Counterfeit Lady Read online

  “I’ve never been drunk in my life,” she said with all the dignity she could muster.

  “Here, eat this,” he commanded, thrusting a thick slice of bread at her, the top liberally coated with fresh butter.

  She gave her concentration to eating.

  After filling a basin with warm water, Clay took a cloth and began washing the cut on her thigh. He was bending over her when the door opened.

  “Mr. Clay, where have you been all night, and what are you doin’ in my kitchen? You know I don’t like things like that goin’ on.”

  The last thing Clay needed was another lecture from a woman who worked for him. His ears were still ringing from Janie’s tirade. She’d screamed at him for a solid hour because he’d been writing a letter of explanation to Bianca to be sent on the frigate that was just leaving while Nicole was lost in the woods.

  “Maggie, this is my…wife.” It was the first time he’d said the words.

  “Oh,” Maggie grinned. “Is this the one Janie said you lost?”

  “Go back to bed, Maggie,” Clay said with great patience.

  Nicole turned around and looked at the large woman. “Bonjour, madame,” she said, and raised her piece of bread in salute.

  “Don’t she speak English?” Maggie asked in a stage whisper.

  “No, I doesn’t,” Nicole said, her back to Maggie but her big brown eyes flashing.

  Clay stood up and gave a look of warning to Nicole before taking Maggie’s arm and leading her to the door. “Go back to bed. I’ll take care of her. I assure you I am quite capable of doing so.”

  “You sure are! Whatever language she talks, she looks about as happy as any woman can get.”

  A glare from Clay made Maggie leave the kitchen, and he went back to Nicole.

  “I guess we are married, aren’t we?” she said as she licked the last of the butter from her fingers. “Do you think I look happy?”

  He stood up, emptied the dirty water into a wooden bucket, and refilled the basin. “Most drunks are happy.” He began again on her thigh.

  Nicole touched his hair, and he lifted his head to look at her for a moment before bending again to his work. “I’m sorry you didn’t get who you wanted,” she said quietly. “I didn’t really do it on purpose. I tried to get the captain to turn around, but he wouldn’t.”

  “I know. You don’t have to explain. Janie told me everything. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to a judge, and you’ll be able to go home again very soon.”

  “Home,” she whispered. “Those men burned my home.” She stopped and looked around her. “Is this your home?”

  He straightened. “Part of it.”

  “Are you rich?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “No.” She smiled at him, but he turned away to get a skillet from the side wall of the enormous fireplace. Quietly, she watched as he melted butter in the skillet and fried half a dozen eggs, putting another skillet into the fire and adding several slices of ham. Buttered bread went onto a griddle.

  Within minutes, he set a long platter of hot, steaming food beside her on the table.

  “I don’t believe I can eat all that,” she said solemnly.

  “Then maybe I can help you. I missed supper.” Lifting her, he set her in a chair before the table.

  “Did you miss it because of me?”

  “No, because of me and my temper,” he said as he dished out a plate of ham and eggs for her.

  “You do have a terrible temper, don’t you? You said some very unkind things to me.”

  “Eat!” he commanded.

  The eggs were delicious. “You did say one nice thing,” she smiled dreamily. “You said I know how to greet a man. That was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

  He stared at her across the table, and the way he looked at her mouth made her blush. The food was clearing her head somewhat, but something about being alone with him, the warmth of the brandy through her body, made the memory of the first time she’d met him very vivid. “Tell me, Mr. Armstrong, do you exist in the daylight, or are you only a nighttime ghost, something I’ve created?”

  No answer came from him as he ate his food and watched her. When they were finished, he took the plates away and poured more water into the basin. Without a word, he put his hands under her arms and lifted her back onto the table.

  She was very tired, very sleepy. “You make me feel like a doll, like I don’t have any arms or legs.”

  “You have them both, and they’re all dirty.” He took one of her arms and began soaping it.

  She ran her finger along a crescent-shaped scar at the side of his eye. “How did you do that?”

  “I fell when I was a kid. Give me your other arm.”

  She sighed. “I was hoping it was something romantic, like you got it in your Revolutionary War.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I was only a boy during the war.”

  She ran one soapy finger along his jaw line and then his chin. “Why haven’t you ever married?”

  “I did. I married you, didn’t I?”

  “But it’s not real. It wasn’t a real marriage. You weren’t even there. That man Frank was. He kissed me, did you know that? He said he hoped I didn’t marry you, because then he could kiss me some more. He said I had an upside-down mouth. You don’t think my mouth is upside-down, do you?”

  With his eyes on her mouth, he paused as he was washing her, and when he started soaping her face he still didn’t speak.

  “No one ever told me it was ugly before. I didn’t know.” Tears began to gather in her eyes. “I bet you hated kissing me. I know it felt funny, not at all like it was supposed to feel.”

  “Will you stop talking?” Clay commanded as he finished rinsing the soap off her face. Then he saw that more tears were gathering in her eyes and realized the food hadn’t sobered her up much after all, or at least he hoped it was the brandy and that she wasn’t so silly all the time. “No, your mouth is not ugly,” he finally said.

  “It isn’t upside-down?”

  He dried her arms and face. “It is unique. Now, be quiet, and I’ll take you to your room where you can sleep,” he said, swinging her into his arms.

  “My flowers!”

  Sighing, he shook his head and bent so she could get the flowers from the table.

  He carried her outside, into the main house, then up the stairs as she snuggled against him quietly. “I hope you stay like this and don’t become that other man again. I’m going to stop stealing, I promise.”

  He didn’t answer as he opened a bedroom door on the second floor, and as he put her on the bed he realized that her dress was still quite damp. When he saw her eyes close in weariness, he knew she’d never be able to undress herself. Cursing under his breath, he began to undress her, aware that there wasn’t much of the dress or the delicate chemise left. When the buttons gave him trouble, he tore the fabric away.

  Her body was beautiful. She was slim-hipped and small-waisted, and her breasts lifted impudently. He went to the dresser to get a towel, all the while cursing the situation. What the hell did she think he was made of? First her thigh, and now he was supposed to treat her like a child and dry her. But she certainly didn’t look like a child!

  Clay’s vigorous rubbing woke Nicole from her sleep. As she smiled at the pleasant sensation, he roughly pulled the light quilt back and put her under it, letting out his breath when she was out of view. He turned to leave the room, but she caught his hand.

  “Mr. Armstrong,” she said sleepily. “Thank you for finding me.”

  Bending over her, he smoothed her hair from her face. “I should apologize for causing you to run away. Now, go to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  She didn’t release his hand. “Did you hate kissing me? Was it like kissing an upside-down mouth?”

  There was a little light coming into the room, and Clay guessed it was nearly morning. Her hair was spread out over the pillow, and his memory of kissing her was far from unpleasant. He bent to