Loving a Lost Lord

by Mary Jo Putney

  The thought was as disturbing as his touch was pleasant. He moved so naturally into the space of a husband that she had to wonder if he really did have a wife somewhere. A wife who was as desperate to learn his fate as Mariah was desperate to be truly certain what had happened to her father.

  Shielding her thoughts, she moved away from him. He scooped up the other scones before Turk could eat them. The scones were still warm as he offered her one. “How did you learn of your father’s death? Is there a chance the report was wrong?”

  “I heard the news from George Burke.” Seeing Adam’s expression, she smiled humorlessly. “No, he’s not a reliable source, but he had the ring my father wore all the time. It was convincing.”

  “Having met the man, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that he stole the ring,” Adam said before biting into his scone.

  “He’s probably capable of that, but soon after I received a letter from our London solicitor confirming Papa’s death.” She bit hard into her scone, chewed thoughtfully, then said, “The most convincing proof is that I haven’t heard from my father in so long. He had been writing me several times a week. Then…nothing. He simply wouldn’t stop writing like that if he were well.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I do believe he’s dead, yet it seemed perfectly natural that he come riding toward me on Turk.”

  Adam ate the last of his scone. “I think it’s natural to hope against hope that a mistake has been made. That tragedy can’t strike us.”

  “Do you know that from experience, or are you just wise?”

  He looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t gamble that I possess great natural wisdom.”

  She chuckled. If Granny Rose had sent a faux husband, she had picked one with a sense of humor. “Do you like Grand Turk? My father said he was the best horse he’d ever owned. He won him at cards, of course.”

  Adam’s face lit up. “He’s splendid. Beautiful paces, and spirited without malice. The chestnut mare is also very fine. Another prize at the gaming table?”

  “Yes. She’s my mount, Hazelnut. Hazel for short.” Mariah studied Adam, who looked like a proper country gentleman in her father’s clothing, but his face was drawn. “I didn’t expect to find you on horseback. Riding wasn’t too much for you?”

  “My strength is not yet back to normal,” he admitted, “but I really wanted to be on a horse again. Perhaps we can take that ride over the estate today?”

  “Later, if you think you’re ready, but now Mrs. Beckett would like to feed us both breakfast. Are you ready for an omelet?”

  “Definitely!”

  He took her arm and they turned to the house. He liked to touch. Again she wondered if he was demonstrating the ease of a married man who was used to having a woman of his own to touch whenever he wanted.

  The sooner her gift from the sea recovered his memory, the better for them all.

  After an excellent breakfast, Adam withdrew to his bedroom to rest again. In early afternoon, Mariah tiptoed into his bedroom and found him sprawled across the bed on his back. He’d peeled off his boots and coat but still wore his shirt and breeches. He was a fine figure of a man who fulfilled the gentlemanly ideal of fit, well-proportioned elegance. Was he a gentleman by birth? She wasn’t sure, but he had become one.

  Thinking she’d let him sleep if he didn’t wake easily, she whispered, “Adam? How are you feeling?”

  He woke and gave her a smile that made her feel like the most special woman in the world. “I could manage a ride around the estate.”

  She studied him, his visible bruises reminding her of all the ones that weren’t visible. He had taken quite a beating. “Let’s wait till tomorrow for the tour. Better not push yourself too hard.”

  “Then I need to find a different physical activity.” He caught her hand and tugged her down so that she was alongside him on the bed. Gaze intense, he said, “I wish I remembered our first kiss. I shall have to start all over.”

  Before she had fully grasped his intent, he drew her down and kissed her. His mouth was firm and warm, his tongue gentle as it parted her lips.

  Sensation flooded through her, scrambling her wits and judgment. She had been kissed by earnest young men, and more than once had fought off drunks like Burke, but she’d never experienced a kiss like this. She felt his wonder and delight, as if they were new lovers, yet she also sensed commitment and his belief that they had a history. That they belonged to each other.

  She gasped as his caressing hands moved down her back, honoring every curve and hollow. Where their bodies touched, she burned. She wanted to melt into him, kiss until they were both senseless.

  His right hand slid under her gown and moved up her bare thigh, as shocking as it was seductive. She jerked away from his embrace, her heart pounding. Somewhere inside, her Sarah self was saying, “This is your own fault.”

  Mariah couldn’t deny it. If they continued on this path, she would lose her virginity and possibly entice Adam into adultery. She should run screaming from this impossible situation.

  He stared up at her flushed face, puzzled and a little hurt. “What’s wrong, Mariah?”

  Briefly she thought of confessing, but she couldn’t bear the thought of cutting him loose from what little certainty he had. She struggled for an answer that would put more distance between them while also having some honesty.

  “I’m sorry, Adam.” She sat up on the edge of the bed, unable to think clearly in his arms. “This is too…too sudden for me. We’ve had so little time together, and now I am a stranger to you.”

  “A beloved stranger,” he said quietly. “And surely I’m not a stranger to you. Or have I changed greatly?”

  She shivered, wondering if his feelings were for his real wife and Mariah was merely a convenient substitute. Remembering what she’d said to Mrs. Beckett, she said, “It’s not that you have changed, but that the situation itself is so strange. Will you court me as if we just met? We can discover each other anew.” She took his hand. “Your memory could return at any time, of course, and that will simplify everything. But until that happens, can we begin again?”

  He hesitated, and she guessed that he would prefer to get to know her in a more biblical way. But then he smiled and raised their joined hands, kissing her fingertips. “What a wise idea. Miss Clarke, you are the loveliest creature I have ever met. Will you join me for a walk in the garden?”

  “I should like that very much, Mr. Clarke,” she said with relief. “We can admire the daffodils and each other.”

  He laughed and swung his legs to the floor. He reached for his boots. “I hope you are enthralled by bruises and whiskers. I’m not sure myself what I look like.”

  “You are altogether lovely,” she said firmly. And that was most certainly the truth.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time Adam had pulled on his boots and coat to go outside, Mariah reappeared with a delightfully frivolous bonnet decorated with silk flowers, and a shabby blue shawl. He offered her his arm. “You look enchanting, Miss Clarke.”

  She batted her eyelashes outrageously as she took his arm. “How kind of you, sir. If you’re very, very good, I may eventually allow you to use my proper name.”

  He grinned as he held the door open for her to leave the house. “If it wouldn’t make you feel fast, you may call me Adam.”

  “I would never do anything fast, Mr. Clarke,” she said firmly. “I am a most properly brought up young lady, I’ll have you know.”

  “No one could possibly think otherwise,” he assured her. He’d been disappointed—very disappointed—that she had been unwilling to let him make love to her, but now he realized that she was right. They needed courting time to become reacquainted, to rebuild a foundation of affection and companionship. Desire was a fine thing in marriage, but there needed to be more, especially for a woman confronted by a husband who didn’t remember her.

  Not only were they reacquainting themselves, but the make-believe was a delicious game, better than a real game,
because the end, their marriage bed, was foreordained. He wished he could remember how her elegantly curved form looked uncluttered by clothing. It was maddening to know that they had been lovers, yet not be able to summon exact memories of her body. Or the taste and feel of her.

  Outside the house, she guided him to the left, the opposite side of the manor house from the stables and other farm buildings. He savored the light warmth of her hand resting on his arm, the sweetly astringent tang of lavender that wafted from her clothing. “I know nothing of fashion, but your delightful bonnet looks like it ought to be fashionable.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She dropped her exaggerated demureness and chuckled. “I’ve redone this straw bonnet over and over again, so it’s not particularly fashionable. There was seldom money to spare, so I became very good at refreshing gowns and hats with lace or ribbons or flowers.”

  Were all genteel young ladies willing to admit a shortage of funds, or was her directness because they were married? Whatever the reason, her bluntness was refreshing. “Your shawl seems less likely to be accused of being fashionable.”

  She pulled the worn blue garment closer. “Granny Rose knit this for me one Christmas. Whenever I wear it, I can feel her arms around me, so I wear it a great deal.”

  Though her tone was light, he heard the loneliness underneath the words. She’d led an unusual life that had little in common with most well-brought-up young ladies. “Was it hard to be always traveling from one place to another, with no real roots? How did you amuse yourself? I suspect that in some households, the women resented having a girl as pretty as you around.”

  She made a face. “Clever of you to realize that. Everyone enjoyed my father’s presence, since he was such good company. But women often thought I was looking to marry their sons, and a penniless bride would never do.”

  He voiced a thought that had been troubling him. “So you chose a penniless husband? Was I unable to provide a decent home for you?”

  She frowned and looked away, as if unsure how to answer. “You had intelligence and prospects. I was not concerned for our future. You had to leave shortly after we married so it made sense that I stay with my father until you returned.” She made a gesture that included the manor. “Then Hartley happened.”

  “How long were we separated?”

  “It seemed like forever.”

  “Why did I have to leave you? What was my occupation?”

  “You were involved in rather secretive work for the government. You never spoke of it to me. I thought you preferred I not ask.” Changing the subject, she said ruefully, “This stroll would be more romantic if the gardens were attractive, but they’ve run wild and I haven’t had time to consider what to do. Burke never spent a penny on the estate if he could avoid it. Mrs. Beckettt, the cook, says there used to be an old gardener but he died and wasn’t replaced. Now the gardens are the next thing to a jungle.”

  She exaggerated, but only slightly. The overgrown parterre more nearly resembled a maze, trees were shaggy and un-pruned, and flower beds and borders were ragged. Even in spring the gardens looked neglected. By high summer, some areas would be impenetrable.

  “A great deal of work is needed,” he agreed as they headed down a rough brick path. “But the basic design is good and the plants are certainly vigorous.” He held back a branch so that Mariah could walk by. “Would you object if I tried my hand at sorting out the gardens?”

  She gave him a quick glance. “Gardening is something else familiar to you?”

  “It seems to be.” He flexed his fingers unconsciously. “I have a strong desire to work with my hands. To grab hold of something and make it better.”

  “Then this is the place to start. Anything you do will be an improvement. I can hire some people from the village to help you if you like.”

  “That will be good after I decide what needs to be done.” He raised his hand and interlinked his fingers with hers. She caught her breath, for she wore no gloves and bare skin touched bare skin. As they resumed their walk, he remarked, “I see the gardens differently now that I’m plotting their fate.”

  She laughed. “The shrubs have been yearning for attention. There are sections of the gardens I’ve never even seen. There’s always too much else to do.”

  “Then we shall explore every inch. Where does this path go?”

  “I have no idea. But I’d like to find out.” She moved closer as the path narrowed between encroaching hedges.

  “Pruning is definitely called for.” He looked at his hands, itching to get to work, and questions of rank and class floated into his mind. “Am I not quite a gentleman?”

  “You have always been one to me.” She traced a line down the middle of his right palm. His response to her touch shot right through him, tingling and erotic.

  He reminded himself that they were courting and he really could not lay her down in the lush grass and rediscover that lovely soft body. He took a deep breath to control the more unruly parts of his anatomy, then resumed walking. The path swung to the right and ended in an enclosed garden. Two gently weathered stone walls met at a right angle set into the slope of a hill. The other two sides were defined by dense shrubbery. Daffodils were on the verge of blooming, and an espaliered fruit tree spread over the south-facing wall. The other wall was covered with vine that would turn brilliant red in autumn, while a graceful tree offered shade.

  He stopped and caught his breath. “This seems…familiar.”

  She glanced up sharply. “Have you been here before?”

  “No,” he said slowly as he tried to analyze the swift image that had flickered across his mind before vanishing. “Rather, the atmosphere is familiar.”

  “In what ways?” she asked encouragingly.

  “The fact that it’s enclosed and feels…safe. Protected. Peaceful.” He closed his eyes and tried to recall that other garden. “I have a vague memory of a similar place, though with many more flowers. Brilliant flowers. In one corner was a fountain with…an elephant in the middle? I think it was an elephant.”

  “That garden might not have been in England.”

  “It wasn’t,” he said with certainty. “But I have no idea where it was.”

  He opened his eyes and studied the garden. The foliage of the shrubs was a pleasing mixture of colors and shapes. Brick paths were set in herringbone patterns, and large rocks seemed intended for sitting. “But I think both places were designed to encourage thought or prayer or serenity.”

  “Speaking of peaceful, there’s Mrs. Beckett’s kitchen cat, Annabelle.” The cat was snoozing in a patch of sunshine below the espaliered fruit tree. Feline eyes opened as Mariah approached, and she didn’t object to being scooped up and cooed over.

  Mariah should carry the cat with her everywhere, Adam decided. She was irresistible with a lock of blond hair spilling over her shoulder and the black and white cat purring in her arms. Her tender affection made her even more beautiful.

  “Living in the kitchen must explain Annabelle’s generous contours.”

  “That’s politely put,” Mariah said with a chuckle. “She’s a sweet moggy. Some nights she even condescends to sleep on my bed.”

  Adam turned around slowly, thinking of that other garden. He saw it more clearly now. The water in the fountain sprayed not from the trunk of an elephant, but an elephant-headed man. Very un-English. The air had been burningly hot, and a woman sat in the shade of a great tree. He could not see her clearly, but he knew she was dark haired and beautiful….

  Mariah perched on the largest rock with the cat. “I can see where surroundings like these would be good for calming one’s nerves.”

  “I’ll clean this up and turn it into a true meditation garden as my first project.” He sat on the rock beside her and stroked Annabelle’s silky fur, his fingers provocatively close to Mariah’s breast. “If I were courting you, Miss Clarke, I’d use this privacy to steal a kiss.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers as gently as if it were t
heir first time. She made a small sound in her throat and her lips clung to his. A kiss that started in innocence rapidly became more. He leaned closer, his hand moving to cup her breast. The cat gave a squawk of protest and kicked away from Mariah’s lap.

  Annabelle’s action made Mariah gasp and pull back. “I would allow you to steal a kiss, but no more. Because I’m a v…very proper young lady.”

  His hands clenched. Though his body cried out for her familiar warmth, he had agreed to move slowly. She deserved no less. “As a not quite proper gentleman, I would apologize for my ill-bred behavior while secretly hoping to repeat it as soon as possible.”

  She laughed a little unevenly as she stood and brushed down her skirts. “I think you are more honest than an ordinary suitor would be.”

  “This is not an ordinary courtship.” He stood, feeling a little light-headed. Offering his arm, he said, “Shall we return to our explorations?”

  “As long as we avoid any more gardens that are too private. The kitchen gardens should do nicely. All those vegetables are most unromantic.”

  Her smile was a little hesitant as she took his arm. He reminded himself again that she needed this time to accept how he had changed. He wasn’t the man he had been before, and the fact that they were wed didn’t automatically mean she would invite him to share her bed again.

  Uneasily he wondered if amnesia was grounds for annulment. He hoped not.

  Chapter Nine

  Greenock and Arran Island, Scotland

  Will Masterson caught the ship’s railing as the Annie bobbed at anchor on a cool, rainy afternoon. Beside him, Randall asked, “What’s that thing on the back deck?”

  “A diving bell,” Will replied. “Like a church bell, it’s open on the bottom. Because of the weight, it stays upright when lowered into the water and air is trapped underneath. Divers can ride down inside the bell and swim over to where they work, then reenter the bell when they need to catch a breath.”

  “Ingenious,” Kirkland remarked. “What will they think of next?”