Chapter 3

Marcus held the mysterious young woman's hand to his lips. It was wildly inappropriate, but he could not help himself. When she had touched his lips, it had taken all he could do not to kiss her. Instead, he held her soft fingers to his mouth, breathing her in, tasting her.

She must have been a sweetheart of Arthur's. She could probably tell me a lot about him that I do not know, but that would involve revealing that I am not who she thinks I am.

That thought was anathema to him. He did not want to lose the feeling of a racing heart and shortness of breath that he found himself experiencing in her company. Did not want to lose her company. No woman that he could recall had been able to affect him so, particularly after such little time. He frowned, trying to puzzle out what it was about her that enthralled him so. A tap at the door disturbed his reverie.

He placed her hand by her side and returned the curtain to its position over her body, standing and hurrying from the room. Opening the door of the chamber's sitting room, he saw, not the aged physician that he had expected, but Luke Livingston.

"Luke? What the devil are you doing here?" Marcus said in hushed tones.

"I am responding to a distress call, old man. I am assisting Doctor Fuller with a view to taking over his practice in a year or two. When your boy arrived, I persuaded him to let me attend instead of him. Will I do?"

Luke was a little shorter than Marcus but of an age with him, both in their mid twenties. Luke had a shock of unruly, fiery red hair and a broad face, spattered with freckles with bright green eyes. The accent of Cumbria was thick on his voice.

"You didn't tell me you were going into practice in this neck of the woods," Marcus said.

"Wanted to surprise you, Arthur, old boy," Luke replied, "…and looks like I arrived just in the nick of time. What seems to be the trouble."

Marcus ushered him into the room, checked the hallway outside, and then closed the door.

"Yes, well. It's perhaps fortunate that it was you. Because the patient I have for you seems to have known Arthur…" he dropped his voice to a whisper, "…the real Arthur, that is."

Luke's eyes widened, face turning solemn. He was wearing a tweed suit and stout brogues, and his grip tightened on his leather bag.

"Valebridge. You know me. And your secret has been safe with me for five years since you inherited. And it will remain so, safe as houses. But do you think you can keep it from your…patient? I mean, the servants here didn't know Arthur, or your father for that matter. That's why we got you a new household staff. But someone who truly knew him?"

His face was creased in concern and Marcus slapped him on the shoulder, giving him a grin.

"Let's see, shall we? It is a young woman who arrived at my door in a state of exhaustion last night, right in the middle of the storm. She might be suffering from exposure for all I know. She is hot to the touch and unconscious now."

Luke nodded briskly and went through into the bedchamber. Marcus closed the door behind him and waited until Luke had made his examination and returned.

"You're right. A fever as a result of exposure to the elements. Throw in exhaustion as well, I would say. She needs rest to break the fever. Warmth when she shivers and cold when she is hot. I can give her some quinine, which should help."

Marcus summoned Tom and explained the patient's requirements, then led Luke to the billiards room.

"You have time for a game, don't you? Heaven forbid I interrupt your study," Marcus said wryly, still irked with the secret Luke had been keeping from him of his employment.

"I don't really, but I am damn well intrigued by this whole saga. You really have no idea who this girl is?"

Marcus set about setting up the table and choosing a cue. In truth, he had no appetite for sport but wanted his old friend there to talk over a few things. Besides, it would distract him from thinking about his unexpected guest.

"No clue, old chap. How could I? I haven't seen Arthur since we were the six-year-old twins. And father had made sure we hated each other. All those damn competitions he insisted on, each trying to prove ourselves worthy of inheriting the dukedom."

He took his first shot, and the balls flew across the table in all directions. None found the pocket. Luke shrugged as he took his place.

"I can't imagine what that was like. He couldn't have been all bad though, to attract a beauty like that."

"She is, isn't she," Marcus agreed, staring into space.

"I should say so. And should be well enough to attend the ball on Thursday. Unless there is more wrong with her than I could see. The fever isn't as severe as all that. How do preparations go?"

Marcus grimaced. Luke had pocketed three balls in a row and had only just had his first miss. It wasn't the game state that Marcus was disgruntled about, however.

"Preparations proceed apace. We are on track to host the ball on the twenty-sixth, two days' time. Worse luck."

Luke chortled. "I stand by my opinion. If you want to rebuild the legacy of the Roy family, you need to get the ton on your side. Your father and grandfather burned the family name to the ground with their behavior. They were a pair of blackguards."

Marcus missed a shot and stood back, glowering. "Preaching to the choir, old boy. I know how important it is, but that doesn't make it any more palatable. I abhorred the county set in Cumbria, and I abhor the Sussex set even more. Let alone the London ton. I should just like to be left alone to rebuild this house and the estate."

"But you need their approval if Roy isn't to remain the name of a reclusive and scandalous house," Luke said bluntly. He chortled as he downed another of his balls, looking around the table for his next shot.

Marcus watched but stared straight through the table. His mind kept worrying about the identity of the woman and her relationship with Arthur.

"How unfortunate that you arrived barely a day after your father's death. Had the old rogue been alive, he might have been able to answer a lot of questions," Luke said.

"Aye, like why the old man chose to dispossess me and make Arthur his heir. And why Arthur helped me to take on his identity, when all those years he stood by doing nothing."

"If the letter truly was from him – out of remorse, I would say. He knew it should have been you and wanted to make sure you got your birthright," Luke said in a tone that suggested this conversation had been had many times before.

"Who else could ‘A' be?" Marcus mused, before reverting to a more serious tone. "Knowing him, it was part of some scheme. Something to trip me up. I just cannot think how."

"Perhaps your visitor is part of that?" Luke said, moving around the table and rapidly clearing up.

"A trap orchestrated five years ago by my now-dead brother? Seems far fetched."

Luke shrugged. "Stranger things have been known. And you are a testament to that, good sir."