Willoughby 03 - A Rogue's Deadly Redemption (10 page)

“Please, stop this.” She couldn’t handle the gentleness that was so false. “This has to do with those men, right?”

“What men?”

“This won’t work. They won’t care if you’re pretending not to know them.” She recalled the one with blank slates for eyes.

No, Blade wouldn’t stop to ask questions. He would do what he came to do.

Warring needs raged inside of her. She wanted to be free of it all, and yet she stared at Robert, wounded and more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. The desire to be free was a physical ache in her gut, hampered by the strings wrapped around it, determined to hold her in place. “Stop pretending, I beg of you. Do not play with me.” She needed him to stop. She needed him to
let her go
.

“Pretending?” His eyes widened. “You think I am faking this. Would I do that?” He pulled himself up to a sitting position. “Are you in danger?”

“Enough!” she cried, moving close to his bed to stand over him. “Enough with the gallantry.”

He reached out, grabbed her hand. “I am not pretending. I don’t understand why I would.” He let go of her hand, held his out in surrender. “I want to remember.”

The urgency in his words and the shifting clouds of emotion in his expression matched her own. For the briefest moment, she wondered.

Was it real? Did he not recall anything?

“I need to go.” She couldn’t allow herself to question what she knew. She couldn’t allow herself to give even a hint of acceptance.

She
wouldn’t
allow herself to believe in him.

Whether he remembered it or not, they weren’t living a happily ever-after.

His name was Robert Melrose.

He had brothers.

He had a wife.

A wife who hadn’t returned, and Robert wasn’t sure she would.

“Wife.” The word sounded odd on his tongue. How could he have such an intimate relationship and not remember? Her name…what was it? It had slipped into the dark hole where the other facts of his life hid.

Memories gathered like wisps of wind and then disintegrated before he could stop them. He couldn’t seem to remember five minutes ago. Ten.

The never-ending pain in his head wasn’t helping.

How could a grown man not recall a bloody thing other than rudimentary facts someone else had told him? And for the life of him, how old was he?

Robert looked about the room that had begun to feel like a prison. It had been four days, he thought, of having servants hover over him every time he breathed. Though he wasn’t sure of the time—every day melded into the next, he’d slept through much of them.

Nonetheless, he was tired of looking at the same four walls. Granted, they were the only thing familiar, but this kind of familiarity was too much—the need to move beyond them was beginning to fester.

Where had his wife gone?

Every time he’d asked, the servants, even Edwin, had mumbled about family and left without answering him.

He might not remember their life, but he remembered how the vision of her in the doorway had slammed into his gut. It wasn’t her beauty, though she had plenty to spare. It was something deeper, something that pulled at his core.

It made him wonder just how much she meant to him.

Yet she had moved with a wary regard, a deep-set distrust in the set of her mouth, a guarded veil over her eyes.

“I brought you something to drink.”

Robert looked up at the broad man who stood in the door, a tray in his hands. Had he met him? The man regarded him with expectation, and a sharp jab of frustration needled him.

What the hell was he supposed to do when he couldn’t remember a damn thing?

“She’s gone,” the man said as he moved into the room. “You can stop the charade now.” He set the tray down, poured a cup and handed it to Robert. “Just as you like it.”

Robert took the cup without a word, lifted it. Sniffed and reared back. It was tea, but with a potent additive.

“What is this?”

The man gave him a dry, chiding look. “No one is around to hear you.”

He thought Robert was…what, lying? Why did that feel familiar? Had they had this conversation before? “Have we met?”

The man grabbed a chair, scrapped it along the floor and turned it so he could straddle it. Arms placed along the top, he stared. “What is your plan here? The captain will not wait long. You don’t wish to lose this opportunity.”

“What opportunity? Who is the captain?”

“Please.” The word was sharp, irritated. “I understood you didn’t wish to give up the charade while Mrs. Melrose was still in residence but I assure you she has left.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was getting old, repeating it. Yet, how could anything feel old, when his memory lasted but minutes?

Edwin stood. “Perhaps you’re in pain. Because I can’t understand why you would put everything you’ve worked for at risk.”

“What is it I’ve put at risk?” Robert downed the hot liquid, feeling the burn down his throat.

“Robert.” The snap in the man’s voice brought Robert’s gaze to his. “Your skills will not keep you alive if you play them for fools. Don’t be stupid.”

“What skills are those? What do you know about me?”

“Mr. Melrose?” A stout woman stood in the doorway. At his quizzical look, she said, “I’m Mrs. Tandy, your housekeeper.”

He nodded.

She stepped closer. “You have a visitor.”

His heart leapt. His wife had come back. “Send her in.”

Mrs. Tandy shook her head. “It’s your brother, sir.”

Robert waited for something to hit him, an understanding, a name, anything, but he felt nothing but the sharp needles of pain in his head, and not one bloody effect from the liberally added spirits.

If he were to go by conversations he did recall, he was a liar, distrusted by his wife
and
now, a drunk?

What kind of wastrel was he?

“By all means, let him in.” What was one more person to fill in the dismal blanks in his life?

The man at his side stood. Robert looked at him expectantly.

The man sighed. “My name is Edwin. I will leave you to your brother. I’ll take care of this. Tell them why we missed the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

Edwin leaned closer. “It would go a long way if I could take the plates with me. Show your goodwill.”

Plates? “What plates? Am I…a cook? A chef?”

Edwin’s lips thinned. “Very funny. If you don’t wish to tell me, then I’ll do my best to smooth things over without them.”

A man walked into the room with a hesitant step. Robert awaited the strike of recognition, but nothing came.

“Will you remain with him until my return?” Edwin asked the man.

He took a small step backward. “What?”

“I have to leave, and I’d prefer not to leave him unattended.”

“I’m not a damn child.” Robert pushed his legs over the side of the bed.

“My point proven,” Edwin said.

“I’ll…I will stay,” the man said.

“Very good. I won’t be long.”

Edwin left, and the man—his brother—looked at him. “He’s quite forward. Your valet?”

“So he tells me.” Robert stood up, moving with the speed and grace of an eighty-year-old man.

His brother continued to stare at him. “You’re awake.”

“An astute observation.”

“She said you hadn’t woken up.”

She? “You have seen my wife then?”

Robert turned his gaze and studied the man for the first time. The similarities to the face he’d studied in the mirror were clear, but Robert had the oddest feeling the man looking at him didn’t know any more than he did.

“Don’t be angry with her. She was attempting to help.”

Robert frowned. “Why would I be angry?”

His brother took farther steps into the room. “I didn’t think you would want me here.”

“You would know better than I would.”

“I see I was right.” He stiffened, drew in a sharp breath. “I won’t—no damn it, I will. I wanted to be certain you were all right. I won’t apologize for that.”

Across the distance that separated them, they were of equal height. Pangs of…something, what it wasn’t he couldn’t say, but something prodded at him. Pushed him.

“Why start apologizing now?” The retort burst free, and Robert blinked at his words. Why had he said that? “You could tell me your name.”

“What?”

“Ah. I see you haven’t been told. I may be your brother,” Robert said, holding his arms out, “but I don’t remember a bloody thing.”

“This is ludicrous. I will not stand here and be made a fool of, Rob.”

“Excellent. I don’t wish to stand here at all.” Robert walked toward his brother, and as he passed, met his gaze. “Your name?”

“Cary.” His eyes were narrowed, his head tilted to the side as though sizing up his opponent. “I can’t imagine you should be walking around.”

“That’s precisely what I intend to do. I’ve been stuck in this house, and I need some air. You can come with me, or you can stay here. Your choice.” Without waiting for an answer, Robert moved past him.

A hand on his arm stopped him, and Robert turned.

His brother stood inches from his face, near nose to nose. “What is this?”

“I don’t give a damn if you don’t believe me. But I seem to have lost my memories. I don’t remember you, me or anything else for that matter. And right now, I want to take a walk.”

His brother studied him with eyes the same dark blue as Robert’s. They were almost a mirror replica in fact. Robert’s fingers twitched, and he could see those eyes drafted on paper, filled with exasperation, anger, recrimination. He wanted to
draw
him? He could draw?

“We have the same eyes,” Robert said.

“All three of us do.”

“Three? That’s right, she said I had two brothers.” He remembered that. “What is his name? My other brother?”

“Wayfair. Though we’ve always called him Marcus. You aren’t the same,” Cary said, slowly shaking his head. “You aren’t Robert, are you?”

“If I could lay claim to another personality, I’d be happy to do so.” With that, he strode out of the room to the stairs. His brother matched his pace, and soon they were at the front door.

“Mr. Melrose, you’re leaving?” Mrs. Tandy came into the entryway.

“Going for a walk.”

She rung her hands together. “Do you…remember?”

“Not a thing,” Robert replied. Damned if she didn’t seem almost relieved by that. “I won’t be long.”

“Very good.”

Out the front door and down the steps to the sidewalk, they set a brisk pace. Robert welcomed the crisp, cool air he breathed into his lungs. The ground was damp from a recent rainfall, and the pungent scent from the wet mix of dirt and dung on the street rose to greet them.

“The rain always makes it worse,” his brother commented, shaking his head a bit.

“I’ll take your word on that.”

“So you really don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing.” They stepped off the street and onto a square. “Why, is there something you wish I did recall?”

“I don’t know how to answer that. There are things I would change if I could,” Cary said bluntly.

“Like what?” Robert glanced at him. “I’ve already surmised I’m not the easiest of fellows, so please, carry on.”

Cary stopped, forcing Robert to stop as well. “I would change a lot, Robert. We tried so hard to shield you from her episodes—”

“From who?”

“All we did was push you away. All we did was convince you that you were unworthy of her love. It was never that, it was always that her love was unworthy.”

“
Who
are you talking about?”

Cary pressed a heel of his hand to his forehead. “I can’t do this. It’s unfair. If you don’t remember, I don’t want to—”

Frustration jumped into his throat. “Stop being so bloody cryptic and tell me who you are talking about.”

“Our mother.”

Robert’s mouth snapped shut. His mother. “Where is she? Is she here in London?”

Pain flashed over Cary’s face and he turned away, shaking his head. “Is this a game? Are you masquerading in some elaborate ruse?”

His heart pummeled his chest. “Why won’t you answer? Where is my mother? Did something happen to her? Was she in the accident with me?” Why hadn’t anyone told him?

“No. She wasn’t. She’s…” His brother stopped, his face drawn with long slashes of regret. “She’s dead. She died two years ago.”

Something crawled out of the shadows in his mind and clutched his heart. “She’s dead. And our father?”

“He died last year.” Cary reached a hand out, but Robert stepped back, turned and kept walking across the square.

“Robert, we have an opportunity here.” Cary followed him. “A chance to set things right, to change it. To make it different.”

“Make what different?” His mind whirled, played a cruel game with him, like the mocking laughter of children playing hide and seek whom he would never find.

Robert turned down a street, not mindful of his direction and not caring if his brother followed. But Cary stayed with him.

They turned down another street. And another, until Cary began to slow behind him. “We can start fresh. We can be brothers again.”

Brothers again. It meant nothing to him. It didn’t yank on old memories, it didn’t separate from the shadows. Nothing did.

Robert turned. “I don’t kn—Behind you!”

He was too late. The men behind Cary smashed something against the side of his head.

“Cary!” A pain exploded from down deep as Robert lunged forward, but Cary crashed to the ground.

Robert looked up, crouched in his place, ready to spring. The two large men flanked him. Robert struck out at one, but the other caught him in the side with a painful jab.

He struck out, over and over, kicked, tried with all his might to fight them off. But he was too weakened, and they were too strong. With one final blow to his ribs, sending stabs of pain through him, Robert fell next to his brother. He reached a hand out, his fingers barely touching Cary’s outstretched, unmoving arm. “
Cary
.”

One of the men grabbed his arm and pulled.

Nausea rolled through as his breath. The man lifted him like a ragdoll, held a knife to his side. Hammers smashed his head, but he struggled to get back to his brother.