Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

“He is as disgustingly healthy as one of his mules. I thought maybe he’d drink himself to death, but he hasn’t touched anything since the rains.”

“How many people know that? It’s common knowledge that he’s been drinking heavily for a year or more. What if he had an…accident while he was drunk?”

Bianca leaned back and stared at the remaining food. There wasn’t much left, and she hated to leave it, but she honestly could hold no more. “I told you, he doesn’t drink anymore,” she said absently.

Gerard gritted his teeth at her denseness. “Don’t you think we could arrange one last time?”

Slowly, Bianca lifted her head and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Clayton Armstrong is an evil man. He brought you here under false pretenses. Then, when he got you to this horrible country, he used you, mistreated you.”

“Yes,” Bianca whispered. “Yes.”

“There isn’t any justice in the world that allows something like that to continue. You are his wife, yet he treats you like dirt. For God’s sake, he won’t even allow you to eat!”

Bianca caressed her enormous stomach. “You’re right, but what can I do?”

“Get rid of him.” He smiled at Bianca’s gasp. “Yes, you know what I mean.” He leaned over the dirty dishes and took her hand. “You have every right. You’re so sweet that you don’t even realize that it’s your life or his. Do you think a man like Clayton Armstrong would stop at murder?”

She looked at him in fright.

“What else can he do? He wants Nicole, and yet he’s married to you. Has he asked you for a divorce?”

She shook her head.

“He will. And will you give it to him?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Then he’ll find other ways to rid himself of an unwanted wife.”

“No,” Bianca whispered. “I don’t believe you.” She tried to get up, but her size and all the food she’d eaten made her immobile.

Gerard rose and put out his hands to her, his legs braced against her weight. “Think about it,” he said when she faced him. “It’s a matter of survival. It’s him or you.”

She turned away from him. “I must go.” Her mind was whirling with the awful thoughts Gerard had placed there. She walked very slowly back to the house. Before she entered, she checked the doorways to make sure no one was hiding behind them. As she laboriously climbed the stairs, she knelt to feel for wires that were meant to trip her.

It was a week later when Clay first mentioned divorce to her. She was very weak and tired from lack of food and rest. She hadn’t had a full meal since the picnic with Gerard. Clay had given orders that Bianca was to be placed on a strict diet. She hadn’t had much rest either, because she kept having dreams that Clay was standing over her with a knife, screaming that it was either him or her.

When he did speak of divorce, it was like a nightmare coming to life. She sat in the morning room. Clay had it restored to the way it was before Bianca had redecorated it. It was as if he were already trying to remove all traces of her.

“What do we have to offer each other?” Clay was saying. “I’m sure you care as little for me as I do for you.”

Bianca stubbornly shook her head. “You just want her. You want to push me out into the cold so you can have her. The two of you planned this all along.”

“That is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.” Clay tried to control his temper. “You were the one who forced me to marry you.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You were the one who lied about having my child.”

Bianca gasped and put her hand to the folds of flesh that covered her throat.

Clay turned away and walked toward the window. He’d learned about Oliver Hawthorne only recently. The man lost most of his meager crops in the rain, and two of his sons had died from typhoid. He came to blackmail Clay for money. After Clay told him Bianca had miscarried, he threw the man off the plantation.

“You hate me,” Bianca whispered.

“No,” Clay said quietly. “Not anymore. All I want is for us to be free of each other. I’ll send you money. I’ll see that you’re comfortable.”

“How can you do that? You think I’m stupid, but I know that nearly everything you make goes back into this place. It looks like you’re rich because you own so much, but you’re not. How can you support the

plantation and send me money?”