferred I not say anything.”

Adrian’s jaw clenched at the mention of her name, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “No doubt she did. And would you have kept her counsel indefinitely? Didn’t you think I might wish to know that the woman I’ve been living with all these months is an imposter?”

“She begged me not to tell you. At the time you both seemed happy, so I agreed to leave the decision in her hands. Perhaps it was an error on my part.”

Adrian’s silence hung between them like an ominous cloud.

“She loves you, you know.” Kit leaned forward, gestured with a hand. “If it hadn’t been for that blasted letter, none of this would have—”

“Ah, yes, the letter. I’d like to hear about that. Perhaps now you’ll tell me who authored the damnable thing, since you say it wasn’t you.”

Kit lowered his eyes. “It was Markham.”

“What?”

“Toddy Markham. Seems he and Jeannette were romantically involved prior to your marriage. The note was for her. He didn’t realize it was Violet he was pursuing in London either. At least not until that evening in the Lymondhams’ conservatory.”

Adrian surged to his feet, striding like a caged beast, to and fro, in the small confines of the room. “The bastard. No wonder he could never find the man Jeannette was secretly meeting. He told me, did you know, that he suspected her of seeing someone else. No doubt he was trying to warn me off, hoping I’d cancel the wedding. To think it was him all the time. I ought to wring his lying, no good neck.”

“You’ll have to go to the Continent to do it. Blighter left for Italy when he realized the truth about Jeannette.”

“Hell and damnation, am I the only one who doesn’t know about their switch?”

“ ’Course not. Just Markham and I know, and her sister, of course.”

“Of course.” Adrian continued to pace, fists opening and closing at his sides.

“What do you plan to do now?”

Adrian stopped, faced him. “I haven’t yet decided, but whatever it is, I’ll thank you to stay out of it.”

Kit raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of interfering.” He paused. “Don’t be too hard on her, though. She has a good heart in spite of the mistakes she’s made.”

“Why is it you’re always so ready to leap to her defense? Is it because you have feelings for her?” Adrian swallowed, his words low and choked. “Do you love her?”

“Love Violet?” Lord, Adrian was jealous, Kit realized. And besotted, to boot. “Yes, I do love her.”

Adrian stiffened, his back ramrod straight.

Kit continued. “I love her as a dear friend and as a sister. In only a few months, she’s become closer to me than any of my own sisters. Maybe because of our similar ages. Maybe because she helped me when I needed help. I passed my examinations, by the way, due in large measure to her. I don’t know what it is about her for sure. But I do know this, you’re a fool if you drive her away. She may not be perfect, but she suits you down to the ground. You’ll never find a better woman than her.”