The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (24 page)

* * *

“Missy!” Foster
hissed.

Tally stopped and
looked around. “Now what?” It was early afternoon and the
household was only just now settling down after their scare of this
morning.

The pantry, if not
fully stocked, was at least filled with enough staples to be going on
and Mason had agreed to move in (
She
wished she could have seen Foster convincing the Scot to do so!
),
though he said that he wouldn’t always be available, as he had
other cases to resolve as well.

Foster gestured her
over to join him in the small study next to her bedroom. This was a
first. Usually they convened in the library.

“Were ye going to see
yon Gordon?”

She shushed him.
“Foster! I told you. If you keep calling him that, you’re going
to make a mistake in front of him or someone else. We have to call
him Mr. Leighton all the time, so we don’t slip up.”

He merely flashed her
one of his puckish grins, not taking her scolding seriously. “I
thought ye should know, Miss, yon Go–“

At her scowl, he
changed to “...Leighton is asking for his valise to be brought to
him. He remembered you told him, that first night, that he’d just
arrived from traveling. Now he wants to see what’s in his bag.”
He rolled his eyes at the predicament she’d involved them in. “He’s
hoping it might prod his memory. He also hopes he has some better
attire in there, so he can dress properly to come down to dinner this
evening.”

Gracious! The more
Reed’s health improved, the more difficult it became to continue
this deception. She had to constantly be thinking of everything he
might need or want and provide it before he wondered why it wasn’t
there.

Clothes, for instance.
He had the outfit he’d arrived in. She’d repaired the bullet
hole. But his memory didn’t appear to be healing as quickly as
she’d been counting on and one set of clothes wasn’t going to be
sufficient. Luckily, Foster had rummaged around in the attic for a
dressing gown and found a trunk of gentleman’s clothing, some were
a little worn but most were in decent condition.

She’d expected to
have to alter them, but was amazed at how well they fit him, as if
they were tailor-made for him. Maybe her luck was changing.

“His valise? He
recalls bringing one?”

“No. I don’t think
so,” Foster said. “He’s just assuming he must have.”

She blew a stray curl
off her forehead. “Tell him we have no idea where he left it
because it wasn’t with him when he arrived. Assure him he can use
the clothes you found in the attic, as if they were his own.” She
started to leave. “I hope the owner is an understanding man.
Although, I suppose he wouldn’t have left clothes he’d meant to
use again, would he?”

“Ahem…” Foster
cleared his throat.

She gazed back at him,
questioning.

“In fact, Miss Tally,
we do have his bag, or so we think. Joseph found it while he was
emptying the refuse into the dustbin.” Foster tried to hide his
smug grin.

The rascal! He’d been
baiting her.

“It was strange,”
he continued, unperturbed by her growl of annoyance. “The bag was
well hidden ‘neath the bushes beside the dustbin. Joseph said he’d
never have found it, except he had to move the bin and there it was.
No one would have ever known it was there.”

She should have thought
of looking outside for traces of their intruder before he climbed the
wall! Not that she’d have found it in the dark, but if she had
looked the next morning.

It suddenly struck her.
He’d arrived with a bag! No villain brought his luggage with him to
commit a crime... not unless it contained his tools. A sick sensation
crawled through the pit of her stomach. She looked up and saw that
Foster had already had the same thoughts.

“Have you opened it?”

“No. Joseph only just
found it a short time ago and I thought it best to wait for you to do
the honors.”

“Then, quickly, bring
it to the library. There might be something in it that tells us who
our Mr. Leighton is.” It
must
include information telling them who he was or where he lived. It
might even provide incontrovertible proof he’d been coming to kill
her. At the very least, it could provide answers to some of his more
persistent questions.

Oh, what a tangled web,
indeed. She’d been either refusing to answer or spinning tall tales
with impunity since he’d regained consciousness and she shuddered
to think what was going to happen when… if… he ever recovered his
lost memories.

She knew that keeping
him here under false pretences was not helping him, yet where could
he go? How was she ever to extricate herself from this muddle?

Despite the doctor’s
warning, she’d never expected his memory to remain lost this long.
She’d even worked out a viable story to explain away her lie when
it did return.

Not to him, naturally.
She knew there was no story she could tell him that expunged the
truth, but that was fine. After all, he wouldn’t want anybody
knowing he’d been breaking into her bedroom. He’d want to hide
his criminal activities even more than she wanted to hide having shot
him.

Wouldn’t
he?

Unless he was working
with that Vanisher the tramp had mentioned, then, the consequences
for her could be dire.

“Here we are.”
Puffing from his exertions, Foster set the leather valise down on the
floor in front of her. It was more of a large pouch than a valise.

Crouching down, she
studied it carefully. “How heavy is it?”

“It’s heavy. Why?”
he said, clearly wondering why it mattered.

“I thought he might
be carrying tools to break in.”

“Heh, heh, true
enough.” He bent down and undid the straps that held it closed.
Thankfully, it was unlocked. She’d hate to have to rip that
beautiful leather open. It was of top quality. Hmm... Even if a
criminal stole a superior bag like this one, he wouldn’t be
carrying it around to his crimes!

She eased it open
carefully, wary of what she was to find. It was a bit of a let down
to discover rather ordinary contents. Clothes, mostly. She pushed
past those to feel around for anything else. Not finding anything,
she began to pull the clothes out and place them on the desk to get
to the bottom and sides. Touching metal, she pulled and out came a
beautiful silver flask. She opened the cap and sniffed.

She reached across and
held it under her co-conspirator’s nose.

“Brandy,” he said.
“The expensive kind. Not that cheap stuff your brothers drink.”

A thief with expensive
tastes? “Seems wrong, doesn’t it? Unless he stole it too.”

Other than a razor and
male toiletries, there was nothing else special. “Well, that’s
disappointing.” She sighed, deflated. “Nothing that tells us who
he is.” Disappointed, she fingered his clothes. “Nothing
peculiar, no telling objects, not even a–” She stopped abruptly
as she realized what she was holding in her hands. A banjan such as
she had never set eyes on before. It was made of luscious emerald
green silk edged in gold-colored satin. Wide-eyed, she lifted it up
and looked at Foster.

“Hmmm. The man has
expensive tastes.” Her ally sounded a little shaken.

“It’s what you’d
imagine a rich sultan would wear! You don’t think he could be that
Viscount, do you?” Bad enough to be harboring a criminal, but a
Viscount without a memory — who she’d shot! — was far worse!

“Of course not,” he
reassured her. “Why would a Viscount be climbing into a lady’s
bedroom? Besides, look at what he has in this bag. More than likely
stolen clothes he hopes to sell. There’s a huge market for
second-hand clothes.”

“He sure has a lot of
them crammed in here. Oh, look. A white robe, like they wear in the
Middle-East, a
jellaba
,
I believe they’re called. Remember how the twins once had a model
wear one for a piece they were sculpting?”

“He has that bronzed
skin. We thought it was his normal complexion, but it’s been fading
more each day.” Thoughtful now, he picked up another piece of
clothing. “This doesn’t look… Why this jacket is fit for a
vagrant! And these old trousers are probably his real togs.”

They began to sift
through the odd assortment of clothes.

“And surely a younger
man wouldn’t wear a suit like this one?” she said.

Foster had found
another opening in the bag and was stuffing his hand down it. He
emerged with a handful of… cotton wool?

“What is it?” She
was baffled. Reed’s bag contained the clothes of vastly different
types of men, ranging from rich to poor.

“Beard.”

“What?” Why did he
need a fake beard? What kind of man wore that?

“Mustache and
whiskers to paste here.” He touched his face in front of his ears.
“And here’s a box of ... face paint?”

“He wears cosmetics!”
She took the small round tin box and opened it. A skin-colored
creme
.
“What kind of man does that?” Her heart sank at the thought of
what Reed might be like when...
if
his memory returned.

“Somebody who is
trying to conceal who he is? Or mebbe he’s an actor; they wear fake
facial hair and that would explain the costumes.”

Lord, she had more
misgivings now than before. She read aloud the label on the box. “
To
conceal scars,
” she read aloud. “It’s the word
‘conceal’ that bothers me. I sense our Mr. Gordon knows a lot
about doing that. Let’s hope he’s not concealing a plot to murder
me.”

“Mrs. Leighton, you
have callers.” Joseph said from behind the screen at the door to
her studio. He knew not to enter. “Mr. Foster said to tell you–”

“Callers? But…”
Tally was annoyed at the interruption. She’d just come up to the
studio. After all the commotion this morning over the food being
stolen and then Joseph finding the valise, she’d hoped to fit in
some painting. “It’s not one of those men, is it?” Frightening
thought. But no, Foster had sent Joseph up and he wouldn’t have
allowed them to step one foot inside the house.

“No, ma’am! Mr.
Foster said to–”

And Foster knew not to
disturb her unless it was important.

Who could be calling?
He’d have sent Spence away, telling him to come back another day,
and really there was no one else who knew she was in Town.

“Mr. Foster...”
Joseph tried again but she suddenly realized who it must be. The only
person her dear butler would think important enough to interrupt her!
A huge smile lit her face.

“
Monsieur
Moreau
, at last!” Now she was thankful she hadn’t
begun yet and didn’t have to clean up before going down to greet
her visitor. She ran from the room.

“Ma’am! Mrs.
Leighton!” Joseph called after her.

But Tally was too
excited to stop and listen. She tripped happily down the stairs,
relieved her mentor was alright. She’d been worried about him. He’d
be able to help her clear up the problems in her life. He might even
know who could help Reed recover his memory.

Had she slowed down at
the bottom of the stairs, she might have noticed the bonnets and
female umbrellas sitting on the front bench there, but she rushed
pell-mell into the room, a welcoming smile on her face. Then held it
with difficulty — though dimmed somewhat in dismay, she was sure —
at the sight of her two sisters sitting on the sofa.

Oh no! How had they
found out she was in Town? And who told them where she lived?

Shame at her
unwelcoming attitude swept through her when they immediately jumped
to their feet and rushed to greet her.

Her eldest sister,
Venetia, Lady Hargrave, swept her into a perfumed hug. “We didn’t
believe it! How could you come to London without telling us...
without coming to live with one of us?”

Easily
...
happily
... she might have said, had her voice not been
smothered in Venetia’s ample bosom... or if she had ever been in
the habit of speaking her mind to any of them. But she’d lived too
long amid the drama of her family to allow such rebellious thoughts
off their leash.

“Talia!” Now she
was pushed into the embrace of her other sister, Milana, a plain but
exceedingly happy Mrs. Courtney, not that anyone would ever call her
sister
plain
! “Why
did you not tell us?”

She felt guilty at the
genuine hurt in their voices.

She knew they loved
her. She never doubted the entire family wanted what was best for
her. They just didn’t have the least idea of what that was. They
all simply assumed they knew what was good for her, without ever
asking her what she thought, felt, or wanted.

She rebelled against
their drama, their assumptions, their interference, but she’d never
told them so, she’d always kept everything inside. What was the use
of causing a big fuss? They always talked over her and never listened
to her, so what was the point?

“But aren’t you
supposed to be in Paris? Tony and Rob said so before they left for
Italy.” She looked from one to the other. “What are you doing in
London?” She hoped they couldn’t hear how horrified she was at
the idea. She’d been thanking the moon and stars that they’d
chosen this year to go abroad.

Heavens,
what if Reed decided to come downstairs!

“We were on the verge
of departing for France, but when we heard you were in London,
alone...” Venetia gave Tally a stern look. “…we immediately
cancelled our trip and changed our plans to join you in your first
Season in Town. We knew you’d need us and our guidance to ensure
that your coming out was a success.”

“I am
not
coming out.” Biting back a shout of frustration, she gritted the
words out between clenched teeth. “As I have always told you.”
She swallowed her ire. It wasn’t their fault. They were being kind.
But canceling their whole Season in Paris!