The Duke's Deceit by Sherrill Bodine Page B

interesting development, this. And an opportunity for him to play out his own game.
    “Only now and again,” he drawled. “But I fear one is coming now.” It was slightly shocking to discover that deceit came with such facility.
    “I knew it!” the doctor cried, casting a reprimanding glance about the room. “His Grace must be allowed to regain his memory naturally and at his own pace.”
    “Rubbish, man!” Baron Renfrew stuck his vein-ridden nose into Richard’s face. “Why the blazes ain’t you fuming fire and brimstone at this baggage? Don’t you care that she set out to trap you, in your weakened state, for her own ends?”
    Put like that, Richard could hardly believe it himself, but he strengthened his resolve when Mary shrank deeper into his side. Either she was the greatest actress of all time, or there was something else going on here that he should know about. He glanced around, thereby catching in the corner of his eye Lottie’s frantic effort to restrain Ian. Wishing to put an end to this farce, he decided on a bit of theatrics himself.
    He spread his arms wide in a gesture of despair, caught Mary by the hand, and dragged her across the floor to the faded wing chair. Sighing deeply, he flung himself down.
    “I can’t think clearly, my head aches so.”
    He kept a firm grip on Mary’s fingers, forcing her to remain at his side. She stared at him with the same fey look that he remembered from when he had opened his eyes from the dark, swirling void. He wouldn’t easily let her off this hook of her own making. For reasons that were not as yet fully formulated in his mind, he was determined that they would all play the game to its end.
    “Then I see only one recourse, Richard.” His mother’s voice brought his gaze around to her, but he was wise enough not to meet her knowing eyes.
    “You must return to London. Surrounded by your own belongings, your memories will surely return as Dr. McAlister suggests. Naturally, and at your own pace.”
    For effect, he hesitated, letting his gaze wander over his mother’s cloud of white hair, dressed softly in a cornet, and the pearl drops dangling from her ears.
    Then he nodded. “Yes, that seems an excellent suggestion. However, since I would be among virtual strangers, I can’t contemplate going without Mary. After all, in my mind she is my betrothed, no matter what has gone before.”
    “You can’t take her to London!” The baron’s explosion shook the delicate porcelain figures at each end of the mantel. “I mean you can’t introduce her as your fiancée. Think of the embarrassment for Lady Hampton!”
    “Richard, the baron is correct that we must save Arabella pain. However, I have a plan.”
    That tone he knew quite well. It forced him to at last meet his mother’s determined eyes. What he saw there gave him pause; he only hoped that she would one day understand why he had to continue this pretense, even with her.
    “You cannot, of course, bring Mary as your fiancée,” she continued.
    “And you will not pass off this lowborn stablemucker as my relative!” Renfrew seemed like to give himself an apoplexy.
    “However, she can come with us as the relative of a dear family friend.” The duchess continued in the same reasonable voice that had guided him and his siblings through the rough waters of childhood, as if the baron had not spoken. “It appears Ian was dear Jeffries’s cousin. Mary will stay until all is resolved, however long that may be.”
    “I can’t go, Your Grace!” Mary gasped, vainly trying to free herself. In response, Richard only tightened his grip on her fingers.
    “Dear child, I understand the prospect may frighten you.” His mother gave her the peculiarly appealing smile that had placed the
ton
at her feet for forty years. “Ian tells me Miss Barton has been your companion since your parent’s death from influenza. Of course she may accompany you.”
    “No! This won’t do at all!” Renfrew broke in again.