In the Spinster's Bed Read Free

in case he has need of me, and completely overlooked by the ton. Even the Duke of Hart never comes to his castle. It’s the perfect place to vanish for a while.” More perfect with Belle here. “He assured me you could find me a suitable place to let.”
    Wilkinson frowned. “And your wife?”
    “Will be remaining in London, of course. In fact, I wish to arrange matters so discreetly that she—that no one—knows where I am.”
    Wilkinson’s frown deepened.
    “Don’t worry. She won’t miss me.”
    “That’s not what I’m concerned about, my lord.” Wilkinson hesitated, moistening his lips. “I merely wondered if perhaps your presence in Town might keep her from further, er, unfortunate activities.”
    God! If only that were the case. “It hasn’t yet.”
    “Yes, I see. But you will let your family know your whereabouts? I’ve heard your father’s not well.”
    His father had been well enough to bellow at him for close to an hour just four days earlier. “The duke has returned from death’s door too many times to count. It’s not as if I’m the heir, after all.”
    In fact, his arrival had been an unwelcome accident. Father got Albert and Oliver within two years of marrying the duchess. William came along ten years later, and his birth had caused the duchess’s death. No one had ever forgiven him for that.
    “Both my brothers are hale and hearty. I expect they’ll live another twenty or thirty years.”
    “Still, you will wish to be able to be found quickly should anything happen to the duke.”
    Spoken like a bloody solicitor. “I merely propose to leave London, Mr. Wilkinson. Not the earth—or even England.” He forced himself to smile. No need to get sharp with the man. “John will know how to reach me. Now tell me, is there anything for let in the village? Nothing ostentatious. A small place will do very well.”
    “Yes, of course. I know you can rely on John. Now as to a place . . .” Wilkinson shook his head, picking up his quill and twirling it between his fingers. “There’s really nothing suitable.”
    “Nothing at all?” There had to be something.
    Wilkinson shifted in his seat. “Well, Charles Luntley, the village music teacher, will be leaving for a while. His mother has taken ill, so he’s going home to oversee her care.”
    “Perfect! I can even cover his lessons for him while he’s gone, if he’d like.”
    Wilkinson’s eyes widened. “You’re a musician?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, but I’m competent with the pianoforte.” He’d learned the basics as a boy, and in recent years he’d found that music took his mind off his disastrous marriage.
    “But, Lord William, Luntley rents only a small room from the Widow Appleton. There’s barely enough space for a bed and a chair.”
    “I don’t need more than that.”
    “And the widow is old and almost blind.”
    “That’s fine. Good, in fact. I assume Mrs. Appleton’s not one to ask prying questions?”
    “Lord, no. She’s deaf as a post. As long as you pay your rent on time, my lord, she’ll leave you alone.”
    “Splendid.” He started to rise, and then paused. “Oh, and since I’m trying to drop out of sight, I think it best if I’m simply Mr. Wattles from now on.” Hopefully Belle would not spread his title about. “The fewer people who know my identity, the better. Indeed, I’m afraid I must ask you to keep it secret even from your sister.”
    “Jane is very discreet, but—” Wilkinson shrugged. “Women sometimes do talk. I see no reason why I need to involve her in this.”
    “Excellent. So may I ask you to arrange matters?” William took out his card. “Here is my direction in London. If it meets with your approval, once I have moved into Luntley’s place, I will tell Morton to contact you if he has need of me. That way he can truthfully tell anyone who asks that he has no notion of my whereabouts.”
    Wilkinson blew out a long breath, clearly not enamored of the plan. “Very well,