Page 17 of On the Ropes of Scandal (With Love in Their Corner #3)

P hoebe hummed to herself as she moved freshly cooled jam tarts from a baking sheet to the tray on a wooden shelf behind the counter at the bakery.

Last night with William had exceeded every dream she’d ever had of being a wife.

After they’d shared the evening meal as well as a pot of tea—since there was no brandy on hand—they’d settled into a sofa and watched the flames in the hearth fade away.

Then once they’d retired to the bedchamber at midnight, she’d been far too aroused and excited to experience intercourse again, so she’d kissed him and dared to explore his body as she’d wished to do before.

That had led to a quick and frantic coupling which had been as satisfying as their first one, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself in love with the man.

If she wasn’t already and those emotions were just hidden beneath the lies.

Aunt Bess glanced at her with speculation in her expression. “You are quite chipper this morning. Is there a particular reason why?”

Heat went through Phoebe’s cheeks. “Not really.” There was no reason to share with her aunt that she’d been bedded by a man she’d only met seven days ago, the man she was pretending was her husband.

“I think I’m finally content with my life.

” He’d gone out this morning on a couple of errands for her aunt, but she expected him back any moment, and oddly enough, she couldn’t wait to work beside him again.

How easily she could see them running the bakery in the future, well until they were gray and grandparents.

It’s more than I could ever want.

The older woman snorted as she added a few loaves of bread to the shelf. “Your pretend life, you mean?”

“Does it matter at this point?” After last night, she wanted to believe anything was possible… even grasping at a happy ending for herself.

“You are playing with fire, my dear. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” her aunt said with a sniff. Then she frowned as the door opened at the tin bell above it give its cheerful ring. “Unless I miss my guess, we’re both in for it,” she warned in a low voice.

“Why?” Phoebe glanced at the man who’d stepped into the bakery.

There was a commanding presence about him as if he alone filled the space of the bakery and demanded their attention.

Dressed in the first stare of fashion, his greatcoat had a few capes, his beaver felt top hat sat at a rakish angle over his left eye, his boots had recently been shined, and his buff-colored breeches were impeccably tailored to hug his thighs.

A few curls of light brown hair were visible beneath the hat’s brim while his hazel eyes were intense as he slid his gaze about the room before resting it on her.

Everything about him spoke of upper class, at least of the ton .

Phoebe stifled a gasp, for she knew those eyes.

In fact, they were the same eyes she’d woken up to for the past week—William’s eyes.

The knots of worry pulled hard through her belly while icy fingers of apprehension spiraled down her spine.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, may I help you?” she asked in a choked voice.

“Yes, quite.” The man came forward and paused at the scarred wooden counter. “Lovely bakery, I must say.”

Aunt Bess nodded. “Thank you. I’ve run the place since I was a young woman.”

He flicked his gaze between them, finally alighting on Phoebe’s face. “I’ve not visited Surrey for leisure much, and I’m afraid this visit isn’t for that either. In fact, I’m here on an urgent mission.”

“Oh?” Phoebe’s heartbeat accelerated. She couldn’t breathe, and with every second that went by, she waited for the second shoe to drop, metaphorically, of course.

“Indeed. I am Lewis Stapleton, the Earl of Lethbridge, and I’m in Cranleigh hoping to find my brother Duncan, or rather Lord Frampton. About a week ago, he came here to fight in a bare-knuckle bout, but then he never returned to London afterward.”

Oh, dear God.

Phoebe put a hand to her throat as she stared at the earl.

All her lies are on the verge of unraveling, and just as her aunt warned, the stories she’d weaved were crumbling down about her feet.

She pressed her lips together. At least she knew who William was now.

The son of an earl… the brother of an earl.

Essentially, she’d kidnapped, or held an earl’s son hostage, in the quest to carve out a bit of happiness for herself.

Would she be arrested and tossed into Newgate once they were told of her crimes?

What have I done?

It was Aunt Bess who broke the heavy silence. “I’m sorry to heart that, Your Lordship, but I’m not certain we’ve seen your brother. Perhaps if you could describe him? He might have wandered away due to a blow to the head.”

“Of course, he’s…”

Phoebe gripped the counter as the blend of their voices faded into a dull murmur of words she didn’t understand.

Her head spun and a rush of heat enveloped her form.

No longer would she know the contentment she’d finally found; she very nearly fainted as the enormity of what she’d done plowed into her with the force of a blow.

Then the worst thing that could happen… did.

The door opened, and as the tin bell tinkled, William, or rather Duncan Stapleton as it were, came into the bakery.

The urge to cry out, to beg forgiveness danced on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t form words, couldn’t remember how to talk.

He nodded politely at the earl but rested his gaze on her.

“Good morning, Auntie. Good morning, sweeting. I’m ready to don my apron for the day, but first, could I snag one of my favorite jam tarts?”

Another wave of heavy silence filled the interior of the bakery.

Slowly, the earl half turned toward his brother and gawked. “Duncan, what the hell are you doing here? Why haven’t you come home?”

With confusion lining his face, her false husband looked at the earl.

“I’m sorry, but you must have mistaken me for someone else.

I’m William Harris. This is my wife, Phoebe and her aunt who owns the bakery.

” He offered what he no doubt thought was a disarming smile.

“Been a lot of mistaken identities around here lately. Guess I have one of those faces.”

“No.” The earl shook his head. “None of that is correct. You are Duncan Stapleton, my youngest brother, a son of George Stapleton. You were in prize fight nearly a week ago, have been missing from London ever since you lost the bout.” He gestured to his brother’s head with a gloved hand.

“That wound on your head has no doubt given you amnesia.”

“What?” In some surprise, William—Duncan—touched the fading bump at his temple where the bruising was in the process of fading from purple to a greenish yellow color.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m a bricklayer and suffered this injury when a brick fell off a wall.

” With a frown, he bounced his gaze between the three of them.

“I assist here in the bakery until I can find better work.”

Once more, the dratted tin bell at the door announced the arrival of yet another person.

This man was younger than the earl by a few years, but there was enough in the way of facial features for her to see that the newcomer was another brother to these two men.

“Duncan? My God, man!” That man embraced William—Duncan—and then loudly slapped him on the back as he stepped away. “We thought we’d lost you, but here you are, as sure as the day is long, standing right here.”

The earl cleared his throat. “This is my middle brother Alexander Stapleton—Viscount Wexley.” To that man, he said, “These women clearly know something about Duncan’s disappearance, but they’re calling him William.”

Before she could say anything, her fake husband broke the silence. “My good man, you are mistaken. I am William Harris, and I live here in this village.”

“Enough of this foolishness.” The earl cut the air with a hand. “I don’t know what nefarious matters are going on here, but is there somewhere all of us can go that is private? Clearly, we need to discuss this issue and what led to Duncan’s disappearance.”

For the first time, Aunt Bess spoke. “Of course.” All the color had leeched from her face. “There are rooms upstairs where my niece and your brother have been living. You can use the common room. I’ll put the kettle on and bring up tea.”

“Thank you.” Then the earl rested his intense gaze on Phoebe. There was no trace of humor or understanding there. “Lead the way, if you please.”

She nodded, and with a glance at William—she should refer to him as his real name now, shouldn’t she?

—and after swallowing a few times to stave off the urge to retch, Phoebe took all the men into the back room and then made her way up the narrow wooden stairs, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.

He is going to hate me.

And she would lose him.

*

What the devil is happening?

Just moments ago, he was told that everything he’d known up until this point had been a lie, that he wasn’t who he thought he’d been the past week, that he certainly wasn’t married to the woman he’d thought was his wife, that he had a life in London, and that part of said life was being a bare-knuckle boxer of some acclaim.

No wonder he’d felt such an affinity for the sport when that stranger had talked to him in the street in front of the tavern. The man who’d recognized him, and if he’d only pressed the inebriated fellow, he could have discovered the truth sooner than today.

Yet that would have put his whole marriage into jeopardy… except he’d never wed the woman he’d well and truly ruined last night. No wonder he’d had the distinct feeling she’d been an innocent when he’d bedded her, but he thought it was merely a product of his imagination.

Good God, what a coil.