24. No Memory of a Scandalous Tale
No Memory of a Scandalous Tale
Below, in the drawing room, Alex paced with restless energy, his hands clasped behind his back. Miles sat lazily in an armchair, his greyhound lying across his lap with an air of utter contentment. Opposite, Johan lounged, his long legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles.
“She remembers nothing?” Miles repeated, incredulous.
“Nothing,” Alex ground out, “not the kidnapping, the masquerade, not our escape—nothing. Not even Rudi’s crippling blow to her head.”
Miles frowned. “So he did box her ears?”
Alex’s jaw tightened. “It’s uncertain. She may have fallen—though whether by accident or design, no one can say. Whatever the cause, it’s played the very devil with her memory.”
Johan lifted one negligent shoulder. “Perhaps it is a blessing. Memories of Rudi Bittermann are rarely pleasant. Let her remain blissfully ignorant.”
Alex’s head came up sharply. “But there are things she must remember,” he said fiercely. “Things I—” He stopped short, biting back the words.
His brother leaned forward. “Things you what?”
Alex turned away—how could he explain? He had bared his heart to Lucinda, only to have the moment erased as if it had never been.
That he had held her and saw every ounce of his suppressed affection returned in her eyes?
He was drowning, knowing that, to her, nothing had changed. But to him—everything had.
Before he could speak, his aunt swept into the room. Johan stood politely, surprised that Miles and the dog in his lap remained nonchalantly seated.
“Ah! Well, now I feel infinitely better,” she announced.
“You’re welcome,” said Alex, dryly.
Lady Marlstone shot him a quelling look but, after a moment’s reflection, deigned to acknowledge his wisdom.
“You may, I suppose, have been correct to wake her. She seems in tolerable health, despite the regrettable lapse in memory. She will be joining us presently, that you may furnish her with a full accounting of this…well, this lamentable business.” She turned to Miles.
“I do so detest the word ‘escapade.’ It smacks of the worst sort of Gothic nonsense.”
“Brace yourself, Aunt Bella,” her nephew returned with a grin. “It’s not much short of it.”
“Oh, pray do not say so! And what, in heaven’s name, have you done to Periwinkle?
He is more bandages than dog!” Her attention, having shifted to the injured greyhound, softened.
“No, I have not forgotten your treat, Peri, dear boy.” She bent to rub his ears, an indulgence which earned her several fervent licks.
“But where is Griffiths? He was to bring tea and sandwiches right away.”
Johan clapped his hands together. “ Yah , the key to restoring memories—a cucumber sandwich. Who knew?”
Lady Marlstone cast him a look of disapproval. “Now, do not be incorrigible, Count.” Her gaze swept around to her nephews. “Which of you intends to undertake the task of enlightening Lucinda? I need not stipulate that it must be done with great care.”
Johan, perceiving that Alex was in no haste to step forward, took it upon himself to offer his services. “Oh, I should be delighted, Lady Marlstone. Though I feel I ought to warn you, my rendition of events may lean—shall we say—towards the dramatic?”
Lady Marlstone, unimpressed, looked toward Alex, who stood motionless. His countenance betrayed nothing, save for the heavy weight of unspoken thoughts.
“Let us leave the task to Miles, then,” she pronounced, her tone gentling. “After all, I’m informed it was his dog who set this entire debacle in motion.”
Miles opened his mouth to protest, but before he could form so much as a syllable, the door creaked open once more.
A moment before, in the passage outside, Lucinda’s fingers hovered over the gleaming brass handle, as though it might scorch her. What she was about to learn beyond these doors, she could scarcely fathom.
With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and entered with the grace Lady Evelyn Sinclair had taken pains to instill, though a stiffness in her posture betrayed a discomfort.
The simple morning gown of green muslin became her well, but the pallor in her cheeks remained.
The room fell silent, and again, the count came to his feet as Miles remained seated.
Alex came forward. The moment her eyes met his, something in his expression flickered—relief, anguish, something else she could not name. He searched her face, as if willing her to remember, to find in him some thread of recognition beyond polite familiarity.
“Lucinda, I—”
She held out her hand. “Is this yours, my lord?”
Alex blinked, caught off guard. His gaze dropped to the key resting on her palm.
“Uh—no,” he said quickly, shaking his head.
“I thought you might have dropped it in my room.” Her tone was unbothered. The key vanished into her pocket, and she extended her hand again—this time for shaking.
The gesture was civil—utterly devoid of intimacy.
“I have been informed that my safe return home yesterday is by your kindness, Lord Sinclair. Though I cannot recall the specifics of how that should be, you have my gratitude, all the same.”
Her words seared like a blade to the chest. She was standing before him, whole, unharmed, yet further away than she had ever been.
Alex swallowed against the ache, forcing his fingers to close around hers with a careful, steady pressure. He wanted to hold on. To shake sense into the moment, into her, into himself. Instead, he let go.
“Perhaps we might shed some light on the matter, Miss Harrington.” His voice was low and quiet.
She nodded, that same placid distance in her gaze. “I would like that, yes.”
He smiled. “Then we shall.”
“Miss Harrington,” a deep, lilting voice interjected.
Lucinda turned toward the unfamiliar gentleman, his towering form and impeccable attire marking him as the count her aunt had mentioned. He offered her a genteel bow.
“I have seen much of your fortitude and courage firsthand, ma’am. Not one of my sisters, nor any lady of my acquaintance could have held together with such composure with the trials you were exposed to.”
“Your lordship is too kind,” Lucinda replied, more unsettled than flattered by the count’s admiration.
But then her gaze landed on the younger Sinclair and Periwinkle.
Both wore an expression of happiness. “Miles!” she exclaimed, her tone the warmest since entering the room.
She crossed to him and caressed the little greyhound in his arms, who wagged his tail at the sight of her.
“Oh, poor Periwinkle!” she cooed, running a gentle hand over one bandaged paw.
His torso was bound in several places. “What horrors have you braved, little one?”
Miles had hoped seeing Peri again might awaken some memory of her capture, but when she looked up at him asking how these injuries occurred, he was disappointed and incredulous.
“I can’t believe you don’t remember. Peri was abducted in the park yesterday.”
Her brow creased. “Abducted?”
“My dear,” Lady Marlstone interrupted, patting the seat beside her, “come sit by me.”
“I think I had better,” she said at this troubling beginning to the tale.
Arabella, gestured for everyone to sit. “Let us not overwhelm her. Miles, perhaps you might now begin.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, very well. While we were riding in the park yesterday, Peri went missing and I received a ransom note demanding payment for his return. You were quite insistent on aiding in his recovery.”
Johan chimed in, “Insistent? Nay, she was positively defiant! A proper generalissimo, your goddaughter, ma’am.”
Lucinda frowned, perplexed. “Wait a moment—was there a little boy involved?”
Miles brightened. “Yes, there you go!” Shifting Peri to the side, he searched in a pocket and produced a piece of paper. “A grimy urchin thrust this into my hand.” He held it out for inspection. “It was clear that Peri had been taken by the Bittermanns.”
“The who?” asked Lady Marlstone.
“Some scoundrels I owe money to.”
“Did owe money to,” corrected Johan.
“Just so,” agreed the young man, “and, well…Lucinda insisted we go after him.”
“In disguise, no less!” Johan added, his grin widening.
Lucinda’s gaze shifted from the note to Miles and then to Alex as though she suspected them of some elaborate jest.
Lady Marlstone, who had been following this exchange with increasing alarm, gasped. “In disguise? As what, pray?”
Johan leaned forward, delighting in the tale. “As wine porters’ ma’am! The ingenuity of it! Have you ever heard the like?” He reclined again, laughing. “By all accounts, Miss Harrington, you performed the role to perfection. Though,” he added, curiously, “don’t you recall any of it?”
Lucinda rose abruptly. “I do not,” she said, her gaze swinging to Alex, standing aloof by the fireplace. “Is this all true?”
Alex inclined his head, his eyes alight with pride. “It is. You were fearless, my dear—though I might add, recklessly so.”
A becoming flush stole into Lucinda’s cheeks. “I dare not think what Lady Evelyn would say if she heard of this.” To restore her equilibrium away from everyone’s stares, she retreated to the window. Alex tried to follow but was stopped short by his aunt.
“Fearless, Alex? What, precisely, do you mean?”
“What he means, Aunt Bella,” Miles jumped in, “is that the Bittermanns—a brother, sister duo—own a gaming establishment in Covent Garden and keep it well guarded by brutes masquerading as footmen. The kind of thugs that’ll rearrange your face if you dare to cheat the house.
The sort that makes most men cower—but not Lucinda.
She infiltrated as though she owned the place! ”