The Duke's Deceit Read online

  Mary, too tired to argue this old discussion, let the comment slide by and handed her uncle the basket of tea things. “He has been nothing but helpful to us, at the cost of his own health. And I repay him with a lie.” Unconsciously she lifted her chin, a habit whenever she had to face difficulties. “Has he remembered anything more about his past?”

  “Only that he knows horseflesh. Better than any man I know.” The fiery mustache and short beard separated in a wide grin. “Wild to get back on that stallion of his. I’ll be takin’ him into the village. We’ll have a pint and a bit of supper at the White Feathers. Richard should be meetin’ the lads ’round here if I’m to be away, just in case there’s trouble. Are you tellin’ him why I’m for London?”

  She stared down at Richard, the doctor’s words beating in her mind. He didn’t look strong now; he appeared younger and infinitely more vulnerable. She couldn’t jeopardize him further. “No. It might only raise false hope. Let us see what transpires in London. Mayhap it will be something that helps him regain his memory.”

  She went back to the house without waking him. She would just have to trust that the ring would bring them some news.

  By the time Richard and her uncle rode slowly toward the village, she was convinced she was doing the right thing. He looked so natural atop his stallion. He rode like he was one with the horse.

  An ache in her chest rose up to her throat. With one finger she absently stroked her neck and drew in a long sweet breath. He may have lost his memory, but not his instinct with horses. Who was he? What was such a man doing in this wild border county? How had he arrived at the moment when they so desperately needed help?

  That memory led naturally to a contemplation of all her problems, chiefly the weight of her father’s enormous debt to Sir Robert. It just didn’t seem believable! How had her dear father ever incurred so much debt? And how could she ever pay it back and still make his dream of a horse farm profitable? She wouldn’t be able to put Sir Robert off much longer.

  Goose bumps raised the hair on her arms as a chill pierced her body to its very center. Acquiescing to Sir Robert and his suggestion that her debt would be paid the day they wed was unthinkable. It was equally impossible to appeal to her grandfather, a man she’d never met, and knew only from the miniature her mother had tucked away in a trunk with all the other trappings of her former life. From all the stories her mother had told, she knew that her grandfather was a hard and unforgiving man.

  But perhaps his solicitor would aid her search for Richard’s identity. That task had to be her first concern. Only when it was completed could she concentrate on how to save the land her father had struggled so hard to keep.

  Following their light supper, she helped Lottie ready Ian’s bags for the journey to London before she sent her off to bed. After careful consideration and several tries, she was finally happy with the letter of explanation to the solicitor who quarterly sent the meager stipend that was her portion from her grandmother’s dowry. She turned Richard’s ring over and over in her hand, studying the unfamiliar crest, feeling its weight settle around her heart. If only she could forget about it and go through with the charade—how pleasant it would be if she could truly deposit all her cares on Richard’s broad and capable shoulders. It would be delightful to continue under his protection as her betrothed. But she couldn’t allow this fantasy to continue. She really could count on no one but herself to set things to rights.

  Exhausted, she rose from the chair in the sewing room and slipped into her own chamber to gather up a fresh nightshift from her cupboard before Richard returned.

  She first felt his presence by a piercing hot awareness of being watched. She trembled ever so slightly as she turned to face the door. He stood framed in the narrow rectangle. The heavy waves of his hair were black with moisture. Droplets of water glistened on his chest where the lawn shirt separated, and the fine fabric molded to his damp skin.

  “I see Uncle Ian showed you the pond.” Her voice sounded so husky that she swallowed, trying to ease her suddenly dry throat.

  “Yes. Have we ever swum together there by moonlight, Mary?”

  His question was so intimate that she was stunned into silence. Even when he moved so close that the fresh scent of his clean skin enveloped her, she didn’t stir. Nor did she withdraw into the tight cold ball inside that formed every time Sir Robert came near her.

  He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with one gentle finger. Suddenly her limbs seemed to be liquid and, for one wild moment, she wondered what held her erect.

  “I’m sorry I don’t remember you more clearly, Mary. I’m sorry I’ve kept you from your room.” His hushed voice flowed around her, weaving a spell that shook her to her very core.

  “I’m returning it to you tonight.” His hooded eyes slid slowly down her body, and in their depths shadows shifted. “Until we share it together.”

  In all her nineteen years, there had been nothing that taught her how to behave when faced with a man who falsely believed they were soon to be wed, and who might fall into a fatal illness if he learned the truth. Surely there was some protection; he was a gentleman and, poor or not, she knew she was a gentlewoman. She should be discreet. She should withdraw.

  Instead, she closed her eyes. She felt his breath on her cheek. Then his mouth touched hers gently; her lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise.

  Instantly his mouth claimed hers, his tongue stroking the soft openness as his fingers cupped her hot cheeks. She was unable to move, unable to stop the new sensations rushing to all parts of her body. He dragged his lips across hers again, and again, until the contours of her mouth altered, swelling and molding to the supple shape of his. This pulsing sweetness was a new world for Mary, black, shot with flashes of gold and red, bursting through her blood like sparks of fire.

  She whimpered deep in her throat, and his sweet mouth slid across her cheek to the shell of her ear, where it lingered. His breath against that sensitive skin made her sway under the powerful new feelings he stirred to life.

  It was too much, even for someone of Mary’s considerable spirit. Lifting trembling hands, she laid them against his warm chest, pushed gently, and opened her eyes.

  The candlelight softened his face with aching vulnerability as he captured her shaking fingers, stilling their futile fluttering.

  “It’s all right, Mary,” he said softly, opening one hand to press his lips against her palm. He held her dazed eyes with a burning sherry-washed glow. “Rest well, my dear.”

  He turned and walked from the room. Her night-shift lay in a heap at her feet, unnoticed. Her body began to shake in reaction, her fingers lifting in wonder to her mouth. Richard! What had she done with that momentary lapse, that simple lie?

  She was out of her depth, drawn there by her own foolishness and her first budding knowledge of physical desire. Frightened by its powerful pull, she rocked back and forth, her thoughts focused on only one thing. More than ever before, she realized how desperately important it was for Richard’s memory to return.

  From the sewing room window Richard watched Mary and Lottie bid Ian farewell. Not wishing to intrude, he stayed upstairs, content to study Mary at leisure: her long auburn hair falling down her straight back to her tiny waist. Even from this distance he could see her wide fawn eyes fill with tears and her full, red, luscious lips tremble slightly.

  Why didn’t he love her? She was beautiful. She was good. She was sensitive. She was a tireless worker and devoted to her family. She appeared to be all a woman should be. So why didn’t he love her?

  He waged a constant battle against the wall in his mind, but there were few answers. And the little bits and pieces he chipped away were even more confusing. That was why he’d kissed her, he told himself. To try to understand.

  Was she a cold, passionless woman? Was that why theirs was to be a marriage of convenience? Or w
as he simply untouched by her unconventional beauty? Instinctively he knew that she was unlike any other woman in his life. He was certain that must be the answer to the puzzle.

  Kissing her had unleashed within him the eroticism of an experienced lover. Mary had met that with an edge of passion that stirred him, even now, as he remembered. He might not love her, but he now knew that he desired her. Successful marriages had been built on less.

  Mary watched until Ian was out of sight, then turned to the field and gave a sharp whistle. Lara trotted up and waited patiently while Mary fitted her with a new bridle and saddle. Her usual tack had been lost in the fire, and Richard had been surprised at the fuss Ian had made at the cost of new. Over drinks at the tavern he’d gotten a little more information about the farm, but enough could be read between the lines to understand that Mary was shouldering a large debt since her parent’s death.

  She rode off with the same unconscious grace with which she did everything. Suddenly eager to learn more about her, about them, Richard turned from the window. If he hurried, he could follow her.

  Just as he sprang onto his horse, Lottie came bustling through the garden gate.

  “I wish to catch up with Mary. Where does she usually ride, Lottie?”

  She pushed one fat gold curl off her forehead with a finger that left a flour streak, and nodded. “I know just the spot. Along the water and round about the pond.”

  He knew the way from last night. The stream wound like a loose ribbon through the meadow from beyond the town to a nearby river. At one point near the cottage it widened, and a natural formation of rock created a pool overhung by willows and perfumed by lily of the valley clinging to its banks.

  The clear water with the moon reflected on its smooth surface had been too much to resist last night. The shock of the cold as he dived in had washed the last lingering lethargy from his limbs, but it had done nothing to clear the cobwebs of his mind. He must resign himself to the reality of his helplessness. It seemed almost as if his life had begun when he opened his eyes within the fragrant curtain of Mary’s hair.

  The sudden thought that perhaps he would come upon Mary swimming brought a hot clutching tightness low in his gut.

  Driven on by that image, he crested the low hill, then reined sharply at the tableau that greeted him. On the bank Mary and Sir Robert sat talking, so close that their horses nuzzled one another familiarly.

  Was this why he couldn’t understand his mixed reactions to her, because he knew she had another lover?

  Something unpleasant boiled in his blood. He urged his horse forward. Then Sir Robert reached out, covering Mary’s hand with his own. Richard reined to a halt in front of them, and they both glanced up.

  With a start of shock, Sir Robert pulled back. But the flash of relief on Mary’s face answered at least part of the riddle. This was no lover. She despised and feared this man. That he would deal with later.

  “Mr. Byron, rumor has it you have yet to regain your memory, but how delightful to see you out and about so soon after your accident.” Sir Robert spoke quickly, as if to cover some unpleasantness.

  Richard lifted one brow slightly. “I’ve missed my usual ride with my beautiful fiancée,” he said, enunciating each word with care.

  He could tell he’d made his point by the slight widening of Sir Robert’s eyes. Mary’s fingers tightened on her reins. Before she could bolt, he urged his horse between them. With deliberate slowness he reached out, running his fingers from Mary’s shoulder lightly down her arm, until his hand covered hers as Sir Robert’s had briefly done.

  “Mary and I have much to catch up on,” he drawled, holding her wide frightened gaze.

  “I can see I’m definitely de trop here!” Sir Robert backed away, but instead of capitulating completely, as Richard expected, he continued in a challenging tone. “Mary, I’ll stop by later so we can finish our discussion.”

  Richard could feel Mary’s fingers tremble beneath his hand. Without a backward glance he moved away at a brisk trot, taking Mary’s reins in his hands, making her follow. At the top of the hill, he stopped and returned them to her.

  “I don’t remember Sir Robert Lancaster. Enlighten me,” he teased deliberately. “Why don’t we like him?”

  The sunlight graced her, coloring the creamy skin of her high cheekbones and turning the uptilted fey eyes a dazzling blue.

  “It’s not that we don’t like Sir Robert,” she explained slowly, gazing up at him with an innocent unblinking stare. “There are business dealings he had with my late father, which are unfortunately still not resolved.”

  “How can I help?”

  The simple question brought Mary’s lashes sweeping down, concealing her eyes. A tightness hardened her soft mouth and flowed through her entire body. Richard could feel her tension and her withdrawal. Whatever was between her and Sir Robert Lancaster, he’d get to the bottom of it, and soon!

  “It … it isn’t your problem, Richard.” Her words were spoken so softly that he was forced to lean closer to catch them.

  “My dear, if we are to be wed, all your problems are mine to solve.”

  “Of course,” she gasped, flinging up her head, but still not able to meet his searching gaze. “We must be getting back. Lottie will have your breakfast ready.” She urged her horse away, flinging the words over her shoulder.

  He let her go, pausing to stare back to where Sir Robert Lancaster remained at the bank. There was a pattern forming in his new world: Mary’s unease with him, and the underlying shadow of fear that she couldn’t quite hide around Sir Robert. How did this man fit into the puzzle that was now Richard’s life?

  Sir Robert watched them go, black anger raging beneath the bland exterior he had long ago learned to project.

  How dare that fool Richard Byron upset his carefully laid plans! He had had Mary exactly where he wished. He had done exactly what the old Baron paid him handsomely to do. But now that old tyrant was in for an unpleasant surprise.

  His laughter echoed across the stream, the sound rustling around him as he urged his horse home to Landsdown.

  He had his own plans for Miss Mary Masterton. And he wasn’t about to let any upstart overset them. The obvious, and increasingly necessary, plum of Mary’s unlikely connection to wealth was but one of her attractions. Beneath her cool exterior he could see hidden sexuality, evidenced in the unconscious grace of her movements and her full pouty mouth. He would vastly enjoy whatever of her inheritance he could wheedle or blackmail from her grandfather, but what would bring him even greater pleasure would be possessing her. Then he would make her pay for the revulsion that she couldn’t hide whenever he was near her.

  Nothing would stop him. Certainly not a man who couldn’t even recall his own name!

  Chapter 4

  “It’s Sir Robert!” Lottie hissed, letting the cream lace curtain drop into place. She turned from the parlor window, her eyes round and her plump hands twisting together in agitation. “Why does he always pop in when we’re alone? Richard’s gone off to the village to fetch the last of the lumber needed for the stable.”

  That she must once again deal with Sir Robert Lancaster was a mere annoyance. Her mind was totally preoccupied with thoughts of Richard. The worst had happened! She was coming to rely on him as if he truly were her fiancée. He worked tirelessly alongside the men rebuilding the stable. He exercised the horses with her, his gentle touch with the creatures in accord with her own theories on how they should be trained. Often she caught him watching her from beneath those mesmerizing hooded eyelids. All this week Richard had filled her every waking hour and haunted her nights.

  An odd nervousness was building between them, especially since those shocking moments up in her room. Although he’d not touched her in any way since that night, she knew instinctively that he would again. But when? And terrifying her to her very core was
her uncertainty of how she would react when that moment finally arrived.

  “Mary?” Lottie questioned anxiously, her face telling her fears.

  “Never worry, Lottie. I shall handle Sir Robert.” Mary prided herself on just the right note of confidence in her words.

  Their effect on Lottie was just as she’d hoped. Her round chin firmed and jutted in the air as she flung the front door wide and gave Sir Robert the briefest of nods.

  He spared her hardly a glance, striding purposefully into the parlor. As always, his impeccable black riding clothes and shining hessians contrasted sharply with the shabby, but lovingly cared for, possessions in the cozy blue and cream parlor.

  Uppermost in Mary’s mind was the lie she was living. She was depending on her uncle’s quest in London so that all could be resolved. These petty problems with Sir Robert paled in comparison. She’d put him off successfully since her father’s death. Surely she could continue to do so a while longer.

  He crossed the room to reach her, forcefully lifting her resistant hand to his mouth.

  Immediately the icy ball rolled through her middle, sending a shiver of revulsion up her arm. There was something new in Sir Robert’s eyes, a cruel insistence that frightened her. She had all she could do to endure the brush of his lips against her skin and maintain a fixed smile of welcome.

  “Mary, you’re looking particularly lovely today.”

  His words rang as false as his smile, which did not reach into his cold gray eyes.

  “Thank you, sir. Won’t you sit down.” She indicated the faded striped wing chair beside the worn blue velvet settee where she sat.

  Much to her discomfort, he chose to sprawl beside her, his leg brushing her skirt. She stiffened, sitting bolt upright as he cavalierly slid his arm along the back of the settee, as if he might touch her hair. He threw a disdainful glance at the tea service on the low table before her.