The Improper Wife Read Free Page A

“Please.”
    “Stay where you are.” He lifted the table and brought it to the side of her bed. “There’s some light ale, too.”
    Before his hands released the table, Maggie grabbed for the meat pasty, not even able to utter thanks. It was still warm from baking and fragrant of cooked beef and buttery crust. She held it in both hands and took bite after bite after bite.
    His huge hand fastened on her wrist, stopping her. “Go slowly,” he ordered. His grip was firm and his skin rough, from soldiering, she imagined. “Chew carefully. You want to keep the food down.”
    He did not release her, so she did as he commanded, looking into his face and forcing her jaws to rise and fall at the pace of a snail.
    He gave her a curt nod when she swallowed, and released her wrist. She attempted a smaller bite, licking a crumb from her lip. She glanced at him again.
    His brow furrowed. She took another bite.
    “Drink some ale.” He handed her the tankard.
    She dutifully took a sip, but quickly bit into the meat pasty again, chewing slowly and deliberately, conscious that he watched her every move.
    The bit of food only whetted her appetite. She remained ravenous. He handed her the tankard again, and the ale cooled her throat.
    “Forgive me,” she said after gulping the ale. “I must seem wholly without breeding.”
    He frowned. “When did you last eat?”
    She shrugged, having no wish for this man to know the extent of her miserable circumstances. “Two or three days. Maybe four, I cannot recollect.”
    He stared at her with eyes the color of cold steel.
    He reached for the remaining meat pasty and brought it halfway to his mouth. Unable to help herself, Maggie’s eyes traced its progress.
    “Deuce.” He scowled, but handed it over to her.
    She ought to refuse, but . . . She took it and forced herself not to gobble it down this time.
    “Finish the ale,” he said.
    Maggie obeyed, though she hardly required him to tell her to fill her stomach. By the time she placed the tankard down on the table, she felt pleasantly full. She lay back down next to her baby. Dear baby! She touched his soft little cheek. His mouth made sucking movements as he slept. She smiled.
    The man cleared his throat. Maggie looked up.
    He sat in the chair with his legs crossed. “Madam,” he said. “I regret there is not the means to be properly introduced, but might I know who the deuce you are and why you knocked on my door?”
    “Your door?” She blinked in confusion, resting her cheek against the baby’s head. “My husband’s door, you mean.”
    “No.” His voice was patient. “
My
door.”
    She struggled to sit up again. “Sir, are you in my husband’s employ?”
    He barked out a laugh. “I dare say not.”
    She released an exasperated breath, but attempted to sound polite. “I do not perfectly understand why you are in my husband’s rooms.”
    He raised an eyebrow. His eyes remained flinty. “I do not perfectly understand why you should think these your husband’s rooms.”
    “His regimental offices gave me this direction.”
    His face relaxed, and his mouth turned up at one corner. “Ah, regimental inefficiency. That does explain it.” He rose and crossed the room, picking up a bottle and raising it to the light to check its contents. He paused, ready to pour the liquid into a glass. “Who is your husband, by the way? Perhaps I know him.” He glanced back at her.
    “John Grayson.”
    He started, spilling the brandy. “The devil he is.” His voice deepened with anger.
    Maggie regarded him with alarm. “I assure you, sir, my husband is Captain John Grayson.”
    He strode to the side of the bed, his gray eyes glinting. “Madam.” He spoke in even and measured tones, as if humoring a lunatic. “
I
am Captain John Grayson.”

Chapter
TWO
    M aggie’s blood felt as if it had turned to ice. “This is a cruel jest, sir.”
    “Jest? I assure you, madam, this is no jest. I am John Grayson.” His eyes flashed.
    She