The Duke's Deceit (2 page)

Limping slightly, she went about her chores, taking the tack off the stranger’s horse and feeding and watering all the animals. All the while she refused to look at the smoldering heap that had once been the stable.

After she finished, she picked up the book and went back into the house. Uncle Ian was in the kitchen, putting salve on his own burns.

“Done the best we can, Mary girl. I’ll be off to fetch Dr. McAlister now.”

Nodding, she moved past him to climb the stairs again to her room. She was accustomed to hard work, but her muscles were protesting her extra exertion, and the burns sent streaks of pain up her calves.

She couldn’t resist looking at the bed where Richard lay utterly motionless. The pallor of his washed skin beneath the dark hair tumbling forward across his wide brow was terrifying to see. His high cheekbones outlined bruises beginning to form below the fan of his dark lashes.

“I believe his name is Richard. That was all I found written in this book.” Mary whispered, as she always did in sick rooms. “He … he is a fine-looking man.”

“He’s handsome as sin!” Lottie sighed, straightening her nightcap more securely upon her graying gold curls. “What’s the likes of him doing in the wilds of Hexham?”

“Perhaps journeying to Edinburgh,” Mary offered, moving a step closer to examine the bandages wrapped around Richard’s burned hands.

“No matter now. Done all we can until the doctor arrives. I’ll stay with him, Mary.” Lottie nodded, new spirit in her voice. “Best for you to wash up and change before Dr. McAlister arrives. I’ve put a washbowl and towel for you in the sewing room. And best use the salve on yourself, too. Your uncle swears it’s a cure for everything from boils to consumption.”

Mary took the salve and one of her two serviceable outfits—a plain black bombazine spencer and full skirt—into the tiny sewing room. Her arms and feet throbbed with pain, making her toilette awkward to perform. She couldn’t bear to pull on the riding boots she wore every day, so she stepped into her only other shoes, thin silk slippers that were almost like new, although she’d had them for years.

By the time she finished, the salve was already soothing her burns. She hoped it worked as well for Richard.

She moved more easily out into the tiny hall and found her bedroom door closed again. After a morning such as this, a mere closed door was certainly not going to stop her! Lifting her chin, she pushed the door open.

Of the three stunned faces that greeted her entrance, only the doctor’s held a faint smile of welcome.

“Miss Masterton, I was just informing your uncle and Miss Barton that we have a serious injury here. Very serious indeed.” He emphasized his words with a vigorous shake of his head. “All we can do now is care for his burns and force as much nourishment as possible. If he does not regain consciousness in the next day, I very much doubt that he ever will.”

“Poor soul,” Lottie breathed, her round face unusually pale.

“Poor soul indeed,” the doctor agreed as he closed his traveling bag. “I’ll be coming by tomorrow. Let’s pray for some change, but I hold out little hope.”

“Thank you for coming, Dr. McAlister.” Mary flicked him the tiniest of smiles. “We’ll do our best for him.”

“I’ll be showing the doctor out, Mary girl.” Uncle Ian said pointedly. “Then I’ll be seein’ to what’s left of the stable and the cause of the fire. Somethin’ strange goin’ on here. Mighty strange.”

“Yes, it is. But we saved the horses. That’s the important thing. Please check on them, Uncle Ian. I’ve fed and watered them, but you’ll know better if they’re suffering any effects of the fire.”

She closed the door quietly behind him and turned to stare at the man whose presence so filled her small, tidy room. Of all the emotions tumbling over one another in her thoughts, one lodged hot and tight in her chest. Guilt forced her to move swiftly to take a stance beside the bed.

“He is grievously injured because he came to our aid.” Her whisper came out in a harsh exhalation. “We must do our utmost to help him recover. I shall stay with him while you prepare some thin gruel, Lottie. It will be a good sign if he can take nourishment.”

A short time later Lottie returned with a bowl of her special recipe, a gruel to cure all. Determined to care for Richard herself, Mary urged her away to prepare a meal for the rest of them.

Mary very carefully dripped a tiny spoonful of gruel between Richard’s dry lips. He swallowed, his strong throat muscles moving, and relief flooded her, with little bubbles of joy popping in her veins. Surely this was an encouraging sign.

She repeated the ritual every two hours all through the day and into the night. At midnight she sent an exhausted Lottie to her room. Uncle Ian had relented enough to admit that there was nothing unseemly about her being alone with such a grievously injured man, particularly one who was unconscious.

The tall clock in the downstairs hall was chiming two as she very slowly unwrapped the bandages from his hands. A heavy gold crest ring slipped off his finger when she reapplied Ian’s salve. She studied the chunk of gold resting on her palm, then looked into the face of its wearer.

Lottie had spoken the truth. Even with bruises marking the skin, there was strength and an appealing beauty in the perfect arrangement of flesh knitted to bone in Richard’s countenance. She knew little of men, but a great deal of horses. There was a breeding that lent grace to this man, even in his sorry state.

Guilt, which had driven her all through this interminable day, blazed hot and fresh, swelling into her throat. She might never see the eyes now hidden by his hooded lids and dark lashes.

But neither would those who cared about him. Who was he? If he didn’t regain consciousness, as the doctor feared, how would they know where to send word?

She quietly lifted the lid of her small rosewood jewel box and placed the ring on top of the seed pearl necklace and earrings she’d had from her mother on her sixteenth birthday. What a sacrifice it must have been for her parents to pay for such a trinket. She lifted out the sapphire ring her mother had been wearing the night she fled with Mary’s father to Gretna Green. It wasn’t nearly as rich as Richard’s signet, but it meant everything to her. It symbolized her parents’ love and hopes and dreams. She wouldn’t ever let that die; she couldn’t!

Nor could she let this man perish because of his kindness to her. Perhaps she could use the ring to help her find his family.

The doctor’s dire predictions the next day increased her guilt. Each hour Richard remained unconscious, his chance of recovery diminished. She had to know who he was, how to help him.

Lottie sent her to bed right after supper, insisting she’d done the work of ten that day. Truth to tell, she was exhausted and fell into a dreamless sleep the moment her head rested on the pillow.

But, by one in the morning, judging by the chime of the downstairs clock, she was wide awake, studying the shadows dancing on the ceiling from the dying embers in the small grate. At fifteen minutes after the hour she shook Lottie, who had fallen asleep in the rocker, awake.

She jerked her head back against the curved wood and blinked up in a daze at Mary. “What is it?” she asked in a sleep-slurred whisper.

“Go to your bed, Lottie. I wish to sit with him.”

Still slightly groggy, Lottie rose slowly and shook her head. “There’s no change. Poor soul.” She flicked him one last look before quietly shutting the door.

Mary stared down at him, fear congealing in her chest. He appeared smaller in the bed, as if he were slowly fading away. Suddenly desperate, Mary lifted one bandaged hand, holding it carefully between her palms.

“Richard, my name is Mary.” Her harsh whisper fell into the stillness of the tiny room. “I want to thank you for your help. I’m sorry such bravery has cost you so dearly.”

She continued talking to him of nothing and everything, as if her words could somehow keep him tethered to life. Late into the night she talked, holding his hand. She told him everything: about her parents and her life, her hopes and her dreams. To her alone here in the dimly lit bedchamber, it seemed the right thing to do.

Toward morning she forced a little more broth through his dry, cracked lips. Exhausted past bearing, she sank into the rocking chair next to the bed.

She awoke to bright sunlight and to Lottie’s voice frantically calling her name.

“Mary … Mary … you must wake up!”

Startled, she quickly glanced toward the bed as her heart raced. The slow, steady rise and fall of the stranger’s wide chest beneath the coverlet caused her to gasp and close her eyes in relief. He lived still.

Mary uncurled from the rocker, stretching her aching muscles. “Lottie, whatever is amiss?”

“Sir Robert is downstairs waiting in the parlor,” she blurted out, staring at Mary with round, frightened eyes. Everything about Lottie was round, from the fat round curls bobbing behind her ears to the round small feet stuffed into flat-heeled slippers peeking from beneath her hem. Even her mouth pursed into a circle as she gasped. “What should we do? He refuses to leave without seeing you. And your uncle has gone to fetch lumber for the new stable.”

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.