He tried to imagine Maggie meeting with Mr. Cornwall, attempting to sell him her book, and arguing with him when he refused her. Was it that important to her? And why? Why would a lady of the ton be trying to sell a novel to a publisher to begin with? It was quite unheard of. Was it for the same reason that she might be in danger? And if so, what was that reason?
He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to re-create the moment he’d met her in his memory. She would have been dejected that day when she’d been hit by the coach. Dejected and possibly distracted. She hadn’t been attempting to hurt herself, had she? Adam swore under his breath. He couldn’t bear to consider that possibility.
He pushed open the front door of the town house and marched into the blue drawing room where Lucy could usually be found at this time of day. Thankfully today was no exception, and (also thankfully) she was not receiving callers. His sister-in-law was sitting on the settee, the pages of Cecelia’s novel scattered around. She glanced up guiltily when Adam strode in.
“Lucy? Have you been—Are you crying?” He’d never seen strong, capable Lucy cry.
Lucy pulled a handkerchief from her décolletage and pressed it to her eyes. “I can’t help it,” she sniffed. “It’s just so beautiful.”
“What is?”
“The story, Lady Magnolia and the Duke. I adore it. I was up half the night reading it and just now finished when I came back from shopping. You must admit that it’s absolutely fascinating that the poor girl thinks she’s a heroine from a novel.”
Adam strode over to the settee and pushed some of the pages aside to make a space to sit. “Lucy, listen to me. I think I’ve discovered who she is.”
Lucy nodded vigorously. “Me too.”
“Cecelia Harcourt,” they both said in unison, then looked at each other with wide eyes.
“How did you know?” Lucy burst out, still clutching her handkerchief.
“I had a guess and went to visit Mr. Cornwall around the corner. She met with him two days ago. How did you know?”
“We went shopping and encountered her sister on Bond Street. When I returned home, Hughes informed me that her sister had been here earlier this morning and was looking for her.”
Adam’s eyes nearly bugged from his skull. “How did her sister know she was here?”
“I don’t know. I gave her my card and asked her to meet us here at two o’clock but at the time I had no idea she’d already been here. We didn’t have much of a chance to speak.”
“Did Cecelia recognize her?”
Lucy laid a hand atop the manuscript and sighed. “Unfortunately no, but I asked her for their family name and managed to convince the poor distraught girl to pay us a call this afternoon. I’ve sent for Dr. Archibald. I’m hoping once the sisters sit down and speak it may trigger Cecelia’s memory. I do recognize the name Harcourt, by the by. I wonder if Viscount Harewood is her uncle. I seem to remember his brother and his wife being killed in a carriage accident not long ago.”
Adam swallowed. Was that Cecelia? The niece of a viscount? An orphan? But if her uncle was a viscount, why did she need money desperately enough to try to sell a romantic novel? “Has the family fallen on hard times?”
“I doubt the viscount has,” Lucy replied. “But one never knows. The brother who died was the youngest if I remember correctly. I’ve no idea what his income may have been. But I do believe there might have been a strain in the family, too. Perhaps her Lord Harewood isn’t caring for her.”
Adam crossed over to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “Did you try to tell Cecelia her name?”
“Yes.” Lucy sighed again. “Nothing. She’s worried, Adam. She’s frightened. She knows her mother isn’t sick. She insisted I tell her the truth. I did my best to keep her calm and not upset her any further, but she suspects something.” Lucy dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief again. “I don’t know what we’ll do if her sister can’t spark her memory.” She smiled. “Have a permanent houseguest, I suppose.” Lucy laughed. “Or perhaps you’ll just have to marry her, Adam.”
Adam clenched his jaw. He couldn’t marry her. Not now. Not ever. Especially not if she was the niece of a viscount. He might have standing in Society being the brother of a duke, but it wasn’t an old, established title. And the youngest brother of a duke wasn’t exactly the preferred match a viscount might relish for his niece. If her uncle was Lord Harewood, Adam doubted he’d want his niece to become Mrs. Secretary at the Home Office. But the real reason Adam couldn’t marry Cecelia, the reason he shouldn’t have ever even touched her, was that he didn’t deserve her. She’d been at his mercy, not knowing who she was. And like a complete louse, he’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed it more than he should, certainly, this poor girl’s misfortune. Enjoyed pretending to be a duke for two days, enjoyed how she’d made him feel special. How she’d made him feel wanted. Of course it hadn’t been him she’d wanted. He’d always known that. It had been who she thought he was, a hero in a novel. A mythical duke. Not a real man. Not him. Not Adam Hunt. Not ever. But it didn’t change that fact that he’d been an utter ass to have enjoyed pretending, if only for two days.