The Earl Claims His Wife by Cathy Maxwell Page A

husband. Questions crowded her mind about Jess’s death. She’d known very little about her. After he’d left for the Peninsula, there had been no reason to know anything.
    Gillian had spent many a restless night resenting the woman, but she hadn’t wanted her to die. She’d never have wished that on anyone.
    He shifted, turning toward her, his arms folded at his waist, and she caught the glint of gold on his ring finger.
    Wright was wearing his wedding band.
    She was shocked. She should have noticed it earlier when he’d removed his gloves to duel with Andres. She couldn’t remember if he wore it after they were first married. She’d been too miserable to care.
    Gillian glanced at her gloved left hand knowing she wasn’t wearing her wedding band. She’d taken it off the moment she’d decided to leave him and hadn’t missed it at all.
    So why did she feel guilty now?
    She glanced back at his ring. She’d purchased it herself. It was the one thing she’d done for her own wedding. His parents had taken over the planning of the event, and her father and stepmother had been thankful to them for doing so. As Aunt Agatha had explained, the marchioness understood what was expected by society for such a grand event better than Gillian and her parents did—and could afford what needed to be done.
    Gillian had been swept along, a small player in the midst of a grand event. She’d barely known Wright before he’d asked her father for her hand…and didn’t know him any better afterward.
    The first time they had ever been alone had been on their wedding night.
    She pushed back against the seat, closing her eyes tight, willing away the memories and failing.
    That was the night Wright had told her about his mistress, the night he had confessed he’d loved this former dairy maid who had grown up with him. Of course, he’d made his confession after the marriage had been consummated.
    And for that, she could never forgive him.
    As if sensing her anger, Wright woke with a start. He glanced around, his eyes glassy. Realizing he was sprawled across the seat, he sat up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take over.”
    “You’re very tired,” she observed.
    He nodded and rubbed a hand over his face.
    “Your valet is not doing you a service,” she said. “The marvelous Hammond is growing lax in his duties.”
    “Hammond is fine,” he replied. He yawned. She realized he wasn’t angry. He was trying to stay awake.
    Again, she had a sense that all was not as it should be. “Wright, is something wrong?”
    His head whipped around. “Why do you believe something is wrong?”
    “I’ve never seen you sleep this hard.” She could have mentioned the wedding band, or that after months of writing, his sudden appearance at Huntleigh could be seen as a concern.
    “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he murmured. “It’s nothing more.”
    “Jess’s death has really saddened you, hasn’t it?” she asked, curiosity making her probe for the truth.
    His brows came up. He leaned back in his corner. Slowly he nodded his head. “I knew her all my life…” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t wish to discuss the matter.
    But Gillian had to ask questions. The man she knew as her husband was acting strangely. She remembered him as being almost as cold and indifferent as his father. This was a new Wright, and she didn’t know if she trusted him.
    “What is going on, Wright? Why did you come for me? Why did you put on your wedding band?
    And why this almost disregard for Jess’s death?”
    That gained his attention.
    “I don’t have disregard for Jess’s death,” he bit out.
    “You seem remarkably—” She paused, searching her mind for the right word. “Sober. You are sober but not heartbroken over her death.”
    “I’ve adjusted to the idea,” he mumbled, an idea Gillian found preposterous. But then he went for the attack before critical words could escape her mouth. “And I have a name,” he insisted crossly. “Why do