She smiled at him and shook her head. “Oh, Peter, you’re always so droll.”
Peter? Who the hell is Peter?
“You’re Lady Magnolia Makepeace?” he asked, eyeing her as if she were some type of wild animal that might bolt at him at any moment.
“Of course I am.” She patted the coverlet and gave him a look that clearly indicated she was certain he’d taken leave of his senses. “And you’re Lord Peter Peregrine, the Duke of Loveridge.”
The Duke of Loveridge?
Bloody hell.
Adam braced his hand on the solid wood table near the door to ground himself. He hunched his shoulders, exhaled, and glanced up at the woman staring at him from beneath the sheets in his brother’s guest chamber. There were multiple problems here. First, he clearly was not the Duke of Loveridge. Second, there was no such man as the Duke of Loveridge. At least no man Adam had ever heard of. Adam might have been born a mere mister into a military family, but he’d met quite a lot of the aristocracy since his brother’s advent into their midst.
He narrowed his eyes on the pretty, insane woman. For clearly she was insane. Either that or the hit to her head had been worse than they’d first feared. He opened his mouth to argue, to explain that he was not and never would be a duke, let alone her betrothed.
And then it hit him. He snapped his mouth shut. If he was not the Duke of Loveridge and she thought he was, perhaps she was not Lady Magnolia Makepeace. He slapped his palm against his forehead. Of course. It made perfect sense, hence Lucy never having heard of such a lady before.
A hundred thoughts flew through his mind. Was she a criminal? Someone after Derek’s money? Was she a liar, pretending to be someone she was not? He quickly discarded that notion. He’d seen the carriage strike her with his own eyes. That had certainly not been faked. She might be a crazy person but more likely she had suffered a head injury from the accident. It was best to leave her be until the doctor could examine her. Adam spoke softly, carefully, as if speaking to a small excitable child. “Would you excuse me for a moment, my lady?”
She waved her hand in the air. “Yes, Peter, of course.”
Adam sprinted from the room. He nearly knocked Lucy over, as the young duchess had obviously been listening at the door. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he grabbed Lucy by the shoulders and pulled her into an alcove.
“Do you know any such man as the Duke of Loveridge?” he asked.
Lucy scrunched up her nose. “The Duke of Loveridge? There’s no such person. Not in England at least.”
There, confirmation. Adam let his hands drop to his sides. Lucy had been born into the world of the English aristocrats. She knew positively everyone.
Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead. “She seems to think I’m the Duke of Loveridge, some chap named Peter Peregrine, and she’s Lady Magnolia Makepeace, my betrothed.”
Lucy’s different-colored eyes widened, and she blinked rapidly. “Peter Peregrine? Why, I never—Betrothed!”
“Yes.” Adam grimaced. “Betrothed.”
Lucy scanned his face. “You don’t suppose Lady Magnolia Makepeace is not her name, either, do you?”
Adam scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck and groaned. “I have every reason to believe it’s not her name.”
Lucy slid down onto the light-blue cushion of the window seat that was built into the wall. “Oh, dear. This is quite bad.”
Adam braced a hand against the wall. “You’ll get no argument from me on that quarter.”
“She must have hit her head harder than we thought.” Lucy tapped a finger against her cheek again.
Adam nodded once. “Agreed.”
Lucy half rose from the seat. “Did you tell her your name isn’t Peter?”
Adam crossed his arms and slowly shook his head. “No. Nor that I’m not a duke or any sort of lord. I didn’t want to frighten her.”
Lucy lowered herself back onto the seat and tugged at her fingers. “That’s probably for the best. What are we to do?”
Adam sighed. “I have no idea.”
The doorknocker sounded from the floor below. Lucy stuck a finger in the air. “Oh, thank heavens. The doctor!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Despite his name, Dr. Archibald was in possession of a full head of hair, gray though it was. He was also in possession of an unfashionable mustache for good measure. He was brisk and efficient, with a business-like air that was no doubt severely tested when Lucy ushered him into the drawing room and informed him that their patient might just be touched in the head.
In response to the good doctor’s confused expression, Adam launched into a retelling of how the young woman had come to be ensconced in the duke’s guest chamber with a large lump on her head. Dr. Archibald nodded and grunted a few times but otherwise remained silent. He’d set down his dark-brown bag that no doubt contained all sorts of doctorly instruments and waggled his mustache at Adam upon occasion. Finally, Adam finished his tale and Lucy jumped into the ensuing silence.