took it from her. It was old, gold and engraved with the crest of the Marquis of Hatherton, one of Jamie’s titles, proof that it was his.
‘May I ask how you come to have it in your possession?’ he enquired, handing it back to her. ‘Jamie’s body has not been found and I find it difficult to imagine he would have removed it from his finger. It holds great significance and meant a good deal to him. He would not have left it lying around.’
‘You are quite right to question me about it—and to be suspicious about how I come to have it,’ she said, seemingly not in the least offended by what his words implied, but the worried look Ross had seen in her eyes earlier was still there and he suspected she would be relieved when his visit was over. ‘But when Jamie and I married he was unable to obtain a wedding band so he gave me this until the time when he could give me a proper ring.’ Looking down at it a wistful smile touched her lips. ‘It was far too big for my finger,’ she said softly, ‘but he insisted that I should take it.’
‘You will understand,’ Ross said, ‘that your letter informing my uncle of your marriage to Jamie came as a shock to him—as it did to the whole family.’
‘I can understand that,’ she replied, her voice quite calm, without surprise, as if she read his thoughts correctly. ‘If they think I wrote the letter to stake my claim, they are mistaken. Jamie’s death was a great shock to me also. Before I wrote to the duke I had already come to the conclusion that you would all be perfectly right to dislike me, and to consider me either a usurper or an imposter.’ Taking the documents from him she placed them back in the bureau. ‘I assure you I am neither of those things, Colonel Montague.’ Her eyes held her visitor’s for an instant before looking away.
Ross wished he could say making pre-conclusions were stupid, but found that he could not. Yet there was no shadow in her eye, no tone in her voice, that gave him reason to believe she was anything other than what she claimed to be. Jamie’s wife.
‘Jamie did tell me something of his home and his family. I am looking forward to meeting them.’
‘Yes, the Montagues are a fine family.’
She bent her head, and Ross had a shrewd suspicion it was to hide a smile. ‘I am sure they are, Colonel. Do you think I could pay them a courtesy visit? Would that be appropriate?’
For the first time since entering the house, Ross smiled. ‘I am sure that could be arranged.’ He got up to take his leave. ‘I shall inform my cousins of our meeting. I am sure Giles will be contacting you.’
Ross had much to think about when he left the house. His mind was split in two conflicting directions. One direction made him wonder how much it had cost her to write to his uncle, the Duke of Rothermere—to make the swing from pride to humility.
For the first time since his cousin had gone missing, he found himself blaming Jamie for Alicia’s situation. If she was indeed his wife, then considering the kind of work he was doing, surely he could have taken some thought for the future. In war sudden death could come at any time to anyone. He must have known that by making no provision, he left his wife to his family’s mercy, to their charity. A letter home to his father would have spared all this.
The other direction reminded Ross that as a born sceptic, he wasn’t entirely convinced about the validity of Alicia’s claim. There were too many questions left to be answered for his comfort. It had been obvious from her manner and speech that her background was respectable, but was she clever enough and ambitious enough to raise herself from a lady’s companion to a marchioness and ultimately a duchess? Or was she as she seemed to be—not ambitious, and innocent of any deviousness?
Another thought cast doubt. The Jamie he knew would have written to his family informing them of his intentions—could he really have been so blinded by his love for Alicia it had robbed him of all rational thought?
As soon as the Arbuthnots had left for Brighton, dressing simply and neatly in her most suitable gown and bonnet, Lisette presented herself at Mannering House in Bloomsbury. She was greeted at the door by a stiff-faced footman in dark green livery. On requesting to see the housekeeper he showed her into a glittering entry hall and told her to wait.
Feeling terribly nervous her gaze scanned the impressive hall. Never had she seen the like. This house surpassed her wildest imaginings. In magnificent splendour a marble staircase rose gracefully to the upper floors. A vase of sweet-smelling blooms beautifully matched and arranged had been placed on a side table beneath a huge gilt mirror. Folding her gloved hands at her waist, her body stiffened when, on looking up, she saw Colonel Montague.
She studied him as he slowly descended to the hall—his broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest and narrow waist—before lifting her eyes to his darkly handsome face. In a linen shirt, tight-fitting riding breeches and polished tan boots, every inch of Ross Montague’s tall frame positively radiated raw power, tough, implacable authority and leashed sensuality.
For what seemed an eternity, she stood perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, struggling to appear completely calm, clinging to her composure as if it were a blanket she could use to insulate herself against this man who disturbed her like no other. His gaze was steadily fixed on her and on reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused and they stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.
She watched him in fascination as he approached her at a leisurely pace. Her heart skipped a beat. He was certainly the stuff of which young ladies’ dreams were made.
Looking down at her, Ross noted how tense she looked. Her beauty caught him like an unexpected blow to the chest. ‘Miss Lisette Napier. How very nice to see you again. You had no difficulty finding the house?’
Her eyes were alight with pleasure and she glanced around her. ‘Not at all. It is a wondrous house,’ she said softly. ‘You might have warned me.’
‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see Castonbury Park. So you are here to take up your position as my sister’s maid?’
The deep, velvet tones of his cultured voice made her stomach flutter. ‘If I am considered suitable,’ she replied, giving a slight curtsey.
He smiled slowly. His guarded stare travelled over her, noting the gentle flush mantling her cheeks. He didn’t think he would have much persuading to do to make her succumb to his desire. The young beauty was not the expert that he was at hiding her feelings.
‘Since I am to be the man who pays your wages, Miss Napier, your interview with Mrs Whitelaw is a mere formality. It is my considered opinion that you will be perfect for the post.’ He lifted one eyebrow slightly after his words, as though challenging her to question them.
Lisette’s knees knocked beneath her skirts, threatening to give out as she faced Ross Montague in all his male magnetism. ‘I want to thank you again for thinking of me for the position,’ she murmured. ‘It was … generous of you.’
‘Generous?’ he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high.
‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth into her chest. She ignored the odd sensation with a will, lowering her gaze. ‘I am extremely grateful. When Mrs Arbuthnot told me I would have to look for work elsewhere—and at such short notice—unaccustomed as I am to this huge metropolis, I confess I found the prospect of going from door to door seeking another situation extremely daunting.’ Colonel Montague shocked her when he touched her gently under her chin. She
