Page 83 of About a Rogue
But had he meant to conceal her existence forever?
Bianca sighed. There was no use pondering these questions on her own. She took up one of the towels left to warm by the fire and draped it gently over his shoulders.
“What?” He startled awake before subsiding. “Greta. Is she—?”
“Asleep in bed, with Aunt Frances standing watch.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Thank you.”
He got out of the tub and dressed. Much as she had done with Greta, Bianca put him to bed, too. Max went as docilely as a child. “When did you last sleep?” she asked, sitting on the bed beside him and brushing the damp hair from his forehead.
“A long time ago,” he said on a sigh. He groped for her hand and brought it to his cheek. “I’m sorry, love.”
“For what?” She kept her voice calm and soft. “For haring off without explaining why? For letting me think you and Greta were simply estranged? Or for something else I’ve not discovered yet?”
He looked at her in despair. “I’ve much to beg forgiveness for.”
She sighed. “Let’s start with this. How long have you been searching for her?”
He hesitated. “Three years.”
That was much longer than Bianca had expected. “My,” she said. “Why so long?”
“Her husband hid her away,” he said, his voice sinking into a drowsy rumble. “He put her in a prison and refused to tell me where. He taunted me and extorted me until I had no more money to give, and still he would not tell me where she was.”
She stroked his hair. “Will you tell me more later?”
“Yes,” he sighed, pressing her hand, still in his. “Everything.”
“What did she say?” asked Bianca on impulse. “When you told her I would help her. Schön?”
His sleepy smile held a hint of his usual wickedness. “Beautiful,” he said softly. “And I replied that you areverybeautiful.”
And with that, he fell asleep, and Bianca lay next to him for a long time, unwilling to pry apart their hands.
Max woke with a jerk, bolting upright. He could swear he heard screams, just like the ones at Mowbry Manor. He was half out of bed before Bianca caught his arm.
“Stay,” she mumbled. “Greta is well.”
Heart thundering, he paused, every muscle tensed. “How do you know?”
His wife rolled over and yawned. She was fully dressed, asleep on top of the coverlet. “Aunt Frances and I traded turns sitting with her all night. When she woke this morning, Frances read to her. She seemed to enjoy it.”
“Oh.” Slowly he collapsed back into bed, still trembling from the moment of fearful fury.
“When last I went in, Aunt Frances had persuaded her to let Ellen wash her hair. Can you guess how?” She smiled. “No, you never will. Frances had Ellen washherhair in the basin, to prove it was safe. Ellen and Jennie were fussing with the combs when I left.”
“How very kind of Mrs. Bentley.”
“Max.” Bianca turned over to face him. “What happened to her?”
He hesitated. Originally, his plan had been to conceal Greta and her condition forever. He’d taken the Duchess of Carlyle’s money and hired Leake, unwilling to abandon his aunt to the clutches of her viper husband, but also desperate to keep his family stain from anyone’s knowledge. As long as Croach had Greta, he had leverage over Max, able to turn up and make a spectacle of Greta in one of her fits.
Now...
“She was not mad years ago,” he said slowly. “She was charming and beautiful and lighthearted. She looks so much like my mother, her older sister. When I was a child she would run in the fields with me. She taught me to play cricket, in fact. I thought she was wonderful,” he finished wistfully.
“Nothing seemed wrong until Thomas Bradford, her first husband, died suddenly. They had been happy together, and Greta felt his death very keenly.” Max sighed. “I ought to have given her more support, but I was a young fool, irked at being turned off from Bradford’s law office and yearning to keep pace with my mates from Balliol—Wimbourne and Dalway and that lot. It was impossible, of course, and I ran myself into such trouble...” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t know she began drinking gin, in the mornings and at nights. I neglected her, and she—still beautiful, still young, possessed of Bradford’s money and my grandfather’s farm, but desperately lonely—married Silas Croach.”
