Page 72 of His Duchess to Remember

He found he could not breathe properly, overwhelmed by a wave of feeling that he had held back for so many years, powered forward by a new, different current of emotion that he did not know what to do with.

“I can only hope,” Malcolm said with a shrug.

“I mean it, Malcolm. You are a good man,” she urged.

He frowned at the insistence in her words and realized he had waited quite some time to hear someone say that. Not that he necessarily believed it, but still…

“And,” she added shyly, “I am glad that you came to Huntfield. I am glad that some part of your mind thought to ride to me, even if you did not know me.”

Even with his memories intact, he still could not fathom why he had set off from Highcastle with the singular determination to reach his wife. There was no explanation for it, and though his mind was in turmoil about whether to stay and when to tell her that his memories had come back, deep down he did not regret coming to Huntfield either.

I’m falling for ye. The realization hit him harder than any blow to the head. Heaven help me, and heaven help ye, but I’m falling for ye.

Before he could think to stop himself, his hand moved to cradle the side of Octavia’s face, his thumb lightly brushing the apple of her cheek. And as he gazed deeply into those shining blue eyes of hers, his head dipped, compelled by forces beyond his discipline and self-control.

He caught sight of her eyes fluttering shut a second before his mouth grazed hers, and his own eyes closed, the softness of her lips like silk against his, that tender press conjuring up a barrage of memories from five years ago. The first kiss he had done his best to forget, when she had trembled in her bedchamber, and he had sunk to his knees before her, determined to do anything to calm her nerves and let her know that she was safe with him.

It was time travel, transporting him to the moment where he had known he might be in danger of wanting more from his marriage than he had promised. He saw himself sitting beside her as she slept, admiring that peaceful, beautiful face and imagining a future where every morning began with her and every day ended with her.

I think I loved ye, even then…

Rather than pull away in alarm, his arm slipped around her waist and pulled her closer as his mouth caught hers once more.

Until that moment, Octavia had not realized just how much she had longed to be kissed by her husband again. Indeed, how much she had missed being kissed by him.

During their honeymoon, there had always been a voice in the back of her head, telling her that this was just temporary, that soon they would part ways and anything that happened between them would be forgotten. But now, with him at Huntfield, so involved in her life and Simon’s, that voice had faded.

My old dream might yet come true.

She looped her arms around Malcolm’s neck and kissed him harder, relishing the feeling of being so tightly held in his arms. The strength of him made her feel safe, the passion of his kiss allowing her to hope for love, the warmth of him creating a bubble around them that nothing and no one could pierce.

Sinking deeper into the kiss, remembering, she thought of how wonderful it would be if she could kiss him like this whenever she pleased. A true husband and wife, with an enduring love like Evelyn and Hugo, or Frances and Dominic, or Joan and Laurence.

As she let her fingertips slide into his hair and smiled against his mouth as he kissed her slowly, a sudden thought ricocheted through her skull.

“At six-and-twenty, I got the news…” Malcolm had said.

Another realization slithered into her mind: the beating that had broken Barnaby’s arm happened when Malcolm was three-and-twenty. He went to war afterward, and, about a year later, his brother died, which would have made him around twenty-four.

Yet, he was supposed to have lost his memories of the past decade. If that was true, how could he possibly remember all of those things?

She pulled back sharply. “Malcolm?”

He smiled at her, his warm, rough palm still resting against her cheek. “What is it, lass?”

“Have… Have your memories come back?”

A flicker of something passed through his eyes, his jaw tensing as his head dipped in a nod. “Aye, they have.”

She took a moment to catch her breath, shock squeezing the air out of her lungs.

“And when, exactly, did they come back?” she managed to croak.

He expelled a heavy sigh. “About two weeks ago, on the bowling green.”

Her eyes widened, and she forgot to breathe entirely, staring at him in abject disbelief. She had not been going mad; he was different when he came back from London. All this time, she had been telling herself that it was just Simon’s sickness or exhaustion or any number of viable excuses when, really, he had been his old self all along. Playing the part of the Malcolm that she had come to care for.

Pushing against his chest, she got to her feet, her eyes narrowed, her lip curled. “You have been lying to me.”