The Duke's Deceit Page 11

  “Jamie and I were sent down from Oxford together. Jolly fellow, really, although not quite up to snuff yet.” He finished sternly, as only the recently initiated can do.

  “Perhaps you could arrange for us to meet at White’s. Say tomorrow.”

  “Consider it done! Anything else, Long?” he asked with an eagerness that caused Richard to smile with real fondness.

  “There is one more thing. A request for you and Bella.” He captured them both in his gaze. “We have a relative of an old family friend staying with us. She’s badly in need of a new wardrobe and acquiring some town bronze.”

  As if on cue, the library doors swung open and Richard’s mother, with Mary beside her, appeared on the threshold. The contrast between Mary’s blue dimity gown, years out of date, and Bella’s modish attire was staggering.

  Bella’s mouth dropped open, and she turned to him with a visage of horror.

  “Her?” she whispered harshly.

  At his nod she narrowed her eyes, studying for a moment, then smiled. “It will be a challenge, but I can do it!” she declared.

  “Plotting are we, Richard?” his mother inquired placidly, floating into the room.

  “Your Grace, Long remembered both Lady Arabella and me this morning,” Charlesworth reported with boyish exuberance.

  “Remarkable,” the duchess murmured, giving him a faint smile. “Also remarkable is your lack of manners, Richard.” She turned and gestured Mary forward. “Lady Arabella, Lord Charlesworth, may I present Miss Mary Masterton. Mary is the relative of a dear family friend and shall be staying with us for a time.”

  Mary smiled, transforming her face and bringing a deep dimple to hover at her cherry mouth. Charlesworth struck a very fine leg in response, but Mary barely favored him with a glance. Her eyes were fixed on Bella. After a moment her wide eyes swung slowly to Richard’s face. She looked bewildered and ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

  He kept his own thoughts locked tightly away, letting his face give nothing away of his true feelings.

  “It is a very good sign that you have remembered your fiancée … and Lord Charlesworth. Have you recalled anything else?” Mary’s soft tone wrapped around him, recalling memories of the farm and the pond.

  Lies. All lies, his mind insisted, and if he dwelled on them, he’d give her a good shaking. Or kiss those lying lips, he admitted ruefully. In truth he could stand for her lie about their engagement, knowing she must have had her reasons. What he couldn’t stand was the thought that each time she’d been in his arms, her sweet surrender had been an act.

  “No! I recall nothing and no one else!” He ground out the words between taut lips.

  Shock was mirrored on everyone’s faces. But Mary’s was colored with pain. Dragging his eyes away from that pale face, he was caught in his mother’s compelling dark gaze.

  “It would appear my son is overtired from the journey. Perhaps you should rest, Richard.”

  Grateful for the excuse, he strolled from the room amidst mutters of sympathy. But his mother’s condemning scrutiny followed him. To escape it, he continued to feign fatigue. He dined alone in his room and whiled away the evening over a book on philosophy that he had sent Crowley to the library to procure.

  But after a while he just couldn’t concentrate, so eventually he threw the book down and began to pace. When his bedroom clock chimed midnight, he realized he’d been at this useless pursuit for hours. There was no danger of running into anyone at this late hour, so he went down to the library for a copy of Byron’s The Prisoner of Chillon—anything to distract him. Amazed at his own restlessness, he poured himself a brandy and tipped the entire contents down his throat.

  He poured another and, swirling the crystal snifter between his fingers, paced to the mantel to stare down at the dying fire.

  His plan was well in motion, unknowingly aided by Charlesworth and Arabella, who were obviously already half in love with one another. Once Bella’s kind heart reached out to Mary, all should fall neatly into place: at the correct moment he could confess that during his illness he had formed the mistaken impression that Mary was his betrothed, and now he feared that he might never recall Arabella clearly. He would certainly understand her reluctance to go through with their wedding. It shouldn’t take too much more to persuade her to cry off, particularly if he continued to encourage Charlesworth’s interest. It was clear to him that Bella had no more real wish to marry him than he had to wed her.

  He sipped the second brandy, savoring its warmth. The image of Mary burned in his mind: Mary, in a clinging nightshift, leading her prize stallion out of the smoke; Mary, relaxing at their picnic, sharing stories of her childhood.

  Lottie and Ian were devoted to her. The countryside admired her determination to make her father’s dream a reality.

  Those images just didn’t fit with the truth or with the lies she’d told him. It seemed nigh on to impossible for him to unravel this coil.

  With the toe of one boot he kicked at a glowing log, scattering it into bits of flaming fragments. He cursed loudly, crudely, and at great length.

  “Has your plotting run into a snag, Richard?”

  His mother’s voice dropped into the silence. He spun around to find her sitting, nearly hidden in shadows.

  She rose from the lounge, piercing him with her calm, knowing eyes. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

  Chapter 8

  With the barriers down, it was impossible now, as it had always been, to tell her less than the truth.

  “How long have you known, Mother?”

  “Nearly from the beginning,” she answered softly, stepping into the glow of light from the dying fire. “How long before the baron and I arrived did your memory return?”

  “Mere minutes.” He shrugged, staring into the soft amber in the brandy snifter. “Another blow on the head unlocked my mind as swiftly as the first one had locked it.”

  “Then you know why Mary led you to believe she was your betrothed?”

  His head snapped up at the cool question. He could almost smile at his mother’s calm approach. She instantly pierced to the very heart of any problem.

  “No.” The word burned in his throat, and he took a long drink of brandy to soothe it.

  “Logic would dictate that both Lottie and Ian know why Mary perpetrated such a misunderstanding. I, of course, understand your reluctance to question them about Mary’s motives. Yet it seems clear to everyone but you that she wishes to explain herself. You must know that continuing this charade is forcing her to keep living this lie, out of fear for your delicate health. Do you not wish to know the truth because you’d be forced to let her go? Is it love or hate that makes you so irrational, Richard?”

  “Love!” The single sharp word skimmed over the flat silence in the room, faintly echoing off the walls. “Mary doesn’t love me any more than Bella does!”

  A whimsical smile flitted across his mother’s face. “I spoke not of Mary’s feelings, but your own. Since I know you are not a vindictive man, I acquit you of blind vengeance. Which only leaves that this charade is a means to buy time until you find a way for you and Mary to be together without hurting Bella.”

  “Good God, Mother, you of all people should know I do what I please!” He flung the last of the brandy down his throat and then placed the empty glass on the mantel with a sharp little ping. “It pleases me to feign illness, using it and Mary, to end a betrothal that is wrong for both Bella and me! In the course of this bloody mess, rest assured that I shall dissect to my full satisfaction Mary’s motives for her actions. Then she can flee back to the wild north, or stay here where she belongs. She is, after all, the granddaughter of Baron Renfrew and the great-granddaughter of Sir Charles Grenshaw. Both are old noble families. She has a place in the ton, but certainly not in my heart!”

  The fire
’s light caught in his mother’s dark eyes, making them glow a rich cherry brown.

  “Your father before you had it, and now you and your brother both possess a self-certainty which convinces you that the sheer force of your will can make events fall into place exactly as you wish. You know that your brother’s spirit was nearly crushed when he came to the realization that his will alone was not enough to save his men in battle. What will it do to you, Richard, when at last you realize that you are not more than any other man? That you can suffer, and are suffering, the pain of misunderstanding and love. Your heart is not immune, as you’ve always commanded it to be.”

  “I do not love her!” He bit the words out softly, unwanted emotions writhing in his stomach. “I might desire her, Mother. But I have desired many women, and know full well that love has nothing to do with what I’m feeling.”

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “So be it. Obviously no words of mine will stay you from this torturous path you have chosen. What part am I to play, then?”

  He pushed away all thought to continue the conversation calmly. “Surely we are in agreement that Baron Renfrew’s treatment of Mary is abominable. I plan to look into it further. In the meantime, Mary can’t go about dressed in clothes that any self-respecting scullery maid would toss into the ragbag. You must convince her to accept a new wardrobe. I’ve elected Bella to take her shopping.”

  She broke her pensive stare with a blink. “Very shrewd, Richard. They should be good for one another. Just as Arabella and Charlesworth are made to be together.”

  His mother’s words took him off guard. “Then you agree with my course of action?” he said quickly.

  “Certainly I’m not blind to what is going on with Arabella and Frederick. And I agree that Mary should take her rightful place in the ton. I simply believe the way to achieve those objects could be clearer and straighter than the one you have plotted.”

  “There are many paths to the same place.” He threw her most oft-spoken sally back at her with an indulgent smile.

  “For your sake, dear heart, I hope in this case it is true,” she answered softly as she floated from the room.

  Even as the door shut Richard stared into the shadows after her. His mother usually offered rational thought and peace. Tonight she’d stirred to life feelings and emotions he’d pushed away, refusing to believe they’d ever have any use for him. It was all Mary’s doing.

  Mary of the silken hair and skin. Mary melting into his arms, the sweet taste of her lips, the thrill of discovering the gift she presented—as her slow, unfolding passion stirred him. Was any of it more than a phantom?

  He swept the brandy snifter from the mantel, stared down at it for an instant, then flung it into the fireplace.

  Damn! Shards of glass twinkled up at him in the firelight. All he would have needed was her honesty from the beginning. Then perhaps…? He clicked the door firmly closed on those particular thoughts. He did not love her, and so he would prove to himself and whoever else might be interested.

  He took the steps two at a time, his mind flown with so many threads of ideas and plans that he nearly missed the glimpse of Mary hastily dashing from Lottie’s room to her own. At the landing, he moved swiftly away from his wing into the west corridor.

  What he wanted to do, he had no clear idea beyond a niggling need to confront the architect of his misery. He knocked boldly, once.

  Her door opened slowly. Was she conscious that the faint light outlined her body beneath the fine lawn nightgown as she stood before him, the rich auburn curtain of silken hair framing her face?

  There was that clear innocence in her cornflower eyes that banished the cursed thought but couldn’t quite still the rage that had led him here.

  “Richard, are you all right? Has something happened? Your memory!”

  There was no disguising the tension of the fine skin of her face, or the way her fingers turned bloodless as they gripped the door.

  Slowly, he unpeeled her fingers from the door’s edge, stepped over the threshold, and shut them into the intimacy of her bedchamber.

  He carried her hand to his mouth, pressing a light kiss on each small knuckle, and finally brushed his lips tenderly upon her open palm.

  “Nothing’s amiss, Mary. I simply became concerned when I saw you roaming the halls at this hour.” He lifted their mated hands to rub her cheek with his knuckles. “Why can’t you sleep, Mary?”

  Her eyes widened, becoming like clear water, exposing her soul.

  “What is it, Mary?” he said carefully, trying to control the powerful thing inside him urging him on. “Tell me what is bringing you such restlessness?”

  He buried his fingers in her silken hair, and with both thumbs tilted her face up to his to cover her quivering lips in a long kiss.

  She dissolved into him with a lavish beguiling eagerness that sent flames ripping through his body.

  “Richard, I can’t bear it any longer!” She breathed the words against his mouth and pulled sharply away. “I must tell you the truth. I have lied to you from the very beginning.”

  Silence flooded the room as they stared into one another’s eyes. His breath came in shallow uneven gasps. Had he come here for this after all? Could his mother be right?

  “I never knew you before the accident. You appeared out of nowhere, saved our horses, and were injured. The doctor feared you would never regain consciousness despite our efforts to help you.” Her voice degenerated to a choked whisper. “Sir Robert Lancaster was pressuring me to marry him to pay my father’s debts. I told him I could not because we were betrothed. If you did not recover, I was going to use Wildfire to stud and your crest ring as collateral to escape from him.” She finished with a long sob.

  He stared at her, all feelings concealed behind his stony countenance. “How charmingly cold-blooded,” he drawled through a chest squeezed by a vice of pain. “What was your plan if I should, unfortunately, recover?”

  Tears streamed from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. “I couldn’t go through with it in any case. I sent Uncle Ian to London with your ring to find your family. Then I planned to do what I am doing now: to beg for your understanding.”

  “Then everything between us was a lie?” He ceased breathing, waiting for her answer. He had come here for this, forced by unfamiliar feelings and the one emotion he wasn’t prepared to name.

  “I’m sorry,” she said gruffly. “I shall leave tomorrow. I only hope someday you can forgive me.”

  He jerked her tightly to his body so that she could feel every muscle and bone, feel how his skin burned at her acid words.

  “Forgive you, my glib little viper? We will see. But one thing I know for certain!”

  Her head fell back as she stared up at him in fear.

  “You are not leaving until I’m ready to let you go.”

  “Why, Richard? Why, now that you know what I’ve done?” she asked desperately.

  “Why? Because I want you here until I fully regain my memory. You owe me at least that much.”

  Abruptly he released her, and she staggered back one pace. The overwhelming urge to drag her back into his arms and kiss her sweet, lying mouth until she begged for mercy was quickly suppressed. Instead he quirked his mouth in a lazy smile.

  “To make matters easier for everyone we shall go on as before. I’d appreciate your accepting any kindnesses my mother offers. She feels much indebted to you for saving my life.”

  The sneer in his voice brought her chin up, and all color drained from her skin.

  “For the rest, we can only hope this ordeal will end soon for all of us!”

  Even with her face crumpled in weeping, her beauty touched him in ways as new as they were painful. Escaping into the hall, he sucked in a deep breath. He knew the truth at last. Some of her actions he understood an
d could readily forgive; others, never! He should let her go, rational thought demanded. But there was nothing rational about the feelings and thoughts pounding through him. His sister-in-law’s words, spoken so long ago, echoed over and over in his mind: “When your tiny heart is finally given, I hope the lady crumbles it to dust.” At last, it was happening.

  Her worst fears were happening; Richard knew the truth and had turned away from her in revulsion. Mary crumpled onto the bed in a fit of weeping that drained her of every tear, leaving her eyes burning and her throat aching with dry sobs. Exhaustion dulled her thoughts, all except one: he knew, yet refused to release her. Why?

  It seemed fitting that she should be punished for her lie, being near Richard, yet knowing all was broken between them. Even a chance of friendship was forfeit; the price she must pay. Yet she would do it all again, gladly, if it would help him regain his memory and his life.

  She could only pray that her revelation would not cause the brain fever the doctor had warned her about. Richard was so strong that she couldn’t believe he could fall ill again. She’d had to tell him, before she’d betrayed everything she’d ever been taught. When he’d taken her in his arms again after so long, and after fearing he never would again, she had given herself fully to the emotions only he had ever inspired. Her feelings for him were so overwhelming they shamed her.

  Covering her scorching cheeks with trembling fingers, she knew she’d done the right thing. The only thing she could do. She could no longer lie to herself or the man she loved.

  By the next morning she’d buried the forbidden feeling deep, holding her head high as she entered the small parlor where Richard’s mother waited. But, seeing Arabella sipping chocolate with the duchess, Mary stopped abruptly and turned to go. She didn’t feel quite ready to face her.

  “There you are, Mary.” The duchess’s smile calmed her racing nerves somewhat. “Come in, child. Arabella and I have been discussing a shopping excursion for you.”