Chapter 9
Nine
HENRY
He had died and gone to heaven. One minute he’d been airborne. The next, he fell to earth with the sickening force of Icarus. He didn’t mind being deceased—at least he had found her again.
Who? Henry racked his aching brain for the woman’s name. She was sobbing and patting his cheeks. Wet warmth trickled down his temple. Blood. Overhead, a puffy cloud drifted by.
“Artie?” he croaked.
“Don’t move. Your neck might be broken.”
He tried wiggling his toes. They worked. So did his fingers. Apart from a headache—another concussion, probably; the pain felt familiar—he was intact. He grabbed the widow and pulled her down.
“What are you—mmf.” After a beat of resistance, she kissed him back. “What are you doing here, Henry?”
“I came to find you.” He winced. “They did warn me the horse wasn’t fully broken, but I was in such a rush I didn’t care.”
“Now look at you,” she said with exasperated fondness. “A mess, all over again.”
“At least this time, I’m not naked.” He grinned. A reluctant chuckle shook her shoulders.
“You’re incorrigible,” she scolded. “You could have written me a letter, you know.”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “This will take a while to explain.”
Two servants helped him into the house, where he was put to bed with a cold cloth. Mr. Gibbs sent for a physician. There was no explaining anything until he had been cleared by the doctor. All afternoon, while he was supposed to be resting, memories came flooding back.
By the time they allowed him to join the family for dinner, he finally had his preposterous story straight. He eschewed the wine and tried to explain himself to his hosts.
“I met your cousin, Mrs. Longwood, when she found me naked by the side of the road.”
“Naked?” Mr. Gibbs sputtered.
“You didn’t tell us that part,” Margaret said sternly to Artemisia.
“It didn’t seem relevant.” Her cheeks burned bright-red. “What? I could hardly leave him lying there in the ditch.”
“In point of fact I was lying on a slight grade in the bushes. ’Twas the sight of my posterior that your cousin found so arresting.
” He grinned. Artie kicked him beneath the table.
“But we didn’t know who I was. I had lost my memory.
I had no clothes and no known identity. No one locally recognized me.
As I later discovered, I am Lord Hendrik Hancock, the duke of Voss, and until six weeks ago, I was a hunted man. ”
“Do go on,” Margaret insisted. Even Artemisia looked intrigued. He had better make this story good. He had one chance to convince her to be his wife. If she said no…
He couldn’t bear to contemplate that outcome.
“I ran away from my own wedding,” he blurted out.
“Naked?” Artemisia blurted out. Her cheeks turned crimson.
“That part came later. I admit it wasn’t well done of me, leaving Lady Awellah Boyle at the altar.
I agreed to the match out of duty, but when I realized how ill-suited we were, I panicked.
I stole a horse and rode hell for leather, only to realize I had gone the wrong direction and that turning around would take me back to the very same people I was trying to get away from.
” He grimaced. “I made such a hasty departure that I managed to leave without money or even a coat.”
“That sounds like a spectacular failure of a wedding. Might I inquire what the problem was?” asked Margaret.
“Lady Boyle is deeply religious.” He winked at Artemisia.
“Whereas I am something of a libertine. My bride-to-be was convinced she could change me into a devout man of faith. I was equally determined not to change anything. We had butted heads several times in the course of marriage negotiations, but I believed, erroneously, that she would soften with age. Hence, our long-delayed nuptials. The match had been arranged by our parents in the cradle. Despite this, I hardly knew the woman I was set to wed.”
“This isn’t to your credit, Henry,” Artemisia said primly.
He hadn’t forgotten her insistence upon keeping up public morals.
She might bend in private, but she was fundamentally a morally upstanding lady.
The difference was that she wasn’t a pedantic hypocrite about her beliefs.
Artemisia accepted a certain degree of joyful indecency in private, something Lady Boyle was incapable of.
“I am not proud of my behavior. I fled when it became clear that she could never make me happy, nor I her.” Awellah had been rigidly religious yet her faith was all surface-level.
He found her piety pompous and self-serving, her supposed good deeds always accompanied by sneering arrogance he could not abide.
“I knew that breaking the marriage contract would cost me, but I was willing to pay the price. Still, I needed help to extricate myself from the predicament I found myself in. Are you aware of a loose group called the Wayward Dukes?”
“No,” all three of his dinner companions answered as one. “A duke!” exclaimed Mrs. Gibbs. “Can you believe such an esteemed person sits at our table?”
“Indeed I can. Why shouldn’t we welcome a duke?” answered Mr. Gibbs, clearly chuffed. “I take it you are one of these Wayward Dukes, sir?”
“You guess correctly. The alliance is a group of dukes who may call upon one another for aid. I daresay most of us have been ensnared in one kind of problematic business or another. This time it was my turn.” Henry shifted in his seat.
“Not long after you left me with Viscount Prescott, Artemisia, the gentleman returned home. He recognized me immediately. Naturally, I was stunned to learn that I was a duke.”
“Have your memories returned at all?” asked Artemisia. Unlike their host, she didn’t appear to be impressed by his title. He’d been afraid of that. She was going to blow this all out of proportion. He was going to have to be extra convincing.
“Yes, they have, very slowly. I believe falling off that horse and suffering a second head injury has rattled free the remaining memories that I was previously unable to recall. Apart from a slight headache, I feel fine.”
“Why didn’t you write to me?” asked Artemisia, arching one brow at him. Henry had the sinking feeling that he was losing her the more he spoke.
“I wanted to. I had a mess to clean up in London, which required all of my attention for several weeks. The real reason for my silence was that I did not know how you would take the news that I am a peer. I decided the best way to tell you was in person, so as soon as I was free of my entanglement with Lady Boyle, I started for Cornwall. Unfortunately, my carriage broke an axle this morning. I rented that barely-trained horse from a farmer and rode ahead. I was too impatient to wait any longer.”
Please tell me you still want me. The prolonged absence had only heightened his longing for the widow.
He had gone so far as to inquire about her, and once he found her direction, he sent word to her home near Bristol.
Only to be informed that she was still away visiting family.
That was when he had—rather impulsively—set out to find the widow who had captured his heart.
Now that he was here, he felt the distance between them lengthening with every word he spoke. Did she think he was a cad? He could hardly blame her if she did. This entire summer he had acted with rash impulsivity that did not speak well of any man, let alone a duke.
“I suppose I should be flattered,” the widow said in a small voice.
Her understated reaction did not seem like a very good sign. His heart sank. He had pinned his hopes on finding her and explaining the situation, yet she grew more withdrawn with every syllable he spoke.
Artemisia’s gaze flicked to her cousin. That tiny pleat of worry appeared on her forehead. Henry caught Mr. Gibbs’ eye and jerked his head in a not-very-subtle request to be left alone. The man did not catch on.
“I think we should leave you two to have a private conversation,” said Margaret, who signaled to her husband. Both rose and exited the dining room together.
“I want you to know that I have missed you every hour of every day since we parted ways,” he began when they were alone, while Artemisia said bluntly, “I cannot believe you are a duke.”
He chuckled and reached for her hand. She permitted him to take it. He was not giving up on his chance of happiness.
“Not a day has gone by when I did not think of you. It is a preposterous tale, is it not?”
“Impressively ridiculous,” she agreed. “You still haven’t told me how you ended up naked and unconscious, though.”
“Ah,” Henry’s ears warmed at the tips. “It’s very embarrassing.
I was waylaid by a comely lady on the road when I was running away from my wedding.
Seeing as I had no coin on my person, nor any sense of where I was headed, I stopped.
She brandished a pistol and forced me to remove all my clothes, which she then proceeded to steal.
Then this woman thief bashed me over the head with the butt of her pistol, whereupon I assume I stumbled into the bushes.
I can only hope she got a good price when she sold them. ”
Artemisia chuckled. “Quite a misadventure. I suppose you earned such poor treatment for running away from your own nuptials.”
“Which I would not do if you were to do me the honor of becoming my wife.” He slid out of his chair and dropped to one knee, producing a velvet box from his pocket. “Please, Artemisia. Make me the happiest man alive?”