The Secrets Of Wiscombe Chase. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter Three

      Lily 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