The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (32 page)

Damn it to hell! He
should be helping, not standing here befuddled by lust for his wife.
He backed away from her.

Blast! His hand went to
his wounded shoulder. His stitches had probably opened. It hurt like
the devil, but there was no time to think about that. He retreated a
few more steps, keeping a steadying hand at her waist. “Are you all
right?’’

He heard her take a
shaky breath. She nodded wordlessly, her face still tucked up against
the wall, as if she needed it for support.

He cast a quick glance
up the road from where the cart had come. He didn’t want any more
unpleasant surprises to catch them off guard. He was torn between
staying to keep her safe from any other danger, and hastening after
the cart to ensure others weren’t hurt. “Stay here. I’ll go–”

He’d thought her too
shocked to speak, but suddenly, letting out a startled, “Oh!” She
turned and began to run in the direction the cart had taken.

His hand reached to
stop her, but she shrugged it off. Over her shoulder, she cried,
“Quick. We have to catch up to that wagon. There might be something
in it that tells us who sent it careering toward us.”

Ah… His wife was not
the timid miss he might have expected of a reserved young lady. The
shock of almost being run over hadn’t dulled her brain. He picked
up the pace without bothering to respond.

She
was some woman!

Together they ran down
the street, following the path Foster, Mason and the cart had taken.
Reed made it round the next bend moments before she did and
immediately came to a stop. He had no time to warn her, so she ran
into his back. He reached behind to prevent her from bouncing off him
and falling backwards.

Undeterred, Tally
darted a look around him. “Heavens!” She stared at the cart, now
turned over on its side, smashed against a building, the entire front
of it in splinters. The huge pitchfork in Mason’s hand was
explanation enough. He’d headed it off. He must be a fast runner to
have outpaced it!

Loud squabbling voices
resounded around them, as irate and frightened men shouted at each
other. Alerting Foster, who was standing watching the mayhem, Reed
put a warning finger to his lips. He took her hand and led her to the
back of the wagon wreck. He stationed her beside the wall and with a
quick, “Warn me if someone comes,” he ducked into the back of
what was left of the cart.

She wished she could
stop the trembling that had taken over her limbs. She felt like
plopping down to sit on the street, though the filth that coated it
was deterrent enough.

Her husband… her fake
husband! ... was, it seemed, a man of action. In all senses of the
word! She blushed at her brash thoughts. This was no time to be
thinking about such things!

She was lucky he
reacted rapidly in times of crisis or she’d have been crushed...
pulverized under the cart’s wheels! No man she knew possessed the
fortitude to remain that calm in the face of such a dramatic episode.

Well, Mr. Mason,
naturally, had retained his composure. But he was a professional, a
hired bodyguard. After Reed had leapt to her rescue, she’d taken a
frightened look around and caught the Scot’s rapid glance to
reassure himself they were safe, and then he’d run after the cart.

Even Foster, ever her
stalwart protector, was slowing down in his old age and his reaction
had not been as immediate as Reed’s. As for how the twins would
have responded… They’d be cursing passionately in Italian about
the idiocy of the cart owner, their hands gesticulating as fast as
their mouths were moving, yet doing nothing to either prevent it from
hurting any one else or to find out why it had almost killed them in
the first place.

She looked down and
noticed her soiled gloves for the first time. If this was the worst
of it, she’d gotten off lightly. She glanced at the back of the
cart. What was he doing in there?

Suddenly, she
stiffened. Had he recalled he was a thief? Was he busy robbing the
cart of its contents?

Well, she didn’t plan
on standing by for that kind of behavior!

She was about to say
so, when he backed out and bent to peer under the cart, then at the
splintered front wheel. She just had time to see that his hands were
empty of any loot, before he grabbed her elbow and quietly motioned
Mason and Foster to join them. “Best we leave now.” He nodded
toward the belligerent crowd. “The mob is becoming restive.”

“Did you find
anything?” she asked.

He gazed at her in
silence for a few moments, as if deciding what to tell her. “There
were only huge, muddy boulders in the cart. Not the kind used for
building.” He looked at Mr. Mason. “Do you know of any use for
such large rocks in London?”

The Scot frowned. “None
that I can think of, at this instant.”

“Another thing,”
Reed added reluctantly. “The shafts had been cut, allowing the
horse to escape and the cart to plunge freely down the hill.”

“In other words, this
was not an accident.” Tally had known it. From the moment she’d
seen the wagon charging down the hill, aiming straight for her, she’d
known this was another attempt to kill her. She’d thought that this
time they were going to succeed... until Reed saved her.

“I’m afraid so.”
He looked concerned and at a loss to understand why anyone would want
to kill her.

What could she tell
him? That when he came through her window, she thought he might be
trying to do the same thing? She looked around at the gathering
crowd. “Let’s discuss this later, when we get home.”

“Right.” He kept
his hand at her elbow and they all walked quietly back toward the
hackney that, despite the furor, had remained patiently waiting for
them. Probably the most exciting event the driver had witnessed in
years!

Back in the carriage,
Reed said, “Perhaps you’d prefer to go home now?”

She sent him a sharp
look. Was he just being solicitous or did he sense danger, thanks to
something lying latent in his lost memory? “No!”

The startled looks on
the men’s faces told her she’d overreacted. Quieting her tone,
she said, “I’ve been looking forward to this Exhibition and it
ends today.” It took more than a close-call with her own mortality
to stop her from wanting to see her first London art show at the
Royal Academy! She wasn’t going to pass up the chance to see what
other painters were accomplishing.

Besides, though she
couldn’t tell Reed this, whoever was trying to harm her could just
as easily reach her in her home as on the street. Witness his
climbing through her bedroom window! The art exhibit may very well be
the safest place for her, right about now.

Mr. Mason looked as if
he’d like to object. Foster, who had agreed to ride inside with
them now, was looking glumly resigned.

After lifting an
inquiring eyebrow at them and receiving no negative outcry, Reed
said, “Then so be it.” He flashed his roguish smile at her. “Far
be it from me to refuse you such a treat.” He waved his arm
expansively. “To the Royal Academy!”

Who had made him master
of this outing? Tally fumed. For a man who was unable to recall even
his own name, he was being rather high-handed

Clenching her teeth,
she railed silently. She couldn’t very well say anything. He
believed he was her husband and had the right to make decisions for
her. And she supposed she should give him credit for having just
saved her life, even if she didn’t appreciate him trying to rule it
now.

Just the kind of man
she didn’t need… or want, she reminded herself. Domineering, just
like her brothers and her father! She’d had enough of being told
what to do, she seethed, conveniently forgetting she had compared him
favorably to the twins no more than five minutes ago.

He might be the most
gorgeous man she’d met in ages. Fine… that she’d ever met! But,
judging from today’s events, he was far too managing to suit her.

* * *

Today they were going
to confront Reed. It was past time they found out exactly what was
going on in that house, Jace had decided. He’d summoned Max to
arrive early, to act as his lookout and sound the alarm should
trouble arise.

About fifteen minutes
ago, he’d seen almost all the occupants board a hired carriage and
leave. He was glad the rest of them were gone, but he’d have
preferred it if Reed had remained behind alone. Now, even the
housekeeper and young boy had just left by the back door and headed
up the lane, shopping baskets in hand.

Good. At least, this
way, he could do a thorough search of the premises.

He had his vagrant’s
disguise on again, as he slowly made his way up the lane to the back
of Reed’s house. Suddenly a vehicle entered from the other end,
forcing him to duck into the one of the recessed posterns and watch.
A small one-horse wagon, holding two workers, stopped right behind
Reed’s place.

Oh, for the love of…!
More people to keep an eye on! He began to leave his hiding spot,
thinking to saunter ahead and strike up a chat, when it occurred to
him that something wasn’t right about this. Why would laborers
appear as soon as everyone had left? He edged closer, keeping to the
shadows.

Just as he thought!
They were up to no good. One went in a window and came to unlock the
door for the other.

His suspicions now
confirmed, he settled his back against the neighbor’s wall, thick
with ivy, to wait and watch. He didn’t have to linger for long.
They were out again in less than ten minutes. What had taken so
little time? All his senses on alert, he signaled Max — acting as
sentry at the end of the lane — to follow them. Now, he needed to
get in and out, without his lookout to warn him of someone coming.

He entered the same way
they had, through the window left slightly ajar. Was there someone
helping them from the inside? Perhaps the new man, the red-headed
giant, who had just joined their household? Jace hadn’t been able
to get a good look at him yet, but he had noted a few new men hanging
around at night and Max told him there were now several men watching
the house during the day and the carrot top met with them regularly.
Jace had asked the Chief to get one of their agents to look into
that.

Slowly, methodically,
he made his way along the back hallway and around the ground floor.
It was hard to believe that the odor of turpentine and oil paint
still permeated the house despite Reed being away for so many years.

Just when he thought
that things appeared normal and perhaps they’d just come in for a
look around, his eye was snagged by something red in the drawing-room
fireplace. He bent for a closer look. The unusual-looking cylinder
stood out, though efforts had been made to conceal it under some
kindling. The crimson color of the cardpaper it was made of had
caught his eye.

Picking up the package,
with its twisted ends like some crude homemade fireworks, he undid
one end and shook out some of the black, sand-like contents.

Gunpowder! Holy Hell!
The whole place would have gone up like a pyrotechnic display at
Vauxhall! The Vanisher wasn’t taking any chances it seemed. He’d
planned on making sure the house and all of its contents —
including all its inhabitants — were burned to cinders.

An adult might have
noticed the odd package but not the young boy who — if the fiends
were watching the house carefully, as they must be — they would
have known was responsible for the task. Once he lit the tainted
kindling, it would have only taken a matter of seconds before the
fireplace exploded, followed by a huge inferno. There was little
doubt it would have trapped everyone above or below stairs.

The Vanisher had found
Reed. Not only found him, but was actively trying to eliminate him.
Shards of ice slid down Jace’s spine. Thank God, he’d asked Max
to follow those men.

Rolling the cylindrical
container into his handkerchief, he stuffed it carefully into the
large pocket on his jacket. He could have left then. He figured he’d
averted inevitable catastrophe, but something in his gut told him to
continue his inspection. He knew what to look for now.

He found the second
cartridge in the fireplace in Reed’s room, at the front of the
house. The bastards weren’t taking any chances! But they’d
seriously miscalculated in thinking that Reed wouldn’t spot their
explosive. He had the most observant eye Jace had ever known. Maybe
it was his painter’s eye, but one thing was certain, Reed would
have noticed the colorful cylinder almost immediately upon entering
his room.

Even so, Jace felt
sickened. Tinder like this would have been sufficient to set the
entire house aflame, and so rapidly it would have been well nigh
impossible for anyone to make it out safely, especially if they were
on the top floor.

That reminded him to go
have a look up in the studio. Once there, he went directly to the
fireplace. Nothing. They’d decided not to waste more gunpowder.
Anyone up here when the explosion occurred downstairs would have been
trapped, with no chance in hell of survival.

Hey…. It looked like
Reed had already begun painting again. He sure hadn’t wasted any
time! Jace hadn’t been able to see up here with the telescope, so
he hadn’t known. Was that why that misbegotten miscreant hadn’t
arranged to meet them? Such artistic passion was to be admired. But
he should have delivered the documents first!

Despite his annoyance
at Reed, curiosity pushed him to the easel, where he lifted a corner
of the cloth covering the canvas to steal a peek.

A landscape? A view of
St. Paul’s…. He snorted. That bandage around Reed’s head must
be genuine. He had to be truly dicked in the nob to change his style
so drastically.

He looked closer. Not
that it wasn’t good… incredibly good, in fact… but it didn’t
look anything like what he’d seen of his friend’s artwork.