Page 30 of His Duchess to Remember

“It was years ago, and it was dealt with,” she said crisply.

Malcolm lightly squeezed her hand. “By Laurence?”

She nodded. Had he not been listening? Did she need to repeat herself?

“Who is Laurence?” he asked.

Oh… of course. He does not know anyone.

“He is Joan’s husband. It is their ball that we are attending,” she answered, dropping her gaze to the floor.

She did not want to see pity on her husband’s face, nor anger. Anger had not fixed anything then, and it would not fix anything now.

“Do ye trust him?” Malcolm said softly.

Octavia’s throat bobbed, embarrassment creeping up the back of her neck. “I suppose I do. He was… very kind to me.”

And I responded to that kindness by being an idiot, thinking I was in love.

The humiliation of that was almost as great as the humiliation of being cornered by that beast. She had not realized, back then, when she was young and foolish, that she was just mistaking gratitude for affection. After the incident, aside from her brother, Laurence had been the only other man she trusted, and she had let it confuse her.

“But ye don’t trust me?” There was no offense in Malcolm’s voice, just a lilt of sadness.

“Like I said, I do not trust any man,” she replied flatly, aware of his eyes on her.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “As well as wooing ye, lass, I mean to prove that ye can trust me. Ye don’t have to believe me right now, but I will win yer trust and I won’t break it.”

Octavia’s heart fluttered wildly, suddenly aware of the warmth and roughness of his palm against hers. The tenderness in his voice gave her no choice but to remember their first night at Highcastle, when he had knelt before her and brushed her cheek, telling her to relax in that same sweet, comforting voice.

She broke away from him, muttering excuses, and left the ballroom before he saw just how red a face could turn.

What were you thinking? She scolded herself as she walked through the hallways. Why would you share all of that with him?

The entire point of her marriage was that her husband knew almost nothing about her, and she had just broken that covenant. Worse still, her entire being kept betraying her, flushing and fluttering with every sweet and charming word he spoke, as if she were a debutante all over again.

The sooner he gets his memory back, the better.

For the last thing she needed was to actually miss him when he left, just like her son.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Malcolm walked back and forth across the entrance hall, his gaze flitting periodically toward the top of the stairs. He figured it was a wife’s prerogative to make a husband stew, particularly a husband that she did not want around.

It had been several days since their dancing lesson, and she had not summoned him for another. They had dined together in a civil manner each night, although Octavia’s short answers had let him know that she was in no mood to open up to him again. Other than that, she had definitely been avoiding him.

Mostly, he had enjoyed time with his son, while trying to figure out how he could prove to Octavia that he could be trusted.

“Still waiting, Your Grace?” The butler appeared, carrying a tray.

Malcolm smiled. “I am.”

“Were the books I found for you helpful?”

“They were, thank ye.”

The butler had been instrumental in re-educating Malcolm in the ways of society. He would have asked Octavia but, considering her fresh reluctance to be around him, he had resorted to Mr. Lincoln who, as it turned out, was a treasure trove of societal information.

They had, of course, stopped short of practicing dances together. Although the butler had watched while Malcolm performed the steps, correcting him as he went.