The Duke's Deceit (3 page)

Lottie’s face filled with dismay when they entered the room.

“All is well, Lottie.” Mary forced a smile. “Sir Robert merely wishes to pay his respects to my dear Richard.”

Ignoring Lottie’s gasp of shock, Mary slipped onto the bed to put the final period to Sir Robert’s doubts. With gentle fingers she brushed a heavy lock of hair from Richard’s brow. Gathering him to her, she leaned over, closed her eyes, and pressed a kiss upon his bruised cheek, near the long, relaxed mouth.

“My darling Richard, I shall never rest until you are restored to me,” she murmured with what she hoped sounded like loving devotion. For good measure, she gave one shuddering sigh before lifting her lids.

Shock froze her in place, her arms wrapped protectively around him, her hair enclosing them in privacy. Her supposed intended was awake. She stared into melting chocolate eyes that looked at her in bewilderment.

“It seems I have been, my dear,” he whispered, his lips nearly brushing hers.

The touch of gentle fingers across his brow sent shivers of reaction where before there had been numbness. The touch continued along his cheekbone, stroking comfortingly. He could sense her leaning over him, feel her warm breath on his face, and then the faintest touch of her mouth upon his cheek.

“My darling Richard, I shall never rest until you are restored to me.”

Her voice held such longing as it caught on a sob. Again he fought the lethargy; who was this angel who called him from the darkness? He felt her hovering over him and, with the greatest act of sheer determination, parted his lids.

The darkness fled as he opened his eyes within a heavy curtain of fragrant auburn hair.

“It seems I have been, my dear.” He forced the whisper through his tight, dry throat.

“Richard, you are awake!” she gasped, staring at him from wide cornflower blue eyes so close that he could see how thickly her lashes grew on the elongated lids.

His mind couldn’t quite focus … visions and thoughts floated just out of his reach.

Richard.

Yes, his name was Richard.

Sharp pain jabbed through his head and down the back of his neck, as he shifted slightly to study her as she abruptly rose from the bed.

Her hair fell in a long, straight auburn mane, framing a pale face dominated by those cornflower eyes slightly tilted up at the corners, giving her a fey look.

She looked like a wild creature of the woods, poised, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

“Sir, I’m ever so pleased you’re awake!” A small woman spoke from behind the vision.

He turned his head to look at her but couldn’t place her. Her round face glowed as she clasped her hands to her ample bosom.

“Mr. Byron, I’m sure we’re all delighted at your amazing recovery.”

Richard allowed his gaze to slowly move to the swarthy man in impeccable black riding clothes standing at the foot of the bed. His mind might still be as fuzzy as a newborn babe’s, but he recognized a sneer in that lazy drawl.

“I am Sir Robert Lancaster. Mary’s closest neighbor.” His full lips curled in a slight smile. “I want to offer my congratulations on your sudden betrothal to Mary.”

Both women gasped! Richard turned too quickly and pain exploded behind his eyes, blurring his vision.

At his grimace of pain, the younger lady—Mary was it?—once again slipped onto the side of his bed.

“Don’t tax yourself,” she soothed. “We’ll leave you to rest now. I shall return with a tray.”

“Thank you.” He barely breathed the words before she shepherded everyone out, quietly closing the door behind her.

He blinked, his gaze touching the small details of this cozy slope-ceilinged room. The delicate hangings, the carved rosewood jewel box, and a few crystal bottles on the low chest proclaimed this a woman’s domain.

Spying a faded mirror over the washstand, he flung back the covers. It took more effort than he had imagined, but somehow he made it the short distance. Supporting himself on flat palms against the oak stand, he stared at his reflection.

Dark hair tumbled around a strong face, the skin marked with bruises beneath hooded eyes. The nose was straight, and the mouth long. He wasn’t displeased with the reflection; he was simply looking into the face of a stranger.

He was a stranger! Everything about this place, this room, and these people was unknown to him. Closing his eyes, he tried to capture an elusive shadow shifting back in the utter blankness of his mind.

It eluded him. Opening his eyes again on the countenance of this strange man, he reviewed what he did know.

His name was Richard.

Somehow he knew that was true. It … felt correct.

And he was engaged.

He sensed it somehow, back in the emptiness of his mind. Just as he knew he did not love his betrothed.

Damn, why couldn’t he remember!

His anger brought such shooting pain through his skull that he gasped and took a long shuddering breath. A wave of weakness washed over him. He had no choice but to stumble back and crawl into the narrow bed.

The door creaked slowly open a few moments after he’d settled with a deep sigh of relief back upon the pillows. The fey creature entered, moving with unconscious grace even though she carried a tray laden with a bowl of soup, a generous chunk of bread with heat still rising from its brown crust, and a glass of milk.

He eyed the white obnoxious stuff and lifted his right brow. Instantly he regretted this show of disdain, as a frisson of pain throbbed through his head.

“I would prefer brandy.” At least his voice held a bit more strength than before.

Suddenly her thin face was transformed by a smile that brought dancing lights to the cornflower eyes, and a deep dimple appeared beside the sweetly curved cherry lips.

“I’m quite sure you would,” she laughed, a musical sound that was oddly soothing to his aching head. “However, until the doctor arrives, I fear I cannot offer you spirits.”

She set the tray on the stand beside the bed and unfolded the napkin to lay beneath his chin. “Uncle Ian has gone for him.”

“Mary, how long have we been engaged?” His blunt question banished her enchanting smile, and he saw blood flow brightly beneath the fine translucent skin of her face. How could he
not
love such an enchanting creature?

“Richard, I must tell…”

Whatever she was about to say was lost as the door creaked open.

“Mary my girl, met the doctor at the front gate. Comin’ to check on our patient.”

Pain shot up his neck as he pushed himself higher on the pillows.

“Jeffries!” The name burst out of him on a wave of acute relief. At last, someone he knew!

His elation lasted only a moment, receding as quickly as it had come, for the wiry man with the riotous red hair and beard shook his head.

“No, lad, I’m Ian Masterton, Mary’s uncle.”

He closed his eyes against the disappointment, racking his foggy brain for answers. He knew someone named Jeffries. A man who greatly resembled Mary’s uncle.

A sense of great fondness lapped at the edges of his empty mind. Then sorrow pierced the blackness. Jeffries was dead. He didn’t know how or when; he just knew it was true.

“Well, sir, let us see how you are doing.”

The doctor’s voice brought him back to this new world populated by a man who tugged at his lost memories and a fiancée who looked frightened to death of him. She cast him one final glance from troubled eyes before she fled the room.

The doctor, also unknown to him, smiled. “Now, sir, tell me how you are feeling.”

He met Ian Masterton’s steady eyes before allowing his gaze to rest on the far wall. “It seems whatever accident befell me robbed me of my memory.” His lazy drawl shocked him. The next moment he smiled, settling deeper into the pillows; these slightly sarcastic tones rang true. “I have no recognition of this place nor any idea who I am.”

“Mary, what are you about? That poor soul looked as innocent as a babe when he heard of your engagement. I fair fainted on the spot! Why would you tell Sir Robert such an outrageous story?”

Lottie’s frantic questions beset Mary at every turn as she paced outside the bedroom door. Caught in a web of her own making! But she needn’t fear Lottie. Lottie would understand, and so would the stranger when she explained all to him.

“Sir Robert was being…” Just remembering his touch begat a shudder deep inside her. “…obnoxious. And … and it just came out.” She shook her head in wonder at her foolishness. “I thought if Richard did not regain consciousness I would use his stallion to stud and his ring as collateral while we searched for his family. And if he did awaken, I would confess all and throw myself on his mercy.”

Lottie gazed at her in open-mouthed awe. It brought home her determination to tell the stranger all, and she rushed on, “I tried to tell him the truth earlier, but I was interrupted.”

“Thank the good God you were interrupted if you intend to tell my patient anything that will upset him!” The doctor’s stern voice brought Mary to an utter standstill. The look on his face as he shut her bedroom door sent hot dread swelling in her chest.

“What is it? He isn’t worse!”

“No, no, Mary my girl,” Ian soothed, placing a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Listen to what Dr. McAlister be tellin’ us.”

The doctor favored them all with a hard stare. “We have a serious problem here. Very serious indeed!” He emphasized his words with a vigorous shake of his head. “Because of his injury, Mr. Byron is suffering from memory loss. All he recalls is the name Richard; a friend, Jeffries, who greatly resembled Ian; and his engagement to Mary.”

“What!” Mary’s heart nearly stopped from the shock. Suddenly the air thinned around her and she gasped, “But we are not—”

Holding up his palm, the doctor stopped her rush of words. “I don’t ken what’s going on here, young lady. I only know what is best for my patient. He must have no shocks. None whatsoever!” he stressed, holding Mary’s stunned gaze. “Whatever the truth of his past, he must be allowed to remember it naturally. If not, I fear it might bring on a brain fever. Indeed, then we
would
lose him forever.”

He softened his words with the slightest of smiles. “Now give him whatever he wishes. I heard him muttering something about brandy. A wee bit wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll fetch it at once!” Lottie picked up the hem of her skirt to rush down the narrow steps.

“I’ll show myself out,” Dr. McAlister chuckled, following her down. “You won’t need me again, unless you go against my orders.”

Ian wasted no time, staring at Mary from beneath bushy sandy brows. “Mary girl, best be tellin’ me the truth of things.”

She told him as quickly as she could, with the guilt burning in her stomach spreading upward to fill her chest, and then her throat, until she ended, sobbing softly.

“Mary girl, you will leave Sir Robert to me!” Ian’s wiry body grew rigid as he spread his legs in a wide stance of defiance. “Your father’s debts are as much my responsibility as yours. He was tryin’ to fulfill the dream we’d had since we were lads.”

“And his dream for me.” She clasped her uncle’s outstretched hands. “He wished to leave me something of substance to make up for what he believed I was missing. I only wish to make sure we don’t lose everything he worked so hard to achieve.”

“You’ll see, Mary my girl. We’ll find a way to pay off Sir Robert. Even with the setback of the stable fire.”

Warmed by the strength of his grip and his words, she nodded. “First we must pay our debt to Richard. I swear I shall help him regain his memory so I can confess my falsehood. He will understand, won’t he, Uncle Ian? A man that good, who would stop to help strangers with a fire…” The words died away as Lottie appeared clutching a crystal decanter of brandy in one hand and a glass in the other.

Mary whisked them from her hand. “I wish to take it to him.” Guilt and new purpose driving her, she plastered a wide smile on her face and opened the door.

Richard had elbowed himself higher on the pillows so that Ian’s white nightshirt stretched tightly across his chest, outlining rippling muscles. She could hardly keep from staring at him. He ran long fingers through his hair, sending the heavy waves away from his brow, as he watched her with hooded eyes. Obviously he believed her lie, for he was so … natural with her. But what she was experiencing was hardly natural.

“Your new medicine from the doctor, sir.” She bobbed down in a curtsy, handing him the glass, trying to diffuse her tension. Still watching her carefully, he took it and tilted the entire contents down his throat.

His long mouth curled at the corners in a smile. “Another memory returned. I much prefer brandy to milk.”

She answered his lazy smile with one of her own as she slipped down into the curved chair beside the bed, suddenly more at ease.

“I know you have lost much of your memory. I want to help you regain it.”

Even in the few minutes she had been away from him, pacing the hall, his expressive hooded eyes had grown sharper. He rested that bright gaze steadily on her face.

“Your uncle told me I’m at your home in Hexham. Tell me about the accident. How long have I been here? When did we become betrothed?”

The doctor’s warning rang in her ears as she searched for the right words. “I’m not supposed to tease you with memories. The doctor said they must come naturally.” She evaded his questions. “Would you like to hear about the accident? You were so brave that morning!” Her soft voice gained strength as she realized that in this she could be utterly truthful. “The stable was an inferno, but you were fearless. We would have been unable to save all the horses without your help. You were bringing out the last two colts when the falling beam struck you.”

A furrow worried his smooth brow. “I feel I’m fond of horses. Did they escape unharmed?”

“Oh, yes, thanks to you! Do you remember your stallion?” she asked eagerly. “He is the most marvelous Arabian I’ve ever seen.”

The hooded eyes became mere slits as he considered. “Damn it! Nothing!”

When he lifted his lids she saw the frustration, just as she’d heard it in his voice. Terrified by the white strained line around his long mouth, she desperately searched for a way to reassure him.

“Don’t tax yourself. The memories shall return in time.”

Suddenly inspired, she went quickly to her jewel box and returned to the bed with the heavy crested ring on her palm.

“This is your ring. Does it bring back any memories? Anything at all?”

He took the ring carefully, running his fingertips over the raised crest and feeling the weight of the gold. “It appears to be a fine ring. Too rich for me.” He shot her a rueful look. “But it means nothing. Keep it. It would only be a bother while I work.”

Reaching out he lifted one of her hands, placed the ring on the palm, and curled her fingers over it. “Tomorrow I’ll be up. There is much to do if the stable is to be rebuilt.”

The idea that he would help them further shocked her. “You shall do no such thing! You must rest and regain your strength.”

“I’ll regain my strength faster once I’m on my feet.” He flexed his broad shoulders restlessly, pulling the shirt wide so that she spied a large expanse of smooth, muscled chest. “As your future husband it’s my duty to help you. After all, isn’t this to be our home once we’re wed?”