Page 59 of Secrets of the Heart

Therefore, he could not conduct himself in the easy manner that he had adopted as James Hobson, so he found himself trapped in the same stiff, distant relationship with her that he had always had. Having known that ease with her, it was now even worse to be condemned to their old habits.

He should have gritted his teeth and borne it, he told himself. It was, after all, what he deserved for ever having entered into that ludicrous charade. He should have remained apart from her until he was through with this investigation, given her time for James Hobson’s image to blur. He had been a fool to rush his fences, and it would be a miracle if he did not come a cropper.

Disgruntled, Rachel went to bed early. She did not want to give the appearance of having waited up for Michael to return from his club. After all, if he preferred his club to her company…well, she didn’t know what, but she was sure that she would be foolish in the extreme to let him see that she had missed him.

It took some time for her to go to sleep, however. She tossed and turned, thinking about James Hobson and Michael, and listening for sounds in his room next door that would indicate he had come home. That did not happen until well after midnight, and when she did hear him moving about, she waited, her whole body taut, listening for the sound of the knob turning on the door between their rooms.

It did not come, and finally, much later, she fell asleep.

The next morning she awoke in a better frame of mind. Sylvia was having a party tonight, and Rachel thought she would ask Michael to accompany her. Perhaps if they spent the evening together…well, who knew what might happen? She felt a twinge of guilt, knowing deep down that she was using him as a substitute for James Hobson.

But she pushed that thought away. If she could, somehow, work out some semblance of a real marriage with Michael, then that would be good, would it not? Life was not always perfect; people were not always perfect, least of all herself.

When she heard the sounds of him moving about in his room next door, she went down the hall to his door and knocked. At the sound of his voice, she turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into his room. Michael was standing before his shaving mirror, shirtless, a towel draped over one shoulder and a shaving mug in his hand. He was in the process of stirring up the shaving soap into a foam, and he half turned toward the door. He looked startled when he saw her, and a red flush crept up his face.

“Oh! Rachel! I thought it was the footman with hot water.”

Rachel flushed, too, very aware of his semi-nakedness and of the jolt it sent through her loins. Whatever was the matter with her? Why had she turned into this wanton creature who seemed always on the edge of lust?

She quickly averted her gaze, turning to her right, as Michael scrambled for his shirt. She discovered, however, that turned as she was, she was now looking directly into the mirror over his dresser, and it reflected Michael’s image across the room. He was turned to the side, so that his right side was toward her, but by a trick of the mirrors, she could see in the dresser mirror the reflection of his shaving mirror, and in it his left arm was clearly visible.

Rachel frowned, looking more intently into the mirror as Michael picked up a shirt and began to slip it on. There was a red welt on the back of his left arm. He turned to put his left arm in its sleeve, moving a little awkwardly, and she saw that there was a red welt on the front of that arm, as well.

Suddenly, in a blinding flash of knowledge, she realized what the welts were—the newly healing scars where the ball had gone through James Hobson’s arm. Michael was James Hobson!

“There,” he said, walking over to her as he buttoned his shirt.

Rachel turned back to him, hoping her shock did not register on her face. She forced a smile. “I am sorry. I should not have barged in on you like that.”

“It’s not a problem,” he assured her with a smile. “Did you need something?”

“Oh! Yes…I, um, just wanted to say that I had planned to go to a party at Sylvia’s tonight. I hope that is all right.”

“Shall I escort you?”

“Oh, no. No. It is to be a musicale. Dreadfully boring, I’m sure. I would not drag you to that. I would not go myself if I had not promised Sylvia. I just wanted to make sure that you did not, that is, had not made other plans for us.”

“No,” Michael replied quietly. “I was—I shall go round to my club, no doubt.”

“I see. Well, then…that’s good.” Rachel turned toward the door, saying, “Perhaps I will see you later. No doubt you are busy today.”

“I had planned to go out, see a few friends.”

Rachel nodded. “Good. I will be doing the same.” She gave him another false smile and walked out the door.

She managed to make it to her bedroom before her knees gave way beneath her. She sank down onto the floor, heedless of her dress or anything else. Michael was James Hobson!

For a moment she wondered if James had decided to pretend to be Michael and gain entrance to the house; he was able to imitate Michael, after all. But, no, she reminded herself, that could not be it, for Michael had talked about her family yesterday, about the estate and their servants, things his illegitimate half brother would not know.

Of course he would not know those things, she thought, letting out a faintly hysterical little laugh. How could he know them when he did not exist?

It was clear to her now. Michael had been pretending the entire time. He and Lilith Neeley had carried out this elaborate charade, fooling her into believing that Michael was really his own half brother. Chagrin swept her as she realized how the two of them had made an utter fool of her. She thought back, cheeks burning, to all the time she had spent with him, the way she had swallowed their entire story. What an idiot they must think her. What a silly, naive fool!

She remembered the way he had kissed her, all the time knowing that she was really his wife, yet allowing her—no, encouraging her—to feel the pangs of guilt at betraying her husband! Pain sliced through her, followed immediately by an equal storm of rage. How could he? Did Michael hate her this much?

But it was all right, she thought. She didn’t care. Because she now hated him!

An idea flashed into her head, so sudden, so forceful, so brilliant, that she jumped to her feet in response. Would it work? She strolled over to the window and looked out, her mind racing, considering all the factors. It might work, she thought. It just might work. She smiled tightly, her eyes bright with fury, and crossed the room to yank at the bellpull.