Her Mystery Duke(6)

Mrs. Mason hurried away to the backroom.

Jeanne stared into the steaming cup.

Tap, tap, tap.

She looked up. Raindrops pattered the window. No, not rain. Sleet. The drops stuck to the glass, then melted and slid down.

What if the gentleman were truly ill and delirious with fever? Not insane at all? He had no hat. Was lost. Alone. The burn in her throat swelled into a sob. She slapped her hand to her mouth and pressed it back.

A touch on her shoulder brought her into the moment. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight?”

Jeanne shook her head furiously. “No, no, I have to go.”

She tore from Mrs. Mason’s touch, arose from her seat, and hurried to the door.

“Wait, wait. The gentleman may be waiting—”

Jeanne jerked the door open and exited the shop.

She ran faster than she ever had in her life. But she didn’t have far to go once she’d turned the corner. The gentleman was leaning against a wall. He looked as pensive as ever.

As she approached his expression eased and he reached a hand out. “My darling, let’s go home.”

The wind gusted, sending ice cold straight to her bones, and she pulled her pelisse closer to her chin. A passing coach rattled by, its wheels sending a sluice of cloudy grayish water up in an arc which came dangerously close to drenching them.

She forced a smile. “Yes, let’s go home.”

She’d get him into a carriage and on his way back to where he belonged. Surely that was enough. A gentleman like him must have servants who would watch over him. Her responsibility would be discharged.

“Where the devil is the carriage?” Deep offense resounded in his voice, as though he’d never had to wait for a carriage before.

“Didn’t you tell your driver to wait?”

“Of course I did.” His voice rang with indignation.

“Come,” she said firmly. “Let’s go back to the mews and see about your carriage.”

The groom at the mews nearest the coffee shop said that the gentleman hadn’t left any carriage there.

“Where did you come from before you arrived at the coffee shop?” she asked once they had walked out of earshot of the groom.

The gentleman just stared at her with that highbrow look and compressed his lips. So, he didn’t know where he’d been or where he’d left his damned carriage. She sighed. “We’ll walk a bit and a hackney will come along.”

He looked down from his lofty heights, almost sneering down his aristocratic nose. “We’re certainly not going to take a public carriage.”

“Well, the carriage is—” She drew her brows together. “—being repaired.”

“Being repaired?” he asked, as though such a thing were a complete impossibility.

“Yes.”

Her heart fluttered a series of frenzied beats. Shaky, panicked energy quivered down her legs. She drew in a deep, hitching breath. Calm, she must remain calm. If she stayed calm, he was less likely to have any sort of fit or rage, right? Perhaps she might play the loving mistress? “Darling, don’t you remember?”

He stared at her then blinked several times.

“Don’t you?” She made her voice very soft.

He released her hand. “Blast it, I don’t remember.” His expression went blank yet his eyes widened. “I don’t remember anything.” He frowned. “Except that you were angry with me.”

“Angry about what?”

“Everything.”

There was that devastated, desolate look again. The burn returned to her throat and she had to turn away. “It’s terribly cold. We’re being soaked. Let us find a public conveyance and sort all of this out later, shall we?”

He jutted his chin and his features took on an annoyed expression. Apparently, he was not used to listening to others or taking their advice. He blinked once or twice and then he took her hand again and strode determinedly ahead, pulling her with him.

When they found a carriage for hire, the gentleman stared blankly at the driver.

“Sir, where shall I take you?”

“Darling, tell the man.” Again, she tried to make her voice soft. Loving.

He turned to her. His eyes, now glassy again, reflected sheer fear. Her throat constricted. Again, she wondered if he were really ill with a fever. He didn’t remember where he lived. Or he couldn’t remember how to give directions to where he lived. Heavens, it was worse than she’d thought. Oh Lord. She did not want to deal with any panicked hysterics or self-defensive rages like with Papa. She swallowed hard and smiled at him in a hopefully reassuring manner.

He jerked his gaze away.

“Give him directions, Thérèse.” The resentment in his voice made her heart contract. She was intimately familiar with a man not wanting to appear weak. Not wanting to need help.