The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (29 page)

* * *

This time, Tally wasn’t
surprised to see Reed at the dinner table. He’d been getting
healthier and more restless by the day.

“Good evening,” she
addressed him. She invited Mr. Mason, who followed her into the room,
to sit across from her at the round dinner table.

To Reed she said, “I’ve
invited Mr. Mason to stay with us while he is looking for lodgings. A
family atmosphere is far nicer than an impersonal hotel.”

Mr. Mason smiled
politely at Reed, who stared back at the man in a rather surly
manner. “You never mentioned this when you came to my room
earlier.” He turned to Tally. “Didn’t I hear Foster tell
Allerton that we didn’t have enough room for visitors?”

Nonplussed by his rude
question, Tally stammered, “My grandmother is delaying her arrival
a little, which makes it possible.” Thank heavens a reasonable
explanation popped into her head. She’d completely forgotten Reed
had heard their excuse to Spence. She’d have to be careful now that
her sham spouse was becoming more alert. Alarmingly alert. Perhaps
she should raise his doses back to what they had been.

Dipping her spoon into
her bowl of creamy leek and potato soup, she sighed gratefully. At
least one part of her troubles was being dealt with now that Mr.
Mason had moved in. For the first time in days, she felt as if she
could breathe a little easier knowing they had protection.

But that equanimity was
shaken when, barely into the soup course, Reed — after darting a
quick, almost self-conscious glance at the investigator —
announced, “I think it’s time I began venturing out. I need to do
something to try to shake my memories loose.”

“Oh, I don’t–”
Oh my! How dangerous would it be if he met someone who recognized
him?

Foster was bent over
the sideboard readying dishes for Mrs. P to bring across to the table
for the main course. She saw his shoulders stiffen at Reed’s
comment. She slid a sideways glance at Mr. Mason to gauge his
reaction, but gleaned nothing from his expressionless face.

Mrs. P, in the process
of placing a dishes of glazed carrots and stewed beet leaves on the
table, beamed at Reed. “Good idea. It will do you a world of good
to get out and about, sir.”

Mr. Mason’s eyelashes
fluttered and Tally guessed he must find it strange that the servants
behaved with such familiarity. But it had always been that way in her
family’s home, where the servants were often the ones running the
house in lieu of her heedless parents. And prior to Great Aunt Ida
coming to live with them, they’d been her only allies in finding
ways to feed the lot of them on little to no money.

“Thank you for your
encouragement, dear woman.” Reed seemed genuinely grateful to the
housekeeper for her support.

The
dear
woman
had no idea what kind of difficult situation he was
putting her... all of them... in!

She sensed it wouldn’t
do to refuse his suggestion. Especially since her so-called husband
was glowing with health this evening. “Perhaps, to begin, we should
walk in the park tomorrow?”

But he was already
shaking his head. “No. I’ve already done that without jogging any
memories free.”

Tally was shocked! She
forced herself not to glance at Foster. How…
when
had he managed that?

This morning! He’d
taken advantage of her going out to the modiste’s with her sisters.

Had
anybody seen him?

“I am loathe to do
it,” he confessed, “but I must begin to go places where people
are about, to try to recover my memory,” he explained.

She was loathe to do it
too! But he was right. The situation had to be resolved one way or
another.

“I was thinking,
perhaps I might join you at the Royal Academy Exhibition. You said
that tomorrow was the last day of the show. Might there not be fewer
people about?”

Tally was aghast. He
wanted to come to the show! She’d been so looking forward to it.
Now she’d have to be on her guard the entire time.

“My main qualm,” he
added, “is the danger to you and any who accompany us.”

At her startled look,
he said, “The man who shot me may make another attempt to kill me.”

That remark brought Mr.
Mason’s head up sharply. “You’ve been shot?”

“Seems so.” He
gestured to where his wound was.

“By whom?”

“I haven’t the
faintest idea.”

Reed was taking
pleasure in trying to scandalize Mr. Mason. Did he think to scare the
Scot away? Perhaps he did, because he seemed a little deflated by the
man’s lack of reaction.

“I’m sorry to hear
that.” He gave Reed a flat, calculating stare. “So it’s
possible someone might try to shoot you again?”

“I suppose so.”
Reed agreed.

The investigator turned
to Tally and said, “I believe I should accompany Mr. Leighton. My
being there might discourage anyone from shooting him again.”

“Oh, but... I want to
go too.” She had no intention of missing the chance to see the best
artists’ work now that she had finally made it to London. “I’ve
been planning it for weeks. Indeed, I hoped you might want to join
me… er….” She tried to make it sound normal that she’d expect
him to come too, but knew she sounded awkward. She’d never been any
good at prevaricating.

Foster interrupted
before she could finish. “That solves it then, doesn’t it, Missy?
You can all go together, nice and friendly like.”

Reed glanced from her
to Mr. Mason and glared.

Heavens! That was all
she needed. A
jealous
fake husband!

The investigator let
nothing of what he was thinking show on his face, but Tally was
certain he’d have preferred to guard one person at a time.

That was just too bad!
This was her outing. She was the one who had planned it and no one
was going to rob her of the pleasure.

* * *

That
had gone well
, Reed thought. He knew his wife was worried,
but at least no one had objected to his joining them tomorrow. He
must be overwrought to have imagined they might be keeping him
captive.

As for the Scot, he was
an anomaly. Reed was convinced the man was there more as a guard of
some type. He purported to be a friend of Talia’s brothers but Reed
didn’t believe it for a minute. Mason was in “on duty” mode at
all times. And there was awkwardness in every line of his wife’s
body and expression when she spoke to the man.

Reed swallowed a grin.
She really was the world’s worst liar.

“Shall we proceed to
the drawing room?” she suggested.

Talia sat there reading
to him from old newspapers they’d found in the library. Mason had
cried off, so they were just the two of them sitting in armchairs in
front of the fire in the drawing room. After each piece, she looked
at him, dark velvet eyes opened wide in inquiry. Had he recalled
anything? But so far, nothing much. A few vague flickers of memory
jiggled over certain political falderal, but nothing worthy of note.

Even so, this little
exercise was a good idea. It made Reed feel he was doing something to
help recapture his former life. Talia was looking more hopeful too.
They should have been doing this from the start.

More interesting to him
than the news was his lovely wife. Her reading voice was low and
mellow and made it difficult for him to concentrate on the stories.
It was no hardship to listen to her, or to watch her while she read.

“Too bad we didn’t
think of doing this sooner,” she voiced his very thought, after
he’d recalled that the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane, having burned
down, had been re-built and opened again. He couldn’t remember the
exact year it happened, but it was another glimmer of recollection
that gave him hope.

This time when she
looked up, he noticed weariness in her eyes. She was tiring.
Well,
what a surprise, you dolt!
She’s
been reading for over an hour and in this poor light too.

He stood up. “I thank
you, lady wife,” He offered her a courtly bow of thanks, “for
your patience with me and for ruining your poor eyes to humor me. I
think I shall go up to bed now. My mind is beginning to feel like
sludge.”

“I was pleased to do
it, sir–.”

She cut off her speech
and he realized she always avoided calling him by name. Was she so
upset with him for involving them in a dangerous situation that she
was no longer willing to say his name?

“You’ve done too
much for your first day up. Come, I’ll go up with you.” She stood
and moved to his side, silently offering her help should he need it.

Entering his room
moments later, he felt near to collapsing. She was right, he had
overdone it. Fatigue blanketed him but his shoulders were aching and
he knew he wouldn’t sleep easily tonight.

“I wonder…” He
hesitated to ask. She was fatigued too. In the end, his pain won out.
“My neck and shoulders are quite sore. I don’t know why, perhaps
it is from lying in bed so much. Would you be kind enough to rub them
for me?” He sat on the bed, noting the infernal glass of hot milk
sitting on the small bedside table. Hot chocolate milk, lately, which
would have been a slight improvement, if he were still taking it. He
hadn’t decided yet if he should tell her he no longer needed it.

Damn his suspicious
mind! He couldn’t shake the impression that something in this
household was not right. Until he knew what, he wasn’t volunteering
information without a good reason.

By now, he’d have
expected to be feeling better. He had improved a little since
stopping the milk, but still wasn’t as alert as he should be.

It must be the
lingering effects from having ingested opium for however long he’d
been like this. He still had moments of confusion and found it
difficult keeping track of time. Then again, his lack of memory could
be the culprit for those problems.

He kneaded the back of
his neck with both hands. “If you just squeeze the muscles hard, it
will help.”

She was taken aback, he
could see. He must not have asked her for this favor before. Yet some
woman had bestowed it, he recalled. The memory was maddeningly lodged
in a cloud of vagueness. Who was it, if not Talia? Images of a woman
plying his muscles with strong, sure fingers turned over in his head.
Unfortunately, her face remained hidden in the shadows of his mind.

Had he been unfaithful
to his wife? In just three weeks of marriage! Perhaps he’d given
Talia reason to doubt him. Or were those images from an earlier time
before he was married? He preferred thinking that to believing he was
a dishonest scoundrel.

He watched her from
beneath lowered eyelashes. Her face showed indecision, then resolve,
followed by determination.

Good. His shoulders
truly did ache.

“Turn over onto your
stomach, please.”

“Aren’t you going
to use liniment?”

“Oh. I’ve never…
I suppose that would help.” Looking uncertain, she paused. “Just
a moment.” She spun around and left the room at her usual speedy
clip. On her way out, she said, “I think Foster has some.”

He had to hurry because
at the pace she moved, she wouldn’t be gone long. He grabbed the
cup from the small table, moved to the open window and reaching his
arm out, tipped the contents. He set the cup back on the table and,
for good measure, shut the window. He hoped no one was checking the
vegetation.

He sat back down on the
bed and was removing his shirt, when his wife returned to stand
beside him with a dark brown bottle.

Her eyes took in the
empty cup with a swift, satisfied flicker. Then they caught sight of
his bare torso and shot open. A bright red suffused her skin. He
chuckled to himself. She wasn’t nearly as calm about viewing his
shirtless body when he was awake, as she had been when she used to
come into his room during the night, thinking him asleep, to bind his
wound. She was such a shy little thing. How had they ever made it to
the altar?

“Did you have trouble
finding some?” he asked, trying to put her at ease.

She looked grateful for
his question and shook her head with a self-conscious smile.

“I apologize for
causing you so much trouble.”

“I don’t mind,”
Tally answered. And she didn’t — she was quite looking forward to
putting her hands on his lovely bare skin, for once while he was
awake. But Foster minded. He didn’t think it seemly for her to rub
this man’s back. Nor did she, to tell the truth, but what else was
she to do? He believed she was his wife and this was what wives did,
she supposed.

If Foster’s hands
weren’t so crippled by arthritis, he’d have insisted on doing it,
but since he couldn’t, that left only her. Surely it wouldn’t
take too long to rub Reed’s back and neck to offer him some relief.

A skittish flutter
jumped in her stomach when she was about to place her hands on his
magnificent shoulders. “Can you tell me what you want me to do?
I’ve never done this before.”

“I never asked you to
do this? I wonder why I seem to recollect having it done to me.”

Probably
had women fighting each other to do it!
she mused sourly.

“I must have dreamed
it.”

“You’ve been living
abroad. Perhaps you procured such treatments there,” she suggested.

“Perhaps that’s
it,” Reed agreed. He bit his lip against the laughter that
threatened to erupt at her use of the word ‘procure’. Her tone
made obvious what kind of women she was alluding to. The kind of
women he likely had frequented prior to their marriage. Her petite,
perfect nose in the air told him her opinion of that!

Then he remembered that
perhaps he truly had dishonored his marriage vows and that was why
she was behaving so coolly towards him. He felt like a churl and was
glad he’d stifled his laughter.