The Duke's Deceit (5 page)

It was too much, even for someone of Mary’s considerable spirit. Lifting trembling hands, she laid them against his warm chest, pushed gently, and opened her eyes.

The candlelight softened his face with aching vulnerability as he captured her shaking fingers, stilling their futile fluttering.

“It’s all right, Mary,” he said softly, opening one hand to press his lips against her palm. He held her dazed eyes with a burning sherry-washed glow. “Rest well, my dear.”

He turned and walked from the room. Her night-shift lay in a heap at her feet, unnoticed. Her body began to shake in reaction, her fingers lifting in wonder to her mouth. Richard! What had she done with that momentary lapse, that simple lie?

She was out of her depth, drawn there by her own foolishness and her first budding knowledge of physical desire. Frightened by its powerful pull, she rocked back and forth, her thoughts focused on only one thing. More than ever before, she realized how desperately important it was for Richard’s memory to return.

From the sewing room window Richard watched Mary and Lottie bid Ian farewell. Not wishing to intrude, he stayed upstairs, content to study Mary at leisure: her long auburn hair falling down her straight back to her tiny waist. Even from this distance he could see her wide fawn eyes fill with tears and her full, red, luscious lips tremble slightly.

Why didn’t he love her? She was beautiful. She was good. She was sensitive. She was a tireless worker and devoted to her family. She appeared to be all a woman should be. So why didn’t he love her?

He waged a constant battle against the wall in his mind, but there were few answers. And the little bits and pieces he chipped away were even more confusing. That was why he’d kissed her, he told himself. To try to understand.

Was she a cold, passionless woman? Was that why theirs was to be a marriage of convenience? Or was he simply untouched by her unconventional beauty? Instinctively he knew that she was unlike any other woman in his life. He was certain that must be the answer to the puzzle.

Kissing her had unleashed within him the eroticism of an experienced lover. Mary had met that with an edge of passion that stirred him, even now, as he remembered. He might not love her, but he now knew that he desired her. Successful marriages had been built on less.

Mary watched until Ian was out of sight, then turned to the field and gave a sharp whistle. Lara trotted up and waited patiently while Mary fitted her with a new bridle and saddle. Her usual tack had been lost in the fire, and Richard had been surprised at the fuss Ian had made at the cost of new. Over drinks at the tavern he’d gotten a little more information about the farm, but enough could be read between the lines to understand that Mary was shouldering a large debt since her parent’s death.

She rode off with the same unconscious grace with which she did everything. Suddenly eager to learn more about her, about them, Richard turned from the window. If he hurried, he could follow her.

Just as he sprang onto his horse, Lottie came bustling through the garden gate.

“I wish to catch up with Mary. Where does she usually ride, Lottie?”

She pushed one fat gold curl off her forehead with a finger that left a flour streak, and nodded. “I know just the spot. Along the water and round about the pond.”

He knew the way from last night. The stream wound like a loose ribbon through the meadow from beyond the town to a nearby river. At one point near the cottage it widened, and a natural formation of rock created a pool overhung by willows and perfumed by lily of the valley clinging to its banks.

The clear water with the moon reflected on its smooth surface had been too much to resist last night. The shock of the cold as he dived in had washed the last lingering lethargy from his limbs, but it had done nothing to clear the cobwebs of his mind. He must resign himself to the reality of his helplessness. It seemed almost as if his life had begun when he opened his eyes within the fragrant curtain of Mary’s hair.

The sudden thought that perhaps he would come upon Mary swimming brought a hot clutching tightness low in his gut.

Driven on by that image, he crested the low hill, then reined sharply at the tableau that greeted him. On the bank Mary and Sir Robert sat talking, so close that their horses nuzzled one another familiarly.

Was this why he couldn’t understand his mixed reactions to her, because he knew she had another lover?

Something unpleasant boiled in his blood. He urged his horse forward. Then Sir Robert reached out, covering Mary’s hand with his own. Richard reined to a halt in front of them, and they both glanced up.

With a start of shock, Sir Robert pulled back. But the flash of relief on Mary’s face answered at least part of the riddle. This was no lover. She despised and feared this man. That he would deal with later.

“Mr. Byron, rumor has it you have yet to regain your memory, but how delightful to see you out and about so soon after your accident.” Sir Robert spoke quickly, as if to cover some unpleasantness.

Richard lifted one brow slightly. “I’ve missed my usual ride with
my
beautiful fiancée,” he said, enunciating each word with care.

He could tell he’d made his point by the slight widening of Sir Robert’s eyes. Mary’s fingers tightened on her reins. Before she could bolt, he urged his horse between them. With deliberate slowness he reached out, running his fingers from Mary’s shoulder lightly down her arm, until his hand covered hers as Sir Robert’s had briefly done.

“Mary and I have much to catch up on,” he drawled, holding her wide frightened gaze.

“I can see I’m definitely
de trop
here!” Sir Robert backed away, but instead of capitulating completely, as Richard expected, he continued in a challenging tone. “Mary, I’ll stop by later so we can finish our discussion.”

Richard could feel Mary’s fingers tremble beneath his hand. Without a backward glance he moved away at a brisk trot, taking Mary’s reins in his hands, making her follow. At the top of the hill, he stopped and returned them to her.

“I don’t remember Sir Robert Lancaster. Enlighten me,” he teased deliberately. “Why don’t we like him?”

The sunlight graced her, coloring the creamy skin of her high cheekbones and turning the uptilted fey eyes a dazzling blue.

“It’s not that we don’t like Sir Robert,” she explained slowly, gazing up at him with an innocent unblinking stare. “There are business dealings he had with my late father, which are unfortunately still not resolved.”

“How can I help?”

The simple question brought Mary’s lashes sweeping down, concealing her eyes. A tightness hardened her soft mouth and flowed through her entire body. Richard could feel her tension and her withdrawal. Whatever was between her and Sir Robert Lancaster, he’d get to the bottom of it, and soon!

“It … it isn’t your problem, Richard.” Her words were spoken so softly that he was forced to lean closer to catch them.

“My dear, if we are to be wed, all your problems are mine to solve.”

“Of course,” she gasped, flinging up her head, but still not able to meet his searching gaze. “We must be getting back. Lottie will have your breakfast ready.” She urged her horse away, flinging the words over her shoulder.

He let her go, pausing to stare back to where Sir Robert Lancaster remained at the bank. There was a pattern forming in his new world: Mary’s unease with him, and the underlying shadow of fear that she couldn’t quite hide around Sir Robert. How did this man fit into the puzzle that was now Richard’s life?

Sir Robert watched them go, black anger raging beneath the bland exterior he had long ago learned to project.

How dare that fool Richard Byron upset his carefully laid plans! He had had Mary exactly where he wished. He had done exactly what the old Baron paid him handsomely to do. But now that old tyrant was in for an unpleasant surprise.

His laughter echoed across the stream, the sound rustling around him as he urged his horse home to Landsdown.

He had his own plans for Miss Mary Masterton. And he wasn’t about to let any upstart overset them. The obvious, and increasingly necessary, plum of Mary’s unlikely connection to wealth was but one of her attractions. Beneath her cool exterior he could see hidden sexuality, evidenced in the unconscious grace of her movements and her full pouty mouth. He would vastly enjoy whatever of her inheritance he could wheedle or blackmail from her grandfather, but what would bring him even greater pleasure would be possessing her. Then he would make her pay for the revulsion that she couldn’t hide whenever he was near her.

Nothing would stop him. Certainly not a man who couldn’t even recall his own name!

That she must once again deal with Sir Robert Lancaster was a mere annoyance. Her mind was totally preoccupied with thoughts of Richard. The worst had happened! She was coming to rely on him as if he truly were her fiancée. He worked tirelessly alongside the men rebuilding the stable. He exercised the horses with her, his gentle touch with the creatures in accord with her own theories on how they should be trained. Often she caught him watching her from beneath those mesmerizing hooded eyelids. All this week Richard had filled her every waking hour and haunted her nights.

An odd nervousness was building between them, especially since those shocking moments up in her room. Although he’d not touched her in any way since that night, she knew instinctively that he would again. But when? And terrifying her to her very core was her uncertainty of how she would react when that moment finally arrived.

“Mary?” Lottie questioned anxiously, her face telling her fears.

“Never worry, Lottie. I shall handle Sir Robert.” Mary prided herself on just the right note of confidence in her words.

Their effect on Lottie was just as she’d hoped. Her round chin firmed and jutted in the air as she flung the front door wide and gave Sir Robert the briefest of nods.

He spared her hardly a glance, striding purposefully into the parlor. As always, his impeccable black riding clothes and shining hessians contrasted sharply with the shabby, but lovingly cared for, possessions in the cozy blue and cream parlor.

Uppermost in Mary’s mind was the lie she was living. She was depending on her uncle’s quest in London so that all could be resolved. These petty problems with Sir Robert paled in comparison. She’d put him off successfully since her father’s death. Surely she could continue to do so a while longer.

He crossed the room to reach her, forcefully lifting her resistant hand to his mouth.

Immediately the icy ball rolled through her middle, sending a shiver of revulsion up her arm. There was something new in Sir Robert’s eyes, a cruel insistence that frightened her. She had all she could do to endure the brush of his lips against her skin and maintain a fixed smile of welcome.

“Mary, you’re looking particularly lovely today.”

His words rang as false as his smile, which did not reach into his cold gray eyes.

“Thank you, sir. Won’t you sit down.” She indicated the faded striped wing chair beside the worn blue velvet settee where she sat.

Much to her discomfort, he chose to sprawl beside her, his leg brushing her skirt. She stiffened, sitting bolt upright as he cavalierly slid his arm along the back of the settee, as if he might touch her hair. He threw a disdainful glance at the tea service on the low table before her.

“I could do with something a bit stronger!” He threw the rude words into the room, eyeing Lottie as a boorish employer might a recalcitrant servant.

“Would you care for brandy, Sir Robert?” Mary inquired coolly, grateful to have an excuse to rise to her feet.

He reached out to lock one hand about her wrist; she froze in rigid indignation, hardly knowing what to do. He was getting bolder with each meeting. If only Richard were present, or Uncle Ian, she amended hastily.

“We need to talk, Mary. About your father’s debts.”

Why had she never noticed before how cruel he appeared when his mouth curled in this cross between a sneer and a smile?

“I’ll fetch Sir Robert’s brandy,” Lottie gasped with round-eyed fear. “I shall be but a moment.”

Mary extricated her hand and sat as far from him as possible, busying herself with her own dish of tea.

“You realize, Mary, all your problems could be so easily solved. You can’t have been blind these months to my feelings for you.”

The oily, coaxing tones were almost amusing. First he intimidated her, now he was pretending an attachment. What could the man want? No debt was worth being leg-shackled to a person she despised.

“Marry me and set all to rights,” he urged in a hoarse voice.

She put her tea down and clasped her fingers together in her lap to cover their betraying tremble. “Sir, you forget, I am promised to another!”

Her retort merely made him smile and sway closer. “He doesn’t even remember you. God’s blood! I was only gone a fortnight! Your affections can’t have been engaged so quickly.”

The touch of his fingers brushing her cheek brought such a lurch of revulsion that she feared she would become ill.

“Sir Robert—”

He stopped her croak. “Mary, you know we belong together! Just think of your father’s dream. If we marry, your lands will merge with mine. This Richard can’t offer you that! But I can give you the horse farm your father wished for!”

As if he could see into her heart and feel that uneven catch in her breath at mention of her father, he pressed his slight advantage. Before she quite realized what was happening, he held her shoulders cupped in his wide palms.

“Cry off from this ridiculous entanglement. It’s false and you know it!”

She sensed the instant her guilty expression gave her away by his sudden painful grip and the stunned widening of his cold gray eyes.

“What’s really going on here?” he demanded harshly, yanking her into a cruel embrace.

“My sentiments precisely.” Richard’s lazy drawl, laced with steel, sliced into the tension-filled room.

Sir Robert dropped his hands abruptly, and she swayed to her feet, away from him.

Richard filled the parlor doorway, with Lottie’s frightened face just visible beyond him in the dim front hall. Mud caked his hessians, and the wind had stroked his hair into tangles across his brow. His eyes were dark as ebony.

“Byron, it seems you always appear at the most inopportune moments.” Arrogance clearly stamped Sir Robert’s coarse features. “Mary and I were discussing affairs of the most personal.”

Stunned by Sir Robert’s audacious claim, she took a slight step back and held her breath. Richard shrugged, almost carelessly, she thought, and strolled toward them. He pinched her chin familiarly and turned a smile of deadly friendliness upon Sir Robert.

“I see. You were discussing Mary’s father’s debts to you. Really, sir, you needn’t fear. There are no secrets between my betrothed and I.” His hand stole about her waist, staking his claim upon her in no uncertain terms. “Do you have the notes with you?”

Sir Robert’s stunned face showed clearly that he was as shocked by Richard’s actions as she was. “I don’t carry them about with me!”

“Then let us arrange a time when you will. Say five days from now. At one in the afternoon. We will meet here and discuss the situation. Like gentlemen.” Contempt dripped in Richard’s final words.

The close, rose-scented air of the cozy parlor sparked with the tension between the two men. Lottie looked from one to the other, as if a duel might be fought then and there. Unable to bear it a moment longer, Mary stepped between them, throwing what she hoped was a beguiling smile up into Sir Robert’s scowling face.

“It was lovely to see you again. I shall look forward to your next visit, when all will be set to rights.” She hoped her mild dismissal would diffuse the situation. A certain glint in his eyes warned her a heartbeat before he captured her hand, lifting it palm up to his lips.

“I am, as always, your devoted servant, my dear Mary,” he murmured with deliberate warmth.

Annoyed more than revolted, she refused to react. Only after Lottie shut the front door behind him did she turn slowly to confront her supposed intended.

His long mouth twisted sardonically. He crossed the room to stare out the window as Sir Robert rode away. “You may not want my help, Mary, but I insist on giving it. That is not a man I want my future wife to be indebted to.”

His concern burned through her to multiply her treachery tenfold. “I can’t allow it, Richard.” She had to protest. “Besides, I don’t see any way out of it.”

“Of course there is!” He took a step closer. “Two mares are about to foal. They should bring a pretty penny, for their lines are good. Not the bloodlines we will have once Wildfire sires—” His genuine laughter, the first she’d ever heard, rang through the parlor. “Wildfire! My stallion’s name is Wildfire!”

His delight suddenly made him look like a young boy.

“Do you remember anything else?” she laughed with him, caught up in his joy.

Pacing the square faded oriental carpet where only the threads of blue still held their hue, Richard rubbed long fingers at his temples.

“Your uncle reminds me of a man named Jeffries. Now I remember he taught me to ride. Taught me everything I know about horseflesh. He was killed. In the colonies.”

Shaking his head, he stopped, a furrow of pain marring his brow as he turned back to her. “That’s all I can remember. But it’s a beginning.”

He stepped in front of her, placing one caressing hand on her shoulder while the other lifted her chin between a thumb and forefinger. “Soon I’ll remember everything. I look forward to that, Mary. Particularly I look forward to my memories of you.”

The shock of his touch on her face was as powerful, no, more so than it had been the first time. It suspended rational thought; every feeling ceased except the hot stirrings through her veins and the heavy load of guilt around her heart. It was a lethal combination to her burdened soul, his touch and the vulnerable questing gaze with which he searched her face, as if she were a precious puzzle he must solve.

She knew exactly what she was—a liar and a cheat!

Moving away from his silken hands, she swallowed, a difficult task considering the tightness of her throat.

“Yes, soon all your memories will return. I, too, look forward to that day.”

It was becoming a habit to stand at the upstairs window to observe Mary undetected. She was preparing for her morning ride. Of late, he’d stayed away. His sleepless nights were forming the pattern of his days. The dark hours found him, wide-eyed, staring at nothing as he forced inroads into his blank mind, searching for any faint memory. He was beginning to see a path, the faintest lightening in the blackness. He sensed that patience was not a virtue he’d ever possessed, but he practiced it now with Mary. He desired her. But for unknown reasons he felt compelled to keep his distance. The kiss, the few touches between them had produced feelings that did not match his fuzzy yet oddly distinct recollections of his intended bride. Had the accident altered him in some way, or perhaps her, so that whatever was between them had grown and ripened?

A wave of impatience with his recalcitrant mind drove him down to the kitchen. Mayhap Lottie could help him.

He found her with the sleeves of her blue merino dress rolled up to her elbows, and she was covered with flour. It flew around her plump hands as she kneaded bread dough, it clung in a white film to her heaving bosom, and specks of it dotted her rosy cheeks.

“Lottie, where has Mary gone off to?” Propping one shoulder against the small fireplace mantel, he watched with tightly reined impatience as she stared up at him, her rosebud mouth uncharacteristically drooping.

“She’s off to the pond,” she answered slowly, wiping her hands on a fluffy blue cloth. “Why are you asking?”

“I thought I’d join her and bring a picnic. Can you help me?”

For an instant he saw a kind of panic on her face. Then her kind eyes softened, and her lips curled up in their usual response. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

She flew around the kitchen, filling a basket with leftovers from yesterday’s luncheon and, seeing his longing look, two still-warm apple tarts.

She hummed while she worked, an odd, off-key, tuneless humming, that nonetheless cheered him. It stopped abruptly when he picked up the basket to go.

“Richard, Mary’s a good girl. Truly she is.”

He paused, and gave her a smile of rare compassion. “Mary is quite safe with me, I promise you.”

It dawned on him, as he rode away on Wildfire, the basket carefully balanced in front of him, how odd Lottie’s choice of words had been. He might have lost his memory, but there still existed a code of honor which dictated that one did not ravish his intended. He certainly had no intention of forcing himself upon his future bride. He simply needed to understand her and their relationship more clearly to pick his way through the darkness. Today was a day for beginnings. A greater understanding would grow between him and Mary, and that would lead to his answers. Then he could forge a new path.

He found Mary on a lovely sloping bank above a clear waterfall splashing over the rocks strewn in its bed, which formed the pool about ten feet below. A willow tree rustled in the wind, bending its long branches in a curtain around her. Instinctively he knew that this was a secret sacred childhood place.

She’d taken her boots off and now sat with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her rich heavy hair hiding her face.

“Mary.”

At the sound of her name she sprang up. When she recognized him, the shock in her wide fawn eyes shifted to something that suddenly made the sun too warm upon his skin.

“Richard, what are you doing here?”

“Bringing you a picnic.”

He delighted in the rush of color washing her translucent cheeks and the lights of pleasure shooting through her cornflower eyes. He would always be able to gauge his betrothed’s moods by her enchanting blush. As enticing as Mary appeared, as the sunbeams coming through the overhanging tree dappled gold lights into her fall of auburn hair, she was not a woman who he would have thought could wield this kind of power over him. Instinct seemed to be returning first.

How else could he know that what he was feeling at this precise moment was absolutely new?

She helped him spread out a cloth and unpack the basket. Her manner was playful as she set out all the goodies Lottie had packed. But some abstract sense, coupled with a newly recovered instinct, told him that her playfulness was born of apprehension. He was noticing it more and more when they were together. In order to banish it from this day when he was determined to forge a new beginning in his assault against his closed mind, he began to talk.

Although he was rather limited, considering that his mind was like a babe’s hatched fully grown only days ago, he touched on subjects that he knew were dear to both their hearts: horses and the land. One thing led to another, until their ideas and opinions tumbled over one another, bringing to life new thoughts and plans, and feelings.