Page 43 of When the Marquess Was Mine
“Tom,” he said in a low voice.
“Yes.” His brother drew near, shooting a dark glance at Georgiana. “You remember me?”
“I told him in the carriage,” she retorted.
Rob pressed her hand, then released her. “A bit, I do,” he acknowledged. “Just now.”
“Lady Georgiana said you’d lost your memory.” Tom said it evenly, but Rob heard the suspicion in the question.
“I did.”
“He was seriously injured,” she put in defensively. “He was struck very hard on the head, and the doctor said sometimes the mind is affected. Not long ago he was unconscious in bed, and now he’s ever so much better...”
“Who did you tell him he was?” interrupted Tom.
Pale but undaunted, Georgiana replied, “I told Lady Winston he was my fiancé because I feared for his life.”
Tom’s brow went up in obvious cynicism. “Indeed. What an interesting choice you describe. How would his true name have cost him his life?”
Bright spots of pink flared in her cheeks. “Lady Winston would not have received Lord Westmorland graciously.”
“Why not?” Rob asked swiftly.
She glanced at him, her face tragic, then immediately away. “I think that ought to wait. You and the major should have a chance to speak, to help restore your memory. I’ll wait outside.” Without looking at him again, Georgiana left, closing the door behind her.
For a moment the brothers just looked at each other. “Managing chit,” said Tom, jerking his head toward the door.
Rob ran one hand over his head, wincing as he touched the still-healing gashes. “She took care of me.”
“Yes, and made you her fiancé in the bargain. That’s a clever way to snare a future duke.”
Rob scowled, ignoring the pull of the scar at his temple. “I don’t think that was her plan. She’s got a fiancé, a real one. Who is Lord Sterling?”
“Sterling?” Tom repeated, then again incredulously. “Sterling? She’s wedding that scoundrel? Ah, I remember now. She’s Wakefield’s sister. Well, that explains a great deal.”
“What?” Rob demanded. He glanced at the door, and lowered his voice. “Tell me.”
“Explain first how you got into this mess. And sit down, man, you look like you might fall over.”
Rob grimaced as he made his way to a chair, sinking into it with a sigh of relief and setting his cane aside. “I was attacked by highwaymen or thieves on the road, pounded hard about the head, and left for dead. She found me, took me to the Winston home, and has been caring for me ever since I woke up not knowing who or where I was.”
Still frowning, Tom pulled another chair closer. “That’s true, then? You did forget everything? I thought she must be lying.”
“No, no, it was real,” he said. “I gather the Winston family hates me—”
“Oh, they most certainly do,” murmured Tom.
“Why?” Rob asked testily. “I believe Georgiana lied about my name to help me—but I don’t knowwhy.” He hesitated. “Do you know what made me come into Derbyshire? I can’t recall anything about it.”
Tom leaned back in his chair. “You won the deed to Osbourne House from Charles Winston at the Vega Club. You don’t recall it?”
Rob thought hard. It felt like there was a tattered cloth over his mind, some memories perfectly clear and others completely obscured. “No.”
His brother gave a bark of laughter. “Drunk as a lord, from what I heard. Well, Winston spread tales you’d taken advantage of him and cheated him. Mother got wind of it and told you to clean up the scandal. Hobbes said you expected to spend a few days there and then continue on to Salmsbury.”
Rob digested that in silence. He’d won the deed to the house. That would make Lady Winston despise him, if she feared he would turn her out of her home... although he was sure he wouldn’t have. What would he do with a house in Derbyshire?
But if he hadn’t come to claim the house, why was he here?
