“I cannot remember my family.”
Adele sighed and looked away but did not let go of Hugh’s hand. “Let us not make any decisions right now. I suppose some dukes do marry for love, but it is rare, and we are not in love. We are fond of each other, yes, but we have known each other a mere week. We should… I will go to bed. Tomorrow will be quite taxing, I expect.”
She had to get out of here. All afternoon, she’d felt her heart cracking. It was silly to have gotten invested in this man, but the truth was that she liked him a great deal. Nothing could ever happen between them, a fact she often forgot when she sat this close to him.
As Adele stood, Hugh stood with her. She began to leave the room, but he grabbed her hand.
“Adele, please.”
“Your Grace, do not… that is, I can’t…”
“If your heart hurts half as much as mine does right now, please do not leave me this way. Please do not just give up. Perhaps I can find a way.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“Before you found out I was a duke, you were not so reluctant to kiss me. Does a title really change who I am so much?”
“In England? Yes.”
Hugh frowned but did not let go of her hand. “Then if all is about to change, I will not be satisfied without one more kiss.”
Adele wanted to resist but didn’t have the will. Hugh put his arms around her and pulled her close until her body was flush with his. He pressed his hands against her lower back, grabbing a fistful of her gown, and she put her arms around his shoulders. He was remarkably tall, but then, she was a little tall for a woman, and she found their shapes seem to complement each other as their lips pressed together, almost as if they were made to fit together. She sighed into his mouth, committing this moment to memory: the taste of him, the pressure of his lips on hers, the way he smelled.
When at last she pulled away, she said, “I do wish things were different.”
“Me too,” he said softly, his grasp lingering on her hand. He brought it to his lips.
“I should sleep. And you should, too. Your friends will visit on the morrow. They may help you recover your memories so that you no longer have any need of me.”
“I suspect a part of me shall always need you.”
Adele tried not to let that ring in her head as she walked up the stairs.
Chapter Nine
Lark realized witha start that he’d woken up in the bed of Anthony Pearson, the Marquess of Beresford and that enough sunlight was streaming through the window that it must be well into the morning.
He hadn’t intended to spend the night. He’d run into Anthony at the club last night when he’d gone there to tell Owen and Fletcher the news about Hugh. He’d let Anthony talk him into bed again, but he’d only meant to have sex and then leave. Instead he’d fallen asleep.
Anthony’s arm was draped over Lark’s middle, which was endearing. Lark liked Anthony; he was a beautiful if arrogant man with hair that was unfashionably long and piercing green eyes. Anthony was a little too sure of himself; the way he propositioned Lark always made Lark want to put up some token resistance, just to show that Anthony would not always get his way. But he always succumbed. He never regretted their time in bed together, which seemed to be more frequent lately than the occasional dalliance.
But there was no future in it.
“Lark,” Anthony said softly.
Lark turned to look at Anthony. “I did not mean to stay here all night.”
Anthony yawned. “I am not angry.”
“I have many things to attend to today.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“We cannot let things like this happen. If we were caught—”
“We won’t be.”
“And besides, one day we’ll be married, and—”
