The Duke's Deceit Read online

  “Bit of a worry, Your Grace. Long promised he’d be back for Alvanley’s card party last night. Don’t mind telling you the bets at White’s are heavy that he’s fled the country.” His enormous eyes, a Charlesworth legacy, gazed at her with compassion.

  In response she smiled, patting a spot beside her on the brocade chaise longue.

  “My dear Frederick,” she said gently, touching his hand. “You of all people know that beneath Richard’s sardonic exterior there is much hidden kindness. Do you really believe he would simply desert Lady Arabella so cravenly? Or us for that matter?”

  “Dash it, no!” he grinned quite openly, obviously struck with her perspicacity. “Then where the devil has he gone off to?”

  It was a question that haunted her, and for which she had yet to find the answer. She was saved from attempting by Arabella, who burst through the morning room doors.

  Immediately Charlesworth sprang to his feet.

  “You here, my lord? It is just the thing!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Your Grace, I am here to throw myself on your mercy.”

  “Good heavens, child, what is it?” She had to suppress a smile at the child’s dramatic and sorrowful pose—even the ruffle around the neck of her puce walking costume drooped in utter dejection.

  “There is a Banbury Fair at Richmond and Lady Sophia Lawton has arranged a party. But my father says I can not attend because I don’t have a proper escort. So I thought perhaps Lord Charlesworth could stand in for Avalon once again.” Arabella looked hopefully at the duchess.

  Although she hated to disappoint her, and was not a whit surprised to see Arabella’s much-admired pout, she was forced to shake her head. “I’m quite sure, my dear, that Richard would never attend a Banbury Fair with you. They are not his idea of a good time. And most certainly he would not inflict such a thing on any friend by requesting him to serve as his envoy. Unless, of course, the friend offered.” Pausing, she switched her calm eyes to Frederick’s rapt face. “Of course, I can not speak for Lord Charlesworth.”

  “I must confess I have a secret passion for fairs. Particularly when there are tumblers and acrobats.” His eagerness to please the beauty was evident.

  “Does that mean you’ll take me?” Arabella gasped in delight.

  He flicked the duchess a look, waiting for her slight nod before answering. “I would be delighted, Lady Arabella,” he agreed, and then executed a perfect bow.

  “Wonderful! We must be off at once!”

  With the briefest of curtsies in the duchess’s direction, Arabella was gone, Charlesworth at her heels. At the doorway he turned, giving her a conspiring wink.

  His kindness with the child was really quite touching. The duchess, always a woman to grasp opportunity with both hands, began to plot the most satisfying of happenings.

  So immersed in these happy daydreams was she that when the door opened abruptly, she was somewhat startled.

  “Mr. Bertrand Peabody and Mr. Ian Masterton,” Wilkens announced ponderously.

  Her gaze passed quickly over the tall, long-faced gentleman in the plain black frock coat, and lingered on the slight redheaded man tugging uncomfortably at his cravat. His resemblance to Jeffries was quite remarkable.

  Richard had been on his way to Edinburgh. This man appeared to be as Scottish as their beloved Jeffries had been.

  With the undeniable instinct she possessed where her children were concerned, she knew that all her questions about Richard were about to be answered.

  Chapter 5

  “So you see, Your Grace, the moment Mr. Masterton arrived on the doorstep I immediately contacted my client, realizing the importance of Mr. Masterton’s possession of the Duke of Avalon’s signet ring. After conferring with the baron I came immediately to relate these tidings to Your Grace. Mr. Masterton insisted on being present.” Mr. Peabody concluded his droning recitation of events with a peevish whine.

  The duchess could hardly believe the tale, but the gold ring growing warm in her tight fist served as proof positive. “My son’s memory may be temporarily gone, but he is alive and obviously being well-cared for. This is of utmost import to me.” She turned a smile to where Mr. Ian Masterton had taken a stance at the white marble fireplace. “You have my deep gratitude for all you have done for Richard.”

  Fierce pride blazed from his eyes. “It’s me and my Mary who are the grateful ones, Your Grace. Richard—excuse me, Your Grace—his lordship is a right one! Game as they come.”

  Only by blinking rapidly was she able to hold at bay the tears burning behind her eyes. Had the memory loss allowed Richard to let down his guard with these people? She could only wonder at the girl who might have wrought such a change.

  “Harrumph.” Mr. Peabody cleared his throat, immediately reestablishing his presence. “As I was saying, Your Grace,” he began anew. “My client is leaving immediately to retrieve His Grace and return him safely to you. This is a great personal inconvenience, for the baron does not in any way recognize Miss Mary Masterton, nor has he ever laid eyes on her, or ever wished to do so.”

  At this last she sensed Ian Masterton’s rage boiling to the point of overflowing. Frankly appalled at Mr. Peabody’s words and the smug smile on his long face, she stood.

  “Thank, you sir; your help in this matter is also greatly appreciated.” She nodded her head in obvious dismissal.

  Preening, he bowed deeply. “Good day, Your Grace.” Straightening, he flicked Ian a hard look. “We will be on our way then.”

  “No, please, Mr. Masterton,” she stopped him. “Could you stay so I might have some more news of my son?”

  Ignoring the solicitor’s gasp of shock, she held Ian’s eyes. At his nod, she smiled.

  Immediately Wilkens opened the door as if he’d been listening and watching through the keyhole, which no doubt he had been. Mr. Peabody had no choice but to turn on his heels and leave them alone.

  “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Masterton?” She gave every outward appearance of relaxing back into the settee, but she studied him carefully as he perched on the edge of a deep brocaded chair. “Forgive me for staring, but you bear a striking resemblance to my sons’ riding master.” She reached in her reticule for a linen square to wipe a drop of moisture from the edge of her eye. “Actually, Jeffries was very dear to us all.”

  “Aye, I know, Your Grace. Richard thought I was him first time we met. Was this Jeffries from around Edinburgh by chance?” he continued, as if realizing that she needed a moment to compose herself.

  Grateful, she sighed and looked up. “Why, yes, he was.”

  “Aye, that explains the resemblance.” As he nodded, his firm jaw softened slightly. “Mary’s father, John, was my half-brother. After John’s mother died, the vicar’s family pretty much had the rearing of him, which is why he was such a gentleman and all. Our father found work at Lord Donnally’s estate south of Edinburgh and married my mother. Her mother’s family name was Jeffries. Wouldn’t doubt your Jeffries was my cousin once or twice removed.”

  “I think there can be little doubt.” Having gathered herself firmly together, she lifted her chin, determined to know everything. “Does Richard recall anything or anyone else?”

  The red of his short beard faded in comparison to the fiery color suddenly blotching Ian’s cheeks. “Aye, he knows his name is Richard.” Obviously struggling with something powerful, Ian stared down at the carpet as he tugged at his cravat. “As for the rest, I be thinkin’ it’s my Mary’s to tell as she sees fit.”

  Then, there was something more going on. She would never bend so far as to pry into her son’s life, but he was, after all, without his memory. The duchess calculated quickly. She made her decision and rose slowly, carefully flicking out the folds of her dove gray skirt. “Mr. Masterton, I find my anxiety for my son is too great to withstand a moment more. I must see him as soon a
s possible. Will you help me?”

  “I’m glad you’re here to help me.” Mary knelt beside Richard in the sweet-smelling hay of Star’s stall. It was after midnight and they’d been together, waiting, for several hours.

  The lantern hung above their heads on a peg cast an intimate light over them all. Star lay on her side, blowing gently with fatigue as the pressure built in her belly.

  He reached out and gently stroked the mare. “Easy, girl. It will be over soon.”

  There was compassion in his voice. She’d never known a man like Richard; she could never, with her limited experience, have imagined that he existed. He had the power to make her tremble with a kiss; his illness made her frightened with the awesome responsibility of the truth; he astounded her with his adroit handling of Sir Robert Lancaster; and he made her grateful every time she realized how much he’d done for her. Every day there was something new to learn about him.

  “I’m sorry Uncle Ian hasn’t returned in time.” Her whisper hung in the air between them. “I thought we had another week before Star’s foal would arrive.”

  Cocking one eyebrow, he glanced at her. “Are you concerned? Surely you’ve done this before?”

  “Yes, of course.” She nodded, wishing to reassure him. “But Uncle Ian always was here to help.”

  “Well, now you have me.”

  The sure, calm words cramped her stomach in pain where she kept in all her guilt at this lie that she was living and encouraging Richard to believe. It wasn’t fair to him! Weakly, she sank back on her heels, her eyes carefully scanning his face. He was so intent on the horse that he didn’t even bother brushing back the heavy wave of dark hair that fell into his eyes. He was very much at home here in the stable. Somehow, that didn’t seem in keeping with the crested ring and all that her mother had told her of fine London gentlemen. A tiny pain shot through her whenever she remembered that Richard would be leaving soon, if Uncle Ian was successful.

  “Richard, have you remembered anything more about your past?” She could hear the slight edge of desperation in her question.

  So could he. He gave her a penetrating look. “No,” he said, quite calmly. “You will be the first to know when that happens, Mary.”

  Star convulsed suddenly beneath his palms, her long proud neck arching upward, her ears laid back flat against her head in fear. This was her first foal, the source of both pride and worry for Mary. So much depended on the quality of the tiny creature about to be born.

  “It’s time,” Richard barked out.

  Mary scrambled away, making room as he moved into position to help if necessary. She stood pressed against the stall so firmly that the wood scraped through her shirt, irritating her skin.

  When front feet and a nose appeared first she gave one gasp of relief.

  “It’s all right. There will be no problems tonight.” Richard’s voice was full of exhilaration.

  Star gave one more heave, and the foal slipped out on its belly to the bed of straw and nearly into Richard’s waiting hands. The white membrane glistened against its shiny black coat, blurring a blaze just like its mother’s on its forehead. Richard turned toward her.

  “He has the makings of a fine stallion, Mary.”

  She reached for a soft cloth and cleared the membrane from its nostrils so that it could breathe more easily.

  Relieved of her burden, Star struggled up onto her feet. She bent her head, licking the foal’s glistening body, and Mary rose slowly, stepping away from it. Uncle Ian had taught her that the mother derived great satisfaction from drying her foal by licking it. It stimulated the flow of blood, giving the foal strength after the ordeal of birth, he firmly believed.

  Indeed, within a short time the foal made motions as if to try to stand. Mary had to forcibly resist the urge to help it.

  Without warning Richard’s hands were at her waist, gently pulling her back against his hard chest. He must have seen her involuntary movement. Could he hear the pounding of her heart? Could he feel how tensely she held herself so as to resist his tempting warmth? Or was he too involved with the foal’s struggle to notice?

  Urged on by Star’s nudging, the foal stood at last.

  Held up by impossibly long fragile legs it wobbled, precariously. But instinct won out. The foal began to nuzzle, frantically searching Star’s warm belly with its nose.

  Embarrassment and pride warred within her as, at last, the foal discovered its prize and began to nurse.

  “We can leave them alone now,” Richard whispered, burying his face in the side of her neck.

  With legs as wobbly as the foal’s Mary fled out into the warm night, which was lit by a full moon and hundreds and hundreds of stars. She could escape his touch and the softly spoken intimate tone of his voice, but not her feelings.

  His fingers caught her hand, wrapping it with silken strength. She hadn’t escaped him after all. She turned to protest.

  Cool moonbeams etched shadows beneath his eyes, giving his face an intent languor. “I’ll check in a few hours to make sure all is well. Now I’m going to the pond for a swim.”

  He touched his fingertips along the curve of her cheek, and she felt her flesh heat under the sweet pressure.

  “Won’t you come with me?” he asked softly, the drowsy heavy-lidded eyes gliding over her in such a way that her pulse skipped twin beats.

  Her life had turned topsy-turvy since the fire.

  She swallowed back tears, then stepped away, pulling her hand free with determination, or was it desperation?

  His quiet laughter dancing along her frayed nerves. “I take that as a no, my sweet Mary. Then go into the house. You look ready to drop from weariness.”

  Wordlessly she spun on her heels to obey him. Certainly she was worn to the bone, but not from fatigue! Every nerve ending was charged, her blood pounded; she’d never felt so alive.

  “Mary, what’s happened?” Lottie gasped, clutching her hands to her bosom as Mary darted through the garden door. “I couldn’t sleep, with your uncle away and all. Did something happen to Star?”

  “No. She delivered a beautiful black foal.” The words came quickly like the beat of her pulse. “Both are doing well.”

  “Then why do you look so distressed?” Placing a soft hand on Mary’s shoulder, Lottie peered at her from round eyes, worry filtering through the green in little splashes of dark emerald.

  “Richard was there to help, wasn’t he? Will he be coming in soon? I’ll fix us all a nice pot of tea. It will be just the thing to set you to rights.”

  “Richard won’t be in. He’s gone to the pond.” Wrapping her arms around suddenly shivering flesh, she moved to the warmth of the low fire in the grate.

  “Mary, what are you going to do about him? And all that be happening between the two of you?”

  Mary gave one quick breathless laugh. “There’s nothing happening! We just helped Star give birth to a beautiful foal. Now Richard has gone for a swim and I wish to soak for hours in my hip bath. I’ll take it from the cupboard in my room. Will you start heating up water?”

  Without waiting for Lottie’s answer, Mary fled the kitchen as she had fled the stable and the yard. But this unbearable weight of guilt and regret wouldn’t go away. She was overset by feelings she didn’t fully understand and was too frightened to explore.

  By the time she hauled can after can of hot water up the narrow stairs to fill the copper tub, she was truly exhausted. She threw lavender into the water and breathed in deeply of the sweet swirling steam as she soaked.

  Even luxuriating in the tub, scrubbing her skin until it glowed, and washing her hair until it squeaked between her fingers could not keep her thoughts away from Richard. She must tell him the truth!

  She sat before the fire to dry her hair, but instead stared dreamily into the flames, unformed wishes hovering at the
edges of her mind. When his footsteps pounded in the hall, the brush slipped from her fingers, clattering on the hearth. She rose to her feet with the impetuous thought of confronting him with the truth at this very moment. Then she glanced down at her lawn gown and collapsed back onto the low stool. She couldn’t appear in his room dressed like this! Burying burning cheeks in her palms, she shuddered, remembering how brazen she’d been already with Richard.

  Did she allow him to touch her because she must continue this charade for fear of his health? Or did she allow it because his touch brought a response so deep that she ached with it?

  Obviously he touched his real fiancée like this. Bitter sorrow distilled in her veins. It was clear to even the meanest intellect that Richard remembered being engaged because he was in his real life. Was her silence keeping him from resuming that life and reuniting with a woman he loved and who no doubt loved him in return?

  Pacing her room for what seemed like hours, Mary struggled to find a way to tell him the truth without fear of damaging his health. Although the doctor’s dire prediction constantly ran through her head, she could not ignore the proof of her eyes. Richard appeared beautifully restored to health. Soon, very soon, she would have to confront him. She only prayed that he might understand.

  But, in reality, she held out little hope. When Richard regained his memory he would recoil from her in revulsion. He would return to his world, and she would remain here where she belonged, where until now she’d always been content.

  Would that old contentment return once he was gone and the shooting sparks of feeling he inspired within her had died?

  That question burned in her mind, along with others. But she had to be fair. Richard’s loved ones must be mad with worry. She knew she would be in their place. Hopefully Uncle Ian had found success in London. And, if he returned soon, perhaps he would bring the key with which to unlock Richard’s mind.

  After reciting in her mind every verse she could think of, and after counting the tiny flowers splashed over her coverlet for the third time, she gave up trying to get even a moment of sleep. Flinging back the cover she sat up. Certainly she was doing herself no good here. Perhaps this restless energy would be better served in the stable, caring for Star and her new foal.