Chapter Two #2
‘So it is.’ He felt a pang in his chest as he looked around at the marchioness’s suite.
It adjoined his own new set of rooms and yet, aside from three days previously, when he’d come to speak with the doctor, he hadn’t set foot inside it since his mother’s death eighteen years ago. ‘Although it’s my house.’
‘It can’t be.’ She shook her head and then flinched as if the movement hurt. ‘I mean, you’re not…we’re not…what he said. It’s impossible.’
Leo picked his way carefully across to the fireplace, stepping over a variety of items on the way: the shattered remnants of a vase, a brush, a jewelled trinket box, a scattering of hairpins… ‘By it, I presume that you’re referring to our marriage?’
‘Yes!’ She thrust her chin out, one end of her makeshift rope still clutched tightly in her hands. ‘It’s absurd. We’ve barely said more than two words to each other.’
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. If she had no memory of the past month then that was true.
He’d been so busy courting Miss Wadlow, he hadn’t spared a great deal of attention for her companion.
He certainly hadn’t made any attempts to engage her in conversation; deliberately so, since he’d found himself far too distracted by her on their first meeting.
It had been at a musical soiree, a week after he’d first met Miss Wadlow at a picnic, and the captivating brightness of those large blue eyes, combined with a lively wit and down-to-earth manner, so at odds with that of most of the ton, had meant he’d listened to the performance without taking in a single note.
Instead, he’d sat just two seats away, heart pounding, feeling as if something inside him had shifted.
It had been an altogether discomforting experience, almost enough to put an end to his burgeoning courtship of Miss Wadlow.
Since he’d always known what kind of wife he was expected to marry, he’d never permitted himself to consider what kind he might personally prefer, but in the two women, he’d suspected he’d found prime examples of each.
Once the music had finished, he’d made an excuse to leave the soiree early, then gone home, plunged into an ice bath, and consigned the image of his intended’s companion firmly to a box at the back of his mind.
It hadn’t been easy. He’d been particularly concerned that Miss Wadlow might want her friend to visit them once they were married, but he’d reassured himself with the knowledge that Cumberland was a substantial distance from Dorset and that he could always absent himself should the occasion arise.
And so that had been that. The next time he’d allowed himself to look at Miss Lowrie properly had been on the night of the Wadlows’ ball, otherwise known as the most humiliating night of his life, when he’d become a laughing stock to the whole of the ton.
Now any attraction he’d once felt was more than outweighed by resentment.
‘I agree that it’s absurd.’ His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but just the memory of that night caused his anger to spike all over again.
‘However, it’s also the truth.’ He rested one arm on the mantel and jerked his head towards the window.
‘Incidentally, you’re not a prisoner, so there’s no need to scale the walls.
Dr Pritchard overreacted. You’re perfectly welcome to use the staircase. ’
She swallowed visibly, looking from him to the now unlocked door, before dropping her sheet-rope to the carpet. ‘It wasn’t long enough anyway, but I had to do something.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘Because I don’t. I don’t understand any of this.’
Leo studied her face, his own a mask of impassivity.
When Dr Pritchard had first mentioned amnesia, he’d wondered if it was simply a ploy on her part, another cunning trick to compel him to talk to her, only, looking at her now, he didn’t think so.
The bruise on her head was certainly genuine.
And behind her defiant expression there was a definite look of panic; fear too, though he batted away any feeling of sympathy.
No matter how vulnerable she might seem, she was still the woman who’d deceived and trapped him into marriage and he still resented her.
Frankly, if anyone deserved to feel panicked, it was her.
But she was also his wife and if he didn’t explain, who would?
‘Shall we sit?’ He gestured towards two wicker chairs set on either side of the fireplace, telling himself it was for his own comfort, not hers.
She hesitated, swaying backwards as if she didn’t want to come any closer, before visibly steeling herself, clenching her fists and eyeing him warily as she edged forward and slid into one of the chairs.
He took the one opposite, determinedly averting his gaze from the way her nightdress clung to her legs as she moved.
‘I’ll get straight to the point. There was a bad storm a few days ago.
It arrived suddenly and was stronger than usual for this time of year.
My steward believes you took a severe blow to the head from a falling branch while you were out riding, though, since you were alone, there’s no way for us to know for certain.
It appears to have affected your memory. ’
She blinked slowly, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion. ‘I was out riding in a storm?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I have no idea. To be honest, I’d hoped you might be able to explain that to me.’
‘It sounds like madness.’
‘I agree. Moreover, since you failed to tell anyone your plans, and managed to take a horse from the stables without alerting the grooms, it was some time before anyone noticed your absence. The alarm was only raised when the animal returned to the house with a saddle and no rider. Then your maid remembered something about you mentioning a trip to the village.’
‘How…odd. Did you find me?’
‘No. I was away on business. I came back when I received word, but by then you were under Dr Pritchard’s care.
’ He felt a twist of guilt at the admission.
It sounded distinctly ungallant. As her husband, he should at least have been part of the search, but instead he’d been forty miles away, talking to a man about cows.
‘I’m afraid it’s possible that you were lying injured in the rain for several hours, hence your cold. To be frank, you’re lucky to be alive.’
‘I see…’ She gave a heavy sniff and pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she was struggling to take the words in.
‘Here.’ He reached into his pocket for a clean handkerchief and then leaned forward, dropping it into her lap. ‘I know it sounds alarming, but at least you’re safe and awake now. If you stay warm and get plenty of rest, hopefully you’ll feel better soon.’
‘Better?’ Her eyes flew back to his, widening incredulously. ‘How can I feel better? None of that explains how we’re married! How can such a thing have possibly happened?’
‘I’ve asked myself the same question several times.’ He sat back again, clenching his jaw. ‘What exactly is the last thing you remember?’
‘Going to bed the night before the Wadlows’ ball.’ She answered without hesitation. ‘I remember brushing my hair at my bedroom window, looking out over Mayfair.’ She turned her head accusingly towards the window. ‘This isn’t Mayfair.’
‘True. We left London immediately after the wedding.’
‘The wedding…’ She pulled her hand away from her face, as if noticing the gold band around her ring finger for the first time. ‘Oh!’ She gave a sudden start. ‘Are we in love?’
Love? The idea was so ridiculous, he let out a guffaw of laughter before he could stop himself.
‘It’s not so unreasonable.’ She flinched, sounding embarrassed and defensive at the same time. ‘I’ve no dowry or connections. Why else would you have married me?’
‘Why indeed?’ He cleared his throat, folding one long leg over the other. His laughter had been ungentlemanly, but there was no way he was going to apologise for it. ‘In short, because I had to. I was obliged to obtain a special licence the morning after the Wadlows’ ball.’
She gave a sharp intake of breath, all the colour seeming to drain from her face in a matter of seconds, leaving her lips and cheeks entirely bloodless. Only her crimson nose stood out sharply in contrast. ‘You mean, we were compromised?’
‘Yes. A wedding was unavoidable, though it wasn’t much of a celebration, I’m afraid. More of a formality.’
‘Did I give my consent?’
‘Consent?’ He felt another flash of anger, grinding his teeth at the hypocrisy of it. ‘I didn’t drag you down the aisle by your hair, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘No, of course not.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean to accuse you. It’s just so much to take in. Were my parents there?’
‘No.’ He took a deep breath to regain his composure. ‘Since you’d already reached the age of majority there was no need to obtain permission from your father and it would have taken too long to send a message and wait for them to arrive.’
‘But do they know about…us?’
‘They do.’ He dropped his gaze to her hands. At some point she’d picked up his handkerchief and was twisting it almost frantically between her fingers. ‘I wrote them a brief letter after our wedding, and from what I understand, you’ve written to them since.’
‘Have they replied?’
‘No, not yet anyway. However, I presume that you fully apprised them of the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ Her voice cracked on a note of frustration. ‘How were we compromised?’
He hesitated, a raft of accusations on the tip of his tongue, but now wasn’t the time.
Dr Pritchard had asked him to set her mind at ease and, so far, he only seemed to be making things worse.
In any case, what difference would more accusations make?
They wouldn’t turn back the clock and unmarry them.
‘Now isn’t the time to discuss it.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘We’ll talk again in a few days when you’ve recovered your strength.’
‘I can’t wait that long!’ She thrust a hand out, grasping his forearm as he started to walk away, her voice fierce now. ‘You were going to propose to Amabel. Everyone was expecting the announcement at the ball.’
‘Everyone was right.’ He looked down at her fingers. Considering her recent ordeal, her grip was surprisingly strong. ‘That was my intention.’
‘Then what went wrong? How did we end up married instead?’
It was quite remarkable, Leo thought, looking down at the anguished expression on her face.
If he didn’t know what she’d done, hadn’t witnessed it for himself, he might actually have believed that she was an innocent party in this whole mess, not the instigator of an elaborate marriage trap.
She appeared to have no recollection of any of it.
Somehow she made him feel like the villain.
Which was palpably absurd.
‘Later.’ He drew his brows together. ‘You need to rest.’
‘How can I rest knowing that I somehow ruined the prospects of my oldest and dearest friend?’ Her eyes glittered. ‘None of this makes any sense. I would never have allowed myself to be compromised!’
‘Allowed yourself?’ He wrenched his arm away in disgust.
‘Yes.’ Her head jerked backwards. ‘Why do you say it like that?’
‘We’ll discuss it later.’ He resumed his progress towards the door, his jaw already aching from the effort of clenching it so hard. If he didn’t get out of there soon he’d say something he might really regret.
‘No!’ She pushed herself to her feet so fast, her body obviously wasn’t ready. Her arms flailed in the air for a few seconds, as she tried to maintain her balance, before her knees buckled and she tumbled headlong towards the floor.
‘Look out!’ Leo reacted instinctively, leaping back to catch her.
‘Oof!’ She gave a muffled cry as her cheek landed heavily against his chest. ‘I’m sorry. I did that when I stood up before, but… I forgot.’
He didn’t answer, forgetting to breathe for a moment.
In this position, with only his shirt and waistcoat and her silk nightdress between them, it was impossible not to notice how snug her body felt against his, her soft curves aligning perfectly to his hard lines.
It was the first time he’d touched more than her hands and, despite everything, an unexpected bolt of heat shot through him.
‘You should be more careful.’ Quickly, he lowered her back down into her chair, ruthlessly suppressing the feeling. His imagination was already running riot at the thought of how her body might feel with no clothes between them… ‘A bump on the head and a bad cold are enough to contend with.’
‘Just tell me one thing.’ Her eyes were wider and brighter than ever, peering up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes. ‘Does Amabel forgive me?’
He hesitated, briefly considering the potentially devastating effect of an honest answer, before turning on his heel and stalking away. ‘I’ve no idea, but I suspect that your food is ready by now. I’ll send Dr Pritchard back in.’