About the Authors

CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons, and too many pets – all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their e-mail. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming, where she was paid to play with period ballgowns, and as a librarian, where she spent the day surrounded by books. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.

LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning historical romance author and Golden Heart® finalist. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter, where she learned more than you could ever want to know about hot dogs and credit score reports. When she isn’t at her laptop avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing museums or taking ridiculously long hikes with her husband and two sons. You can visit her at www.lauriebenson.net.

JANICE PRESTON grew up in Wembley, North London, with a love of reading, writing stories and animals. In the past she has worked as a farmer, a police call-handler and a university administrator. She now lives in the West Midlands with her husband and two cats and has a part-time job with a weight management counsellor (vainly trying to control her own weight despite her love of chocolate!).

ELIZABETH BEACON has a passion for history and storytelling and, with the West Country on her doorstep, never lacks a glorious setting for her books. Elizabeth tried horticulture, higher education as a mature student, briefly taught English and worked in an office, before finally turning her daydreams about dashing, piratical heroes and their stubborn and independent heroines into her dream job; writing Regency romances for Mills & Boon.

Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practise. Instead, she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining first-class honours and a master’s degree. A few decades after winning a children’s national poetry competition she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write, and submitted her first historical romance to Mills & Boon. They accepted it, and she’s been writing ever since. You can contact Marguerite through her website at: www.margueritekaye.com

SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades – mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).

ANNIE BURROWS has been making up stories for her own amusement since she first went to school. As soon as she got the hang of using a pencil she began to write them down. Her love of books meant she had to do a degree in English Literature, and her love of writing meant she could never take on a job where she didn’t have time to jot down notes when inspiration for a new plot struck her. She still wants the heroines of her stories to wear beautiful floaty dresses and triumph over all that life can throw at them. But when she got married she discovered that finding a hero is an essential ingredient to arriving at ‘happy ever after’.

ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife, and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. Anne is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website: www.lindasole.co.uk

SOPHIA JAMES lives in Chelsea Bay, on Auckland New Zealand’s North Shore, with her husband who is an artist. She has a degree in English and History from Auckland University and believes her love of writing was formed by reading Georgette Heyer in the holidays at her grandmother’s house. Sophia enjoys getting feedback at www.sophiajames.co.

BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling – especially to Florence, Italy – and studying history and foreign languages.

Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com. She loves to hear from readers.

A lifelong history buff, GEORGIE LEE hasn’t given up hope that she will one day inherit a title and a manor house. Until then, she fulfils her dreams of lords, ladies and a season in London through her stories. When not writing, she can be found reading non-fiction history or watching any film with a costume and an accent. Please visit www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.

LOUISE ALLEN loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in search of inspiration. Visit her at www.louiseallenregency.co.uk, @LouiseRegency and www.janeaustenslondon.com.

Regency Surrender Collection

Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception

Christine Merrill

Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes

Laurie Benson

Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return

Janice Preston

Regency Surrender: Forbidden Pasts

Elizabeth Beacon

Regency Surrender: Notorious Secrets

Marguerite Kaye

Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations

Sarah Mallory

Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes

Annie Burrows

Regency Surrender: Defiant Lords

Anne Herries

Regency Surrender: Passionate Marriages

Sophia James

Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes

Bronwyn Scott

Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed

Georgie Lee

Regency Surrender: Sinful Conquests

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08518-2

REGENCY SURRENDER COLLECTION

The Truth About Lady Felkirk © 2014 Christine Merrill A Ring from a Marquess © 2015 Christine Merrill An Unsuitable Duchess © 2016 Laurie Benson An Uncommon Duke © 2016 Laurie Benson Return of Scandal’s Son © 2015 Janice Preston Saved by Scandal’s Heir © 2016 Janice Preston Lord Laughraine’s Summer Promise © 2015 Elizabeth Beacon Redemption of the Rake © 2016 Elizabeth Beacon The Soldier’s Dark Secret © 2015 Marguerite Kaye The Soldier’s Rebel Lover © 2015 Marguerite Kaye The Chaperon’s Seduction © 2015 Sarah Mallory Temptation of a Governess © 2015 Sarah Mallory Lord Havelock’s List © 2014 Annie Burrows Portrait of a Scandal © 2014 Annie Burrows His Unusual Governess © 2013 Anne Herries Claiming the Chaperon’s Heart © 2016 Anne Herries Marriage Made in Rebellion © 2016 Sophia James Marriage Made in Hope © 2016 Sophia James Rake Most Likely to Seduce © 2016 Nikki Poppen Rake Most Likely to Sin © 2016 Nikki Poppen A Debt Paid in Marriage © 2015 Georgie Reinstein A Too Convenient Marriage © 2016 Georgie Reinstein The Many Sins of Cris de Feaux © 2016 Melanie Hilton The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone © 2016 Melanie Hilton

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

A Ring from a Marquess

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes

An Unsuitable Duchess

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

An Uncommon Duke

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Regency Surrender: Scandalous Return

Return of Scandal’s Son

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saved by Scandal’s Heir

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Regency Surrender: Forbidden Pasts

Lord Laughraine’s Summer Promise

Back Cover Text

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Redemption of the Rake

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Regency Surrender: Notorious Secrets

The Soldier’s Dark Secret

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Historical Note

The Soldier’s Rebel Lover

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Historical Note

Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Temptation of a Governess

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Regency Surrender: Rebellious Debutantes

Lord Havelock’s List

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Portrait of a Scandal

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Regency Surrender: Defiant Lords

His Unusual Governess

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Claiming the Chaperon’s Heart

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Regency Surrender: Passionate Marriages

Marriage Made in Rebellion

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Marriage Made in Hope

Back Cover Text

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes

Rake Most Likely to Seduce

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Rake Most Likely to Sin

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Regency Surrender: Debts Reclaimed

A Debt Paid in Marriage

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

A Too Convenient Marriage

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Regency Surrender: Sinful Conquests

The Many Sins of Cris de Feaux

Back Cover Text

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Regency Surrender: Wicked Deception

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

Christine Merrill

A Ring from a Marquess

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Truth About Lady Felkirk

Christine Merrill

To Jim: after thirty years, you must be near to sainthood.

Chapter One

Everything hurt.

William Felkirk did not bother to open his eyes, but lay still and examined the thought. It was an exaggeration. Everything ached. Only his head truly hurt. A slow, thumping throb came from the back of it, punctuating each new idea.

He swallowed with effort. There was no saliva to soothe the process. How much had he been drinking, to get to this state? He could not seem to remember. The party at Adam’s house, which had been a celebration of his nephew’s christening, was far too sedate for him to have ended like this. But he could not recall having gone anywhere after. And since he was in Wales, where would he have gone?

His eyelids were still too heavy to open, but he did not need vision to find the crystal carafe by the bedside. A drink of water would help. His arm flailed bonelessly, numb fingers unable to close on the glass.

There was a gasp on the other side of the room and the shatter of porcelain as an ornament was dropped and broken. Clumsy maids. The girl had been cleaning around him, as though he was a piece of furniture. Was it really necessary to shout ‘He is waking!’ so that anyone in the hall could hear?

Then there were hurried footsteps to the door and a voice called for someone to get his Grace and her ladyship immediately.

He opened his eyes at last and tried to sit up, but the room was still a blur and his back did not want to support him. He stared at the ceiling and what little he could see of the bedposts. It was still his brother’s house. But Penelope had never been a ladyship, even before marrying Adam. Even now, she laughed about not feeling graceful enough to be her Grace, the Duchess of Bellston. Though she was just out of childbed, she was not so frail as to cede her duties as hostess to another. Who the devil was her ladyship?

He must have misheard. But the rueful shake of his head made the pain worse, as did the thundering of steps on the stairs and in the hall. Could not a man bear the shame of a hangover in privacy? He tried to sit up again, and as he did, he felt an arm at his back and hands lifting him, like a child, to settle him against the pillows.

‘There’s a good fellow.’ Adam was treating him like an invalid. It must be even worse than he thought. ‘A drink of water, perhaps?’ But instead of the cup he expected, there was a damp rag pressed to his lips.

Will spat and turned his head away. ‘...Hell?’ He must be parched for he could not seem to speak properly. But it had been enough to make his displeasure known.

‘You want a glass?’ Adam seemed to find this extraordinary. ‘Where is Justine? Find her, quickly.’

The rim of the cup met his lips. He reached for it, felt his arm flop, then tremble, and then the hand of his older brother was there to steady it so he could drink.

Crystal goblet. Crystal water. Cool and sweet, trickling, then coursing down his throat, which still felt as though it was full of cobwebs. Some of the pounding in his skull subsided. He paused. ‘Better.’ His voice croaked, but it was clearer.

There was another feminine gasp from the doorway.

‘He is waking,’ Adam said, softly, urgently. ‘Come to his side.’

‘I dare not.’ It was a woman’s voice: a melodious alto, with the faintest hint of an accent to it.

‘After so long, you must be the first thing he sees.’ He could feel Adam rise, and, as he watched, another hand came to guide the water glass.

Something smelled wonderful. No. It was someone. Roses, and cinnamon, close at his side. Muslin leaning against his bare arm and warm silky skin touching his shoulder, then smoothing the hair on his brow. His senses were returning to him, in a series of pleasant surprises.

When his vision could focus past the fingers on the cup, he saw a perfect, heart-shaped face, looking worriedly into his. It was the sort of face that made him wish he could paint, or at least draw, so that he might carry a copy of it with him for ever. Her eyes were the strange green gold of coins at the bottom of a fountain and he could not seem to stop staring at them. They were sad eyes and fearful. For a moment, he thought he saw the beginnings of a tear in one. Her pink lips trembled. Her hair was a mix of sunset golds and reds, partially obscured under a plain muslin cap. The curls swayed gently, as though their owner was eased away from him.

‘Do not be afraid,’ he said. Why was she here? And why was she so hesitant? He was not sure of much, least of all who this might be. But he was quite sure he did not want her to be in fear of him. Adam had been right. To wake to this was a gift, especially when one had such a damnable headache.

‘After all that has happened, he is concerned for you?’ Adam gave a short, satisfied laugh. ‘You have not changed at all, then, Will. We had so feared...’ His brother’s voice cracked with emotion.

‘Is it true?’ Adam’s wife, Penny, was here now, somewhere by the door. She was out of breath, as if she had rushed to the room.

Adam hissed at her to be silent.

‘The more, the merrier,’ Will muttered, still without the energy to turn away yet another visitor to his bedside. But when he turned his face to the duchess, something was wrong. Very wrong, in fact. She appeared to be pregnant. That could not be right. Just yesterday, he’d thought her rather thin. He’d enquired after her health and had listened to his brother’s complaints that the recent birth had taken too much from her. Today, she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, plump and healthy.

Will frowned. If it was a joke, it was both elaborate and pointless. The whole family was watching him, as though waiting for something. He had no idea what they expected. His head was swimming again. He went to rub his temple, but it took all his strength to lift his own arm.

The woman at his side grasped the hand and brought it down again, rubbing some feeling back into the fingers, flexing joints and massaging muscles. Then she laid it carefully on the counterpane and brought her own fingers up to stroke his forehead. Damn, but it felt good. If he were not still so tired, he’d have sent the family away, to test the extent of her familiarity with his body. Though she had hesitated at first, she did not seem the least bit shy now.

He relaxed back into the pillows that had been leaned against the headboard and sighed. Then, slowly, carefully, he flexed the fingers of each hand. It was difficult, as was moving his toes. But when next he raised his hand, he was able to gesture for the water without embarrassing himself. His beautiful nurse brought the glass to his lips again.

He licked a drop off his dry lips and swallowed again. ‘Is someone going to explain to me what has happened, or will you leave me to guess? Did I take ill in the night?’

‘Explain?’ Adam, again, speaking for the group. ‘What do you remember of the last months, Will?’

‘The Season, of course,’ he answered, wishing he could give a dismissive wave. ‘That blonde chit you were forcing on me. Why you think you can choose my wife, when I had no say in yours, I have no idea. And coming up to Wales with you for the christening. What did you put in the punch to get me into such a state? Straight gin?’

He meant to joke. But the faces around him were shocked to silence. Adam cleared his throat. ‘The christening was six months ago.’

‘Certainly not.’ He could remember it, as clearly as he could remember anything. It seemed distant, of course. But he had just woken up. When his head cleared...

‘Six months,’ Adam repeated. ‘After the party you left and would not tell us where you were going. You said you would be returning with a surprise.’

‘And what was it?’ Will asked. If he was here now, he must have returned, with a story that would explain his current condition.

‘We heard nothing from you, for months. When Justine brought you home, you were in no state to say anything. There had been an accident. She thought it best that you be with your family, when...’ Adam’s voice broke again and he looked away.

‘Who is this Justine?’ Will said, looking around. But judging by the shocked expression on the face of the woman holding his hand, the question answered itself.

‘You really don’t remember?’ she said. And he did not. Although how he could have forgotten a face or a voice like that, he was not sure.

‘I remember the christening,’ he repeated. ‘But I have no recollection of you at all.’

The gold eyes in front of him were open wide now, incredulous.

Adam cleared his throat again, the little noise he tended to make when he was about to be diplomatic. ‘It seems there is much you have lost and much that must be explained to you. But first and foremost, you must know this. The woman before you now is Lady Felkirk.’ He paused again. ‘William, may I introduce to you your wife, Justine.’

‘I have no wife.’ He’d had more than enough of this foolishness and swung his feet out of the bed to stand and walk away.

Or at least he tried. Instead, he flopped on the mattress like a beached fish, spilling the water and sliding halfway out of bed before his brother could steady him, and muscle him back to the centre.

‘It is all right. As long as you are getting better, it does not matter.’ There was the voice of the ministering angel again, his supposed wife. What had they called her? Justine?

The name, though it was as beautiful as its owner, held no resonance.

Adam leaned over the bed again, smiling, although the grin was somewhat stained. ‘Justine brought you home some two months ago, and you have lain insensible since then. I feared you would never...’ There was another pause, followed by a deep sigh. Perhaps fatherhood had made Adam soft, for Will could not recall ever hearing him sound near to tears. ‘The doctors did not give us much hope. To find you awake and almost yourself again...’

So he’d cracked his skull. He did not remember it, but it certainly explained the throbbing in his head. ‘What happened?’

‘A fall from a horse.’

That seemed possible. He sometimes overreached himself, when in the saddle. But his old friend, Jupiter, was the most steady of beasts, as long as he held the reins. And a wife... He stared pointedly at the woman leaning over him, waiting for her to add some explanation.

‘We were on our honeymoon,’ the woman said, gently, as though trying to prod the memory from him. ‘We met in Bath, at the beginning of summer.’

Still, nothing. What had he been doing in Bath? He abhorred the place, with its foul-tasting water and the meddling mamas of girls who could not make a proper match in London.

‘I am sure marriage must have been in your plans when you left us,’ Penny said, encouraging him. ‘You did promise us a surprise. But really, we had no idea how welcome it would be. When Justine returned with you...’ She gave an emotional pause again, just as his brother had done. ‘She has been so good to you. To all of us, really. She never lost hope.’ Under the guise of wiping her fogged spectacles, Penny withdrew a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

Only the woman, Justine, seemed to take it all calmly, as though a husband returning from death’s door with no memory of her was a thing that happened to everyone. When she spoke, her voice was unbroken and matter-of-fact. ‘You will be all right now. Everything is better than we could have hoped.’

‘As if being concussed and losing half a year of one’s life is a thing to be celebrated.’ He glared at her. Perhaps this lovely stranger had done nothing to deserve his anger. Or perhaps she had got him drunk and knocked him on the head so she could pretend to be his wife.

But that made no sense. He lacked the money and title necessary to be the target of such intriguing. If she meant him ill, why did she bring him home, afterwards? Why bother to nurse him back to health?

The mysterious Justine ignored his dark look and smiled down at him. ‘It is to be celebrated. The physician said you would never wake, yet, you did. Now that you can eat properly, you will grow stronger.’ But did he see a fleeting shadow in her eyes, as though his recovery was something less than a blessing?

Perhaps she was as confused as he, after all. Or perhaps he had hurt her. He had taken the trouble to marry her, only to forget her entirely. Now, he was snapping at her, blaming her for his sore head. Had he treated her thus, before the accident? Perhaps the marriage had been a mistake. If so, he could hardly blame her for a passing desire that his prolonged illness would end with her freedom.

When he looked again, her face was as cloudless as a summer day. The doubt had been an illusion, caused by his own paranoia. When he was stronger and had a chance to question her, things would be clearer. For now, he must rein in his wild thoughts and wait. He shook his head and immediately regretted it, as the pain, which had been ebbing, came rushing back.

She leaned closer, reaching across him for a cool cloth that lay beside the bed, pressing it against his forehead.

How did she know it would soothe him? It did not matter. If she guessed, she guessed correctly. He took her hand and squeezed it in what he hoped she would know as gratitude. But though the pain was lessening, his doubts were not. There was nothing the least bit familiar about the shape of the hand he held. Surely, if he had married her, the joining should not feel so entirely alien. As soon as he could do so without appearing awkward, he withdrew his hand.

She made sure the compress was secure and withdrew her own hands, folding them neatly in her lap as though equally relieved to be free of him.

While the two of them were clearly uncomfortable with each other, the rest of the room was ecstatic. ‘Whenever you are ready, we will bring you downstairs,’ Penny said. ‘Perhaps we can procure a Bath chair so that you might take sun in the garden.’

‘Nonsense.’ The compress slipped as he tried to struggle to his feet again. This time he made slightly more progress. He was able to swing both legs over the edge of the bed and sit up. Almost immediately, the dizziness took him and he felt himself sliding to the side.

Once again, Adam rushed in, taking his arm and holding him upright. ‘Easy. Do not try too much at once. There will be no Bath chair, if you do not wish it. You may go at your own pace. I am sure you will be walking well on your own in no time at all.’

‘But you do not need to do it now,’ Penny insisted. ‘Rest is still important. And quiet. For now, we will leave the two of you alone.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ He and the woman spoke simultaneously.

‘You need your rest,’ Justine said, laying a hand gently on his chest to try to ease him back down to the mattress. ‘There will be time later for us to speak.’

‘I have had more than enough rest,’ he said. ‘If you are all to be believed, I have been asleep for months.’ She was probably right. His head ached from even this small bit of activity. He needed time to think. But before that, he needed answers. Despite the innocent look on the beautiful face in front of him, Justine knew more than she had said.

‘Leave, all of you. Please,’ he added after noticing the shocked looks on their faces at his short temper. ‘But send for my valet. After all this time in bed, I want to wash and dress. Until he arrives, I will talk to my wife.’

‘Of course,’ his brother said, with a relieved smile. ‘If you are well enough, you can come down to dinner, or we will have a tray sent up. Either way,’ he stepped forward again and clasped Will’s hand in a firm grip, ‘it is good to see you recovering. Come, Penny, I am sure they have much to discuss that does not concern us.’

Once they were gone and the door shut behind him, he was alone in a room with a woman who claimed to be his wife. He suppressed a rush of panic. He was still too weak to defend himself, should she not be as kind as she appeared. But why could he imagine such a sweet-faced thing as a danger to him? If she’d meant him harm, she’d have had ample opportunity before now.

Still, should not a new bride be happier to see her husband recovering? If she loved him, why was she standing at the side of his bed, mute like a criminal in the dock? There was something wrong about her. It was one of many things he could not place.

She seemed to realise this as well, for she attempted a hesitant smile and slipped easily back into the role of caregiver. ‘Is there something I can get for you? Anything that might give you comfort?’

‘What a good little nurse you are, to be so solicitous.’ he said, not feeling particularly grateful for it. ‘At the moment, there is nothing I need, other than an end to this charade.’

‘There is no charade,’ she said, looking more puzzled than frightened. ‘We are not trying to trick you. You were injured and have been unconscious for several months. Come to the window and you shall see. The christening was at Easter time. It is no longer spring, or even summer. The leaves are falling and the night air is chill.’

‘I do not need for you to tell me the weather,’ he grumbled, glancing at the grey sky beyond the glass. ‘I can see that for myself. And I know I was injured, for I still feel the pain of it.’ He ran a careful hand through his hair, surprised at the crease in the scalp. ‘But that does not explain the rest.’

‘What else is there?’ she said, though she must know full well what he meant.

‘It does not explain you. Who are you, really? And who are you to me?’ He looked full into the wide green eyes. ‘For I would swear before God that you are not my wife.’

‘William,’ she said, in a convincingly injured tone.

‘That is my name. And what is yours?’

‘Justine, of course.’

‘And before you married me?’ he said, unable to help sneering at such an unlikely prospect.

‘My surname? It was de Bryun.’ She paused as though waiting for the bit of information to jar loose some memory. But nothing came.

‘So you say,’ he replied. ‘I suppose next you will tell me you are an orphan.’

‘Yes,’ she said, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

In a day, he might regret being so cavalier about her misery. At the moment, he had problems of his own. ‘So you have no one to verify your identity.’

‘I have a sister,’ she added. ‘But she was not present at the time of our wedding, nor was your family.’

‘I married without my family’s knowledge?’ Penny had hinted at as much. But it still made no sense. ‘So neither of us considered the feelings of others in this. We just suddenly...’ with effort, he managed to snap his fingers ‘...decided to wed.’

‘We discussed it beforehand,’ she assured him. ‘You said there would be time after. You said your brother had done something much the same to you.’

As he had. That marriage had been as sudden as this one. And Adam had admitted that he could not remember his wedding either. But while circumstances were similar, he had more sense than Adam and would never have behaved in that way. ‘You could have learned the details of Adam’s wedding anywhere,’ he said.

She sighed, as though she were in a classroom, being forced to recite. ‘But I did not learn it anywhere. I learned it from you. You told me that your father’s name was John, your mother’s name was Mary. They were Duke and Duchess of Bellston, of course. You had one sister, who died at birth. And you told me all about your brother. It was why I brought you here. Why would I have done that, if not for love of you?’

This was a puzzle. He rubbed his temple, for though he was sure there was a logical explanation for it, searching for it made his head ache. ‘You could have got any of that from a peerage book.’

‘Or you could have told me,’ she said, patiently. ‘And it is not so unusual that I have no parents. You have none either.’

That was perfectly true. So why did it seem somehow significant that she had none? He shook his head, half-expecting it to rattle as he did so, for he still felt like a broken china doll. ‘I suspect I can quiz you for hours and you will have an answer for everything. But there is one question I doubt you will answer to my satisfaction. What would have motivated me to take a wife?’

‘You said you loved me.’ Her lip trembled, though she did not look near tears. ‘And I did not wish to lie with you, until we were married.’

It was not a flattering explanation. But it made more sense than anything else she had said. ‘I can believe that I might have wanted to lie with you. My eyesight is fine, though my memory is not.’ He stared up at the magnificent hair, still mostly obscured by her very sensible cap. Tired and confused as he was, he still wanted to snatch the muslin away, so that he might see it in all its glory. ‘You are a beauty. And you know it, do you not? You are not going to pretend that you are unaware of the effect you have on men. Why did you choose me?’

‘Because I thought you were kind and would be a good husband to me,’ she said. There was something in her voice that implied she had been disappointed to find otherwise. Then she cast down her eyes. ‘And you are right. I cannot help the way I look, or the reaction of others.’

‘I do not see why you would wish to,’ he answered honestly. But when he looked closely, her face held a mixture of regret and defiance, as though she very much wished she were plain and not pretty. Her clothing was almost too modest, nearly as plain as a servant’s. The cap she wore was not some vain concoction of lace and ribbons, but undecorated linen. If she was attempting to disguise her assets, she had failed. The simple setting made the jewel of her beauty glow all the more brightly.

‘You are acting as if, now that you have what you want, it is somehow my fault that the results do not please you.’ She absently straightened the cap on her head, hiding a few more of the escaping curls. ‘I did not seduce you into a marriage you did not wish. Nor did I injure you and leave you to your fate. I doubt I can prove to your satisfaction that things are just as I claim. But can you prove that I have done anything, other than to give you what you wanted from me, and care for you when it resulted in misfortune? You are alive today because of my treatment of you. I am sorry that I cannot offer more than that.’

To this, he had no answer. If she truly was his wife, she was a very patient woman. She had reason to snap at his harsh treatment of her. But there was no real anger in her voice, only a tired resignation as she accepted his doubt. If it weren’t for the troublesome void where their past should have resided, he would have believed in an instant and apologised.

‘I will admit that I owe you my gratitude,’ he said. ‘But for the moment, your help is not needed. Please, go and prepare for dinner. Perhaps I will see you at table. We can speak again later.’

‘I will welcome it, my lord.’

She was lying, of course. She rose from the bed and offered an obedient curtsy, before leaving the room. But there was an eagerness in her step that made her simple exit seem almost like an escape.

Chapter Two

He did not remember her.

Justine de Bryun stopped just beyond William Felkirk’s door and tried to contain the excitement and relief she felt at this convenient amnesia. She must channel that tangle of emotion into an appropriate response for a woman whose husband had awakened like Lazarus, before someone saw and questioned her. Felkirk had asked more than enough questions during the difficult conversation that had just occurred. She did not need more questioning from the duke and duchess. At least not until she could discover a way out of the mess she had created.

Penny was waiting for her, a little way down the hall, trying to pretend that she was not interested in a description of what had happened, when she and William had been alone together. She must try to come up with something that was not a total lie. Since coming here, she had lied too much to her hostess and felt guilty each time. What had Penny ever done to deserve such treatment? From the first, the duchess had offered the hand of friendship and the sympathy of a sister.

While Justine had reason enough to hate the Felkirk family, there was no reason her animosity need extend to a woman who had married into it. Nor did it feel right to hate the heir, who was nothing more than an innocent babe. The duke, who was the true head of the family, had been kindness himself as well and earned some measure of forgiveness.

That left only William Felkirk. His meddling in her affairs had earned him the whole share of any punishment for the family’s past sins. His slow recovery had been more than sufficient to satisfy her desire for vengeance.

It had been too much, if she was honest. Her father had died a quick death. But William Felkirk had lingered on the brink for months, wasting away in endless sleep. On several occasions, she’d been surprised to find herself praying that God would be merciful and release him. When the prayers had gone unanswered, she had given him what Christian comfort she could.

Or she had until the moment he’d awoken and begun causing trouble again.

Penny was coming towards her now, hands outstretched, ready to celebrate or console, as was needed. Justine discovered she did not need to dissemble much, for her lip actually trembled in what was likely the beginning of tears. Once again, she was alone and helpless in a situation she had done little to cause and was not able to control. While the Duchess of Bellston did not appear to wish her ill, Justine had seen how quickly supposed friends became enemies when they knew one had nowhere to turn. She must be on her guard. ‘He does not know me,’ she said, softly, glancing back at the bedroom behind her. ‘And he does not believe we are married.’

The duchess enfolded her in a motherly hug. ‘There, there. It will be all right, I’m sure. Now that he is recovering, it will only be a matter of time before he recalls what you once were to each other.’

‘Of course,’ Justine answered, as though that was not another reason for tears. Felkirk’s total absence of memory was the best news she’d had in ages. He had forgotten the worst of it and she might still escape punishment. One could not be complicit in an attack on a noble family and avoid the gallows. She had known her fate was sealed the day that she had found him on the salon floor in a pool of blood. Even if she had wished him ill, William Felkirk both recovered and amnesiac was a gift straight from God.

Of course, it also meant he could not recall the things she actually wished to know. And that was most vexing. Without that, why had she bothered to save him?

Penny patted her shoulder. ‘As soon as he has recovered his strength, you can return to the old manor. That is his house now and will be yours as well. We will be less than a mile away if you need us. Familiar surroundings will have the memories flooding back in no time.’

A flood of memory was the last thing she needed. Moving to Felkirk’s own home would draw her even deeper into the ruse she had created. They would be alone, with no duke and duchess to help her deflect Lord Felkirk’s endless questions. ‘It will be quite different, being alone with him there,’ she said, trying to keep the resignation from her voice.

‘We will be just down the road,’ Penny replied cheerfully. ‘We can come for visits or for dinner, as soon as you are ready to receive us.’

They would come, and leave again, before bedtime. Justine would be left to manage the nights, alone with a strange man who would expect more than nursing from a beautiful woman who claimed to be his wife. What had he said to her, just now? You are not going to pretend that you are unaware of the effect you have on men.

Montague had said something similar, when he had informed her of what her future would be. Now, it would be happening all over again. When he was unconscious, William Felkirk had been as pale and beautiful as a statue. But awake she could see the virile strength that had been dormant. The blood was returning to his lips and the observant blue eyes turned on her already sparkled with interest. Soon there would be another, very male response to her presence in his bedroom. She could not help herself, she shivered.

Without a word, Penny slipped the shawl from her own shoulders and wrapped it around Justine. ‘You are tired, of course. You have worked so hard to make him well again. And it has not turned out as you expected.’

‘No, it has not,’ Justine admitted. She had assumed, no matter what she did to prevent it, he would die. She would enter the sickroom some morning to find the patient stiff and cold. It had made her search all the harder for evidence of her father, or a sign that he had delivered the jewels he’d been carrying, when he’d died. If she could have got her hands on them, she might have disappeared before anyone discovered her lies.

Then, it had occurred to her that, if William Felkirk died, it might be easier just to stay as she was, allowing the duke and duchess to comfort her in her mourning. Montague would not dare tell his half of the truth, for fear that she would tell hers. In a year, when she’d cast off her black, there might be holidays, and summer, and a Season in London with balls and parties...

And where would that leave Margot? As usual, the thought doused all happiness like cold water. How unfair was it that any thought of her beloved little sister should be wrapped in negatives?

As they walked down the hall and towards the main stairs, Penny continued to chatter on, filling the tense silence with descriptions of a happy future that could never be. ‘Above all, do not worry yourself over his behaviour today. I am sure he loves you. But the truth was quite a shock to him.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘The doctors said there might be changes in his character, because of the accident.’

‘True,’ Justine agreed. How could she tell? She knew nothing of his character, after only one brief meeting. When he had entered the shop, she had thought him handsome and pleasant enough. But his initial smile had faded, when he’d realised who, and what, she was.

Penny sensed her unease and added, ‘He will remember you, in time, I am sure. You have nothing to worry about.’

‘I am sure you are right.’ The words were true, even if the smile that accompanied them was not. He would remember her. She must be long gone before that happened, even if it meant returning to the life with Montague that she had hoped to escape.

They were at the door of her bedroom now and she gave the duchess a light kiss on the cheek to prove that it was, indeed, all right. ‘I think I should like to lie down before dinner.’

‘Of course,’ Penny replied. ‘Now that your husband is better, you must take care of yourself. And you will want to look your best for him, should Will be able to come to down for his meal.’

Justine smiled and nodded, and prayed he would not. It would mean another inquisition, nearly on the heels of the last one. She needed time to plan and create answers for the questions he would ask. She wasted no time, once the door was closed. A moment’s hesitation might cause her to doubt the wisdom of what she had done so far. And that doubt would lead to weakness, and eventual doom. Had not bitter experience taught her that only the strong survived?

She would be strong, even if it meant that she would not be happy. She went to the bedside candle and lit it, carrying it to the little table in front of the window, where she was sure it could be seen from a distance.

It was still burning when she left the room for dinner.

Chapter Three

Will was beginning to fear that Penny had been correct in her suggestion that he use a Bath chair. If he lacked the strength to walk across his own room, there was no way he could manage the stairs to the ground floor without help from the servants. If he had to stagger to get down them, it would take all his energy to avoid the indignity of being carried back upstairs after.

As if it was not enough to lose memory and strength, he seemed prone to nerves—he started at the least little thing. He’d lain in bed, straining to hear the conversation in the hall, as Penny assured the mysterious Justine that everything would be fine. As he’d done so, he was overcome with the fear that the family was plotting against him, with the stranger. Even the entrance of his valet, with clean linen and shaving gear, set his heart to pounding. He’d been so sure of himself, before. Perhaps the blow had addled his brain, and the confidence would never return.

He refused to believe it. He would not spend the rest of his life hiding in his room and starting at shadows. If he worked to make it so, his life might be as it once was.

But now, he had a wife.

He did not wish to think of her, either. After he’d composed himself, it was a comfort to see his valet, Stewart. It was good to be clean, shaved and dressed in something other than a nightshirt. But it embarrassed him that he’d had to be helped into a sitting position and moved about like a mannequin when his limbs would not stay steady enough to help with trousers and coat.

His man had made no comment on it, other than to examine his cheek and remark that her ladyship was nearly as good with a razor as he, and might have made an excellent valet, had God blessed her enough to make her male.

‘She shaved me?’ Why did it bother him to imagine that graceful hand holding the blade to his throat?

Stewart smiled. ‘She did everything for you, my lord. She was so attentive that all breathed a sigh of relief when she was not in the room. We feared she would exhaust herself with the effort.’

The man had said all as though he referred to both servants and family. It seemed that everyone in the house was taken with the love and dedication that the mysterious Justine had brought to her nursing. ‘What else do the servants say of my new wife?’ If there was any below-stairs gossip, Stewart would know of it. Hopefully, he owed enough loyalty to his master to give an honest opinion.

The man broke out in a grin. ‘She is quite the finest woman in Wales, my lord. Gentle and kind, with a way about her that makes all in the household easy about the change. She has not spent much time with us, as yet. Your brother deemed it easier to keep you here than in your own home.’ Will smiled to himself. For the first time in the discussion, there was the slightest hint of disapproval, and it was because a duke had the gall to overrule his servants in doing what was best for him.

Stewart was smiling again. ‘We shall soon have you back with us, now that you are better, and all will be right again. And we shall have her ladyship as well.’ The smile grew even broader, as though this addition was not so much a bother as the candied violet on top of a sweet.

Very well, then. All of Wales adored his wife. Logic dictated that he should as well. Had it not been pleasant to see her face, to hear her voice and to feel her gentle touch as he awoke? If he was still whole in body, he should have found it arousing to think that this lovely creature was familiar with the most intimate features of his anatomy. Those soft white hands had touched him as a lover, even as he’d lain helpless.

‘Be careful, my lord.’ His shudder at the thought had brought a caution from Stewart, whose scissors hovered near to Will’s ear as the hair around it was trimmed.

Will took a deep breath and steadied himself. ‘That is my intention, Stewart. From now on, I will be very careful, indeed.’

* * *

Despite the difficulties involved, Will took supper in the dining room with the family. Though his legs were still too watery to hold him, he could not stand the thought of a meal on a bed tray. Nor could he repress the nagging suspicion that if he was absent, he would be the main topic of conversation. On his way to the ground floor, he held tight to the stair rail and managed to ward off the sudden vertigo as he walked. A footman supported his other arm. While crossing the hall, he’d tried and rejected a walking stick, for his arms were not strong enough to hold it. By God, he would practise in his room, all day if necessary. He would be himself again.

Once he was seated at the dinner table, he felt almost normal. He’d practised sitting up in a chair until he was sure he was steady. And while he might not have an appetite for all the courses, he was still damned hungry. According to Stewart, they’d been giving him nothing but gruel from a pap cup for weeks. The very act of holding knife and fork was enough to raise his spirits, though the use of them was problematic.

It was after dropping yet another bite of fish, as he tried to guide it to his mouth, that he realised the hush that had fallen over the table. They were all watching him intently, as he ate.

He threw his fork aside. ‘It is not any easier, when one is being stared at, you know.’

‘Perhaps, if I were to cut your...’ The woman, Justine, was leaning towards his plate, ready to slice his food as though he were too young to manage it himself.

‘Certainly not,’ he barked at her. In response, there was a nervous shifting of the other diners and his brother cleared his throat, as though to remind Will of his manners.

‘I am sorry,’ he grumbled. He was annoyed with her offer and even more so with himself for behaving like a lout. ‘It is difficult.’

‘Soon it will be easier,’ she promised and signalled a footman, whispering a request.

With that, another course appeared, just for him. A ragout of beef had been poured into a tankard and there was a soft bit of bread as well. It was peasant fare and his table manners were a match for it. His hands shook as he brought the mug to his mouth and he wiped away any spillage with the bread. It embarrassed him to be so careless. But the others at table seemed so happy that he could eat at all, they ignored the manner of it and conversation returned to normal.

He could feel his strength returning with each bite. By the time he had finished, his hands had stopped shaking and he felt warm and comfortably full inside. Though it annoyed him to have to do so, he gave Justine a brief nod of thanks.

In response, she gave a modest incline of her head as if saying it was her honour to serve him. He might not know what to make of her sudden appearance in his life, but she seemed to feel no such confusion. Though she barely looked at him over dinner, she was ever aware of his needs and quick to see them tended to. The moment she’d realised his problem, she had moved to help him, while allowing him some small amount of dignity.

Would it be so bad to find that he had married a beauty willing to devote her life to his health and happiness? Tonight, she was wearing a dinner gown of moss-green silk. It might have seemed dull on another woman, but it brought out the colour of her eyes. The cut was lower than her day dress had been, but still quite modest. While it revealed a graceful neck and smooth shoulders, the hint of bosom visible made a man wonder all the more about the rest of her. And on her head was the same starched cap from the afternoon, hiding most of her curled hair.

It was hardly fair that he could not remember knowing her before she’d put on the modest trappings of marriage and covered her head. His brother’s wife rarely bothered with such things. But that was less from a desire to display her white-blonde hair and more from a total uninterest in fashion.

In Justine’s case, such attire felt less like modesty and more like a desire to hide something that he most wanted to see. It was the same for her pretty eyes that were cast down at her food instead of looking at him, and her beautiful voice, which did not speak unless spoken to. She was like a closed book, careful not to reveal too much. She stayed so quiet and still until the dessert was cleared away. Then she offered a curtsy and retired to the sitting room with Penny, leaving the men alone with their port.

‘Can you manage the glass?’ Adam asked, pouring for them both, ‘or will it be too difficult?’

‘For your cellars, I will make the effort,’ Will said, wanting nothing more than a stiff drink to relieve the tension.

‘See that you do not snap my head off, if you fail,’ his brother added with a smile. ‘Your wife may not mind it, but if I have any more trouble out of you I will call for the governess to put you to bed like your infant nephew.’

‘Sorry,’ Will said, still not feeling particularly apologetic. ‘I have the devil of a megrim.’ He frowned. ‘But do not call for laudanum. If, as you say, I have been asleep for months, I do not relish the thought of drugged slumber tonight.’

‘If?’ Adam looked at him with arched eyebrows and took a sip of his drink. ‘Tell me, William. You have known me all your life. In that time, have I ever lied to you?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, staring down into his drink and feeling foolish for sounding so sceptical. Then he added, ‘But I have known you, on occasion, to believe the lies of others.’

Adam nodded. ‘Who do you think is lying to me now? And how could they have managed, against such clear-cut evidence? I have watched you insensible in that bed upstairs for nearly two months. There was no question about the severity of your injury, or your nearness to death.’

‘But you were not there at the time of the accident,’ he prodded.

‘No,’ Adam agreed, ‘I was not.’

‘And you believe the story told by this Justine de Bryun?’

‘Yes, I believe her story,’ Adam replied. ‘But her name is Lady Justine Felkirk. Because she is your wife.’

‘How do you know that?’ Will slammed his fist down on the table in frustration, making the crystal glasses shudder. I know that you were not at the wedding. ‘Have you seen the licence?’

Adam did not hesitate. ‘You married in Gretna, just as I did. No licence was necessary.’

‘Then why do you believe her?’ Will pressed him. ‘What evidence do you have, other than the word of this stranger? How do you know that she is not responsible for the state I am in?’

His brother responded with a quelling look and said, ‘Because I can find no reason to explain why she would injure you, then arrive at my home, exhausted from days spent in a coach, cradling your broken head in her lap, so that she might nurse you back to health.’

‘Perhaps she is not at fault,’ Will admitted, feeling even more foolish. ‘But that does not mean I married her. If I experienced a grand passion that moved me to act so rashly as to wed, I would hope to feel some residue of it.’

‘Residue?’ Adam was smiling now. ‘You speak of love as if it were a noxious mould.’

‘Is it natural that I should forget a woman who looks like that?’ Even his happily married brother must have noticed that Justine de Bryun was a beauty worthy of memory. ‘Is it normal that I feel nothing, when I look at her?’

‘Nothing?’ his brother said in surprise.

Will shrugged. That last had not been precisely true. There was not a man alive who could look at his alleged wife and feel nothing. But surely he should not feel such a strange mix of suspicion and desire.

‘Nothing about these last few months have been natural,’ his brother said as though that explanation would be any comfort. ‘But I can tell you that the one thing we have all grown to count on, since you were returned to us in such an unfortunate condition, was the love of your Justine. She never wavered in her loyalty to you, no matter how unlikely recovery seemed.’

‘I do not fault her for her devotion,’ Will said. ‘But a compassionate stranger might have done the same for me.’

‘She is more than that to you, I am sure,’ Adam said. ‘Once we knew her, I could not help but love her, as I am sure you did. She is not simply devoted and beautiful, she is talented as well. Good company, well mannered, the very opposite of the sort of empty-headed chits that sought you out in London.’

‘It is all well and good that you love her,’ Will reminded him. ‘But you have a wife of your own.’

‘Do not be an idiot,’ Adam said with a snort. ‘Penny loves her as well. They are practically sisters. In two months she has become like a member of our family.’

‘That does not explain why I married her,’ Will announced. ‘Nor does it explain why you were willing to take her into the house with such a sham story as the one she brought. Sudden elopements? Riding accidents? That does not sound at all plausible. Have you ever known me to make major decisions on a whim? Do I drink to excess, bet foolishly, race my horses, or take up with strange women?’

‘You are the most sensible of men,’ Adam agreed. ‘Almost too sensible to be a younger brother. It is I who should be lecturing you. I remember the way you scolded me, when I brought Penny to London...’

‘Let us not speak of it,’ Will said, holding up a hand. ‘I was wrong. But as you say, I am almost too cautious. That is why I doubt the events as they have been presented to me. It is totally out of character for me to behave in such a way as Justine de Bryun ascribes to me. And you have only her word for the truth of it.’

Adam frowned and then admitted, ‘We did doubt, at first. But once we knew her, all doubts were gone.’

‘For what reason?’ Will said, frustrated almost to anger.

‘Because once we had spoken to her, it was clear she was exactly the sort of woman you’d have chosen for yourself. She is level-headed, wise, calm in adversity and has a quick wit. Her tastes and opinions, her sense of humour, and the hours she keeps? All are a perfect match to yours.’ Adam shook his head in amazement. ‘She is obviously your soul’s mate, Will. How could you have married anyone else?’

‘You cannot be serious,’ he said. He thought back to his interactions with the girl, who would barely look him in the eye, much less speak aloud, and wondered if that was truly what others saw in him.

Adam smiled. ‘I know it is difficult, at the moment, But you must have seen these qualities yourself, when you met her. It was clearly a matter of like attracting like. Trust me, Will. More accurately, the two of you are like iron and a lodestone. She has been nearly inseparable from you since the first moment she arrived. She allows herself a brief walk each morning, but other than that, she was never far from your side.’

‘Except at night,’ Will added. The thought of such constant scrutiny felt almost oppressive.

‘Most nights, she slept on a cot in your dressing room,’ Adam said. ‘She wanted to be near if you awakened. There was no part of your care too lowly that she would not at least attempt it.’

There was that thrill of fear again, that he had felt as he’d thought of her holding a razor. She was certainly as lovely as Delilah. Could she not be as dangerous as well?

But it seemed that Adam had no such worries. ‘She has worked, from the first, as though she already possessed your love and admiration. I am sure you will find it again, once you are fully recovered. In the mean time, if you cannot trust your own heart, trust your family. All will be well. Now finish your drink and let me help you to your room. No doubt you will feel differently in the morning.’

And when had he ever trusted his heart when making such a momentous decision? As Adam shepherded him up the stairs, there was no point in telling him the futility of that advice. The heart was a capricious organ, likely to say the opposite of his poor dented skull. As his valet helped him prepare for bed, he still felt headachy and weak, and utterly confused. He did not dare tell Stewart, or even his brother, that, now that it was dark, he dreaded returning to the bed he had lain in for so long. Suppose he closed his eyes and opened them to discover that he had lost another half a year?

Surely that would not happen. He had improved since the afternoon. While the pain and confusion remained, the blank slate of his memory had begun to fill again, even if the scrawls he imagined on it were written in someone else’s hand. Now, he must sleep, even though he did not feel tired. In the morning, he would walk, though he had no real desire to move. Little by little he would fight off the stupor and force body and mind to function at his command.

Stewart departed and there was the softest of knocks on the door. Without waiting for his answer, Justine entered, silent as a ghost in her plain linen nightdress.

And here was another appetite that had nothing to do with the condition of heart or mind. When he looked at Justine, desire did not need memory, just the evidence of his eyes. Her body would be soft and warm under the fall of thin white cloth and she would press it to his, should he demand it of her. They could dispense with the gown entirely and the ridiculous nightcap she wore with it. And for a time, he would forget any fears of past or future and revel in a glorious present. Perhaps a repeat of what they had already done would jar some knowledge in him.

Or would it be as feared? Even after a night together, she might be as much an enigma as she was now? There was something disquieting in those deep-green eyes and that placid smile. It was like a beautiful mask that could come off at midnight and reveal something totally unexpected.

The thought of bedding her had him as nervous as a bridegroom. If the stories were true, he had been that once already. On that night, his body would have performed as he commanded it to. If he was too weak to walk unaided, how was he to manage with a woman in his bed? Would she measure him against previous experience?

Perhaps she had fears as well. She looked rather like a virgin sacrifice in the undecorated white gown with her hair, a touchable river of gold, flowing down her back in a loose braid. In the firelight, she seemed younger than he’d thought, no more than two and twenty.

It made him feel strangely guilty to have suspected her of anything. She looked too innocent to be harbouring some dark secret. There was nothing in her demeanour that said she looked forward to a physical reunion with him. Now that they were alone again, the shyness he had seen at dinner was all the more noticeable.

Then, suspicion returned. If she was truly his wife, should she not be more excited to find him awake and alive, and to renew the physical relationship between them? Perhaps he had married her and discovered the ardour he felt was not returned. She had called him good, and kind, before. But she had not spoken of desire, or hung about his neck showering him with relieved kisses. The smile she gave him now was pleasant, but cool.

The one he returned to her was tight and unwillingly given. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said, not bothering to hide his doubts.

‘I thought, now that you were awake...’

Did she think that she would climb into bed with him and make everything better? That they would rut busily for a time, for no other reason than to prove that his lack of past did not affect either of them? Were men really so easily manipulated as that?

She walked past him and sat on the opposite edge of his bed, perched like a perfectly formed wooden doll on the very edge of a shelf. If he touched her, she would fall on to her back with that same distant look in her eyes, spread her legs and let him do as he wished with her.

The thought made him feel strangely sick. A little awkwardness after all this time would not be unusual. If the couple were in love, it might be laughed away after a whispered conversation on the need for patience and the assurance that nothing mattered more than their time together.

But he could not imagine having such a talk with her. When he looked at Justine, he felt nothing but a vague, unsettling desire. He wanted to see what lay under that prim gown she was wearing as much as he’d wanted to see under the cap and touch her hair. Most of all, he wanted to come inside her, feeling the past return in a rush, turning the past day into nothing more than a horrible dream.

But what did she want? She was gazing at him with a look of placid acceptance that was not encouraging. Perhaps proper women did not take pleasure in the marital bed. If they did not, then what real joy could there be to lie with her? He envied Adam and Penny, so obviously two sides of the same coin. Perhaps that was not what was meant to be for him. Adam had said he and this woman were alike. If she was cold and apathetic, what did that make him?

He had gone too long, staring at her without answer. So she started again. ‘While you were ill, I never slept far from your room. I have a cot, in the dressing room. In case you cried out in your sleep, I wanted to be nearby.’

‘That will no longer be necessary,’ he said. It was probably meant to be a comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to be alone, to puzzle out what had happened to him.

She bit her lip. ‘I wish to remain close, should you need me. But as my husband, it is up to you to decide where you wish me to be.’ She glanced significantly at the bed beside her. It was the only moment of spirit in her too-perfect subservience.

It made him want to bed her even less. He remained blank for a moment more. Then he gave a laugh of mock surprise. ‘I am sorry to inform you of this, my dear, but it does not matter to me in the least where you wish to sleep tonight. I am far too tired to manage anything so strenuous as a loving reunion.’

As he had feared, she looked more relieved than disappointed by his refusal. She stood up mechanically and turned first towards the hall, then towards the door that led to a connecting bedroom. ‘Then I will return to my room and leave you to your rest. If you need anything in the night...’

‘I shall ring for a servant,’ he said firmly. ‘You do not need to trouble yourself any further, or sleep at the foot of my bed like a hound. If I need you specifically, I shall walk across the room and knock upon your door.’

A certain type of woman might have snapped at his rudeness, or burst into a torrent of foolish tears. This one gave him an impassive nod and answered as a servant would, ‘Very good, my lord.’

A nagging voice at the back of his head demanded that he stop being foolish. Even if they were not two halves of one heart, it gave him no reason to treat her like a footman. ‘I will see you in the morning,’ he said, trying to use a kinder tone. ‘In the breakfast room.’

‘Of course.’ And once he saw her there, would she eat when he told her, drink when he told her and in all other ways behave like an automaton? If so, it did not matter what Adam thought. Justine was the exact opposite of the wife he would have wanted. There was no spirit in her at all, no challenge. There was nothing in her to learn, no exciting discoveries to make. The woman leaving his room was perfectly beautiful, totally obedient and dull.

Then he was rewarded with a fleeting memory of the past. He had been watching Adam at the christening, who was full of pride over his son and his duchess. The boy had been crying and his mother near to panic at her inability to maintain order. But Adam could not have looked happier. The room had seemed almost too full of life. For the first time in his life, Will had found something to envy. He had wanted a wife. And he had, indeed, resolved to marry within the year.

The fact that he could not remember bringing it about was a moot point. The thought had been in his mind when he left the house. He was going south. There were any number of fashionable women who would welcome his offer, now that he had decided to make it. He would choose one of them, after...

After what? There had been something else he’d meant to do. Only afterwards had he intended to marry. He must have achieved his goal, whatever it was. He had carried out the second part of his plan and found a wife.

Now, he would have to make the best of his choice. He leaned over to blow out the candle settling back into a bed that was familiar, but strangely empty.

Chapter Four

In the weeks she’d spent at Bellston Manor, Justine had come up with a dozen excuses for her early morning walks. She enjoyed regular exercise. She had a love of the outdoors. She wished to become familiar with the area that would be her home, after the unlikely recovery of William Felkirk. She had caught Penny and the duke discussing her regular exercise with approval. They had been nodding sagely to each other about the need for poor Justine to escape the sickroom, even for a short period of time.

It pained her that they were so willing to accept what was nothing more than another lie. There was only one reason that truly mattered. In a regular series of lonely rambles, it was easy to disguise the few times she did not walk alone.

* * *

It took nearly ten minutes to cross the manicured park around the great house. Beyond that, the path wound into the trees and she was hidden from view. Most mornings, the concealment gave her the chance to let down her guard and be truly herself. That brief time amongst the oaks was all hers and it was a novelty. How many years had it been since she had called her life her own, even for a moment?

But this was not most mornings. Today, the privacy meant nothing more than a change of façades. She was barely concealed before she heard the step behind her. Even though she had been expecting it, she started at the sudden appearance of John Montague.

That he invariably startled her was a source of annoyance. He made no effort to blend with the wood or the countryside. He wore the same immaculately tailored black coats and snowy white breeches he favoured in town. The patterned silk of his waistcoats stood out like a tropical bird lost amongst the trees. His heavy cologne was devoid of woodsy notes. His body and face were sharp and angular, his complexion florid to match his wiry red hair.

The only subtlety he possessed was his ability to move without a sound. Whether walking through the leaves, or over the hard marble of the jewellery shop they ran in Bath, she never heard the click of a heel or the shuffle of a foot to mark his approach. Like a cat, he was suddenly there, at one’s side, and then he would be gone. After each meeting she spent hours, starting at nothing and glancing nervously over her shoulder, convinced that he might be nearby, listening, watching, waiting to pounce.

As usual, he laughed at her fear as though it gave him pleasure. Then he pulled her forward, into his arms to remind her that it was not William Felkirk to whom she belonged. She permitted his kiss, as she always did, remaining placid. If one could not summon a response other than revulsion, it was best to show no emotion at all. When she could stand no more of it, she pulled away, pretending that it was the urgent need to share information that made her resist his advances.

He cocked his head to the side as though trying to decide whether it was worth punishing her for her impudence. Then he spoke. ‘I saw the light in your window. You have news?’

‘Felkirk is awake.’

Montague gave a sharp intake of breath and she hurried to add, ‘But he remembers nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ He smiled at this miraculous turn of events.

‘Not a thing from the last six months,’ she assured him. ‘He does not remember his investigations. He does not remember you.’ Nor me, she added to herself. ‘Most importantly, he does not remember the injury. I told him it was a riding accident.’

‘Did he believe you?’ Montague said, with no real optimism.

‘I do not know.’

‘What will happen if circumstances change?’

‘It will be a disaster,’ she said. ‘I must be gone before then.’ Her plan to escape Montague was an utter failure, if she must run back to him now. But better to return to the devil she knew than to experience what might happen should Lord Felkirk remember the truth.

‘What of the diamonds?’ Montague asked. ‘You have been in the house for weeks. Am I to believe you found nothing?’

‘Not a thing,’ she admitted.

‘Did you examine the Duchess’s jewel case?’

Justine sighed. ‘Have I not told you so already? I feigned feminine curiosity and she showed me all. There are no stones in any of the pieces that match the ones my father was carrying.’

‘They must be hidden elsewhere.’ Montague insisted. ‘When he came to Bath, Felkirk was sure he’d found the hiding place.’

‘Then the information is locked in his brain along with the reason for his condition.’ Justine resisted the urge to tug upon his arm, to lead him further from the house. He seemed to think even the most innocent contact between them gave him permission to take further liberties. ‘You must get me away from here,’ she said.

Montague grunted in disgust. ‘But we will not have the diamonds. Without them, we have gained nothing from this little game you suggested. You might just as well have let me finish him, while we were still in Bath.’

‘Suppose he had told someone of his plans?’ She took the risk of stroking his arm to distract him. ‘Isn’t it better to know that there is no trail leading back to you?’

‘You discovered that almost immediately,’ he retorted. ‘If there were no diamonds to find, then you should have done as I suggested and smothered him while he slept.’

‘You know I could not,’ she said, as calmly as possible. To hear him speak so casually of cold-blooded murder made her tremble. Even knowing that her life might be at stake, she could not bring herself to do such a thing.

‘I fail to see what stops you,’ Montague replied. ‘His family was responsible for the death of your father, who was my closest friend.’ He beat his breast once to emphasise the connection. ‘He was murdered on their property, delivering stones for a necklace that the duchess did not give two figs for. They did not keep their land safe for travellers. They did not offer a guard to escort him to the house. And once the crime had occurred they made no effort to catch the killer. Even worse, they may have been complicit. If Felkirk is right and the stones are still on the property, what are we to believe?’

‘I doubt that is the case,’ she said. It made no sense. What reason would a duke have to rob a jewel merchant, when they could easily afford to pay for the stones?

‘Perhaps not,’ Montague allowed. ‘But some justice is owed, after all this time.’

‘True,’ she said, cautiously. ‘But it was very dangerous to take that justice into your own hands by attacking the brother of the duke.’ Had her father known there was this strain of madness in his partner, when he’d made him guardian to a pair of helpless orphans? It did not matter, for there was little she could do about it until Margot was of age. ‘Since he survived the attack and cannot remember what occurred, you will be safe from prosecution.’

‘All well and good,’ he said. ‘But when you suggested this ruse, you promised you would find the diamonds Felkirk was searching for and bring them to me.’

It had surprised her that he would believe such a thing. If she had uncovered the stones her father had lost, her plan had been to sell them and escape with her sister to a place where neither Montague nor Felkirk could find her. ‘As I’ve told you before, I can find no evidence of them. The plan is a failure. You must help me quit this house, before it is too late and Lord Felkirk remembers who I am.’ Then she sighed and offered herself as an incentive. ‘We might take a room at an inn on the road back to Bath.’

‘Do you miss me?’ he asked, with a smile that made her shiver. ‘How flattering. Do not worry. You will return to my bed soon enough, and it will be just as it was before Felkirk sought us out. But I think, for a time, you had best remain where you are. His memory might return. Perhaps you can coax forth the information we need and we will still succeed.’

‘It will require me to convince him that I am his wife,’ she said. ‘You know what he will expect from me.’ She held her breath, praying that Montague’s possessiveness would finally do her some good.

He grabbed her by the arm and she thought he meant to punish her for even suggesting such a thing. But then he kissed her, forcing his tongue into her open mouth, thrusting hard, as though the idea of her laying with another excited him. Or perhaps he meant to frighten her into submission.

That would have been pointless. She had learned, at times like this, to feel nothing at all. She had but to wait and it would be over, soon enough.

Eventually, he pulled away and whispered, ‘You must use your talents on him, my dear. I swear you are woman enough to give speech to a dead man. How hard will it be for you to turn Felkirk inside out and extract what you need from him?’

‘But suppose I cannot?’ she said. ‘Suppose he remembers seeing me with you. In Bath, I am sure he guessed I was your mistress. I could see it in his eyes. Do not make me do this, for it is sure to fail.’

‘You had best see that it does not,’ he said. ‘For your own sake and your sister’s.’

‘Do not mention Margot again,’ she said, yanking her arm free from his grasp as the fear he wanted to see flooded back into her.

‘I will speak of her, or to her, whenever I wish.’ He knew her weakness and exploited it, relishing her reaction. ‘Until she is of age, Margot is still my ward.’ Then he took her hand back, more gently this time, running his fingers along the skin in a way he must think would excite her. ‘Without you, my life is so very lonely, Justine. Perhaps I should bring Margot home from school. She could take your place, working in the shop. She could keep me company, until you return.’ He raised her hand to his lips, running the tip of his tongue along the knuckles. ‘I swear, she is very nearly as lovely as you.’

Her mind went blank again, blocking out the feeling of his lips touching her skin. ‘It will not be necessary to summon Margot,’ she said, in a calm, agreeable voice. ‘I will do exactly as you say. I will discover what it is that Felkirk found. Then, I will return to you and things will be just as they were.’

‘See that you do,’ he said, looking up into her eyes. ‘You are to do whatever is necessary to gain the knowledge we want. I will have those stones, Justine. And then I will have you back.’

Whatever was necessary. She would lie to William Felkirk and lie with him as well. Perhaps there would still be a way to find the diamonds and get away. But until then, she would lose a little bit of herself, just as she did each time with Montague. How much was left to lose, when one already felt empty? ‘Of course,’ she agreed, listening to the sound of her own voice as if it came from a great distance. She thought of Margot and the need for her to stay safe at school, and innocent, for just one more year. ‘I will do whatever is necessary.’

Then she let Montague kiss her again, making her mind a blank as the kiss grew more passionate. But now he was pulling her away from the path, deeper into the woods so that they could be alone. There was no time for it.

She pushed him away and straightened her dress. ‘They expect me back at the house. It was only to be a short walk. I will be missed if I tarry. And if Felkirk comes down to breakfast, he will want to see me there.’ Then she kissed Montague once, gently on the mouth, hoping that he would believe she was not simply avoiding him.

‘Of course,’ he agreed, smoothing her hair and straightening her bonnet for another excuse to touch her. ‘Go back to the house. Do not arouse suspicion. But do not take too long about it. Remember, Margot is coming home for Christmas. If you cannot be with us, I will send your love...’

She turned and hurried back to the house, surprised, as she always was, at the way that her guardian could turn a simple, parting phrase into a threat.

Chapter Five

Will slept uneasily, waking often and with a start, as though proving to himself that it was truly possible to open his eyes again. But by morning, the ache in his head had diminished. He was able to take a few shaky steps around the room before calling for the crutches that the servants had found, to help him.

In the breakfast room, he found other servants, already clearing away a plate that still held a half-eaten slice of toast slathered with the marmalade from Tim Colton’s orangery. It was his particular favourite. The pot on the table was half-empty.

His brother barely looked up from his coffee. ‘If you are looking for your wife, she is up and out of the house already. She favours a morning walk, much as you do when you are in the country.’

‘Oh.’ He stared out the window at the fading green of the park and the coloured leaves swirling in the breeze. ‘That particular habit will be quite beyond me for a time.’

Adam nodded, then smiled. ‘You have no idea how good it is to see you on your feet again, even if you are a trifle unsteady.’

‘Probably not,’ Will agreed. ‘For me, it is as if no time has passed at all.’

‘It is a blessing, then,’ Adam said. ‘You do not remember the pain.’

‘That is not all I have lost,’ Will reminded him, glancing at the marmalade pot.

‘And as I told you, there is nothing to fear. Unlike my own darling Penelope, Justine is the most patient of women. She will not be hurt by your forgetfulness.’

‘I had not thought of that,’ Will said. If he had married her, then the hardship was not all on one side.

Adam looked even more surprised. ‘How inconsiderate of you. While you were the one who was injured, there were others who bore the brunt of the pain and worry. And over something so uncharacteristically foolish as a fall from a horse.’

‘Exactly,’ Will said. ‘What would have caused me to do such a thing?’

‘Showing off for Justine, I expect,’ Adam said, moderating his voice to sound less like a scold. ‘All men are idiots, when they are in love.’

On this, Will agreed. ‘That is why I have always avoided being so.’

‘Until now,’ Adam finished.

‘And that is one more thing I do not understand,’ Will said, feeling more desperate than he had before. ‘You claim she is just like me. Perhaps it is true. But why did I not take the time to bring her home to meet you, and to marry properly, in a church? If she is so like me, why did she not insist on it? It is not reasonable.’

His brother laughed. ‘You cannot think of a single reason to marry such a woman in haste? You poor fellow.’

‘She is pretty, of course,’ he allowed.

‘Was your vision affected?’ Adam asked, drily. ‘She is a damn sight more than just pretty.’

‘A beauty, then,’ Will admitted reluctantly. ‘But the world is full of those and I have resisted them all.’

‘Until now,’ his brother replied.

‘But I have no clue as to what caused this magical change in me? And what took me to Bath?’

Adam frowned. ‘It will come back to you in time, I’m sure. If not, you can ask Justine.’ Adam gave him a searching look. ‘You have spoken to her, haven’t you?’

‘Briefly,’ Will admitted.

‘Which means that you have exchanged fewer words with her than you have with me.’

William shook his head. ‘I would rather hear your version of events first.’

‘You will find her story is much the same as mine,’ Adam said. ‘While you cannot remember her, there is no reason to assume that she will not be forthcoming if you ask these questions of her.’

Will paused, unsure of how to explain himself. Then he said, ‘It is not just that I have forgotten our marriage. I have the strangest feeling that she is not to be trusted.’

Adam stifled an oath before mastering his patience. ‘The physicians told us that you might be prone to dark moods, if you recovered at all. Do not let yourself be ruled by them.’

‘Suppose I cannot prevent it?’ he said in return. ‘You claim I will love her as I once did, given time. Suppose I do not?’

‘Then I would assume that you are not fully recovered from your injury and tell you that even more time was required.’ Adam seemed to think it was much less complicated than it seemed to him.

‘Then you must ready your advice,’ Will replied. ‘For when I look at her, I do not love her, nor can I imagine a time when I did.’

Adam sighed. ‘You always did lack imagination.’

‘Perhaps that is true. But I do not wish to develop it, simply to create a likely scenario for my previous marriage. If I cannot remember her, would an annulment not be a possibility? Surely a mental deficiency on my part...’

Adam’s eyes narrowed. ‘There is no sign that you were mentally defective when you met her. The accident happened afterwards. A declaration of mental deficiency on your part would cause other problems as well. Do you wish me to take on the management of your money and land, since you are clearly unable to make decisions for yourself? Will you seek to marry again? How will we guarantee to the next woman that she will not meet a similar fate? Unless you want to be declared my ward for the rest of your life and treated as though you cannot manage your own affairs, you had best own what wits you have.’

Will had no answer to this.

‘Far better that you should meet your wife as if she were a stranger and grow to feel for her again. I suspect the answer to it all is quite unexceptional. Standing up at the christening put you in mind to marry. You went to Bath, where you knew many young ladies were to be found, chose the most likely candidate and made your offer. Since you were so adamantly opposed to my own sudden marriage, when it happened, you would not have entered into a similar union had the bond between you not been strong.’

It sounded right. But Will still could not manage to believe it. ‘What if I was driven by some other reason?’

‘Then I would tell you, if you cannot love her, there is nothing about her that is unlikeable. She is beautiful, talented and quite devoted to you. Many marriages are built on less. You could do worse than to keep her.’ Adam was using the matter-of-fact tone he used when settling disputes amongst the tenants. It was the sort of voice that said there would be no further discussion.

So the decision was already made. He was married. His brother did not seem to care if he wanted to be. Nor could Will explain the nagging feeling, at the back of his mind, that something was very wrong with this. ‘How am I to go about growing this feeling? What advice do you have, oh, wise Bellston?’

Adam gave a confident smile. ‘I would advise that you find your wife immediately, and spend the day with her. Then you must remove yourself from my household as soon as you are able.’

‘You are turning me out?’ Will said with surprise. ‘I am barely recovered.’

‘Your own home is less than a mile from here,’ Adam said with a calming gesture. ‘The doctor is even closer to that place than he is to here. It is not that you are not welcome to visit. But the sooner you stop making excuses and isolate yourself with Justine, the sooner you will come to love her again. The pair of you must stop using the rest of us to avoid intimacy.’

‘You expect me to bed a complete stranger, hoping that I will rise in the morning with my love renewed?’

He could see by the narrowing of his brother’s eyes that Adam was nearly out of patience. ‘Perhaps the bump on the head has truly knocked all sense out of you. You talk as if it were a hardship to lie with a beautiful woman. But I meant nothing so vulgar. You must be alone with her. Talk. Share a quiet evening or two and discover what it was that drew you to her in the first place. I predict, before the week is out, you will be announcing your complete devotion to her.’

‘Very well, then. Today I will discuss the matter with her. Tomorrow, I will take her home, and make some effort to treat her as if she were a wife by my choice. But I predict we will be having the same conversation in a week’s time. Then I will expect you to offer something more substantive than empty platitudes about love.’

So he finished his breakfast and, with his brother’s words in mind, sought out Justine. But she seemed no more eager to talk to him than he was to talk to her. The servants informed him that, directly after her walk, she’d gone out with the duchess to call on the sick and needy of the village.

* * *

Penny returned without her. It seemed she had been invited to luncheon with the vicar, to celebrate the miraculous recovery of her invalid husband. That they had neglected to invite Will to the event was an oversight on their part.

* * *

By afternoon, she had returned to the house, though Will could not manage to find her. When he went to visit his nephew in the nursery, he was told that the boy was just down for a nap. Her ladyship had sung him to sleep. The nurse assured him his wife had the voice of an angel and was naturally good with children. Apparently he had chosen the perfect mother for his future brood, should he find it in his heart to make them with her.

It was hard to accuse her of dark motives when she seemed to fill her day with virtues. It explained why his family was so taken with her. But to Will, it seemed almost as if she was deliberately avoiding him. Wherever he went in the house, her ladyship had just been and gone, after doing some kindness or proving her own excellent manners.

* * *

In the end, he did not see her until supper, after they had both dressed for it on opposite sides of the connecting door. Adam was entertaining the Coltons, claiming it as a small celebration welcoming him back to health. More likely, it was an attempt to put Will on his best behaviour. Tim and Daphne were old family friends. But that did not give him the right to bark and snap at them, as he had been doing with his own family.

At least this evening he was able to manage food and drink without subtle aid from his new wife. Though he was fatigued, a single day out of bed and a few hearty meals had worked wonders on his depleted body.

As the conversation droned on about Tim’s latest experiments in his greenhouse, Will lifted his glass and looked through it, across the table at the woman he supposedly loved. Today, her gown was white muslin shot through with gold threads, her warm gold hair falling in inviting spirals from another dull white cap. But for that, she’d have looked like one of the more risqué angels in a Botticelli painting, pure but somehow a little too worldly.

She noticed his gaze and coloured sweetly, keeping her own eyes firmly focused on the food in front of her. Perhaps it was simply that he felt better today. Perhaps it was the wine. Or maybe leaving the confines of his room changed his mood. But he wondered what it was that had made him distrust her, when there was nothing exceptional in her behaviour.

She seemed shy of him, of course. But could she be blamed for it? Since the first moment he’d opened his eyes, she had shown him nothing but kindness and patience. He had responded with suspicion and hostility. Even a real angel would grow tired of such treatment and draw away.

Almost as an experiment, he looked directly at her, long past the point where she could ignore him. Slowly her face rose, to return a nervous smile, head tilted just enough to express enquiry. Then he smiled at her and gave the slightest nod of approval.

She held his gaze for only a moment, before casting her eyes down again. But there was a flicker of a smile in response and tension he had not noticed disappeared from her back and shoulders. If possible, she became even prettier. She was more alluring, certainly. She had seemed almost too prim and virginal, perching on the edge of her chair.

But as she relaxed, her body looked touchable, as though she was aware of the pleasures it offered. If he had been married to her for even one night, he knew them himself. He would not have been able to resist. But it was an odd contrast to the woman she had been last night. As she’d sat on his bed, near enough to touch and waiting for intimacy, she’d been as stiff as a waxwork and just as cold.

After the meal, he’d been hoping for a relaxing glass of port with Adam and Sam as the ladies retired. But they took that hurriedly, wanting to join the women in the parlour and using the comfort of the chairs, and his semi-invalid status, as an excuse. At first, he thought it a trick to throw him back into the presence of his wife and force some memory from him. But it seemed that, as their bachelor days receded into the past, his brother and friend had grown used to spending their evenings in the company of their wives. They were less willing to forgo it, even after his miraculous recovery. Now that he was married, they expected him to behave the same.

Married.

It always came back to that. Once again, his feelings were in a muddle. Perhaps he was still avoiding her. He should be able to engage Justine in easy conversation as Adam and Sam did with their wives. But he could not think of a word to say to her, other than the thought that was always foremost in his mind: Who are you?

No one else wondered. They all seemed to know her well. She was settled into what was probably her usual chair beside a screened candle, chatting amiably as though she belonged here. She reached into a basket at its side to take up her needlework: a complex arrangement of threads and pins on a satin pillow. The other women smiled at her, admired her work and discussed children and households.

Adam and Sam seemed to be in the middle of a political conversation that he’d had no part in. How long would it take him, just to be aware of the news of the day? Probably less time than to discover the details of his own life. He could read The Times for a day or two and find everything he needed. But no matter how he prodded at the veil covering the last six months, it was immovable. If the present situation was to be believed, there was a trip to Bath, love, marriage and who knew what other events, waiting just on the other side.

His headache was returning.

He struggled to his feet and manoeuvred himself to a decanter of brandy that sat on the table by the window, pouring a glass and drinking deeply. That he had done it without spilling a drop deserved a reward, so he poured a second, leaning on his crutches to marshal his strength for a return to his chair. The trip across the room had brought him scant feet from Justine and he paused to watch her work.

There was a scrap of lace, pinned flat to the pillow in front of her. It took him a moment to realise that this was not some purchased trim, but a work in progress. The finished work was held in place with a maze of pins more numerous than spines on a hedgehog, the working edge trailing away into a multitude of threads and dangling ivory spools. As though she hardly thought, she passed one over the other, around back, a second and a third, this time a knot, the next a braid. Then she slipped a pin into the finished bit and moved on to another set of threads. The soft click of ivory against ivory and the dance of her white hands were like a soporific, leaving him as calm as she seemed to be. Though he was close enough to smell her perfume, he saw no sign of the shyness that was usually present when he stood beside her. There was no stiffness or hesitation in the movement of her hands. Perhaps their problems existed outside the limits of her concentration. She worked without pattern, calling the complex arrangement of threads up from memory alone. There was hardly a pause in conversation, when one or the other of the women put a question to her. If it bothered her at all, he could not tell for her dancing fingers never wavered.

Though he stood right in front of her, he seemed to be the last thing on her mind. Now he felt something new when he looked at her. Was this envy that she gave her attention to the lace, and to the other women, while ignoring him? Or was this frustration that he’d had her attention, once, and slept through it.

Slowly, the roll of finished work at the top grew longer. No wonder she had nursed him, uncomplaining, for months at a time. She had the patience to measure success in inches. Penny noticed his interest and announced, ‘Her handwork is magnificent.’

It brought a blush to the woman’s fair cheeks, but she did not pause, or lose count of the threads. ‘In my homeland, lacemaking is quite common,’ she announced. ‘My mother was far better at it than I.’

‘Your homeland?’ he prompted, for it was yet another fact that he did not know.

‘Belgium,’ she said, softly. ‘I was born in Antwerp.’

‘And we met in Bath,’ he added. It did not answer how either of them came to be there. But perhaps, if repeated often enough, it would make sense.

‘You may think it common, but your work is the most delicate I have seen,’ Penny reminded her with a sigh. Then she looked to Will. ‘It is a shame that you did not bring Justine to us before the last christening. I would so have liked to see a bonnet of that trim she is making now.’

‘For the next child, you shall have one,’ Justine replied, not looking up.

‘It is too much to ask.’ Penny smiled at Will as though he had a share in the compliment. ‘The collar she made for me last month makes me feel as regal as a duchess.’ Fine praise indeed, for it was rare to hear Penny feeling anything other than ordinary.

‘The edging she made for my petticoat is so fine it seemed a shame to cover it with a skirt, Daphne added. ‘I’ve had my maid take up the hem of the dress so that it might be seen to good advantage.’

‘Because you are shameless,’ her husband added with a smile. He was glancing at her legs as though there were other things that were too pretty to be hidden. It was probably true, if one had a taste for girls who were buxom and ginger. Daphne was as pretty as Penny was sensible.

Will glanced at his own wife, his mind still stumbling over the concept. The candlelight was shining copper in her hair and bringing out the green in her eyes. In museums, he’d admired the technique of the Flemish painters and the way their subject seemed to glow like opals in the light. But if this woman was an indication, perhaps they had simply learned to paint what they saw before them. Though she sat still and silent in the corner, the woman he had chosen seemed illuminated from within, like the banked coals of a fire. Perhaps that was what had drawn him to her. For now that he had seen her in candlelight, he could not seem to look away.

There was a knock on the parlour door and Adam all but leapt to his feet to open it, breaking the spell. He turned back to Will with a grin. ‘Now, for the highlight of the evening. We are to have a visit from your namesake, William.’ He opened the door and the nurse entered, carrying a plump toddler that Will assumed was his nephew.

It was almost as great a shock as discovering he had a wife. When he had last seen little William, they had been in the chapel and the infant had been squawking at the water poured over his head. That child had been but a few months old and had cared for nothing but milk and sleep. The baby that was brought into the room was fully three times the size of the one he remembered and struggling to escape, his arms outstretched to his parents, demanding their attention.

Penny had already set aside the book she’d been holding and took the baby, making little cooing noises and interrogating the nurse about his day. Next, it was Adam’s turn. But instead of coddling the child, he knelt on the floor and demanded that his son come to him. The child did, once he was free of his mother’s arms. It was done in a series of lunges, combined with some industrious crawling and ending in an impressive attempt by little Billy to haul himself upright on the leg of the tea table. He was properly rewarded by his father with a hug and a sweet that appeared from out of Adam’s waistcoat pocket, which Penny announced would ruin the boy’s sleep.

Will felt a strange tightening in his chest at the sight. Six months ago, he had given little thought to his nephew, other than a natural pride at sharing his name. But to have missed so much in the boy’s development was like losing a thing he’d had no idea he’d wanted.

Adam scooped the child from the floor and wiped the stickiness from his hands and mouth before announcing, ‘And now, young Bill, it is time to meet your uncle. Can you say hello for him? Come now,’ he coaxed. ‘We have heard the word before. Uncle. Show your godfather how brilliant you are.’

But as they approached, Billy showed no interest in speech. In fact, he’d wound his little hands tightly into his father’s lapel and turned his face into the cloth. The closer they came, the more shy Billy seemed to become. By the time they were standing before Will, he could see nothing but the boy’s hunched shoulders and curling blond hair.

‘Hello, Bill,’ he said softly, hoping that the boy was only playing a game with him. ‘Peek-a-boo.’

Instead of laughing at the sound of his voice, the boy let out a scream and burst into tears, butting his head into his father’s shoulder as though demanding to be taken away.

‘I don’t understand,’ Adam said. ‘He has seen you before. We took him to your room, each day. We would not have him forget...’

‘It is all right,’ Will said. But it was not. Had the time he’d lost turned him into a monster? What could the boy see that the others were not remarking on?

Now Penny was fussing over the child, taking him from Adam with a dark look. ‘This is too much excitement. I will take him back to the nursery. It is time for bed, if it is possible to calm him.’

Will’s head was pounding and the screaming boy was making it worse. ‘No. I will go. Leave him be.’ One crutch slipped out from under him for a moment and he nearly stumbled. But at least as he staggered it was in the direction of the hall. He allowed the momentum to carry him from the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Chapter Six

There was a moment of shocked silence in the room, after William Felkirk’s sudden retreat. Even the child was quiet, other than to heave a wet sigh of relief. And then all started for the door at once.

‘I will go,’ said Justine in as firm a voice as she could manage. Apparently, it was strong enough. Everyone relaxed. Even the duke took a step away from the door and offered an equally quiet, ‘Of course. It must be you.’

She did not particularly want to follow, if it meant being alone with Lord Felkirk again. His refusal of her on the previous evening had come as a relief. She had half-feared, even before receiving Montague’s orders, she might have to feign affection for a man she wanted no part of.

While nursing him, she had not bothered to think too much about the character of the man she was caring for. The feeding, washing and changing of linens had been little more than a series of tasks to be completed. It was good to be busy and to occupy her mind with the routine of duty.

But that was over now. Tonight, she might have to lie still in his bed, her own thoughts and fears clamouring loud in her head, while he did whatever he wished...

She had hoped for continued indifference, for at least a little while longer. If they could live as strangers for a while, she might think of some way to escape before the inevitable occurred. But he had been watching her, all during dinner, and in the parlour as she’d worked. And he had been smiling. Although it was better than his continual suspicion, it had been the sort of warm, speculative smile she had seen on the faces of men before. It was likely the first step in a chain of events that would lead to the bedroom and trap her even deeper in the lie she had told.

She put the fear of that aside as she went out into the hall. At the moment, he needed her. He needed someone, at least. His wife would be the logical choice to offer comfort. The poor man had quit the room like a wounded animal after his godson’s rejection. Even with the complications it would add to her life, she could not abide the sight of suffering.

‘Wait!’ She needn’t have called out after him. She caught him easily, for he’d had to struggle with the crutches and his own limited strength. He’d travelled as far as the end of the hall to the little, round mirror that hung there and was staring into it, as though expecting to see a monster.

She came to his side, allowing him to know her presence by her reflection. ‘You must not think too much of that. Billy is normally the most agreeable of children. But even the best babies can take fright when they are startled.’

‘Have I really changed so much?’ Will touched his own face, as though doubting what he saw.

‘Not really.’ Much as she did not wish to admit it, he was even more handsome than he had been in Bath. His hair was as black as ever, except for the small streak of white near the scar. His skin, pale from illness, added to his dramatic good looks. And the easy smiles and relaxed manners he used at home were much less intimidating than the distant courtesy of the gentleman who had walked into the shop wishing to speak with Mr Montague about a crime committed in Wales nearly twenty years ago.

She had taken an instant dislike to him, for bringing up a subject that was still very painful to her. But amongst his family he seemed younger and more open. He had barely smiled at her and she had not yet seen him laugh. But she could see by the lines around his mouth and eyes that he did so, and frequently. He seemed like a most pleasant fellow. It was a shame to see him doubt himself now.

‘When you went away, after the christening, Billy was too small to know you,’ she assured him. ‘Since I brought you home, he has seen you often, but never with your eyes open and never standing up. You frightened him because he does not understand the change.’

‘Neither do I,’ Will said softly, almost to himself. Then he added, ‘He has no reason to fear.’ He turned to look at her, as though to reassure her as well. ‘I am not such a great beast, once you get to know me.’

She fought back her fears and laid a hand on his arm. ‘He will learn that, in time.’

He gave the barest of nods. ‘I hope you learn the same. I have not treated you very well, since I have awakened. But everything is so strange.’ He turned back to the mirror, staring into it as though he expected to see something in her reversed reflection that was not apparent when he looked directly at her.

She resisted the urge to search her own face in the glass. How should one look, at a moment like this? She had learned for most of her adult life to be good at dissembling. But was anyone this good of an actress, to pull off such a stunning performance for an audience of one who would be watching her closely, searching for clues that might lead him to his own truth?

For her sister’s sake, she had no choice but to try. She gave him a hopeful, watery smile and managed a single tear to indicate that her heart was too full for words. It gave her a few more moments to compose her thoughts before speaking. ‘I do not fear you,’ she lied. ‘And I understand that it will take time before you can feel truly yourself again.’

‘I am told my recovery thus far is thanks to your care.’ His brow was still furrowed as he repeated what must be rote acknowledgements of the situation as it had been told to him. ‘But in truth, madam, I can remember nothing before yesterday, of you and our marriage. Please enlighten me. How did we come to be together?’ His questions today lacked the accusatory tone of yesterday. He was not so much demanding answers, as honestly curious. It was as though he expected Scheherazade with a story so captivating he could not resist.

What could she tell him that would set his mind at rest? ‘You arrived in Bath, after the crocuses were finished blooming, in May,’ she said, trying to focus on a happy memory.

‘In what month did we marry?’

‘June,’ she replied. It was a fine month for weddings, real or imaginary.

‘Adam said we married in Gretna.’ He said this almost to himself, as though calculating miles between the points.

‘But we met in Bath,’ she repeated, searching for a likely story. ‘We met in a shop.’ It was true. But she could not exactly tell him it was Montague and de Bryun, Purveyors of Fine Jewellery. ‘I taught needlework, in a school for young girls. I wished to sell some of the handiworks there.’ Hadn’t that been her dream, at one time? To make a modest living with her hands.

‘What was I doing in a lady’s haberdashery?’ he said, obviously surprised.

‘You followed me there, I think,’ she said, smiling at her own carelessness for choosing such an outlandish meeting place. ‘I saw you enter the shop and everything changed.’ That was very true. But it had not been for the better.

‘You were taken with me?’ Apparently, his ego had not been damaged, for she saw the slight swell of pride.

‘You are a most handsome man.’ Again, it was truth. She remembered the little thrill of excitement she’d felt, at seeing such a dashing man enter the salon. It was followed by the crashing realisation that he was a Felkirk.

‘And what did I think of you?’

That had been obvious as well. She had introduced Mr Montague as her employer. But William Felkirk had seen the low-cut satin gowns she wore and the possessive way Montague treated her and known that her duties for the man were not limited to modelling the wares they sold. Then his lip had curled, ever so slightly, with contempt. ‘I think you felt sorry for me,’ she said, wishing it were true.

‘So I offered to rescue you from your dreary life?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘I refused you at first,’ she embroidered. If she was to create a fairy-tale romance, there should be details. ‘I did not think your offer was quite proper.’

‘But I won you over with my charm and sincerity,’ he said with such obvious doubt that it made her laugh.

‘You took me on walks around the Crescent. We met again in the assembly rooms and tea shops. You made it clear to me that your intentions were honourable.’ Hadn’t she envied many young couples, courting in just such a way on the other side of the shop window? Sometimes she saw them later, in the showroom, admiring the rings. ‘When you made your offer, of course I accepted.’

‘Of course,’ he said dubiously. ‘But what was I doing in Bath? I loathe the place.’

This was a wrinkle she had not accounted for. ‘What were you doing in Bath? You did not say. What do most people do there? Take the waters. Attend parties.’

‘I have managed to resist such activities thus far,’ he said sceptically. ‘Why would I decide to do them now?’

‘I really have no idea. You did remark that you were bored,’ she allowed. ‘But that you liked it better, once you had met me.’

‘And then we eloped.’ He must suspect that this was unlikely. Having met his family and seen how close he was to them, she was sure, when he found the perfect wife, he would bring her to them, immediately.

‘You were unwilling to wait, even for the reading of the banns, or the time to procure a special licence. And I was...’ She took a deep breath and plunged forward with the biggest lie of all. ‘Your affections were very difficult to resist. Impossible, in fact. Afterwards, you deemed it best that we marry with all haste and inform the family afterwards.’

‘I see.’ Now he was the one who was blushing. Let him think he had taken advantage and owed her some reparation. It would be true, soon enough. He was staring at her reflection in the mirror again. ‘I do not doubt that I was insistent, once I set my cap for you. You are quite the prettiest woman I have ever seen.’

‘Thank you.’ She had grown used to accepting the words as a compliment, though they sometimes felt more like a curse. How different might her life have been had she been plain and undesirable? She might have gone unnoticed through life and kept her virtue. She certainly would not be in a ducal manor, flirting with a peer’s brother. ‘I was honoured by your attentions. I am sure there were others more appropriate for the brother of a duke, than an émigrée without family or fortune.’

He touched a finger to her lips. ‘Do not speak so about yourself. You have proven more than worthy, since the accident.’ The moment of spontaneous intimacy shocked them both and he carefully removed his hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, wishing she could take the compliment as it was.

‘But the accident,’ he added. ‘Tell me about it.’

She gave an honest shudder at the memory of him lying broken on the floor. Then she lied again. ‘You were trying to impress me. A jump went wrong.’

‘But what of Jupiter?’

For a moment, she was completely puzzled. Was this some obsession with astronomy that she had not known? Perhaps he was the sort who thought his life was ruled by the stars. Then she realised that he was referring to the horse. What had become of the horse? She had no idea. If Montague was aware of it, he had surely sold it by now. Or perhaps it was still in a stable in Bath, waiting for its owner to return. ‘I am sorry, but his leg was broken. There was nothing that could be done...’ It was kinder that he think the animal dead, than to realise that no one had cared enough to find it.

He held up a hand and turned his face away from hers, as though unwilling to let her finish. The weight of his body sagged against his crutches, as if he could not support himself. When she reached out to steady him, and to offer comfort, she felt the shuddering sob even as he shrugged off her touch.

In a moment, he straightened and composed himself. ‘Then I deserved what I got,’ he said, in a voice full of self-disgust. ‘Taking foolish risks and putting another life in jeopardy. What the devil was I thinking to harm an animal that had been a faithful friend to me for seven years?’

If she had hoped to comfort him, she had failed completely. Felkirk was even more upset than he had been when leaving the parlour. And he grieved for a horse? When she’d met him, she had assumed that he and his family cared for nothing but their money and themselves. They certainly had not cared for her father, as he’d lain dying on their property so long ago.

But the duke and Penny had not been as she’d expected and had treated her as a long-lost sister. Now, the man in front of her was practically undone over the death of a beast. She wanted to take back the words and assure him that, somewhere, the horse was alive and well. Fine blood stock, like Jupiter probably was, would not have sold for hide and hoof to pay a stable bill.

Instead, she remained silent and let him lean upon her, as he struggled to regain his composure. ‘Do you wish me to call for Stewart?’ she said softly.

He shook his head, once, emphatically. Then he pulled himself upright and took a deep breath. ‘This is too embarrassing. But so much of my life is, it seems.’

‘It is not your fault,’ she assured him. ‘And I have seen you worse. Let me help you back to your room.’

He gave a very weak laugh as they made their way to the stairs. ‘That does nothing to console me. The last thing a man wants to be is helpless in the presence of a beautiful woman.’ He stopped for a moment and wiped a hand across his face. ‘And weeping over a horse. You must think me mad as well as crippled.’

‘The physicians did say you might not be yourself,’ she reminded him.

He gave her another wry smile. ‘It does not reassure me to hear I might run mad and no one will think twice about it. I am sorry to inform you of this, my dear. But I cannot blame a head injury on my tears over the loss of old Jupe. He was a fine horse and my truest friend. I must have told you how long we were together.’

‘I understand,’ she said, trying not to appear relieved. His upset, no matter how unjustified, had been a help. He was too busy trying to save some scrap of dignity to ask any more questions of her.

He paused, took a firm grip on the stair rail and gave another quick wipe of his eyes with the back of his hand before moving up another step. ‘All the same, I apologise. If I am still not the master of body or mind, I am unfit company. It was a mistake to inflict myself on others this evening.’

‘You cannot be expected to hide in your room for ever. And you are doing much better than yesterday,’ she added, since it was perfectly true. Now that he was awake, the speed of his recovery was impressive. ‘The family is eager to see you and will be patient.’

‘Not too patient,’ he said, wiping the last moisture from his eyes. ‘I am barely on my feet again and Adam means to put us out.’

‘No.’ She had no right to think it. Had she forgotten she was an interloper here? This was not her home and she must not think of it as such. But if she did not live here, then where was she to go?

Felkirk gave her a wan smile. ‘I said something similar, when he suggested it. But he is right. I have a home of my own, less than a mile from here.’ He paused, then said, ‘We have a home. It is where we belong. Tomorrow, you shall see.’

‘But...’ What was she to tell Montague? And how was she to tell him? There was no time to leave a signal.

They had reached the top of the stairs and Felkirk balanced carefully on a single crutch and draped his free arm about her shoulders. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Adam was right to suggest it, as you were just now. I cannot hide in my room for ever, assuming I will improve. And we cannot use the size of this place, and the presence of Adam and Penny, to hide from each other.’

Had it been so obvious that she was avoiding him? She could not think of an answer to it, so busied herself with helping him the last few feet down the hall to his room. They were standing outside the door to his sickroom. The valet was no doubt waiting inside to help him to bed. If he did not need her any longer, she could make her excuses and escape to the ground floor to tell the family that he had retired. He might be sound asleep by the time she returned. He was right that she could not avoid him for ever. But was one more night so much to ask?

She dropped her gaze to the floor and offered a curtsy. It was probably not the way a loving wife was supposed to behave. She should be warmer, bolder and unafraid to catch his eye. But when he was near like this, she could not think clearly. What was to become of her, once they were out of this house and had only each other for company? She turned away, glancing back down the hall. ‘If you do not need me any longer, I will return to the parlour and explain to the family.’

‘There is one last thing,’ he said, as though something had just occurred to him and gestured her close again, as though about to whisper.

She leaned in as well.

Then he kissed her. It was just a buss upon the lips. It was so quick and sweet that she gasped in surprise. And for a moment, her mind was calm. Not empty, as it was when she was with Montague. It was as placid as a lake on a windless day. Then she felt the faintest ripples of expectation. Was she actually hoping for another kiss?

‘Thank you, for your help. And your devotion,’ he said. There was no indication of his feelings on the matter, other than the faintest of smiles.

‘It was...’ Why could she not find her words? And why could she not draw away from him? She was leaning against him, as though she was the one who needed crutches. Montague would not have approved. He had sent her here as a seductress. He did not want her behaving like some moonstruck girl...

The second kiss that she had been hoping for came in a rush of sweetness, soft as the wing of a moth. William Felkirk braced himself against the doorframe of his room and pulled her body to him, letting the wall support them both. Then he touched his lips to hers and moved them slowly, tenderly, before closing them once, twice, three times, against her mouth.

Why did she feel so breathless? Montague would have laughed and called her a fool. But she did not want to think of him, just now. Instead, she focused on the slight cleft in the chin that hovered before her eyes as those same gentle lips kissed her forehead. There was a faint shadow there, where his valet had missed a whisker or two. She wanted to kiss him there, to trace the crease with her tongue and feel the roughness of the stubble.

She had waited too long. Felkirk was setting her back on her feet, smiling down into her face. And for the first time, she saw the easy smile and friendly nature his family assured her was his by habit. ‘You are right, my dear. You must go back to the parlour. And I must rest. Much as I would like to say otherwise, I fear there are things I am simply not yet capable of.’

He meant bed play. She did not know if it was proper for a wife to do so, but she blushed at the thought.

It made him laugh. ‘Although, with you here, looking as you do, I will pray most fervently for a return to health and strength.’

‘I will pray for you, as well,’ she agreed.

‘And pray for my memory,’ he added. ‘I cannot recall what we have meant to each other. But I am sure, once you are in my arms, it will all come back to me.’

She thought of the beads she kept in her dresser. She would tell them tonight, several times over, and hope that the quantity of prayer for a selective memory might counter anything he had asked for.

Chapter Seven

Now that William Felkirk was awake, Justine was discovering the inconveniences of married life. When he had been in a coma, there had been little question as to who made the decisions. On the rare occasions she had been overruled by the duke as to the best method to tend the invalid, it had been the result of discussion and not flat mandate. But now that he was awake, Lord Felkirk expected not just an equal share in his recovery, but the deciding vote in all matters.

After the discussion in the hall, she had hoped that there would be some time to persuade him of the need for caution before a change of location. But when she awakened the next morning, the arrangements for the move back to his own home were already in progress and would be done before noon. The valet seemed relieved to be packing up the limited supply of garments and his lord’s shaving kit. Her own garments were only slightly more troublesome, for she had brought a single trunk with her, when she’d come north. Penny offered her the use of the maid she’d had, until she was able to choose someone from her own household. The girl had already gone ahead and was probably already hanging gowns and pressing ribbons in their new home.

In the midst of the activity, William Felkirk paced the floor as though he could not wait to be under way. Though he had claimed to be reticent, he had obviously warmed to his brother’s advice and meant to act on it immediately. ‘It makes no sense to maintain a second household, less than a mile from the first,’ he said. ‘It is unfair to expect servants to fetch and carry items between the two. I have a perfectly good home, just down the road from here. I mean to live in it.’

‘But you are still so weak,’ she said. She cast a sidelong glance at the crutches in the corner and wondered if their kiss in the hallway had given him this burst of energy.

‘It is not as if I intend to walk the distance,’ he informed her. ‘A carriage ride will be no more strenuous than sitting in a Bath chair. The air of the journey will likely do me good.’

‘The doctor—’ she said plaintively.

‘—lives closer to the old manor than he does to this one. And do not tell me that the stairs will be unfamiliar, or the rooms inconvenient. It is the home I grew up in and I know each step of it. It is also a damned sight smaller than this cavernous place of my brother’s. It feels like I must walk a mile here, just to get from bed to breakfast.’

His words stopped her objections. ‘You did not always live here, in the duke’s manor?’

‘Heavens, no.’ William shook his head and smiled. ‘Mother did not like the old house at all. It had been fine for ten generations of Bellstons, but she wanted a ballroom and a grand dining hall. It is good that she did not live to see Adam nearly burn the place to the ground a few years ago. She would have been appalled. But that is another story.’

‘How long ago was that?’ she asked, trying to suppress her excitement.

‘The fire?’ he asked.

‘No. The building of the new manor.’

‘A little less than fifteen years,’ he said, taking a moment to count on his fingers. ‘In the end, it was a sensible decision. I am able to stay on the family lands without living in my brother’s pocket. The two manors are close enough to share the stables, the ice house and the gardens.’ He grinned. ‘I have all the advantages of being a duke and none of the responsibilities.’

Fifteen years. Her father had been dead for twenty. If there were clues to be had about the murder or the missing diamonds, she had been searching the wrong house for them. Surely they must be at the old manor, the place where she would soon be living.

‘I think you are probably right, then,’ she said, trying not to sound too excited. ‘A change will do you good.’ And it would give her an opportunity to search the rooms there that she had not already seen. When she found a way to get the information to him, Montague would be pacified. It would give her time to think of a next step that might keep Margot safe from his threats.

It also meant that she would be alone with her husband. There would be no duke and duchess to fill the days and evenings spent in company with him. The odds increased that his memory might return, or she would let slip some bit of the truth that could not be easily distracted by turning it to another subject.

But when darkness fell, there would be no reason for them to talk at all. As she had on the previous evening, she felt a strange anticipation, like the stillness in the air before a storm.

‘You will like it,’ he said, mistaking her silence for more understandable worries. ‘Just wait. You shall be mistress over your own home. In no time at all, you will have arranged everything to suit yourself and we shall return Adam and Penny’s hospitality.’

Her own household. What a strange idea. While she had experience in managing servants for Mr Montague, she had seen the way they looked at her, half in pity and half in disapproval, as though it pained them to take their instructions from the master’s whore. Now she was to be the lady of a manor and no one would doubt that it was her proper place. If the situation weren’t so dire, she might have been excited at the thought.

Once they were underway, it appeared that William was right about his need to make the move. As she sat in his side in the carriage, she could see his mood lightening with each turn of the wheels. He stared out the window so intently that she almost thought he was avoiding her gaze. At last, he said, ‘It is good to be coming home again. There is much about the current situation that is strange to me. Having to deal with it in my brother’s house made it no easier.’

‘They have been very kind to me, during our stay there,’ she remarked.

‘I would expect nothing less of them,’ he said. ‘But when we married, I am sure it was not our intent to live out the remainder of our lives in someone else’s house.’

‘True,’ she agreed.

‘We are barely out of our honeymoon, are we not?’ It was a perfectly innocent remark and a logical reason to wish to be alone together. But they both fell silent at the thought.

‘We have not known each other long,’ she answered. ‘And it has been a very unusual few months.’

They both fell silent again.

He took a breath and began again. ‘I will be frank with you, since it makes no sense not to be. I do not know you, as a husband should.’

‘Your accident...’ she said, searching for a way to explain the perfectly logical absence of romantic memories.

‘Is in the past,’ he finished for her. ‘I do not remember you. But if we are to be married, it does no good for me to be dwelling on that fact. I... We...’ he amended. ‘We must move forward with what is left. And it will be impossible if we continue to avoid each other, relying on family and friends to fill the gaps and sleeping on opposite sides of a closed door.’ Then he exhaled, as if it had taken an effort to state the obvious.

‘It was you who sent me away,’ she reminded him, careful to keep the censure from her voice. If they had truly been married she likely would have been hurt and angered by his rejection. But the sensible reaction was the one most likely to reveal her lies.

‘I was wrong to do so,’ he replied. ‘If we are married...’

‘If?’ she countered.

‘Now that we are married,’ he corrected, ‘we must accept the fact that the last six months change nothing. I have spoken to my brother and I do not think an annulment is possible.’

How could one dissolve a marriage that did not exist in the first place? She ignored the real question and chose another. ‘Did you wish to cast me off, then?’

She could see the change in his face, as he realised how cruel his words had been. When he spoke again, it was after some thought. ‘If I did, it was unfair of me, just as it was when I sent you from my bedroom. When we arrive at the house, I will instruct the servants to place your things in the room beside mine, for the sake of convenience. But from this point forward, I expect you to share my bed.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’ When Montague had informed her of her future, he had done it with a similar lack of passion. She had been foolish to imagine, after a kiss or two, it would be any different with this man.

Beside her, Lord Felkirk swore under his breath. ‘I did not mean it to sound like a command.’

‘You are my husband,’ she said, with as much confidence as she could manage. ‘I have promised to obey. It shall be just as you wish and I will do my best to give you no reason to be unhappy.’

Apparently, she had failed in that already. He was frowning. Despite his earlier excitement, he looked no happier when they reached the house. ‘My home,’ Will said in a tired voice, and waited for her comment.

She was not sure what she had expected, but it had not been this. It was not the thoroughly modern manor that the duke inhabited, with its large windows and perfectly matched wings. The old manor still held traces of the fortress it had once been. On the left, a square tower ended in wide crenellations. There was nothing left of the right tower but a low wall of grey stone to mark the edge of the kitchen garden. Though a Gothic stone arch remained around the iron-bound front door, the rest of the main building had been rebuilt of brick by some misguided architect of another century.

It was a hodge-podge of styles and Justine could see why the previous duchess had been eager to build a new manor. She understood, but she could not agree. ‘You live in a castle,’ she announced, then scolded herself for stating the obvious.

‘Part of one,’ he said. ‘There is not much of the old building left.’

‘It does not matter.’ She stared up at the tower in front of them. ‘It is magnificent.’

‘You like it?’ He seemed surprised at her enthusiasm.

‘You do not?’ She stared back at him, equally surprised.

‘Well, yes, actually. I do. But I grew up here. Perhaps that is why I am willing to overlook its obvious flaws.’

She stared back at the old manor and could not help smiling at its lopsided grandeur. ‘Well, I see no problems with it. It has character,’ she said, wondering why he could not see it.

‘As you wish,’ he said, giving a dismissive nod of his head and turning away from her again. The servants had lined up at the door, eager to greet the master on his homecoming and to officially welcome the lady of the house. William walked unsteadily before her, smiling more warmly at the butler than he ever had at her, and accepting the arm of a footman to help him up the last steps and into his home. Though he had claimed the trip would be an easy one, it was clear that the activity had tired him. ‘I think, if you have no need of me, that I shall retire to my room for a time.’

‘You must do as you see fit,’ she said. ‘We will have more than enough time to talk, now that we are home.’ The word stuck in her throat, but she forced it out.

He nodded and muttered something to the footman at his side, who took his arm and helped him to climb the stairs to his room.

Which left Justine alone with the servants and the house. She gave a sigh of relief at being free of him, if only for an hour or two. Then she gave instructions for the unpacking of their things and discussed the luncheon menu with the housekeeper. Then she enquired, oh so casually, about the best room to find pen, ink and paper. She wished to write to tell a friend of her move.

The housekeeper, Mrs Bell, directed her to the morning room without further enquiry and left her to pen a hurried note to Mr Smith, the nom de guerre that Montague had chosen for his stay at a nearby inn.

She imagined the way it would travel to him, on the road to the village, which lay equidistant between the two manors. Her father had travelled that road, on the night he died. At the turning, he had gone left and not right, as she’d assumed. She had thought, on her morning walks, that she had been retracing his last footsteps, but she had not gone far enough. His goal had been this house. His death had been on these grounds. Any clue to the murder, or the missing jewels, would be under this very roof.

She had but to find it and then the jewels. Then, she would rescue Margot and they would run away, all without revealing the truth to either William Felkirk or John Montague.

When put that way, it was hard to be optimistic.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.