Cunning (Infidelity #2) (35 page)

Adelaide?

Before I could question aloud, I reached for Charli. She looked as though she might fall as she stumbled backward.

“Y-You know my mother?”

“Of course. For many years. I had no idea her little girl had grown into such a beautiful woman. I’m sure she’s proud.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Oren patted my shoulder. “Son, language. You’re in front of a lady, a true blue-blooded American heiress. I’m sure you already knew that.”

I didn’t speak as I looked from Oren to Charli. What the hell was he saying? She wasn’t an heiress. She was penniless. She’d signed her life away at Infidelity. He was wrong. This was just Oren Demetri being evil, doing what he did best.

“Silvia,” he called. “Let Lennox’s driver know they’re ready to leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t tell my father goodbye or wish him a safe journey. I wasn’t thinking about pleasantries as I snatched Charli’s hand in mine and marched us both out the front door. I still didn’t know what was happening, but by the way her hand trembled in my grasp, I knew it was something big.

When I looked down, her cheeks were damp and her eyes closed.

I didn’t let her sorrow register. If I did, I’d go back in the house and confront my father. Instead, I concentrated on the peacefulness of the outside. With the sun almost set, the driveway was illuminated by the indirect lighting that shone toward the house and guesthouse. The sound of nature—waves and insects—filled the air as stars began to pepper the sky. I missed seeing stars. In the city, if they could be seen at all, they weren’t as vibrant as they were out here.

Her soft body leaned into my arm, clenching my hand with all of her might.

I’d blown up at Charli yesterday. I wasn’t going to jump to conclusions based on anything that Oren Demetri said. Besides, I had Deloris. She knew more about Charli than I did. She told me about the loss of her trust fund. Maybe she was related to someone, but an heiress didn’t rent out her companionship for a year. It didn’t make sense.

The almost-blue shine of bright white headlights came from the garages as Isaac pulled a black Mercedes up to the door and stopped. Silently, we both entered the backseat. Leaving the gates, I leaned closer and whispered, “Tell me what in the hell he was talking about.”

More tears fell as she opened her eyes wide and nodded toward Isaac. “Please, can this wait?”

Wait?

I didn’t fucking want to wait. Then again, she was upset. I was the one who exposed her to Oren. It was my fault he upset her. I hated that motherfucker more with each passing day. He could go back to London and stay there for all I cared.

I took a deep breath and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. She seemed smaller and more fragile, as I hugged her close. Kissing her head, I said, “Yes.”

Charli nodded against my chest.

As I stared out the window I thought about Oren’s words. I concentrated on the part about Severus Davis, about the House bill, and about marijuana. It was all connected, but I already knew that. What I didn’t understand was what he meant about sides. Metaphorically I understood.

Did he intend to side with big tobacco and alcohol on the fight against legalization? Or did he think they were secretly in favor?

Fuck!

I needed to do more research, ask more questions.

The sweet scent of Charli’s hair filled my senses as her head moved with even breaths. I lifted her chin, but her eyes remained closed. Long, damp lashes lay against her cheeks. She was out. She’d fallen asleep against my chest. I gently smoothed a few loose hairs away from her face. In the pale light from the front seat, I saw the pink in her cheeks and soft rosiness of her lips and smiled.

In the house she’d looked as if she were about to faint. None of it made sense.

What did she mean when she said she knew the devil?

Surely now she knew she was mistaken. She’d just met him, and in a matter of minutes he had her stumbling and in tears. That was Oren Demetri. The man knew how to make a first impression.

“MRS. FITZGERALD. MRS. FITZGERALD.”

Jane’s voice infiltrated my dreams, pulling me back to reality. Wherever I’d been mentally was better than here, better than the master suite of Montague Manor.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald, it’s after noon. Alexandria’s been asking about you.”

I opened my eyes, only to quickly shut them again.

Why is the room so bright?

The floral wallpaper was an assault on my eyes. The matching draperies, bed covering, even the velvet sofas were color coordinated. It was all newly remodeled, seemingly seconds after my mother’s funeral. Alton had the designers drawing up proposals to make the master suite ours.

“Jane,” I moaned as much as spoke. “It’s another migraine. Close the drapes. It’s too bright.”

The sound of rustling fabric let me know she was doing as I said. Each noise was magnified, making it much louder than it should have been. Every sense was exaggerated. I shifted, trying to sit up, but the intense pressure behind my eyes stilled my movement. I settled back into the soft pillow with a groan.

A warm hand skirted my arm, the one outside the blankets. The light touch caused me to flinch. My arm was sore, but the movement brought flashing lights behind my eyelids, colors like fireworks or static, and more symptoms of a migraine. “Ma’am, your migraine left a bruise on your arm. Do you need some ice?”

I barely shook my head. “No. I-It’s not what you think. I fell. It was my heels. They were too high last night.” I reached for the blanket and tucked my arm beneath it. “Go. Let me sleep.”

“You need some food.”

Food. Even the thought increased the nausea that my movement incited. Nothing sounded remotely good. I’d been the one to finalize the menu for last night’s function, yet I’d barely eaten.

“Go. Take care of Alexandria.”

“She’s fine. She be outside with Bryce. Hannah, his nanny, and Miss Suzanna. She here too. She’s askin’ about you.”

Outside… oh, keep them away from the lake. I didn’t say that aloud. Jane had heard me say it a million times. My entire body ached. It was like the flu, but worse. If only I could go back to sleep. That was where I’d find relief.

“Tell her I’m indisposed. Then call Dr. Beck. Tell him about my migraine, my
real
migraine. Nothing else. Ask him to send over something for the pain. Tylenol isn’t working.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll call. Last time he say he need to see you.”

“If he says that again, tell him I can’t come in. I’m too ill. Besides I was in a week ago for my regular exam.”

“Your momma used to say—”

I pried my eyes open to the dimmer large suite. Having the curtains closed helped. Nevertheless, Jane’s face was blurry, weaving back and forth. “Stop,” I interrupted. “My mother isn’t here anymore and neither is my father. I’m the lady of the house. Do as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am. And Alexandria?”

“You take care of her.”
She won’t even know I’m missing
. Russell’s words never left my mind. He might be dead and gone, but the pain he’d inflicted lingered. It was just another reason to burrow myself into this bed and sleep. No one would miss me, not until…

As long as I was awake and dressed before six, before Alton got home, it would be all right.

I closed my eyes with a sigh. The click of the closing door gave me peace in knowing I was once again alone. I gave in, fading into the world of my dreams, a world that didn’t exist.

I was almost there when the nausea hit again. It pulled at my insides, churning the emptiness until bile bubbled, clawing its way up from the pit of my stomach. I threw back the covers and staggered hurriedly toward the bathroom. Straight lines were waves as my equilibrium adjusted. The room around me bent and twisted as I found the doorway. My long hair fell forward and I tried to bunch it in my shaking hand as heave after dry heave wracked my body.

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the cool tile and curled around the base of the toilet, perspiration dripping from my body and making my nightgown damp. I think I fell asleep, but for how long, I had no idea.

“Mrs. Fitzgerald?” Jane’s concerned call woke me as she rushed into the bathroom. “Ma’am, what happened?”

“It’s this damn migraine!”

How many times do I need to tell her?

“This one is worse than usual,” I added, ashamed I’d yelled at the one person who always seemed to be there for me.

Jane helped me sit. I closed my eyes and listened to her deep motherly voice.

“I brought you some crackers and water. The doctor say you needs to drink.”

“Is he sending me some painkillers?”

“Let me help you back to bed.”

I let her help me stand and I asked again, “Painkillers? Something stronger?”

“He say he need to see you. He say he’ll come here.”

She supported me as I rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the terrible taste.

“That’s ridiculous,” I replied as she helped me to the bed. “No one makes house calls anymore.”

“Dr. Beck will, for you, Mrs. Montague Fitzgerald.”

She said that as if I needed a reminder of whom I was. “When?”

“He be out soon.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh. I couldn’t let Dr. Beck see my arm. It was bad enough that Jane noticed it. Then again, she’d noticed other things in the past too. “Jane, can you get me a long-sleeved gown and my robe?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Wearing a clean nightgown, I leaned against the headboard with a long sigh. Vomiting must have helped. Maybe I ate something bad at the dinner last night. I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten. I did have wine. Maybe that was it.

Last night’s function had been in the planning for nearly six months. When the idea was first proposed, it was to Mother and me. It wasn’t long after Father’s passing. The plan was for a fundraising dinner to jumpstart the Charles Montague II scholarship for Emory University.

Originally, Mother and I’d thought it should go to Emory. That was, after all, where Father and I both attended. As the plans became more solidified, Alton decided the scholarship should stay local. He reasoned that it looked better for Montague to support local endeavors. With Mother’s recent passing, I was the only one to disagree. The scholarship was going to Savannah State University.

The dinner was successful, raising over thirty thousand dollars. Much more money was expected from donations, but this did what it was supposed to do and began the intake of funds while bringing media attention to the scholarship. It was also good publicity for Montague Corporation.

Over the years, I’d learned it didn’t matter what I did. If I socialized at a function, it was too much. If I sat quietly, I was rude. Though Alton doted over me the entire evening and we appeared the perfect couple, I knew. In his gaze and touch, I could tell he wasn’t happy. And then when I asked to leave earlier than he wanted, I’d crossed the final line.

His displeasure started to become evident in the car with silent treatment. That was never a good thing. It meant he was holding back, calculating and waiting until we were home alone. Not that Brantley would dare stop Alton from belittling me the entire ride. Now that Father was gone, no one stopped him.

Once we were in our suite, he didn’t strike me. The bruise on my arm was from him grabbing me. It was my reminder to pay attention and hear every degrading, derogatory thing he had to say. Apparently, it was much easier for Alton to yell when I was only inches away.

My only defense was that I had a headache coming on. That was why I wanted to leave the dinner. As I rubbed the sleeve of my robe, feeling the tender skin beneath, I knew the headache wasn’t a viable defense.

The knock on my door forced my eyes to open. I wiped the tear from my cheek and called toward the sound, “Come in.”

This was unnecessary and bothersome. If Dr. Beck had sent out the medication instead of wanting to see me, I could be sleeping soundly with a much better chance of being the perfect wife by six o’clock.

“Adelaide,” Dr. Beck said as he came closer. “I’m sorry you’re in pain.”

I’d known Dr. Beck since I was a student at the academy. He’d been a new doctor to the area, taking over an established practice. Since Father’s doctor had been the one to retire, Dr. Beck inherited the privilege of the Montague family. “I am,” I concurred. “This one is worse than normal. If you could, please prescribe something stronger.”

“Before I do, I’d like you to do something for me.”

I sighed. “What?”

“I was looking at your lab work from a week ago. Have you noticed any other symptoms?”

I closed my eyes. “No. It’s my head. I’ve had migraines before. You’ve prescribed pain medicine before.”

“What about your breasts?”

My eyes opened. “My breasts? What about them?”

“Have they been sore or tender?”

I thought about his question. “Maybe. I haven’t thought about it.”

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“Yes. I just did. I vomited. But that happens with these headaches.”

“Last week you said your last period was three weeks prior to your appointment. Have you begun menstruating?”