“So it’s true,” Roman said quietly, his stare locked on his nephew’s face.“But you have not lost all your memories.You know who I am.”
“I know who you were,” Gabriel corrected him sharply, eyes dry and burning.“I had to be told why you are no longer in my life.”
A muscle in Roman’s square jaw worked.“You don’t remember the events of your twentieth year.”
“As near as I can tell, my memories stop around age eighteen.”Gabriel managed a faint, mirthless smile.“It’s been…an adjustment.”
“Yes.Well.”Roman appeared to hesitate for a moment, a sight so unusual that Gabriel felt his brows climbing toward his hairline.“I’m sure you have questions.”
“I do?—”
“But,” his uncle spoke over him, holding up a staying hand, “I am not here to mull over the past.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes, anger simmering.“What are you here for, then?”
Roman pinned him with a cold stare.“Why, to stop you from committing the grievous error of marrying Lady Lucy Lively, of course.”
* * *
Lucy took another sip of her ale and glanced around The Prancing Pony with the professional interest of someone who had spent a few very formative years working in her family’s coaching inn.
The only pub in Hazlemere, and therefore the only pub within walking distance of both Thornecliff and the Roman ruins where Fitz and Caroline were still spying on birds, The Prancing Pony had a delightfully worn-in feel.Clearly a favorite with the locals, it boasted a long, copper bar upon which sat casks of ales brewed nearby from grain grown on the Thornecliff estate.
Or so the friendly, voluble Mrs.Crumple had informed her as she pulled Lucy a pint of their best bitter.Mrs.Crumple had been vastly interested to meet “her ladyship,” and of course the entire village knew that she was engaged to the Duke of Thornecliff.
Lucy, familiar with the incredibly efficient information apparatus that was a village tavern, had expected that.What she had not expected was the locals’ warmth and proprietary pride in the Duke of Thornecliff.
She would have assumed, based on all she knew of Thorne and his activities of the past few years, that he would be an indifferent landlord at best.She couldn’t imagine the exquisitely dressed, dedicatedly decadent man she’d known spending any time caring about his tenants or the latest developments in agricultural methods.
On her own for however long it took Caroline to finally become bored with her dusty-throated wobblers or whatever those birds had been, Lucy had refused Mrs.Crumple’s generous offer of a seat in the private room reserved for high-status guests and settled in for a comfortable chat.
She sat mulling the extraordinary things she’d learned from the excellently informed Mrs.Crumple and kicking herself for spending a moment poking about a manor house when she knew very well that all the best gossip was to be had at the pub.
Her reverie broke when a gentleman sauntered up to her table and made her a long, elegant bow.
“Lady Lucy?”
Lucy blinked up at a tall man with the athletic build and vigorous air of someone who had more energy to burn than most gentlemen expended in a year.He had hair as dark as hers, a brown so dark it was almost black, and when he met her surprised gaze with a wide grin, she saw that his eyes were a striking amber color.He was good-looking in a rugged sort of way that made Lucy think of Fitz.
She held out her hand to shake.“Hullo.Are you a friend of Lord Fitzwilliam’s?”
“I’m afraid I can make no such claim these days,” the gentleman replied with an easy smile.“Though I would be happy to see him.But I came here with the express purpose of meeting you.”
“How fortunate that you happened upon me, then,” Lucy said, a little wary.“I didn’t even know I’d be here this afternoon.”
“Fortune favors me.She always has.”Another charming grin.“May I join you?”
Lucy shifted in her seat, glancing about the tavern.It wasn’t quite proper for a lady to be sitting alone in the public room of a tavern in the first place, but to allow an importunate stranger to introduce himself and sit down was taking things a bit too far, even for Lucy.
As if he could read from her expression that she was about to refuse, he quickly said, “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly proper—we’re practically family, after all.”
Lucy stilled, gazing up at him in surprise with her mind racing.“You’re not… Is your name perhaps Mr.Dominic de Vere?”
Something flashed across his handsome face, there and gone before Lucy could catch it.He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat without awaiting further permission.“You’re quick.I see why he likes you.”
For some reason, Lucy felt on the edge of her seat, poised to either flee or fight.“Is that why you’re suddenly showing an interest in your cousin’s life, after all these years?Curiosity about his intended bride?”
Those odd amber eyes widened.“Ouch.A take-no-prisoners attitude to go with the clever mind and…” He smirked a bit.“All the rest of it.No wonder Thornecliff is smitten.”
