A Husband's Wicked Ways Read Free

monumental deception as this was impossible.
    She shook her head again, more vigorously this time. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
    Greville inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I don’t really expect you to take my word for it. But I hope you will take Frederick’s.” He reached into his coat and withdrew a packet. He tapped it lightly against his knee, looking at her with that same slight frown in the gray eyes. “This is from your husband. It was sent to you at Farnham Manor. I went there in search of you…Frederick assumed that you would still be there. With your daughter…?” He raised an interrogative eyebrow. “Frances, I believe is her name. Franny, Frederick called her…she must be about six now?”
    Aurelia said nothing, just gazed at him with all the fascination of a mesmerized rabbit.
    “Anyway,” he continued, when it seemed clear she was saying nothing, “I went in search of you and was told I would find you both here, in Cavendish Square. This”—he gestured with the packet—“was delivered to you a few days ago…your staff were preparing to send it on here by the mail coach.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I saved them the trouble.”
    “Do you seriously expect me to believe that my staff gave you mail addressed to me without so much as a murmur?” Aurelia demanded. It was insultingly laughable for him to expect her to swallow such a tale.
    “I had impeccable credentials,” he said quietly. He reached again into his coat. “They recognized this…as I’m sure you do.” He held the object out to her on his flat palm.
    She took it automatically and gazed at it in open-mouthed incredulity. It was Frederick’s signet ring, the seal of the Farnhams embedded in the gold. She looked up and stared at Greville. “How did you get this?”
    “Frederick gave it to me. He thought you might need proof of my story.” A mobile eyebrow lifted. “It seems that you do.”
    Aurelia looked at the ring again, holding it up to the shaft of fading light from the long windows. She knew it was her husband’s, she could feel his presence somehow. Did that mean that this entire farrago of deceit and lunacy was not a tissue of lies?
    “If that packet is indeed addressed to me, perhaps you should give it to me,” she declared, her wordslaced with sarcasm. She held out her hand imperiously.
    The colonel did not immediately hand over the packet. “There are two things inside. One is for you, a personal communication from Frederick, the other is for the War Ministry. I cannot permit you to see that, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
    “Assuming I believe this lunatic story, why would Frederick send me something destined for the War Ministry?” she inquired, the sarcasm still heavy.
    “The situation was desperate. We were under attack, and there was considerable doubt as to whether we would make it through. It was vital that this document reached the right hands. Frederick had the idea to send it to you…a destination that would draw no attention.” He leaned forward and dropped the packet in her lap. “I imagine the letter to you will explain all you need to know.”
    Aurelia turned the packet over between her hands. The writing was definitely Frederick’s, although it was not in his usual beautiful and forceful script. The letters were untidy, the ink slightly smudged as if written in haste. As indeed he would have been if this story was true.
    “You survived the attack,” she stated without expression.
    “Yes,” he agreed simply.
    “But Frederick did not,” she said softly, trying to absorb anew the knowledge of her husband’s violent death. She had grieved for his loss once, and now it seemed she must do so again.
    “No,” her visitor said, watching her closely. “He was killed in a skirmish with half a dozen French soldiers. But by then we had entrusted the packet to an ensign to take to one of the ships in the harbor that were waiting to evacuate the survivors of General