Lucy, that dear, seemed to like the Findleys immensely. That was all Maggie needed to know. She glanced over at Lucy. Peter’s sister-in-law was a beautiful lady. Her husband, Derek, was an enormous man who looked a great deal like Peter only seemed to be about twice his size. Derek was indeed quite handsome, but Maggie much preferred her betrothed’s slender build.
“My friends Cassandra and Jane will be here this evening. I’m so looking forward to introducing you to them,” Lucy said, snapping Maggie from her thoughts.
She searched her memory. “Cassandra? And Jane?” The names weren’t familiar.
“Yes, Cassandra Swift, the Countess of Swifdon, and Mrs. Jane Upton, the future Countess of Upbridge.”
No. Neither name was familiar, and neither were the titles. That was odd. Maggie didn’t want to let on that her memory was still so poor. It might worry Lucy further, and she’d been so kind to Maggie.
“I look forward to meeting them both,” Maggie said with a bright smile on her face.
Peter was quiet, but she surreptitiously glanced at him again as she’d been doing the entire ride to the party. She’d caught him looking at her once and blushed. He’d smiled at her and then reverted his gaze out the window. My, but he was handsome, and after their talk this morning she’d decided he was kindhearted as well. He’d been so nice to her.
The coach came to a stop, and a footman opened the door and let out the stairs. Derek alighted first and helped down his wife. Then Peter alighted and turned back to assist Maggie. She blushed when he took her hand. Oh, perhaps it was better that Mother wasn’t here to see this.
As soon as Maggie settled her slippers onto the ground, Peter offered his arm and she took it. They followed Derek and Lucy to the queue where the guests were waiting to enter the ballroom. Odd that Peter, the duke, should follow his brother.
Lucy scanned the crowd. “Do you see anyone you know, Lady Magnolia?” she asked in what Maggie could only describe as an overly loud voice.
Peter elbowed his sister-in-law. Lucy shrugged.
That was also odd indeed.
Maggie looked about, but no one in the sea of faces seemed familiar to her. Panic filled her chest. She should know these people, shouldn’t she? All of these people. Most of these people at least.
The queue had barely begun to move when Lucy grabbed Maggie’s hand, her other hand atop her coiffure. “Lady Magnolia, won’t you come with me to the retiring room? I find I am having a crisis with my hairpins.”
Maggie frowned. Besides the hand planted atop her head, Lucy’s hair looked perfectly in order. “Now? Before we’re introduced?”
Lucy squeezed her wrist. “Yes, please. I do so need your help.”
Oh, dear, perhaps there was underlying mayhem in Lucy’s coiffure after all. Maggie had little choice but to accompany the duchess into the house, where they wended their way through corridors full of polished marble floors until they came to the ladies’ retiring room. Lucy certainly seemed to know her way around the Findleys’ home.
“I don’t recall ever being here before,” Maggie said, still frowning as they entered the large room. “It’s the oddest feeling.”
A few other ladies greeted Lucy, who made a show of stationing herself in front of a looking glass and plucking at the pins in her hair, which continued to look perfectly fine to Maggie.
“This is Lady Magnolia Makepeace,” Lucy said, introducing Maggie to her friends.
The ladies greeted her with friendly smiles but they also narrowed their eyes on her as if they didn’t recognize her.
“Lucy, I don’t remember any of them or their names,” Maggie whispered moments later after Lucy had declared her coiffure was as sorted as it was going to be and announced that it was time to go in search of the gentlemen.
“They didn’t seem to remember you, either,” Lucy whispered, a decided frown on her lovely face.
“What was that?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing.” Lucy grabbed Maggie’s hand and pulled her along after her, out of the retiring room. “I daresay Derek and Ad—er, Peter, have been announced by now.”
The two ladies made their way downstairs to the ballroom. Lucy dragged Maggie along in her wake as she searched for her husband and brother-in-law. “There they are!” she declared, pointing toward a small group on the sidelines of the dancing.
Maggie looked up to see not only Derek and Peter but also a tall handsome blond man, an equally good-looking blond woman, and a well-matched brunette couple.
As soon as the two women came to join the small group, Lucy flourished a hand toward Maggie. “Lord and Lady Swifdon, may I present Lady Magnolia Makepeace?”
The blond woman gave Lucy a quick furtive glance before turning her attention to Maggie. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Magnolia,” Lady Swifdon said. “And I do hope you’ll call me Cass as all my friends do.”
“And I am Julian,” the good-looking blond man announced, bowing to Maggie.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord and Lady Swifdon.” Maggie curtsied to the friendly couple before turning her attention back to Lucy, where she was quickly introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Upton, the brunette couple, who each in turn insisted she call them Garrett and Jane. Jane paused in her endeavor of munching on a teacake to greet Maggie warmly. They all seemed quite nice but Maggie had never met them before, she was sure of it. Why had she never met people who were obviously Peter’s good friends?
“Likewise, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” she said to the group. “Have you all known Peter long?”
“Peter?” Julian’s brow furrowed.
His wife cleared her throat loudly. “Yes. Peter,” she repeated in a warning tone.
“His Grace?” Maggie clarified, giving Julian a hopeful look.
Garrett began coughing. Jane slapped her husband on the back a bit too hard. Lucy elbowed Garrett. There was certainly a great deal of elbowing happening here this evening. It was as if they were all in on a jest that Maggie knew nothing of. She tugged nervously on the strings to her borrowed reticule.
“Oh, yes. Of course. We’ve known him for many years,” Julian hurried to say.
“Indeed,” Garrett added while being glared at by his wife.
A waltz began to play. Peter stepped forward and offered his arm. “Lady Magnolia, may I have this dance?”
“Of course!” She grabbed his muscled forearm as if it were a lifeline, happy to leave the strange little group. She’d had enough uncomfortable conversation for one evening. Not to mention the fact that she was greatly looking forward to waltzing with her betrothed. The Peter she’d come to know over the last two days in his house was different from the Peter she thought she knew. The Peter of her memory was a duke, arrogant, authoritative, always in control. But the Peter she’d come to know stopped by her bedchamber and asked how she was doing. He brought her roses and tucked hair behind her ear. He’d even made her laugh when she’d been frightened and felt alone. Then he’d agreed to call her Maggie even though she knew he didn’t like informality.
Peter spun her around on the dance floor and Maggie completely forgot the awkward conversation she’d been engaged in moments before.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Peter asked, his green eyes studying her intently.
“I am,” she replied, averting her gaze. “Though I…” She bit her lip and glanced away.
“What? What is it?”
“I wonder why everyone isn’t treating you with the respect due your rank.”
Peter missed a step in the dance and Maggie had to catch his upper arm to straighten him. She pulled back her hand quickly.
“My apologies, my lady. I, er, well, with friends I’ve always been quite informal,” he said.
Maggie nodded. She didn’t remember that about him but then again she didn’t seem to remember much about him. It was all so odd. Her head was beginning to pound. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to come here this evening after all.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying that
you are breathtaking this evening,” Peter said.
Maggie pressed her smiling lips together. Ah, there was the charming.
It turned out that Peter was actually a marvelous dancer, despite that one misstep. He was also a delightful companion, making her laugh and keeping her entertained with comments about the other dancers and the ball in general. By the time their waltz was nearly finished, Maggie was glancing at him from beneath her lashes and hoping that they would have a chance to be alone this evening.
When the dance came to an end, Peter led her back to the sidelines. As they made their way toward their friends, a blur in blue bumped into Maggie.
“I beg your pardon,” a blond lady said just before she looked up at Maggie and her eyes widened. “Cecelia?”
Maggie frowned. “No, I—”
The woman narrowed her gaze on her. “Cecelia, is that you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cecelia? Was that her name? Adam searched her face. If the name sparked a memory, her countenance did not betray it. Not at present.
She shook her head. “No … I … Have we met?” she said to the young woman who was studying her face.
The woman cocked her head to the side and frowned. “No. I suppose not. You simply reminded me of someone else. Someone I used to know. I apologize for the mistake.”
The young woman picked up her skirts, turned, and drifted back into the crowd, but Adam made a mental note of what she was wearing so he could point her out to Lucy later. Perhaps they could find her again and learn some answers.
At the moment he needed to get Maggie out of the ballroom. Take her someplace where they could be alone and he could ask her questions. He was still out of sorts over not being able to find the papers she’d had with her during her accident. He’d hoped she’d be recognized at the ball tonight. And perhaps she had been just now. But the woman who’d called her Cecelia hadn’t mentioned a family name, and he certainly couldn’t ask her right then without causing Maggie more concern.
He took her by the elbow and led her along the far side of the room out the French doors. Once they were outside, he inhaled a deep breath. A light summer breeze swept across the terrace, and the scent of freshly cut grass and summer flowers mingled in the air. The wide stone space was sparsely populated with others from the party; small white candles in clear glass holders around the balustrade provided a scarce amount of light in addition to the stars hanging in the night sky.
Adam escorted Maggie to the far end of the balustrade that overlooked the Findleys’ gardens. For the moment, Adam and Maggie were alone. When he turned to face her, she wore a look of grave concern.
“Maggie, what’s wrong?” he whispered. Had her memory come back? Was she frightened?
She shook her head and swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her gloved hands. “I … don’t know.”
He searched her face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I don’t know what’s wrong and that’s what frightens me. That woman called me Cecelia.”
He gently cupped her elbow. “Do you recognize that name?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I feel as if I should.” She lifted her chin but her bottom lip trembled. Adam had the urge to reach out and stroke it with his thumb.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” she replied. Then she smiled, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. “It’s the strangest thing but I … I think I have a rabbit.”
A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “A rabbit?”
“Yes. You know? Small, brown, furry. Enjoys carrots.”
“With you?” he asked with an irrepressible smile.
She glanced around. “Not at the moment, no.”
The moment of levity passed quickly and the look of panic returned to her eyes. “Peter, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? You’d tell me if something was wrong. You’re so noble and heroic and—”
“I’m neither of those things,” he ground out.
She took a step closer to him and looked up into his face. “Oh, yes you are. You’re a hero to me.”
Adam couldn’t help it. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She gasped at first when his lips met hers, but soon her arms slid up the front of his jacket to encircle his neck. She pressed herself to him, and he nearly groaned. She felt so good, so soft and lush all pressed against the front of him. She tasted like berries. His tongue swept her mouth. His hands cupped her soft cheeks. He reached one hand down around her lower back and pulled her intimately against him, hard. She moaned.
He didn’t want to let her go, even though he knew the kiss was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was taking advantage of an ill woman, for Christ’s sake. But the way she’d looked up at him was so trusting and calm and beautiful. She’d called him a hero. No one had ever done that before. No one would ever do that again. In that moment, that one unforgettable moment, she’d made him feel like a hero. Her hero. Jesus, was it wrong to wish that she’d never remember who she truly was?
He forced himself to pull his lips away from hers and take a step back, still shaking slightly from their kiss. So was she. Her hands fell to her sides. She looked flushed. He needed a cold bath.
“I’m—My apologies,” he began.
“Please don’t apologize. You made me remember.”
Adam’s heart stopped. “You remember?”
“Yes.” She nodded, smiling at him, her pink lips gloriously swollen. “I remember our first kiss. The night we became betrothed. It was at the Harrisons’ garden party, and it was magical.”
Adam took a deep, still-shaky breath. “I don’t doubt it,” he said softly. But whatever the reason, he was merely glad that her fear had passed. Hadn’t he just wished she wouldn’t remember? His lungs had nearly jumped through his throat when she’d announced that she did.
“I may not remember everything,” she said in a husky voice that made Adam long to kiss her again. “But how could I forget a kiss like that?”
“My thoughts exactly,” he replied with a shaky laugh. “I’m mollified to hear you found it memorable, my lady.” Of course, she would no doubt slap him when she realized she’d just kissed a complete no one.
She stepped away from him and placed both palms against the stone balustrade, looking out into the darkened gardens. “There’s something else, Peter,” she whispered.
“What is it?”
A shudder snaked through her slim body, and she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her prickled skin. “I have the strangest sense that I’m in danger.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Adam had nearly torn the house apart this morning looking for the blasted pages. Maggie’s pages. Or were they Cecelia’s pages? The ones that had flown into the road when she’d been nearly killed by the coach. He lined up all the servants and asked them one by one if they’d seen the pages. One of the housemaids had seen them two days ago sitting on the desk in the drawing room where he’d left them, but she swore that she hadn’t touched them. None of the other servants admitted even seeing them.
After a frustrating morning, Adam ended up back in his bedchamber. He took a seat on the edge of his bed, his palms splayed against the mattress behind him. He considered who Maggie might be. Last night, as soon as she’d mentioned that she might be in danger, he’d quickly escorted her back inside, gathered Lucy and Derek, and ensured they made their escape. How could they have been so stupid, taking her out in public that way?
When she’d asked whether the coach had been purposefully trying to run her off the road that day, he’d dismissed it, assuming it was the ravings of a woman whose memory wasn’t fully restored, but now he realized it may have well been true. She had been alone, as if she’d been lost perhaps. And the coach had made no effort whatsoever to slow or to miss her. It was entirely possible that she was in mortal danger and he, like an idiot, had agreed with Lucy that they should trot Maggie out in public to find someone who remembered her.
They’d never considered the fact that they might be placing her into worse danger.
Was she in danger? The only person they knew of who had recognized her was the young blond woman at the party who had called her Cecelia. They hadn’t been able to find her later, they’d been so preoccupied with leaving. But that woman might well tell others.
Damn it. He would never forgive himself if Maggie was hurt again because of his own foolishness. No wonder he’d never made it as a spy in the War Office. He didn’t deserve to fetch brandy for the spies, let alone be one. He shook his head. That line of thinking wasn’t helpful.
What the hell could have happened to the pages? Surely Derek wouldn’t have touched them. And Lucy … Lucy had taken Maggie shopping on Bond Street this morning, despite his insistence that Maggie remain in the house. In true Lucy fashion, the duchess had ordered four footmen and two groomsmen to go with them in case anyone should try to harm Maggie, and they’d left with barely a backward glance. He was still a bit riled by it, actually.
Did Lucy have the pages? It wouldn’t be right to go rifling through his sister-in-law’s rooms.
On the other hand …
It wouldn’t hurt to merely stick in his head and take a look.
He left his room and strode down the corridor to Lucy’s chamber, which was next door (with an adjoining door) to Derek’s. To be safe, Adam knocked, and when no sound came from the inside the room, he tentatively opened it and peeked inside. The grand room was decorated with violets and tasteful white lace; fresh purple flowers sprouted from a glass vase on a table in the center of the room. It smelled like Lucy’s perfume. Adam didn’t have long to search. There, sitting in a haphazard stack on her bedside table, were the pages. Every last dusty, crumpled one of them. He strode over to the table and pulled the first page of the manuscript from the stack. Apparently, Lucy had put them in order. He scanned the page.
The Unforgettable Hero Page 5