Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception - Christine Merrill - Страница 11

Chapter Two

He did not remember her.

Justine de Bryun stopped just beyond William Felkirk’s door and tried to contain the excitement and relief she felt at this convenient amnesia. She must channel that tangle of emotion into an appropriate response for a woman whose husband had awakened like Lazarus, before someone saw and questioned her. Felkirk had asked more than enough questions during the difficult conversation that had just occurred. She did not need more questioning from the duke and duchess. At least not until she could discover a way out of the mess she had created.

Penny was waiting for her, a little way down the hall, trying to pretend that she was not interested in a description of what had happened, when she and William had been alone together. She must try to come up with something that was not a total lie. Since coming here, she had lied too much to her hostess and felt guilty each time. What had Penny ever done to deserve such treatment? From the first, the duchess had offered the hand of friendship and the sympathy of a sister.

While Justine had reason enough to hate the Felkirk family, there was no reason her animosity need extend to a woman who had married into it. Nor did it feel right to hate the heir, who was nothing more than an innocent babe. The duke, who was the true head of the family, had been kindness himself as well and earned some measure of forgiveness.

That left only William Felkirk. His meddling in her affairs had earned him the whole share of any punishment for the family’s past sins. His slow recovery had been more than sufficient to satisfy her desire for vengeance.

It had been too much, if she was honest. Her father had died a quick death. But William Felkirk had lingered on the brink for months, wasting away in endless sleep. On several occasions, she’d been surprised to find herself praying that God would be merciful and release him. When the prayers had gone unanswered, she had given him what Christian comfort she could.

Or she had until the moment he’d awoken and begun causing trouble again.

Penny was coming towards her now, hands outstretched, ready to celebrate or console, as was needed. Justine discovered she did not need to dissemble much, for her lip actually trembled in what was likely the beginning of tears. Once again, she was alone and helpless in a situation she had done little to cause and was not able to control. While the Duchess of Bellston did not appear to wish her ill, Justine had seen how quickly supposed friends became enemies when they knew one had nowhere to turn. She must be on her guard. ‘He does not know me,’ she said, softly, glancing back at the bedroom behind her. ‘And he does not believe we are married.’

The duchess enfolded her in a motherly hug. ‘There, there. It will be all right, I’m sure. Now that he is recovering, it will only be a matter of time before he recalls what you once were to each other.’

‘Of course,’ Justine answered, as though that was not another reason for tears. Felkirk’s total absence of memory was the best news she’d had in ages. He had forgotten the worst of it and she might still escape punishment. One could not be complicit in an attack on a noble family and avoid the gallows. She had known her fate was sealed the day that she had found him on the salon floor in a pool of blood. Even if she had wished him ill, William Felkirk both recovered and amnesiac was a gift straight from God.

Of course, it also meant he could not recall the things she actually wished to know. And that was most vexing. Without that, why had she bothered to save him?

Penny patted her shoulder. ‘As soon as he has recovered his strength, you can return to the old manor. That is his house now and will be yours as well. We will be less than a mile away if you need us. Familiar surroundings will have the memories flooding back in no time.’

A flood of memory was the last thing she needed. Moving to Felkirk’s own home would draw her even deeper into the ruse she had created. They would be alone, with no duke and duchess to help her deflect Lord Felkirk’s endless questions. ‘It will be quite different, being alone with him there,’ she said, trying to keep the resignation from her voice.

‘We will be just down the road,’ Penny replied cheerfully. ‘We can come for visits or for dinner, as soon as you are ready to receive us.’

They would come, and leave again, before bedtime. Justine would be left to manage the nights, alone with a strange man who would expect more than nursing from a beautiful woman who claimed to be his wife. What had he said to her, just now? You are not going to pretend that you are unaware of the effect you have on men.

Montague had said something similar, when he had informed her of what her future would be. Now, it would be happening all over again. When he was unconscious, William Felkirk had been as pale and beautiful as a statue. But awake she could see the virile strength that had been dormant. The blood was returning to his lips and the observant blue eyes turned on her already sparkled with interest. Soon there would be another, very male response to her presence in his bedroom. She could not help herself, she shivered.

Without a word, Penny slipped the shawl from her own shoulders and wrapped it around Justine. ‘You are tired, of course. You have worked so hard to make him well again. And it has not turned out as you expected.’

‘No, it has not,’ Justine admitted. She had assumed, no matter what she did to prevent it, he would die. She would enter the sickroom some morning to find the patient stiff and cold. It had made her search all the harder for evidence of her father, or a sign that he had delivered the jewels he’d been carrying, when he’d died. If she could have got her hands on them, she might have disappeared before anyone discovered her lies.

Then, it had occurred to her that, if William Felkirk died, it might be easier just to stay as she was, allowing the duke and duchess to comfort her in her mourning. Montague would not dare tell his half of the truth, for fear that she would tell hers. In a year, when she’d cast off her black, there might be holidays, and summer, and a Season in London with balls and parties...

And where would that leave Margot? As usual, the thought doused all happiness like cold water. How unfair was it that any thought of her beloved little sister should be wrapped in negatives?

As they walked down the hall and towards the main stairs, Penny continued to chatter on, filling the tense silence with descriptions of a happy future that could never be. ‘Above all, do not worry yourself over his behaviour today. I am sure he loves you. But the truth was quite a shock to him.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘The doctors said there might be changes in his character, because of the accident.’

‘True,’ Justine agreed. How could she tell? She knew nothing of his character, after only one brief meeting. When he had entered the shop, she had thought him handsome and pleasant enough. But his initial smile had faded, when he’d realised who, and what, she was.

Penny sensed her unease and added, ‘He will remember you, in time, I am sure. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I am sure you are right.’ The words were true, even if the smile that accompanied them was not. He would remember her. She must be long gone before that happened, even if it meant returning to the life with Montague that she had hoped to escape.

They were at the door of her bedroom now and she gave the duchess a light kiss on the cheek to prove that it was, indeed, all right. ‘I think I should like to lie down before dinner.’

‘Of course,’ Penny replied. ‘Now that your husband is better, you must take care of yourself. And you will want to look your best for him, should Will be able to come to down for his meal.’

Justine smiled and nodded, and prayed he would not. It would mean another inquisition, nearly on the heels of the last one. She needed time to plan and create answers for the questions he would ask. She wasted no time, once the door was closed. A moment’s hesitation might cause her to doubt the wisdom of what she had done so far. And that doubt would lead to weakness, and eventual doom. Had not bitter experience taught her that only the strong survived?

She would be strong, even if it meant that she would not be happy. She went to the bedside candle and lit it, carrying it to the little table in front of the window, where she was sure it could be seen from a distance.

It was still burning when she left the room for dinner.