Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “W—w—wife!” the younger man sputtered.

  Again the elder shushed his partner. “Is your wife at the White Horse also? I would have the pleasure of an introduction,” he said in a tone, which reminded Hunt of one employed to reason with an obstinate child.

  Hunt’s back stiffened. “As I hold no familiar name to offer Mrs. Copley, I possess no intention of disturbing my wife with whatever duplicity you offer. From the cut of your clothes, it is easy to observe we hold little in common, and I do not appreciate being the target of your taunt.”

  The elder man continued to act as the pair’s spokesman. The younger one kept shooting glances of disbelief between Hunt and the youth’s partner.

  “Certainly, what you say is true.” The gentleman offered Hunt a proper bow. “Despite your lack of proper dress—a habit you are known to employ when traveling alone, you are most assuredly not William Copley.”

  “Not Copley?” Hunt murmured.

  “No,” the elder man insisted. Hunt watched as he nudged the younger man into a proper bow of respect. “I am Levison Davids, the 17th Earl of Remmington, and this is—” He gestured to his partner. “Lord Harrison McLaughlin.” The man paused dramatically. “Your younger brother.”

  Hunt felt the room spin in blackness, and he gripped the side of a chair for support. “It cannot be,” he argued against the obvious. “Please cease this madness. I beg you to take your theatrics elsewhere.”

  The younger man—his brother, he corrected mentally, reached to steady Hunt’s stance. “What Remmington speaks is the truth,” the youth said in sympathy. “We have searched for you for two days. When I spotted your horse, Alibi, in the village stables, I rushed to learn more of your health. The duke and duchess are beside themselves with concern.”

  Hunt felt the color drain from his face. “The duke and duchess?” he murmured with some effort.

  “You are Huntington McLaughlin, the Marquess of Malvern, heir to the Duke of Devilfoard,” the Earl of Remmington assured him.

  Hunt gave his head a small shake to clear his thinking. “Then who is the woman with whom I shared the previous five days?” He had only to look upon Lord Harrison to recognize the similarity in their features. Hunt did not know why he had not considered the possibility earlier.

  Lord Remmington’s frown lines met. “Yours is an excellent question, Malvern. What’s more, other than the woman’s identity, we must determine the lady’s motivation in providing you a false name.”

  Harry swore under his breath. “You think this woman meant to entrap Malvern into marriage by compromising herself?” His brother demanded, “Please tell me you did not travel together.”

  Hunt’s fist clenched. “Worse. We shared quarters for four nights.”

  Remmington leaned closer to speak in private. “Malvern, you must permit Lord Harry and me to address this woman’s motives and determine if she holds specific demands.” He motioned for Harrison to remain by Hunt’s side.

  Hunt thought upon the woman above stairs. He had trusted her implicitly. Even now, he wished to pronounce her innocent of mischief, but uncertainty claimed a hold in his heart. “I should lead the way,” he declared as a defense. If Lords Remmington and Harrison practiced a farce, he would not permit them easy access to Elizabeth.

  He slowly climbed the steps, the two men shadowing him. Praying someone erred, Hunt released the latch to the room he shared with his wife, and she stood to greet him.

  “Your timing is immaculate,” she declared. “I finished the letter to my father.” Yet, her expression of welcome changed when she viewed his turmoil, and then his brother stepped past Hunt, and she paled before she shot a look of recognition first to him and then to his sibling. “Lord—Lord Harrison,” she stammered.

  Hunt’s anger arrived. This woman used his head injury to her advantage. She purposely concealed what she knew if him.

  “Miss Lovelace.” Harry pronounced the woman’s name in disgust. Obviously, she was someone Hunt should know, but did not recognize. “I would suggest you have some explaining to do.”

  Chapter Six

  Against his better judgment, Hunt left “Elizabeth” with the Earl of Remmington to discover her story, but Hunt’s thoughts were never far from the girl his brother called “Miss Lovelace.” He knew fury when Harry’s declaration turned Hunt’s limited reality upon its head. He knew hurt and confusion and disappointment, and he lashed out at the one person whom he thought he could trust.

  “You conniving—” He advanced on the woman, and it was at that most inopportune moment that Hunt realized he had given a bit of his heart to the woman who quaked before him.

  Remmington stepped between Hunt and Miss Lovelace. “I will speak to the lady, Malvern. Why do you not go below with Lord Harry while I sort out what occurred?”

  And so Hunt had reluctantly followed Harrison to the inn’s common room. They chose a table in the corner to minimize their presence among the early afternoon’s patrons. However, although the woman had used him ill, Hunt’s eyes returned often to the stairs leading to the room he intended to share with his “wife.”

  “Mother will be so relieved,” Harry declared for the fifth time.

  Suddenly, the impact of Harry’s words struck Hunt. “What if I recognize no one? I mean, with the earl’s insistence, I can now observe the similarities in our appearances and can accept our familial connection. Yet, such will not be true universally. I do not think I can bear the look of pity in everyone’s eyes, and how will I prove myself the future duke if I know nothing of my past?” Despite his best efforts, Hunt’s voice rose in a panic.

  Harry’s eyebrows drew closer together as if seeing Hunt for the first time. “What has the surgeon said of your injury?”

  Hunt winced. How would he explain the truth? “Eliz—I mean Miss Lovelace and I accepted shelter at a farmhouse in the uplands. The flooding and my injuries drove Miss Lovelace away from nearby villages.” Such was the lady’s story, but in hindsight, Hunt realized he should have questioned the woman more carefully. “I have seen no surgeon.”

  Harry remained oblivious to Hunt’s growing alarm. “Father will demand you see a proper physician.”

  Hunt nodded his agreement, but, in reality, he held no idea how his father might respond to this unsettling news. Not knowing what else to say, Harry spent the next hour regaling Hunt with stories of whom to expect when they arrived at the Devil’s Keep. Evidently, their mother invited many of the upper ton for her annual summer fête. It would be so much easier if he could simply return to the family’s manor and learn of his immediate family without the distraction of the peerage’s watchful observations.

  “You must remain close,” he instructed his brother. “In case I—”

  “Certainly. I will be as close as if we are one person.”

  Before Hunt could respond, Remmington’s purposeful approach piqued Hunt’s interest. Harry motioned the inn’s maid to bring another mug of what passed for ale in the establishment. Hunt wished to ask how Miss Lovelace fared, but he swallowed the question. He should not give a care for the woman’s well being. Even though he was no longer angry with her, Hunt would be sore to forgive her perfidy.

  Once the ale maid disappeared to her other duties, Hunt asked the second question upon his lips. “Did the lady have an explanation for her duplicity?”

  Remmington took a long draw from his drink. “Miss Lovelace is most concerned with your health, Malvern.”

  “I would imagine she is. She maneuvered the Marquess of Malvern into a compromising situation,” Harry growled. “I know shame that my association with Miss Lovelace brought scandal to my family’s threshold.”

  “I believe you misjudged Miss Lovelace, Lord Harry,” the earl countered. He turned to Hunt. “The lady made several errors, but not in a malicious fashion. Unlike your brother, I do not believe the woman knew your true identity until Lord Harry pushed his way into her room.”

  “How could she not?” Harry protested. “In appe
arance, except for my slightly lighter hair, I am Huntington in his younger years, and I spoke to Miss Lovelace several times regarding my elder brother and sister. Without a doubt, she recognized the similarities and accepted her opportunity for an excellent match.”

  Remmington motioned Harry to keep his voice down. “I asked Miss Lovelace a question in that very vein, and the lady assured me Malvern’s choice of clothing did not alert her to your brother’s social status. And as to your similar appearance, Lord Harry, the lady claims when first she took your acquaintance with her cousin Lady Elaine, Miss Lovelace remarked how you favored a long- time friend from her childhood years.”

  Harry opened his mouth to object, but the earl waved away the protest.

  “Miss Lovelace wrote to her father for assistance before we discovered Malvern. The lady permitted me to read her missive. In it, Miss Lovelace shared the news of her carriage accident and how she crawled from the wreckage only to frighten the horse of an unknown rider. She spoke to her father of how the man collapsed, how she tied him to his horse, and how she rode the animal to eventual safety. Miss Lovelace describes the Wendts’ generosity and explained how she offered the couple false names so as to protect her reputation from further damage. She does not mention your reputation, Malvern, because men can walk away from scandal more easily than a woman. Frankly, I believe her. The lady even asked Mr. Lovelace if he could find a proper position for the young man if ‘Mr. Copley’ did not recover his memory.”

  “Yet, the woman is most assuredly compromised,” Hunt said in caution. He listened carefully to Remmington’s explanation and somehow he found it satisfying. Miss Lovelace had considered his future. The lady still placed his health and happiness above her own security.

  “Miss Lovelace assures me she will place no claims on the Malvern title. She referred to her position in Society as too inferior for a marquess’s notice.” Hunt found himself frowning at that news. “The lady says the only familiarity you two shared was in connection to the tending of your wounds,” Remmington continued. “It is not an ideal situation, Malvern, but unless you have knowledge, which would contradict the lady’s words, it is manageable.”

  Hunt thought of the kisses he had shared with the woman and the perfect intimacy of sleeping with her lining his side.

  “It is as the lady said,” he murmured in regret. There was a part of him that had hoped she would claim him as hers and be damned with the world’s censure. “She kept telling me it would be better if I reclaimed my memories rather than her supplying them. It is all so clear now. Miss Lovelace held no knowledge of my family to share. Her untruths were ones of omission.”

  “And what of those foolish names Miss Lovelace created for her story?” Harry grumbled in dissatisfaction.

  Remmington smiled knowingly. “From the lady’s favorite novel. You know the one, Malvern. The one many of England’s educated women have read. The one about the rich Mr. Darcy and the daughter of a gentleman.” He chuckled. “To which Miss Lovelace added her mother’s maiden name of Copley.”

  Hunt knew nothing of the novel the earl referenced, but he hoped someone in his family could identify it. He would like a closer look at the tome. “So how do we minimize the gossip?”

  “I propose you and Lord Harry return to the Devil’s Keep this afternoon. You can reach your family estate after the majority of the evening’s entertainments end, which will provide you time to satisfy your family’s curiosity in private. You tell them, during the storm, your horse threw you, and by the time you managed to remount, you had lost consciousness. Alibi instinctively sought cover, and the animal brought you under the Wendts’ care. Hopefully, no one will think to ask how you managed to stay in the saddle. If so, say you are not certain—that it was God’s will. It might be best if you gave the couple a different name, especially as the Lovelaces may slip and use the Wendts’ real name. Harry, you will tell your parents we encountered a farmer escorting Malvern into the village, and we spent time convincing Malvern of his true identity.”

  “Why can you not supply the story?” Harry asked suspiciously.

  Neither his pose nor his tone suggested Lord Remmington expected anything less than his word to be followed. Hunt wondered if he, too, ever possessed such confidence.

  “I plan to remain behind with Miss Lovelace. A lady cannot travel alone. I will send a rider with her amended letter to Mr. Lovelace. The man should arrive within two days. Then I will return to Malvern Hall prior to the Lovelaces’ appearance on your family’s threshold.”

  Harry found the earl’s explanation not to his liking. “And what pray tell are we to share with my parents regarding your delayed return? After all, by your own words, we discovered Malvern together.”

  Remmington accorded Harry a faint nod of pained impatience, and Hunt enjoyed how easily the earl played with the youngest McLaughlin. “You will say my horse took a stone, and I refused to leave my favorite mount to a country farrier’s care. Be creative. Tell them my horse’s sudden lameness is what brought our attention to Malvern. Speak of how providential my bad luck proved. The duke will enjoy the knowledge my delay will provide.” The earl gave Harry a darkling glance before saying to Hunt, “It is best if I speak to Mr. Lovelace, as he and his daughter are to be guests of your parents.”

  “Lady Gunnimore,” Harry moaned. “She was quite upset over Miss Lovelace’s absence.”

  The earl explained for Hunt’s benefit, “Lady Gunnimore was a particular friend of the late Lady Victoria Lovelace. The dowager countess was to serve as Miss Lovelace’s chaperone until Mr. Lovelace could join his daughter at your mother’s house party. Tomorrow morning, I will send a message to Lady Gunnimore in Mr. Lovelace’s name, informing the lady a carriage accident delayed their arrival, but they will join the duchess’s other guests by week’s end. That will provide Hunt four days to acclimate to the household before he must face Mr. Lovelace and the possibility of gossip. If we have each done our duty, nothing will be amiss by that time.”

  Hunt thought the earl’s expression was one of uncommon audacity. It made him admire the man even more. Hunt possessed no memories of their connections, but the idea of developing such a loyal friendship gladdened him.

  “Harry, why do you not see to letting a coach? I am too bruised and battered to ride Alibi to the Keep.” He was suddenly well aware he had no idea of the directions of the Devil’s Keep. He would truly step into the abyss.

  “Is this what you desire, Hunt?”

  “The earl appears to have the right of it,” Hunt conceded. “I suppose all I still require is my previous memories. Perhaps when I view my childhood home, things will come full circle.”

  Harry sighed. “I certainly hope so. All these lies can only lead to disaster.” His brother rushed away to do Hunt’s biding.

  Remmington leaned closer. “When you reach the Keep find a few moments to speak privately of your dilemma to Sir Alexander Chandler.”

  Hunt’s curiosity piqued. “Why ever for?”

  The earl whispered, “You and I and Chandler occasionally act as governmental contacts,” the earl explained. “No one in your family knows of this work, so speak only to Chandler. You may also trust your driver, the one called ‘Etch,’ to assist you. I will explain more when I return to Devilfoard’s manor, but I think it important to mention you asked me to join you at the duchess’s table to foil your father’s plans for your marriage to Lady Mathild and to protect your back from an unknown assailant. Of late, men followed you about London. You evidently stumbled upon a bit of evidence, which aroused a sudden interest in your life. Be vigilant, Malvern.”

  The panic returned to Hunt’s chest. “Bloody hell, Remmington, I cannot even recall the look of my parents’ countenances or that of my twin sister. How am I to be a threat to anyone?”

  Remmington’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I cannot say for certain, but I will not desert you. We will see this through together.”

  While the earl made arrangements for a room
and the hiring of a rider to be sent to Mr. Lovelace, Hunt made his way up the steps to knock on the door of the room he had shared with Miss Lovelace.

  He thought it only proper to express his gratitude for all she had done for him. At least, that was the excuse he told his head. Meanwhile, his heart scoffed at his foolishness.

  “May I come in?” he asked when she answered the door. “Please, Eliz—” be began when she hesitated.

  “It is Angelica,” she announced through trembling lips.

  Her lashes dropped in an act of subservience, and Hunt realized he did not enjoy the expression of regret the woman wore. A lack of confidence proved unbecoming on some women, and Miss Lovelace was one of those few.

  “I am gladdened by your appearance, my lord,” she said softly. “I feared I would not be permitted my apologies before your departure.”

  “Lord Harrison sees to transportation while the earl makes arrangements for accommodations,” Hunt clarified.

  “Yes, Lord Remmington agreed to my protection until my father arrives.”

  He shot her a grim smile. “And as to the other, you have nothing for which to apologize. It is I who should be expressing my apology for my earlier fit of anger, as well as my gratitude for your forethought in saving my life.”

  “Yet, I created an impossible situation,” she declared. “I should never have spoken my lies. They complicated the matter.”

  Hunt caught his breath to exhale slowly. This woman was the only reality he could name. The idea of returning to a family of which he possessed no memories caught his heart in a tight clutch, but standing before Miss Lovelace brought him a comfortable familiarity.

  “Some lies are necessary,” he assured her. “And you should know, Miss Lovelace, despite my physical limitations, I understand a gentleman’s responsibility. I would consider it an honor if you would agree to become my bride in truth.”