Chapter 29
In which a matron goes to extraordinary lengths
In the face of aggression, follow the example of Diplomacy, and meet it with softness and openness. You will be surprised at how kindness can undo hostility.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
Judith’s heart sank like a rock. She had, foolishly, hoped that he might have improved in the short time she had been absent.
She drew a breath. “The better question might be: who are you? Do you remember anything at all?”
“I’ve already told you,” he bit out, “that I do not.”
“Not even your name?”
He scowled. “I’d rather you tell me yours again, and what right your butler had to manhandle me into this prison.”
She edged further into the room, while he watched her stonily.
“I am a very old friend of yours. If you were in your right mind, I promise that you would be here gladly. I am the Marchioness of Lanyon, Judith Avely, but you first knew me as Miss Judith Horis, a long time ago.” She smoothed her skirts down nervously.
“A few days ago, you and I were together at Garvey House, when you were snatched away by Captain Drumpellier. I followed you to the fort, and tried to speak in your defence, but no one would listen to me.”
“What makes you so convinced of my innocence?” His arms were still rigidly folded, but she saw one hand flex against his bicep. “Right now, I feel as if I am quite capable of violent retribution.”
She nodded carefully. “That is your Gift, your forceful Impact. It has been hard for you to control, especially when you were younger. Someone knew this and used it to frame you for murder.”
He was silent for a long moment. “An appealing story, to absolve me of any guilt. And yet you hustle me into this gentle cage, and do not give me my freedom.”
“Captain Drumpellier will come after you and search this castle high and low. I am trying to keep you safe.”
“So you kidnapped me?” He raised a brow, something of his old amusement stirring. “A bold move for a lady.”
“The matter is complex,” she said defensively. “The captain isn’t planning a fair trial for you. He intends to use you for another purpose.”
“What other purpose?” His eyes narrowed.
“He wants you to assassinate Napoleon Bonaparte.”
Dacian frowned. “The French general? That hardly seems fair play.”
Judith resisted the urge to sweep the hair from his brow. She let her hands drop to her side. “Interesting that you retain notions of fair play and European politics and yet cannot remember anything else.”
He shrugged. “It is a strange half-light in which I dwell. I remember many things that have nothing to do with me. Yet whenever I turn my mind to my own concerns, it remains frustratingly blank. I have dim memories of places, but no faces. And I can’t remember anything of the last few days.”
She reflected angrily that Drumpellier had taken advantage of this: freely made promises that Dacian would not remember. Fumbling in her bodice, she withdrew the letter that Dacian had written to her. “Read this. It is in your own hand: you wrote it to me yesterday.”
He did not seem inclined to come closer and stared sceptically at the paper. Judith walked forward, holding it out. Reluctantly, he took it gingerly, as if it might be a shatterstone.
“It explains much,” she pleaded. “And if you doubt it is your hand, you can try writing yourself and see how it matches.” She nodded to the small writing desk in the corner.
He sank into the window seat. Unfolding the paper, he read it once, then again, and then a third time. A deep frown marred his brow.
Judith watched with her heart in her mouth.
She well remembered the contents of that letter: ‘Dear Judith, Of course I remember you…you have never been long out of my heart since then…lay my heart at your feet…I will find a way out of here myself, so please do not risk your own neck… I will come to Lanyon Castle when I can, after I have done what I must, for this grimly determined captain…’
At long last, Dacian looked up and met her eyes. “It seems, from this, that I’m quite fond of you.”
“Yes,” said Judith, rather numbly, for he spoke with clinical detachment.
“It says years.” He paused. “Have I indeed been courting you for years?”
“You could say that, yes. Though you were in exile abroad for nine of them.”
Abruptly, he stood, casting the letter aside. Suddenly he seemed rather large in the small sitting room, towering over her. “And why didn’t you accept my courtship? I am a duke, am I not?”
“You are, indeed.” Judith swallowed. “But you lied to me, and pushed me away when I came to you, twenty years ago. You thought I was promised to your friend.”
“And were you?” He took a step closer, eyes narrowed.
“Well…yes and no.”
He raised his brows. “It sounds as if I behaved rather nobly.”
“Nobly and stupidly,” she retorted. “You lost us twenty years.”
“Hm.” His gaze remained hooded. “Perhaps you should remind me. Have we engaged in any intimate embraces?”
She swallowed. “We have kissed.” He raised a brow and she hurried on. “Once when we were young…and then again, recently.”
There was a longer pause. He tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. “Perhaps we should try it again? It might trigger a memory in me.”
Judith drew a breath, relieved to see the teasing gleam in his eye, and his hostile suspicion receding a little.
She licked her bottom lip and saw how his gaze followed the movement.
“I am not certain that is a good idea…However, it is true that our sense of smell can be very evocative.” She hesitated.
“Perhaps the smell of my hair might work instead…?”
He let out a huff of laughter. “If that is all you will offer me, I will take it.” He smiled, and the arrogant charm in it suggested he was confident of further.
Tentatively, she undid the ribbons to her mobcap.
Fascinated, his eyes followed her fingers, and she made slow work of it, pulling the cap off her head.
She let it drop, holding his gaze. Then she pulled her hair looser, extracting pins and placing them on the dresser.
His eyes were intent, and slightly amused.
“That’s better, I must say. Can you undo your bodice as well?”
“Your grace! One thing at a time.”
“Oh? So there’s hope?” He took a step closer. Suddenly he was only two handspans away. “Well then. Come here, my love. Give me the scent of your hair.”
She stepped into his arms willingly and put her head against his chest. She would have done anything for him, and she had been waiting to do this for a long time.
It was coming home. The glorious strength of his arms around her, and yes, the smell of him: smoke, leather, and some other indefinable masculine scent that was Dacian. He bent his head to the top of her head and drew a deep breath. His arms tightened around her.
“Mmmm,” he said dazedly. “Very nice.”
She blushed, nuzzling against his chest. “Any memories?”
“Not yet.” He paused. “I think I might need to try further methods.”
She turned her face up to his, caution melting away. “Very well.”
He looked down, examining every inch of her face, and lifting a finger to trace along her cheek. “I do feel some sense of belonging. As if you are mine. Even though I don’t even know who you are.”
She nodded, wordless for a moment. “Yes. I am yours.”
He kissed her then. His lips were warm and tentative at first. Then, when she did not resist, his mouth became demanding, claiming her. She clung to him, inviting everything, her hands winding through his thick dark hair, and pressing her body against the hard planes of him.
She moaned as the kiss deepened again. Coals flamed deep within her. But abruptly, Dacian pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length.
“That does seem familiar.” His voice was gravelly. “Like something from a dream.”
“Yes.”
“But I still don’t remember you.”
She blinked. “You want me to undo my bodice now?”
“Lady Avely!” He dropped his arms and his eyes swept down her body appreciatively. “Would I remember the sight?”
“You might,” she confessed, blushing. “You watched me undress a week ago, though that was as far as it went.”
He gaped, disbelieving. “Are you saying that you removed your clothes and I didn’t make love to you? What sort of lily-livered fellow am I?”
“We had other concerns at the time,” she said primly.
“What could possibly be more important?”
“Ah, well, we were trying to catch a murderer.”
“Hm.” He eyed her. “Well, if you wish to remove your bodice, I won’t stop you. It might be the crucial step to regaining my memory. I think we should attempt it at once.”
She blushed again. “No, it is too improper. I am essentially a stranger to you. I cannot possibly undo my bodice, even if you have seen me do so before.”
“In fact, I remember you completely,” he declared, staring at her bosom, which was still covered. “I utterly adore you. Let us repair to the bed at once.”
She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Then what is my favourite drink?”
His eyes flickered up. “Tea. Black. Preferably…oolong.”
She sighed, her heart disappointed even though she could tell that he did not yet know her. He was looking at her with lust and warmth, certainly, but the light she usually found in his eyes was absent. “Sorry, your grace. Incorrect.”
“Sherry? Port?” His voice became desperate. “Rum?”
She shook her head. “Chocolate.”
“Damn it. Of course. I knew that.”
A part of her thought it might well work to ravish him into himself—from all accounts, if there was anything the duke knew well, it was lovemaking—but she knew she would regret it later.
She wanted to make love to the Dacian she knew, the man who knew all the stupid things that had come between them and was determined to have her at last. Not this stranger who had only just met her and was watching her now with amusement and regret.
“Well,” he said, with a sigh. “Do we just wait for my memories to return? I can think of all sorts of experiments we might run to assist me, which do not require the removal of your bodice.”
She cleared her throat. “We must simply wait. You recovered enough in a day or two after you first doses of Lethe, enough to write me that letter. We must be patient.”
He picked up the letter, running his eyes over it again.
Then he looked up accusingly. “It says here, ‘Please, I beg of you, do not entertain any foolish plans to somehow breach the walls of this fort.’ And yet that is exactly what you did.” He paused.
“I suspect you do not show the ducal authority proper respect, Lady Avely.”
“It was necessary! You must see that now. Captain Drumpellier made you another false promise—he swore he would give you your mind back, and now see where you are. It was imperative that I remove you from his clutches.”
“And yet…” murmured Dacian. “How do I know you aren’t just keeping me captive as a servant to your desires?”
“Dacian!”
“I’m locked in, am I not?” He gestured at the sitting room, with its pale cream and lavender walls, and the makeshift mattress set on the floor. “A prettier cell, I grant you, but a prison nonetheless.”
She huffed, for the comparison stung, and she felt in her pockets for his topaz ring.
She held it out, hoping he would take it as a sign of her good faith.
“Take this: you may not remember, but it is yours, a Travel Ring. If you twist it with the word veho, it will transport you out of here, in a blink. Though I am afraid it will only take you back to a tower in Fort Pendennis.”
Dacian grimaced as he slipped the ring onto his finger. “Not exactly an enticing prospect.”
“And you may have a brief stroll in the corridors, if you like,” she added reluctantly. “Ltn Greene told me that the captain is away for a day or two, so we have a small respite. Though the lieutenant himself might pay us a visit, so you must be careful.”
Turning, she tried the handle of the door, only to find it immovable.
After some banging, however, Trebellow (who must have followed her to the eastern master bedroom to stand guard) opened it and stood aside, blinking blearily.
Clearly the butler was under the influence of the Humdrum Spell, for he barely restrained a yawn at the sight of her.
She was relieved, however, that he was distracted from her flushed face and missing mobcap.
“Trebellow,” she said with some dignity.
“The duke is going to take a turn about the castle. I have explained matters to him, and I expect you to treat him with all due respect. And please reverse the Defence spells on the door so he can come and go as he likes.”
Trebellow bowed extremely low. “It will be an honour, your grace.”
Dacian eyed him. “No more tackling me to the ground, you huge hill of flesh.”
“Shakespeare?” remarked Judith. “A pity you can’t remember something more to the point.
” Briskly she led the way through the Humdrum Spell and gave herself a little shake once she was out into the corridor.
Boredom was an odd sensation to experience, however briefly, after all that had happened.
She turned to see Dacian blinking and frowning.
“Yes, that was a Diplomacy spell,” she explained.
“Set up by my housekeeper to turn away prying eyes.”
“Ah, the redoubtable Mrs Ulrich? The battle-axe who brought our fisticuffs to an end? She’s certainly a force to be reckoned with. Is there any food to be had, by the way?”
She was glad to see this as a sign he was recovering his spirits. “I’m going to the breakfast room now. The boys are there: the ones who kidnapped you, but please be polite. You know Robert; perhaps the sight of him now might recall something.”
Dacian followed close behind. “If the taste of your lips does not trigger any recollection,” he murmured in her ear, “I highly doubt that some lad will do so.”