“Oh, nowhere really.” Her brow relaxed and her sigh brushed across his throat. “Make love to me, Max.”
“Hmm. A diversionary tactic and a tempting one at that.” Parting with a sigh of his own, he propped himself up on an elbow, his free hand stroking the curve of her waist and coming to rest on her hip. “I’m concerned, Louisa. I know there’s something going on in that head of yours. I hope you’re not afraid to tell me what it is.”
Another frown appeared as she traced the line of his mouth with a fingertip. “All right, I’ll admit, I do have something on my mind, and no, I’m not afraid to tell you about it. It’s just that I’m not quite ready to do so yet, because I’m still trying to sort it all out in my head. I promise you, though, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s not even about us. Well, not really. Just give me some time, Maxwell, please.”
“As you wish.” Feeling somewhat appeased, he shifted, half-covering her as his hand slid between her legs. “But how much time? Would an hour be enough?”
“I might need a little longer than that,” she replied, lifting an errant strand of hair from his brow. “And I trust you weren’t serious about shaving your head.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They’d been backat Northcott Manor for two days, and Maxwell had not once pressed Louisa further about what occupied her mind. Now, at breakfast, she nibbled on her slice of toast as her thoughts continued to ruminate. Time after time, she’d gone over every detail, pulling the puzzle apart and putting it together again. And each time, the pieces fit unerringly, turning coincidences into clues that surely provided the answer to a previously unanswerable question.
So why was she so reluctant to voice her conclusions?
Probably because she was as terrified of being wrong as she was of being right. What if all the coincidences turned out to nothing more than a handful of accidental by-chances, even if her instinct—herheart—told her otherwise?
No. There was no denying it. There could be no doubt.
None.
She felt Maxwell’s scrutiny and met his eyes, her piece of toast pausing on its way to her mouth. She knew he wanted answers and, God knows, he’d been patient enough. By the look on his face, however, the patience had just run out.
“I believe I’ve given you enough time, Louisa,” he said, his expression somber. “We cannot go on like this.Youcannot go on like this. Something happened while you were at Myddleton, and I need to know what.”
Louisa heaved a sigh and set her piece of toast down. He was right, of course. It was time to face it. To bring it out into the open. To make the announcement that would change lives. Drastically.
“You have been very tolerant, Max, and I appreciate it. And yes, something did happen at Myddleton, but I hardly know where to begin. I’m afraid you’ll think I’ve lost my mind once you hear it.”
He looked doubtful. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me think that my sweet.”
“Oh, but there is,” she replied, “which is why I need you to swear you’ll let me finish without interruption.”
He dipped his chin. “As you wish.”
“All right.” She drew a breath. “I’ve been preoccupied because I had a revelation at Myddleton. A shocking revelation. It’s about…it’s about Samuel.”
Maxwell’s eyes widened briefly, but he said nothing.
“I believe I’ve solved the mystery of him… no, I’mcertainI have. I know who he is. His actual identity.” Silently cursing the tremble in her voice, Louisa clenched her hands against a mounting surge of long-suppressed emotion. Speaking out at last was akin to pulling a cork from a shaken bottle. “Samuel doesn’t respond to me the way he does because he’s captivated by me. It’s not that at all. At least, not in the way you infer. The reason he responds to me the way he does is because herecognizesme.”
At that, Maxwell’s brows lifted.
“And the reason he recognizes me is because—” she swallowed over the tightness in her throat—“is because he believes I’m someone else.”
Maxwell scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Forgive me, love, but this makes no sen—”
“No, don’t youdareinterrupt,” she cried, sitting forward. “Let mefinish. Samuel thinks I’m someone else because Ilooklike someone else. A person from his past. In fact, I look almost exactly the way she would have looked the last time he saw her, which was more than thirty years ago. That’s why he cried when he first saw me.”
The mention of it prompted her own tears to spill, unchecked, down her cheeks. “Samuel isn’t saying ‘gray’, Max. He’s saying ‘Grace’. He thinks I’m my mother. He thinks I’m hissister. He taught her to play dominoes when she was a child. They used to play all the time, which is why he constantly asks me to play. It’s a memory, one that has somehow remained intact in that poor, damaged brain of his. ‘Play gray’ actually means ‘Play,Grace.” She laughed through the continuing cascade of tears. “Don’t you see? His name isn’t Samuel. It’s Julian. Julian Frederick Thackeray. He’s my mother’s brother. Myuncle. The one who went off to fight the French and never came home. The one we light a candle for every night at Highfield. I’ve gone over this in my head, time and time again, and I know it’s him, right down to the blue of his one good eye. In my heart, I know it! And that being so, we have to bring him home. Back to Highfield. Please, Max, we have to bring him home.”
Sobbing, Louisa dropped her head in her hands, startled moments later by a gentle touch on her shoulder. “Come here.” Maxwell lifted her to her feet and folded her in his arms. “Hush, now. Don’t cry, love. It’s all right. We’ll sort this out.”
Sniffing, Louisa scrubbed tears from her eyes and regarded him, searching his face for some kind of affirmation. “Say you believe me,” she said. “Please say you do. It’s so important to me that you do.”
“It’s an extraordinary allegation, but one I’m willing to believe,” he said. “That said, I think your conclusion meritsa cautionary approach. We can’t just arrive on your parents’ doorstep and proclaim that we’ve found Uncle Julian. We can, however, suggest our suspicion of his true identity and take it from there. Likewise, we can’t show up uninvited at St. Giles and whisk the poor fellow away without being fully assured of who he really is.” He kissed her forehead. “If he truly is who you believe him to be, it’ll be a tremendous shock to your mother. Likewise, if it all turns out to be a mistake—”
“But it won’t, and it’s not a suspicion.”
