The Duke's Deceit

by Sherrill Bodine

  Understanding Lottie’s fear, Mary patted her arm. “I shall see him. After all, he is our closest neighbor. Please go down and tell him I’ll be there directly. Then come back up to stay with Richard. I’ll be ready in a trice.”

  She made a hasty toilette but took the time to put on her best day dress, a blue dimity gown with a blond flounce of lace at the hem. She tugged nervously at the bodice. It had grown a bit tight across her breasts. No matter; she had no choice but to wear it. It was the best she owned, and she needed all her armor against Sir Robert. There was something about him she could not like.

  She took her time descending the stairs, her mind racing to find the best course of action for dealing with Sir Robert Lancaster. When she entered the parlor, he rushed toward her with the same eagerness that always made her draw back into a tight ball inside herself.

  “Mary, I’ve been away and just heard the bad news. I came at once to offer my assistance.”

  She allowed him to clasp her hand for the shortest time dictated by good manners before pulling away. “Thank you, Sir Robert. However, all is well now.”

  His dark eyes glowed ebony in his swarthy face. “I admire your stubborn determination. I always have. But even you must see this fire spells the end of your dream.”

  She forced herself to remain in place even as he swayed closer to her, the diamond stickpin in his elegantly arranged cravat blinking into her eyes.

  “Mary, I despise the fact that I hold your late father’s vouchers. You have only to accept my offer of marriage, and all his debts of honor will be paid in full. Then together we will go to your grandfather and—”

  Flinging back her head, she laughed into his face. “My grandfather won’t even acknowledge my existence.”

  His wide mouth curled in an ingratiating smile. “Of course he doesn’t now. Not when you are living with Ian, who is hardly more than a stable hand, and his doxy.”

  His crude reference to a past Lottie never spoke of froze the knot inside her. Shivering in reaction, she clenched her hands surreptitiously behind her back. He held an enormous sum over her head. She must be civil, or no telling what he’d do to them all.

  “Lottie is my friend,” she stated quietly, reminding him that he was, after all, a guest in her house. “And as to the other, I’ve told you time and again that when Lara comes to foal, we’ll be able to raise the money you are owed.”

  “Come, come, Mary!” His hand reached out to flick her cheek. “You’ve been saying the same for some time now.” With his other hand he boldly grabbed one wrist. “I’ve been patient these many months—” he raised her captured hand to his mouth and let his lips linger over it “—and I find my patience is quite coming to an end.”

  He pulled her into his arms. Shock and revulsion swept over her, swiftly shifting to hot, trembling rage. With both fists she beat upon his chest.

  “Unhand me, sir!” she demanded. When there was no response she pushed harder, an edge of panic cutting sharply along her nerves. “Let me go, or you will answer to my betrothed!” she shouted in desperation.

  “What?” His hands dropped away as he stared at her in disbelief.

  Carefully she smoothed her gown, struggling for composure. Guilt at the lie and relief that it had served warred within her.

  “Yes. I shall be settled very soon, and my father’s debts to you paid,” she blurted out before she thought better of it. “I am engaged to be married.”

  “To whom?” he roared, falling back a pace, making it possible for her to breathe more easily.

  “His name is Richard.” As she warmed to her fantasy, the words tumbled out easily. “Richard Byron,” she added, remembering that one of the essays in Richard’s book was from Lord Byron’s works. “Richard was visiting in the neighborhood, and … and we met.”

  “He plans to pay all your debts?” Sir Robert asked with just the veriest edge of sarcasm.

  An outrageous plan fell perfectly into place in her mind: if, as the doctor predicted, Richard never regained consciousness, there might be no way to notify his family. So she would use his stallion to stud and the gold ring as collateral for a loan. That way Richard’s bravery would not be in vain. If he did recover, as she devotedly hoped, well, she’d deal with this lie then.

  “Richard would do anything for me!” she declared boldly. In for a penny, in for a pound, Lottie always said. “In fact, he was most grievously injured saving my horses the morning of the fire.”

  “May I visit him in his sickroom? I wish to offer my felicitations on your upcoming marriage.” His smirk was unmistakable. He did not believe her.

  “Unfortunately, he is still unconscious from his injury.” Even to her own ears it sounded the lamest of excuses.

  He had the effrontery to give a bark of laughter. “Mary, really…”

  “However, if you are very quiet, we can peek in for just a moment.”

  At last she saw a flicker of doubt shoot through his flat dark eyes. She had allowed him to goad her into this foolishness; now she must see it through. If it rid her once and for all of his distasteful presence, then it would be well worth the lie. This would buy her precious time. Perhaps Richard, or anyone else, need never know about her lie. Lottie she could swear to utter silence.

  Lottie’s face filled with dismay when they entered the room.

  “All is well, Lottie.” Mary forced a smile. “Sir Robert merely wishes to pay his respects to my dear Richard.”

  Ignoring Lottie’s gasp of shock, Mary slipped onto the bed to put the final period to Sir Robert’s doubts. With gentle fingers she brushed a heavy lock of hair from Richard’s brow. Gathering him to her, she leaned over, closed her eyes, and pressed a kiss upon his bruised cheek, near the long, relaxed mouth.

  “My darling Richard, I shall never rest until you are restored to me,” she murmured with what she hoped sounded like loving devotion. For good measure, she gave one shuddering sigh before lifting her lids.

  Shock froze her in place, her arms wrapped protectively around him, her hair enclosing them in privacy. Her supposed intended was awake. She stared into melting chocolate eyes that looked at her in bewilderment.

  “It seems I have been, my dear,” he whispered, his lips nearly brushing hers.

  Chapter 2

  His first awareness as he emerged from a black void was the melodious sound of a woman’s voice. It surrounded him with vague pleasure as he floated in a nether world, his lids seemingly stuck fast. It was more than he could do to rouse himself to open them.

  The touch of gentle fingers across his brow sent shivers of reaction where before there had been numbness. The touch continued along his cheekbone, stroking comfortingly. He could sense her leaning over him, feel her warm breath on his face, and then the faintest touch of her mouth upon his cheek.

  “My darling Richard, I shall never rest until you are restored to me.”

  Her voice held such longing as it caught on a sob. Again he fought the lethargy; who was this angel who called him from the darkness? He felt her hovering over him and, with the greatest act of sheer determination, parted his lids.

  The darkness fled as he opened his eyes within a heavy curtain of fragrant auburn hair.

  “It seems I have been, my dear.” He forced the whisper through his tight, dry throat.

  “Richard, you are awake!” she gasped, staring at him from wide cornflower blue eyes so close that he could see how thickly her lashes grew on the elongated lids.

  His mind couldn’t quite focus … visions and thoughts floated just out of his reach.

  Richard.

  Yes, his name was Richard.

  Sharp pain jabbed through his head and down the back of his neck, as he shifted slightly to study her as she abruptly rose from the bed.

  Her hair fell in a long, straight auburn mane, framing
a pale face dominated by those cornflower eyes slightly tilted up at the corners, giving her a fey look.

  She looked like a wild creature of the woods, poised, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

  “Sir, I’m ever so pleased you’re awake!” A small woman spoke from behind the vision.

  He turned his head to look at her but couldn’t place her. Her round face glowed as she clasped her hands to her ample bosom.

  “Mr. Byron, I’m sure we’re all delighted at your amazing recovery.”

  Richard allowed his gaze to slowly move to the swarthy man in impeccable black riding clothes standing at the foot of the bed. His mind might still be as fuzzy as a newborn babe’s, but he recognized a sneer in that lazy drawl.

  “I am Sir Robert Lancaster. Mary’s closest neighbor.” His full lips curled in a slight smile. “I want to offer my congratulations on your sudden betrothal to Mary.”

  Both women gasped! Richard turned too quickly and pain exploded behind his eyes, blurring his vision.

  At his grimace of pain, the younger lady—Mary was it?—once again slipped onto the side of his bed.

  “Don’t tax yourself,” she soothed. “We’ll leave you to rest now. I shall return with a tray.”

  “Thank you.” He barely breathed the words before she shepherded everyone out, quietly closing the door behind her.

  He blinked, his gaze touching the small details of this cozy slope-ceilinged room. The delicate hangings, the carved rosewood jewel box, and a few crystal bottles on the low chest proclaimed this a woman’s domain.

  Spying a faded mirror over the washstand, he flung back the covers. It took more effort than he had imagined, but somehow he made it the short distance. Supporting himself on flat palms against the oak stand, he stared at his reflection.

  Dark hair tumbled around a strong face, the skin marked with bruises beneath hooded eyes. The nose was straight, and the mouth long. He wasn’t displeased with the reflection; he was simply looking into the face of a stranger.

  He was a stranger! Everything about this place, this room, and these people was unknown to him. Closing his eyes, he tried to capture an elusive shadow shifting back in the utter blankness of his mind.

  It eluded him. Opening his eyes again on the countenance of this strange man, he reviewed what he did know.

  His name was Richard.

  Somehow he knew that was true. It … felt correct.

  And he was engaged.

  He sensed it somehow, back in the emptiness of his mind. Just as he knew he did not love his betrothed.

  Damn, why couldn’t he remember!

  His anger brought such shooting pain through his skull that he gasped and took a long shuddering breath. A wave of weakness washed over him. He had no choice but to stumble back and crawl into the narrow bed.

  The door creaked slowly open a few moments after he’d settled with a deep sigh of relief back upon the pillows. The fey creature entered, moving with unconscious grace even though she carried a tray laden with a bowl of soup, a generous chunk of bread with heat still rising from its brown crust, and a glass of milk.

  He eyed the white obnoxious stuff and lifted his right brow. Instantly he regretted this show of disdain, as a frisson of pain throbbed through his head.

  “I would prefer brandy.” At least his voice held a bit more strength than before.

  Suddenly her thin face was transformed by a smile that brought dancing lights to the cornflower eyes, and a deep dimple appeared beside the sweetly curved cherry lips.

  “I’m quite sure you would,” she laughed, a musical sound that was oddly soothing to his aching head. “However, until the doctor arrives, I fear I cannot offer you spirits.”

  She set the tray on the stand beside the bed and unfolded the napkin to lay beneath his chin. “Uncle Ian has gone for him.”

  “Mary, how long have we been engaged?” His blunt question banished her enchanting smile, and he saw blood flow brightly beneath the fine translucent skin of her face. How could he not love such an enchanting creature?

  “Richard, I must tell…”

  Whatever she was about to say was lost as the door creaked open.

  “Mary my girl, met the doctor at the front gate. Comin’ to check on our patient.”

  Pain shot up his neck as he pushed himself higher on the pillows.

  “Jeffries!” The name burst out of him on a wave of acute relief. At last, someone he knew!

  His elation lasted only a moment, receding as quickly as it had come, for the wiry man with the riotous red hair and beard shook his head.

  “No, lad, I’m Ian Masterton, Mary’s uncle.”

  He closed his eyes against the disappointment, racking his foggy brain for answers. He knew someone named Jeffries. A man who greatly resembled Mary’s uncle.

  A sense of great fondness lapped at the edges of his empty mind. Then sorrow pierced the blackness. Jeffries was dead. He didn’t know how or when; he just knew it was true.

  “Well, sir, let us see how you are doing.”

  The doctor’s voice brought him back to this new world populated by a man who tugged at his lost memories and a fiancée who looked frightened to death of him. She cast him one final glance from troubled eyes before she fled the room.

  The doctor, also unknown to him, smiled. “Now, sir, tell me how you are feeling.”

  He met Ian Masterton’s steady eyes before allowing his gaze to rest on the far wall. “It seems whatever accident befell me robbed me of my memory.” His lazy drawl shocked him. The next moment he smiled, settling deeper into the pillows; these slightly sarcastic tones rang true. “I have no recognition of this place nor any idea who I am.”

  “Mary, what are you about? That poor soul looked as innocent as a babe when he heard of your engagement. I fair fainted on the spot! Why would you tell Sir Robert such an outrageous story?”

  Lottie’s frantic questions beset Mary at every turn as she paced outside the bedroom door. Caught in a web of her own making! But she needn’t fear Lottie. Lottie would understand, and so would the stranger when she explained all to him.

  “Sir Robert was being…” Just remembering his touch begat a shudder deep inside her. “…obnoxious. And … and it just came out.” She shook her head in wonder at her foolishness. “I thought if Richard did not regain consciousness I would use his stallion to stud and his ring as collateral while we searched for his family. And if he did awaken, I would confess all and throw myself on his mercy.”

  Lottie gazed at her in open-mouthed awe. It brought home her determination to tell the stranger all, and she rushed on, “I tried to tell him the truth earlier, but I was interrupted.”

  “Thank the good God you were interrupted if you intend to tell my patient anything that will upset him!” The doctor’s stern voice brought Mary to an utter standstill. The look on his face as he shut her bedroom door sent hot dread swelling in her chest.

  “What is it? He isn’t worse!”

  “No, no, Mary my girl,” Ian soothed, placing a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Listen to what Dr. McAlister be tellin’ us.”

  The doctor favored them all with a hard stare. “We have a serious problem here. Very serious indeed!” He emphasized his words with a vigorous shake of his head. “Because of his injury, Mr. Byron is suffering from memory loss. All he recalls is the name Richard; a friend, Jeffries, who greatly resembled Ian; and his engagement to Mary.”

  “What!” Mary’s heart nearly stopped from the shock. Suddenly the air thinned around her and she gasped, “But we are not—”

  Holding up his palm, the doctor stopped her rush of words. “I don’t ken what’s going on here, young lady. I only know what is best for my patient. He must have no shocks. None whatsoever!” he stressed, holding Mary’s stunned gaze. “Whatever the truth of his
past, he must be allowed to remember it naturally. If not, I fear it might bring on a brain fever. Indeed, then we would lose him forever.”

  He softened his words with the slightest of smiles. “Now give him whatever he wishes. I heard him muttering something about brandy. A wee bit wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ll fetch it at once!” Lottie picked up the hem of her skirt to rush down the narrow steps.

  “I’ll show myself out,” Dr. McAlister chuckled, following her down. “You won’t need me again, unless you go against my orders.”

  Ian wasted no time, staring at Mary from beneath bushy sandy brows. “Mary girl, best be tellin’ me the truth of things.”

  She told him as quickly as she could, with the guilt burning in her stomach spreading upward to fill her chest, and then her throat, until she ended, sobbing softly.

  “Mary girl, you will leave Sir Robert to me!” Ian’s wiry body grew rigid as he spread his legs in a wide stance of defiance. “Your father’s debts are as much my responsibility as yours. He was tryin’ to fulfill the dream we’d had since we were lads.”

  “And his dream for me.” She clasped her uncle’s outstretched hands. “He wished to leave me something of substance to make up for what he believed I was missing. I only wish to make sure we don’t lose everything he worked so hard to achieve.”

  “You’ll see, Mary my girl. We’ll find a way to pay off Sir Robert. Even with the setback of the stable fire.”

  Warmed by the strength of his grip and his words, she nodded. “First we must pay our debt to Richard. I swear I shall help him regain his memory so I can confess my falsehood. He will understand, won’t he, Uncle Ian? A man that good, who would stop to help strangers with a fire…” The words died away as Lottie appeared clutching a crystal decanter of brandy in one hand and a glass in the other.

  Mary whisked them from her hand. “I wish to take it to him.” Guilt and new purpose driving her, she plastered a wide smile on her face and opened the door.

  Richard had elbowed himself higher on the pillows so that Ian’s white nightshirt stretched tightly across his chest, outlining rippling muscles. She could hardly keep from staring at him. He ran long fingers through his hair, sending the heavy waves away from his brow, as he watched her with hooded eyes. Obviously he believed her lie, for he was so … natural with her. But what she was experiencing was hardly natural.