by Anna Bennett
Delilah blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
He chuckled. “It’s time that we ventured out. I’ll escort you to the ball of your choice. Pick an invitation from the pile you’ve amassed and inform the hosts we’d be delighted to attend.”
A triumphant smile lit her face as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely. “Oh, Nash, you won’t regret this.”
“I already do,” he teased, “but you deserve a night out.” He extricated himself from her embrace and retreated behind his desk. “I’ve neglected my work all morning. I should get back to it now.”
“Very well. While you toil away down here, I shall be upstairs, trying on ball gowns,” Delilah said with a smirk.
“There’s one more thing I forgot to mention,” he said.
His sister paused, concern furrowing her brow.
“We cannot tell anyone that the woman is staying here. Since we don’t know who she is or what her circumstances are, it’s best if no one knows—for now.”
“You have a point.” Delilah tilted her head, thoughtful. “She’s not wearing a wedding band, so I assume she’s unmarried.”
The lack of a ring hadn’t escaped Nash’s notice, but it wasn’t definitive proof she was single. “She might have removed a ring when she donned her disguise.”
His sister nodded. “Which means the woman in our guest bedchamber could be anyone. Maid or duchess. Single or promised to another. Whatever the case may be, we must protect her reputation. If she is, indeed, a lady, and certain members of the ton learned she was staying here unchaperoned, she’d be ruined.”
Nash frowned. “Your reputation could suffer too.”
Delilah dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “We may not know who the woman is, but one thing is certain.” She paused and wiggled her eyebrows. “She’s very pretty.” With that, she scurried from the room, humming a happy tune.
Nash let out a groan. The sooner the injured woman was reunited with her family, the better off they’d all be. She’d return home, Delilah wouldn’t have the chance to play matchmaker, and he could go back to his blessedly predictable, ordered life.
* * *
“How is the broth?” asked a young woman as she bustled into the bedchamber. Blond-haired and fresh-faced, she plopped onto the edge of the bed and smiled as if she were a longtime acquaintance.
Perhaps she was. She swallowed her soup and quickly dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I beg your pardon. Have we met?”
“Forgive me. I’m Delilah, the duke’s sister.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I have so many questions and only spoke to your brother briefly. He didn’t tell me his exact title.”
“Gads. You must think the entire family frighteningly lacking in manners. He’s the Duke of Stonebridge.” She stared expectantly—as though she half-expected his title to ring a bell.
Alas, it did not. “He said his name was Nash.”
Delilah arched a knowing brow. “Did he now?”
Oh dear. Best to nip this line of questioning in the bud. “You must think me devoid of manners as well. I can’t imagine how I ended up here, but I find myself already in your debt. Thank you for allowing me to stay here while I”—figure out who in the world I am—“convalesce.”
A kindly maid scurried into the room. “Shall I remove your tray, miss?”
“Yes, I’m finished. Thank you.”
Delilah scooted closer and patted her hand affectionately. “You mustn’t fret. You are welcome to stay with us as long as you’d like. Indeed, I shall be exceedingly grateful for the company. I would say that even if the alternative wasn’t spending hours on end pretending to embroider.”
“Pretending?”
Delilah leaned forward dramatically and whispered behind a hand, “All I really do is create elaborate knots and spend a vexing amount of time untangling them. It’s a vicious circle.”
“Well, I am certain you have better things to do than sit with a patient who can’t recall her own name.” No sense in skirting around the truth.
She sighed. “Not really.”
“But you are young and lovely and”—she glanced at Delilah’s hand—“unmarried?”
“Yes,” she said, a bit forlorn. “Not a suitor in sight.”
“But your social calendar must be full of engagements.” Though it was not her place to pry, it was infinitely easier to discuss this stranger’s problems than to consider her own plight.
“A logical assumption, but no. My brother—that is, Nash—is rather protective of me.” As if she read the question in her patient’s eyes, she added, “He’s my guardian now. Both our parents are gone.”
“I’m sorry.” How odd to feel genuine compassion for Delilah’s loss and wonder about her own parents at the same time. Were they alive? If so, were they desperately worried about her?
“My mother died while giving birth to me, and my father … He died a few years ago, quite suddenly. Nash and I have only each other now.”
“I suppose it’s only natural that he’d want to keep you safe.”
“Wanting to keep me safe is natural,” Delilah said dryly. “Wanting to cloister me in this house is not.”
“Is he very strict, then?” The handsome duke had seemed gruff but kindly. She hated to think he might be an ogre.
“I am eighteen and can count the number of balls I’ve attended on one hand. Two fingers actually.”
“Goodness.”
A wide smile split Delilah’s face. “In my brother’s defense, we were living at our country estate till recently. And Nash has agreed to escort me to the Delacamps’ ball next week. I cannot think what came over him.”
She laughed at that, and it felt good. “Thank you for cheering me up. I’ve been quite anxious since the doctor left.” She’d slept much of the day away and now night was about to fall, but she still had no inkling as to who she was or how she’d ended up in a duke’s bedchamber. Er, guest bedchamber.
Her mind positively spun with questions. How was it that she could recite the days of the week and the ranks of the peerage and the first several lines of Homer’s Iliad—in Latin—by heart, but still not know something as simple as her name?
How could she feel relatively healthy and able-bodied while her mind seemed so broken? And most importantly, how and when would she remember who she was … and become whole again?
Each time she’d queried the doctor, he’d given measured yet vague responses—as though he feared saying something that would upset her. He counseled her to be patient and try to relax, which was nigh impossible. She was like a wildflower that had been plucked from a field, taken indoors, and jammed into a vase. A lovely vase, to be sure. But that didn’t change the fact that she had no roots—nothing to ground her.
“I don’t blame you for being anxious,” Delilah said, sympathetic and sincere. “What can I do?”
She cast the kindhearted young woman a grateful smile and sat up straighter in the bed. “Dr. Cupton seemed hopeful that my memory will return in due time. He said that something as simple as a familiar song or smell might trigger it. So, the more you talk to me, sharing glimpses of what’s going on in the world, the better chance I have of remembering who I am.”
“I promise to help you any way that I can,” Delilah said solemnly. “Together we will figure out your identity. Just think, you could be a princess.”
She raised a skeptical brow and managed a grin. “It’s much more likely I’m a fishmonger’s daughter.”
Delilah wrinkled her nose and smiled. “We shall have to see if the smell of cod conjures any memories.”
“May I be so bold as to ask another favor?” she ventured.
“Of course.”
“Will you promise to be frank with me? About my condition and my identity. Even if the truth is less than flattering, I would like to know it.”
“You have my word.” Blue eyes twinkling, Delilah clasped her hands. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”
She rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Do tell.”
“I was thinking that while you are recovering and trying to recall who you are, it might be nice if we had a name for you—a temporary nickname. So that we wouldn’t have to refer to you as our patient or the mystery woman. What do you say?”
“Mystery woman has a rather nice sound to it,” she teased, “but for practical purposes, a temporary name sounds prudent. What do you suggest?”
“If it is to be your name, it seems only fair you should choose it.” Delilah stood and wrapped an arm around the post at the foot of the bed, pondering the possibilities. “It’s not often a person is permitted to pick his or her own name, so you mustn’t squander the opportunity. Choose something classic or glamorous or royal—whatever suits you.”
That was the problem—she had no idea what suited her. So she said the very first name that popped into her head. “Caroline?”
Delilah beamed. “I like it.”
“What do you like?” Nash stood in the doorway, his expression curious. The dark slashes of his eyebrows slanted, and his amber eyes narrowed, making him look more feral wolf than titled peer.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she—Caroline—said smoothly. “Delilah and I were just discussing my new name.”
Chapter 5
“Compliments are easily given and cost a gentleman nothing. Of greater value are his time, attention, and thoughtfulness.”
—The Debutante’s Revenge
Nash growled inwardly at the cozy scene—his sister and the young woman laughing, sharing confidences, and plotting God knew what. In the short time since she’d arrived, the beautiful stranger had upended his orderly world. She’d drawn him into a tavern fight, apparently befriended his sister, and—worst of all—made him feel things. The sooner she remembered who she was and returned to her parents—or husband—the better.
Delilah tossed her blond curls, an unconscious habit that might have been charming if it didn’t usually signal she was about to spar with him. She slipped an arm around the dark-haired woman’s slender shoulders. “I was just saying that Caroline is a fine name. Temporary, of course, for I’m certain we shall soon know her true identity.”
“Caroline,” he said, testing out the name, trying to reconcile it with her face. It suited her. “May I have a word with you, privately?”
His sister squared her shoulders like a mother bear preparing to defend her cub. “She needs to rest, Nash.”
Caroline shot Delilah a grateful smile. “I’m not tired, and I don’t mind speaking with your brother.”
“Would you prefer it if I stayed?” She cast a scolding glance at Nash. “He’s not nearly as ill-mannered as he’d like you to believe, but I am happy to act as a chaperone if you’d like.”
Caroline patted Delilah’s hand. “I appreciate your concern, but I shall be fine. Besides, one advantage of not having a reputation is that it cannot suffer.” She winked at his sister like they were bosom friends, and the seed of a headache sprouted at the base of his skull.
“Very well,” Delilah said reluctantly. “I shall be just down the hall if you need me.”
He quirked a brow as his sister breezed out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She was clearly already attached to the stranger he’d brought home—Caroline. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be next.
As he sank into the armchair beside her bed, he grudgingly noticed the improvement in her appearance since that morning. She’d been beautiful before; now, her cheeks radiated a light pink glow and her eyes sparkled like emeralds.
“Delilah told me you are the Duke of Stonebridge,” she said without preamble.
“Does the title sound familiar?” He crossed his arms, thoughtful. “Maybe you’ve heard the stories about me?”
“No.” She arched a brow. “But I’d like to.”
He thought about the rumors—that he’d gone mad after the deaths of his twin and his father. That he never smiled anymore. That he was a shell of the man he used to be. “They’re only half true,” he said with a shrug.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me your title before?” Her mouth curled in a teasing, knowing smile. “You feared your reputation preceded you?”
“You were fighting for your life when I introduced myself,” he replied earnestly. “I thought it best to dispense with formalities.”
“Well, I’m feeling much better now.” She gazed at him, her expression suddenly serious. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here.”
“It was the least I could do.” Given that he’d shoved the brute who in turn sent her flying across the tavern and into a table. “How did you decide on the name Caroline?”
“Delilah suggested I choose something I liked,” she said, absently tucking a dark curl behind her ear. “It was the first that came to mind.”
“And you don’t know why?” he probed.
“No.” She stared at her lap, her expression wistful and serious at the same time. “Earlier, I asked Delilah’s maid, Molly, to bring me a looking glass. I thought that if I studied my reflection, I would know my own face. That I’d remember. Do you know how odd it is to look at a mirror and see a stranger staring back at you?”
He shook his head, sober. “I imagine it is unsettling.”
“I believe you mentioned earlier that you found me in a tavern.” She looked up at him, her green eyes imploring. “Would you tell me more about what happened that night?”
“For one thing, you were dressed as a lad.”
Her eyebrows slid up her forehead. “I beg your pardon?”
“When I met you last night at the tavern, you were wearing trousers, a boy’s shirt and jacket, and a cap.”
One corner of her mouth curled in an intoxicating combination of disbelief and amusement. “I was disguised as a boy?”
“From head to toe,” he confirmed.
She glanced around the room, clearly curious. “May I see the clothes I was wearing?”
“I believe a maid whisked them away, probably to wash. But I’ll see that they’re returned to you.”
The disappointment that flashed across her face quickly gave way to wonder. “Twenty-four hours ago I was in a tavern pretending to be a lad,” she mused, more to herself than to him.
He nodded, giving her time to digest the information. She tapped a finger against her lower lip, and he could almost see the wheels of her mind spinning as she tried to make sense of it all.
When she met his gaze, her green eyes flashed in an unspoken challenge. “I confess I’m far less scandalized by my manner of dress than I am intrigued,” she said smoothly. “What do you suppose that says about me, Your Grace?”
It told Nash plenty. Bold, beautiful, and witty, Caroline had the power to make his blood thrum in his veins. Which meant she could also disrupt his comfortably predictable and largely isolated existence—making him forget the solemn promise he’d made himself.
But he hesitated for a beat, pretending to ponder her question. Savoring the heat between them. Wondering if she felt it too. At last, he arched a brow and said, “I wouldn’t dare hazard to guess.”
She rewarded him with a warm, knowing smile—the sort that seeped under his skin and confirmed what he already suspected. If he wasn’t careful, Caroline might easily scale the towering walls he’d built around his heart.
* * *
The duke lounged in the armchair beside her bed as though he were relaxing at his gentleman’s club. His broad shoulders spanned the width of the chair, and long, muscular legs sprawled in front. His slightly loosened cravat, the shadow of a beard, and the harsh angles of his face conspired to give him a slightly dangerous look—which Caroline found far too appealing.
But this was her chance to ask Nash all that she wished to know. She ignored the somersaulting in her belly and picked up the thread of the conversation. “What reason could I have possibly had to dress myself as a boy?” she asked, hoping he’d have some insight to share.
“I’ve been ask
ing myself the same question since I first discovered you’re a woman,” he replied bluntly.
“How, exactly, did you find out?”
“Your hat flew off when you were injured. No man could have hair like yours.” His warm amber gaze lingered on the heavy waves around her shoulders.
“I must know the particulars, Your Grace. What happened in the tavern? How was I hurt?” She leaned forward, desperate to know the truth, but also afraid. What if she’d been involved with something nefarious? What if she turned out to be a smuggler or spy?
“You might find the details upsetting,” he said, frowning slightly. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes,” she replied with conviction, impulsively reaching for his arm. His very hard, masculine arm.
His gaze flicked to her hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket, and she slowly unfurled her fingers. “Forgive me. It’s just I’ve spent the better part of the day imagining the worst possible scenarios. Right now, I’m wondering if I drank too much, climbed onto a table, and fell off while dancing a jig.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “There were no jigs, I’m sorry to say.”
She breathed a small sigh of relief and waited for him to elaborate.
The duke stared at her for several heartbeats, his face impassive. “I’ll tell you the story. But you must promise that you’ll rest after this. And that you will call me Nash.”
Those extraordinary eyes of his were giving off a peculiar heat. It danced across her skin and settled low in her belly. “Yes. That is, I will try to do both.”
He sat back and rested his clasped hands on his impossibly flat abdomen, staring over her shoulder as though he played the scene in his head. “You were sitting alone in a booth at the Grey Goose, sipping ale and pretending to eat a plate of shepherd’s pie.”
“Pretending?”
He nodded. “You pushed the food around but only swallowed a bite or two.”
Caroline didn’t ask why he’d been watching her so intently but filed the knowledge away. “Go on.”
“When you stood and headed for the exit, three men tried to steal your bag.”
