The Complete Regency Surrender Collection. Louise Allen

       Chapter Six

      There was a moment of shocked silence in the room, after William Felkirk’s sudden retreat. Even the child was quiet, other than to heave a wet sigh of relief. And then all started for the door at once.

      ‘I will go,’ said Justine in as firm a voice as she could manage. Apparently, it was strong enough. Everyone relaxed. Even the duke took a step away from the door and offered an equally quiet, ‘Of course. It must be you.’

      She did not particularly want to follow, if it meant being alone with Lord Felkirk again. His refusal of her on the previous evening had come as a relief. She had half-feared, even before receiving Montague’s orders, she might have to feign affection for a man she wanted no part of.

      While nursing him, she had not bothered to think too much about the character of the man she was caring for. The feeding, washing and changing of linens had been little more than a series of tasks to be completed. It was good to be busy and to occupy her mind with the routine of duty.

      But that was over now. Tonight, she might have to lie still in his bed, her own thoughts and fears clamouring loud in her head, while he did whatever he wished...

      She had hoped for continued indifference, for at least a little while longer. If they could live as strangers for a while, she might think of some way to escape before the inevitable occurred. But he had been watching her, all during dinner, and in the parlour as she’d worked. And he had been smiling. Although it was better than his continual suspicion, it had been the sort of warm, speculative smile she had seen on the faces of men before. It was likely the first step in a chain of events that would lead to the bedroom and trap her even deeper in the lie she had told.

      She put the fear of that aside as she went out into the hall. At the moment, he needed her. He needed someone, at least. His wife would be the logical choice to offer comfort. The poor man had quit the room like a wounded animal after his godson’s rejection. Even with the complications it would add to her life, she could not abide the sight of suffering.

      ‘Wait!’ She needn’t have called out after him. She caught him easily, for he’d had to struggle with the crutches and his own limited strength. He’d travelled as far as the end of the hall to the little, round mirror that hung there and was staring into it, as though expecting to see a monster.

      She came to his side, allowing him to know her presence by her reflection. ‘You must not think too much of that. Billy is normally the most agreeable of children. But even the best babies can take fright when they are startled.’

      ‘Have I really changed so much?’ Will touched his own face, as though doubting what he saw.

      ‘Not really.’ Much as she did not wish to admit it, he was even more handsome than he had been in Bath. His hair was as black as ever, except for the small streak of white near the scar. His skin, pale from illness, added to his dramatic good looks. And the easy smiles and relaxed manners he used at home were much less intimidating than the distant courtesy of the gentleman who had walked into the shop wishing to speak with Mr Montague about a crime committed in Wales nearly twenty years ago.

      She had taken an instant dislike to him, for bringing up a subject that was still very painful to her. But amongst his family he seemed younger and more open. He had barely smiled at her and she had not yet seen him laugh. But she could see by the lines around his mouth and eyes that he did so, and frequently. He seemed like a most pleasant fellow. It was a shame to see him doubt himself now.

      ‘When you went away, after the christening, Billy was too small to know you,’ she assured him. ‘Since I brought you home, he has seen you often, but never with your eyes open and never standing up. You frightened him because he does not understand the change.’

      ‘Neither do I,’ Will said softly, almost to himself. Then he added, ‘He has no reason to fear.’ He turned to look at her, as though to reassure her as well. ‘I am not such a great beast, once you get to know me.’

      She fought back her fears and laid a hand on his arm. ‘He will learn that, in time.’

      He gave the barest of nods. ‘I hope you learn the same. I have not treated you very well, since I have awakened. But everything is so strange.’ He turned back to the mirror, staring into it as though he expected to see something in her reversed reflection that was not apparent when he looked directly at her.

      She resisted the urge to search her own face in the glass. How should one look, at a moment like this? She had learned for most of her adult life to be good at dissembling. But was anyone this good of an actress, to pull off such a stunning performance for an audience of one who would be watching her closely, searching for clues that might lead him to his own truth?

      For her sister’s sake, she had no choice but to try. She gave him a hopeful, watery smile and managed a single tear to indicate that her heart was too full for words. It gave her a few more moments to compose her thoughts before speaking. ‘I do not fear you,’ she lied. ‘And I understand that it will take time before you can feel truly yourself again.’

      ‘I am told my recovery thus far is thanks to your care.’ His brow was still furrowed as he repeated what must be rote acknowledgements of the situation as it had been told to him. ‘But in truth, madam, I can remember nothing before yesterday, of you and our marriage. Please enlighten me. How did we come to be together?’ His questions today lacked the accusatory tone of yesterday. He was not so much demanding answers, as honestly curious. It was as though he expected Scheherazade with a story so captivating he could not resist.

      What could she tell him that would set his mind at rest? ‘You arrived in Bath, after the crocuses were finished blooming, in May,’ she said, trying to focus on a happy memory.

      ‘In what month did we marry?’

      ‘June,’ she replied. It was a fine month for weddings, real or imaginary.

      ‘Adam said we married in Gretna.’ He said this almost to himself, as though calculating miles between the points.

      ‘But we met in Bath,’ she repeated, searching for a likely story. ‘We met in a shop.’ It was true. But she could not exactly tell him it was Montague and de Bryun, Purveyors of Fine Jewellery. ‘I taught needlework, in a school for young girls. I wished to sell some of the handiworks there.’ Hadn’t that been her dream, at one time? To make a modest living with her hands.

      ‘What was I doing in a lady’s haberdashery?’ he said, obviously surprised.

      ‘You followed me there, I think,’ she said, smiling at her own carelessness for choosing such an outlandish meeting place. ‘I saw you enter the shop and everything changed.’ That was very true. But it had not been for the better.

      ‘You were taken with me?’ Apparently, his ego had not been damaged, for she saw the slight swell of pride.

      ‘You are a most handsome man.’ Again, it was truth. She remembered the little thrill of excitement she’d felt, at seeing such a dashing man enter the salon. It was followed by the crashing realisation that he was a Felkirk.

      ‘And what did I think of you?’

      That had been obvious as well. She had introduced Mr Montague as her employer. But William Felkirk had seen the low-cut satin gowns she wore and the possessive way Montague treated her and known that her duties for the man were not limited to modelling the wares they sold. Then his lip had curled, ever so slightly, with contempt. ‘I think you felt sorry for me,’ she said, wishing it were true.

      ‘So I offered to rescue you from your dreary life?’ He raised an eyebrow.

      ‘I