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A lexander hadn’t planned to call on Lord Furoe quite so soon after arriving at his country estate, but he couldn’t get his mind off of Caitria. The very next morning, he saddled Genghis before his house had even arisen.

He wondered if Furoe would remember him.

He’d heard Furoe had been wounded in the Irish Rebellion and had no memories of before his time in Ireland.

That was terrible. He remembered telling Furoe before the man left that it was a bad idea to enlist. Furoe was the only son after all.

But Furoe’s grandmother was Irish, he could speak the language and Furoe thought he could help.

Alexander didn’t like being proved right.

He’d missed his friend. They’d spent many a youthful summer here in Dorset competing—swimming, fighting, drinking, womanizing, and generally stirring up trouble.

He’d mourned the viscount’s passing all those years ago, so to have him return was truly wonderful—except for the fact that Lucien, Viscount Furoe, was the protector of a woman he wanted.

And he wanted her with a fierceness that almost scared him.

Perhaps Furoe losing his memory was a bonus because he was no longer the friend Alexander knew. Lucien was a stranger.

He did, however, feel sorry for Furoe because it appeared the rumors were true. Furoe had married for money. He’d married Lady Courtney, his ex-fiancée. His wealthy ex-fiancée.

He’d obviously met Caitria in Ireland and brought her back with him.

What did it say about Alexander that he envied a man who had lost his memories?

The Furoe estate lay three miles along the coast, a respectable distance that allowed Alexander time to collect his thoughts on the way. He took a detour along the cliffs, reminding himself that it was still early.

The warm breeze carried the scent of salt and wildflowers, making him think of Caitria’s wind-tousled hair. He’d made discreet inquiries and learned that Lord Furoe had indeed arrived in the county yesterday with his new wife and household.

He had hoped an early morning visit would mean he could avoid Furoe and simply speak to the staff about Caitria. However, he was to be disappointed.

Alfred, the butler who admitted him to Seacliff House, had that particular look of harried efficiency that spoke of a household still settling in. “Your Grace, do come in.”

“I do not wish to disturb the viscount so early in the morning, but I was passing by and wanted to welcome him home.”

“His Lordship and Lady Furoe are in the garden. I’m sure he would want to see you,” Alfred informed him, leading the way through the house.

As he followed Alfred, Alexander tried to remember what Lady Courtney was like. He had met her one summer when the couple had first gotten engaged. Alexander remembered teasing Furoe about his desire to marry so young, but had secretly envied his friend for finding love.

The garden opened onto a terraced view of the sea, and he found the couple seated beneath a striped awning. Lady Courtney rose first, her dark beauty immediately apparent. But she was not as beautiful as Caitria. The thought sat uneasily in his mind.

“Your Grace,” Lady Courtney said, dropping into a perfect curtsey. “What an unexpected pleasure. Darling, this is your neighbor, the Duke of Summerton.”

Furoe’s welcome was more reserved—a slight narrowing of his eyes suggesting he found the surprise visit peculiar. “Summerton.” The men shook hands and it was disconcerting to see not a flicker of remembrance in the viscount’s eyes. “Come sit.”

“I really hadn’t meant to call so early, but I was out riding and…

” Alexander realized his impromptu visit made it look as if he was curious about the man recently returned from the dead.

“I’d love to invite you to dinner. Just mother and I, and our guests, Lady Hambleton and her daughter Penelope. ”

The look they shared made him start. They appeared genuinely in love, though that meant little. His own parents had seemed devoted when in public.

“I felt I should welcome my friend home properly and offer to fill in any blanks regarding the estate and it’s running since you’ve been away for so long,” Alexander added.

And you can’t remember anything. He kept those words to himself.

“That’s most kind of you, Summerton,” Lady Courtney said a little too brightly.

Before Furoe could reply, a child’s laughter echoed through the garden and the next minute, a little girl raced into view. The girl stopped upon seeing Alexander in their mix.

Lady Courtney smiled. “Ava-Marie, come and meet His Grace, the Duke of Summerton.”

“Hello,” she said shyly, with an Irish accent. The little girl moved to Lady Courtney’s side, and he watched as she lifted the child onto her lap.

“Good morning, young lady.” He saw straight away this child was Furoe’s.

She was the spitting image of the viscount but around the eyes…

Oh, my God, she looked like Caitria. Jealousy rose quickly and he swallowed it down.

She looked to be around five years old, and had obviously been born in Ireland.

“This is my daughter, Ava-Marie.”

“Did you know my Daid—Papa from before?” the little girl asked as she picked a scone off a plate.

He smiled at her. “I did.” He glanced at Furoe, who sat next to him, as stiff as a stranger.

“We were good friends.” Questions swirled in his head.

Was Caitria here with her daughter? Is that why she lived with them?

Is that why Lady Courtney put up with having Furoe’s mistress under his roof, or was it that Caitria was no longer his mistress, but merely the mother of his child from Ireland?

This wasn’t what he expected. But it didn’t change how much he wanted Caitria. And it just might make it easier to offer her his protection. Then he saw how much Furoe loved his daughter.

Could he take a woman who Furoe may still love away from a man who’d lost so much already…

Guilt saw him rise to his feet. He had to leave.

“Shall we say dinner in two nights’ time? Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

He didn’t go back through the house, bit instead walked through the garden. Alexander couldn’t shake his troubled thoughts as he strode toward the stables. The revelation about Ava-Marie had thrown him off balance. He needed time alone to sort through what he’d learned.

A whimper caught his attention as he approached the stable doors. Then he heard a familiar voice with that lilting Irish accent.

“There now, easy girl. You’re doing just fine.”

He peered into the dim interior and there was Caitria, kneeling in the hay beside a large hunting dog. The bitch was clearly in labor, and Caitria was covered in straw and dirt, her hair falling from its pins, her dress a lost cause.

She looked up, her green eyes widening. “Summerton!” At least she remembered his name. “I… what are you doing here?”

He ignored her, concern for the dog growing. “How long has she been laboring?”

“Most of the night, I expect. The stable boy found her this morning and called me. I’ve been watching for her labor.

It’s her first birthing.” Caitria’s hands moved with gentle confidence over the dog’s swollen belly.

“The first pup is turned wrong, I think. I’ve helped birth enough farm animals to know that’s not good. ”

Alexander knelt beside her, ignoring the straw and muck. “We need to turn it or help it out or we could lose both mother and all the puppies.”

“I was just about to do that, but perhaps… if you’ve done it before…”

He shrugged off his coat without thinking and rolled up his sleeves. “Just as well I’m here then.”

She shot him a surprised look, then smiled. Just then, a young lad returned with servants carrying items. “Clean clothes, warm water.”

He gathered the supplies, watching as she whispered to the distressed dog, her Irish brogue growing stronger as she soothed the animal. Her face was flushed with concentration, a smudge of dirt across one cheek, and wisps of auburn hair curling damply at her temples.

She had never looked more beautiful. Not even yesterday at the cove, when she’d emerged like Venus from the waves. This was a different kind of beauty altogether—one that came from the heart.

“Here,” she said, guiding his hands. “I’ll support her just so, while you turn the pup.” She looked at him. “Tell me you’ve done this before.”

“Not for a while, but I helped my favorite sheep dog a few years ago.”

They worked together in focused silence.

Alexander found himself mesmerized by her sure movements, the quiet strength in her small hands, the way she seemed to know exactly what the animal needed.

This was the same woman his mother would dismiss as a country nobody, yet she possessed more true nobility in her little finger than most of the aristocratic ladies his mother paraded before him.

This was no simpering society miss who would faint at the sight of birth.

He reached inside and it took one hard turn and soon, the first pup finally slipped free. Caitria quickly cleared its airways and handed it to him. “Keep it warm while she delivers the rest.”

He cradled the tiny creature, marveling at its fragile new life. When was the last time he’d done something so real, so meaningful? His days were filled with estate management and social obligations, but this—this raw connection to life itself—felt more important than any society ball.

The tiny creature squirmed in his palms as three more pups followed in quick succession and then one more. Through it all, Caitria remained calm and capable, though her face showed her relief when the last one arrived safely.

“Five healthy pups,” she said with satisfaction, sitting back on her heels. “Though their mama gave me quite a fright.”

But it wasn’t the pups he stared at. Alexander couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was covered in a mess, her dress probably ruined, strands of straw caught in her hair like a wild halo.

She looked like some pagan fertility goddess, far removed from the cultivated gardens of society.

And God help him, he wanted her more than ever.

“You’re remarkable,” he said before he could stop himself. “Utterly remarkable.”

She blinked at him, then looked down at her ruined dress and laughed. “I’m a sight, you mean. What must you think of me? First swimming in your cove, now crawling about in the stables…”

“I think you’re the most authentic person I’ve ever met.” The words came from somewhere deep and true inside him. “You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.”

Her smile faded slightly. “I’m exactly what I appear to be, Your Grace. A peasant farmer’s daughter, one used to mucking out the stables and feeding the pigs, who happened to land in fine company.”

“Alexander,” he said impulsively. “Please, call me Alexander.”

She shook her head, though her eyes softened. “Alexander.”

Never had hearing his voice spoken so softly sent shivers running through him.

“You have a gift with animals,” he said carefully. “The kennels at Summerton House have been sadly neglected since my father’s time. Perhaps… perhaps you might allow me to claim two of the puppies when they are ready to leave their mother.”

“I’d have to ask Lucien.”

The familiarity of using Furoe’s first name struck like a hammer. “Of course.”

“But I’m sure Lucien will be pleased to gift you them. Do you live near here?”

“My estate is a few miles to the east. I’ve known Furoe since we were boys, but of course he doesn’t remember me.”

Her smile dimmed as she stood and washed her hands in the bucket of water. “He has lost much. But he’s happy now.” She sounded wistful. Did she love Furoe?

Just then, Furoe’s head groom, John, arrived. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t know you wanted Genghis saddled.” John strode off to get Alexander’s horse ready.

At the words, “Your Grace,” Caitria swung to face him. “Your—Grace?”

Just then, a voice sounded from by the stable doors. “He’s Alexander Forsyth, the Duke of Summerton.”

Lucien.

He watched Caitria’s face pale before her eyes sparked with anger. “You could have told me who you were.”

“I did. Everyone calls me Summerton.”

Furoe moved to see the puppies. “I hear you both helped save my favorite bitch. Thank you.”

He barely heard Furoe’s words, so engrossed was he in Caitria’s reaction to his title. She looked annoyed rather than impressed. She obviously wasn’t looking for a new protector. So he’d just have to change her mind.

“I should get cleaned up.” She paused at the stable door, backlit by the morning sun. For a moment, she looked like some wild Irish goddess, proud and untamed. The type of woman he’d secretly been looking for all his life.

He moved to stand beside her. “Perhaps a swim later this afternoon,” he whispered so Furoe could not hear. If she came to the cove, he’d know if he stood a chance.

“Perhaps,” she said softly. “If a certain person promises to behave, I might be persuaded.”

He tried to keep the wicked grin off his face, but must have failed, for she elbowed him in the side, before giving a small curtsey that somehow managed to be both proper and ironic.

Then she was gone, leaving Alexander with the distinct impression that he might have a chance, until a voice spoke beside him, “I may have lost my memories of our friendship, so I do not remember if we were good friends. So, a warning. I won’t take it too kindly if you hurt her. ”

Just then, John arrived with Genghis, and Alexander swung into the saddle.

“We were good friends, though we were competitive. But neither of us went so far as to hurt anyone in our games. I promise you that hasn’t changed.” With that, he rode for home and hoped he could keep that vow.