A Duke Never Forgets (The Duke Hunters Club, #3)

by Blythe, Bianca

  He frowned. “I thought all the rocks in the ocean were on the ground. Rocks are rather difficult to float.”

  “Er—yes,” she looked away. “That’s true. I believe you were trying to swim quickly when the tide was still low. You were—er—distracted.”

  “Oh.” He looked at her. “Were you there?”

  A horrified expression flitted across her face, but she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, that explains it.”

  “You remember?” Her voice wobbled.

  He shook his head reluctantly. “How could I not be distracted in the presence of so much beauty?”

  Her cheeks pinkened, and she averted her gaze. “Let me show you the corridor.”

  He nodded and inched forward, still clutching her hand.

  She opened the door, and they moved from the white-washed room to a corridor.

  “Do you recognize it?” she asked.

  “No.”

  For some reason, she seemed relieved.

  “I’ll—er—show you the kitchen.” She moved slowly, matching his pace perfectly. The woman was so thoughtful. He’d chosen well, and he beamed.

  He knew he should be distraught that he’d forgotten his memory, that he’d lost years of his life, and yet, right now, he was simply happy he’d evidently landed in the correct place.

  His wife stopped and gestured at a room filled with pots and pans and a large fire. “This is the kitchen.”

  “Ah...” He tried to nod knowledgeably. “I—er—don’t remember it.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  He stared at the room. “It looks small.”

  “Well, this is its size.”

  Hmmm...

  Somehow, he’d expected more. There was hardly any counter space. “It must be difficult for the servants to cook with this limited space.”

  “Well, she manages.”

  He paused. “There’s only one servant?”

  His wife nodded. “Yes.”

  Damnation.

  Most households had more than one servant.

  “I’ll—er—show you the drawing room,” she said, distracting him from looking at the narrow, dark kitchen. “It’s on the other side of the corridor.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  Hopefully, the drawing room was more suited to his expectations.

  They strode over the corridor, and Sebastian realized no rugs covered the floorboards. He frowned slightly. “Did you remove any rugs?”

  She shook her head, a bemused expression on her face.

  “I thought perhaps you’d removed them so I wouldn’t fall.”

  “Oh.” She chewed her lower lip. “There weren’t any rugs.”

  Even though they moved slowly, they soon arrived at the drawing room.

  Sebastian stared at a shabby couch, devoid even of accompanying shabby armchairs. A table and chairs were in one corner of the room.

  “Is that the dining room?” he asked warily.

  She nodded, assessing him.

  Blast it.

  “So, the dining room is in the same room as the drawing room?”

  “Yes.”

  He exhaled. He was happy to have a beautiful, lovely wife, but he was certain he’d imagined that he would be in a better position.

  He frowned. Ocean waves sounded, and a sliver of blue was visible from a window. He moved toward the window, dropping her hand.

  She followed him slowly. “Perhaps you remember that?”

  He shook his head, and her shoulders lowered a fraction.

  A thought occurred to him, and he scrunched his forehead together. “Perhaps this isn’t our only home. Do we have another house too? A larger house?”

  That must be it.

  His parents weren’t titled, but they were members of the gentry, respectable in a certain shabby manner. They’d sent him to a good school.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s simply this one.”

  His skin must be turning a ruddy color.

  “Let’s go outside,” his wife suggested, and he nodded.

  Yes, evidently, he’d selected a quiet life.

  He followed her outside, stopping briefly on a chair in the corridor to put on some shoes. Soon, they were in the open air. He inhaled the salty scent of the ocean, and he listened to waves rippling against the shore. A warm breeze wafted about them, and he stepped onto long green grass, the verdant color broken only by the occasional wildflower. Bees and butterflies flew about cheerfully, and white cliffs curved along the horizon.

  “It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

  His wife smiled. “You enjoy Cornwall.”

  His gaze fell to a chaise.

  “That’s yours,” she said.

  He stared at glossy painted wheels and a smooth, gleaming surface. “That looks expensive.”

  She nodded, and a worried look came on her face.

  “Do we have horses too?”

  “Two horses.” She pointed to them.

  “What are their names?”

  She hesitated. “Theseus and Pegasus.”

  The horses looked similarly immaculate. “These look purebred.”

  “They probably are.”

  “Probably?”

  “We didn’t discuss it.”

  Sebastian frowned and marched toward the chaise and examined it. “This is appalling.”

  “What’s wrong?” His wife’s voice trembled, and his heart ached.

  “The chaise is beautiful. And the horses are beautiful.”

  She stared at him, clearly puzzled.

  Blast it.

  What kind of a husband had he been? What kind of a man?

  “It seems, my dear, that we are poor.”

  “You expected otherwise?” Her voice trembled.

  He nodded curtly. “Indeed.”

  “Most people are poor,” she said. “And we do have a cottage for ourselves.” She frowned and amended her statement. “At least, we have a cottage that we share with my mother and younger brother.”

  “Hmph.” He moved his gaze toward the horses. They looked incredible, with shiny coats, symmetrical faces and immaculate hooves. His heart twisted. “I am afraid I spent all our money on horses and a chaise. They’re the only thing here of any value.”

  “Oh.” She fluttered long dark lashes up. “Is that why you’re upset?”

  He nodded. “I’m afraid I must have been a dreadful husband.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Not too dreadful,” she said.

  “No. That drawing room even had a leak in the ceiling. Disgraceful.”

  Her lips twitched. “You noticed it?”

  He nodded adamantly. “How could I not?”

  She surveyed him for a moment. “That is a very wise comment.”

  Sebastian swept his gaze back to the countryside. “Do we have any land?”

  “I believe the property extends in that direction.” She pointed.

  The land was sloped and rocky, unideal for a farm. It wasn’t even ideal for horses. He sighed.

  “Do I have a job?” he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head.

  Blast it.

  Perhaps his cousin, the duke, was funding them. Or did he have an inheritance?

  He stared at her. “Did my parents die?”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

  He tightened his fists. Anger moved through him. They’d been old and not well, and he couldn’t be shocked, but the loss still jolted him.

  “I’m so sorry,” his wife said.

  “How did they die?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t mention it to you?”

  She looked away. “It happened before we met.”

  Oh.

  Well, that explained it. No doubt, he had some income from them.

  He gazed at his beautiful wife and he vowed he would make some corrections. He didn’t know what had happened in the past six years, but he hadn�
��t planned to have such a lovely wife, only to force her to live poorly. He certainly wasn’t going to continue such complacency.

  “I promise I’ll be a better husband to you,” he said.

  “You already are,” she protested.

  He gazed at the cottage. “I can be better. I should protect you, and not risk my life by doing dangerous athletics.”

  “I don’t think swimming is generally seen as dangerous.”

  “I almost died,” he said solemnly.

  Her gaze sobered. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT HAD BEEN EASIER to despise the duke before.

  Guilt moved through Genevieve. The duke should be upset he’d lost his memory, but instead, he only seemed concerned that he’d been an unsatisfactory husband. Somehow, she hadn’t associated the duke with a robust moral code, but he seemed completely in possession of one now. He would loathe her when he woke up, and this time, she would deserve all his wrath.

  Genevieve’s heart tightened. This time, she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  The duke took her hands in his and gazed deeply into her eyes. “I promise I will be a better man for you.”

  Goodness gracious.

  Her knees quivered, as if she were a newborn calf.

  The light shone upon the duke’s hair, playing in its sandy-colored strands. His head was still bandaged, but it didn’t matter. The man still radiated handsomeness, despite having been smashed against a rock and tossed through waves, as if he were a diamond that could withstand everything. The man practically gleamed. His teeth were a healthy white, and though his skin was paler than before, it only caused his appearance to conjure reminders of statues chiseled by Italian sculptors who’d made it their mission to devote themselves to the beauty of the male form.

  He pulled her toward him, and in the next moment, Genevieve was encompassed by warmth and wonderfulness. Her heart pitter-pattered, and for a moment, she forgot to worry about her family.

  “I’m enjoying getting to know you again.” His deep voice rumbled pleasantly. It seemed absurd that people paid to listen to performances of cellos and basses, when obviously his voice sounded more pleasant than anything the finest luthier could create.

  He smoothed her locks fondly, and his eyes sparkled. “I’m so happy you’re my wife, Genevieve.”

  Then he tilted his head, and—

  Heavens.

  He was going to kiss her.

  Wasn’t that what married men did? They kissed their wives? In fact, Genevieve was under the impression they were prone to doing much more than kissing, given the giggles she sometimes overheard when the maids at her former manor house spoke about such things.

  Her heart hammered.

  She couldn’t let the duke kiss her. It didn’t matter how much her knees quivered, how perfectly the curves of her body fit against his muscular frame, or how much energy swirled through her now, as if rejoicing in his presence.

  He couldn’t kiss her because he wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t even courting her. He wasn’t even a besotted suitor sneaking her away to a conveniently positioned balcony.

  He wasn’t a stranger, but until he’d woken up from his sleep, he’d been an enemy.

  And he’ll be an enemy again.

  Genevieve stepped back rapidly. Her right foot collided with the step leading to the cottage, and for a dreadful moment, she flayed in the air.

  In the next moment, the duke caught her. “My darling.”

  “My... darling,” she echoed reluctantly.

  The word felt too correct on her tongue.

  “I suppose we’re a clumsy couple,” he said.

  “Er—yes.”

  “Perfectly matched.”

  She nodded, resisting the manner in which her heart ached with each movement. Because it wasn’t true. The duke despised her, even if he’d forgotten now. Once he recovered from his injury, he would remember she shot him, remember she was here with her family under a false name, remember they weren’t married at all.

  He would despise her for letting him think they were a couple.

  “You’re so thoughtful, my darling.” The duke gave her a beatific smile, then tilted his head again.

  Oh, no.

  No, no, no.

  For a moment, Genevieve considered succumbing to his kiss, but in the next moment, reason prevailed. She scrambled from his clutches, ignoring the hurt look that flitted upon his handsome face.

  Her heart tumbled. “I—I should go.”

  “Where?”

  “Just household things,” she said brightly. “And—er—you need to rest.”

  He nodded, then the edges of his lips extended upward. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll remember everything.”

  She forced herself to return his smile. “Perhaps!”

  “I’ll—er—return to my room,” the duke said.

  “Splendid,” she said, conscious she was nodding with an unwarranted enthusiasm. “Do you remember the way?”

  “I do,” his voice rumbled in that intriguing manner again, and Genevieve averted her gaze, suddenly glad her heart was safely ensconced inside her, and the duke could not see the rapidity with which it beat in his presence. She opened the door to the cottage, then hurried to the kitchen, lest he attempt another kiss at the door of the bedroom.

  She had a horrible feeling her cheeks were flushed. When the duke remembered everything, she didn’t want him to think she’d pretended to be his wife because of some youthful besottedness. He shouldn’t know her heart fluttered in his presence, or that her knees were prone to tremble, as if recognizing their proper position in his presence was horizontal.

  Genevieve’s heart trembled. The duke had tried to kiss her.

  Her heart pounded, and she forced herself to slow down. Naturally, the duke had attempted to kiss her: he thought she was his wife. Kissing was one of those parts of marriage no one ever saw married couples do, but which seemed to be the chief content of whispers. Genevieve doubted the man tended to go about staring deeply into people’s eyes and angling his head otherwise. Butterflies still occupied her chest, fluttering with glee.

  He’d almost kissed her.

  And Genevieve had wanted to kiss him. It would have been easy to part her lips slightly. It would have been simple for her to relax into his strong, broad arms and listen as he continued to compliment her.

  But it would have been impossible.

  The duke had never married her. He’d never proposed, and he’d never ventured into even the most basic form of courtship with her.

  She was lying to him. It would be terribly wrong for them to kiss, even if he did think they were already married.

  Genevieve sat down, then stood rapidly. Energy pulsed through her, and she paced the room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, SEBASTIAN felt better. Unfortunately, feeling better didn’t coincide with memory. No matter though. That could come later. Sebastian had never been an enthusiast of wallowing, and he had no plans to start now. There were more imperative things to consider.

  He’d seen a desk in the drawing-room-dining room-library. No doubt, he stored his financial information there.

  Since the desk didn’t have an accompanying chair, he picked up a chair from the dining room table and sat down. He slid the desk open and found some important-looking documents. He needed to find a more secure place for his papers than this desk: anyone could come in from outside.

  He leafed through the papers. A name kept on appearing on the documents, but the name wasn’t his own. Sebastian furrowed his brow. This was most unusual. This cottage was being rented under the name Mary Potter.

  He rose rapidly, then regretted the suddenness of his movement. His limbs still ached.

  “What are you doing?” a female voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head.

  Genevieve’s mother stood before him. My mother-in-law: Mary Potter. Her voice was cold. Sebastian didn’t wonder at Genevieve’s sudden shyness
to signs of affection now.

  “I shouldn’t have looked in the desk,” he said. “I apologize.”

  Mrs. Potter’s expression remained frozen, not venturing into one of either understanding or o rebuke.

  “I imagined I would find my documents there, but there were none.”

  “No,” she said.

  He inhaled, despising that this was so difficult. How had he managed to put himself into this position?

  “You rented this cottage,” he said.

  “Yes.” She scrutinized him. “Do you remember anything?”

  He shook his head apologetically, but for some reason, she exhaled. No doubt, she was grateful he’d asked for some form of forgiveness. Had he even recognized that his actions were problematic?

  He stared at her, uncertain.

  Something had gone very wrong in the past, but he was determined to rectify everything now.

  “I should rent this property,” he said. “In fact, I should own it.”

  She stiffened.

  “But all the documents belong to you,” he said. “I find that most odd.”

  Shock jolted her face, thrusting her eyebrows upward and rounding her mouth into an oval shape. Mrs. Potter was silent, but she inched slowly away. Blast it, how had he managed to make even his mother-in-law uncomfortable in his presence?

  “I must do my duty,” Sebastian said. “Even though it’s difficult.”

  With that, Sebastian bowed, then strode from the room, conscious Mrs. Potter’s mouth still resembled an oval.

  “WAKE UP!” MAMA SHRIEKED, flapping her arms.

  Genevieve forced her eyes open, despite the ample scatterings of sand.

  Genevieve had struggled to sleep, pondering the duke.

  From her mother’s pale visage, Genevieve suspected she would soon be pondering the duke more.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she said.

  “His Grace—”

  Genevieve stiffened, then thrust a finger to her lips. “Mother.”

  Mama shrugged. “Don’t worry. He can’t hear us.”

  Genevieve blinked. “Don’t tell me he’s lost his hearing as well as his memory.”

  “Nonsense. That would be ridiculous.” Mama straightened her back, seeming to recover herself now she was once again assessing what was or was not appropriate. “He’s gone. The duke is gone.”