Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Sorrow mixed with amusement lurked in her eyes. “You would marry me, my lord? What a sweet revenge upon Society our marriage would be, but I would not permit you to make me your marchioness. I know my place. I shall set my sights upon becoming a baroness or perhaps even a viscountess. I could never make you a proper duchess. You owe me nothing, Lord Malvern.”

  “Are you certain, Miss Lovelace? I could send Lord Harry ahead to announce my return and wait with you to greet your father.” For some inexplicable reason, Hunt did not wish to face the world without this woman at his side.

  Her smile escaped, a promise of sun upon a dark day. “Such a connection would have pleased the late Lady Victoria Lovelace, but her daughter is a more practical being than was her romantic-minded mother. The earl says your father wishes a connection between you and Lady Mathild. I have beheld the girl, and you two would make a most striking couple. Lady Mathild’s dark chestnut hair and chocolate eyes would complement your coloring. You would be a handsome and powerful force.”

  Hunt thought the contrast between light and dark might be more influential than would a comparable countenance. The opposition would demand the attentions of both friends and foes. “Just because my father wishes the connection will not guide my decision. Yet, I will treat the lady kindly.”

  A hint of concern crossed Miss Lovelace’s countenance. “I plan to persuade my father to send your mother his regrets and to return to London. I think it best if we are not in company.”

  “You think I might look upon you with too much familiarity?” Hunt ventured.

  Miss Lovelace frowned, but he knew he affected her for a pink flush spread across her chest and up her neck. “I worry others may learn the truth of the last week.”

  Hunt shrugged with inevitability. “I hoped for more, lass, but I will accept your decision. However, know if your father prefers to accept the duchess’s invitation, I will strive to maintain a proper distance. I will never bring scandal to your door.” He turned to go. “Are you certain it was your sudden appearance upon the road, which frightened Alibi?”

  What Lord Remmington had confided became Hunt’s new reality.

  Puzzlement crossed her expression. “What else could be the cause?”

  Hunt replied with a hint of speculation. “A stray bullet perhaps. Someone out hunting.”

  She shook her head in denial. “In such a storm? No, my lord. I am grateful you mean to defer my blame, but I feel assured the fault rests upon my shoulders.”

  By instinct, Hunt closed the distance between them. As if mesmerized by the blue ice of her eyes, his hand caressed her cheek. “I know not what my future holds, Miss Lovelace, but you will remain a cherished part of my past.” Touching her was a mistake, an illusion he did not wish to relinquish. He wanted to be this woman’s everything—to turn the sun back four and twenty hours and reclaim the anticipation of knowing her intimately. To be her first. Her last. It was a lovely fantasy, one upon which reality would too soon intrude. “May I claim one last kiss?” he murmured as he leaned closer. “One last token between William and Elizabeth Copley?”

  Tears misted her eyes, but Miss Lovelace did not look away, and so Hunt lowered his head to taste her again. To solidify his memories of her.

  “I never planned this,” she whispered a second before his lips took possession of her mouth. The lady settled against the plane of his chest and yielded to him. The kiss was an unconscious branding and a possession. Kissing her as such, Hunt could not think of one reason why they could not continue their connection forever.

  Yet, as it always did, reality claimed it due. A sharp knock at the door had her springing from his arms. She barely turned away in time before Harrison opened the door. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand come to her mouth to cover her swollen lips. Hunt stepped between Miss Lovelace and his brother, offering her a few extra seconds to recover.

  “Is a carriage available?” He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile while forcing his erection to subside. Thank Goodness the trousers he sported were freer than the breeches Harry wore.

  Harry shot a wary glance toward Miss Lovelace. “I hired a driver and secured Alibi and my horse to the back of coach. If you are prepared, we may set out at any time.”

  “I was simply expressing my gratitude to Miss Lovelace for her quick thinking during the storm. If she were any less competent, I could have drowned while lying unconscious upon the open road.” Noting how her shoulders straightened, Hunt stepped around her to claim her hand. “Miss Lovelace, I am forever in your debt. I pray your reunion with your father will be a speedy one.”

  “And I pray, Lord Malvern, that your family meeting will prove equally as satisfying.”

  With a hint of regret, Hunt kissed her knuckles before following his brother from the room. Somehow, he did not think the lady’s wishes would know fruition.

  * * *

  Angel did not move. She thought to look out the window for one last glimpse of the Marquess of Malvern’s joining Lord Harry in the let carriage. Yet, she feared if she permitted her heart to lead her head, she would chase after his lordship and demand he again offer her his hand. The heat of his mouth upon hers lingered in a manner Angel never thought possible.

  “You are doing what must be done,” she whispered to the empty room. With a resolve she no longer thought possible, her chin angled higher. She used her knuckles to dash away the tears threatening to escape. “Accept Lord Newsome or another appropriate match and keep the memory of the marquess locked tight in your heart.” She chuckled in irony. “If nothing else, you have a face to replace the dark countenance of your ‘Lucifer.’”

  With a second dashing of her tears, Angel gathered her skirts about her.

  “There is much to be done before Papa’s arrival.” She had promised Lord Remmington she would join him for supper. The earl thought it important they discuss what they would share with her father. It was imperative they not leave holes in her explanation, which would destroy her reputation, as well as that of Lord Malvern. “There will be more than enough time to relive each moment of the past few days. A whole lifetime to know your ideal match does exist. He will simply belong to another.”

  * * *

  After they stopped for the evening meal, Hunt feigned exhaustion, leaning his head against the worn squabs and closing his eyes to block out Harry’s constant recitation of the many facets of Hunt’s life. It was all so overwhelming. In addition to Hunt’s obvious responsibilities to his father’s title, there was the matter of some sort of mystery to which Lord Remmington alluded, and, finally there remained the all-too-consuming distraction of Miss Angelica Lovelace. “Angelica.” Hunt replayed her name in his head a half dozen times. He thought hers the perfect name: Angelica. Angel, he revised—an angel of light to cover his dark outline. The thought of her slender form astride his body brought an instant erection. He shifted his weight so his coat might drape across the evidence of the effect her memory had upon him.

  “We have arrived,” Harrison announced as the coach rolled to a halt at the gatehouse. Leaning out to wave to the gatekeeper, Harry instructed the driver to take a left turn at the fork to arrive at the stables rather than before the great house. “I thought we might walk up to the manor from the barns and sneak into Father’s study like we did as young boys, rather than to prance through the main foyer.” Harry said sheepishly, “We are less likely to encounter any of Mother’s guests in that manner.”

  Hunt nodded his agreement. “Yours is a wise choice.”

  Within minutes, he strode along a well-worn path beside his brother. The terror returned. Nothing about the grounds felt familiar. When they reached the far side of the house, Hunt permitted Harry to lead the way across the low terrace and through the wide glass doors. Hunt supposed he had entered through those same doors more than a hundred times during his lifetime, but for all his pretense, he could be standing upon foreign soil.

  “Why do you not pour yourself a drink?” Harry gestured to a servic
e of glasses and decanters as he lit several candles about the room. “I will fetch the duke and duchess, as well as Etta. I shan’t be long.”

  Before Hunt could turn in a circle and take in the opulence of the room, Harry disappeared into the bowels of the house. There was history in this room—his history. Yet, he wanted to run, screaming, from all it held. He wanted to return to the simple room in the Wendts’ farmhouse to lie beside Angelica Lovelace throughout the night.

  Chapter Seven

  Despite the impropriety of doing so, Hunt poured himself a shot of brandy from a decanter beside the duke’s— correction, beside his father’s—desk. He was not certain whether his doing so was customary or not, but he required liquid courage to face his future. However, before he finished the drink, he heard the quick steps of soft slippers upon the marbled floors he noted outside the room’s open door.

  “Oh, Hunt!” the woman gasped as she rushed into his one-arm embrace, seeking his comfort. My mother, he thought. Yet, there was nothing familiar about her—not her appearance, nor her voice, nor even the cloying scent of roses she wore. Surely, such was his mother’s favorite fragrance. Devastation took hold of his heart when he realized if a bevy of other ladies of the same age and social class surrounded the woman in his embrace, Hunt could not chose her from the group. The thought had his heartbeat hitching faster.

  “I have worried so,” she whispered as she caressed his cheek. “You are injured?” she said as she noted the crude sling.

  “Alibi threw me during the storm,” he said simply, knowing he would be expected to repeat his tale several more times this evening. “Let us wait upon the others,” he said in kindness. “I am exhausted and would tell my tale but once.”

  Tears misting her eyes, the duchess nodded. “While we wait, permit me to ask Mr. Strasser to send for Mr. Roddick.”

  “If it eases your concerns,” he said with a squeeze of her hand.

  She rushed to the bell cord, and Hunt studied her. His mother was an exceedingly handsome woman, likely in her late forties. Slender. Taller than he expected, nearly reaching his shoulder. He thought Miss Lovelace would appear a petite touch of sunlight beside the magnificently coiffed duchess. The thought of Miss Lovelace brought a sad smile to his lips. He would never see her again.

  Gold and a bit of silver feathered his mother’s warm brown hair. Brown eyes, the color of walnuts. He noted few of his own features in her countenance.

  Louder footsteps announced his father’s approach. Instinctively, Hunt straightened his shoulders to meet the man he would one day replace.

  “He is home, Hamilton, and safe,” his mother explained to the man who commanded the room with his presence.

  “I can see that much for myself, Duchess,” the duke declared with what appeared to be pure relief crossing his countenance. “Harry says you suffered greatly.” Hamilton McLaughlin’s gaze skimmed Hunt’s stance, and Hunt fought the urge to squirm. He wondered how often his father summoned him to this very room. Had he been an exemplary son or a total rascal?

  Hunt swallowed the rising consternation flooding his throat. “It was more difficult than I would like.”

  The appearance of what had to be Henrietta upon Harrison’s arm brought Hunt further regret. His twin. The woman who entered the world only ten minutes before he. When Harrison told him of the family awaiting Hunt’s return, Hunt imagined if no one else, he would instantly recognize Henrietta. Did not twins possess a special bond?

  His sister was beautiful. Yet, she favored their mother. Hunt found himself a bit disappointed not to feel anything exceptional for any of his dear family.

  “Thank goodness,” Henrietta gasped as she took his free hand in her two. “Even when some considered the worst, I knew we had not lost you. My heart remained as one. I knew we would find you again. We are two, Huntington. You cannot leave me without my heart knowing.”

  Hunt wished he could say the same, but his mental turmoil continued.

  Harry cleared his throat. “Perhaps, we should all assume a seat. There is more to Huntington’s story than his obvious shoulder injury.” His brother assisted Etta to a nearby chair. Hunt watched her lower her girth into the cushions, and he wondered how often he assisted his twin in such situations.

  “What else is there to know?” the duchess asked suspiciously. She reached for the duke’s hand in comfort.

  Harry kept the floor, and Hunt held no objections. He possessed no desire to announce his lack of knowledge of these people, who obviously experienced real concern over his absence.

  “Hunt suffered another injury beyond his displaced shoulder.”

  The duke’s eyes scanned Hunt’s body again. “Such as?” His father stood imperiously behind his duchess, his hand resting nobly upon her shoulder. Hunt could easily recognize his own countenance in the man. Even a stranger’s assessment would proclaim Hunt his father’s son. He was his father come to life a second time, Etta, his mother, and Harry a combination of the two.

  Hunt discovered his voice. “Despite appearing only in disarray, I endured a head injury, which robbed me of a portion of my memory.”

  Henrietta’s features scrunched up in confusion. “What portion?”

  Hunt’s gaze remained locked upon his father’s. He possessed no doubt of his mother’s and Etta’s sympathy, but the duke would hold other concerns, those directed to the responsibilities of the title. “I recall the names of writers and painters and musicians, as well as the details of historical accounts. I know my sums, my letters, and my gentlemanly manners. All my education as a duke’s son.” He paused to set his stance. “Yet, I hold no knowledge of the Devil’s Keep beyond what I learned of this room with my entrance a quarter hour past.” Hunt went very still. “Nor of its inhabitants.”

  The duchess paled. “You mean the identity of my guests?” his mother asked through trembling lips. “Surely, you cannot mean to say ...” Her voice trailed off.

  In the distant depths of his mind, Hunt studied the terrible tableau before him. His father’s mouth was thin lipped, and his countenance stony, but he said, “You possess no memory of being Malvern?”

  “No, sir.” Hunt sucked in a steadying breath. “I imagine I could muster an understanding of estate books and investments specific to the dukedom. I was not struck dumb nor am I without intelligence. I simply lost the names of those most dear to me.” He smiled wryly. “And other members of Society. I have no social history.”

  His mother gasped and clutched at the duke’s hand. “How is that possible? Surely you know your own parents!”

  “Until you walked into this room, Duchess, I could not conjure your image,” Hunt admitted. He wished to add the only image he owned was that of Miss Angelica Lovelace, but he could not share that particular fact with his family.

  “Hamilton, do something!” his mother pleaded.

  “What would you have me do, Alberta? Even as a duke, I cannot order the return of my heir’s memory.”

  His father’s gaze did not falter. Hunt admired the duke’s control.

  His mother was on her feet and pacing. “I want the most learned medical man in the kingdom summoned to Malvern’s side.”

  The duke gathered his duchess into his arms. It was a telling moment. It spoke of the state of his parents’ marriage. “We will do all that is necessary, Duchess,” he assured her.

  Harry rushed to Hunt’s aid. “Until that time I intend to remain at Hunt’s side so he can manage his social obligations.”

  “I can send our guests away,” his mother offered. “Beg off with a family emergency.”

  Hunt gestured in the negative. “For now, I would prefer you not bring more attention to my condition. It is my hope just being at the Keep will bring new life to my recollections. I will use my shoulder injury to withdraw when I am overwhelmed by so many new faces.”

  “You can use my condition as an alternate excuse. You can be a doting twin brother in Lord Stoke’s absence,” Etta suggested.

  A tremendous
ache to know his twin again filled Hunt’s heart. “Harry tells me such actions would not be a divergence from character for us.”

  A questioning restlessness crossed Henrietta’s countenance. “Soon your reminiscences will belong to you alone and not simply ones borrowed from Harry.”

  “It is my dearest hope,” he confessed.

  The duke set the duchess from him. “I am not one who acts upon hope. If Malvern is well enough, we should devise some sort of plan to keep this development from becoming common knowledge. There are those who would move against the dukedom if they think Malvern incapable of making fair judgments. Harry, who else knows of Malvern’s dilemma?”

  Harry shot a quick glance at Hunt. “Only the Earl of Remmington. He and I traveled together in our search for Huntington.”

  “Where is Remmington?” Etta asked. “Did he not return with you?”

  “The earl’s horse took on a stone,” Hunt supplied. “His seeking a farrier brought us together, as I was seated on the back of a farm wagon at the time. We met in a small village. Remmington will return when the horse can carry him without pain.”

  “Remmington and Hunt have held a close association since their university days. The earl will not jeopardize Hunt’s position in Society,” Harry confirmed. “Remmington understands the demands of a title.”

  “Then let us be about discovering a means to protect Malvern from censure.”

  * * *

  In spite of feeling greatly bereft of Lord Malvern’s presence, Angel enjoyed the Earl of Remmington’s company. With an inward shrug of acceptance, she wondered if it would not be for the best if she pleaded with her father not only to return to London, but to Virginia. “Placing an ocean between us would prove providential,” she told her waning spirits.

  The thought of choosing another English peer and later encountering the marquess at a public gathering presented her heart with a crippling pain.

  “Malvern will persevere,” Lord Remmington’s voice broke through Angel’s thoughts.