Читать книгу The Secrets Of Wiscombe Chase - Christine Merrill - Страница 11
ОглавлениеLily was going to faint again. She could see the black dots gathering before her eyes as Stewart stepped forward towards Captain Wiscombe’s outstretched hand. Now, of all times, she must not lose her senses. The dizziness came from holding one’s breath and denying oneself of air. It was a bad habit of hers and she must learn to break it if she did not want to appear frail and unworthy to her heroic spouse. She forced herself to take the breath that would clear her head. The resulting gasp was loud enough to be heard by the entire room.
Stewart started like a rabbit. But Captain Wiscombe ignored it, even though he must have felt the couch shake with her quaking knees.
She had nothing to fear in this meeting, or so she’d been telling herself for most of the past seven years. Before he had left her, Mr Wiscombe had been kindness itself. He had been gentle with her, considerate of her feelings and almost as frightened of the idea of marriage to her as she’d been of his chances in the army. The Gerald Wiscombe she remembered had been more likely to be harmed than to cause harm to another. She would explain to Gerald what had happened. He would understand and arrange a quiet separation.
But it was foolish to think of the man beside her as the same person who had left. He had not just been transformed by experience. He had been transmuted into another being. There was nothing left of the pudgy, scholarly boy who had stammered out a proposal to her. The soft brown hair had burned blond in sunlight and wind had given it a casual wave. In contrast, the skin of his face had darkened and the features had sharpened to a hawk nose and cleft chin. The grey eyes set beneath his furrowed brow were bright and as hard as flint.
He was still wearing the dashing red coat of a dragoon, with gold at shoulder and sleeve. And somewhere, there had to be a sword. By the resolute look on this man’s face, it had seen good use. If he decided to punish those who had wronged him...
‘Stewart, isn’t it?’ His words stopped her breath again. He knew her son’s name without being told. ‘That was my father’s name, as well.’ He favoured the boy with the same harmless smile he had used on Ronald. But there was an ironic note in the statement that was hidden so deeply she could not be sure that it existed outside her imagination.
Stewart swallowed nervously. Then he smiled back and nodded.
Now the captain was touching her boy, taking him by the shoulders and turning him side to side to give him a thorough examination. She tensed, waiting for his reaction. ‘You look very much like your mother.’
Was that meant to be ironic, as well? Or was it only she who noticed the way it focused attention on the lack of similarity between the boy and the Wiscombe family?
Why was he, of all people, not surprised to see this child? While the rest of the world might think it quite normal that she had a son, she must now face the one man in the world who would have questions.
And yet, he was not asking them. He was pretending to be simple and pleasant Gerald Wiscombe, and behaving as if he had expected this meeting all along. He had known the name of her boy because someone had told him. But who? How much had he been told? And how much of what he thought he knew was the actual truth of the situation?
Now he was questioning the boy in languages and receiving the sort of indifferent responses one could expect from a very young child who enjoyed the countryside more than the classroom.
When he had tried and failed to answer yet another simple question put to him in Latin, Stewart’s limited patience evaporated. ‘I am much better at mathematics than at Latin. Mama says that you are, too. Would you like to hear me do my sums?’
For the first time since he’d arrived, Captain Wiscombe’s composure failed him. He might have known of Stewart’s existence. But clearly he had not prepared himself to face a living, breathing child who was eager to give him the hero’s welcome he deserved. His overly bright smile disappeared, as did the bitterness it hid. Stripped of his armour, she caught a glimpse of the awkward boy who had proposed to her, trapped in a social situation he was ill-equipped to manage.
Then the facade returned and he clapped the boy on the shoulder. ‘Your sums. Well. Another time, perhaps. Now run along back to the schoolroom and leave the adults to their talk. I am sure you have a nurse or a governess about who is supposed to give you your dinner.’
Stewart hesitated, staring at the captain with a hunger that could not be filled by his dinner tray. But Wiscombe saw none of it, or at least pretended he did not. Now that he’d made his acknowledgement, his interest in the child had disappeared as quickly as it had arisen.
Her son shot a hopeful look in her direction, as if pleading on her part might earn him a reprieve.
She gave him a single warning shake of her head and a slight tilt of her chin towards the stairs. Captain Wiscombe was right. Until they had spoken in private, Stewart was better off taking tea in the nursery.
Once the boy was gone, her husband turned his attention to Ronald. ‘I expect you have somewhere to be, as well.’
‘Not really,’ her brother replied with a bland smile. Now that he’d had time to recover from the shock of seeing Wiscombe, her brother’s sangfroid had returned.
‘Might I suggest you find somewhere?’ Her husband was smiling, as well. But there was a glint in his eyes that promised mayhem if his orders were not obeyed immediately. Then he softened to harmlessness again and threw an arm around her, hauling her into his lap. ‘After seven years away, it is not unreasonable that I wish to be alone with my wife.’
The sudden feeling of his arms tightening under her breasts and the rock-hard thighs beneath her bottom sucked the wind from her lungs and she was seeing spots again. Breathe, she reminded herself. Just breathe.
When she’d mastered her panic, she found her foolish brother was smiling in agreement as if he expected Captain Wiscombe was seeking immediate privacy so he might mount his wife in a common room. Could he not see that the gullible young man they’d roped into this union had returned as a dreadnought?
‘Then I will leave the two of you alone,’ Ronald said with a wink to Captain Wiscombe, treating her as though she were not even in the room with them. ‘Do not worry, Lily. I will see to the dinner arrangements and tell the guests of the captain’s arrival.’ Then he disappeared, shutting the door behind him, totally unaware of the storm about to break when her husband gave vent to his true feelings.
‘Yes, Ronald. Go and see to your guests. Inform them of my presence. I hope you remember to tell them enough about me so they can pretend that we share an acquaintance.’ Now that he was gone, her husband made no effort to hide his scorn for her brother. She could feel his muscles tensing like a great cat gathering before the spring. Then he shifted, dumping her back out of his lap and on to the cushion at his side.
Lily moved as well, sliding to the far end of the small couch to put as much distance between them as possible. Never mind breathing, it was impossible to think when he was touching her. Even when he was not, she could feel an aura of virile energy emanating from him, raising the hairs on her skin.
Or perhaps he was simply angry. She rushed to fill the silence before the fear of him could suck the breath from her lungs again. ‘If company is not to your liking, we will send them away immediately.’
‘But that would be most rude,’ he replied in a soft, mocking tone. ‘And above all things, I would not want to be thought rude. Tell me, wife, who are my guests? I do not like being the last one to know what is going on in my own home.’
‘Mr and Mrs Carstairs...’ she began hesitantly.
‘And they are...?’ He made a coaxing gesture with his hand.
‘A businessman from London, and his wife.’
‘What is his trade?’
‘I believe he is an ironmonger.’
‘A wealthy one, I presume.’
She cleared her throat. ‘I believe so.’
‘Who else, then?’
‘The Burkes and the Wilsons, also of London.’
‘And also cits?’
‘Yes, Captain.’ How quickly she had fallen into the role of loyal subordinate. But there was something about the man that commanded respect, even in a private setting such as this one.
‘Others?’
‘Sir Chauncey d’Art and his friend, Miss Fellowes.’ She hoped he did not wish her to speculate on the nature of the friendship. Though she had provided two rooms for the couple it was likely that only one of them was getting use.
‘Is that all?’
‘No, Captain.’ She wet her lips. ‘We are entertaining your neighbour, the Earl of Greywall.’ He was the last person she wished her husband to meet. All the more reason that they should clear the house as quickly as possible.
‘Greywall.’ There was another moment of blank vulnerability before his smile returned and he counted on his fingers. ‘If we add you, your father and brother, there are twelve.’ The smile became a lopsided grin. ‘Now that I am here, there shall be thirteen at dinner. I expect it will be quite unlucky for somebody.’
Lily threw caution to the winds and reached to touch his arm, adding a smile warm enough to melt butter. If she used her imagination and all the talent she had inherited from Father, perhaps she might persuade him that she was glad to see him home and had not been dreading this moment for most of the time he’d been gone. ‘Unlucky? Surely not. We are all fortunate to have you here.’
For a moment, it actually seemed to work. He softened and looked ready to cover her hand with his. Then he remembered that she was nothing more than a fraud and pulled away with a frustrated sigh. ‘Really, madam. If you must lie to me, try not to be so transparent about it. The facts are these—your father and brother tricked me into marriage with you for their own ends and never intended for me to return. In giving me that commission, they thought they were sending me to my death. And you—’
‘I’m sorry.’ She blurted out the words before he could finish his sentence. ‘Despite what you think of me, I am glad that you are safe.’ She was relieved, at least. For years, she had been too afraid to pray for his return. But that was not the same as wishing him ill. Just as he had said in jest, she’d prayed for his safety each night.
‘Are you?’ His expression hardened. ‘Then you are more foolish than I thought. After I am satisfied that you’ve paid for what they have done to me, I mean to put you and your family out in the street. The guests, as well. And your precious Stewart will be the first to go.’
She was feeling light-headed again, images impending of exile and humiliation swirling in her mind. But this time, she was not alone in her suffering. She had to be strong for Stewart. She took another deep breath and cast down her eyes to assure him she was beaten. ‘It is within your right.’
He laughed. ‘What? You are not going to plead for your safety? I would have thought, at least, you would have a word of defence for our darling boy. Are you not going to beg me? Tell me I am hard-hearted to turn the product of our love off the property he is heir to. Why, when I think of that one night of passion we shared...’
‘Stop!’ She could not bear his mocking a moment longer.
‘Do you remember it differently?’ he said, innocently. ‘It has been so long. Perhaps I am mistaken. If so, tell me the truth of it now.’
She could not speak. Her tongue was frozen in her mouth, unwilling to speak the truth.
‘Talk!’
If this was what he brought to the battlefield, it explained his success. His command was stronger than the fear that kept her silent. ‘We shared no night,’ she said, choking out the words. ‘Only a brief ceremony, the breakfast and two separate rooms at the inn. We did not lie together. The next morning, you were gone.’
He nodded. ‘I promised I would not come to you until we knew each other better. To be gone so soon and with no guarantee of a future...it did not seem fair to either of us.’ For a moment, he sounded almost wistful for the innocents they had been.
Then his voice hardened. ‘When I think of how it was, in those first months... I carried a miniature of you, everywhere I went. I kissed it each night at bed and before battles for luck. I was pure as a monk, waiting for the moment when I might come back to you. I wrote you dozens of letters. There was not a single response.’
She had been too upset to write. At first, she had been angry at him for being so foolish as to fall for the plan, going to what was likely certain doom. She was ashamed of herself as well, for obeying her father when she had known what they were doing was wrong. Later, she had been ashamed for other reasons and angry at him for leaving her alone and defenceless.
He did not notice her discomfiture and went on. ‘When a commanding officer came to me, less than a year later, with the good news of the birth of my son?’ He laughed at this, as though it were a ribald joke in a brothel. ‘I did not have to feign surprise. We all went to a cantina, where I had to pay for the wine so they might drink my health, and to the health of my good wife and heir.’
He had known, almost from the first. It explained why his letters to her had stopped. ‘When you stopped writing...I thought you had died.’ Would he believe that she had cried over him? Probably not. But she had.
‘That news was the making of my career,’ he added. ‘When a soldier has no reason to fear death, it leads to the sort of recklessness that makes heroes. Or corpses,’ he added. ‘I do not like to think of the men under my command who lacked the damnable luck of their leader.’
She’d felt bad enough knowing that he might lose his life because of Father’s scheming. But to think that others had been affected and that she was in some way responsible for their fates made her guilt even heavier. ‘I am sorry,’ she said again.
‘So you keep saying,’ he said with a mocking smile. ‘Tell me now. The truth, for once. Were you with child when we married? Was that the reason that your father rushed to unite us?’
‘No!’ There was much wrong between them, but she did not want to claim a fault that was not hers. Then she saw the change in his expression and knew that it would have been kinder had she lied.
‘So you admit to cuckolding me.’ He shook his head again. ‘Were you really so sure I would die that you did not think I might return to see the consequences of your infidelity?’
The answer to that was very nearly yes. But it was so much more complicated than that. How could she even begin to explain? Having to talk about it at all was bringing on one of her headaches. She rubbed her temple and tried to concentrate. ‘At first, I did not know what to do. I barely understood what was happening to me, much less what to do about it. The longer I did nothing, the easier it became to go on as I had started.’
‘How well does it work for you now?’ he asked, staring at her as though she had confirmed his low opinion of her. ‘And do not apologise to me again. There is no apologising for what you have done.’
There was an explanation. But it had been years since that night. What proof could she offer him that she spoke true? She took a breath and squared her shoulders. ‘At least the waiting is finally over. You will do what you will do. I do not have to imagine what that might be. My only request—’
‘You have no right to request anything of me.’ Once again, she heard the command in the voice and understood how the boy she had married had become a hero.
‘I will do so, all the same. My son is not at fault. If there is kindness in your heart at all, do not let the punishment fall on him.’
‘You mean, on your bastard?’
She had been foolish to hope for better. ‘My son,’ she repeated softly. ‘If you cannot mete out both shares of the punishment to me, then give me time to tell him the truth before he hears it from another.’
‘He does not know?’ For a moment, his anger was replaced by surprise.
‘No one knows,’ she said. ‘A few people closest to me might guess. But no one is sure, other than you and me.’
‘Not even...’ He was wondering about Stewart’s father.
He had been so drunk that night she doubted he even remembered what he had done. She shook her head. ‘No one knows. And Stewart is far too young to understand. All his life, he has been fed on stories of the heroic father he has never met. To find that it is a lie... It will come as a shock.’ This was not true. It would be utterly devastating to him.
‘His heroic father,’ the captain said with bitterness. ‘And who is that man? I wish to congratulate him and make him aware of his responsibility. Or are your affairs so numerous that you cannot fix on a single name?’
She did not think he had the power to hurt her with mere words, but the question stung like a slap to the face. ‘There was but one man and one night. I could point to it on a calendar, if you wish.’ Not that she needed a paper record. The date and time, down to the minute, had been burned into her memory. The clock in the hall had been striking twelve as her life was ruined.
She shook her head, which was still ringing. ‘I will not tell you his name. Nor will I tell Stewart. You are the only father he has ever known. He had been learning to read by following the news of your battles. His first toy was a wooden sword. He has entire battalions of tin soldiers and sets them to fighting each other at every opportunity. His only ambition is to grow to be as brave as you have been.’
‘That is no doing of mine,’ he insisted. But there was a gruffness in his voice that hinted at emotions other than anger. And then the brief flicker of sympathy vanished. ‘You should not have lied to him.’
‘Nor could I have told him the truth.’ It was an awful enough story to carry on her own. She had no desire to taint the boy’s life with it. ‘I told him a partial truth at least. You are brave and worthy of his admiration. If he meant to create an idol, he could do much worse than you.’
‘Do not think to flatter me,’ the captain said. ‘It will not work.’
But neither did it seem to be doing her any harm. This time, he had been the one to look away, as though her praise made him uncomfortable. ‘It is not flattery if the statement is truth.’
‘I didn’t return to this house seeking your approval,’ he snapped. The tenuous connection she’d created was gone. His gaze locked on hers again as his suspicion returned.
‘I know that,’ she said quickly. ‘You owe me nothing and you need nothing from me.’ But she could not believe it was in his nature to be cruel, even to an enemy. And certainly not to a child.
Suddenly, his look held speculation. ‘On the contrary. I owe you much. I vowed before God to protect you. I do not like to break my word.’ His voice did not sound kind. But neither was it as sharp as it had been.
Had she said something to change his mind? What had it been? She grasped at the opportunity. ‘I made promises to you, as well,’ she said, softly. ‘And I have broken them. You deserved to find a virtuous wife waiting for your return. I failed you. I have failed Stewart, as well. If you could help me in any way...’
It had been too much to ask. He’d flinched at the mention of the boy’s name.
She tried another way. ‘If, once you have decided my fate, you could at least allow me enough time to speak to him, to try to tell him the truth gently, before...’ Before they were turned out of the house, as he had threatened before. It was no less than she deserved. The only consolation she might find in it was that her brother and father would follow her in banishment. After seven years, this charade would finally be at an end.
Captain Wiscombe did not answer. He was staring at her in a way that made her even more nervous than before. His eyes held the same curious intensity that her father’s sometimes did when he found a pigeon ripe for plucking.
Since she had no choice in the matter, she stood his scrutiny in mute embarrassment.
At last, he spoke. ‘There is another possibility.’
She fought down the urge to agree without waiting for an explanation. Sometimes, she suspected she was far too obedient for her own good. It was quite possible that what he planned for her might be even worse than the humiliation she would experience when the truth about Stewart was revealed.
‘You said I needed nothing from you.’ His hand reached out to her, his fingers brushing her cheek. ‘That is not precisely true.’
She could not help it. She shuddered. Part of it was nerves. But there was something else, something about the look in his eyes that raised other, more pleasant feelings in her. She was being touched by the dashing hero whose exploits she had followed for years. In person, he was even more handsome than she had imagined him. And he wanted her help. ‘What do you wish from me?’
He smiled. ‘What does any man wish from the woman he has married? Loyalty, my dear. Thus far, you have given me every reason to doubt that I have yours.’
Loyalty? That was disappointingly mundane. But it was also easily accomplished. According to The Times, Captain Gerald Wiscombe inspired devotion in all who knew him. She would much rather obey him than her less-than-honourable father. She dipped her head in consent. ‘Despite appearances, you have my complete allegiance, sir. Let me prove it to you.’
‘You will have to,’ he said, ‘if you wish to remain in the house even one more night.’
‘Anything you want, I will get for you,’ she said. ‘What do you require?’
He was still looking at her with an intensity that sent chills down her spine. ‘What do I want? Satisfaction. Reparation. Revenge. I have done my duty, in service of my king. I have seen things that no man should see and done things I would never have thought myself capable of. But I survived, madam. Though your father and brother thought they were sending me to my death, I survived. Now I mean to make them pay for what they have done. Are you with me, or against me?’
‘With you, of course,’ she replied without hesitation. Hadn’t this been exactly what she had longed for? Someone to come and make her family regret its selfishness? It would be her pleasure to help him.
‘You answered very quickly. It is as if you didn’t think about it at all.’ He nodded in mocking approval. ‘Do you expect me to believe you without question?’
‘You are my husband,’ she said. ‘By the laws of man and church, I must answer to you in all things. My father and brother have no say in the matter.’
‘Just as you no longer have a say in what will happen to my son,’ he said, with a wicked smile. ‘The fact that you bore him does not give you the right to decide his future. You are but a woman and I am the head of the house.’
‘Your son?’ Her heart stuttered eagerly. Did he mean to claim the boy?
‘You have declared him so,’ the captain reminded her. ‘If you did not wish me to have power over him, you should have told the truth.’
‘What do you mean to do with him?’ she said, suddenly afraid.
He fixed her with an insincere smile. ‘If you do as I say? Nothing so terrible. When we have cleared this house of your family and their accompanying friends, I will find a school for the boy. He will start as soon as it can be arranged and will remain there over summer and for holidays as well. He will be perfectly safe, fed, clothed and cared for. But he will no longer live in my house, pretending to be my blood. Until the time comes for him to go, you will keep him out of my sight. I do not wish to be reminded of his presence.’
She had known that school was in Stewart’s future, but not for a few years, at least. He was still so young. This was not education, it was banishment. Stewart would be crushed when he realised that the father he worshipped could not bear the sight of him. And when he was gone, she would lose the only unsullied love she had ever known.
He had noticed her silence. ‘It will not be so different from my own childhood,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘My father sent me to Eton when I was eight. I stayed between terms when he was away from the house. I grew to prefer it to home.’
‘Stewart is much younger than that,’ she said in a whisper.
He gave her a pitying look. ‘Surely you did not expect that we would remain together as a happy family.’
‘Of course not,’ she lied. But he was the hero of Salamanca. She had been hoping for a miracle.
‘Well, then you understand that I am being more generous than most men in this position.’
She nodded, for it was true. But she did not care. She needed more than this. Boarding school was an improvement over the immediate exile he had been threatening less than an hour ago. If he was given time to get to know the boy, she must trust that his mood would soften even more.
‘Will you stand with me, or against me?’ he said.
‘With you, of course,’ she said, eager for the chance to prove her worth to him. ‘I am yours to command.’
‘Very good,’ he said with a nod. ‘I am glad we have an understanding.’
He stood and walked towards the door. Then he stopped and turned back to her again, placing his index finger against his chin as though there was some point they had forgotten to discuss. Then he smiled, as if the idea had suddenly come back to him. ‘We have not yet discussed what is to become of you, after all is settled.’
‘Me?’ The word came out in a squeak, like a mouse that had just been caught in a trap.
‘There is more to being a wife then parroting “yes” each time I ask a question. I expect you to share my bed, as well.’ He’d added it in an offhand manner, as though it was a minor consideration, hardly worth mentioning. ‘You will submit to me whenever I request it. I will use you as I please, when I please. If I tire of you, I will abide no fussing or tears. Under no circumstances will you be taking admirers of your own. I said I wanted loyalty, my dear, and in the bedroom it will be absolute.’
His eyes narrowed in satisfaction at her look of shock. ‘The alternative is that I turn you from the house this very day. There will be no time for niceties. You will leave with your whelp and the clothes on your back, and the devil take you both.’
The fear of that was clearer and more immediate than anything that might happen in the captain’s bed. She gave a hesitant nod.
He nodded back at her, the old, harmless smile returning. ‘Very good. I knew we could come to an understanding, if we had a few moments alone to talk.’
She fought against another shiver. If she thought about it, she would realise that this meeting had gone better than she could have hoped. Stewart would be safe. She would be rid of her family. And as long as he had a use for her, she might keep her place as lady of the house. It was not the stuff of fairy tales, but it never had been.
More importantly, this was Gerald Wiscombe ordering her to his bed. If she searched, she might still find traces of the gentle, awkward boy who had postponed the consummation of their marriage to spare her feelings. At the very least, he was an officer and a gentleman, not some uncaring brute. If she did what he asked of her, he would not hurt her just for the sport of seeing her suffer.
He was also the hero of Salamanca.
Half the women in England swooned at the mention of his name. In their midnight fantasies, they offered themselves to the gallant and heroic Captain Wiscombe, thanking him for his service with their bodies.
Would it surprise him to discover that his wife was no different? That she felt a dark thrill at his command to submit to his desires? If he had meant it as a punishment, he would be just as likely to reject her again, should she seem too eager for his attention.
She stood so that she might look him in the eye and pretend that it did not matter to her if he wanted her or not.
Then, as if to prove just how false her bravery was, he pulled her forward into his arms and kissed her hard upon the lips.
It was over just as quickly. But fantasy paled in comparison. He had told her with a single kiss that he was her lord and master and she had responded as if she longed to be ruled by him. When he released her, she fell back into the cushions of the divan, weak from the sudden loss of control over her body and her future. Before she could comment, he rose, walked out of the room and left her alone.
