‘The original house was around half the size, I believe, but my father wanted something grander. He had it rebuilt forty years ago.’
‘Well, it’s certainly…impressive.’ She cleared her throat, remembering something she’d heard over the breakfast table in London. ‘I’m sorry about your father. Lady Wadlow said that you’d only come into your title recently.’
‘Yes, he passed away earlier this year.’ He turned his head to look at her finally, a speculative glint in his eyes. ‘What else did Lady Wadlow tell you?’
‘Oh, she wasn’t telling me,’ she clarified. ‘I was only in town as Amabel’s companion. I just overheard things.’
‘Then what else did you overhear?’
She hesitated, though there seemed little point in hiding the truth, no matter how blunt it sounded.
‘That you had thirty thousand acres, twenty thousand a year, and you’d come to London to find a wife.’
He made a faint huffing sound. ‘Accurate on all counts.’
‘Will you tell me what happened now?’ she asked, sitting forward hopefully. ‘How we were compromised?’
He shook his head. ‘You only woke up this morning and the doctor said it’s important for you to stay calm and avoid any mental distress.’
‘Yes, he told me that too, only how he expects me to do it is another matter.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t understand how anyone can expect me to be calm when I have so many unanswered questions.’
He pulled his head back at that, his expression penetrating as he stared down at her. With his mouth set in a grim line, there was something so cold and aristocratic about him, it was all she could do not to shiver.
‘Please?’ She tightened her shawl around her throat, willing her voice to remain steady as she held on to his gaze. ‘I need to know.’
‘Very well, then.’ A muscle tightened in his jaw before he twisted his lips in a mirthless smile. ‘Let’s call it a bedtime story…’
Leo rested one arm on the mantelpiece and gazed dispassionately down at his wife. She looked as if she’d just fallen out of bed. Her hair had mostly escaped from its braid, hanging in wisps about her face, and although she’d changedinto a new nightgown, it was already crumpled, albeit half hidden by a shawl wrapped around the top of her body. Despite that, however, her appearance now was actually marginally better than it had been that morning, or at least her nose wasn’t quite so red and her eyes had lost their panicked look. Obviously there was still a long way to go before she was back to full health, but she made a good point about her recovery. He doubted that he’d be able to rest if he were in her position either. Losing her memory had to be a deeply disturbing experience. Maybe the best thing he could do for her was try to jolt it.
Best or worst. He supposed he’d find out which soon enough.
‘Once upon a time,’ he began, ‘Lord and Lady Wadlow of Brampton decided to throw a ball on behalf of their daughter, Miss Amabel Wadlow. It was at the height of the London Season and I attended with the intention of asking for that same daughter’s hand in matrimony. After broaching the subject with Lord Wadlow early in the evening, I was in an optimistic frame of mind. I danced twice with Miss Wadlow before asking if she would grant me the honour of a private audience in the library. Unfortunately, there was a small tear in the hem of her gown which required her to withdraw briefly to mend it, but she suggested that I go ahead to the library and wait for her there.’ He drew in a deep breath, his voice hardening. ‘That was where you found me.’
‘Me?’ Her jaw dropped.
‘Yes. You were standing close to Miss Wadlow when she made the suggestion, so I can only presume you overheard and decided to follow me.’
‘But why would I—?’
‘When you reached the library, you seemed curiously agitated.’ He spoke over her, ignoring the question. Now that he’d started, he wanted to get the whole sordid story over withas quickly as possible. ‘Naturally, I suggested we go somewhere more public before anyone came in and found us together, but you told me you had an important message from Miss Wadlow to communicate.’
‘I see.’ This time she was slow to respond, her expression perplexed. ‘What was the message?’
‘I have no idea.’ He held on to her gaze, watching for any flash of recognition. ‘When it came to it, you seemed rather at a loss for words.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ She drew her brows together. ‘Why would I tell you I had a message and then not deliver it?’
‘I remember thinking the same thing. Unfortunately, that was the moment the door opened and several members of thetonwalked in, Miss Wadlow included.’
‘You mean…?’ She rocked backwards, a flush of red spreading up her neck and across her cheeks. ‘But we were only talking.’
‘We were still alone together. That was more than enough to compromise us.’ He couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice. ‘As you were no doubt well aware.’
She gave an audible intake of breath, holding her hands up as if to push the words away. ‘You think I did it deliberately?’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘I admit, you made quite a good show of pretending to be as appalled as I was, but why else did you come to the library with some made-up story about a message? I might have applauded your cunning had it not made such a mess of my own plans.’
‘But it’s not true!’ She shot to her feet, her eyes flashing like sapphires in the candlelight. ‘Amabel is my best friend. I would never have betrayed her like that. Never! Why would I?’
