The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (31 page)

He was trying so hard
to be careful and not drag it over the damp canvas that, at first, he
didn’t see what he’d unveiled. Putting down the cover, he turned
to get a good look at her work.

Utter shock glued him
to the floor.

She was painting
him
!
But… him… completely… unclothed–… Nude! Stark naked!

Tally wished their
carriage would go faster, so they could reach their destination
sooner. She was feeling hemmed in, with the three of them, Mr. Mason,
Reed and herself, crowded into a small hackney.

It was all her
pseudo-husband’s fault! He was sitting on the seat directly
opposite her. She’d have almost preferred him to be sitting next to
her. That way, she wouldn’t have to see him every time she looked
up or ahead. Wouldn’t have to steal secret glances at him and
notice his rugged chin or the way his eyes crinkled against the sun
shining through the window.

Almost preferred, that
is, if she’d been certain she could control her hand from sneaking
sideways to touch him.

He seemed so much
larger inside the carriage. His shoulders, wider. His legs, longer.
And his thighs, well, they defied description.

Noticing her glance,
his mouth lifted in a slow smile causing her insides to jangle.

Stop
it!
Stop peering at the man’s body, Tally. Stop drooling
over his impressive form. She was rarely thrown off course like this.
Too many years of too many dramas played out in her family had inured
her to most things. But today, confined in this space, she was
behaving — in
her
mind at least — like a depraved woman.

Maybe, just as Foster
had warned, she’d been spending too much time alone in Reed’s
presence. And it was muddling her normal good sense. She had to keep
in mind the dreadful yet incontrovertible fact that his intentions
for climbing into her bedroom window were, as yet, unknown.

If only Foster had
agreed to sit inside with them, she’d have had a good reason to
keep her eyes from straying frontward to glance at Reed. She’d have
had to behave herself so her observant butler wouldn’t notice her
avid interest in their uninvited house-guest.

It must be because she
was painting him. She had to study and assess his… um…
attributes, to get them right on canvas.

Maledizione
!
There was little chance she’d persuade her fierce protector of that
trumpery, when she couldn’t even convince herself. When the mere
brush of Reed’s fingers against her gloved hand, upon helping her
into this vehicle, had caused her nerves to tingle!

“Before going to the
Academy, I want to stop at Monsieur Moreau’s,” Talia told him, as
the carriage they’d hailed set off along the street. “It won’t
take long.”

He was certain a new
definition of torture was to be sitting across from his wife in this
hired hackney. Across but not alone, preventing him from hauling her
onto his lap to entice her to join him in memorable moments of carnal
delight.

His eyes fell to her
full lower lip that, even now, was being tortured between small
perfect white teeth. He’d already noted that habit of hers. It
fixed his attention on her equally perfect lips. Lips meant to be
passionately kissed.

Surely she must miss
the intimacies of their marriage bed! He did. He must! Even if he
couldn’t recall them! His body routinely made him aware of that
lack — in no uncertain terms.

He turned his head away
so he wouldn’t act on his inclinations. He wanted to lean over and
halt her lips’ nervous actions. Offer her comfort from whatever was
worrying her.

Hah! Who was he trying
to bamboozle? Himself, clearly. All he really wanted was to lie her
down and ravish her!

Impatient with his
one-track mind, he pushed back the curtains still further and gazed
unseeing out the window.

Were they alone, he
might have acted on his desires, but Mason sat beside her, his usual
impassive self. Luckily, eagle-eyed Foster had insisted on sitting
outside, up with the driver, despite Talia’s pleas for him to sit
with them.

Probably wanted to
avoid the tense atmosphere inside, the wily old coot.

Reed had been appalled
to learn they had no carriage of their own. Talia said there hadn’t
been much point because she wasn’t going about much yet. She didn’t
think they needed one at the moment, not until she had a companion
and he… She’d left that hanging, but he knew she meant once he
recovered his memory. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Damn. His
whole life was suspended, perched on the brink… waiting for his
memory to return. Waiting for something to happen.

And hers was too, it
appeared.

He wished it didn’t
feel so much like some unknown disaster was looming.

“Have I met him?”

“Met Monsieur?”

“Yes, Moreau.” He
knew he sounded irritable, but this was the second time she was
visiting the man. That he knew about! Surely a husband had a right to
be annoyed.

“No, no you haven’t.”
She threw him a sharp glance.

Was he a jealous man,
then? Was she worried he might cause a fuss?

As they approached the
man’s home, he noted it wasn’t in the best part of Town. Nor the
worst.

Another memory. He
treasured each grain of past knowledge. It felt like he was
collecting pearls to string into a priceless necklace of memories.

Talk about fanciful!
Not a very masculine image either. He supposed, if he was going to be
whimsical, he should present it to his wife, in gratitude for her
devoted care since his mishap.

“Who is he?” he
blurted out.

She gave him a veiled
look and didn’t rush to respond.

He wanted to shake her
and demand an answer.

“He’s my teacher.”
She paused again then, as if she couldn’t hold them back, words
came tumbling out. “He said he’d be here when I got to London.
But that was over two weeks ago and he’s been away ever since. I’m
becoming quite concerned about him.”

So, the other day, she
hadn’t met
Monsieur
,
as she called him. He was ashamed of the relief that swept through
him. That he lacked such confidence in himself, or had so little
trust in her, bothered him.

Her teacher, she said.
Teacher of what?

Just then the carriage
stopped and he peered out at the building that looked more like a
shop than a home. The place was shut tight. His wife’s shoulders
drooped. Her face fell.

Why was this visit so
important to her?

“Does he travel
much?”

“Yes, he travels
frequently for his work, but not usually far away and he never makes
empty promises. He knows how important this is to me–” she cut
herself off. Her anxious glance told him she worried she might have
revealed too much.

“What does he teach
you?”

“Art.” Her tone did
not encourage further questions.

Ah, a studio, not a
shop.

Having seen her
portrait of him last night, he knew she took her art seriously, but
it was clear to him she no longer needed lessons, so why was seeing
her teacher so important? Maybe this Moreau had promised to escort
her about the city. And if, as Mrs. P had confided, her cousin had
not arrived to be her companion, as expected, she must be weary of
being trapped in the house.

But it sounded a lot
more important than a mere matter of getting out and about. His wife,
he was discovering, was not a frivolous female. She cared little for
the usual frills and furbelows many women thought important.

“I see.” He really
did see. He recognized she had a rare gift. It was natural for her to
want... need… to push it ever further. That, he understood.

“Shall we go on to
the Exhibit, then?” he suggested.

“No!” she sounded
quite vehement. “Not yet.” She softened her tone, almost
pleading. “I want to get out, to see if there is any sign of his
having been home recently.”

He wanted to advise
against it, didn’t see the point, but the determination in her face
kept him quiet. Foster had already opened the door and was waiting
for them to alight, showing he knew his mistress better than Reed
did. Making a what-can-you-do face at Mason, Reed stepped down first
and held his hand out to assist Talia’s descent. Mason followed.
The hackney moved on, to stop further along the road where it would
not be in the way of other vehicles.

“Thank you.” She
released his hand quickly.

He swallowed his hurt.
Obviously, it was going to take time to win back her trust. Again, he
wished he knew what crime he’d committed to cause such wariness in
her.

Mason walked close
beside her as she approached the house, his head slowly turning to
take in all directions, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings.

Foster ambled along
behind the two. Reed followed at the back, not wishing to be left
behind. He also admitted to himself he was curious about this Moreau,
she so keenly sought.

As expected, no one
responded to her knock. She went to the window and used her hands to
cup her eyes as she bent to peer inside. He didn’t think she’d
see much. It was encrusted with grime from the road spatter of
continuous traffic on a small city street.

“Missy!” Foster
called. “Look, here.”

Reed suddenly became
aware of Foster’s continued use of Talia’s maiden title. Perhaps
the old man was unable to make that change after taking care of her,
almost like his own child, for many years. Or did the butler
disapprove of Reed so much he refused to acknowledge his mistress’
new status?

Talia went back to the
door and took the paper Foster handed her. It had been jammed behind
the knocker.

“Another one?” She
looked at her faithful servant in puzzlement. “That’s odd.” She
unfolded it to read.

If Reed thought her
crestfallen before, it was nothing to her reaction now. Her eyes
welled with tears and she quickly lifted a shaking hand to cover
them.

“What does it say?”
He wanted to hit anybody who hurt her like this!

Straightening her
shoulders, she adopted a spurious, cheerful tone “Well, that’s
that. Looks like Monsieur is still away. Today, the note says he had
to go to France for a funeral.” There was utter disbelief in her
tone.

“But, surely he would
have–” he stopped abruptly. Shut up, man, what do you know about
this teacher? At the moment, you don’t even know who your own
parents are! He put his hand beneath her elbow to lend her his
support, wishing he could remove the pain of betrayal she must be
feeling.

She turned her head to
look at him, a cynical gleam in her gaze. “The other day, there was
another note that said he went to help a sick friend. But the writing
was different. Neither note is in Monsieur’s handwriting.” She
looked at Mason. “Please. Something must be done.”

The Scot nodded
reassuringly. “It will.”

Reed wanted to insist
he’d be the one doing the reassuring, doing the something to find
the missing Moreau. He turned away sharply to conceal his expression.
He didn’t want to worry her more at the moment. Didn’t want her
to see his despair. How could he help her, when he didn’t even know
the first thing about himself? How could he resolve his wife’s
problem when his own blank mind loomed so large?

“Good.” Pasting a
patently false smile on her face, she said, “Right then, shall we
continue on to the Exhibition?”

The bleak look that
settled in her fine eyes, made clear how important Moreau was to her.

Reed gestured to Foster
and Mason indicating they were ready to go, and the two men began to
move toward the carriage.

If he hadn’t already
realized that Mason was a hired bodyguard, he’d have known at that
moment. The man crowded past him and Talia to lead the walk back to
the vehicle and he was again looking from side to side, clearly on
the watch for trouble around them. And if his obvious vigilance
hadn’t revealed it, the lump in his coat pocket made it clear that
the Scot was carrying a gun. He started up the street toward their
carriage.

A sudden, low rumble
from above the little incline at the top of the street, where the
road narrowed, raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Alarm bells
went off in his head. The sound was moving fast and getting louder.
Suddenly, charging around the corner, a large, covered cart came
hurtling toward them, directly in line for his wife.

He turned swiftly to
her. She stood stock still, frozen in place, eyes huge in her
horrified face. Praying he wasn’t too late, he leapt across the
space between them, seizing her and carrying her forward across the
narrow street, to land with her body squashed against the wall
opposite, with him crammed tightly against her back. He felt the
whistle of the cart brush past behind him, narrowly avoiding skinning
his calves and the heels of his boots.

They stood immobile,
both breathing deeply, shocked by their near miss. He was glued to
her back, supporting himself with a forearm against the wall, unable
to budge. He remained this way for several stunned seconds more
before alarm gave way to a different threat.

Her shapely little body
fit snugly against his, increasing his need to capture more air into
his lungs. Despite the danger having passed, his heartbeat hadn’t
slowed down an iota. Just being this close to her was cause enough.
Although he’d lost his memory, he knew with certainty that he’d
never before reacted like this to any other woman.

She stirred in his
protective embrace, jolting him back to awareness of their
surroundings. Though time had slowed, surely only seconds had passed.
He heard Mason and Foster yelling, warning everyone along the street
to get out of the way. All were in danger of being flattened by that
wildly lurching, run-away cart!